Mile High

by Ophelia Bell

  “It’s not fair, you’re faster!” I complain.

  “All right, sore loser,” he calls from several yards away. “I’ll let you get a few in for free.” He stands still, legs wide and arms outstretched, making himself a larger target.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I barely register a snowball sailing in, smacking him square on the side of the head. His eyes go wide and he whips around. Wyatt is ready with a second snowball and lets loose. That one splats against the center of Mason’s chest.

  “You let your guard down, brother!” Wyatt calls. “You should know better!”

  Mason dodges the next one, bending down to scoop up more snow as he runs. Meanwhile, I craft another, but this time I aim it at Wyatt while he isn’t looking. Nina cries out a warning as she jogs in from the path.

  “I’ve got your back!” I call to Mason as I let loose, hitting Wyatt in the back of the head.

  Mason hoots. “Yeah, baby! Good arm! Who let his guard down now, shitbird?”

  Then Nina stops beside Wyatt, laughing as she squats down to craft more ammo. I sprint over to Mason, using him as a human shield just as Nina lets fly.

  “We can take ‘em,” he says over his shoulder. “Just follow my lead. See that tree? You go there. I’ll take the park bench. They’ve got the high ground, but there’s no cover. Build an arsenal, and on my word, nail ‘em. Got it? Now go! I’ll cover you.”

  “Aye, aye, captain!” I wait a beat until he winds up to throw, then run for it. Behind the tree, I scrabble in the snow, crafting snowballs as fast as I can until I have a nice little pile. Snow cakes onto my kneecaps, cracking when I move to peer around the tree, waiting for his signal.

  Mason is behind the bench and peeks up, only to have to dodge a snowball from Nina that barely misses the crown of his head. He glances back at me, then at them, his eyes lit up with excitement and devious fun.

  The other two are crouched in wait behind a picnic table, just uphill from the bench Mason uses for cover. Both of them wait for him to reveal himself again, but neither one is paying attention to the tree I’m hiding behind.

  Then he grins at me, holding his hand behind his back, three fingers stretched out, then two, then one. I grab two snowballs and ready myself. When he yells, “Fire!” I lunge out, aiming first at Wyatt.

  Mason jumps out at the same time, distracting them both and taking fire, but it only takes me two solid hits that strike true in the center of their chests while the pair of them are focused on him.

  “Woohoo! We win!” I yell, charging up the slope to Mason, who high-fives me, then hauls me up into a spinning embrace.

  But when he lets me down, we’re barraged by snowballs from our laughing friends and our fight devolves into chaos. We fend off blasts of snow, throwing back more as fast as we can, cursing and laughing in equal measure.

  I’m elated and energized, my attention wholly occupied with avoiding Nina’s attempts at shoving snow down my pants. The loud crack doesn’t quite register for a second.

  Mason throws me to the ground with a yell, his heavy body covering me. The scent of damp wool fills my nose from his jacket pressed against my face. An icy chill unrelated to the snow shoots up my spine, a rush of adrenaline following instantly.

  Someone screams, and a deep accented voice yells, “You don’t fuck with Amador, asshole!” as another crack sounds.

  Oh my god, were those gunshots? Another scream galvanizes me into action. I smack at Mason’s shoulders. “Let me up! Someone might be hit!”

  He growls down at me, his gray eyes wild as he takes in my face, assessing my condition. A second later he lurches up and sprints away, disappearing like the wind. Two unfamiliar men in dark winter coats with earpieces in go charging past, guns in hand and I stare after them, blinking in shock. Mason’s several paces ahead of the other two, who look like agents, chasing another pair of figures who grow smaller in the distance. Mason’s longer strides have him closing the distance fast.

  “What the hell just happened?” My voice is shaky, but I tamp down the fear just as I do during my shifts in the pit.

  “Callie!” It’s Nina’s panicked voice that tears my attention away from the chase. She’s on her knees in the snow, pressing her hands against Wyatt’s chest where he lies on his back, eyes wide and breathing ragged. Her light blue gloves are stained dark with his blood.

  Rushing to his other side, I push her hands away. “Let me see.”

