by Julie Rowe
“How many in the van?” Dozer asked, pushing the SUV to go faster.
“A driver and a shooter,” DS said. “The shooter is one of the two fake agents who tried to grab our girl here. I bet the other one is driving.”
Dozer had to take a corner too fast, and Carmen was thrust into the door. She groaned.
“Carmen?” He glanced at her.
She was holding onto the seatbelt with one hand and had the other over her wound. “Ow.”
“You okay?” he asked.
She huffed. “Not really. I’m on some pretty good painkillers, but I wasn’t expecting gunfire or a car chase.”
“She’s right,” DS said. “We’ve got to end this before we crash or get shot.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Dozer said. “I’m not armed. Are you, DS?”
“Nope. Find a cop?”
“There’s got to be a speed trap somewhere close, right?”
A second or two later, the sound of sirens became audible.
Dozer grinned. They were going to make it.
One of the SUV tires exploded.
The vehicle swerved wildly, but he managed to get it under control by slowing down. Unfortunately, that allowed the minivan to catch up to them.
It pulled up on their left side. The front passenger window was rolled down, and that BFR was pointed at them…him again.
Shit. The cops weren’t going to reach them soon enough.
“Hang on,” he said to Carmen.
He jerked the steering wheel to the left, ramming the SUV into the minivan and spoiling the asshole’s shot. Instead of hitting Dozer or the SUV, the weapon shot through the minivan’s roof.
Dozer stepped on the brakes and let the other vehicle continue on.
The shot must have scared the shit out of the driver, because they swerved in out-of-control arcs, then hit something on the side of the road.
A fire hydrant.
The van knocked it into the air, sending a geyser of water twenty or thirty feet up and itself on a diagonal roll. A body flew from the vehicle, landing hard some distance away.
The van finally came to rest, steam rising from the engine, looking like a partially crushed soda can.
No one said anything as the sirens got closer.
Finally, DS cleared his throat. “Well, I guess a fire hydrant will do.”
Something moved inside the van. A person climbed out through the driver’s window, looked around, then limped toward the nearest building and disappeared from sight.
Injured, the driver wasn’t going to get very far.
He turned to Carmen. “You okay?”
She gave him the most exhausted smile he’d ever seen on anyone. “Are we done drag racing?”
“God, I hope so.”
Someone tapped on his window, and Dozer lowered the glass and said to the cop, “This is going to take a few minutes to explain, officer.”
It took about three hours before the police and paramedics allowed them to leave in a second rented SUV. Carmen passed out before they’d gone ten yards, and Dozer wasn’t going to be far behind her when they finally stopped moving. DS was the only one who still had any energy.
Dozer dropped the older man off at the departure level of the airport, then drove Carmen and himself to a hotel not far away. He woke her, got her out of the SUV, and wrapped an arm around her so she could walk slowly inside.
Their room had two queen beds in it. He helped her take off her shoes and tucked her into bed, then went outside to grab their luggage. Such as it was.
Sunday, April 13, 8:00 a.m.
The next morning, Dozer slowly slid away from Carmen and went into the bathroom to shower. Time to get this day started and his lady a hearty breakfast.
He was drying off when something went thump against the bathroom door.
Carmen?
He yanked the door open to find her standing a few feet away, the side-table clock in her hands. At his feet, a young man sprawled on the floor, one hand to his head, the other reaching toward a handgun laying a few feet away.
“What the fuck?” He stepped on the back of the idiot on the floor, pushing him down and knocking the wind out of him, and grabbed the gun. “Did you let him in here?”
Her expression, which had been neutral, became one of shock and irritation. “Yes, of course I let him in, right after he so politely announced he was with housekeeping,” she said with more sarcasm than he’d heard in a while. “I also invited him to join us for breakfast after he shot both of us.” She snorted. “He must have had a room key, because I woke up to see him examining the bathroom door. He looked at me, then turned toward the bathroom, obviously deciding you were the bigger threat. So.” She shrugged. “I hit him over the head with the clock.”
“He could have shot you,” Dozer said, staggered that she would take such a risk.
“He would have shot you,” she retorted. “You’re welcome.”
The guy on the floor moaned and tried to get up again.
Dozer put his foot on the guy’s back and stepped on him again.
“Who should I call?” she asked. “The police, Homeland, or the FBI?”
“Call Rawley and Ketner. They’re going to love this. Since that guy got away yesterday, giving them a live terrorist they can question will make their day.”
Carmen shook her head and made the call.
Dozer grabbed the idiot by one arm, pulled him to his feet, then sat him in the room’s lone chair in front of the desk.
The kid, who had some blood on his neck from the blow Carmen had dealt him, looked at him with hate. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Carmen walked over.
“How did you get in here?” she asked.
“Fuck you, lady.”
“You had to get our room number and a key to get in here from someone,” Dozer said.
The kid lifted his chin. “I’ll never tell.”
