Beautiful Collision

by T. G. Ayer

  Then I wanted to laugh. Looking like this I'd be a sure case for Child Welfare. Which in itself was stupid because I turn eighteen in three months.

  But nonetheless I'd prefer to remain under the radar so I had to figure out an excuse for missing the SATs. Maybe Suzi's mom could help me out. But that would only happen if I managed to get my ass to Suzi's before Anthony came home.

  I gathered the rest of my stuff, threw the backpack over my shoulder and headed to the front door. I passed the kitchen but food would just delay me. No to mention the fact that my mouth would probably not be happy with me if I decided to break my lip open again to do something as stupid as eat.

  Thinking of freedom and Suzi's mom's double chocolate chocolate chip cookies, I undid the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

  To find two men standing in front of me.

  Beefcake and the guy who helped me last night.

  They'd come back for me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Watcher

  It's late, and I'm standing under a tree across the street from Gray's apartment, a pair of night-vision binoculars pressed against my gritty eyes. The lights are out in her building and I've not detected any movement along the silent street. My body has long become so used to telling the passing of the hours while on a stakeout that I know it will not be much longer before I'd be relieved by Matthews, the other agent assigned to watch Gray.

  Dave Matthews is new and over-eager, prone to rash decisions. At the mercy of his need to impress his superiors with his skills in the field.

  Right now the situation calls for patience and care, not for rashness. I hope Mathews wouldn't mess the stakeout up tonight after he takes over.

  I actually have work to do. Going undercover in college actually meant one had to do the work that is required and I have a Sociology assignment due in four days.

  The girl's registration had been easy enough even with the name change and Wade had confirmed, through Alice, that everything had gone smoothly. But it isn't enough. There is something still bugging me and I know it has a lot to do with Boris.

  Our friendly neighborhood killer is holed up somewhere in Santa Barbara, waiting to make his move, waiting to take her out. Right now, he could be at any one of the dozens of windows that lead onto the street, each with an easy line of sight straight into Gray's apartment.

  But I am determined to make damned sure he does nothing to harm her. I'd kill him first. The more I think about it the more sure I am that Boris is not working for Roshkov. Why would Roshkov bring a trained killer on board to track his daughter? He wouldn't put his own child in such danger.

  I drop the night vision binoculars and massage the ridge of my nose. Though I take only seconds to return them to my eyes, I almost miss the flash of orange across the street. Almost.

  I stiffen.

  He passes under a streetlight and blood rushes to my head.

  Boris.

  Then he's across the road and hurrying toward the house.

  I watch, without moving, without breathing. And there he is again. This time he's moving up the path to Gray's apartment building, heading to the glass paned front door.

  I don't think about it, I don't even call it in. I'm sprinting across the lawn keeping low and making as little noise as possible.

  The darkness provides me with the same cover it had afforded Boris and I'm closer now, I'm able to see him fiddle with the lock and I'm not surprised at how swiftly the door swings open. He enters and shuts the door behind him.

  Frustrated now, I'm unsure what to do. I look up at her apartment knowing Boris was probably on his way to kill her and here I am standing on her lawn scratching my head.

  Fuck this.

  I hurry to the side of her building. From here, even in the dark, I can see the flutter of pale curtains that indicate an open window in her bedroom.

  She's gotten careless.

  By now Boris will be at her apartment door. The urgency of that knowledge spurs me on and I grab onto a thick pipe that runs up the center of the building, most likely the bathroom plumbing. I shimmy up the thick pipe and about halfway up I lean over to the right and grab onto the window sill. I'm almost inside when I look up to see the shadow of Boris wending his way through the dining room. Thankfully the window faces the door and I see him in time to climb back out and hang off the sill by my fingertips.

  I hold my breath as I listen. Boris' weight makes the floorboards shift and squeak as he enters the apartment and scours each area.

  His footsteps come close and I know there is a good chance he will look out the window but he doesn't. The sound of his footsteps fade as he slips further into the apartment. I swing myself up and in through the window then hunch down beside it. A large dresser gives me a place to hide and watch as he heads left to the bathroom and spare room.

  We'd pulled the floor-plans as soon as she'd rented the apartment. I've studied it so many times that by now I have it burned into my memory. From where I am crouched I can see her bed is empty but I know she is somewhere in the apartment. Peering into the living area, I see it's unoccupied, which means she's in the second bedroom.

  And Boris is on his way to her.

  My heart crashes against my ribs. I'm never nervous, always serenely calm on the job but now I have to force myself to relax, to keep calm. So far he'd been following her, and he'd had plenty of opportunities to kill her. By now I'm beginning to suspect the guy wants something else, that maybe he is working for Nikolai, but just to keep a close eye on Gray.

  A floorboard in the bathroom squeaks as he enters. I need to do something to alert Gray. If she walks into him in the passage he may kill her on the spot.

  I un-clip my 38 from my holster and click the safety off. I remain behind the door pressing my back close up against it, my ear pressed to the wall to listen for movement.

  There is only silence.

  Then soft, tentative sounds come from the smaller bedroom. She's awake and moving.

  Crap.

  A shadow flits past the room door.

