by Tiffany Snow
Her phone buzzed and she looked at the screen and frowned.
“Who is it?”
“Derrick.”
Before he could tell her to ignore it, that they needed to go, she answered.
“Hello?”
Clark couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but he did see Mack go about three shades paler, which was quite a feat given her already sun-deprived skin.
“How many?” she asked. “Okay. Thanks.” She ended the call.
“What’s going on?” Clark asked.
“This place has been under surveillance and Derrick tapped into the satellite feed. We have company. At least a dozen of them, converging on us. Armed.”
Clark could see the pulse underneath her jaw was beating triple-time and her hands were in fists. The last thing he wanted her to do was panic. She was glancing all around the room, as if waiting for someone to jump out at them and yell “Boo!”
“Look at me,” he said. She didn’t respond. He gripped her arms and repeated it. “Mack, look at me.” She jumped a little, her wild eyes meeting his. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get you out of here. Trust me.” She gave him a hesitant nod.
“Okay. I trust you.”
“What do you mean a dozen armed men are here?” Bulldog piped up. “Are you kidding me?” He started cursing under his breath as he stuffed his equipment into his backpack. The gold ring glinted on his finger. “You’re on your own. I’m out of here. Don’t follow me. I don’t want your trouble on my heels.” He took off down the hallway and disappeared into the darkness.
It would’ve been helpful to follow Bulldog since he knew the layout of the building, but then again, Clark would rather take his chances on their own.
The first thing they had to do was get out of this location. “Can you pull up the schematic on this place?” he asked her.
She gave a curt nod and pulled out her phone. “I’ll have Derrick send it to me,” she said as she texted. “It should only take a minute or two.”
Clark hoped they had that long. Her phone buzzed and she handed it to him. It took Clark all of twenty seconds to memorize the map.
“Okay.” He took her hand and latched her fingers onto the back of his jeans. “Hold on and don’t let go.” If he had to shoot, he’d prefer to use both hands. There were seventeen rounds in his Glock and an extra magazine in his back pocket. Never leave home without it wasn’t just for his American Express card.
“Don’t you need the map?” Mack asked in a hushed whisper. “Maybe we should follow Bulldog?”
“I memorized it,” he said. As for Bulldog, with as much noise as he had been making, Clark doubted he’d made it very far, but he decided not to tell her that.
He went to the door, her fingers tightly gripping his jeans as she crept behind him. There was darkness no matter where he looked as they left the pool of light behind. Stepping through the entry would make them the perfect target to anyone hiding out there, but staying in one spot made them sitting ducks. If there was someone waiting, they’d find out quick enough.
Taking a breath, he stepped forward and waited. When no bullets came flying out to meet him, he released his breath and turned right, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.
“Derrick just texted me,” China whispered. “He can see their heat signatures. He says there are three men coming opposite us.”
Nice. So going forward wasn’t an option. “What about down the hall?”
She relayed the question. “He says there’s some kind of opening to the first floor that’s impassable, and the stairs have two men positioned at the third and second floors. Four more are also patrolling the factory floor.”
It appeared either way, they were screwed.
“Tell him thanks but you need both hands now.”
He felt more than heard her shove the phone into her pocket, then she was holding onto his jeans with both hands, pressing close against his back.
Two was better than three, so Clark bypassed the first option. They were cornering them, expecting them to try to go down. But the building was big. Big enough to get lost in.
The floor was a maze of interconnecting rooms. He painstakingly headed south through them, stepping silently and avoiding anything that looked unstable. Mack followed close behind, saying nothing, though he could feel her fear like a living thing.
Rats ran across their path, squeaking and scurrying. Clark whirled, hauling Mack close and slapping his hand over her mouth just as she let out a little involuntary scream. Women and rodents. It was always the same.
“Screaming would be a bad idea,” he whispered in her ear. It was odd. She didn’t wear perfume, but she always smelled sweet.
She nodded and he took his hand away from her mouth.
Gunshots rang out and Clark reacted instantly, taking her down to the floor and covering her body with his. He’d seen where the shots came from and returned fire, snapping off three rounds. There was a crash and clatter as the target fell, then nothing.
Scrambling up, Clark hesitantly approached, his ears alert for any movement, but there was none. Reaching down, he yanked the night goggles from the man’s head and put them on.
Much better.
Hurrying back to Mack, he saw she was still lying on the floor. She was probably in shock and terrified. He crouched down next to her and took her arm.
“Mack, get up, let’s go. We need to keep moving.”
She didn’t say anything, but let him help her up. He latched her onto his jeans again and started moving. He was positive that the shots had echoed through the building and they’d all be converging on this spot.
He headed south again, moving much faster now that he could see. Mack kept up, though she stumbled a couple of times. They heard shouting behind them. Guess they’d found their buddy.
“Not much further,” he said. By his calculations, they should be close to the end of the block and another exit.
She stumbled again and Clark had to catch her before she fell. He got a good look at her face and felt a stab of panic in his gut. Her pupils were dilated and her lashes fluttering, as though she were trying to stay awake. She was breathing too fast and her lips were pressed tightly closed.
