Protecting Justice (The Justice Series Book 4)

by Adrienne Giordano

  Just when she thought they were about to stop, the car hit something big and hard on her side. Next thing she knew, they were ass over tea-kettle.

  How many times the Charger rolled she lost count. Her head smacked the passenger side window again, the airbag deflating in a cloud of powder. Her hands flew out, trying to find purchase, and one of her shoes flew past her head as the car did cartwheels. Glass broke, metal groaned. Grey stopped swearing. They bounced so hard once that Fallyn thought her spine would snap.

  Finally, the car came to a stop. One of the headlights had broken out, the other trailed a beam at the ground. The dashboard was no longer lit up, shadows blanketing the interior.

  Every bone in her body screamed in pain. Her vision was blurred, her ears ringing.

  “Grey?” she said after a moment of gasping for breath. She blinked and tried to clear the pressure in her ears. “Are you okay?”

  No answer.

  “Grey?”

  She felt weightless, as if she were hanging sideways. That’s when her vision cleared enough for her to realize that she was indeed, hanging from her seatbelt. The car was up on its side.

  Suspended halfway over a drop off.

  Shit. Fallyn’s breath came in gasps once more. What the hell just happened?

  Alive. She was alive.

  “Grey!” Please be alive. Please be alive…

  He wasn’t moving, didn’t even seem to be breathing.

  No, no, no. Not you too.

  Dark, sticky blood streamed from his forehead. Fallyn tried to check for a pulse, her fingers sliding over his muscular neck and probing gently.

  Where is it? Where is it?

  There. A throbbing. Light but solid under her fingers.

  “Grey, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

  No response. He was totally out.

  Concussion? Probably. No telling if he had a spinal injury or was bleeding internally.

  She had no purse, no cell. The car was still running. She poked at the navigation screen, straining against the seatbelt to reach it. “Come on, come on,” she said at the dark screen. “On Star, where are you?”

  Nothing.

  Surely Tony had seen the accident. He had to be close. Fallyn yanked on the door handle and the car wobbled. The handle moved loosely in her hand. Useless. The door was jammed.

  Duh. It was laying on the passenger side. There was no opening it, no way, no how.

  Now what?

  Her head pounded. What about the guy in the truck? What if he was out there sneaking up on them? Lying in wait for Tony?

  She had to warn Tony. For half a second, she tugged at her seatbelt, trying to unlock it. The car rocked again, making her stop.

  Breathe, she told herself. Think.

  Somehow, she had to get herself and Grey out of this damn car. Without flipping it down the ravine and killing them.

  “This isn’t my area of expertise, Greystone, just so you know.” Shifting her weight to the side, she slowly unbuckled her seatbelt and prayed. She reached behind her seat and grabbed the shoe that had flown off, shoved it on her foot. “But if you promise not to die on me, I’ll give it my best damn shot.”

  The Fates, those fickle bitches, must have heard her, because at that exact moment, flames burst from the hood of the car.

  * * *

  Tony slid down the embankment, his dress shoes sliding on the moist grass and sending him to his ass. Ten feet in front of him, the hood of Grey’s Charger ignited, the bright orange flames licking the air. The car had rolled to its side and somehow sat teetering at a ninety-degree angle on the two passenger side wheels.

  Mother of God.

  What the hell?

  Dread marched up his body, swarming him, cutting off his air. Had they gotten out? Were they somewhere safe?

  “Help!” Fallyn shrieked.

  Alive. The second’s worth of relief whipped inside him until the panic, that guttural roar in his head, drowned everything out. Her voice came from the direction of the car.

  Inside the car.

  He scrambled down the embankment, one hand skittering along the ground, keeping him half upright, half sliding. If he lost his footing he’d plummet into a burning wreck.

  “Fallyn!”

  Somewhere in that mess, he’d find her. But all he could see was the undercarriage of the car and the tips of the flames shooting into the air.

  “Tony? Help us!”

  His foot caught on something. Crap. Momentum carried him, his big body still moving past his snagged foot. His ankle tweaked and—shit—if that sucker snapped, they were all toast.

