Search and Rescue

by Nichole Severn

  Headlights revealed a black ski mask and dark clothing though the torrential downpour. Nothing more. No distinguishing features he could take to the police as Patrick closed the distance between them. Seventeen years in the military. Not once had he taken a life, but right here, right now, he’d run this bastard over if it meant getting Sienna the help she needed. A third bullet penetrated the windshield. A growl rumbled through his chest. “I wasn’t going to run you over, but now you’ve pissed me off.”

  The speedometer arced higher as the SUV gained speed. Rain pounded against the windshield, nearly drowning out the throbbing at the base of his skull. His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel as he closed in on the man with the gun. Two more shots. Three. Cracks branched across the windshield, the shots hitting the passenger seat. Air pressurized in his lungs a split second before the shooter lunged out of the way. His gaze immediately went to the rearview mirror as the bastard picked himself up off the ground and raised the gun again. Then lowered it.

  Focusing on the road, Patrick pushed the SUV harder. The shooter might’ve originally targeted him, but Sienna had been the one to end up with a bullet in her gut. “You’re going to pay for that, asshole.”

  *

  Life was hard. After all, it’d just tried to kill her.

  Sienna shut her eyes tight against the florescent lighting above and soft beeping to her right. Studying the rest of the room, she locked her jaw against the pain shooting through her side. Bright white linoleum and sunshine only made the room that much more intolerable. Her wound screamed in protest as she fumbled to sit upright. Scratchy sheets, muted PA system, television on low. A groan escaped her throat. Hospital. Anesthesia had dried out her mouth, but what she wouldn’t give for a giant slice of chocolate cake right then. She deserved it. Hell, she deserved the entire damn cake after what’d just happened.

  Patrick.

  His name rushed to the front of her mind as every cell in her body lit up like a beacon. With just the slight tilt of her head, she had him in her sights, within reach, and her insides twisted. Those mesmerizing brown eyes steadied on her as he straightened in the chair beside her bedside, and the nervous energy fizzled in her veins. He was okay. Short bursts of memory flooded through her mind. Passing street lamps. Explosions of gunshots. Broken glass. His body heat burrowing beneath her clothing. Someone had targeted him, but he’d put his life on the line for her. He’d made sure she’d gotten to the hospital even though he’d been under fire. She swallowed around the tightness in her throat. When was the last time someone had gone out of their way for her benefit like that? “You wouldn’t happen to have any chocolate on you, would you?”

  “Not on me, no. Sorry.” A deep laugh rumbled through his chest as he leaned toward the bed, toward her. The combination of soap and man dove deep into her lungs as that dimple on the left side of his mouth appeared. Had he cleaned up while she’d been in surgery? Her blood pressure rocketed higher. Forget the cake. She bet Major Patrick Barnes would satisfy a whole bunch of cravings if given the chance. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.” Lie. She’d spent the past five years training to be here, was handpicked over dozens of qualified candidates to test pilot Blackhawk’s new division. She wasn’t going to let a single bullet stop her. His expression indicated he didn’t believe her. Too bad it couldn’t happen between them. He seemed like he really cared whether or not she was in too much pain, but rule number one handed down from on high when she’d signed on to work for Blackhawk Security: no getting involved with the client. While Patrick hadn’t exactly been the one to hire her for protection, emotions clouded judgment, faulty judgment led to risks, risks meant casualties. She wasn’t about to risk his life to fulfill her own selfish desires. “Thank you. For getting me to the hospital. I only remember bits and pieces of what happened, but I know you risked your life to get me here.”

  “It was the least I could do after you saved mine.” A quick flash of a smile sent her head spinning. Had to be the drugs. The adrenaline rush from being shot at—twice—had sharpened her senses, made her more aware of him. That was all. “Call it even?”

