by Geri Krotow
She turned and faced Kyle. This had to be heaven. Except he didn’t look blissed out but incredibly stressed, an almost animal-like countenance to his expression.
“I’m fine. I’m hiding from the shooter.”
“We have to get out of here, now. It’s going to blow in less than a minute. Stay behind me, whatever you do.” He stood up amid the barrage of more bullets and hauled her up, placing her behind him. They ran for the door, opposite the side where the bullets sprayed plywood from the wall, the doorframe a mess of bullet holes. At the very edge of the exit, hidden from the shooter, he turned and looked at her as if he’d never see her again.
“We are going to run outside, crouched low, zigzagging. We’ll make it to the pile of snow and then lie flat.” His eyes blazed and Portia wanted to ask him why they were doing this, why they had to leave here right now, in the face of a shooter she’d bet was Markova. Their choices were lethal. And then she smelled it. Natural gas.
“Kyle!” She screamed but he didn’t wait, turned with her hand in his and they plunged into the dark night. Into the path of certain death.
* * *
Portia thought the air should feel cold against her bared skin, her evening gown no match for the Pennsylvania winter.
Kyle still held her hand, pulling her along, his arm behind his back, blocking her from the shots that rained down on them like errant, lethal snowflakes. The snowbank was so close but Kyle changed direction and she thought she felt a bullet hit him, as he jumped at the moment of impact. Yet he remained on his feet, taking them past the original place he’d set and kept going. Out into the farm field, where a plowed path from the barn parking lot to a silo allowed them traction.
They ran through the night, past the edge of the sculptures, and she had a fleeting thought about the gala guests but they were on the other side of the sculptures, farther from the barn.
“No, no!” she screamed as more bullets hit the snow on either side of them. When Kyle stumbled, her heart seemed to stop. No, no, no—not Kyle.
You should have told him you love him.
Portia opened her mouth to yell at him, to tell him, before they were both blasted into oblivion. But the inevitable explosion happened, rolling across the ground under her feet.
She felt like she was floating, that time was standing still. As she began to fly through the air, all she was conscious of was Kyle’s grip on her hand. He’d never let go, never stopped protecting her from the gunfire. His actions resulted in her experiencing every bit of the detonation.
Somewhere in her mind, she registered that the gunfire had stopped.
A sharp flash of light, followed by the loudest sound she’d ever heard, mixed with the hot air that buoyed their flight. A second explosion!
And still they were flying, moving through the air, across the barn’s field, as if they were hawks swooping for groundhogs. After they hit the ground, she rolled on the hard packed snow, until coming to a stop atop the frosty white coating.
She looked up to see the barn completely gone, engulfed by flames. Plywood smacked down next to her, narrowly missing her head. And her hands were bloody, but from what? Her hands...
“Kyle!” She screamed but only a croak emerged from her throat. Or was her hearing messed up? Belatedly she discovered that she could hear nothing but a dull roar. She looked around her, saw him lying in the snow no more than a foot from her. Portia tried to move, strained to reach him. His still form shocked her more than any explosion could. He lay on his side, facing her, only a small part of his face visible. Tears and holes in his tuxedo jacket and shirt revealed he’d been hit by bullets. A trickle of blood ran from his nostril to the visible part of his cheek. Shock began to roll through her. Her teeth shattered, her body shook and her heart broke for the love of her life.
Searing pain kept her present, and she looked at its source, the heeled boot painfully crushing her hand. Raising her gaze up the calf boot to the pants, the jacket, the face of Ludmila Markova.
The woman had a rifle almost as long as her petite torso strapped across her back and a handgun in her grip. But the deadly weapons weren’t what frightened Portia. It was the evil smile Markova gave her in the flickering light, the darkness only broken by the burning building behind them. No siren lights, no SVPD units surrounded them.
It was Portia, Markova and an either very injured, or more likely, dead Kyle. Despair that she’d never previously experienced threatened to swallow her as it invited her to a hell she’d only ever imagined.
