by Tara Wyatt
In under a minute, they were on the ground, and the men began roughly ushering her toward a car several feet away. Alexa wanted to scream, to fight, to run, but a terrifying numbness had taken over, and she felt as though she were watching everything from high above. None of this could possibly be real. More gunshots rang out.
Please let Zack be okay. Please.
They threw her into the backseat of a car and before she could fight, had secured her wrists and ankles with a thick layer of duct tape. The men who’d grabbed her didn’t get into the vehicle, and the car door slammed, locking her inside. Her heart raced so fast that she thought it might explode. Her arms and legs shook, and she looked back at the house, looking for signs that Zack was all right. Trying not to think about the fate that awaited her.
Her father sat in the front passenger seat, and he turned to face her, a sneer on his face. She shivered but forced herself to sit up straight and meet his gaze.
“Hello, Alexa. You have a lot of explaining to do.” He turned to the driver and gave a sharp nod. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 24
I have to go after her.” Zack picked up his gun from where it had fallen and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans. They’d taken out the intruders, but Rowe was seriously injured. Mac was on his knees beside him, his hands pressed to Rowe’s shoulder as he stemmed the bleeding.
“Go,” said Locklin, his phone pressed to his ear. “I’ll stay with him, wait for backup, and deal with this mess.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Mac, standing as Locklin took over. His hands were red, stained with blood, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Then let’s go,” called Morales as she strode toward the garage. In under a minute, they were in her car and on the road, speeding after the vehicle holding Alexa. The team had been able to grab an image of the vehicle and its plates from the security cam, and Morales had radioed it in. Aerial assistance was currently on the lookout for them.
“Detective, we have a location on the vehicle,” came a tinny voice, and Zack held his breath as he waited.
“Go ahead,” she said.
“They’re moving north on Highway 14. Not sure where they’re headed, but they’re about ten miles ahead of you.”
“Got it.” Morales hit the gas, and her car shot forward. From his vantage point in the front seat, Zack watched as the road slipped by, forcing himself to suck slow, steady breaths in through his nose. If he didn’t, he’d puke, or break things, or shout and swear until his throat was raw.
Visions of what might happen to Alexa—what might’ve already happened—swam through his mind, and he closed his eyes, trying to push them away. Trying to prevent his mind from going there.
He’d get her back. He had to.
* * *
The sun began to peek over the horizon, casting a pink halo around the mountains as the car moved farther into the desert.
“Where are we going?” she asked, shifting against the seat, trying to stop the shivers racking her body. Nobody answered her, and she wanted to scream and cry in frustration. All she had on was Zack’s T-shirt and a pair of panties, and the interior of the car was cool. Goose bumps dotted her arms and legs, and she curled into the seat, trying to get warm.
She dipped her head and caught Zack’s scent from his T-shirt, and her eyes stung and welled. A hundred questions burned through her mind. Where was her father taking her? Was he going to kill her? Was Zack okay? Was he coming after her?
What if he wasn’t okay?
She closed her eyes, not wanting to go down that road. Not wanting to think about horrifying possibilities.
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked. She wasn’t even sure she wanted the answer, but the silence in the car was making her crazy.
“I haven’t decided yet. I want to,” her father said casually from the front seat. “Your mother would be upset. That’s the only reason I haven’t yet.” He turned in his seat. “What do you know?”
She met his eyes and didn’t say anything. She knew there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t land her in more trouble. He wouldn’t believe her if she denied she knew anything, and she refused to tell him what she did know. Her father sneered, a look of disgust on his face as he studied her.
They’d yet to pass another car on the road, an eerily quiet stretch of desert highway, and she knew she was going to die, probably out here, alone in the desert. Before today she’d loved coming out into the desert, loved the soaring freedom of the sky, the wide-open spaces, the peace and the solitude. Today, the emptiness of the place weighed on her, the heavy bleakness of isolation. She felt trapped, confined, not by the lack of space but by its abundance.