  But the adrenaline had worn off. Passing out from blood loss had ensured that. Sienna nodded. Seeing him in action—having him risk his life for her—had pulled at a primal part of her. Something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Growing up in an orphanage was about survival. Repairing helicopters for the army was about serving. Search and rescue for Blackhawk Security was about doing something that mattered. None of those had left much time for romance, but sitting here with him, the consequences of the bullet meant for him in her side, Sienna regretted every choice she’d made in her life. “I’ll consider it even when you tell me who I have to thank for the new hole in my side.”

  “I don’t know.” His smile disappeared as he leaned back in the chair. “You said Judge Tara Larsen and Stephen Boyer are already dead?”

  She immediately missed that smile. What was wrong with her? She didn’t react this way to men. She didn’t read this way to anyone. She had more control than this. Sienna nodded. “Captain Reise said the three of you worked the Blevins case while you were stationed in Afghanistan. Whoever’s after you, has to be someone with a personal connection to want you dead. Anybody come to mind?”

  “Blevins was a decorated solider. He had a lot of friends in high places. No kids. No wife. The closest thing he had to family was his secretary for the past decade. The man was married to the job for thirty years.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, the soft wisp of whiskers against skin louder in her ears than she expected. “I liked him.”

  “You mean until he murdered another soldier,” she said.

  “Well, yeah, that changed things.” Patrick relaxed back into the chair, motioning to her with his chin. “What branch did you serve in?”

  Confusion put a full stop to theories of the case. “How did you...?”

  “You called Jane ‘Captain Reise,’” he said.

  Perceptive. Sienna tugged at the catheter in her right arm. “Army.”

  “Grunt?” Those brown eyes lit up, and every nerve ending in her body fired in response. This was ridiculous. She had to take back her control. His life depended on it. “CID?”

  “Rotorhead, actually. Mostly repaired the Blackhawks. Served in Kunduz before the US pulled out then Mazār-e Sharīf.” She ran her thumbnail across the edge of the hospital sheet. “I was granted my discharge almost a year ago.”

  “Quite the career change.” His dark eyebrows drew together.

  “My roommate went missing while we were stationed.” She had no idea why she was telling him any of this, but the words just kept falling from her lips. The weight of his attention pressurized the air in her lungs like the weighted blanket she had on her bed back in Clinton, SC. Comforting. Warm. “She wasn’t the kind of person to just go AWOL. I went to CID to report it, but they couldn’t do anything. Jane happened to be there working another case and offered to help. So we searched for her together. And we didn’t stop until we found her. Turns out, I’m pretty good at this rescue thing.”

  “I can attest to that,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, you made it easy by getting us into the water.” With adrenaline pumping through her veins and his hand wrapped around hers, she would’ve gone anywhere with him right then. Her mouth dried. “Shortly after I got stateside, Jane contacted me. Said I could do some good helping clients. Still not sure why she thought I’d be suitable for the job, but I haven’t looked back since.”

  “Now you’re looking for a killer.” Patrick sat forward in his chair, elbows on his knees.

  Right. The investigation. Someone was still out there, targeting the man she’d been charged with protecting.

  The door burst open, screams filtering in from the hallway. She automatically reached for her weapon, but it wasn’t there. Hospital staff must’ve stripped her of her holster when Patrick had brought her in, taken her gun. She couldn�
��t fight back. Couldn’t protect her client.

  A single masked man, gun in his hand, studied the room.

  “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done, Major Barnes.” The gunman took aim at Patrick.

  And pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Three

  “No!” Sienna’s scream resonated through him as Patrick dove to protect her, the bullet grazing his arm.

  She rolled from the bed and hit the floor. He took his shot as the gunman followed her movements. Rushing forward, he knocked the gun from the shooter’s hand, but a solid kick to the chest sent him backward. He hit the arrangement of machines that’d reported every bump in Sienna’s vitals. The gun disappeared under the bed she’d occupied mere seconds ago as a fist connected with the right side of his face. Then the left. His head spun. He couldn’t orient himself, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

  “What’s the matter, Major? I thought you believed in justice.” The gunman pulled his elbow back a third time but didn’t strike.