  I tear open his layers to find the wound, high up in the fleshy part of his shoulder, just above his right armpit. I sigh in relief. “It’s not close to anything vital. Here, keep pressure on it and I’ll call 911.” I yank off my scarf and roll it up, pressing the soft weave to the wound. Nina takes over, tears streaming down her face.

  “Nina, I promise, he’ll be okay.”

  I pull out my phone and dial, abstractly aware of a handful of bystanders gawking at us. As I relay the nature of the emergency, I stare off in the direction of the chase, stomach doing constant flips over whether I should worry about Mason too.

  When I’m done with the call, I kneel down beside Wyatt again. “They’re on their way. Try to stay calm.”

  He gives me a pained smile, but doesn’t seem as terrified as he was a few moments ago. “I’m good. Thank you.”

  After a second’s hesitation, I ask, “They were after him, weren’t they? Is he going to be okay?”

  Wyatt gives a hoarse laugh and nods. “There’s a price on his head. It’s why we have a detail on him. Fucker went after them, didn’t he?” When I nod, he grabs my hand and squeezes. “He’s a tough bastard. He can take care of himself. Plus he has backup.”

  I can’t help but give a wry chuckle. “I know exactly how tough he is. I was sure the jerk died in LA three years ago. I didn’t even know it was him until I saw his scars and tattoo.”

  Wyatt’s eyes widen. “No shit. You’re that doctor?”

  Nina’s staring at me with a perplexed expression. “He’s that patient?” They both look at each other and laugh.

  “He talked about me?” I ask in utter disbelief. That he’d thought about me enough to tell someone else is a surprise.

  “You haunted his dreams. I never believed in fate, but you two might make me rethink the whole concept.”

  Nina stares down at him, her face a mix of fear and adoration. “I believe in fate,” she says, her smile hesitant, but there all the same.

  He grips her upper arm and pulls her down close. They kiss, then rest their foreheads together in a tender, private exchange that makes me feel like an interloper. Still, I can’t help but smile at how sweet they are together now, in a moment of pure turmoil, drenched in blood, overwhelmed by fear and pain. It’s definitely a side of Nina I rarely, if ever, see.

  As the paramedics arrive and put Wyatt on a gurney to take to the hospital, I stare into the distance again, chewing on the inside of my mouth in dread over all the things that might have happened to Mason at the end of that chase. Those men wanted him dead, and managed to get a bullet into Wyatt by accident. The four of us were in a wild tornado of snowball throwing at the time, but the indiscriminate way they chose to shoot tells me they’re not afraid of trying again, regardless of where they wind up.

  I’m so intent on staring in the direction Mason went, I don’t even notice when he slips up behind me a moment later and asks in a husky tone, “Are you okay, Doc?”

  I whirl and launch myself into his arms, no longer able to bury the emotional morass churning inside me since he disappeared. Tears spring forth first, then a sob. He holds me so tight it hurts, but I don’t care. When I finally regain control a moment later, I pull back and punch his shoulders with both fists.

  “Goddamn you! I was terrified you’d get shot too!”

  “I’m a hard man to keep down, baby,” he says, his smile a sly tilt even though his eyes are cold steel as they look me over. Then he winces and looks toward the ambulance that drove all the way down into the park to retrieve Wyatt. “How bad is
it?”

  “It’s a flesh wound. He’ll be fine, but probably won’t be able to use his right arm for a while.”

  His jaw clenches and his eyes go dark. “The fuckers were after me. He got caught in the middle. This shouldn’t have fucking happened. Not again.”

  His knuckles crack, and I glance down to see fresh scuffs and bruises on his clenched fists, plus a fair amount of blood that I doubt belongs to him. I take one hand, forcing him to open his fingers, then thread mine through and squeeze tight.

  “It wasn’t your fault. Either time.”

  He swallows hard, but his shoulders settle and he drops his head. “Knowing that doesn’t stop the what ifs.” Then he spears me with a hard look. “This isn’t over, either. You ought to stay clear in case Delgado sends more men to kill me. I should have never even come to you. Being near me is just too fucking risky.”

