Red Hot: Patrick & Steeves Suspense Series, #1

By Kate Fargo

PTSD put her behind a desk. Now her new desk job might get her killed.

 

Fresh from the Afghan front, ex-military Emily Patrick is sent to the Mexican coast south of San Diego to extract an injured American firefighter.

 

But she's not the only one looking for him. And when her support system goes AWOL, things escalate quickly.

 

Now they're outrunning the local cartel and to get them both out alive may just take a miracle.

 

Filled with fast-paced action, this romantic thriller will keep you turning the pages with plenty of twists and surprises.

 

 

Praise for Red Hot:

 

★★★★★ " Wow - this book blew me away with a fast-paced, action-packed adventure that kept me on the edge of my seat from beginning to end. This is the perfect series for anyone who likes well-written romantic suspense."

 

♥♥♥ "This was my first Kate Fargo book, and I am a fan!" 

 

♥♥♥ "Lots of energy, fast paced, exciting, good chemistry between characters."  

 

♥♥♥ "As with all of Kate Fargo's stories, this one will draw you in quickly and keep the pages turning with all the mystery, suspense, and action."

 

♥♥♥ "This well written story captivated me right from the first page. The more you read, the more you want to know about these intriguing characters. The dialogue between Sandal and Emily at the hospital and the motel is hilarious. I can't wait for the next book."  

 

READING ORDER FOR PATRICK & STEEVES SUSPENSE SERIES:

 

Red Hot

White Hot

Blue Hot  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Footloose Publishing
• Release date: Dec 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781738820405

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

J ust put your damn weight into it.

I am, grunted the smaller man, one hand on the bumper, the other clutching the jeans sliding down his ass. Jesus, you could have given us a head start and parked on the top of the hill, not the damn flat part.

Get on with it and quit your bitchin’. Push. Pushhhh. The bigger man stretched his arms to their full length, putting all his weight into it, his turquoise cowboy boots digging into the earth for better traction, and was rewarded for his effort when the truck started to inch forward.

It’s working, the smaller man said.

Shut up, keep pushing.

They rolled the truck closer to the slope, giving it a solid send-off as it started down the hill of its own accord. The smaller man doubled over, hands on his knees, huffing into the night as he watched the truck roll down the hill. The heavyset man kicked his shin before jumping behind the driver’s seat of the other truck.

What the fu— Rico shot him a dirty look, made his way over to the passenger seat and climbed up. You don’t want to make sure it goes off?

It’ll go off, he grunted, staring into the night. There’s enough explosive in there to do a couple of trucks. Shifting into reverse, he hit the gas.

Still…

"Rico, relajate. Look. It’s already on fire."

Rico peered into the dusk and caught the flick of orange flame. I like explosions, he said, eyes lighting up. We can watch it, right Miguel?

We have other things to do. He shook his head and stomped on the gas. "You wanna hang out in the desert watching fireworks while the boss is waiting for an update? Cabrón ." He did a tight turn, spitting dust and pebble into the surrounding cacti. Moments later, even the taillights were history.

CHAPTER 2

C ’mon Kris.

Sandal Steeves kicked his feet off the end of the secluded pier. Over an hour had passed since he’d gotten off the damn chicken bus and his best friend’s boat was nowhere in sight. He banged his heels against the crumbling cement.

His stomach rumbled. Why hadn’t he listened to his gut and gotten off in the little pueblo up the coast to grab a taco? Now it was too late, and he was stuck here - in the middle of nowhere - until Kris arrived.

The sun had long set and still no running lights sparked the horizon. It was just like the time they were supposed to meet at Burning Man and Kris had left him standing on the side of the road for two hours in the mid-day desert sun. The only one burning that day had been him and he was seeing more than red by the time Kris pulled up. If he hadn’t arrived with two stunning, cheerful women in the back seat of his vintage Mustang convertible, he might have killed him.

As his gaze rested on the inky blackness of the Pacific, he took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. Then he did it again, hearing his trauma therapist’s voice in his head.

Cool it, Dal. He could wait. He was on vacation, he had time to kill.

He let out a sarcastic laugh. Vacation. When they told him he couldn’t go back to work right away, he thought he’d lose his mind. So far, staying busy was the only thing that kept the horrid images from flashing in his mind like a news reel on a never-ceasing loop. Even his sleep was restless and he often woke himself tossing and turning. Or worse, screaming.

His therapist had suggested this little trip, but so far it was just causing him more stress.

Where the hell was Kris?

