That only added urgency to Sean’s push as he made it to the hotel and shoved the lobby doors open.
If he’s in a room, he could be holding her—probably is—but he won’t hold her much longer!
But the doors didn’t close behind him. Sean turned to see a young man in a leather duster with a gun in his hand.
“You slippery motherfucker! I’m takin’ your balls!”
Sean knew right away that it was the second man of the two remaining men, Spencer Lange’s operatives.
Or rather, he was.
A roundhouse kick threw the gun out of the man’s hand with such force that it flew across the room to a distant corner. The hotel staff scurried away in fear, disappearing to the safety of back rooms.
It was a good choice.
The look in his adversary’s eyes told Sean that he knew there was no chance to go for the gun. Sean knew that too, but he didn’t need it. He attacked with a flurry of punches that sent the punk staggering back and finally falling to the floor.
Can’t waste time like this, he told himself. Have to stop this man fast and get up those stairs!
Using a surge of energy and desperation, Sean grabbed the guy’s head to give it a twist, but his adversary seemed to know the move and held Sean’s hands in place, turning his body to prevent that crucial crack.
So Sean shoved the man’s head down against the hard marble tile of the lobby floor. It struck with a loud crack, a splash of blood shooting out of his fractured skin. Another hard pound ended the contest.
Sean looked for the gun, but it was nowhere in sight, and there was no time to search for it. Just a few yards up, Greer could be fighting for her life. Either that or her murderer was ready and waiting for him.
Sean didn’t want to keep him waiting any longer.
Chapter Thirty-One
Outside, the interpreter’s muffled voice carried across the plaza. “The things we have accomplished here have impressed the world! But we must go on and be better still—a better nation, a better people. We cannot lie back and rest upon our laurels.”
Greer lay on the bed, pretending to be knocked out, eyes opening just enough to give her a sense of what was happening. Spencer sat down at the chair next to the window, the rifle on the tripod in front of him. He scanned the outside area again, then sat back and readied his shot.
“We must take a stand for what we know is right, for those we love and even for those we do not love or do not know or do not like. We must be united!” More applause rose up from the big crowd outside, but not from all.
“No más años! No más años!”
Greer knew her time was running out, that she had to act fast. She took a deep breath and pushed herself up from the bed with a ready war cry. Spencer turned just before taking the shot as Greer charged him. She curled up her fist and threw a hard punch right into his face. She felt the years of sorrow and frustration, the pain of his betrayal, the anger and shock and hurt, all pouring into her fast before she punched a second time.
Spencer was little more than annoyed, and he ducked the third punch, muttering, “Goddamned bitch!” He pushed up from the chair and grabbed Greer around the neck. His fingers pressed in tight, choking off her cries for help and reducing them to wheezed croaks. “Do you know what you’re doing? You’re going to get us both killed!”
“I’m … dying … anyway,” Greer barely managed to say.
“Then take it like a man!” Spencer hollered.
Greer marshaled her strength and rained down a series of punches on Spencer’s head and shoulders. He answered by rushing her across the room and into the far wall. Her head hit hard, pain shooting through her brain, her shoulder blades taking a great deal of the impact as well.
“I’ll strangle you to death right now and let your boyfriend take the blame!”
Greer tried to pull his hand away, but Spencer seemed driven by a rage she’d never seen in him. Time was bearing down on him as well as her, but at least as long as he was busy murdering her, he wasn’t assassinating the president. He might even conclude his speech before Spencer had a chance to finish her off, and then her death and her life would not have been in vain.
“For we are called upon to love one another,” the interpreter went on, “to resist engaging in these squabbles and struggles, which are sometimes merely distractions and other times battles for life and death.”
Greer could feel the blood collecting on either side of Spencer’s crushing hand. She tightened the muscles of her neck, feeling those fingers pushing against her windpipe, threatening a lethal collapse that would leave her choking to death on the hotel room floor.
She looked at his face, into his eyes, searching for the man she once knew. But he seemed unrecognizable, a man wearing a familiar mask which now seemed bent and twisted and monstrous. Nothing of the handsome, windswept man she’d known was there. It had all vanished as if it had been a dream.
Because it had been.
There was a loud thump on the door next to where Spencer had Greer pinned. Another louder bang came, and the door pulsed in its jamb. Greer felt around for the knob, grabbing and twisting it just as the door banged open with the force of whoever was on the other side. The door smacked Greer in her left arm and sent her flying forward, the room seeming to spin around her. She caught a glimpse of Sean charging in, his head shorn as they’d discussed.
Greer barely remained on her feet before banging into the dresser with Spencer’s black satchel on it. She bent forward, leaning against the dresser and coughing to clear her throat.
Sean threw a hard punch into Spencer’s face, his other hand holding him by the collar. A second punch, another hard jab, did a bit more damage. But Spencer threw a kick into Sean’s left leg, and it snapped hard to the side with a loud crack. Spencer returned Sean’s punches with a right cross and then a left, both hitting him squarely in the face.
