Two Days to Die

By Jules Adrienn

Detective Gabriel Emory has muscle, smarts, and survivalist skills. Even better, he has gorgeous detective Anita Wolfe flying with him to an all-expenses-paid island vacation. Too bad it's really an escaped convict's game to punish those who put him in prison.

Now Gabriel must use all his skills to survive a race through a dangerous wilderness. But how does he save himself and Anita in a contest where only the winner lives? It's a race for their lives, and it ends in two-days. Tick, tick, tick…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: May 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949931563

Book preview

Two Days to Die

Jules Adrienn

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

IF YOU PURCHASE THIS book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

TWO DAYS TO DIE

Copyright © 2020 Jules Adrienn

All rights reserved.

ISBN: (EBOOK): 978-1-949931-56-3

Inkspell Publishing

207 Moonglow Circle #101

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

EDITED BY AUDREY BOBEK

Cover art By Najla Qamber

THIS BOOK, OR PARTS thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

I’ve always said I could dig ditches all day, every day, as long as I was doing it with the right people. Thanks to my family—you made digging this story fun.

Chapter One

The Gift

Y eah, we got the money . You got the stuff?

Detective Gabriel Emory listened in on the crackling transmission. He smiled and repositioned his headset under his shoulder-length black hair. Tomas Fuentes was making his move to the big leagues with this cocaine shipment. Too bad he didn’t know he was making his move with half the police in Miami listening to him.

Gabriel held up his hand. Keep it down. And turn up the air—I can barely think in this hotbox.

A rookie edged through the crowded surveillance van and cranked up the air conditioner. He whispered to another officer, Maybe he is human.

Gabriel shook his head. All the officers had been treading light around him since his mother was killed by a junkie a year ago. He’d heard the talk. He was the half-breed Indian with a death wish. The cop who would stop at nothing to track down the members of Miami’s drug cartel to get revenge for his mother’s death. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Yeah, maybe that was true. But wouldn’t anyone else do the same thing? His mother’s death taught him that it was his job to make sure no one else’s mother, father, son, daughter, dog, cat, or hamster got hurt because of the drugs flooding the Miami area. But if a pusher or junkie got hurt in the process, so be it. End of story. And right now, it was time to take down another lowlife. As always, it would be the bad guy’s call on whether he went down hard or easy. All Fuentes had to do was drop his weapon and he’d go to prison without a scratch. Gabriel touched the firearm holstered on his thigh, sliding a finger along the cold barrel.

Going to prison without a scratch didn’t happen to guys like Fuentes. Guys like him had delusions of grandeur. He probably thought a faceoff with the police would be his chance to yell, Say hello to my little friend, and pull a big shiny gun, like Tony Montana in Scarface. A thug like Fuentes thought he was Tony Montana, moving up from street hustler to drug kingpin. Problem was, lowlifes like Fuentes always forgot about the end of Scarface where Tony went down in a hail of bullets.

Idiots.

Gabriel cupped his hands over his headphones and listened to his partner, Detective Escobar, negotiating with Fuentes. Detective Little was inside too, playing the part of Escobar’s street pusher. Gabriel wiped sweat from his forehead and said a silent prayer, hoping Esco and Little were about ready to move. He listened to Fuentes pat a briefcase.

We got this and fifty more keys ready to go. You have the money?

Gabriel set his jaw, imagining Tomas Fuentes’s arrogant face. This prick thought he was going to get rich moving poison onto the streets. In a few more minutes, the only thing he’d be moving would be to prison, and he’d be staying there until he was gumming scrambled eggs and shuffling around in a walker.

We got the money. But let me see the product first.

Gabriel’s heart pounded at the sound of Esco’s voice. He lifted a shaking hand, signaling the officers to get ready to move. His headset began to crackle and break up. A truck driver’s voice broke in and out of the transmission. Gabriel stood. What the hell? The wire was supposed to be on a secure channel. Then he heard Esco’s voice sift through the static.

You better tell your man to shut his mouth. He calls me a cop again, I’m walking.

That was Esco. This was going south. Gabriel looked around the van, sweat soaking his unbuttoned plaid shirt. They’re blown, he said. The sound of a struggle came over his headset and he ripped it off, yelling, Let’s move.

Gabriel jumped out of the back doors of the van. He dodged other officers who were struggling to sprint with bulky SWAT gear weighing them down and stopped at the front door of the warehouse. The other officers ran up behind him, breathing hard. The warehouse sat on the black asphalt of a private airstrip’s back lot—a huge arch of galvanized steel. It looked like a giant metal barrel that had been cut in half and dropped on the pavement. Gabriel drew his gun and put his hand on the doorknob, readying himself to bust the door down.

