A grave. He’d dug a single grave for her and Jordan.
While she eventually hoped to be buried next to him, that was a long-term goal, not something she wanted to accomplish until she was at least ninety.
The kidnapper dragged Jordan toward the hole. From the way he gripped him, Amy realized the kidnapper was holding Jordan by the ankles. Her poor Daddy was being bounced and knocked around mercilessly. Because she liked to look at the positive side of things, she realized the blanket was coming unraveled, as was the rope the man had looped around Jordan’s torso.
She did not laugh at the man’s idiocy. Instead she took a deep breath, and when the kidnapper got close to the side of the grave, she hefted her legs and kicked at the back of his knees. They buckled, and the man went down, tumbling over the edge and into the chasm. Amy didn’t know how deep it was, but she figured that if the man had dug it, he could probably climb out.
Loosening her bonds with one tug, she attacked the ropes around Jordan. “Jordan, wake up. Someone is trying to kill us, and I’d rather not die today.”
Nothing. He didn’t even stir.
“Fucking bitch. I will put you in first.” The kidnapper’s head appeared above the rim of the grave. His hands scrambled for something to hold onto that would help him out, and he grabbed Jordan.
Amy pounded him with her fists, shrieking bloody murder. Maybe the noise would rouse Jordan, which would be great because she could really use his help right now. With her hits proving ineffectual, she shot to her feet and kicked him, heedless of the fact she was wearing a T-shirt and no underwear or anything else. Having gone to bed naked, she did not question how she’d come to be wearing a shirt—but she was thankful.
Balancing on one foot, she used her heel to deliver kicks directly to the bad man’s face. Yelling, she heard, would make her kick pack more power, so she let loose with a primal scream that turned into a joyful whoop as blood spurted from the man’s nose and he slid back into the hole.
Immediately, she dropped to her knees and continued untying Jordan. “It’s very inconvenient for you not to be awake. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Though, if I had a golf club or a bat, I think I’d be in business.”
The man’s head appeared again on the other side of the grave. Amy rushed around it, grateful the villain hadn’t turned off the car’s headlights, and kicked his head again. Coming from the side, she got him in the ear or temple—she couldn’t tell which.
“You fucking bitch! I’m going to kill you slowly. You’re going to die screaming—your throat will fill with dirt. Nobody will hear you as you suffocate under a pile of dirt.”
A terrific growl distracted her, and her third kick didn’t pack the same power the first two had. Jordan leaped across the dark expanse that marked the top of the grave, landing on the kidnapper and would-be killer’s back. He wound one arm around the bad man’s neck and pounded the villain’s head with his fist.
Relieved that he was awake, she immediately started worrying about Jordan. He was still suffering the effects of the drug, and he might not have his wits completely about him. The headlights didn’t illuminate what was going on in the hole, and the shadows of fists flying was the only thing she could make out. Torn, she looked toward the car, wondering if she should see if there was a tire iron in the open trunk. Fuck it—Jordan wouldn’t expect her to stand there and do nothing. She covered the distance quickly. Tearing back the carpet in the floor of the trunk, she found a short tire iron. It was smaller and thinner than she’d expected, but it would have to do. She grabbed it and ran back to the edge of the abyss.
The pair had sunk to the bottom of the pit, and so she couldn’t see them anymore. “Jordan, please tell me you’re beating the hell out of that man.” Though he didn’t respond, she heard some horrific crunching noises. Another shot of adrenaline raced through her system because she didn’t know who was on the receiving end of those deadly sounds.
The next head that poked up was Jordan’s, and owing to his height, he could easily reach out of the pit. Relieved, Amy grabbed his hand and fell on her ass to provide leverage to help him out.
Tears of relief welled in her eyes. “Oh, Daddy. I’m so happy you’re not dead.”
On his hands and knees at the edge of the pit, Jordan coughed and wheezed. He put a hand to the back of his head, and it came away coated with a dark substance.
Amy gasped. “You’re bleeding!”