“Shit, I think they caught up to us,” said the driver, his eyes narrow slits as he stared in the rearview mirror.
Her father looked away from her and out through the rear window, and then he smiled. Her skin crawled, and she thought she might be sick at the sight of that smile, because it was one that promised pain and violence.
* * *
The engine of Morales’s car roared, and her knuckles were white around the steering wheel. “Yes! I got taillights!” she said, nodding once. Zack stared at the tiny red lights in the distance, the only other vehicle on the long, lonely stretch of desert highway they’d been speeding down for nearly thirty minutes.
Thirty of the longest fucking minutes in his entire life.
“They’re probably going to start shooting at us. Mac, De Luca, get ready to return fire if necessary. Go for the tires, and avoid the body of the car if you can. They’ve probably got Alexa in the trunk or the backseat. When I get close enough, I’ll PIT the vehicle. It’s not the prettiest solution, but it’s all we’ve got right now.”
Zack glanced over his shoulder, and Mac nodded, his expression grim.
Adrenaline and fear and anger all beat through Zack’s body, his stomach churning. He felt as though they were upside down and underwater. He wouldn’t be right again until he knew Alexa was safe. And if Fairfax had hurt her…so help him God, he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t kill him.
The gap between the vehicles continued to close, and the first spray of bullets hit the front of the car. Zack ducked, his gun clutch in his hands. Although she’d crouched down, Morales didn’t waver from the road, maintaining speed.
A second volley of bullets bit into the car, and as much as he hated the thought of shooting at the vehicle holding Alexa, Zack knew they needed to return fire. They’d be no good to her if Morales’s car left the road, or if one of them got shot. “We’re going too fast for me to shoot through the side window. I need to take the windshield out,” he said, ducking down as a third round of bullets pelted the car.
“Do it,” said Mac and Morales in unison, and he raised his weapon. He leaned back in his seat and aimed his gun low on the windshield, keeping himself shielded and out of the way of the glass about to shatter. He squeezed the trigger and fired off four rounds, the sound exploding through the interior of the car. The tempered, laminated glass shattered but collapsed into sticky petals and, thankfully, didn’t fly apart into shards. Leaning back farther in his seat, Zack raised his foot and kicked the spiderwebbed glass out of the way. Cool, dry air washed into the vehicle. Sitting up a little, he took aim again, going for the tires as Morales urged them closer and closer. He hit the rear driver’s side tire, and the car wove, careening from one side of the road to the other. Another few shots came from the car in front of them and then stopped suddenly, even though they were gaining. The car careened across the road and then went into a sickening roll, flipping over twice before lurching to a halt.
“Fuck!” Zack’s breath whooshed out of him as he shouted. The car had crashed because he’d shot out the tire.
His fault. His fault. His fault.
And if she wasn’t okay, he’d never forgive himself.
Morales slammed on her brakes, and the three of them rushed out of her car, approaching cautiously, weapons drawn.
Zack’s heart thundered in his chest, every muscle in his body coiled and ready. He needed to get eyes on Alexa, and then maybe he’d be able to breathe again.
* * *
Alexa groaned and fumbled for the door handle. The impact had slammed her against the interior of the car, and she could feel a warm, wet trickle down the side of her head. She struggled against the bindings on her wrists, trying to get her fingers to cooperate enough to open the door.
The driver was unconscious, but her father wasn’t. He was moving, shifting in his seat, but he was stunned, just as she was, and she knew that this was her chance to escape. She blinked rapidly a few times, trying to clear the fog of fear and pain and concentrate on just getting the door handle to work. Everything felt so difficult, as though she were on another planet where the same rules of gravity didn’t apply.
Finally, she closed her fingers around the door handle and pulled it the right way. The door gave, and as she tumbled out of the car, she realized it was upside down. She slammed into the pavement, shards of glass and metal digging into her skin. Those tiny points of pain woke her up, and she tried to get her feet under her, wanting to get away from the car. But her ankles were bound, and she couldn’t seem to haul herself up. Blood seeped from her knees, biting pain clawing against her skin.