Behind him, someone yelled. Dal turned toward the road. The man who’d gotten off the bus with him in the middle of nowhere, to wait for someone to pick him up, yelled and waved his arms. A dark-colored SUV, no lights on, careened down the steep hill leading to the pier. The driver had lost control of the vehicle. The truck lurched from one side of the road to the other. It became clear, pretty fast, that the vehicle was going off the road all together.

Dal jumped up, muscles tensed, and peered through the darkness. The truck picked up speed, heading straight for the water. It bounced off a boulder, zigged left and smashed into a large palm tree. The sound of crunching metal and cracking wood scraped through the air. Leaving his bag on the pier, Dal raced toward the wreck. The farmer from the bus did the same.

Before they reached the truck, it burst into flames. The farmer backed away from the fire. Dal went straight in. He ripped his shirt off over his head, wrapped it around his hand and pulled the driver door open. Both men inside were unconscious and thrown forward with the impact. Blood ran from the driver’s head onto the steering wheel. Dal grabbed his shoulders and slid him out of the truck. It was hot as hell, flames licking at his hands, smoke tearing his eyes. He yanked the driver’s legs free, threw him over his shoulder and carried him beyond the heaviest smoke.

Is he dead? The farmer watched wide-eyed.

Don’t know. Take him farther away, there’s another guy in there. Dal passed him the man and turned back to the blaze without waiting to see if his instructions would be followed.

Mister, no, yelled the farmer. The truck is going to blow.

He was right. Too much gas had been spilled, the smoke was getting blacker and it was only a matter of time. Minutes, maybe even seconds. Still, he had to try. He’d be damned if anyone else was going to die on his watch.

Ducking his head against the smoke, he started back in. The farmer grabbed his arm and tried to drag Dal back.

It’s going to blow, he yelled, pulling him back. It’s too late.

Dal wrenched his arm from him and turned back to the fire. The man grabbed at his shoulder, floundering for his arm in the smoke. It cleared long enough for Dal to make out his face. It was a mask of fear. And concern. Dal paused a second, then punched him in the nose as hard as he could. As he staggered backward, Dal turned and ran toward the truck.

Too late he heard the pop of tires exploding; the escape of air fanned the flames higher into the night air. He heard a large whoosh, a dull crack, and a burst of pressure against his chest as his body was thrown back by the blast. He hit the ground, hard, air knocked out of him. Struggling to get a breath, he rolled to his side. The truck driver’s body lay crumpled on the ground beside him. His eyes were glassy, head thrown back. An ugly, open gash almost severed his head from his neck. His baby blue ranchero shirt was black with blood.

Dal’s breath hitched in his throat, he lifted himself on one elbow, and wretched. Mucus and fluid from his stomach puddled on the rocky ground. He sensed someone standing above him. The man he’d punched leaned down to him, hands on his thighs. Jutting his chin toward the corpse, he put his fingers up to his lips and shook his head. Dal slipped into blackness.

CHAPTER 3

T his guy’s still alive. Dal heard the words from somewhere above him. He hoped to God they were talking about him. Fingers pressed against his neck, checking his pulse. Yeah, he’s good.

Dal coughed, the acrid taste of smoke burning his tongue. He tried to lift his head. It weighed a fucking ton.

Whoa, easy there amigo, came the disembodied voice.

Dal squeezed his eyes shut, then open again. Couldn’t see a damn thing. He’d heard about this - how the flash of the blast could cause temporary blindness. It was temporary, right? He reached out a hand toward the arm that held him down.

I can’t see. It’s temporary, right?

Uh, yeah. The hesitant response didn’t comfort him. Tell you what, we’re gonna wrap you up and get you into town. The man kept his hand on Dal’s shoulder. Let’s get this guy to the hospital.

Hang on. Footsteps crunched across the stones toward them and stopped beside him. He seemed so close Dal figured he could probably reach out and grab the man’s leg. What the hell was this guy thinking, running into a burning truck?

Dal grabbed his shin. I’m a firefighter, he croaked.

What? What’s he trying to say, Beto?

Don’t know. He’s barely conscious. Beto wedged his hands under his torso. "Amigo, we’re going to put you on the stretcher and get you into town." Every nerve in Dal’s body screamed in protest as the two EMTs slid him onto the waiting stretcher.

Sheesh, that’s an ugly flash burn, he heard Beto’s friend say.

Come on, Beto said, let’s get him on board. I don’t want to hang around here longer than necessary.