“A little.” He struggled to stand, and Amy had to catch him so he wouldn’t fall. “I woke up when he was taking us. We fought, but I was too drugged. He hit me over the head with something. The next thing I know, you’re shouting like you’re acting in a bad karate movie—and kicking ass. Or face. Babe, you did good. I’m proud of you.”
His words were slurred. She wound his arm around her shoulders. “Lean on me, Jordan. I think you have a concussion.”
He put his hand to the back of his head again. “Probably. Motherfucker hit me hard enough to knock me out. I returned the favor. He won’t be waking up anytime soon.”
Amy didn’t care about the bad man—not now that he’d been neutralized. She cared about her Daddy, and he needed medical attention. “Let’s get you in the car, and then I’ll grab the bags. He brought our luggage to bury with us.”
They were on the side of the grave nearest the car. Jordan glared at her suggestion, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused, so it didn’t have the intended effect on her. He hefted all three bags in one hand. “I take care of you, little one. You will never carry bags when I’m around. That’s a rule.”
“More rules,” she said drily. If she wanted to get him in the car and away from the dangerous man in the grave, she needed to humor him. “Yippee. At least let me drive you to the hospital. You’re hurt, and you sound like a drunk.”
His eyes darted around, not focusing on anything in particular. “We were both drugged. I think he snuck in when we were occupied and slipped something into the wine we had with dinner. That’s why we both fell asleep so early. I fucked up, Amy. I should have been more vigilant.”
This was not the time to play the blame game, otherwise she might have pointed out her role in distracting him from always looking out the cabin’s windows.
He dug through each bag before slinging them into the backseat. “He didn’t bring our phones, which makes sense. They have GPS, and if he buried them with us, then we’d be findable.”
She opened the passenger side door and tried not to think about how close they’d come to being buried alive. He needed her to be strong. “I’m going to have to insist. I’ll drive. We need to get you to a hospital.”
“Are you saying I need my head examined?”
“Yes, but only because it might be cracked open, and not because you’re crazy.” She inclined her head toward the opening. “Get in.”
From the gingerly way he moved, she figured he might need more than just his head examined. It was only when white-hot pain shot up her left leg that she realized she also needed medical attention.
Amazingly, Jordan had noticed. When she got in the car, he put a hand on her thigh. “You’re hurt.”
“My ankle, but it’s way better than being buried alive in an unmarked grave, so I’m going to call this a win for the good guys.” Their kidnapper had mentioned shooting her not being an option, but that didn’t mean he’d been unarmed. She checked the glove box, but it was empty, so she felt around on the floor under the seat.
He chuckled, a dumbfounded sound, and shook his head. “Christ. How are you so upbeat right now? Most people would be shaken up and freaking out.”
Though she tried to keep her tone positive, the dried tracks of tears crinkled on the skin of her cheeks. “I don’t know. I guess I’m glad to be alive, and I am crying. I’m just not breaking down. Stuff like this is outside my everyday experience. Maybe I’ll fall apart later, and then I’ll need you to snuggle me until I feel better.” Her search for a firearm had come up empty, so she figured the gun must be in th
e grave with the bad guy. They needed to get out of there quickly. She started the car and headed toward the main road. The faster they were out of there, the better. “Did you kill him?”
Jordan let his head fall against the headrest. “No. I beat the crap out of him. He’s going to need his jaw wired, and he might have some other broken bones. Definitely multiple contusions, and if I hit him hard enough, internal bleeding. I’m still a little out of it, and many of my thoughts don’t quite make sense to me, so I’m not entirely sure. He’s not going anywhere without an ambulance. I need my phone.”
Amy frowned. “He probably left them back in the cabin. Why would he think he could make it look like we disappeared?”
It took a second, but he responded. “If people think we ran off, they tend not to look too hard. Fuck. I shouldn’t have left the scene. Take me back, and then go back to the cabin for the phone. Call Brandy. She’ll bring the cavalry.”
