Beatrice was able to contact Brian Haines again to get confirmation for where the meeting was taking place in the junkyard.
“What you got?” Gabe asked when she got off the phone.
“They’re on the north side of the junkyard. The man they’re meeting is a relative of Senator Mendoza and was a longtime informant whom they haven’t heard from in a year. At least that’s the explanation Zach had told Brian.”
“How long has Zach been in the employ of the Senator?”
“Two months.”
“So he’s not exactly an expert on the Senator’s associations.”
“Yes. And I see where you’re going with this.”
“Do you? What happened to the senator’s former Chief of Staff?”
“He died of a heart attack almost three months ago.”
Gabe uttered a noncommittal response. Beatrice’s attention was drawn to their surroundings. Piles of crushed metal and, well, junk were stacked as high up as twenty feet. She had to applaud the location of the junkyard because the Cloverleaf District is a dumping ground of stolen vehicles and most of the buildings were close to being condemned.
“There’s Zach,” Gabe said. The Chief of Staff was standing by the senator’s vehicle. Brian and one other BSI security personnel were standing facing outward and watchful. There was another car parked close by. It had rental tags. As Gabe’s SUV rolled by, Beatrice took a picture of the license plate.
Gabe was circling the area, probably looking for a less exposed parking space. He pulled in between two junk piles.
“Wait for me,” Gabe instructed. He exited the vehicle and looked around. Then he came to her side and opened the door. “Come on.”
He was shadowing her the entire way.
“Zach, what the hell is going on?”
The Chief of Staff looked duly chastised. “I’m sorry, Beatrice. The senator was ready to drive himself if we didn’t go with him. There was no stopping him.”
“Who’s the guy?”
“His uncle.”
“A relative from Colombia?”
“No. He’s an American citizen. His son—the senator’s cousin—is involved with the right wing paramilitaries who protect the cocaine jungles, and there are rumors of a breakdown of peace talks with the government.”
“Why meet him here? Why not at his house?”
“His wife and children. He doesn’t want this issue to touch them.”
“Well, it’s too late,” Beatrice snapped. What was it with these men? They try to separate their duty from their family. There would always be blowback from people unhappy with their choices. “He had involved his family once he’d decided to take on this crusade against the drug traffickers. It will only be a matter of time before they get to his wife and children.”
“Beatrice,” Gabe said her name quietly, but it was rife with caution. She was projecting.
The door to the senator’s SUV opened and a man Beatrice didn’t recognize alighted. The senator followed, grimacing when he saw her.
She was about to introduce herself to the senator’s uncle when a single gunshot cracked through the air.
Everything seemed to happen at once.
The senator’s uncle fell to the ground.
More shots were fired and Zach Jamison crumpled as well. Brian went for the senator and shoved him back to the SUV. The other security guy jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Go! Go! Go!” Gabe shouted at Brian. “We got Jamison. Get the senator out of here.” Tires spinning, the senator’s SUV shot forward toward the exit of the junkyard.
Gabe heaved Zach over his shoulders. “Beatrice, get moving!”
She ran as fast as she could, ignoring a burn in her side even as bullets exploded around them. When they reached the safety of their vehicle, Gabe tossed Jamison in the backseat.
“What about the senator’s—”
“Dead. He was shot through the head,” Gabe muttered as he turned to her and practically dumped her into the passenger seat.
Soon, they were burning rubber out of there. Their SUV flew through the gates at top speed, the back of their vehicle fishtailing when Gabe made a sharp turn onto the road. Beatrice looked back and saw a car and several motorcycles tear after them.
“They’re coming after us!”
“I know.” Gabe’s eyes shifted from the road to the rearview mirror. They sped through a deserted stretch of road with abandoned buildings on both sides. A harsh indrawn breath beside her drew her attention from the back of the vehicle to Gabe, and that was when she noticed the spreading map of red on his jeans.
“You’ve been shot!”
“Flesh wound.”
“Bullshit, flesh wound. That’s a lot of blood, Gabe!”
“Babe, calm down,” Gabe ordered. His voice was steady, but the way his jaw clenched tight afterward gave away the gravity of his injury. “The senator’s car is up ahead. If the bikes get any closer, I’m going to run interference. Prepare to brace.”
The words barely left his mouth when there was a loud pop.
They shot out their tire!
Gabe cursed as he struggled to maintain control of the vehicle. The buildings appeared to jar crazily on all sides as their car careened from one corner to the other. Just as the SUV was about to tilt over, it righted itself, and finally jumped the curb. The back of the vehicle slammed into a building before skidding to a halt. Gabe shoved a gun at her. “I want you to get out of here, turn right, and call 911. I’ll provide cover fire.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Beatrice opened the passenger door and was dismayed to find out it opened enough to only allow her lithe form through, not Gabe’s big body.
Gabe quickly exited his side amidst a rain of lead. She watched in horror as another bullet whipped his body around. He collapsed chest first on the hood. Unfettered fear gripped her heart. Their eyes met across the hood.
She loved him.
She was not losing him today.
“Gabe!”
“Damn it, Beatrice. Get out of here,” he growled as he returned fire and tried to get between the car and the building, but he got hit again and fell.
