“Easy boy,” Luther crooned, backing slowly toward the water.
The dog growled low in its throat.
“Hold it right there!” The voice came out of nowhere, echoing off the high ceiling. Beyond the watchdog, an elderly man stepped out of the shadows bearing a shotgun that was aimed at Luther’s chest. “Who the hell do you think you are trespassin’ on private property?”
The man wore a security officer’s uniform. Turning themselves over to him was not an option. Luther nudged Westy’s arm, signaling for them to get the hell out. They both leaped into the water, jamming their mouthpieces into their mouths as they sank as deep as possible.
A sudden explosion coincided with a burning sensation in Luther’s back, near his right shoulder blade. He flinched from it, twisting down and away, as he’d been trained to do to avoid taking another bullet. Two more pellets strafed the water close by. He glanced at Westy, relieved to see the chief beside him, unhurt. He reached for Luther, tugging him in the direction they needed to go.
A barnacled column scraped the right side of Luther’s face as he veered too close to it. He fumbled to don the mask that was drifting off his head.
He’d been shot. He couldn’t let the realization slow him down, but they’d had to leave their flippers behind, making their exit that much slower. Westy kept one hand on the strap of Luther’s rebreather and propelled him forward, kicking hard for the both of them. Luther could see blood forming around him in a neon-green cloud.
By the time they reached the opposite shore, he felt too weak to slog through the mud. Westy propped a shoulder under him, urging him through it.
“My fault, sir,” he panted. “I assumed the place was locked down at night. Didn’t do my homework.”
“We got what we needed,” Luther answered, willing away the pain that radiated from his shoulder and down his spine. “We need to leave before the police get on it.”
“Roger that.”
He was about to give more detailed suggestions when a twig snapped ahead of them. Both men froze, peering into the inky darkness, expecting the worst.
“Luther? Westy?” A woman’s voice sang out softly over the patter of rain.
It was Hannah. The men breathed a sigh of relief and moved in her direction, staying behind the trees. “Here,” Westy called. “What are you doing outside?” he demanded.
Gee, that was the same question Luther had.
“I thought I heard a gunshot. What happened?”
“Lieutenant’s been hit. It doesn’t look too bad, but we need to leave now—”
“Luther!” And there she was, her spectacles flashing in the dark, her hands touching him lightly. “Where were you hit? Oh, your face is bleeding.”
“It’s just a cut.”
“We need to keep moving,” Westy reminded them.
Hannah went to prop herself under Luther’s other arm. “We’re all set. I pushed the car to the head of the driveway.”
They looked at her for a stunned second. “You what?” Luther said.
“You’re out of control, ma’am,” Westy said with a chuckle.
Hannah’s forethought would keep their departure from being overheard. Luther should have thought of it himself.
Right now it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. Every step jarred his shoulder. He leaned on his companions, counting on them to guide him through the pine trees to their vehicle. Over their laboring breaths came the wail of sirens as police presumably raced to the warehouse, hailed by the ancient night watchman.
Sabena’s finest would know right away who was behind the break-in. It wouldn’t take long for the flippers to be found. To protect their dirty secret, the police would do whatever it took to keep the interlopers from getting away.
Hannah opened the passenger door and dove into the back. Westy lowered Luther into the passenger seat. It hurt more to sit in the low-slung car than it did to stand. Luther swallowed a moan and put his hands over his face.
“Find a shirt,” Westy told Hannah. “Put pressure on his back here.”
As Hannah hunted for a clean shirt, Westy jumped into the driver’s side and was pulling them away before he’d even shut his door.
“This isn’t the way we came in,” Hannah said from the back as Westy hung a left. At the same time, she put pressure over the place where Luther had been shot and he almost went through the roof.
Shit, shit, shit! Luther forced his eyes back open, using willpower to thrust aside the pain. He saw Westy hand a map to Hannah.
“I’m taking a back way out. See if you can find a naval installation within an hour from here. They’ll expect us to head south toward Virginia Beach. Find something to the north.”