Dozer sighed. “I’ve heard a lot of people say that, but none of them ever keeps it a secret long. Not when we can take you to some black-ops site and interrogate you with, shall we say…questionable tactics.”
“You’ll never break me,” the idiot said.
“Everyone has their limits,” Dozer said. “It’s just a matter of finding them.”
Carmen sat on her bed, her arms crossed over her chest, staring at their would-be assassin. Dozer handed her the gun long enough to get dressed, then he took it back while she went into the bathroom to get her own clothes on.
By the time Rawley and Ketner arrived, Dozer was starving for breakfast, and he’d bet Carmen was, too.
She let the agents in.
They crossed the room to stare at the idiot.
“What did he do?” Rawley asked.
“Got a room key from somewhere and walked in like it was his,” Carmen said. “When he decided killing John was more urgent than killing me, I brained him with the clock.”
Rawley blinked. “Is that where the blood is from? A head wound?”
“It’s superficial,” she assured him. “It’s hardly bleeding at all now.”
Rawley’s smile came back. “You with the FAFO, kid?” he asked.
The idiot sneered at them. “I’m dedicated to Free America From Oppression.”
Ketner’s face was carved of ice, but beneath it, a volcano was building to explode.
“Cool.” Rawley’s smile was cold. “That means I can arrest you without charges and hold you indefinitely in the deepest, darkest hole I can find.” He smacked his hands together, glanced at Ketner, and rubbed them with way too much glee.
“That’s not legal. You can’t do that,” the kid said.
Dozer ignored him and spoke to Rawley. “That’s only if he’s lucky. Everyone else connected to these fuckers has been assassinated by the FAFO.” He turned to look at the kid. “As soon as you’re no longer useful, they put a bullet between your eyes.”
“Or in your chest,” Rawley said.
“That’s if th
ey don’t blow you up,” Carmen added.
Rawley pulled out a pair of handcuffs and put them on their young assassin. He looked at Dozer and Carmen. “The FAFO knows you’re here.”
Dozer ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, I wonder how that happened. I thought we plugged the leak.”
Neither man looked happy.
Ketner’s face grew ruddy. “We’ll find it.”
Rawley glanced at the FBI agent, concern lowering his eyebrows, but he nodded in agreement.
Dozer met Carmen’s gaze. “We’re going to have to move.”
“Where?” she asked. “I’m supposed to be taking it easy.”
Dozer glanced at the kid. “We’ll figure something out.”
Rawley hauled the little shit out of the room. Ketner followed them without saying a word. Dozer would have to talk to Rawley about it. Ketner looked like he was one small step from losing his shit.
Dozer closed and locked the door. “Why does it feel like those fuckers are everywhere?”
“Probably because they keep showing up where they shouldn’t be.” Carmen stood and walked to her side of the bed. She sat, turned, and slid under the covers. “That’s enough excitement for me. I’m exhausted.”
“We have to leave,” he reminded her. Something about her wasn’t right.
“No. Two people who look enough like us to fool everyone watching us need to leave, since you announced our departure with the idiot in the room. Once they think we’re gone, this will be the safest place to hide.”
The thump echoed through his brain, and the sight of her standing over the idiot, the clock in her hands, sent a spear of alarm through him. If he’d opened the door, the kid would have shot him, and his chance for a real life with the woman he loved would have been over.
Finished.
Dead.
Not only had she handled it, she’d done it with nothing more than what she could get her hands on while recovering from a bullet wound and measles.
“Seeing you standing there with the clock in your hands is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.
Her eyes popped open. “Seriously?”
He smiled. “When an intelligent, beautiful woman smacks down an asshole? Oh yeah.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Yeah. For you.”
Her eyes opened again. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
Words weren’t the only way to get a message across. He approached the bed and knelt on one knee right in front of her.
She reared back and barked, “No.”
“No?” he asked.
She looked at him with round eyes and a slack jaw for a full second before wiping the mortified surprise off her face.
“I haven’t asked any questions,” he said, then paused. “Yet.”
She tried to look angry, pressing her lips together, but it didn’t quite work. “Don’t you dare. You…you…” She seemed to run out of air.
“Idiot? Moron? Douche?”
She glared at him for real this time. “You are not a douche.”
He laughed; he couldn’t help it. “It’s okay for me to be an idiot or a moron, though?”
She kept her laser-hot gaze on his face and finally said, “Sometimes you are an idiot or a moron.”
“Sometimes? Too much of the time.” He’d hurt her with his asinine behavior. More than once. “I’m a goddamned Neanderthal where you’re concerned. The second you’re in any danger”—he snapped his fingers—“I lose my ability to make rational decisions. All I want to do is wrap you up in Bubble Wrap and put you somewhere safe.”
“You can’t—”
“I know,” he said softly. “It’s finally sunk in. You can take care of yourself. Hell, you took care of this last guy while injured and sick.” He pulled the box out of his pocket, opened it, and showed it to her.
A brilliant diamond perched on a white gold band.
