Consummate Betrayal

by Yungeberg. Mary

  Taking a moment to stand and stretch, he walked out of the room to retrieve his phone. Danielle stood outside the door sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup and held it out for him. Giving her a gruff smile, he grabbed it from her hand. “Thanks, Danielle.” At some point during the long night, she’d asked him to call her by her first name. “Rowan’s awake.” Seeing the eagerness in her face, he smiled again. “Just give me a couple minutes to talk privately with him and then he’s all yours.”

  Stepping back into the room, he stood by Rowan’s bed and looked down. “Rowan, you can hear me, can’t you?” His friend’s dark head moved fractionally on the pillow. “Can you speak at all? Because son, we’ve got to do some strategizing. We’ve got a big problem, you and I.” He worried it might be too much for Rowan to absorb, and he didn’t want to push him.

  Rowan angled his head, his swollen lips moving slowly. Dipping his head low and close, he felt warm breath on his cheek, bringing an unexpected lump to his throat. His friend could only whisper. “They found out about the black ops somehow. Someone betrayed me – twisted everything.”

  Thunderstruck, he stepped back and stared at Rowan. “Sweet Jesus…” With sudden, stunning clarity he realized that the time was fast approaching when he’d have to count the cost and declare his allegiance. Would it be to the nation he’d served throughout a lifelong career or to the younger man lying in the hospital bed, who he loved like a son? He shook his head. The answer lay staring up at him, bruised and broken but thank God – still alive.

  Leaning close to Rowan once more, he whispered. “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. The president put you in my hands, and I won’t betray you. You have to know that.”

  What Rowan did next buoyed his spirit as much as it wounded it. Moving his legs enough to make the despicable chain clank against the leg irons, his friend stared at him and whispered fiercely. “Why?”

  Mouth twisting in revulsion, he replied, “Ainsley.” Rowan struggled to lift his head, and he looked into the tormented eyes. “What is it?”

  Sweat stood on Rowan’s forehead as his face strained with the effort to speak. “In my briefcase, hidden pocket, Chad…” His special agent sank back into the pillow, closed his eyes, and slipped away.

  He needed to find Chad pronto and get into Rowan’s briefcase. What in the world was his special agent talking about? Rowan must have known Chad could find and decipher what he’d hidden. He sighed. They’d soon find out.

  * * *

  Tuesday Afternoon

  Chad waited inside the front entrance of the airport, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other while he inspected the bronze statue of Joe Foss, South Dakota’s very own World War II hero. Ralph had sent him to pick up Rowan’s sister. Her plane had taxied in twenty minutes earlier. She should be coming down the escalator – now. Not having a clue what she looked like, he hoped he hadn’t missed her among the crowd that had already straggled past him. Ralph had smiled and said he’d recognize her and not to worry. What was that about?

  Scowling, he looked up at the lone woman riding down the escalator. From that point forward he – FBI hot shot special agent and hacker extraordinaire, second degree black belt and confirmed bachelor – became a convert to the religion of Love at First Sight. His mouth hung open, and he tried to find his voice. The woman, and there was not a single doubt in his mind that she was Rowan’s sister, looked around tentatively and walked toward him.

  Dressed in a form-fitting white suit with a slim skirt, barelegged and wearing tan leather heels, she had Rowan’s olive complexion, hair that was black as onyx and short, curling seductively around a face with delectable red lips. But it was her eyes that got him. There was no mistaking the family resemblance. A woman goddess version of his colleague had entered his life. Shaking himself mentally, he hoped he never let any of those thoughts slip out. Wiping sweaty palms on his pants he stepped toward her, hoping he could form a complete sentence. “Ms. Milani?”

  She turned toward him, relief evident in her face. Then she smiled and rocked his world. He smiled back, surprised his face worked. Head tilted, she looked at him. “Um, are you special agent Cantor?”