Hold on, Detective. You’re not going in there without a vest.

Gabriel turned. His boss, Lieutenant Ford, stared at him from behind the visor of a black helmet. The lieutenant pointed at Gabriel’s unbuttoned shirt that showed his bare chest and stomach.

You catch a bullet, you’re dead. Cover the outside. We’ll handle this.

Gabriel stepped back, watching the lieutenant kick the door down and rush inside with the rest of the team. His pistol hung uselessly in his hand as adrenaline flowed through him. Lieutenant Ford’s voice shouting, Police! echoed inside the warehouse, followed by the pops of automatic gunfire.

Gabriel ran back to the van. He slipped the headset on. His whole body hummed with tension. A pained grunt came over the headset, followed by the sound of bullets whizzing and ricocheting. Escobar’s frantic voice came over the headset.

Little’s down. They shot Little.

Gabriel took off the headset. He was out of the van and running before he had time to think. He circled around to the back of the warehouse, took a deep breath, and surveyed the area. The muffled sound of Fuentes yelling to his men in Spanish came from inside. Placing his ear against the warehouse, he focused on Fuentes’s voice and crept along the wall, moving toward him. A clang of bullets burst through the wall in front of him. He dropped into a crouch. Another scatter of bullets tore through the wall above him, exactly where he’d been standing. Cool air wavered through the holes into the stifling afternoon heat. Fuentes yelled at his men again. Gabriel straightened and peered through a ragged tear punched through the wall by a bullet.

The metal was scorching hot. Gabriel could feel his cheek frying, but he didn’t move. He had to see Fuentes. He had to know exactly where the greedy little bastard was before he took a shot at him. And he knew that was all he’d have—one shot before a hail of gunfire would come his way. He concentrated, letting his vision adjust to the dark interior of the warehouse.

C’mon, where are you? he thought, scanning the warehouse. Then a man walked right in front of him with two men on either side. If the wall wasn’t between them, Gabriel could’ve reached out and grabbed the man by the neck. But there was no way to tell who he was—the man had his back to him. Whoever he was, he wasn’t taking any chances, crouching low while his two men laid a carpet of withering automatic fire toward the SWAT team. With SWAT ducking for cover, the man stood and lifted a sawed-off shotgun. Gabriel followed the man’s line of sight. He was aiming at Escobar, who was crouched behind a steel drum in a no-man’s land between the SWAT team and the drug gang. Detective Little lay in front of the steel drum, face down in a pool of blood. Gabriel took a step back and raised his pistol. One shot was all he had, and he wanted to use it on Fuentes, but it didn’t matter. Whoever this man was, he had to stop him from blowing his partner to pieces.

Hands up! he screamed.

The man holding the shotgun turned. It was Fuentes. Gabriel popped off a round and dropped to the ground. A shotgun blast blew the wall apart over his head, followed by a chatter of bullets. He curled into a ball, listening to the wall disintegrate above him. Hot shards of metal ripped into his back. It seemed to go on for a lifetime and then stopped, replaced by the shouts and well-ordered gunfire of the SWAT team. Soon there was nothing but the sound of boots running toward him and then the sound of Lieutenant Ford’s voice from above.

Emory, what the hell are you doing?

Gabriel got to his feet. He faced the lieutenant, who was staring at him through a hole ripped through the back of the warehouse. The lieutenant took off his helmet. His face was red. Are you outta your mind? You put yourself directly in our line of fire.

Gabriel shrugged. I stayed outside the warehouse, like you told me.

Lieutenant Ford’s eyes widened. You could’ve been killed by one of your fellow officers.

But I wasn’t, said Gabriel, struggling to keep from groaning. His adrenaline was wearing off and the nerve endings around the steel shards buried in his back were beginning to throb. He watched Escobar walk next to the lieutenant.

Damn, Gabriel. You saved my bacon, bro. C’mere, said Escobar, reaching a hand through the wall.

Gabriel let Esco pump his hand and watched him turn to the lieutenant.

Sir, Fuentes had me dead to rights. Without Detective Emory taking that shot, you’d be calling my wife right now. My kids would be without a dad and she’d be planning a funeral.

The lieutenant focused on Gabriel. He snorted, turned, and shouted orders at his men inside the warehouse, leading the survivors of Fuentes’s gang away in handcuffs. Then he glared at Gabriel.

This could’ve ended badly, Detective. You keep this up and you’ll end up dead, which is probably what you want, but this isn’t about you. You gotta think big picture.

I am, thought Gabriel, wincing as he pulled a shard of metal from his back. Esco’s alive and Fuentes is dead. That’s a pretty good picture if you ask me. He looked at the bloody piece of metal and dropped it on the ground.