  Literally.

  He dropped to his ass, dug his fingers into the ground to slow his body’s descent. His fingers ached from the pressure of holding two-hundred-thirty pounds of his weight—hang on—but he gripped harder, fighting against gravity. He halted and lifted his foot from what looked like an old tree root.

  Scrambling, he got to his feet, ignoring the knifing pain in his bruised ankle to hustle down the embankment, one hand still close to the ground so he didn’t go headfirst into the wreckage. “Fallyn! Where are you?”

  “Front passenger side.”

  That was a problem. Considering the car sat wedged on that side. Something clicked in his brain and he surveyed the area, taking in the tiny details. Passenger side was out. Driver’s side. He’d have to somehow climb onto the driver’s side to free them.

  And while he was doing so, pray that car didn’t tip over on him.

  Shit. As if on cue, the two suspended tires dipped, the car creaking with the movement and no, no, no.

  “Fallyn, don’t move!”

  The flames grew higher and a fresh batch of heat blew back to him as he neared the wreck and that roar in his head wouldn’t give. How the hell would he get them out?

  “We’re trapped!” Fallyn yelled. “Grey is unconscious! I think I can get to the backseat.”

  The car rocked again. If that kept up, this would be over quick. “Honey, please. Don’t move!”

  But, too late.

  A loud groan like bending metal scraped the air and flames spit higher. Do something. His heart damn near shattered his chest wall and the tires, those goddamned tires dipped again.

  No, no, no.

  He took a step, but the car moved again and he lunged back. “Fallyn! Hang on, it’s going over!”

  The car collapsed, just clunked to the ground in front of him, bouncing as it landed and flames continued to pour from under the hood. Behind the wheel, Grey’s upper body smacked forward, the seatbelt jerking his head.

  Tony charged, his dress shoes refusing to cooperate and slipping. Forget the shoes. He drew a harsh breath, tasted foul air and—fuck.

  Gas. Somewhere from this wreck, the car was losing gas and he smelled it now, that fresh, ripe smell of liquid that would blow them all to hell.

  He reached Grey’s door, wrenched it open just as Fallyn was climbing over the seat. “Help, Grey,” she said. “I’ll try to get out the back.”

  Before tending to Grey, he reached over, popped the handle on the back door and pulled. The door swung open. Finally, a break. Fallyn scrambled over the seat and pushed off with those spiked heels that made him insane.

  She’d never make it up the hill in those. “Ditch your shoes and haul ass. I smell gas.”

  He reached in, unclipped Grey’s seatbelt and the man’s body slumped sideways over the console.

  Wrong way, kid.

  Sliding his arms around Grey, he locked his hands together, planted his feet and heaved. The first attempt got him halfway out and all that dead weight transferred to Tony, throwing him off balance on the steep incline.

  Dammit.

  “Let me help,” Fallyn said from behind him.

  As if she’d be able to carry a man that outweighed her by a hundred pounds. At least. And why the hell was she still standing there? “Jesus Christ, Fallyn. Go. Up that hill. Now!”

  She let out a squeak and assum
ing she’d actually listened, he focused on Grey and freeing his lower body from the car.

  Almost there.

  Tony dug his feet in again, gritted his teeth and hoped to hell the moist dirt wouldn’t give. One, two, three. Everything he had, every ounce of strength went into his task and he let out a grunt as his muscles strained and ripped and…yes.

  Grey’s body came loose, the car seeming to spit him out as momentum knocked Tony backward, right to his ass. He stayed down, grinding his feet into the earth, shoving back and dragging Grey’s dead weight with him as the flames, those nasty orange whips, engulfed the entire hood.

  Get out.

  Tony glanced down, took in Grey’s face. The closed eyes. The slack cheeks and—God—not again. Don’t go there.

  Get out.

  He got to his knees, stood and glanced up the hill where Fallyn crab-walked up the embankment, her feet skidding out from under her. The incline was steep and if she could barely get up by herself, how would he do it with Grey? They’d need a backboard and a towrope to pull this one off.