  “Delgado? Didn’t they say Amador was who sent them?”

  He snorts. “Delgado’s the one who has it out for me. His boss doesn’t even know me. It has to be Delgado siccing these assholes on me to try to finish the job he keeps failing at. This will be his third try, believe it or not.”

  I wince, recalling his tale of the brutal thug who was responsible for sending him into the ER the day I first laid eyes on him. “I really wish you hadn’t told me that. Did you at least catch the two you were chasing?”

  “Yeah, they’re cuffed up in the parking lot back there.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder toward the lot half a block down Little Raven Street. “And since Booth’s out of commission, I need to head down to HQ to do whatever paperwork they need done. I doubt they’ll let me interrogate them, though.”

  Nina trots up then and waves to catch my attention. “I’m going with him to the hospital. Are you guys coming?”

  I glance between them and shake my head. “I’m going with Mason to the DEA Division office. We’ll come to you after, okay? Just text me where.” I release Mason long enough to give my friend a tight hug, then watch as she disappears into the ambulance and it makes a slow crawl out of the park and onto the street.

  “You should go home,” he says.

  “Not a chance. I was a witness, right? I’m going with you. Besides, if you caught those guys, it’ll take time before their boss finds out. DEA Headquarters is probably the safest place to be.” Even if it will hurt to set foot within those walls again for the first time since Chris died.

  Mason’s knuckles crack when he clenches his fists and I sense an argument coming. “Callie . . .”

  I cross my arms and stare him down. In a voice tight with anger, I say, “I’m not leaving your side until I have to fly back to LA. The last time I let you out of my sight after a shooting, you died.” The fact that he didn’t really die is beside the point.

  He sighs, but relents and reaches out a hand, squeezing gently when I take it and we start toward the car. Despite his objections, all I sense from him is relief, and I’m glad I didn’t back down.

  25

  Mason

  We climb into the back seat of the black sedan driven by two of the agents on my detail. Another car carrying Gustavo’s pair of lackeys is already ahead of us, on its way to DEA headquarters.

  It still takes several minutes of riding in silence for the urge to argue with her abates. I want Callie as far away from me as possible. I was reckless; she could’ve been shot. It could’ve been so much worse, and there’s no guarantee it won’t get worse still before this is done.

  When she squeezes my hand again and peers over at me with a soft smile, the gesture infuses me with the first glimmer of calm I’ve had since I caught sight of the first man coming at us with a gun. After ensuring she was whole, I went after both men at a dead run, chasing them out of the park and down along the riverbank until they wound up cornered against a locked culvert grate.

  The two agents trailing after me grabbed one man while I tackled the other, nailing him with my fists until one of the agents had to pull me off. But not before he revealed how much Gustavo was willing to pay the man who delivered my head. Enough that they wouldn’t stop coming unless I did something about it soon.

  I hold tight to Callie’s hand and lift it to my lips, kissing the soft skin on the ridge of her knuckles. When I pull back, I see the streaks of blood on her fingers and grimace.

  “I need this to be over before anyone else gets hurt,” I say. “It could be you next, Callie. I can’t deal with it if it’s you.”

  “What if it’s you?” she asks in a shrill voice. “What if we part ways and they get you? Did you think about what that would do to me? I didn’t even know you the first time and I was a headcase for weeks. Losing you after this weekend would devastate me.”

  The rawness of her voice is like a punch in the gut. It never occurred to me what the people I left behind had gone through when they believed I died. Only a few knew I wasn’t really dead, but it was enough for me to pretend it wasn’t real for everyone else. But the fact is I’m not invincible. I managed to survive before, but I may not be that lucky next time.

  The idea of leaving her to deal with that rocks me so far off my axis I nearly break. I haul her close and wrap both arms around her, shoving her fleece hat off to bury my face against her messy hair. “I’ll do my best not to let that happen, but you have to trust me. I’m a survivor.”