  And then all hell breaks loose.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Gray

  I'm suddenly awake and I sit upright, frozen in place.

  The apartment is silent.

  Only the leaden tick of the kitchen clock and the soft buzz of the spare room light-bulb breaks the thick silence. I'd fallen asleep while reading. The sky is so dark outside that no light filters into the room. Outside, beyond the hallway, everything in the apartment is draped in shadow and thick darkness.

  Terror fills me and I can't move a muscle even though I want to.

  Has someone found their way into the apartment?

  I try to think.

  Move. Get the gun. Staying still makes you a bigger target. Move.

  I move.

  Hunching low, I slip off the bed and crawl to the dresser for the gun. With it safely in my hands I move slowly toward the room door, feeling decidedly vulnerable in the short pj bottoms that I'd thrown on when I'd gotten home.

  A shiver runs through me and it's both from the chill in the air and the icy shards of fear.

  The spare room is empty but the closet is shut and could still harbor an intruder.

  Gray, do you really want to be confronting an intruder face to face?

  I hunch over and stagger to the closet, pulling it open in one desperate wrench. The good thing is it's empty of clothes so I can see immediately nobody is hiding in there waiting for me to come unsuspectingly to meet death face to face.

  Over dramatic, much.

  I leave the room and wonder if I should shut the door behind me. Then I decide against it. Closed doors are a bad idea.

  Although it's dark I can make out the shapes of the kitchen island and the sink. Both are clear.

  No intruder there. The apartment remains silent, and I consider checking the bathroom. I hold my breath to listen harder. Nothing. Mouth is dry, heart slamming against my ribs.

  I hope I don't get myself cau
ght.

  I take a step, keeping myself on tiptoes because I have no idea why, when a soft squeak of a floorboard has me choking with fright as a shadow hurtles out of the bathroom and races to the living room.

  Then there are two shadows, the second flying out of my bedroom. What the hell is going on here?

  I stare hard at the shadows, one hulking and huge and the other slim and tall. When, the sound of a gunshot reverberates around the apartment it shocks me into action. Hulk staggers and grunts and I know he's hit but he aims himself at one of the windows and within seconds he's pulled it open and is out and gone.

  That leaves Slim who also races for the window. He turns back toward me but all I can see is shadow and just the outline of him. It's as if he hesitates, wanting to speak to me or something, making me aware that he knows I am right there. No way this bastard is getting away with breaking and entering, not to mention probable murder. He sticks a foot out the window, poised to escape.

  And I shoot him before he moves another inch.

  The bullet slams into his shoulder, knocking him off balance. His falling body pulls his dangling leg inside and he hits the floor with a harsh thud.

  I don't wait. I slam my palm at the nearest light switch. The bulb in the hall flickers on but casts little light into the living room. But it is enough.

  Enough that I can see the intruder and recognize him.

  Thane Blackwell.

  So he was a creep after all.

  "I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking as he gasps for breath from the floor.

  "For what?" I ask keeping my voice even. "For breaking into my apartment?" I'm standing over him, gun in one hand, the other on my hip as I glare.

  "For letting him get away," he says and then groans softly. His head falls back onto the floor with a sharp crack. I'm stiff and immobile, unsure if I should help him or leave him there to die. But even as my knees shake I know there isn't any part of me that can leave him to bleed out while I stand witness.

  He might be a creep, what with the breaking and entering, but he isn't going to die while I stand by and do nothing.

  I reach for my mobile and dial 911.

  As I report his condition and my address, I bend closer to him and see the stark red stain on his light blue shirt, a patch of crimson rapidly growing larger. In the sparse light I hadn't seen how badly I'd injured him.

  And now I need to do something before he does bleed out and die on me. No ambulance will be able to get here in time to save a bloodless body.

  I'm numb as I hurry to the kitchen and grab a stack of hand towels, stowing my gun deep inside one of the drawers. I return to Thane's side and fall to my knees, pressing a towel against his shoulder as hard as I can, all the while aware that I have no idea what I'm doing.

  His lids are closing slowly and his breathing is shallow. "Thane," I call his name, "Thane. Stay awake. Don't fall asleep." I'm giving the instruction and praying that he can hear me and that he bothers to obey.

  The wound is just below his collar bone. I reach down and search behind his shoulder, to find his shirt soaked. My fingers graze the soft broken tissue of the exit wound.

  Good.

  I slide across the floor to his shoulders and slip a towel beneath his shoulder then press hard, keeping the pressure on both sides of the wound as long as I can. I'm frustrated as the kitchen cloths are quickly soaked and I know I've run out of kitchen towels.

  My mind searches for another option. My brand new bath towels. I groan at the thought. I'm annoyed as I adjust his position and lay him carefully on the floor.

  With a soft growl under my breath, I'm running to the bedroom, throwing closet doors open and grabbing the stack of towels that sits there, still with their tags on. I sprint back to Thane and fall to my knees beside him.

  I fold the first towel and use them to replace the now sodden wads of kitchen towels which I fling to my side, not caring where they land. I keep the pressure up and when he groans I say, "You better not die on me. You owe me for my new towels and I expect you to replace them as soon as you're out of the hospital. No checks, no gift cards, just brand new fluffy white towels. You hear me?"