“Don’t look so sad, Portia DiNapoli. They say it’s very peaceful after the bullet.” Markova kept her pistol pointed at Portia as she kicked Kyle’s still body, to no reaction from Kyle. Portia couldn’t stop the gagging, the bile that rose as she realized the love of her life was gone, and she was soon going to join him.
This was so not how she’d planned getting back together with Kyle. Her mind flashed to how good she’d felt in his arms, how safe, how protected. How he’d challenged her to face down her choice to settle for her quiet, albeit full, life in Silver Valley. Kyle had invited her to take a chance on having the time of her life with him.
“Your guardian angel has lost his wings, Portia. Time for you to join him.”
Portia refused to look at Markova. She kept her gaze on Kyle, knowing that he was the last thing she wanted to see before she died. But the ROC operative denied her that, crouching next to her and placing her face next to Portia’s. She must think Portia was injured more than she was.
“You stupid fool. You thought you’d get away from me. Now look at both of you.” The cold barrel of the gun felt like ice on Portia’s temple and she closed her eyes, acting dead. Before Markova could get a shot off, Portia summoned all the strength she had left and grabbed the hand holding the gun, forcing it away from them. She head-butted Markova, ignoring the smattering of stars across her field of vision. Before Markova regained her wits, Portia rolled her to her back and held the woman’s arms over her head, working to get the weapon out of her hand.
But Markova was better trained, more experienced. She flipped Portia off her as if she were no more than a tiny kitten, shoved her heeled boot into Portia’s solar plexus. Portia landed hard on her back, the wind out of her sails. She might not have finished the job against Markova but she’d die trying.
Markova loomed over her, furious and prepared to kill her. This time Portia knew she’d reached her limit. She closed her eyes and thought of the one man who’d ever loved her for who she was.
Kyle.
* * *
Kyle came to on his right side, in the field, with his face shoved into several inches of snow. He couldn’t open his left eye, and from how much it hurt, he figured it was swollen shut. Looking for Portia, his right eye found her, lying just inches from him. She was on her stomach, lifting her head, looking around. Portia had made it.
Thank God.
He focused on trying to assess his injuries, to figure out what he was capable of doing. He could only see Portia, and there was no sign of backup. Not yet.
Markova couldn’t be discounted, explosion or not. Years of undercover work and countless situations just like this one had his mind moving automatically into recovery mode. He knew the barn was gone, and that the scene around it would be in chaos until SVPD and TH got everyone taken care of. He sent up another silent prayer that Portia had convinced the guests to leave, that Claudia and he had found out about the explosive soon enough.
His breathing deepened and he winced. His bulletproof vest had done its job; he was alive. But getting hit with automatic weapon ammo still hurt.
He sensed her before he saw her walk into his field of vision. Markova, an AR-47 strapped on her back, a .45 in her hands. She said something to Portia but he wasn’t listening. He was watching her actions, preparing to take her out. She turned toward him and he lay still, feigning unconsciousness. The kick wasn
’t unexpected but still rocked him, and more than anything he had to fight his instinctual reaction to grab Markova’s ankle, yank her off balance and hold her down until Josh or someone else arrived.
Her attention was back on Portia and he surreptitiously tested the fingers of his right hand, underneath him. He closed his grip around his weapon, which had landed right in front of his stomach. His left arm had hidden it from Markova.
Before he had a chance to move, Markova’s backside was in front of him, and within two seconds, Portia had pulled the woman down—and wait, had Portia just head-butted Markova?
As much as he’d love to see anyone take out Markova, he wasn’t risking Portia’s life for it. He drew his weapon, took aim and fired.
Markova’s form fell, her handgun dropping to the ground, unused. Portia’s scream reached his ears, dimly, as the roar of the explosions had made his tinnitus flare. Her scream was enough to tell him all he needed to know. Portia was still alive.