  She sniffles and nods, then heaves a long breath and pulls away, looking into my eyes. Her pale blue ones are glassy, and she forces a small smile. “I am aware. I actually saw the damage that bullet did to your insides. It wouldn’t have been a hard sell to believe you died three years ago if I hadn’t looked into your eyes when you came out of surgery. You didn’t look like a man with one foot in the grave.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “What did I look like?”

  Softly, she snorts. “Like a guy hoping to get lucky. I liked that brash attitude in the face of death. I like everything that goes along with it, now that I know you better.”

  “Well, the feeling’s mutual. And in the interest of complete honesty, I’d have been happy with a date. I just liked seeing your smile. The nurses Flores set me up with were nowhere near as cute, and that doctor . . .” I whistle, recalling the terse commands of the surgeon who’d overseen my recovery. “Dr. Yao needs to work on his bedside manner, is all I’m saying.”

  “What? Dr. Yao, as in my Dr. Yao was with you? That bastard knew?” She stares at me, open-mouthed.

  I curse inwardly when I realize I probably outed the guy as being in Flores’ pocket, which he wouldn’t want as general knowledge. “Yeah. Please don’t repeat that.”

  “Oh, trust me, everyone knows his bedside manner sucks, but he’s a master in the OR. I learned everything I know from him.” She glances toward the front of the car, then back at me and drops her voice to a whisper. “But I had no idea he worked for Arturo Flores. It explains so much.”

  The car pulls down a long drive, then into a parking spot in front of a huge, boxy building fronted by glass that reflects the bright, snowy landscape. A row of cage-like beams spans the roof and cut at ninety degrees down the far side like an enormous, angular ribcage. It looks only slightly less ominous in daylight than it did when Booth brought me a couple nights ago to arrange the detail.

  I climb out just as our driver slips the car into park, reaching in to help Callie out behind me. I wince at a vague cascade of pain in my back and side. The guy got a few good punches in, but he was smaller than me, so I had the upper hand within seconds.

  Callie casts a concerned look my way. “I’m checking you over thoroughly when we get home. You look like you’re in pain.”

  “It’s nothing. I think he just bruised a rib or something.” My response is distracted as I follow the two agents into the building. I’ve only been to this office the one time, and never carried out any of the admin work required of an agent. Booth was always the one who handled that side of things.

  Callie seems preoccupied when we pass through the doors and check in
with a receptionist, then step into the elevator. I shove my hands in my pockets, then pull them out again, crack my knuckles, and huff out a breath in a last-ditch attempt to settle my frayed nerves.

  She grabs hold of one fidgeting hand after a moment and squeezes tight. “You okay?”

  “Ah, just a little out of my element here. I never trained for the desk work.”

  “You’ve got this,” she says as the elevator doors open and we step out. “Special Agent Dawson is pretty easygoing. She’ll help you figure things out.”

  I frown at her. “You know the Special Agent in Charge?”

  Her cheeks turn a faint pink and she darts a look across the open bull-pen-style layout of the floor the agents brought us to, right toward the boss’s office. Dawson wasn’t here the other night, so I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting her then. “Yeah. I’d sort of forgotten until we walked in that my family’s acquainted with some of the folks here.”

  My gears click into place, and it occurs to me that if Katherine Longo was DEA Administrator, then it stands to reason she started her career lower down the same ladder. I just nod and let out a soft snort of interest, more curious that Callie still hasn’t divulged the fact that she’s the senator’s daughter. And here we were patting ourselves on the backs for being so open and honest.

  “Is your being here going to help or hurt with the local brass?” I ask cautiously.

  She grimaces. “I may have dated Agent Dawson’s son in high school.”

  I chuff and shake my head. “Let me guess: you broke his heart.”

  “Hey, I was every bit as serious about my career then as I am now. He was just much less . . . ambitious. Regardless, it might be best if I occupy myself for a bit.” She raises her hands, still streaked with remnants of Booth’s blood. “I’m going to go wash up first. If they want me to give a statement, I’ll be in the lobby downstairs.”

  She starts to turn, and I’m gripped with an irrational fear of seeing her go. I grab her hand and tug her back to me, backing into a stairwell alcove with her held close. I drop my lips to hers and the anxious tension eases with the feel of her mouth under mine.