Westy was all business when the going got tough. He accelerated, sending them screaming along a wooded road at a speed that made Luther long for his seat belt. The road was slick with the rain that had finally ceased, just like the night he’d driven into the scrub oaks in his Lamborghini.
Hannah must have read his mind. “Here, hon.” She leaned over him, breasts brushing his shoulder as she drew the seat belt harness across his chest. With a grunt, she locked it into place.
Hon? “Thank you.”
There wasn’t a single other vehicle on the road, but there was plenty of wildlife, including a family of deer grazing at the roadside and a possum waddling straight into their path.
Westy swerved expertly and missed it. He slowed as they approached an intersection and came to a stop, his car idling loudly. Deserted roads trailed into darkness in three different directions. “I have no idea where we are,” he admitted. “Let me see that map.”
“We’re here,” Hannah said, handing it to him and pointing. “The only way out of the area will take us east about thirty miles. If we’re going to travel in that direction, we might as well haul it to Patuxent River Naval Air Station. It’s a ways away, but they’ll never think to look for us in that direction.”
Westy studied the map for a second, no doubt memorizing the route. “Pax River it is,” he determined. “Hold tight,” he said, extinguishing the light.
Luther braced himself for takeoff. His shoulder blade throbbed with every heartbeat. He’d started to shiver, despite the wet suit that was supposed to prevent hypothermia. He shifted, trying in vain to get comfortable.
Hannah peered under the shirt that stanched his wound. “It isn’t bleeding too badly,” she told him. “You’ll make it another forty-five minutes or so, right?”
She sounded anxious.
“I’m fine,” he lied. To help combat the pain he reminded himself that they had what they needed to prove Lovitt’s guilt. Surely it would undermine his testimony against Jaguar.
They needed to inform Valentino right away. If he thought they’d wait for him to arrest the Individual, he was crazy. They needed to get these pictures to the NCIS so that Lovitt could be made to answer for his crimes.
With painstaking movements, Luther flipped open Westy’s glove compartment to find his cell phone. They were still in a rural area, and the signal strength was paltry, but he held down the 7 all the same to speed-dial Valentino, and—hallelujah—the call went through.
“Valentino.” The agent sounded wide awake, even at this ungodly hour.
“You’re back,” said Luther. “I hope you found what you were looking for.”
“Who’s this?” the agent asked.
“Luther Lindstrom.”
“You sound different.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been shot. We found weapons in a warehouse in Sabena, and we took pictures.”
He’d managed to shock Valentino into silence. “Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
“I think so. When are you going to arrest the Individual? I want to turn these pictures over to NCIS.”
“Soon,” Valentino promised. “In the meantime, I could use a duplicate set. Where are you?” he asked.
“North of Sabena. We’re heading to Pax River. There’s a hos
pital on the base.”
“I’ll meet you there,” said Valentino.
“Yes, sir. Out.” Luther dropped his arm, hoping the FBI would support them in something they should have handled all along. Pain shot down his spine, making him moan.
He sensed Westy’s look of concern. “We’ll be there soon, sir. Oh, fuck, maybe not. There’s a cop behind us.”
The pressure on his shoulder eased as Hannah turned to assess the situation. Luther used the passenger side mirror to see behind them. Sure enough, there was a trooper gaining on them, blue lights flashing.
“What’s our COA, sir?” Westy queried.
Luther cursed his injury. If he could hold a gun and angle himself out the window, he’d opt for shooting out the cop’s tires. “Keep driving,” he said.
“I’ll get rid of him,” Hannah volunteered, her tone confident. “Westy, where’s your gun?”
“Can you shoot the tires?” Westy asked, sounding hopeful.
“No problem.”
“Just a second,” Luther interrupted. “We don’t need any casualties on our hands.”
“You promised I could help the next time,” Hannah reminded him. “Where’s the gun?”
“In my duffel bag. Zipper on the right side,” Westy said.