Chapter 21
“You’ve got several abrasions from flying debris, with your hands being the most severely injured. But they’ll heal quickly. Just keep the ointment on them, and replace the bandages after each shower. You’re lucky you didn’t need any stitches.”
Portia paid attention to the ER doctor as much as she could, with her ears still ringing and her head spinning from the night’s events. It’d only been twenty minutes since they’d arrived at the ER, an hour tops since the explosion. Since she’d been next to Kyle. But she couldn’t stop looking at the door, willing him to walk through it.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Annie responded, standing near the exam table. “I’ll make sure she waits to sign out.”
“Thanks. Best to both of you, and thank you for your service.” He nodded at Annie on his way out. She wore her SVPD ID around her neck. While dirty and dusty from all she’d done, Annie looked like a fresh spring daisy next to Portia.
“All I want is my coat and a warm bed.” And Kyle.
“I’m afraid your coat, and anything else you had at the gala, is gone.”
“Including all the silent auction items.”
Annie smiled ruefully. “But you got the pledges. No one will take back their donations, trust me. They’re all happy to be alive.”
“Mmm.” She looked at the door the doctor had just exited. Still no Kyle.
“He’s being examined, too. They took him to Harrisburg, in case he needed surgery.”
“Surgery?”
“He had several gunshot hits, you know. But his vest caught them all. Josh texted that he’s fine and moving around.”
But he wasn’t here. “Can I go see him?”
Annie looked uncomfortable.
“What, Annie? Tell me.”
“Kyle asked that you don’t try to find him. He’s got a lot of work to do, to wrap up his part of this case, and—”
“No, stop, I don’t need to know any more. That’s okay.” It wasn’t okay, though, not really. She ached for him, for the comfort only he brought her. He’d given it so freely, always had her back, kept her alive. She owed him everything, for saving her life twice and more. For showing her what true love really was. Kyle didn’t owe her anything, though. And as she’d told him herself, she’d known the deal when she’d been with him. The gaping hole in her heart was something she’d known was inevitable. Kyle was still California-bound, then back to his undercover world, the way he liked it best. With no strings.
“Come on, let’s get you home. We’ll ask the checkout desk to hurry it up.”
“Don’t I have to file a report with SVPD?”
“Yes, but your statement will wait until tomorrow. They have their hands full, helping the FBI with Markova’s interview.”
“So that’s it, it’s all over?”
Annie shook her head. “Unfortunately, no, as this was just the first wave of several planned shipments. But we made a big dent in their profits, for sure. And Markova, once she recovers from the bullet to her gut, will never see the outside of a prison for the rest of her life, with the charges filed. She singlehandedly orchestrated the shipment of millions of dollars of heroin, including a package of fentanyl that could have killed as many as ten thousand. And she put several hundred lives at risk by blowing up the barn when she knew the gala was there. Not to mention shooting at you and Kyle.”
“And breaking into the house.” The memories of the days she’d spent snowbound with Kyle overwhelmed her and she let the tears fall. “I’m fine, don’t worry. This is probably shock.”
Annie’s arm was around her shoulders. “More like seeing the person you love take a hit for you.”
She sniffed, nodded. No use hiding her feelings from Annie, who saw through her.
“What’s this?” Claudia asked as she walked into the room, dressed in casual clothes, her hair messier than its normal smooth bob. It’d been a tough night for the director. “Portia, you have gone above and beyond tonight and this past month. Please accept my thank-you on behalf of my entire agency.”
Portia wiped her eyes. “It’s been my privilege. Was anyone seriously hurt tonight?”
“Other than ROC’s attempt to infiltrate Silver Valley and make it its epicenter of East Coast crime?” Claudia smiled, then shook her head. “No. And a lot of the credit goes to you for staying calm and clearing the barn as quickly as you did.”
“Annie helped, in the kitchen, from what she’s told me. And I couldn’t have done it without Kyle telling me what to do.”
