Lock&Load (PASS Series Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  Bree turns to Yanis who asked the question. “The old Lazy S.”

  “Jesus, we drove right by there,” Dimas blurts out, shooting out of his chair.

  The room erupts in chaos as everyone starts moving for the lobby. I manage to grab Bree by the arm.

  “Where are you going?”

  “There’s an old motel right up the road from where Radar’s car was found.” She shakes her head. “He may have been right under our noses. Maybe Sarah is there as well.”

  She starts moving toward the doors again but I keep in step. I can feel her looking at me.

  “I’m coming,” I announce.

  This time it’s her turn to stop me with a hand on my arm.

  “You can’t. Stay here with Lena. We’ll call.”

  I shrug her arm off.

  “I’m coming. What if one of them is hurt? I’m a nurse. I can help.”

  “Bree! Goddammit, let’s go,” Dimas yells, sticking his head in the door.

  “I’m coming with you or I’ll find my way on my own.”

  Bree looks at the door, then back at me.

  “I’m going to get fired for this,” she mumbles, as she grabs my hand and pulls me along.

  “He’s gonna kick your ass for this, you know that, right?” Dimas points out when she shoves me into the cab of his truck and climbs in after me.

  “She can help.”

  He shakes his head at her and floors it out of the parking lot.

  “No matter what, you stay in this truck. You hear me?” he addresses me without taking his eyes off the road. Good thing too, because we’re flying.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Luckily at this time of night there isn’t a lot of traffic on the road, but I still have a hand braced on the dashboard in front of me as Dimas whips around what little there is to get to the south side of town. When we hit US 50 stretching out before us, he puts his foot to the floor. In no time we’ve caught up with the two black SUVs that tore out of the PASS parking lot before us.

  “Coming up on the right,” Dimas announces.

  In the distance I see the derelict building, the large sign at the roadside lit up by the headlights from the vehicles in front of us.

  Then I spot movement; a figure running awkwardly toward the road.

  “There!” Just as I point in that direction I see a flash, and whoever is running pivots on his axis as he’s falling to the ground. Oh no…

  “Shots!” Bree yells.

  Already the SUVs in front of us are turning into the motel’s driveway, but my eyes are peeled on the prone figure. I suck in a sharp breath. It’s pretty dark out and possibly my mind is playing tricks, but I thought I recognized a flash of blond hair as headlights bounced over him.

  Tires squeal as we turn in after them but come to a sudden halt only a few feet from the body.

  “Stay here!” Dimas yells. He slams the truck in park and jumps out, as does Bree on the other side.

  My shaking hand struggles to release the seat belt as I watch them run up to the man. Then I slide over, my hand ready on the door when a car suddenly peels out from behind the other side of the motel, and barrels straight toward the rear of the truck. It’s going to squeeze by and get away.

  I don’t think; I react.

  Shoving the gear in reverse, I slam my foot on the gas and the truck surges back. The crash is deafening as the rear of the truck broadsides the car. I’m launched forward, my head hitting the steering wheel.

  I barely have a chance to register a warm trickle running down my face when the door beside me is yanked open.

  “Jesus, woman,” Dimas’ voice is soft by my side.

  Lifting my head I turn to him, blinking the blur from my eyes.

  “Is he…” I can’t bring myself to finish the question.

  “Breathing.”

  A sob threatens to rip from my chest as I push Dimas out of the way.

  “Hey, you’re hurt,” he protests trying to stop me, but I slip from his hold and run toward Radar.

  He landed on his side and is moaning when I kneel at his front, opposite from Bree.

  “You’re bleeding,” she notes.

  “I know.” I brush her off. “So is he. Where is he hit?”

  “Hard to see. I think he’s lying on it. I’m trying to get the handcuffs off.”

  Suddenly a beam of light hits us as Dimas walks up, a large flashlight and what looks like a first aid kit in his hands.

  “Need some light here, Dimi,” Bree indicates, and a few seconds later she has the handcuffs off.