“Alexa!” She heard Zack’s voice before she saw him, and she sucked in a breath, hoping that this wasn’t some kind of cruel nightmare or trick of the pain screaming through her body. But then he was there, his hands on her shoulders as he helped her up. And then Mac was there too with a knife, cutting her wrists and ankles free. She threw her arms around Zack, her entire body shaking.
A scrape of movement behind her, and Zack stiffened. She turned, and it was as though everything slipped into slow motion. Her father emerged from the car, his gun drawn and leveled at her.
Zack shoved her away and moved in front of her just as her father fired, the crack of the gunshot echoing against the mountains rising up in the distance. Zack’s gun fell from his hand, and he dropped to the pavement, landing on his knees and then falling over sideways. Blood bloomed against his gray T-shirt, welling up impossibly fast. His eyes glazed over, and his head fell to the side as more blood pooled from the gunshot wound to his chest. He didn’t move. Bleeding and bleeding and bleeding.
“No!” she screamed and dove for Zack’s gun. She’d never fired a gun before, but it didn’t matter. She picked it up and aimed at her father, pulling the trigger without hesitating. He’d taken so much from her; she wouldn’t let him get away with taking Zack. He grunted and grabbed his shoulder, then dove behind the wrecked car for safety. Her palms buzzed, and her arms vibrated with the recoil.
Ian moved forward, his gun trained on her father while Natalie scrambled for her radio, screaming for a medical evac and backup. Zack made a horrible gasping, choking sound, and Ian dropped to his knees beside him.
Her father started to emerge from behind the car, and Alexa raised Zack’s gun again, her heart beating so fast it felt as though it were shaking in her chest. But her hands were steady, as was her voice. “Don’t move, you son of a bitch!”
But he still saw her as she used to be, and not as the person she’d become. He smiled, shaking his head as though he were about to chastise her, and took a step toward her.
She pulled the trigger again, putting everything she hated about him into that small, controlled movement. He jerked and clutched at his throat, blood spurting from between his fingers as he gasped and sank to his knees. His mouth opened and closed, his eyes wide and frantic as he tried to breathe. The bullet had pierced his throat, blood spilling down over his chest.
She moved forward and kicked his gun away, leaving him to bleed out in the dirt. Maybe it was cold, but after everything he’d done, it was better than he deserved. On shaking legs, she turned and sprinted to where Zack lay, his eyes closed.
God, there was so much blood. So much.
Natalie made her way to the crashed vehicle to check on the driver. “He’s dead,” she called out, sounding shaken. “They’re both dead.”
Ian gently eased Zack up and glanced at his back. “It’s not through and through. Let’s try to stem the bleeding. It’s the best we can do until the evac gets here.” He took his knife and cut Zack’s T-shirt open. The bullet had hit a few inches below his left collarbone, and the skin from his neck to his abdomen was an angry red. Ian’s hands moved quickly as he examined Zack, checking for other vitals. Natalie dropped to her knees beside them and began applying pressure where Ian directed her.
“Multiple rib fractures below the wound. Damage to the chest wall.”
Zack’s chest moved up and down in short, shallow breaths, his face a sickly white, and Ian swore. He bent his head and listened for a second. “We’re dealing with a pneumothorax.” He raised his head and met Alexa’s eyes, and she could see the fear in them. “His lung’s collapsing because of the air seeping in through the chest wound, and he’s losing too much blood.”
“What can I do?” she asked, dropping to the pavement beside them.
Ian took her hands and guided them onto Zack’s chest, right beside Natalie’s. “Steady pressure. We’re losing him. I have to try something.” He scrambled away, and Alexa blinked furiously, knowing she had to stay calm.
“Please stay,” she said, his heartbeat feeble and slow under her hands. She swallowed, her throat thickening and her eyes stinging as the future she’d planned with him slipped through her fingers before it had even begun.