“You did it. And you fought Markova—you know, if you ever want to give a job with my group a try, I’d be willing to vouch for you.”
Portia managed a weak laugh. “No, thank you. I’ll stick to information resources, and the service work I’ve already signed up for. Finding a new venue for next year’s gala is going to be a full-time job!”
Claudia nodded. “Nevertheless, the offer stands. You’re adept at intelligence analysis.”
“Thank you, Claudia.”
“You’re getting her home?” Claudia addressed Annie, who nodded. “I’ll check in on you next week, Portia. Go home and get some rest.”
Claudia left and Annie turned to her. “You’re coming home with me, for now. Your apartment is safe, you can go back there, but you shouldn’t be alone right now. You’ve had several major shocks.”
Portia didn’t argue as she accepted her friend’s help. She’d be alone again soon enough.
Kyle spent the next two weeks wrapping up the case, including several interviews with Markova. True to form, she refused to turn, doing nothing to help any of the law enforcement agencies defeat ROC. After he signed the last reporting document on the case, he loaded his car with his possessions, ended his monthly lease and drove west.
He had to fight from calling Portia, from showing up at her doorstep each minute of every day. But he couldn’t go to her until he had his life in order. Until he knew he could be the man Portia deserved.
Chapter 22
One month later
“You’ll find a personal hygiene kit, towels and an extra blanket on the end of your bed.” Portia gave the newest patron of the homeless shelter a bag of nonperishable food items.
“There’s always hot coffee and water, along with fresh muffins, in the dining room. They’ll be serving dinner until 10:00 p.m.”
“Thanks.” The woman met her eyes before she headed for the stairs, which Portia considered a minor victory. It was hard to admit you needed help at any time, but she’d witnessed countless homeless persons struggle the hardest. The cold drove them in from the street, the only place they felt totally independent.
“You’re almost done tonight, Portia. Got a hot date?” Gary joked from the front door, where he added an additional helping hand to the security guard. They’d had a minor altercation earlier in the week with a group of apparent heroin addicts looking for a s
core. They’d heard a dealer was spending the night in the shelter and wanted to “come in for a quick few minutes.” The guard and Gary had chased them off and called SVPD.
“Nope, not tonight, but I’m meeting my best friend for coffee after.” She hadn’t had any dates or even the dream of one in the last month. How could she, when her heart belonged to a man she’d never have?
Kyle. He’d been in California for a full month, yesterday. Not that she was counting. She’d left Josh and Annie’s a few nights after the gala, and without constant contact with Josh, she lost her inside track to Kyle’s life. Not that Josh gave away much—he claimed he knew nothing, but Portia knew better. Both men worked with TH and she knew that Kyle was setting up the West Coast TH office. Kyle would have to report back to Claudia on that basis alone, which in turn meant the rest of the agents understandably knew at least a few details of the project.
Portia didn’t give a groundhog’s butt about the TH project or anything else work-related, including her own job. All she cared was that Kyle was safe and happy.
At least one of them should find joy after what they’d shared.
“You need to go home now, Portia, before the storm hits.” Gary treated her like a little sister but she didn’t mind. He wasn’t patronizing, just caring.
She bundled up in her parka, wrapped the scarf Annie had knit her “just because” and headed into the cold night. Another storm was coming in, accounting for the uptick in shelter patrons. As she walked the few short blocks to her apartment, her cheeks were hit with fat flakes. The last time she’d been snowbound, it’d been in a beautiful home and not her tiny apartment over a coffee shop.
The shop still had its neon OPEN sign lit, and the warm inside light spilled onto the street, where snow quickly accumulated. Annie had sent her a quick text earlier, saying she wasn’t sure they’d be able to meet for their girls’ night tomorrow, with the storm predicted to bring things to a stop for at least two days. So she’d suggested they meet at the shop next to Portia’s apartment.