  Time for me to take charge.

  “Help me roll him over. Toward you. Slowly,” I warn Bree.

  Radar moans louder when we move him.

  “Hang on, buddy,” Dimas mumbles, aiming the light at Radar’s bloodstained shirt. “Ambulance is on the way.”

  “Have scissors in that pack?” I ask, gently pulling away the shirt so I can see the damage.

  His shoulder looks out of place and the bullet appears to have exited just below the clavicle where it connects to the shoulder joint.

  “I’ve got it.”

  My head snaps up at Yanis’ voice. If the narrowed eyes and tight lips are any indication, he’s not happy with me. Too fucking bad. I pull my hand away as he takes Bree’s place and deftly cuts through Radar’s shirt.

  Between us we have the wound loosely packed and his arm stabilized, as best we can, by the time sirens sound in the background.

  “Fucking hurts…” His voice is hoarse and his eyes are barely cracked. Suddenly he opens them wide and in a much firmer voice adds, “Jesus, Lady, you’re bleeding.”

  The sob I’ve been pushing down finally bursts free.

  Radar

  I’m in pain and I’m pissed.

  Hillary was whisked away the moment the ambulance carrying us both arrived at the hospital. That was a good while ago, and the nursing staff won’t tell me how she is.

  Now they’re wheeling me to the OR to repair my fucked-up shoulder and I still don’t know anything. Nor have I seen any of my team so I can ask them.

  They roll me past a nurse stepping out of a room. She looks vaguely familiar and throws me a sympathetic smile.

  “Hey, wait up,” I croak, lifting my head, despite my body already giving in to the sedative they administered just moments ago. “Hillary Glenwood,” I slur her name, struggling to fight off the drug.

  The bed stops and the nurse steps into my field of vision.

  “You’re Radar,” she states, grabbing my good hand. “I’m Linda, Hillary’s friend. She’s just gone for a CT scan to look for signs of a concussion, but she should be fine.”

  I drop my head back and blow out a relieved breath, as my eyes get too heavy to keep open.

  “Tell her…tell her…”

  I growl, frustrated the words don’t seem to come. The woman pats my hand.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll let her know.”

  I wonder how she can possibly tell Hillary what I don’t even know how to put in words. It’s my last thought before the lights go out.

  I smell coconut.

  Part of me would prefer to linger in this semi-conscious state where everything is muffled. Pain, light, voices. The only thing that seems real is her scent. It gives me a sense of well-being.

  My mind, on the other hand, is battling for clarity, and I will my eyes open only to squeeze them shut again when light blinds me.

  “He’s waking up.”

  I recognize the voice as Jake’s.

  “Trying to.”

  That one is softer, gentle, and accompanied by a soft touch on my face and a stronger whiff of coconut.

  “Hillary…”

  This time when I open my eyes her face is blocking out much of the light.

  “Hey, tough guy.”

  It’s only when she smiles that I notice the cut between her eyebrows and the swelling surrounding it. I lift my hand to touch her face, but I’m held back by an IV line.

  “You
r face.”

  “Yeah,” she mutters, her own fingers going straight for her forehead. “Pretty, right?”

  “What happened?”

  “I…uh…had a come-to-Jesus moment with the wheel of Dimas’ truck.” She winces. “I may have wrecked it.”

  A deep chuckle sounds behind her and I look up to find Jake grinning over her shoulder.

  “She definitely wrecked it,” he says, looking amused. “Two FBI agents and most of our PASS team weren’t able to stop the suspects from taking off, but Danica Patrick here reversed Dimas’ truck into their getaway car.”

  She shrugs sheepishly when I look at her, wide-eyed.

  “I was pissed,” she confesses, as if that justifies her reckless behavior.

  I open my mouth to tell her what I think when Jake interjects.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he says, still with that annoying grin on his face. “Yanis tried to read her and Bree the riot act earlier and your girlfriend verbally dissected him. It was both a thing of beauty and utterly terrifying.”