She needed to free the hand that was putting pressure on Luther’s wound. “Lean back,” she ordered him, wedging the cloth between him and the seat. Oh, Jesus God in heaven that hurt!
Through the ringing in his ears, Luther heard her thumping around in the back, wrestling with their luggage. “Got it.” She slid the magazine out of Westy’s SIG and checked the chamber for a round. “Can you open the hatch from the inside?” she asked.
“Permission, sir?” Westy fell back on protocol.
“Granted,” Luther growled with great reluctance. “Whatever you do, don’t miss!” he begged. If she killed a state trooper, he could kiss his career good-bye.
“I won’t,” Hannah promised.
Westy popped the hatch. Hannah had to push it open, battling the force of the wind. “Slow down!” she shouted as a cold, wet breeze rushed into the vehicle, chilling Luther to the bone. “Bring it down to thirty-five and hold it steady.”
Westy obliged, easing off the accelerator. Luther watched through the passenger side mirror, his heart in his throat as the blue lights bore down on them. No siren, he noted. The officer didn’t want to alarm them, wanted to make it look like he was citing them for speeding.
The car drew closer, close enough for Luther to note its white paint. He squinted at the logo on the hood, doing his best to see it through the haze of pain that clouded his vision. “Sabena Police,” he gritted.
“Shoot,” Westy instructed. He’d slowed down to thirty-five, but the car behind them was doing at least seventy. The driver obviously intended to ram them. “He wants to hit us!”
Just as Westy shifted a foot toward the accelerator, his SIG exploded. The sound of squealing rubber assured Luther that Hannah had found her mark. She fired again, filling the car with the smell of cordite.
In the mirror, Luther watched the pursuing vehicle swerve out of control. Spinning up gravel, it fishtailed wildly before veering into the drainage ditch. The driver would probably be fine.
Westy floored the gas pedal, picking up speed. “Damn good shooting!” he praised. “How’d you like that, sir?” he asked, grinning like a madman. The hatch slammed shut under the force of the wind.
“Couldn’t have done better myself,” Luther acknowledged. The pain seemed suddenly to have magnified, making it impossible to keep his eyes open. It was all he could do not to howl like a baby. He heard himself moan.
Suddenly Hannah was close to him, looping one arm across his chest in a comforting embrace. He thought about yesterday morning, when she’d reached for him so enthusiastically. He wished he’d taken her up on the invitation. At least he’d have the memory of that pleasure to take his mind off the pain.
Dizziness catapulted through him, dragging darkness in around him. “I’m going to pass out,” he warned them.
Hannah reacted immediately, pressing a lever to tip his seat backward. Instead of smashing his nose into the dashboard, he slumped back into her lap.
Chapter Eleven
Patuxent River Naval Air Station
26 September ~ 11:03 EST
“Welcome back, Lieutenant.”
Luther pried his sticky eyelids open. He found himself in what appeared to be a hospital recovery room. The sterile space was crammed with IVs, tubes, and medical implements bleeping and beeping away. In fact, one of the IVs dripped into his own left hand. His right arm was bound to his chest. He couldn’t feel any pain, so he supposed he was doing fine.
“I’m Rexanne,” said the large black woman checking his pulse. She had jowls like a pit bull’s and hair growing on her chin. He wondered where Hannah was.
“How are you feeling?” she asked in a no-nonsense tone.
He tried to sit up. He couldn’t afford to loiter here.
“Oh, no. Unh-uh!” Rexanne halted his ascent with a man-sized hand. “You’re not going anywhere just yet. Give yourself a day or so.”
“I need to check out,” Luther insisted. Jaguar’s Article 32 hearing was tomorrow.
Rex raised penciled-in eyebrows at him. “Those pellets may not have struck any vital organs, but you have twenty-two stitches that will tear right open if you move too fast. I’ve dealt with your kind before,” she warned him, her dark eyes bulging. “Don’t you even think about leaving this hospital until the commander gives the all-clear.”