  Reaching out, he hoped he could handle the touch of her hand in his. “Chad, yes, that’s me.” His voice sounded like he was in seventh grade and he cleared his throat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you – it’s Bettina, correct?” Giving him another smile, she grasped his hand. He survived first contact, staring at their hands clasped together. Would she say yes if he asked her to marry him?

  When she giggled, he looked up and released her hand. “Rowan told me you’re kind of quirky…but in a good way.” It hurt him to see sadness overtake the smile. “How is Rowan? It’s been horrible, wondering what’s going on.” She tapped the handle of the black carry-on bag next to her. “This is all I brought with me, so we don’t have to collect any luggage. Can we go straight to the hospital? That’s all I want to do, and of course see Mr. Johnston.”

  Her dark eyes entreated him, and he knew he would take her anywhere she wanted to go, lay his coat over the proverbial puddle for her to step on. No – he’d lay down in the mud so she could step on him. Grabbing the handle of the carry-on bag, he put a hand lightly on her back. “Car’s right this way, I can have you next to your brother’s bedside in about thirty minutes.”

  They walked outside to the red Mustang where she stopped, looking from him to the car and back. Watching her brows climb her forehead, he read the disbelief in her eyes. “Since when does the FBI provide Mustangs – red ones and convertibles no less, for their agents? The last time I talked to Rowan on the phone, he griped about the Lincoln you drive.” Then she shivered and wrinkled her nose. It was all he could do not to bend down and kiss it. “He also talked about how cold and barren it is here. Brrr, he was right.” Rubbing her arms vigorously, she looked up at him with inscrutable eyes. God help him. He’d fallen for the female version of Rowan Milani. His life would never be the same.

  * * *

  Wednesday Afternoon

  The next time Rowan drifted awake, he thought the world seemed brighter. His eyes followed the numbers on the machines tracking his status among the living. He noticed the beige drapes pulled back from the window, a TV mounted on the wall, the cluttered countertop, and small cabinet beneath it. An opaque white curtain obscured his view of the rest of the room. Ralph must be taking a break because he wasn’t in the chair at the end of the bed. Had he imagined Danielle being there? He moved his legs, rattling the chain. The cold metal above his ankles fostered ripples of panic through his gut.

  Then there was the pain. Clearing the fog in his brain was one thing, but with it came the grim awareness of how much damage his body had sustained. Swallowing convulsively, he remembered the huge hands and how he’d enraged the man they belonged to, egged him on and been severely punished for his efforts.

  Quick footsteps trod into the room, the curtain flew open, and a nurse with a mask of professional concern covering her features hovered over him. Long blonde hair dangled in a pony tail over her shoulder and she assessed him with kind, blue eyes. “I see you’re awake, sir. Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?”

  When he managed to nod, she reacted immediately, eyes roaming over the flasks of fluids attached to the IV pole. “Oh dear, this is empty, it should have been replaced. I’ll be right back. In the meantime, let’s sit you up for a bit. You seem a lot more alert this afternoon, which is a good thing.” She patted his shoulder, and he drew a quick breath at the stinging pain in her simple touch. As the bed hummed, he found himself more or less sitting up, with a view of the doorway on one side and out the window on the other.

  Finally he could look at his hands, but there wasn’t much to see. Thick bandages covered all but his fingers, and went well past his wrists. He tried to move his fingers, concentrated hard, felt sweat bead on his forehead. The index finger on his right hand moved a hair, and he detected faint movement in t
he fingers on his left hand. What the hell was wrong with his hands? Sweating in earnest now, he felt the thin hospital gown sticking to his body. Panic set in and he told himself to suck it up and calm down.

  The nurse reappeared with a bulging flask of clear fluid that he hoped was pain medication. She also had a needle and syringe and smiled at him as she removed the empty flask and replaced it. “That will help manage your pain, sir. I also brought something that will take the edge off. It looks like you’re hurting.” Pulling the plastic cover off the needle, she inserted it into the IV in his right arm. “There you go. You should get relief right away.”