Her father had robbed her of everything. Her innocence, her freedom, her happiness, and now the love of her life. An anger like she’d never known ripped through her, and she swallowed down the urge to scream.
Ian returned with the med kit he’d retrieved from Natalie’s car, and Alexa couldn’t do anything but pray as she watched him, feeling helpless as Zack struggled for air, lying in a crimson pool of his own blood. In the distance, she could hear the rhythmic chopping of a helicopter approaching, along with sirens.
Ian tugged on latex gloves and began pressing on Zack’s chest, below the wound. After a second he nodded and coated the area with iodine. “Prop him up,” he said, and Alexa maintained pressure while Natalie moved around behind him, shifting him into a reclining position. “Hold his left arm behind his head.” Natalie took Zack’s arm and propped it behind his head, and Ian felt below the wound again. Alexa focused on Zack’s face as Ian cut into him and inserted a chest tube.
Zack took a deep, shuddering breath and then slowly let it out. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his. “Stay with me, Zack. Please, don’t go.”
His chest rose and fell once more, and then he stopped moving.
Chapter 25
Zack felt as if he were floating and sinking at the same time, unable to make sense of the sounds around him. Voices. Black. A beating of air. Flashes of blue sky. Wind.
Pain.
Cold.
Black.
Alexa crying.
He tried to open his eyes at that sound, to move, but nothing would cooperate, and every time he tried, all he got was more black.
Flashing lights, people shouting. Beeps and the sounds of footsteps echoing down a hallway. A sickly antiseptic smell.
More pain. More black.
No air.
He struggled, to breathe, to open his eyes, to do something, anything, to get back to Alexa, to tell her he was all right.
Another wave of pain.
Black. Black. Black.
* * *
Seafoam green was the color of nausea, Alexa decided. The scrubs of the doctors who couldn’t tell her anything, who told her not to hope. The ugly walls of the surgical waiting room at Bakersfield Memorial. The vinyl of the chair she hadn’t moved from since she’d sat down almost six hours ago, except for the one time she’d gotten up to vomit in the bathroom.
A giant clock hung on the far wall, ticking away the seconds. Zack was fighting for his life as the surgeons
worked to save him, and she was sitting in an ugly green chair, staring helplessly at a clock.
Guilt sat like a rock on her chest. Not over shooting her own father, but over Zack, and the life-threatening injury he’d sustained protecting her from that bastard. He’d taken a bullet for her, sacrificing himself to keep her safe.
The medical evac had brought them here, and the only reason Zack had any chance at survival at all was that Ian had successfully inserted the chest tube. But the wound had caused a lot of damage, and he’d lost a lot of blood. She knew he’d crashed more than once. And still she sat, surrounded by seafoam green, waiting. Helpless. Powerless. Lost.
“Do you want anything, lass?” asked Ian, who’d been pacing the room, his arms crossed, his face grim. “Coffee? Water?”
“I could go to the cafeteria and get you something to eat,” offered Sierra, who’d arrived with Sean, Taylor, and Colt a couple of hours ago.
“No, thank you,” she said numbly, shaking her head. Donna, Zack’s mom, sat beside Alexa, her hand on her thigh.
“He’ll be okay. He’s strong,” Donna said, and Alexa wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or Alexa.
“I love him,” she whispered, and pulled the sweater someone had given her tighter around her shoulders. She’d had her own wounds seen to, the scrapes and cuts from the car crash, and had been given a pair of seafoam green scrub pants to wear so she wasn’t half-naked. They’d tried to take Zack’s T-shirt from her, but she hadn’t let them. She was numb, watching, not really absorbing anything. Distantly, she knew she must be in shock, but she couldn’t seem to rouse herself from it. Maybe she didn’t want to. Didn’t want to face the reality that she might lose Zack. That she’d shot and killed her own father. That everything was a giant, colossal fucking mess.