  Patrick’s vision cleared. Enough to see Sienna held his attacker’s arm back. The bastard turned to fight her off and every cell in his body ignited with rage. No. His blood boiled in his veins.

  Patrick rushed forward. Hiking his shoulder into the son of a bitch’s torso, he lifted the gunman off his feet and slammed him into the far wall, knocking Sienna out of the way. Air crushed from his lungs. The muscles down his spine hardened to counterbalance the added weight, but he couldn’t hold the guy back much longer. His ears rang. Where was she? “Sienna, run!”

  “You’re not walking out of here, Major.” Florescent lighting glinted off something metallic as the gunman swung. Hard. “And neither is she.”

  Pain erupted down to the bone, but he wouldn’t back down.

  Not with Sienna’s life at risk too.

  “Good luck with that.” She wasn’t some bystander who’d happened upon his vehicle after the accident. She’d been trained to fight, to survive, and from what he’d seen, he doubted even a fresh bullet wound to the side could keep her down for long. Protectiveness, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, gripped him hard. No. This asshole wasn’t going to lay a single finger on her. Patrick raised his forearm to block another oncoming hit. Shoving back, he dropped out of the bastard’s reach as the attacker swung again and launched upward. Bone crunched under his fist, a raging scream drowning out the ringing in his ears. Where the hell was hospital security? He twisted his head to one side, the air in his joints popping and widened his stance. His heart beat loud behind his ears, almost loud enough to pull his attention from Sienna’s attempt to retrieve the gun from under the bed.

  The hospital’s emergency alarm attacked his central nervous system with flashing lights and blaring noise.

  The distraction cost him.

  Metal met his skull, and he hit the floor face first. Darkness closed in around the edges of his vision. His head throbbed as blood dripped a trail down the side of his face. A pair of bare feet rushed forward, toenails painted a deep red—Sienna’s—and danced around black steel-toed boots. One hit. Two. Her sharp pain-filled gasp pierced straight through him. He had to get up. Locking his jaw against the wave of dizziness threatening to take him under, Patrick forced himself to stand. He shifted—unbalanced—on both feet but made out the figures a few feet away.

  Sienna took a hit to the stomach and stumbled back into the wall, her light red hair falling around her face. She clamped onto the wound in her side but steadied herself with a small groan before moving in again. Putting herself between the attacker and the door, she threw a punch, then another. Both knocked the masked bastard backward but didn’t take him down.

  Patrick lunged. He wrapped his bruised arm around the son of a bitch’s neck and pulled. Anything to put distance between him and Sienna. She shouldn’t have to fight on his behalf. This didn’t have anything to do with her. She’d only been involved—been shot—because of him. He fisted the bastard’s ski mask in his hand but couldn’t pull the fabric over the attacker’s head without releasing leverage from around his neck. “Who the hell are you? Why are you targeting everyone involved in the Blevins case?”

  Sienna gripped her side as blood slipped through her fingers. Color drained from her face, eyes unsteady. Damn it. She must’ve torn her stitches in the fight. Rolling her lips between her teeth, she shook her head. She’d lost a lot of blood in the past few hours. If she didn’t get help, she’d pass out then go into shock, but Patrick couldn’t risk letting the son of a bitch in his hold go free. Not yet.

  “Go to hell.” Lifting his feet, the asshole swung all of his momentum forward, flipped Patrick over his back, and slammed him against the gleaming white tile.

  Lightning struck behind his eyes as air rushed from his lungs, but Patrick didn’t let it slow him down. Barely avoiding a strike from above, he rolled twice and straightened. This guy was strong and knew how to fight. Not an average citizen. Military. From the way the bastard came at him, he guessed Marines. Now what would a Devil Dog have to do with a prosecuted army chief warrant officer case? The emergency alarm couldn’t hide the thunder of footsteps pounding down the hallway. Security. “It’s over, marine. You’ve got nowhere to go.”