She scoffed, and not just at the idea of going back to where a would-be murderer had dug a premature grave for them. If he’d been in his right mind, there was no way he would have allowed her to herd him into the car. She wanted to put as much physical distance between them and the threat to their lives. “First of all, we couldn’t run off. And secondly, our friends and family would look for us. I can’t see Dustin, Malcolm, Keith, or Brandy throwing up their hands and saying, ‘Oh, well. I guess they wanted to start new lives.’ That’s not realistic.”
“I know that, but he didn’t. Director Lawrence doesn’t know the close connections you and I have with the people in our lives. According to my file, I’m a loner from Wisconsin who is good at blending in and building cases that lead to convictions. I have many acquaintances but no friends.”
Amy started. That wasn’t the man she knew. “You have lots of friends, and one smoking-hot girlfriend who can kick face.”
He climbed over the seat and into the back. A couple of manly grunts of pain accompanied his journey, and Amy decided to head straight to the hospital. Jordan was one of those macho guys who ignored pain. “When I first began suspecting this was an internal matter, I had Brandy plant false information in my file. We knew that no matter how secret we made this operation, a mole would have access to the information. We honestly didn’t think the mole was the director of the Detroit Bureau.”
“That guy is your boss’s boss?” She worried that he might make her turn the car around. His voice wasn’t nearly as slurred, and coherence had returned.
“Yep. It explains the access he’s had to prisoners and evidence, and why we haven’t been able to discover much so far in the investigation. Hey, you passed the road that will take us back to the cottage.”
Amy snorted. She glanced in the rearview mirror to see him moving around like he was putting on clothes. It reminded her that she was wearing only a shirt. “Yeah. I think it’s more important to take you to a hospital. I’m heading to the freeway. There has to be something somewhere. I plan to speed like a demon so we’ll pick up a cop and get an escort.”
“Babe, head to the cottage. I’ll call this in, and Brandy will take care of all that.”
Miffed that he’d rather rely on his boss—and that he was taking control of the situation, she executed a U-turn with maximum centripetal force. Jordan wasn’t thrown far, but he was leaning against the backseat, whereas before he was not. She muttered, “Maybe Brandy will take care of other things for you.”
“Don’t be bratty, little one. This is a bigger deal than you know, and the fewer people who know about any of this, the better.”
“I want to get you to the hospital.” Her voice sounded way too tremulous for her liking. “You’re hurt, Daddy.” The turn off to the cottage didn’t take long to find. The villain hadn’t taken them all that far down the road. She stopped in the driveway.
“We’re both hurt, but we can’t compromise this mission. Lawrence needs to be brought to justice, and we don’t have time to waste.” Jordan got out of the car with minimal help, which was good because her ankle really hurt now.
She limped to the house, and he stopped her before she opened the door. “I need to secure it first. Stay close.”
He went in, and she followed him silently, the tire iron still in her hand. She hadn’t put it down even while driving. Their movements reminded her of when they’d played laser tag. She stuck to his six, keeping an eye out for anyone who might come at them from that direction. The cabin wasn’t large, so it didn’t take long to clear.
He found his phone on the dresser, and he dialed a number. “Security six-nine-delta-seven. Thanks.” He escorted her to the sofa, and she sank onto the soft cushions. He talked, but not to her. “Lockmeyer, we’ve been compromised. Director Lawrence just tried to kill Amy and me. We’re okay, but Amy might have a broken ankle.”
His words were less slurred, but it didn’t sound quite normal. “And you have a concussion.” She said it loud enough for Brandy to hear.
He shot her a dirty look, but said nothing as he listened to his boss give detailed instructions. Jordan set the bags next to her, and as he continued talking with Brandy, he fished out yoga pants and handed them to her.
Amy eased into the pants, but she watched Jordan. Though his long hair disguised it, a trail of blood trickled onto the collar of his shirt, and the stain was spreading down his back.
Chapter Nineteen
Jordan filmed Amy’s injuries. She hadn’t noticed the rope burn on her wrist or the huge goose egg near her temple until he pointed them out. Then there were the smaller bruises and cuts from being dragged across the ground and dumped next to a grave, and her heel hurt from repeatedly kicking face. Even when he was woozy from a concussion, he still noticed everything. When she took the cell from him to document his injuries, he protested.