“What’s wrong?” Was she going to pass out? He shifted her slightly and the shirt she always wore over her T-shirts moved. That’s when he saw the blood.
“God damn it, Mack! Why didn’t you tell me you’d been hit?” His horror mutated into anger as he hissed at her, and he bit back more words. Nice job, dickhead. Yell at your partner that you let get shot.
“’m sorry,” she murmured. “Just wanted to keep moving. Want to go home.”
Home was out of the question. She needed a hospital, but he didn’t say that. The urgency to get out of here was now even more pronounced. The place was a death trap.
As if to prove his point, shots ripped past him and he ducked. A room was up ahead and he had no idea where it led, but anywhere was better than an open hallway.
“C’mon, Mack,” he said, hoisting her up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She was dead weight and it was a good thing she was little.
He ran through the doorway into another of the endless maze of rooms, then grabbed the doorframe because there was no more flooring. Teetering unbalanced on the edge, he had a sickening lurch in his stomach as he saw the twenty-foot gap below.
“That would’ve left a mark,” he muttered.
Backing up, he fired shot after shot, giving himself time to reassess, and saw the stairway at the end of the hallway. He bolted for it, making the corner just as more gunfire struck the wall.
Yeah, it was probably best that Mack was passed out for this.
He took the stairs fast, firing point-blank when he rounded the landing to the first floor and someone stood in his way. They fell back down the stairs. Clark kicked their gun away and kept moving. Mack was light, but she was getting heavier with each step.
A body at the bottom of the stairs nearly tripped hi
m and he recognized Bulldog. Guess he hadn’t made it out after all. Reaching down, Clark checked for a pulse. There was none.
He took a couple of steps, then stopped and doubled back. “I’d better not go to hell for doing this,” he said as he pried the ring off Bulldog’s finger and shoved it in his pocket.
Bursting through an exit, they were expelled onto the street. He didn’t wait around to see if they’d realized he and Mack had slipped through their fingers. Sprinting down the street to the lot where they’d parked, he unlocked her car and maneuvered her into the passenger seat. He tucked his gun into the holster at his back and reclined her seat.
Blood was on her shirt and her jeans. Pulling up her T-shirt, he let out a breath of relief to see there was just a nasty graze on her side. The wound in her thigh was what concerned him. There was an entrance wound, but not an exit, and blood oozed from the hole. Of course, that was when she chose to wake up.
“Clark,” she murmured, blinking at him. “What’s going on?”
“You’re hurt,” he said. “I have to get you to the hospital.”
“Nnnnoo,” she half said, half moaned. “Don’t. People get sick in hospitals.”
“I’m not a doctor, Mack, and you’ve got a bullet lodged in your thigh.”
“It hurts,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please.” Her blue eyes shone behind her glasses as she tried valiantly not to cry.
And that was that. He could no more defy her wishes than if she’d asked him to please dive off the nearest bridge.
“I’ll take care of it,” he promised, laying a hand along her cheek. God help him.
The speed limit was a suggestion and stoplights were optional as he drove Mack’s car. If he had time, he’d appreciate what a fine machine it was. It had surprised him, the first time he’d seen a little nerdy thing like her climb out of it. Not many women owned muscle cars, and given her usual predilection for shying away from the spotlight, it was an unusual choice.
That was Mack, though, a walking contradiction. So smart it was scary, yet too trusting to understand how easily she could be used. Completely unaware of her own beauty and appeal, she dressed herself like a geek, which somehow only seemed to enhance her femininity.
And now she was hurt and it was all his fault. She was the brains, he was the gun. He should be the one lying there with a bullet in him.
She whimpered and his foot dropped on the accelerator.
“Clark?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” He reached over, feeling for her hand. It was too small, too cold, and too fragile in his grip.
She didn’t say anything else and he hoped that she was unconscious again. He’d seen plenty of wounds in his time. Men with arms half blown off and their guts more outside their body than in, but his palms were sweaty and there was a sick feeling in his stomach that hadn’t been there since Sayeeda had been delivered to him.
Clark pulled into the driveway of PFG Security, screeching to a halt outside the gate. He punched the button on the intercom and waited impatiently.
The screen flashed and a man’s visage appeared. “State your . . . oh, it’s you. A little late for a visit, Clark, don’t you think?”
“I’m calling in a favor,” Clark snapped. “Dr. Jay owes me.”
The screen went dark and the gates slowly opened. As soon as it was clear, Clark rocketed through.
The building in front of him was a cross between a business and a home. Three stories and made of stone, it sported a formidable façade of two-story Dorian columns and windows that sparkled from the lights inside. Even the front door was imposing, twelve feet tall, six feet wide, and made of wood four inches thick.
Not that Clark was noticing any of that right now. He lifted Mack in his arms, carrying her to the front door, which was already swinging open on its heavy hinges.
A man and woman rushed out, both dressed in medical white jackets, and pushing a stretcher. The man went to take Mack from him.
“I’ll carry her,” Clark insisted, holding her closer. He marched past them into the foyer where another man was waiting. His skin was the color of espresso and he wore slacks and a dress shirt.
“Calling in your favor?” Dr. Jay asked. “It’s been a while.”