She concentrated on firing rounds in the direction of the enemy’s assault as she made her way to him, assisting him to take refuge behind the car.
“Beatrice, get away from here,” he repeated, his breathing getting more serrated by the second.
“Shut up,” Beatrice snapped, flinching as a couple of shell casings ricocheted and hit her face. She smiled grimly when a voice howled and cursed. At least she got someone.
Gabe pulled himself up and rejoined the firefight. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the back of his head was soaked with blood; he was becoming alarmingly pale as the blood seeped out of him.
They needed to get out of here because they were outgunned and outnumbered.
Gabe seemed to be aiming with cold precision as he felled several of their assailants, but they were not prepared for this type of assault.
It didn’t take long for them to run out of ammunition as Beatrice used up her last magazine.
Gabe said he had a few shots left.
He dragged her down to sit beside him. He didn’t look good. Blood was mixed with sweat on his face. His lips were white, but his gold-flecked eyes were blazing. He handed her his gun before gripping her face with his bloody hands. “Please, Beatrice, I need you to go.”
“I am not leaving you.”
The gunfire ceased.
Words rushed out of Gabe’s lips as footsteps approached. “Goddammit, Beatrice! I don’t want you here.”
“Sully! You dead yet?” a voice called out. There was a cackling of laughter and heckling.
“Oh, no you don’t, Gabriel,” Beatrice whispered harshly. “You are not pulling your fucked up reasoning on me again. You begged me to take you back just a week ago. Well now, I’m taking you back. You better not fucking die on me. Got me?”
Gabe’s lips twitched. “Why didn’t yo
u say so earlier?” His lighthearted words were dampened by a wince of pain. “This sucks.”
“You’re riddled with bullet holes and all you can say is ‘this sucks’?” She was trying to keep her voice steady, but it cracked. He was fading, bleeding out right in front of her. Beatrice found herself praying that if only they’d make it out of here alive, she would forget all the hurt of the past three years and only move forward.
“Gabe?”
“Love you, poppy,” Gabe whispered. “. . . damned much . . .”
“Don’t die . . .”
“Trying . . . not to . . . but you . . . go . . .”
“Never.”
“Now doesn’t this look tragic?” A man Beatrice had never seen before appeared a few feet from them. Her grip tightened on the gun. She lowered her hand fractionally.
“You’re not looking too good, Sully.” A wariness passed through the man’s face. “And not surprised to see me. Now why is that?”
“Fuck you, Ryker.” There was renewed vigor in Gabe’s voice.
Ryker? This was Ryker? The man who killed Eric and Kelly Winters just to send a message to Gabe. Another man, this one a Latino, appeared behind Ryker.
“No, buddy, I think you’re the one who’s about to get fucked,” Ryker said.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why else? Money,” Ryker sneered. “And I’m so tired of being second best to you. Well, guess what? I’m smarter. Better.” He laughed maniacally. “You know why? Because you handed some bitch your balls and it made you stupid.” Ryker’s eyes landed on her. A chilling fist gripped her heart. “But before I let you bleed out, you’re going to watch me shoot her.”
“No!” Gabe snarled. Where he got the energy, Beatrice had no idea, but he managed to get on his knees, and then using the wheelbase, he boosted himself up in an upright position, shielding her fully. “You will not touch her.”
“Tsk . . . tsk . . . You’re as good as dead, Sully. Look at you.”
Beatrice readied the gun; Gabe was giving her the opportunity to shoot and she was taking it.
Before she was able to surprise Ryker, shots cracked through the air. Not losing focus though, she leaned to the right. Both Ryker and the Latino guy were already on their way down, but because Beatrice liked insurance, she shot Ryker anyway, forcing his body to jerk backward. Gabe sank beside her. He was done and all strength had left him.
More shots were exchanged.
“Gabe, hold on, please,” Beatrice begged. His eyes were closed and he was about to fall sideways to the ground. She steadied him against the tires of the SUV and took a tentative peek through the vehicle’s windows.
The Iron Skulls!
But how? She didn’t even hear their bikes.
Beatrice leaned toward Gabe and planted a kiss on his cold lips.
“Babe,” he rasped.
“Hang on, Gabe. The Skulls are here.”
There was a wailing of sirens in the distance.
“Ms. Porter!”
“Ashe?”
The Iron Skulls VP walked toward her, the blond biker Duke and an older man about the age of her dad followed close behind.
“Gabe’s badly hurt.” A sob escaped her. She fought for calm, but her knees were like Jell-O. “How did you guys—”
“We had some intel,” the older man said. “I’m Nicholas Crane. Sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances, Ms. Porter. You okay?”
She could only nod.
“Good. We can’t hang around; police and ambulance are on their way.”
“But—”
Crane let out a loud whistle to round up his men. “Let’s go!”
The sirens grew closer.
Crane nodded to her. “Until next time, Ms. Porter.”
The bikers disappeared.
After a few more minutes, the ambulance and police arrived.
*****
Beatrice watched Gabe through the ICU window.
She closed her eyes momentarily as the memory of seeing him loaded on the gurney, pale as death and barely breathing, assailed her mind. He almost died. A few minutes more, it would have been too late.