Did you get hit? the lieutenant said.

I just caught a little shrapnel.

The lieutenant turned to Escobar. Get him to the hospital. Shaking his head, he added, Emory, maybe you don’t care about yourself, but I’ve got to protect everyone. You’re on probationary leave for the next two weeks. The higher-ups would have my ass if I didn’t address this.

Gabriel nodded. He turned to walk away, then stopped when the lieutenant grabbed his arm.

Take some time to get your head straight, said the lieutenant. Go home and relax. And don’t talk to Internal Affairs. I’ll write the report so you don’t end up in front of a disciplinary review board.

Gabriel nodded. He waited for the lieutenant to walk away, then kneeled, closing his eyes in pain. Each piece of shrapnel in his back burned. He could hear Escobar step through the hole shot through the warehouse wall. Then Esco’s hand was on his shoulder, helping him to his feet.

C’mon, let’s get you to the hospital, Esco said, walking him across the parking lot.

Trying to focus on anything but the pain, Gabriel glanced at his partner. Esco looked like Santa Claus with his long gray beard and hair. But Gabriel knew Esco better than that. His partner was an attack dog who learned how to wag his tail and bring the bad guys closer before sinking his teeth into them. Esco was always planning and calculating how to catch criminals. Gabriel used to be like that but calculating how to catch them took too long. Every minute they were free was another minute for them to hurt an innocent bystander, like his mom. Perps just needed to be put down—the faster, the better.

He leaned on Escobar and slid into their car. Escobar looked at his back and squinted.

Damn, boy, said Escobar. You got enough metal in your back to sell yourself as scrap.

I’m fine, said Gabriel, tugging a piece out of his shoulder. He dropped it on the floorboard. Escobar shook his head as he got in the car, flipped on the lights, and drove to the hospital.

Esco glanced over as he sped down the interstate.

Little got shot up pretty good. He might not make it. It could’ve been me.

Gabriel looked over and saw that Esco’s face was pale. But it’s not you, said Gabriel. Don’t think about it. Just leave it alone.

Esco nodded. You’re right. But it chaps my ass that you got two weeks’ probation. That’s just wrong, man. You saved me.

Gabriel looked out his window. That’s just payback for what you did during our crack bust on Jaime. They wanted to haul you in front of a firing squad after you cleaned house on that crew. I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t.

Escobar rolled his eyes. That was your fault. You went in there like a cowboy. I had to go in guns blazing or they would’ve eaten you alive. Esco laughed and shook his head. You’re trouble.

Right back at you, said Gabriel.

So two weeks’ probation, huh? said Escobar. What are you gonna do for two weeks?

Don’t know. Go camping in the Everglades with my dad, I guess. Hunt. Fish. Whatever.

You’re nuts. You, your dad, and all that Indian crap. Why don’t you go to Disney World?

I’d scare the kids.

Tell me about it, said Esco. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and glanced at it, then put it back in his jacket. You know, he said, glancing over at Gabriel. I think I got something you might like.

Gabriel looked over at the piece of paper. What’s that?

Esco slipped it back into his pocket. Let’s get you fixed up and I’ll tell you all about it.

INSIDE THE EMERGENCY room, Gabriel listened to Escobar kick up a fuss until the staff let him come in to watch the doctor remove the metal from his back. He smiled as his partner walked in.

How’s it going? said Esco.

Couldn’t be better, said Gabriel, closing his eyes as the doctor tugged another piece of metal from his back.

Escobar stifled a laugh. Yeah, you look fantastic, he said, pulling the piece of paper from his pocket. He held it toward Gabriel. Listen. I figure I owe you for saving my life, so you take this. It’ll help pass the time with your probation. He lowered his gaze. And maybe the lieutenant is right. You need to relax and get your head straight. You haven’t been yourself since, well, you know.

Gabriel looked at the piece of paper. It was cream-colored with the kind of marbled pattern found on wedding invitations. He unfolded it, read it, refolded it, and held it toward Escobar.

I’m not taking this. You earned it. Go and enjoy yourself.

Escobar folded his arms. Gabriel could see his partner had set his mind on giving him the gift. And once Esco set his mind, it was concrete.

That’s yours, not mine, said Esco. Then he mumbled to himself.

What did you say? said Gabriel, watching Escobar shuffle his feet like a kid. He grinned at his partner’s boyish manner even though the doctor was busy working a piece of metal out of his back. A look of embarrassment crossed Escobar’s face.

Ahh, you know I probably can’t go anyway. Angela isn’t gonna let me leave her and the kids to go on a vacation, even if it’s paid for.

She won’t, huh?

No,