Luther closed his eyes and waited for her to go away.
“Of course, you’ll have to explain how you got shot,” Rex added archly. “As soon as you’re up to it, an officer from Patient Safety will be in to see you.”
Luther cracked his eyes open. “Where’s my chief and the girl that was with him?” He didn’t like having Hannah out of his sight any longer than necessary.
“We only let family into Post-Op,” the nurse informed him. “They’re waitin’ in the room we’ve set up for you.”
“What’ll it take to get me out of here?” he asked testily.
To his horror, Rexanne pursed her lips in a sly, considering manner. “I’ll let the commander know you’re feeling better,” she said, jotting down his pulse. She moved away at last, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
What seemed an eternity later, Nurse Rex wheeled him down the hallway toward a room. This military facility, unlike the one near home, had yet to be renovated. It still touted hanging halogen lights and the infamous dark green tiles that had been put into every square foot of government-owned property fifty years ago.
The nurse pivoted his gurney expertly through an open door. He was relieved to see Westy conked out in the lounge chair. Hannah was sleeping on his bed.
She sat up at his entrance, too groggy to contain the look of melting relief she sent him. “Luther!” she cried. He glimpsed a shimmer of tears behind the lenses of her crooked glasses. Maybe it was the painkiller coursing his bloodstream, but her concern left him feeling good enough to jump from the gurney and run a 5K.
“Out,” Rex commanded, ordering Hannah to evacuate his bed.
Westy rolled to his feet, looking shaggier than ever with his hair mussed and his beard poking out like a pincushion. He’d found time, at least, to change out of his wet suit into regular clothes. “How do you feel, sir?” he asked, sending Rex a wary glance.
“He needs to rest for forty-eight hours,” the nurse replied on Luther’s behalf. “No excitement. No moving around.” She drew the gurney alongside the bed and transferred the IV solution to the hook above it. Luther scooted over quickly, afraid that the nurse might actually try to pick him up. “If you need to use the restroom,” she added, “hit the call button and I’ll bring you a bedpan.”
Luther gaped in horror. “You’re joking, right?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” She shot him that look with her
eyebrows raised.
“No, ma’am.”
She heaved a ponderous sigh and shook her head in lament. “That’s the problem with you officers. You have no sense of humor. You got two legs, don’t you? Walk to the bathroom.” She glowered at Hannah and Westy. “You two make sure he rests. I’m holdin’ you accountable.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Westy countered, giving her a squinty-eyed look of determination. “I think she likes you,” he added the moment that Nurse Rex turned the corner.
Reaching into his back pocket, Westy pulled out a folded square of paper. “Master Chief faxed this over to keep us from having to answer any questions.”
“What is it?”
“A statement saying you were injured in a live-fire training exercise.”
“Amen to that,” Luther said, scanning the paper’s contents. This would keep the Patient Safety people out of his hair. “Have we heard from Valentino?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“What time is it now?”
Westy glanced at his watch. “’Bout eleven thirty. How’s the shoulder, sir?”
“It’s fine,” Luther replied. “Can’t feel a thing. Listen, we need to be out of here within eight hours if we intend to make the Article 32. And we still have to brief Jaguar’s lawyer on everything we know. Christ, maybe I should call her first.” He ground the heel of his hand into his left eye, feeling suddenly dizzy.
“I’ll call her,” Hannah promised. “Are you cold, Luther? Do you want this blanket?”
“Sure.”
He watched her pull up the covers, tucking them here and there. It was almost as if she were fussing over him, he thought, enjoying her attention. Despite the IV in his left hand pumping liquids inside him, his stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry,” he admitted. He hadn’t eaten since the night before.
“I’ll check on lunch, sir,” Westy volunteered, heading out the door.
Which left Luther alone with Hannah. She’d turned toward the window to adjust the drapes. “How are you supposed to rest with all this light shining in the window?” she said, yanking on the stubborn curtains.
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