  Another groan came from the car and that gas smell permeated the air, stinging Tony’s nostrils. Flames spread, licking at the car’s interior and he dropped his gaze. Even in the dark, he saw it. The trickle underneath the car. All that gas leaking free.

  Grey moaned again and Tony noted the angry cut searing his forehead. No time to wait.

  He squatted, hooked his arms under Grey’s. “Listen up, friend. I’m gonna carry your ass up this hill. I’d appreciate some help.”

  And, upsie-daisy, he hoisted Grey over his shoulder into a fireman’s hold. Hell on earth the guy was heavier than he looked.

  Again, Tony glanced up the hill, saw Fallyn at the top—thank God for that at least—and wondered just how the fuck he’d carry two-hundred-plus pounds up a steep, wet embankment.

  In dress shoes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tony’s first step, with all of Grey’s dead weight sinking into him, nearly leveled him. The ground gave, his foot slipped and panic ripped at him, pounding his mind as momentum pulled his body over. He put his free hand out, tightened his hold on Grey and caught himself before he face-planted. Grey’s head snapped back and ricocheted forward again. If he had a spinal injury, forget it, game over. He’d be paralyzed.

  You can’t do it. Too steep. He shook his head, drew a long breath of air. The stench of smoke burned his throat and he swallowed, licked at the salty sweat from his upper lip.

  Up the hill. Get it done.

  Save this one.

  “Come on!” Fallyn yelled.

  At the top of the embankment, she waved both arms, urging him toward her. “Hurry! You can do it! Come on!”

  You’ve got this.

  If he didn’t move, goddamn do something, the car might explode and send them all to an early grave.

  And wouldn’t that be the pisser of all pissers? More people dying on his watch.

  No way.

  He hoisted Grey higher on his shoulder, heard another groan and considered it a good thing.

  “Move it.”

  Fallyn. Again offering her twisted brand of encouragement.

  He took a step and kept his footing. One more step. That’s all he had to do. One step at a time.

  Until he got to the top of the embankment.

  With each mud-entrenched step, Grey’s weight shifted and Tony’s back barked. Bone crushing pain laced straight down his spine. All those squats in the gym were coming in handy. He lifted his head, kept his focus on the top of that hill and a screaming Fallyn. Step, step, step. That’s all.

  Step.

  Step.

  Step.

  “Keep going,” Fallyn said.

  Grey moaned again and Tony tightened his grip, tried not to jar Grey more than necessary. “Don’t you fucking die on me, Greystone.”

  Don’t you fucking die.

  In the distance, sirens wailed and it hit him like a homing signal, drawing his body up that hill. He wrenched another backbreaking step, sucked in a hard breath and felt his knee wobble. Steadying himself, he looked up again, met Fallyn’s eyes.

  “You can do this, Tony,” she said in that bitchy voice she used when she meant business. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

  No stopping.

  Two more steps and he was there. With her.

  Safe.

  One.

  Breathe.

  Step.

  Two.

  At the top, his quivering legs gave way and he dropped to his knees. Gently, he swung Grey to the pavement and collapsed next to him, flat on his back. An orange glow lit the darkness and he turned his head, the cold pavement shocking his system. Below, the car was completely engulfed and angry flames whipped in the light wind.

  Gonna blow.

  “Fallyn,” he said, “run. Take cover.”

  “What?”

  Did the woman ever listen? Not ask questions and just listen?

  “Goddammit, run! Before that car—”

  Boom!

  The night exploded.

  Tony heaved right, levered off the ground and threw himself on top of Grey, raising his hands to shield both their heads from flying debris.

  Bits of car parts—plastic and metal and rubber—rained down. A hunk of the exterior crashed two feet away and Tony counted down the seconds until the air settled and the only sound was the siren drawing closer.

  He raised his head, stared down at the burning carcass of Grey’s car and his stomach pitched.

  Fallyn.

  Where was she? “Fallyn!”

  “I’m okay,” she called from somewhere by his car.