Yeah, freakin’ mess. The guy in the truck is a pile of dust and bones and this guy … Dal figured he was talking about the man he’d pulled out. The poor bastard with the slit throat. He wanted to ask what happened to the guy who had helped him, but figured he was long gone.

This is cartel shit for sure, Beto said. Let’s get the fuck out of here. They pushed Dal into the bus and strapped the stretcher down. A sense of deja vu rushed over him. The driver navigated slowly over the rutted road, each bump bringing him painfully back to consciousness when he wanted only to sink into oblivion.

We could move a little faster, came the voice from the passenger seat.

We’re going out of here with the lights off. We’ll make time once we hit the main road. Nobody sees us, we might get out of this alive.

CHAPTER 4

Emily groaned and reached for her newly issued phone buzzing on the nightstand. She squinted at the screen. Her new boss. Shit. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she hit the green Answer button and cleared her throat. Emily Patrick, she said. Should she also say American Embassy? Was she expected to be on call at … what time was it anyway?

Emily, it’s Jack, came her boss’s voice, raspy with a hint of sleep. Whatever it was had woken him, too.

Yes, sir, she said, how can I help you, sir?

You don’t have to be so formal outside the office, Em. I mean, I’m still your dad’s best friend and we’ve known each other a long time.

Uh, okay. What time is it Jack?

Just before midnight. Look, I need you to take a drive down to Las Flores.

In Mexico?

That’s the one.

She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep. Tonight?

Right now. How soon can you be ready?

She shook her head again, glancing around her tiny apartment and wondered if she’d need to pack anything. Uh, half an hour?

Not soon enough. Pull on some clothes and get on the road. I’ll be in touch with details later.

Is this for real, Jack?

Look, an American citizen was in an accident down there tonight. He’s in the hospital and I need someone with him. I realize you’ve only been on the job one day, but—

I’m on it, Jack, she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The border should be quiet this late. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.

Good.

What do I need to know?

His name is Sandal Steeves, he was in some kind of explosion and he’s in the emergency department in Las Flores. Get down there, make sure they’re taking good care of him, wait to hear from me.

Got it. She snagged the black jeans she’d abandoned in the easy chair when she’d tumbled into bed barely an hour before. She’d fallen asleep fast and hard. Her first day at the Embassy had been a whirlwind of introductions and briefings. Cartons of half-eaten Chinese take-out littered the coffee table as she searched for her personal cell in the dim light of her bedside lamp. Jack…

Yes?

Thanks for putting your confidence in me.

You’ve got the creds, girl. Now, get on the road. He hung up and she stuffed the phone into her back pocket before pulling on socks she’d left discarded near the TV. Returning to the closet, she rummaged for a clean t-shirt, pulled a gray hoodie on over it and stepped into the bathroom where she scrubbed her hands over her face and tied her long brown hair into a pony tail. Good enough.

On her way out the door, she turned to snag her toothbrush off the counter and threw it into a small black leather backpack along with a couple of granola bars which she grabbed from the ever-present box on what served as her kitchen counter. Before stepping into the night, she took one last look around her crowded, untidy studio apartment and shrugged. With this job, she’d make enough money to get a decent place to live.

Her car, a nondescript white Toyota sedan that looked like every other damn white four-door sedan on the road, was parked at the end of the lot. She sprinted over, threw her pack in the front passenger seat and turned left out of the lot toward the freeway.

This late on a week night, there weren’t many people moving about which made getting to the border easier. Inside of twenty minutes, the I-5 spit her out at the border and she was inching toward the control booth. One of the things she’d done this morning, as part of a mountain of other administrative forms, was fill out an application for a Nexus pass so she could pass quickly and without hindrance back and forth. Jack had said she’d often be in Tijuana and the Baja, but she wouldn’t have guessed she’d be there in the twelve hours that followed.

Tijuana was one of the busiest border crossings in the world, and a normal day could see waits up to three hours. Thank God things were moving a little more quickly tonight. When she pulled alongside the booth, the customs official sidled up to her window.

Where you going this late at night, Miss?

Down to Las Flores to see a friend in the hospital. She passed him her identification and he glanced down at the photo then back at her.

Pretty late to be driving down that coast road on your own, he said. You’re not nervous about it?

Great, well I wasn’t nervous about it. I’ll be fine, she replied, wishing he’d just let her go. I know the road well.

All right. Have a safe drive, miss.

