“I’m here,” Mike whispered into his cell.
“Wait for me,” Sean demanded. “I’m ten minutes away.”
“Can’t. She could be dead in ten minutes.” Fear clamped down on Mike’s chest. “She could be dead already.”
“He snatched her for a reason,” Sean reasoned. “Wait for me.”
“If it were your wife, would you wait?”
“Fu—”
Mike snapped the cell closed and switched it to silent. Glock in hand, he slipped out of the SUV and approached the dark cabin from the deep shadows of the trees. Pine needles and wet moss underfoot silenced his steps. The cabin was dark and still. Mike eased up to a side window and strained his ears for sounds. All he heard was the wind rustling through the pines.
“You bitch!” The male shout came from the rear of the house.
Staying in the cover of the woods, Mike circled around. Fifty yards away, at the rear of the cleared area between the house and the lake, David was climbing to his feet. Too far away for a clean shot. David hobbled into the darkness of the nearby woods. Beyond, the terrain rose sharply.
Mike followed the tree line to the spot where David disappeared. A clump of thick trees gave way to a rough path cut into the steep slope. Mike climbed the narrow trail. The woods opened up, more rock, fewer trees. A section of wet earth gave way under Mike’s foot. He slid sideways and lost his grip on his gun. Dirt and stones tumbled down the incline. One hand shot out and grabbed a tree branch, stopping his descent. He righted himself as the gun bounced down the slope and into the lake below with a small, final splash.
His gut clenched as he moved on without it.
Mike climbed up to a small, flat clearing around a clump of rock and boulders. A form shifted within the shadow of the rocks.
“There you are.” David was reaching into a crack between two huge boulders, where Mike assumed Rachel was hiding.
Mike closed in. David’s head whipped around. His eyes widened. He raised his hands to his chin and threw a hard right. Mike ducked and slipped left, then dropped and shot in at David’s hips. Mike caught the bigger man around the thighs, turned, and took him to the ground. David hit the ground like a felled oak. But he moved fast for his size and managed to kick and roll out of Mike’s grasp. His heel caught Mike’s lip. Blood seeped into his mouth.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Rachel emerging from the rock crevice. “Rachel, get out of here!”
Jumping to his feet, David’s gaze darted in Rachel’s direction. His face tightened as his eyes tracked her movement. He circled the clearing, his intent clearly to intercept her escape.
Mike maneuvered between them. “Oh no you don’t.”
With an angry hiss, David swung out with a looping left hook. Mike blocked the punch and drilled him in the jaw. David’s head snapped back, and he stumbled to the side. Crazed fury lit his eyes.
David was no trained fighter. He dove in for a sloppy tackle. Mike sprawled his legs backward to block the takedown. He wrapped his arms around the larger man’s shoulders. David threw him off, staggered back, and pulled a knife from his jacket pocket. Leading with the knife, he lunged forward.
The blade swiped through the air at Mike’s midsection. He tried to move left, but the uneven, sloped ground under his feet shifted. But David came in again with a low thrust. Mike grabbed the wrist of the knife-hand and cocked his other arm to punch David in the face.
The ground slid out from under them. Both men slipped sideways in a miniature avalanche of loose mud and rock. David fell to his hands and knees. Mike tumbled backward. White-hot agony burst through his leg as David plunged the knife into Mike’s thigh.
He grabbed David’s wrist and the hilt with both hands to keep the knife in his leg. If the blade came free, Mike would bleed like a slaughtered deer.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mike held on to the knife, but his strength was fading. David would win and they both knew it. His eyes gleamed with excitement as he pulled. The movement of the blade in his leg sent waves of pain surging through Mike and pumped more blood from the wound.
Thwack.
David’s hold on the weapon loosened. His eyes went wide, then rolled into the back of his head. His fingers opened.
Thwack.
The huge man fell sideways. Rachel stood over him, red faced, panting, and wielding a thick branch. She nudged David’s body with a foot. Apparently satisfied he was no longer a threat, she dropped to her knees beside Mike and looked down at his leg. Blood welled around the protruding knife.