  She was okay. He pushed off of Grey, rolled to his back where above him an array of stars winked.

  Alive.

  Everyone was alive.

  * * *

  Tony stood just outside the family waiting room in the hospital ER. Minutes ago a trauma surgeon had asked if Grey’s family was present. Nada. Syd was on her way, but hadn’t yet arrived. At which point, the surgeon informed them Grey needed immediate surgery. Implied consent, the doc had said. Which, by Tony’s way of thinking, wasn’t good since implied consent gave the hospital permission to perform emergency, lifesaving surgery.

  At the scene, Tony had overheard the paramedics relaying something about Grey being hypotensive from possible intra-abdominal bleeding.

  Internal injuries.

  Fuck. The man was bleeding out from inside.

  Don’t you die on me, Greystone.

  Hands in pockets, Tony kept his gaze locked on his shoes. Mud caked the edges and had splashed over the tops leaving a residue. He wiggled his toes, felt the rub against the soft leather and knew he’d be throwing these shoes away.

  The fuckers were cursed.

  These shoes, these goddamned black dress shoes he’d bought—on sale at the store he liked in Georgetown—had been on his feet the day Chief Justice Turner had been gunned down.

  What were the chances—outside of supremely bad karma—he’d be wearing the same fucking shoes?

  He let out a sigh and shook his head.

  Yeah, blame the shoes.

  He glanced up at Fallyn, leaning on the opposite wall, typing away on her phone. God knew what she was doing, but like him, she had to keep busy. On a primal level he understood that her high level activity was a coping mechanism. He knew it all too well.

  Obviously sensing his attention, she stopped typing and raised her head. “You okay?”

  She’d almost gotten killed and she was worried about him? Go figure.

  “Fine,” he said. “I think you should let them check you out.”

  “Outside of sore boobs, I’m all right. Really. Airbags are a wondrous invention. Besides, I don’t want to leave you. Or Grey.”

  Tony reached up, dragged his hands through his hair. “Syd should be here soon.” He jerked his thumb down the hallway where Grey had been rushed to surgery. “I don’t know what to tell her.”

  F
allyn stowed her phone and closed the distance between them. She propped her shoulder against the wall and nudged him on the ankle with her bare foot. Somewhere on that hillside were her fancy designer shoes.

  “We tell her what we know. That someone was following us and Grey swerved to avoid hitting a deer. It’s not your fault, Tony. It was an accident.”

  “One that wouldn’t have happened if you had been with me.”

  “Oh, please. You don’t know that. Fate is a fickle bitch. If I’d been with you, maybe we’d be dead right now.”

  He gave her a look that he hoped would back her off.

  She moved closer—apparently his scary look needed a tune-up—and elbowed him lightly.

  “You don’t scare me, Tony Gerard. And I don’t care what you say, you saved both of our lives tonight. No matter what happens, you need to remember that. Without you, Grey would be in the morgue right now. Got it?”

  An echo of clippety-claps came from the end of the hallway a few feet from him and—she’s here. How he knew that was a mystery, but the sudden increased drumming of his pulse and his twisting stomach told him Sydney had arrived. She swung around the corner. Her previously neat hair was now a crumpled mess, tucked behind her ears and out of her face. A face that, opposed to ninety minutes ago, was now drawn and freakishly pale.

  Last time he’d seen that look was the day his father dropped dead of a heart attack. Only that time, his mother wore it.

  Syd met Tony’s eyes and whatever she saw there stopped her.

  She paused, searching for comfort, reassurance.

  Hope.

  None of which he could offer. Not with Grey lying helpless on a table, possibly hemorrhaging or perhaps worse.

  Cold. Fallyn, ever the crisis negotiator, beelined for Syd and held her arms out, wrapping her in a hug. Fallyn the non-hugger hugging Sydney. Go figure.

  Tony strode toward her, ready to plead his case, and stood behind Fallyn while the two women hung on. Syd held his gaze though, still trying to read him. What she couldn’t know about him was his ability to isolate his grief. To compartmentalize.