  “You told off my boss?”

  This time she bites her lip, clearly trying not to grin.

  “He deserved it. He was being mean to Bree.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hillary

  “How is your guy doing?”

  I glance at Linda over the rim of my coffee cup.

  She physically dragged me out of Radar’s room fifteen minutes ago and marched me to our favorite coffee shop, a block from St. Mary’s. Since Yanis and FBI Agent Sanders had just arrived to talk to Radar, I let her kidnap me.

  “Physically better. He’s got a long road of physical therapy ahead of him but he’s healing well. He was lucky that bullet didn’t hit him lower, the story might have had a different outcome then.”

  I keep seeing his body spin and hit the ground. If not for my emergency room experience to draw from, I would’ve lost it right there and then. Instead, I relied on muscle memory to take over and was able to hold it together.

  He ended up with a concussion, a dislocation, and a gunshot wound that did some damage to the already injured shoulder. Nothing irreparable, though. He was very lucky, and so was I, because I feel like puking every time I think of how it easily could’ve ended.

  Linda reaches across the table to put a hand on my arm.

  “He’ll get through just fine,” she assures me, and I realize tears are running down my face.

  “I know,” I mumble from behind the napkin I’m quickly mopping my face with.

  “He’ll be back to normal in no time,” she assures me.

  Unfortunately, I’m not convinced of that. Physically, yes, but he’s been different. Distant, almost detached. He’s told me several times to go home, that I didn’t need to be there. I ignored him, for the most part, thinking maybe it was pain or something, but each time he mentioned it the hurt burned a little deeper.

  “I don’t know,” I confess. “He’s been different. He hasn’t even touched me.”

  Linda barks out a laugh. “No shit. I’d be different too if I’d been beaten, kidnapped, and shot. Look, this is a grown-ass man who got bested by a bunch of teenagers. Not only that, from what I hear through the grapevine, he also discovered the body of someone he was working with. You don’t think that messes with a guy’s head?”

  I found out about Agent Sarah Dunn yesterday morning when her boss showed up at Radar’s bedside. I could tell from the sound of his voice, answering the agent’s questions affected him.

  I tilt my head and observe my friend.

  “You’re an expert on men now?”

  This time I get an eye roll.

  “Hardly, but maybe I’m far enough removed to look at them more objectively,” she offers. “Seems to me your own insecurities around the male species are shining through.”

  That shuts me up, because she’s not wrong, though I’d rather bite my tongue than to admit that to her smug face.

  Not only haven’t I seen this brooding side of him before—and it throws me off—but I also haven’t seen this emotional side of me, and I’m not sure what to do with it all.

  “He unsettles me.”

  “Good. That means he snuck his way past your barricades.”

  “I don’t have barricades, what are you talking about?”

  “Oh, please…they’re up so high most men won’t even try with you. You’re gorgeous, with those high cheekbones, curves in all the right places, and that flawless, bronze skin. And that’s just the outside. By all rights, they should be falling over themselves to get a shot at all that you are with even the slightest hint of encouragement, but you don’t give an inch.”

  “Bill Shearer asked me out,” I counter defensively.

  “Right, Dr. Sugarlips.” She shakes her head. “Only because the man’s ego is so big, he can’t see what’s obvious to everyone else. You’re not available.”

  “Radar pursued me.”

  Her grin can only be called triumphant.

  “Yes, he did.” She leans over the table. “And don’t tell me the man didn’t work hard to get in there.”

  Since I don’t have a valid argument to counter that point, I take a massive bite of my Danish, leaving Linda chuckling softly at my expense.

  “Believe me, honey,” she imparts. “There’s no way to control what the heart wants. You have to trust it’ll lead you somewhere beautiful…if you only let go of the rudder.”

  I’m not sure how we got from Radar’s behavior to my lack of trust, but Linda’s words settle deep.

  The rest of lunch—if you can call coffee and a Danish that—was eaten in silence. Linda apparently said all she planned on sharing and I was left with a lot to think about as a result.