“Don’t pull it out.” The pain dimmed Mike’s vision, and a cool sensation drifted over him. “But you need to apply pressure…” Mike sucked in a deep breath, “around it. Can you do it?”
Her face paled as she stared down at the wound. With a quick shake of her head, she stripped off her shirt and wadded it up around the knife.
“Cell. In pocket.” He wasn’t going to stay conscious for long. And at the rate he was bleeding out, he might not wake up. “Love you.”
She hesitated for a second. “I love you too.” She packed her shirt around the blade. “You’re going to be fine.”
He knew better. The way he was leaking, both his leg and life were iffy.
“Christ, I told you to wait for me.” Sean’s voice boomed over the clearing. “Son of a bitch. You had to go get yourself stabbed.” He nudged Rachel aside. “Let me in here.”
Mike’s body trembled violently. Sean spread his jacket over Mike’s chest. Cold washed over him like floodwater. He could barely feel Rachel’s fingers gripping his, but the tears streaming down her soot-streaked face said it all. Unfortunately, the numbness spreading though his body didn’t extend to the knife sticking out of his leg.
Sirens approached. Sean was working on the wound. He looked away for a second. “Rachel, take my gun.” Sean nodded at David’s prone body. “If he moves, shoot him.”
“He’s not dead?” Mike croaked.
“Unfortunately not. At least not yet. Remind me to never piss off your girlfriend.” Despite the joke, his friend’s eyes were serious—and worried—as he whipped out a cell and punched a key. Blood coated his fingers. He handed Rachel the phone. “Put it on speaker. I need both hands here.” Then he leaned over Mike’s face. “Hold tight. This is gonna hurt.”
The searing pain in his leg exploded until, mercifully, everything faded to a blissful nothing.
Curled into a ball on an armchair in the surgical waiting room, Rachel shivered in a state of numb disbelief. On the pale yellow wall next to her, a plaque read In loving memory of Robert Taylor. Death had funded the room. Death had bought the upholstered chair in which she sat waiting to learn Mike’s fate. Death owned this place.
Sean paced the navy carpet, as he had for the past two hours. The blood splatters on his clothes had dried to a dark, rusty red that matched the stains on the tank and jeans she still wore. Though the room was crowded with cops and some other people Rachel didn’t recognize, she was very much alone. The only empty chairs were the ones on either side of her. The group overflowed the small room into the hallway, but the silence was more crushing than the crowd.
Mike had filled the spaces inside her she hadn’t known were empty. If he didn’t make it, she felt like she’d wither and die. And wouldn’t care very much. In fact, right now she didn’t feel much at all. Her overloaded system had shut down, as if the overwhelming events of the night had tripped her circuit breaker.
A tall man with a cane entered. Sarah was right behind him. Wiping tears from her face, Sarah rushed to Rachel’s side and enveloped her in a desperate hug. “Oh my God. I’ve been looking for you.”
The tall man pulled out a phone. “We found her.” He touched Sean’s shoulder. “You didn’t answer your cell.”
Sean pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at it blankly. “Sorry, Jack. I didn’t feel it vibrate.”
Sarah pushed Rachel back to arm’s length. “Are you all right? Did a doctor look at you?”
Two women came through the door. Sean took the slim brunette in his arms and held her tightly. Or maybe she held him tightly. It was hard to tell who was supporting whom. Watching them, Rachel’s heart hurt more than the raw burns on her hands.
“There you are.” The other woman, a tall blond, took the empty seat at Rachel’s side. “I’m Claire, Quinn’s wife.”
Rachel nodded.
Shrewd but kind eyes sized her up, and obviously, didn’t like what they saw. Claire took a stethoscope from her pocket and pressed it against Rachel’s back. A minute later she produced a blood pressure cuff from another pocket. She took Rachel’s pulse, then turned her hand over and frowned at the burns that Rachel was ignoring. “Sean, didn’t it occur to you that she needed treatment?”
Sean shrugged. “Figured she needed to be here.”
Claire disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a blanket. She wrapped it around Rachel’s bare shoulders. Heat enveloped her. She didn’t realize how cold she’d been.