  She took his pulse and frowned, checked his temperature, and watched him with a practiced eye. He felt the sting of fluid flowing into his vein, then soothing warmth spreading through his body. Grateful, he looked up and managed a whisper. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s nice to hear your voice. You’ve come a long way in two days, and we expect to see continuing improvement. Your vitals are strong and steady, which is a miracle considering all the…” Looking embarrassed, she didn’t finish the sentence, just smiled and gathered her things from the bedside table. “I’ll come back in a little while to lower your bed. I think a change of scenery will do you good.” She turned, pulled the curtain shut and was gone.

  The tension fled as the medication did its job. Drifting toward darkness, he remembered the blood dripping down his arms and the unending agony when his legs gave out. Wishing the ugly memories would go away he turned his head to the right, closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.

  When he woke up again, he saw Danielle, asleep in the chair at the end of the bed. Hesitant footsteps approached. He turned his head, watching as the curtain slowly moved aside to reveal the anguished face of his sister, with Ralph and Chad trailing in to stand beside her. Bettina was trying not to cry, tears gathering in her eyes as she clenched and unclenched her fists. “Oh Rowan…” She choked up and stood staring at him while tears slipped down her cheeks.

  He closed his eyes. If his mother and father walked in next, he’d kill Ralph with his bare hands. Anger burned hot with the dawning recognition that he may never be able to do anything with his hands. Opening his eyes, he glowered at Ralph, felt rage building and then spilling over, but he didn’t care. Feeling anything besides desperation and terror was invigorating and made him feel alive again. He welcomed his old familiar state of being. At least he hadn’t lost that. Damn near everything else that mattered was long gone, and maybe he’d add his hands to that list too, but by God, nobody could take away his rage.

  * * *

  Ralph watched Rowan with interest, noting the full bore return of his special agent’s forceful personality. It fascinated him to see the rage light Rowan’s eyes and gave him hope that his special agent’s razor sharp mind was on the mend as well.

  Gazing at Chad, he smothered a snicker behind a cough into his fist. As far as he could tell, Cupid’s arrow still resided in his special agent’s back. Apparently Danielle noticed too. He saw her looking with lively interest from Bettina to Chad. Catching her eye, he raised a brow, and she grinned. Bettina appeared oblivious to the stir she’d created, with eyes only for her brother. Rowan had been unconscious the day before when she’d arrived and again in the morning. The poor thing had sat for hours by his bedside, finally taking a break to eat in the hospital cafeteria.

  He’d had a hell of a time explaining to her why Rowan was restrained to his bed with a guard at the door. She’d finally calmed down when he told her that because her brother had shot a federal agent, he simply hadn’t been given a choice about the restraints. It was great to see Rowan awake and more alert, so Bettina could talk to him and satisfy herself that he was on the mend. Then, hopefully, he could get her to leave.

  Watching his special agent carefully, Ralph frowned. Rowan stared with narrowed eyes at Chad, trying to say something. His voice was scratchy, barely more than a whisper, but still managed an undertone of menace and must have taken colossal effort. “Stay away from my sister.”

  He guffawed and smacked Chad on the back. “Way to go special agent.” Still chuckling, he plucked his phone from the cluttered countertop and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. “You three stay here. I need to talk with someone. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  Heading for the elevators, he yawned. Chad falling for Bettina was one more thing he hadn’t seen coming. Maybe he should consider retirement. Adding to his darkening mood, the two nurses he entered the elevator with didn’t respond to his polite “Good afternoon,” but glared at him and turned deliberately away. It seemed that the entire nursing staff in the enormous medical center thought he was personally responsible for Rowan’s injuries. He set his jaw and ignored them. He couldn’t do anything about the nurses, except maybe shoot them. Sadly, that wasn’t an option, but thinking about it lightened his mood.