Sean headbutted Spencer, but Spencer seemed ready for the move. He dipped his head, the hard top of his skull meeting Sean’s forehead with a loud clack. Sean spun, dragging Spencer in a clockwise arc to smash him into the wall. A hard knee to the gut made Spencer lurch forward. Even in that chaos and violence, Greer knew that Sean preferred to keep Spencer alive to help prove their innocence, even if it would be in spite of himself. And that told Greer that Spencer had to be immobilized before he managed to prevail over Sean. If that happened, she’d be dead.
Greer thought to get Spencer’s sniper rifle and turn it on him, but with the two men so close, a shot could easily kill Sean as well as, or in addition to, Spencer.
Inspiration struck Greer, and she reached into the satchel, where there was duct tape, a familiar white handkerchief, and a brown bottle of chloroform. She opened the bottle and poured the foul-smelling chemical onto the cloth. She set the bottle down and turned, trying to gauge when and how to attack. She wanted to leap on Spencer from behind and clamp the rag over his face. But the two men were tussling, both still on their feet in the middle of the room.
She waited until Spencer’s back was to her before she took a leap. He was taller, but she managed to jump high enough to wrap her left arm around his neck, using her right hand to apply the anesthetic. Her weight and force pulled Spencer back and away from Sean. But Spencer spun hard with her still holding on, and her right leg smashed into Sean. He kept spinning, with Greer clinging to him and holding the handkerchief tight over his face.
But he stopped short, and Greer’s circular momentum forced her off his neck. The handkerchief fell out of her grip, and she flew through the air.
She landed on her feet but slammed back into the window. The wooden jamb broke away from the frame, and the window fell outward, Greer toppling out with it. Gravity pulled hard as the interior of the room was suddenly replaced by the exterior of the building, three stories up. Her heart froze, her stomach lurching up into her ribcage as she went over the side, the shattered window frame falling to the ground beneath her.
Greer reached out, gr
abbing what remained of the frame where the wall met the window. Her fingers latched onto that splintered frame, pain shooting through her fingers as the slivers of wood dug deep into her skin. But she couldn’t let go, and while her arms were straining and feet kicking, she couldn’t seem to climb back into the room either.
The window shattered on the ground beneath her, and the people screamed and scattered in a new outpour of panic. The crowd ran in every direction, the protesters charged in, and the riot police readied for the worst.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sean was distracted by Greer toppling out the window. In that second, his greater love for her than for himself presented a lethal vulnerability, one that Spencer seemed more than ready to seize on. He kicked Sean’s left knee again, even harder, and this time a crack and a pop and a bolt of pain shooting up Sean’s leg told him he’d received a crushing and crucial blow. Now on only one foot, every movement sending mind-bending agony through Sean’s body, he was still more concerned about Greer, whose hands still gripped the shattered window frame from outside.
Spencer’s splayed fingers grabbed Sean’s face from behind, pressing into his eyes, pulling at his skin and his lips, an animalistic assault that might still pop one or both of his eyes out. Sean shook his head, one of Spencer’s fingers within reach for a hard and painful bite. He pressed down hard with his teeth, blood breaking free from the finger’s meat as he shook hard like a dog.
Spencer screamed and pulled his hand away, and Sean saw what he felt would be his last chance to end the fight once and for all. Even in that flash of an instant, he knew he had no choice. He pulled out the shooter’s switchblade, flicked the blade open, and stuck it deep into Spencer’s gut. The man’s face lit up with agony, his eyes and mouth wide as he lurched forward.
Sean let his dead weight fall away and turned his attention to Greer. He reached over and grabbed her, feeling her increased weight as she finally fell from the window. But his grip was strong, and he held tight. His one good leg was braced against the wall to support them both, and he forced himself to ignore the delirious pain pumping out from his fractured knee. Greer looked up at him with terror in her pretty eyes. Muscles straining, she kicked her legs up to find some purchase, her other hand returning to the shattered window frame to pull herself up.
The pain that exploded in Sean’s back went straight through his body and into his brain. He knew the cause without thinking, that same stolen knife driven in by the man he thought he’d killed with it. With his body bent forward, leaning down, shocked by sudden agony, it was easy for Spencer to grab Sean by the back of the belt and throw him out and over the side.
Sean’s world was upside down, and his guts felt like they’d been turned inside out. But he was flush with adrenaline, his years of training as a US Marine returning to his muscle memory. His hands reached out, and one grabbed the shattered window frame. He smashed against the side of the building, sending a burst of pain to his fractured left leg. His outstretched arm increased the pressure on the blade in his back. Only instinct kept him hanging on, and even that was fading fast.
Above them, Spencer pulled away from the window. But he returned seconds later, holding his sniper rifle and pointing it directly at Sean’s head.
“Spencer, no!” Greer cried.
He turned the rifle on Greer. “You first then.”
Greer and Sean shared a glance, a last loving look between two doomed lovers who had shared a final, fatal misadventure.
Crack! The muffled crash drew both Sean’s and Greer’s attention, both of them looking up at their attacker. Spencer had been interrupted and was spinning around to see what had caused the disruption behind him.
“Policía, no te muevas!”
Spencer didn’t even have a chance to aim his rifle before the barrage of gunfire began.
Pap pap pap pap pap pap pap!