A shadow filled the doorway. Quinn stepped into the room. He walked over to Rachel and squatted down in front of her. “The surgery went well. He’s going to intensive care for the night, but it looks good.”
All the air left her lungs. Had she been holding her breath? Tiny pinpoints of light speckled her vision.
Quinn’s frown matched his wife’s. “I was looking for you in the ER. Why aren’t you there?”
Standing next to him, Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “Small second-degree burns on her hand. She’s hypothermic and dehydrated.”
Quinn uttered what sounded like a curse under his breath. “Here’s the deal. I will get you in to see him for a couple of minutes if you agree to go back downstairs and get treated afterward.” It wasn’t a question, and Quinn didn’t wait for an answer.
In short order she was gowned and standing in an ICU cubicle surrounded by a host of medical equipment she knew all too well. Is this how Sarah had felt? Afraid to believe what her eyes were seeing? Hope crushed was worse than no hope at all. Rachel moved closer. Mike’s face was white as the hospital linens. Tubes and wires snaked across and under the sheets. But his massive chest rose in an even rhythm, and the bank of monitors assured her that his heart was beating regularly too. Tears trickled down her face as she watched, as it sank in.
He wasn’t dead.
After the past few hours of mentally replaying the sight of his blood draining into the earth, the relief buckled her knees. Quinn’s hand subtly supported her elbow.
“He won’t be alone, will he? No offense, but he doesn’t like hospitals much.”
“I know all about Mike’s, uhm, issue.” Quinn smiled. “I’ll be right here all night. Go with Jack. Mike isn’t going to wake up tonight. But tomorrow, the first thing he’s going to want to see is you. He’ll feel better if you don’t look half-dead or have blood in your hair.”
Her hand strayed to her head. Her hair was stiff and sticky. Ugh. But still she hesitated, not used to seeing the big and capable man she loved so vulnerable.
“You and Mike are a lot alike. Yeah, I know, you seem like opposites because he’s so calm all the time, and you’re, well, not. Besides the fact that much of his calm is an act, you both spend a lot of time taking care of other people,” Quinn said quietly. “It’s OK to let those others take care of you occasionally.”
“You’ll really stay with him?”
“All night.”
Downstairs, the ER staff wrapped her in heated blankets, then cleaned and bandaged the burns on her hand. Rachel passed on an IV, chugging a bottle of water instead. She’d rather be upstairs with Mike, but she had to admit she was as tired as she’d ever been in her life. Having other people like Quinn to rely on wasn’t half bad. Maybe she could adjust.
Rachel stiffened in the backseat of Jack’s SUV. Now that she was assured that Mike would be all right, her brain cells were rebooting. She tapped Jack on the shoulder. “Oh my God. The horses. Jack, I have to go home.”
“No, you don’t,” Sarah said from the passenger seat. “Cristan rounded them all up, and Blake took them back to his place.”
Rachel fell back into the seat. This having friends thing was pretty nice so far.
Jack’s place was a freaking mansion behind a huge set of black wrought iron gates no less. Blazing lights illuminated scaffolding along the stone façade where repairs were in progress. Jack drove around to the back of the house.
He parked as close to the house as possible and led Rachel and Sarah to a set of French doors. “Everybody’s probably asleep—”
Yap, yap, yap. Bandit’s high-pitched alert was followed up with the deep woof of a much bigger dog.
A delicate, petite woman with long brown hair opened the door for them. Bandit and a giant German shepherd vied for the opening. Bandit won. The woman stuck a foot in front of the little dog to block his exit. “Quiet.”
Jack hustled through the doorway, pushing the big dog out of the way. “Back up, Henry.” The shepherd head-butted Jack’s bad leg. “Ooof.”
Beth pointed. “Henry, sit.”
The German shepherd dropped his butt to the floor.
Rachel followed Sarah into a huge and comfortable old kitchen. Despite the grandeur of the house’s exterior, the outdated interior had a homey, broken-in feel. Sarah scooped up Bandit.