“We’ll catch up later,” Clark said. “She needs help. Gunshot wound to the thigh.”
“Bring her this way.” He led Clark past the winding marble staircase, light from the chandelier gleaming from its polished steps. An archway behind the stairs led to a set of double doors with frosted glass. He held the door, then motioned into the next room. “In there.”
Clark carried Mack inside and gently laid her on the examining table. The two assistants were there in seconds, scurrying with equipment, an IV, and things he didn’t even have a name for. Clark was quickly pushed out of the way as one began cutting her jeans to remove them and another got the IV started.
“Any idea of allergies?” Dr. Jay asked him. Clark shook his head. “Medical history? Anything I should know about?”
“I have no idea.” Now that he’d gotten her here, he felt helpless watching as everyone else knew what to do to fix her.
Her eyes suddenly popped open and her whole body stiffened.
“It’s okay, miss,” Dr. Jay said. “We’re going to help you.”
“Where am I? What are you doing?” The panic in her voice was heartbreaking.
Clark maneuvered his way between the assistants. “I’m here, Mack. It’s okay.” He took the hand of the arm that didn’t have an IV in it. “You’re going to be fine. I promise. It’ll be okay.”
“Clark? What happened? I can’t see anything.”
He’d taken her glasses and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. She must be blind as a bat without them. Clark leaned closer to her. Hopefully, she was nearsighted.
“I’m here. Can you see me?”
Her blue eyes focused on his face and she relaxed ever so slightly. Everyone else was moving fast and with purpose around them, but she and he were caught in still life inside a bubble.
“You’re hurt, but my buddy the doc here is going to take care of you,” Clark reassured her.
“We’re giving her something for the pain now,” one of the assistants said. He was injecting something into Mack’s IV. “She’s going to start to get a little woozy.”
Clark rubbed her hand in both of his, leaning on the bed with his elbows so she could see him. Her eyelids grew heavy but she still fought the medication. The death grip she’d had on his hand went lax.
“Feel s’much better,” she said with a sigh. “Is this a bad dream?”
“I wish it was, Mack.”
She grimaced. “Don’ call me that. Don’ like it.”
Clark frowned. “You don’t?”
“’s a boy’s name,” she mumbled, her eyes closing. They took longer to open than before. “’m a girl.”
“I’m all too aware that you’re a girl,” Clark said. He didn’t know if she’d heard him or not. “What do you want me to call you?”
She didn’t answer for a long time and he thought perhaps she’d finally succumbed. But she spoke. “Baby. Never been called baby by a man before. Think it’d be kinda nice . . .” Her voice trailed away.
“Time to take her into the OR,” the doctor said. “You can wait outside. We shouldn’t be long.”
There was a flurry of movement as they wheeled her out, and she looked much too small and pale on the gurney. Then they were through another set of doors and gone.
16
Waking up wasn’t usually something that was difficult for me to do. My alarm went off, I popped out of bed. I started the coffeepot. I showered. I did my morning routine.
Today it felt as though I’d been run over by a truck.
I pried open my eyes, expecting to see my bedroom. But it wasn’t my bedroom. It was somewhere strange. And everything was blurry. I reached out for my glasses on the nightstand, but there was no nightstand.
Panic clawed at me and
I tried to see. Glowing green lights were nearby, and something was stuck in my arm. It was like something from a nightmare.
“Easy there,” a familiar voice said.
“Clark?”
He leaned over me. “Yep,” he said, rubbing his eyes and smothering a massive yawn. He was sitting in a chair by the bed—the hospital bed—I was lying in.
“Am I in the hospital?” I asked, alarmed. Those places were death traps.
“Nope. You made your feelings about hospitals quite clear,” he said. “We’re someplace else. But very sanitary, I assure you.”
“What happened?”
He frowned. “You don’t remember?”
I searched my mind, but came up empty after a certain point. “We cracked the encryption. Then I got the phone call. People were in the building. We had to get out.” I shook my head. “After that . . . nothing.”
Something crossed his face, but it was an expression I couldn’t read. I just knew it wasn’t normal for him. Regret, maybe? Relief? It was impossible to tell.
“What happened?”
“The short story is you got shot,” he said. “I wanted to take you to a hospital, but that freaked you out, so I brought you here.”
“Where’s here?” It looked very hospital-like, which made me nervous.
“Some old . . . colleagues of mine run a security firm outside of Raleigh. They keep a doctor on staff and state-of-the-art medical facilities. They took care of you.”
Took care of me. Okay, time to take stock of my body. Did I have all my limbs? Check. Could I move my toes? Check. Fingers? Check. There was a dull throbbing coming from my thigh and a soreness on my side. Feeling around a little, my fingers touched thick gauze on my thigh.
“There was a bullet lodged in you,” Clark said. “You were really lucky. They got it out without any problems and it hadn’t hit the bone, so no fragments. You needed some blood, but should make a full recovery.”
I’d been shot. It was hard to wrap my head around that. Getting shot was something only seen in the movies or on the news. I, China Mack, wasn’t supposed to get shot. I was supposed to sit safely behind a computer, drink my Red Bull, and listen to eighties hair bands on my earbuds.