She pulled away slowly, eye on the side-view mirror. Something about crossing the border always made her nervous and a little guilty. Like she’d done something, even when she hadn’t. Probably stemmed from her mis-spent youth running back and forth to Tijuana so they could drink under-age.

Fortunately, her cross-border drinking trips meant she did know her way around the city. Still, she kept her wits about her and focused on getting farther down the highway and into the outskirts as quickly as possible. Knowing your way around wasn’t the same as being invincible and Tijuana could be a scary place after dark.

Plugging her iPod into the dash, she chose a playlist and settled back in her seat. She was fully awake now and wondered about the man she was going to babysit. Who was he? What kind of explosion had he been in? It was 1:00 on the dot and the highway was mostly deserted. She should be in Las Flores before three. She’d have to curb her curiosity until then.

CHAPTER 5

The gurney clattered down the hall. Overhead, lights blasted, shadows leaned in, a voice echoed from far away. His eyelids were glued together. He fought to open them but it exhausted him and he slid back into darkness.

He started awake as they shifted him from the gurney into a bed. His body screamed in pain. No, that was his voice. He barely recognized it. Air cut through his throat like ground glass.

A shadow hovered over him, muffled sounds reminiscent of voices.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Pain seared through him. He imagined floating above the bed, watching himself lie there, prone, surrounded by medical staff. His face was blistered and red, his hair charred.

What is your name, sir?

Is there anyone you want us to call, sir?

His mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Get that shot ready, the doctor barked.

Right away, doctor. A quick, sharp prick in his arm broke through the burning in his face, the furnace in his lungs. His breathing eased, his limbs turned liquid, he had the impression of falling backward, the voices and light around him receding. Morphine. He struggled to speak. No morphine. Oh God, no more morphine. Hands fluttered over his chest, adjusted blankets, from far away a door thudded closed.

He clutched at consciousness, preferring pain to the mental horror. Coming untethered from the physical world around him, he tumbled down the rabbit hole into the endlessly looping memories.

He stood in the stairwell, heat bouncing off the concrete walls in waves. The station’s newest recruit was half a flight ahead of him, hand on the door. In slow motion, exaggerated by his mask and breathing gear, Dal shook his head. Jessie opened the door. The fire roared into the empty space, engulfed him and blasted him backward over the railing. Dal reached for him as he fell, but Jessie dropped like a stone, banging through the stairwell shaft like a pin-ball for two stories until his body wedged between the rails on the edge of a landing.

As he turned to go downstairs, a baby’s cry rang through the air. Ducking his head, he charged through the wall of flames at the opening and called out. Fire licked at his legs, thick black smoke surrounded him. He crouched and moved forward in the direction of the cries, keeping the wall within his reach at all times. Like a sixth sense, he didn’t have to touch it - although he did, periodically, just to assure himself - mostly he felt it, like an electrical field buzzing in his shoulder. The buzzing stopped. He reached out to an open doorway on his right. The cries grew louder.

The smoke in the hall was lighter, he was moving away from the center of the fire. Standing, he hurried forward. At the end of the hall, a beam above him collapsed raining sparks and burning debris down around him. He jumped back and pressed his radio. Captain, I’ve got a kid here on the 10th floor. Man down in the stairwell, near the 7th.

You’re alone Steeves? Captain Rook’s voice barked through the radio. Didn’t I tell you to stay with your crew?

Captain, you need to get someone up to Jessie, he’s in bad shape.

I can try to get Bates over there, but Steeves … we’re running out of men and you are running out of options. I need you to back out. That whole floor is about to go.

Down the hall, the cry came again. Can’t do that Captain. There’s some debris here, the rafters are burning, but I’m going in.

Hang on Steeves.

Dal picked his way forward, swinging his axe into the rafter barring his way.

Steeves, when you get through to the end, hang a right. That hallway will lead you to a fire escape on the north corner.

Roger that, Captain. His eyes watered as he followed the wall against his right shoulder. The wails grew louder as he came upon another open doorway. He followed the door in and edged his way around the room. Stumbling into a crib, he reached down, patting the surface until he found the baby. Murmuring to the child, he unzipped his jacket, lifted the bundle and pressed the infant to his chest, nestling its head in the small pocket of air he’d created. Turning back to the door, he exited the room and followed the hall to the right.

Steeves?

Got him, Cap.

We’re set up for you, Steeves. Make your way to the exit.

An uncharacteristic undertone ran through the Captain’s voice. He checked behind him, flames licked up the walls. The fire was burning hotter. All it would take was a rush of air and it would all be over. He