  The attacker’s dark gaze went to the gun a few feet away, and every muscle down Patrick’s back tightened. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you, Major? This won’t end with me. I’m just the first one who took the job.”

  The gunman went for the weapon. Patrick dove, determined to beat him to it, but the marine wrapped his grip around the gun a split second before they crashed in a heap to the floor. Swinging the gun around, the bastard took aim.

  A bare foot slammed into the attacker’s face, and the marine collapsed, unconscious. Heavy breathing pulled Patrick’s attention to those bright green eyes. Sienna stared down at the man on the floor. “I was aiming for the gun.” She shrugged. “This works, too.”

  *

  Every move.

  Sienna had tracked—been aware of—every move Patrick had made as he’d fought off the marine. Corporal Mark McCann. Police had identified their attacker a little over an hour ago after dragging him half-conscious from her hospital room. She closed her eyes against the memories. In the moment, terror had threatened to paralyze her, but Patrick had held his own. Dread curdled in her stomach. She’d almost lost another client. Lost him.

  And there was still a target on his back.

  “You okay?” Warm brown eyes centered in her vision, missing nothing. Thick muscles flexed down his arms as Patrick traced the bruise along her jawline. Calluses pulled at her skin, the ache growing stronger, but she didn’t move away. No matter how many times her brain screamed, warning she should. “You took a few good hits back there.”

  “That’s my job.” She took a deep breath to control her rising blood pressure. His touch... Damn, he felt good. Warm. Comforting. Exactly what she needed. Her mentor had trained her for every contingency, physical or otherwise, but she hadn’t expected to want Patrick’s touch as much as she did in this moment. Need it. When was the last time she’d let someone touch her like this? She’d had boyfriends, even an engagement to a fellow soldier a few years back, but this...this was different. Heat seared through her with a single swipe of his thumb across her over-sensitized skin.

  The adrenaline rush had worn off almost instantly after the fight with Corporal McCann. The sensations rushing through her now had nothing to do with the fact she could’ve been killed back there and everything to do with the man sitting beside her hospital bed yet again. Another shooter could come through that door any second, and she imagined the situation would play out exactly as it had the first time. Patrick moving between her and the gunman. Putting his life at risk for her even though he’d been the intended target. He was a good man. And he was going to make some other woman very happy someday.

  That last thought soured in the back of her mouth. Hell, she wanted to kick her own ass
for even thinking about it. The rules were clear. No fraternization between operative and client. So what if he found someone and settled down? Didn’t have anything to do with her. He deserved it after seventeen years of service to his country. He deserved to be happy, to finally dictate his own life instead of following orders. And after she wrapped up this case, she’d probably never see him again. “The hospital staff wheeled me out of there so fast to restitch my wound, I didn’t hear if the police got anything from McCann.”

  Patrick dropped his hand to her forearm resting on the bed, careful of the new tube full of saline needled into the back of her hand. He nodded, those fingers still very much sliding against her skin. “He’s not talking, but the gun they recovered from your last room matches the casings left at the scene on the bridge after I was run off the road.”

  “Sounds like he and CWO Blevins will have a lot to talk about in Leavenworth then.” The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as a flood of memories rushed forward. “McCann said he was the first to take the job, which means someone hired him to target you.”

  And they’d send another and another until the job was done.

  She tensed. Damn it. How much time had she wasted bleeding in this bed when she should’ve been getting him to a safe house? Sienna threw back the covers, exposing her bare legs, and extracted the catheter from the back of her hand. She shoved the pain in her side into a small box and refused to acknowledge it as she gathered her clothing and boots from the padded bench under the window. No weapon. She’d have to recover her SUV and raid the stash of weapons she kept locked under the back seat. Then she’d get Patrick to safety. “We need to go.”