  Exiting the elevator on ground floor, he looked around in confusion. He had to find the Emergency Room and Doctor Anderson. If the man would speak to him, which was admittedly doubtful, he was sure the doctor could help him thwart Ainsley’s scheme to move Rowan to Quantico. Fifteen minutes of aimless wandering and wrong turns later, he saw the double doors that said TRAUMA FIVE EMERGENCY and pushed through them. The hallway looked familiar and then he remembered – it was the same one the two CIA thugs had come running down, and where he’d met Doctor Anderson. Continuing along, he saw the doctor’s office. The door was open. Glancing in, he was relieved to see the doctor at his desk, talking on the phone. It appeared he’d gotten lucky and caught a lull in ER activity.

  Taking a tentative step inside the door, he raised a hand in greeting. Doctor Anderson saw him and scowled. “Say, John, a moment please.” The doctor held the phone in his hand and gave him a cold stare. “I’m involved in an important conversation. What do you want?”

  Hoping his voice conveyed adequate deference, Ralph gave the doctor a brief smile. “Doctor Anderson, I apologize for the interruption, but it’s imperative that I speak with you.”

  The doctor stared at him for a moment longer, shrugged in acquiescence and returned to the phone. “John? I apologize, something’s come up that needs my attention here. How about day after tomorrow at noon, does that work for you? Great – we’ll continue then. Thanks, John.”

  Doctor Anderson laid the phone in its berth and looked up at him, gesturing at the empty chair across from the desk. “Close the door and sit down – Special Agent in Charge Johnston, isn’t it? My time is limited, regardless of how important your problem may be.” The doctor’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Is your prisoner in need of my services? Are you unhappy with the room location? Or are you just concerned about his injuries and how to most quickly get him healed for more interrogation?”

  Closing the door, Ralph sat down, ignored the jibes and leaned forward, hands clasped in his lap. What he had to say was deadly serious, and he hoped to God the doctor would be able to appreciate that. Looking intently at the adversary he desperately needed as an ally, he began. “Doctor Anderson, I appreciate your time and let me get straight to the point. The man you treated here is my friend. He is most certainly not a terrorist, although someone has gone to great lengths to create that impression. I was able to circumvent what would have resulted in his death, by obtaining personal custody of him from the CIA by order of the president.”

  Gathering his thoughts, he focused on the doctor’s unfriendly eyes. “Now, my superior has apparently bought into this cabal and is intent on moving Rowan to a military prison, as soon as possible. If he accomplishes that, gets the ear of the president and I lose custody…” He hated that word. “Rowan will be lost forever. And that, Doctor Anderson, is not going to happen. I intend to take whatever steps are necessary to protect my friend’s life.”

  Various emotions played over the doctor’s face. Would the man help him? In a moment of panic he saw himself shooting his way out of the hospital, Rowan tossed over h
is shoulder. Shaking his head to rid his mind of the bizarre image, he knew he needed a decent night’s sleep.

  Doctor Anderson still looked skeptical and opened his mouth to speak. Ralph held up both hands to stop him. “No doctor, please. I know how things looked that morning, and I didn’t do anything to dispel your concern or redirect your thoughts. What I’ve told you now is privileged, sensitive information, and I may have put you in danger by asking for your help. Quite honestly, I don’t know where else to turn.”

  Doctor Anderson adjusted his tie, which he noticed was imprinted with tiny American flags. Next the doctor took off his glasses, wiped them absently on the sleeve of his white coat, put them back on, and gazed at him pensively. “Special agent Johnston, please try to understand my concern. It’s all well and good that you’re telling me this now, but I remember that morning clearly, and your hands and clothes were covered with blood. Call me a cynic, but I can’t think how you’d get blood all over you without somehow participating in the damage to Mr. Milani.”

  Impotent anger coursed through him. He felt the heat rising from his neck to his cheeks. God almighty, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Taking a measured breath, he decided to drop the formal, polite routine and tell Dr. Anderson just exactly how he’d found his special agent, and let him decide if he’d been complicit in his injuries. Looking up, he spoke in a low, tense voice. “Doctor Anderson, let me tell you what happened to special agent Milani as best I have been able to put together, before he arrived at the hospital.”