  I'm ranting but I don't care because I sense that my voice is keeping him on the edge of consciousness, that the more I talk the less likely he will be to slip away. I'm probably bullshitting myself but I don't care.

  At the moment all I want is for Thane to stay alive. Don't ask me why I give a damn if the asshole that breaks into my apartment lives or dies, but for the strangest reason I do. And I wonder if it has anything to do with those gorgeous green eyes of his, eyes I cannot see because his lids are slowly drifting closed again.

  "How long does an ambulance take for god's sake?" I mutter staring at the fluttering curtain at the open window. I should be seeing lights outside, blinking red lights that tell me the ambulance is here. But I hear no sirens and I see no red haze.

  Thane groans and moves his head from side to side. I lean closer. "What's wrong? Tell me what you need," I say, my voice a lot kinder now that I am not thinking about my stupid bath towels.

  "The door," he says and it's barely a whisper. I think he's telling me to get the apartment door open so the paramedics can get inside faster so I slide my hand away and take the risk of easing the pressure on the wound.

  I'm hurrying to open the door for the paramedics. But as I reach it my heart stills.

  The door to my apartment stands wide open.

  The locks look undamaged so there is no sight of forced entry but the door which I'd double checked after picking up my pie, is now wide open.

  I have no time to think. Instead, I hurry back to a listless Thane who is now muttering a bunch of nonsense about something being wrong and how he shouldn't be doing it but he can't help himself.

  I ignore the words, not particularly in the mood to care about his emotional upheaval. For now I place pressure on his wounds and will the ambulance to arrive.

  And when they finally do, I barely realize they are there. Hands pull me gently aside, people speak to me kindly, telling me he will be okay. When they ask me if I want to ride in the ambulance with him, my head nods of its own accord.

  I'm numb, unsure what I am thinking.

  The paramedic touches my shoulder, "Miss, if you want to come with us you might want to change into something warmer."

  I look down at my bloodstained tank and shorts and I nod jerkily. As they attend to Thane I run to my room and pull off the bloody clothing without bothering to close the door. Paramedics see all sorts of people in various states of undress, I was certain I didn't have anything they hadn't seen before. Not to mention I have this inexplicable fear that they will leave without me so I keep one eye on the drama in my living room while I shimmy into a pair of jeans and tee, and pull on sneakers and a long sleeved hoodie.

  I grab my new purse and run out just in time. The paramedics are carrying the stretcher out of my apartment door and I can see Marcus and Kate standing on the landing in their night clothes, hair mussed, eyes large.

  I'm out the door then turning to lock up when Marcus touches my hand. "You go on. I'll do it." He nods and urges me toward the open front door through which the paramedics have already disappeared. I throw a thanks over my shoulder and run after them.

  I'm climbing into the ambulance when Kate runs up and says, "Ring if you need anything, okay?"

  I nod and smile and am so grateful that she doesn't ask me who he is or what happened. The doors close on my view of Kate and I'm alone with one paramedic who is stringing up an IV. He's busy and I'm afraid to disturb him with questions.

  Thane is unconscious now but it looks like he might be okay as the sense of emergency has decreased. It didn't seemed to take forever to get to the hospital and I follow the gurney on shaky legs. They push him through halls that are overcrowded with people, all in need of some kind of medical attention.

  In the distance I can hear a woman cry out and another saying 'breathe', while a man with
a calm and authoritative voice is asking, "Sir, can you tell me your name?"

  We pass the emergency room and are ushered into a smaller cubicle where a doctor rushes to attend to Thane. Someone is yelling, "Single GSW, through and through. He's lost a lot of blood."

  And then I'm shunted aside as they get to work and I don't complain or ask questions. I just pay close attention and wait until they wheel him out of the room.

  Then I'm on my feet. "Where are you taking him?" I ask, my voice shrill and a little hysterical.

  A nurse turns to me. "Are you next of kin?" she asks, her eyes piercing and a little too hard. Good thing she isn't a doctor because her bedside manner sucks.

  "Girlfriend." I scraped the word out of my throat, my voice even huskier than normal. "I'm his girlfriend."

  "Okay, you can wait in here," she says walking out of the cubicle and down the hall. She guides me to room that accommodates four beds and points a chair beside the one empty space. "They're taking him in for surgery. They'll bring him here afterward."

  She's already turning away and I grab onto the sleeve of her cardigan to stop her. She turns and her eyes are annoyed and impatient. "Is he going to be okay?" I ask softly.

  There is little sympathy in her voice as she says, "They'll do what they can but we can't promise anything. He's lost a lot of blood, but most patients in a similar condition do pull through."

  Then she is gone, her heels stamping the floor as she strides out, pulling the door shut behind her. She seems determined to get away from me as fast as possible. And then I'm alone in the cold and darkened room.

  I must be in shock as I find myself staring at a thin strip of light that shines onto the floor from the hall light. Its brightness is a stark contrast to the room draped in shadows.

  I flex my hands, feeling the tackiness of my skin. When I look down at my splayed fingers I see they are red with blood.

  Seems fitting considering I'd shot him in cold blood.