  “It’s five to two.”

  A voice that has the hair rise on my neck interrupts the silence. Linda’s eyes point somewhere over my head and she arches an eyebrow.

  “And?”

  I shift my chair and turn around to find Karla hovering over me. The coffee shop is a favorite with hospital staff, but why did she have pick now to get her caffeine fix?

  “Your shift starts at two,” she directs at Linda before looking down on me. “I’d like to see you in my office.”

  “She’s injured,” Linda pipes up, coming to my defense. “She’s only here for lunch with me.

  “If she’s well enough to have lunch with a friend, she can work.”

  With that parting shot she walks out of the coffee shop, leaving me to stare after her. It takes me one point two seconds to come to a decision.

  “Where are you going?” Linda asks when I shove my chair back and stand up.

  “You heard the woman. She wants to see me.”

  When I start walking, I can hear the scrape of a chair and hurried footsteps behind me.

  “You’re insane,” Linda hisses beside me. “She’s gonna fire your ass.”

  I turn my head and grin at her.

  “I’m not going to give her the satisfaction.”

  I hustle down the block but only catch up with Karla as she slips into her office. I follow her in and shut the door behind me. Surprised, she swings around. Then a sly smile appears on her face and she opens her mouth, but I’m way ahead of her.

  “You’re sad, you know that?” I start, and feel some satisfaction at the sudden shock on her face. “I can’t for the life of me figure out how you can be so obsessed with a man who is only capable of loving himself. You’ve tried to make my life here miserable ever since I made the mistake of briefly dating him. Something I regretted almost instantly, but you’ve made me pay for all this time.”

  “You all but threw yourself at him! Typical of your kind.”

  I wasn’t sure, but I had my suspicions jealousy may not have been the only reason why she felt the need to target me all this time. Now I know, and it makes me even angrier.

  “My kind? Are you referring to the fact I’m a person of color?”

  Her eyes narrow and she hisses, “He’s too go
od for you.”

  “Word of warning, Karla, your prejudice is showing.”

  I can tell she hears it because her demeanor instantly changes to one of innocence.

  “Oh, don’t give me that wide-eyed look, you know it and I know it,” I cut her off when she gets ready to defend herself, because I’m nowhere near done with my long-overdue blowup. “You know what the worst part is? You’re so obvious about it—he knows it too. He doesn’t give two cents about me, but he flirts and lays it on thick when you’re around because he enjoys getting a rise out of you. That’s what he likes, playing with people. It makes him feel powerful.”

  Her face colors a deep red and her mouth forms a straight line.

  “You can’t talk to me like that. You’re—”

  “I quit, Karla. I’m done. Life is too short for me to work in such a toxic environment. I can live with the consequences of my actions; I just hope you can.”

  When I walk out of her office I do so with a much lighter step.

  Radar

  I’ve had my eye on the door since Hillary walked out.

  “Radar,” Yanis says sharply, and I drag my focus to him. “We can come back if you’re not up to it.”

  I reach for the button that raises the top of the bed a little higher.

  “No. This is fine.”

  “All right,” Yanis says, sitting down in the chair Hillary vacated. “You mentioned you recognized the voices outside the motel room.”

  “Technically I didn’t. One of them accused the other of screwing things up when he posted that picture. That stupid picture to be exact. It was a safe assumption he was referring to the social media post with the image of the bloody baseball bat, and therefore was talking to Jeremy Loman. He then called the other guy ‘Curt,’ and I’d just been looking into Curtis Philips, so that was a pretty easy conclusion as well.”

  “What made you look into him?”

  I turn to Sanders. “Who, Philips? Hillary asked me to look into the kid.”

  “Yes, Ms. Glenwood already filled us in on what made her ask you to do that. I’d like to know why you waited so long.”

  I close my eyes. Fuck, if that isn’t the question I asked myself many times over the past forty-eight hours. Sanders’ implication is clear, his agent might still be alive had I moved on it faster.