He stumbled back through the ruptured window. His sniper rifle fell with him, both only a few inches away from Sean and Greer as they plummeted to the ground three stories below. Sean couldn’t resist looking down to watch Spencer fall and land hard, the rifle banging and bouncing and finally landing a few feet from the body.
The plaza was filled with people, all of them looking up at them. Sirens were soft in the distance but getting louder fast. Sean knew a firetruck or a crane might be on its way, but he also knew that after the fighting and the injuries and the blood running down his back from that deep knife wound, he’d never last that long.
The cops poked their heads through the shattered window. They cluttered the window, too many hands reaching out for them at once.
“Her first,” Sean strained to say. “Salva a la mujer primero!”
The cops nodded and turned their attention to Greer, who was much lighter and small enough to easily pull up through the window and back into the room. Sean watched her successful rescue, somehow certain he wouldn’t be joining her. But they’d caught Spencer holding the sniper rifle, and she was clearly his captive.
She’ll be okay.
As soon as she made it to safety, Greer turned to reach out to Sean. “Pull him up! Help me pull him up!”
One officer eased her back. “Da un paso atrás, señorita, es demasiado peligroso!” And Sean knew he was right—it was too dangerous.
For Sean Callahan, it would be deadly.
The officers grabbed him by the arms, under his armpits, by the back of his shirt, but the numbing pain from that knife still buried in his back had robbed the strength from his arms, his legs, his entire body, and he had become heavy, hard to move.
Internal bleeding, he thought. I’m going into shock. At least I was right about one thing—this is my last case.
Waves of deathly chill passed over his body as he slipped from the officers’ collective grip.
“Sean, hold on!”
He cracked a little smile, wheezing out an amused huff. “I … I fall for you every time I look at you.”
“No, Sean, no!”
Sean’s mind went black, and his body slackened, finally overcome by the blood loss. But he could vaguely feel himself falling, hearing Greer’s scream fade as he fell toward the rising gasp of the crowd gathered around the window.
He didn’t feel the impact of his landing.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Two weeks later, Greer sat in Gary Aries’ office, the handsome, dark-skinned man wearing a calming smile. “Greer, you look good.” She nodded and smiled and tried to answer, but small talk just seemed too small, too much talk and too little of everything in life that really mattered.
Love.
“It’s been a … a time to unwind, I hope.” Greer shook her head, her smile too weak to survive on her lips. Clearly seeing the need to change the subject, Gary smiled and shook his head. “Jesus, that bullshit back in Ecuador! Makes you second-guess traveling abroad.”
“Thanks again for helping me out with all that.”
“Not a problem,” Gary said with a sigh. “I was just glad I could help get you outta there. I mean, they knew you were innocent, but … I’m just sorry it cost so much to make the wheels of South American justice run superfast.”
“I’m just glad to be back.”
Memories of the holding cell in Quito made her nauseous and caused goosebumps to rise on her skin.
Gary shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve got everything covered.” After a subtle pause, he added, “And if there’s anything else I can do, of course.”
“Of course,” Greer said.
“Speaking of Ecuador … Spencer Lange, am I right? I mean, an international assassin? Unbelievable.”
“Every agency in Hollywood believes it—they’re calling me all the time. It’s movie deal this, book deal that. But I’m just … I don’t wanna relive it all, exploit it.” After giving it a brief moment of reflection, Greer did have to admit, “But that money could do a lot of good for a lot of people.”
“Media still on your back?” Gary asked.
“Cons
tantly. Hard to be surprised, the whole world saw me dangling out of a window. They saw Sean fall …” Greer was overwhelmed with sorrow, recalling that terrible moment when he looked up at her for the last time, his body finally slipping out of the officers’ grip. “I think I’m just going to do one interview, with a local reporter I know. That’ll help her out, at least.”
“And you?”
“If it gets the rest of them off my back, it’ll be as much as I can ask for.”
Gary nodded, leaning back in the plush leather chair behind his shiny, mahogany desk. “I’ll bet your folks are thrilled you got home okay. You were going to go visit them before this Ecuador thing. Still planning that trip?”
“No, I … I can’t, not now.”
Gary’s smile held tight to his milk-chocolate complexion. “What about … Spencer’s parents, Martin and … who was it?”
“Margaret,” Greer said, sad to recall the last time they’d spoken and what had been said. “No, they don’t want to hear from me. And really, if they haven’t heard it on the news already, I don’t want to be the one to break it to them. They’ve been through enough.”
“So have you, Greer.”
“No,” Greer was quick to say, “no …”
Gary let a somber moment pass before he said, “Greer, I sympathize with what you’re going through—”
“No, you don’t, Gary. You don’t. Nobody does. My parents said the same thing, and my friend Roni, but none of you can really understand what I’m feeling. Believe me, I … I wish you could. Instead it’s … it’s just getting worse every day.”
“Maybe it’s time to pull back a bit,” he said with a tender smile. “I’m not saying just run away from it. Nobody could ask you to do that. You’re a tender, loving person. But look at what happened with Spencer. You spent three years obsessing on that—”
“And I finally got the son of a bitch!”
Dead to You Page 14