“I have loved you since the day we first met. I was a fool to let you walk away from me, but I’ve grown up. A bit. I’m not that same fool anymore.”
She stared at the ring with bright, wet eyes.
“I know you’re mad at me. That’s okay. I can take it. What I need to know is if you trust me. If you don’t…I’ll put this ring back in my pocket and work harder to earn your trust again.”
Her gaze left the ring and focused on his face. She still didn’t say anything. Her silence sliced thin little slivers off of him.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked softly.
Tears spilled over and down her cheeks. “You mean it, don’t you?” she whispered. Hope added a depth to her voice that had been missing for so long he’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.
“Yes.”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “You didn’t get mad at me for hitting that guy. You were irritated he got in, but…” She smiled, and it was like the first glimpse of sun after a month of nothing but rain. “You…trusted me.”
“Yes.”
With a shaking hand, she reached out and plucked the ring out of the box. The stone seemed bigger now that she held it with her smaller fingers. She slipped it onto her ring finger. It was a little loose.
She looked up at him and said the only word he wanted to hear. “Yes.”
The next moment, he had her in his arms, her lips on his, her scent in his nose, her taste on his tongue.
He never wanted to stop kissing her.
Now he didn’t have to.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sunday, April 20, 10:12 a.m.
Carmen couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this much in one week.
She opened her eyes to a ceiling that was becoming much too familiar to her—the apartment bedroom where she and John had spent the last seven days doing nothing but sleeping, eating, and cuddling. The same apartment across the hall from Henry’s.
No sex. From the way John said it, any number of people, medical and otherwise, had told him no sex until she was given the all clear. And he was going to follow those orders verbatim.
She wanted to tell them to mind their own business. She knew herself, knew what she could physically handle. The cuddling was great, but after a week of it, with little else to distract her, she wanted more than his arms around her. She wanted his hands on her.
Although she tried to roll over, John had one arm under her head and the other over her chest, pinning her to the bed. She couldn’t get enough leverage to move him.
Carmen poked his biceps. “John.”
No response.
She poked again, harder. “John.”
He woke, blinked, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“Oh.” He looked at her expectantly.
“You have to let me up.”
He blinked again, then nodded and extracted himself from the bed. When she would have tried to sit up, his hands urged her to roll toward the edge of the bed, where he could help her get to her feet.
He kept his hands on her, one on her back, tucking her in close to his body, the other under her elbow.
“Here you go,” he said, guiding her into the bathroom. He let her walk the last few steps alone. “Call me when you’re done.” He shut the door.
She was tired of the whole let me take care of you thing. She wanted to go back to work.
After using the toilet, she washed her hands, then carefully unwrapped the dressing over the wound in her chest. It was looking much better, with no puffiness or tenderness around the site. The pain was down to a dull ache, which was something she could manage without difficulty.
She could have a shower today. An honest to God hot shower.
Carmen removed her loose pajamas and started the water so she could find a comfortable temperature.
The door opened behind her. “What are you doing?” John asked as if she’d engaged in something illegal.
“Having a shower,” she said over her shoulder. “I check
ed my wounds, and they’re healing well. The pain is quite a bit less intense, and I feel greasy.”
He gave her a skeptical look.
“I’m having a shower,” she told him. She would not be denied.
“What if you slip and fall?” he asked, his tone sharp.
She turned and smiled at him. “That’s a reasonable concern. Why don’t you take off your clothes and join me?”
He didn’t smile back.
“Or are you too scared?”
He swallowed hard, then said quietly, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She held her hand out to him. “The only way you’ll hurt me is if you go back to thinking you know what’s better for me than I do. I’m the doctor, remember?” She leaned forward and whispered, “I’m not expecting you to fuck me up against the wall.” She allowed a slow smile to curve her lips.
She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water spill over her skin in a refreshing cascade. Despite doing absolutely nothing for several days, sleeping as much as she wanted, and eating as healthy as anyone can from takeout, her muscles were still sore.
She dunked her head under the water, then went to put some shampoo in, but before she could get her hands above her shoulders, masculine hands cupped hers, scooped up the shampoo, and massaged it into her hair.
Strong fingers kneaded the muscles of her scalp, making her moan. Carmen put her hands out, and they landed on John’s naked chest. She slid her palms around him until she was pressed against his torso.
“Hey,” he said, his voice husky. “No sleeping on the job.”
“But you feel so good.”
His erection bumped against her hip.
“Happy to see me?” she asked.
He chuckled and said, “Darlin’, you have no idea.” He kept massaging her scalp.
She giggled. That hurt, so she stopped laughing and just leaned against him.
“I get it now,” he said, tilting her back so the water rinsed her hair. “How you felt when I got sick. How hard it was not to be able to do anything but mop my forehead and watch me get sicker.”
She lifted her head. His eyes were somber. “Love isn’t always easy.”
“Yeah,” he said, a crooked smile tilting up one side of his mouth. “But I’ve discovered something about myself.”