“I’m fine.”
She snorted. “Indulge me, Daddy. I need to do this.”
He caved, and she wasn’t sure if it was the power of his title or the way her voice came out a little too thin and tremulous. With a graceless sigh, he let her film the gash on the side of his head, the blood matting his hair, and the bruises, cuts, and scrapes scattered over his body. When she’d recorded everything, she hit the stop button, but she didn’t tell him.
“Flex your butt muscle.”
“No.”
“Link your hands behind your head, twist around, and give me those smoldering bedroom eyes. You know, like a supermodel does.”
He took the cell away and studied it to make sure she hadn’t recorded that part. Then he helped her from the sofa. “Let’s get cleaned up. Once everybody gets here, the place is going to be a madhouse.”
She knew he wanted to go back to the grave site, but Lockmeyer had forbidden him from doing that without backup. Amy seconded the motion, and she was trying to keep him distracted. Malcolm, she knew would have ignored orders and gone back by now. Thankfully, Jordan wasn’t the type of man who disregarded orders.
Like before, they showered together. Only this time they said very little, and Jordan sat on the ledge so that Amy could clean the blood from his hair. His pallor had her worried, and the tight set of his jaw belied his attempts to appear as if he wasn’t in pain. Amy didn’t call him on it. She just made sure to be gentle and careful.
“You need stitches.”
“Can you do them?”
Nobody had ever asked her that question before, but then again, her life to this point hadn’t included bombings, kidnapping, attempted murder, or villains. “I can sew clothes. I guess this wouldn’t be different. But I don’t have anesthesia or a sewing kit.”
“Dustin’s first aid box will have stuff for field stitching.”
“Are you sure about this? I’ve never sewn a person’s head before.”
“I trust you. And I don’t need anesthesia. I’ll be fine.”
After they were dressed—with Jordan wearing his holster for the first time in days, he got the first aid supplies and helped her find the materials she needed. Then he sat on t
he bathroom floor so she could sit on the edge of the bathtub. Putting any weight on her ankle was proving to be very painful.
Sewing skin wasn’t significantly different from basting together thicker materials. She was careful, and she made the stitches as even and small as she could. In all, he ended up with seventeen. Not once did he flinch or make a noise.
“It’s okay if you’re in pain. I don’t expect you to pretend like you’re okay when you’re not.”
“I’m okay. This isn’t my first rodeo.” He had the scars to prove it.
She laid her hand on his shoulder. “I can tell. But I’m saying you can let down your guard with me. I don’t expect you to be Superman all the time.”
He squeezed her hand. “Good, because I’m not.” A knock sounded at the door. “That’ll be Frankie and Jesse.” He scooped her up and deposited her on the sofa in the living room with her legs stretched across the cushions. He propped her hurt ankle on a pillow. Then he answered the door.
“Well, hello there, Monaghan.” A woman who had to be almost six feet tall, sauntered past Jordan, her shoulder brushing his chest. Her black hair was cut short, but that only emphasized her lively brown eyes. Her skin was a beautiful mix of cinnamon and brown sugar, and it sort of made Amy crave snickerdoodles. The woman paused a few feet into the room and scoped out the premises.
The man who followed her through the door shook hands with Jordan. “Jesse Foraker. We haven’t met, but Brandy has told me a lot about you.” He was about the same height as the woman, perhaps an inch or so taller, and he wore his light brown hair shorn close to his head. As he looked around the room, assessing it with the critical eye of a trained operative, his piercing pale blue gaze fell on Amy. It seemed to see more than what was there, and she shifted uncomfortably.
Frankie came over to Amy. “You must be Amy. Brandy told me that you lost your home. I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll keep you safe while Agents Lockmeyer and Monaghan close the noose on that psychopath.” She perched on the coffee table, her expression serious. “I’m Francesca Sikara—Frankie to my friends. You can call me Frankie.”
ReDefined Page 24