“I’m Beth,” the small woman said. She gestured to a tall, fit-looking older woman hustling around the kitchen. A whipcord-lean man of about seventy leaned against the counter. “This is Mrs. Harris and my Uncle James.” Beth’s uncle was watching Rachel with blue eyes too sharp and piercing for a man of his age.
Frowning, Jack kissed Beth. “You should be in bed.”
The top of Beth’s head barely reached Jack’s shoulder. “I’m fine.”
The way Jack’s broad hand kept straying to Beth’s barely discernible baby bump gave Rachel an acute case of the warm and fuzzies. What would it feel like to carry Mike’s child? To have him touch her with that tender joy? And she suddenly needed to sit down.
A chair was under her butt as her legs jellied. Uncle James moved faster than she expected. Mrs. Harris was right behind him. She set a steaming mug on the table. “You look done in, dear. Here’s some tea. Let’s give her some space.” Mrs. Harris tugged on James’s arm. “If there’s anything you need, my door is just beyond the kitchen. Knock anytime. Are you hungry?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Feel free to root through the kitchen,” Beth said as Jack steered her through the doorway. “Sarah, the room next to yours is ready.” Beth tapped her thigh. Henry fell into step behind her.
James hesitated at the door. “You need help getting upstairs?”
“We’ll be fine. Thank you for everything.” Sarah sat down next to Rachel and rubbed her back. Quiet settled over them.
“I feel like I’m having an out-of-brain experience. The thoughts going through my head can’t be mine.” Like those about marriage, babies, and other terrifying events she’d never before contemplated. “I just found him, and I almost lost him.”
“I almost lost you.” Sarah draped an arm over her shoulder. “Again.”
“I’m sorry I put you through that.” Rachel was going to start thinking about others before she just did stuff from now on. Really.
“Not your fault.” Sarah stood and set Bandit on the floor. “Come on. Getting cleaned up will help loads. You want a shower or bath?”
Rachel stood and looked down at her blood-crusted clothes. What she really wanted was to be with Mike. “Both.”
Mike opened his eyes to a hazy, dim room. Something beeped softly next to his head.
“You’re awake? Amazing. We gave you enough juice to put an elephant to sleep.” Quinn was leaning over him and pressing a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t move and don’t freak.”
Mike opened cracked lips. His throat was scratchy and dry, and his mind too hazy to even contemplate freaking. Not to mention the fact that his
body weighed about a zillion pounds. He probably couldn’t lift his pinkie finger if he tried. Whatever was chugging through his veins was making him feel very Zen with the whole hospital deal.
Quinn put a plastic spoonful of ice chips in his mouth. The cold liquid in Mike’s mouth was heaven. Quinn moved down to the foot of the bed and lifted the sheet. Panic gave Mike a surge of energy. He struggled to raise his head. “Is it…?”
“It’s OK. Leg’s still here. I’m not going to lie though. It was close. The knife hit a branch of the femoral instead of the main artery. That bit of luck and Sean’s combat first aid training saved your life and your leg.” Quinn’s hand closed around Mike’s foot. “Can you feel that?”
Mike nodded.
“Wiggle your toes.”
The effort was Herculean.
“Good.” Quinn tossed the sheet back over his leg. “And now for the other bit of good news. While you were out, you had your gut scoped.”
“Dammit, Quinn. You can’t just—”
“Normally, I would agree, but you are an extenuating circumstance. I watched the whole thing, by the way. You were very cooperative.”
“I was unconscious.” And the creepy-crawly feeling that gave him was one of the many, many reasons he hated hospitals.
“Exactly.” Quinn nodded. “I thought it might be my only chance.”
Quinn would’ve been right if Mike hadn’t fallen in love with Rachel. While he’d been lying in mud, bleeding, he’d been more afraid of dying than anything else. He would have done anything to stay alive—to stay with Rachel. Now he understood now why his mother had fought hard and endured so much.
“Anyway, you are the proud owner of an Olympic-sized, but perfectly ordinary ulcer, easily treatable with medication. Aren’t you relieved?”
“Yes,” Mike grumbled, but relief coursed through him like the morphine drip. “How’s Rachel?”
She Can Tell Page 27