She had been afraid to tell him she loved him because saying so felt like saying goodbye. She refused. They had put him under a medically induced coma for four days so his body could recover. They were bringing him out of it today.
Right now, watching all the apparatus in the room breathing for him, monitoring his heartbeat and blood pressure, he still looked formidable. There was a static energy simmering inside him. He was alive. She struggled to wrap her head around his injuries. His heart had stopped once. He lost almost forty percent of his blood. He suffered a collapsed lung and three gunshot wounds to the body. A fourth bullet took out a piece of his skull.
His skull.
The doctor said if he wasn’t in excellent shape, his body would have succumbed to all the trauma.
Doug came up beside her and squeezed her arm. He was the only other person who had been a constant in the hospital. Not a peep from her father. Beatrice was offended for Gabe, but she guessed she shouldn’t be surprised.
A few minutes later, Gabe’s doctor walked up to them.
“Ready, Ms. Porter?”
*****
Two weeks later
“Gabe, if you don’t stop behaving like an asshole, a piece of your skull missing or not, I’m going to whack this purse over your head.”
Beatrice issued the threat with much conviction. Gabe paused and clenched his jaw. It had been two fucking weeks for fuck’s sake, almost three if he considered the time he was under. He’d been going insane with boredom in the hospital. They had fit a quarter-size metal plate in his head. Beatrice had started calling him Terminator.
“Wanna get the fuck out of here.” The way he issued this demand was actually the tamest of his recent rants. “I’d rather stay at home than be here.”
When Gabe woke up from his coma, he was relieved to see Beatrice’s face. Even in the darkest recesses of his medically induced sleep, she had been ever present. He woke up thinking of her. His second thought was of Rhino. He found out Beatrice had moved into his house, so she could take care of his dog. His woman. In his house. Could she really blame him for wanting to be there with them?
“You still require medical supervision and you shouldn’t be moving too much.”
“You can take care of me,” Gabe grumbled.
“I have to work.”
He looked away from her, staring out the window. “I’m not there to protect you.” A frustrated anger exploded from him. “I’m stuck here. In this hospital. A damn invalid! Some kind of bodyguard I turned out to be.” He slapped his thigh to release some pent-up rage. Part of the rage stemmed from the fact that Beatrice had refused to leave him when things got desperate, and she could have been killed. He understood her reasons, because he would have done the same if their situations were reversed, but he was the man, damn it. It was his job to protect her, not the other way around.
“Calm down.”
“Fuck calm down. Get me out of here,” he demanded anew. “Get me the nurse or whoever the fuck is in charge so I can sign the release forms.”
“You be reasonable, Sullivan.” Beatrice now had both hands on her hips. His annoyance escalated if it were even possible. She totally looked fuckable. His dick was tenting his pajamas, and he couldn’t do a damned thing.
“I am. Before I become truly unreasonable, have me discharged.”
Her jaw, which was set stubbornly since the beginning of his rant, slackened. Her lips trembled, and suddenly, to Gabe’s horror, she burst out crying.
“Babe, what the—”
“You almost died!” she yelled. Tears spilled from her eyes, her fists were now balled at her sides. “I watched you bleed all over the pavement. There was a puddle of your blood, Gabe. A puddle! Can you even imagine how I felt when I realized I loved you and I wanted you back and all I could do was watch you die? Can you?”
&n
bsp; His frustration and anger evaporated. “Babe, come here,” he whispered softly.
“Seven hours in the waiting room. You had a hole in your head. You died on the OR table. I thought I would go crazy because they wouldn’t let me see you. I’m not your next of kin, and Dad wasn’t returning my calls so I couldn’t have him do whatever magic he does to fix your records. And you had no family. You had no one.”
“But you did get in to see me, babe,” he said gently.
“Thank goodness for Senator Mendoza.”
Gabe scowled at the mention of the senator. “I hope you ripped him a new one.”
“He lost his uncle, Gabe,” Beatrice quietly reminded him.
“It’s still no excuse for putting a lot of people in danger,” Gabe said darkly. “There are protocols for a reason. Was it even worth the information he got from his uncle? Wait. How did you miss the uncle on your background check? Even if he didn’t list him down, he would have popped up.”
“They use the term uncle loosely. He’s the”—Beatrice paused, as though working something in her head—“husband of his mother’s second cousin. His cousin—the uncle’s son, and I’m using the term cousin also loosely here—is the head of the leading paramilitary force in the country.”
“The purpose of the trip was a directive from POTUS though. That’s already a conflict of interest right there. Even with the degree of blood separation, family ties in South America are very close.”
“True, but Senator Mendoza already knows how to work the bureaucracy of the Colombian government.”
Gabe leaned against the pillows, suddenly tired. Maybe he did need to stay longer in the hospital. He held out his hand. She curled her fingers with his as he tugged her closer.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he whispered. “I know I would lose my mind if something like this happened to you.”
Beatrice gave a small smile, and with her other hand, she stroked the side of his jaw. “Just another week, okay? Please? I don’t want anything to happen to you, Gabe.”
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