Gabe (In the Company of Snipers Book 8)
Page 6
Zack didn’t have to be asked twice. While Gabe keyed in the coordinates to their vehicle’s mapping system, he accelerated to well past cruising speed. In less than ten miles, they were rolling through an upscale neighborhood that boasted manicured lawns and five-acre plots. No children. No pets. Just wealth. That kind of neighborhood.
“Over there.” Gabe indicated a white brick ranch-style home sprawled at the crest of a small hill. Sunlight reflected off the enormous picture windows at the front of the house. A low-running hedge lined a wide driveway as well as the telltale motion detector spikes of an outside security system.
The whole neighborhood was quiet. Sterile. No kids played in any of the yards. No dogs or cats prowled, barked or meowed.
Every home within sight declared executive wealth and privilege, nothing like the neighborhoods Gabe had grown up in. Whoever lived here had a good view of the Potomac below. He knocked on the front door, then again harder, while Zack investigated around the north side of the place.
The smallest sound. Gabe cocked his head to be ascertain whether it came from inside or out.
“You should see what’s out back. These folks have a full-sized tennis court and a—”
“Shhh. Come here,” Gabe whispered, his ear pressed to the door. “Listen. Do you hear that?”
Zack stilled. The murmuring sounded again, so soft Gabe couldn’t tell if he’d heard anything or not.
The faintest murmuring again.
“It’s Kelsey’s voice. She’s inside. I know it’s her.”
“One way to find out.” Zack applied his fist to the door. “Kels? You in there? Let us in.”
The softest ‘yes’ this time, and Gabe needed to get inside the damned house.
“Are you okay? Can you let us in?” he asked.
The doorknob jiggled, but no more. “I’m... here,” she muttered from the other side of the steel door. “Zack? Gabe? Is that you?”
“It’s us,” Gabe called to her. God. Finally. He could breathe. “We’re here. Open up.”
The knob wiggled again, not enough. “I can’t. My hands... my fingers... I’m hurt.”
All the worst scenarios blasted his logical thought process. What kind of a creep had her stashed away like this? Was she hurt? Abused? Tortured?
Frustration roared to life. He slammed a palm to the door jamb, needing to get inside!
“Take it easy,” Zack muttered. “You’ve got your B&E kit on you, don’t you? Use it.”
“Yeah, but, the second I pick that lock, every police car in a ten-mile radius is going to be on this doorstep with us.”
“So?” Zack barked. “Kels is in there. Open the damned thing.”
Gabe pulled his lock-pick kit out of his back pocket and opened the door in five seconds flat. The moment he eased it open so as not to shove her out of the way, his heart sank.
There she stood on unsteady bare feet, her palms flat to the wall behind her for support. Both of her eyes were blackened, one swollen nearly shut, her nose split with a horizontal gash that looked as if it had been stitched but not taped.
Gabe had her in his arms before she sank to the tiled entry.
“Oh thank God,” she murmured.
Zack stepped around him and entered the home, searching quickly. Sure enough, a siren sounded in the not-too-distant neighborhood. The police were on their way.
Gabe smoothed his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, diagnosing as he went. Not only were her arms black and blue, but several of her fingers were splinted and bandaged, too. She struggled to breathe, every inhalation ragged and her chest heaving.
“My God, Kelsey. Who did this to you? Have you been here the whole time?”
“I... don’t know.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I just woke up and I was... here.”
He looked closer. Her hair was clean. Someone had been taking good care of her.
“No one else is here, but you ought to see what’s in the first bedroom down the hall,” Zack muttered. “An IV tree with a half-empty bag hanging on it. Plenty of other evidence, too. Blankets. Medical tape. Gauze. A couple prescription bottles. Maybe the police can get a clear print off some of this stuff.”
He crouched with Gabe, feeling Kelsey’s forehead with the back of his fingers. “You’re feverish. Whatcha been doing in here? Do you remember anything?”
She clutched Gabe’s shirt as if she needed something to hold on to, even though she couldn’t get a firm grip. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“You know me better than that. Come on, Kels,” Zack soothed, his voice as tender as Gabe had ever heard. “I’m on your side. Friends to the end, remember?”
“How many days?”
Gabe held up three fingers.
She looked up at him through tears, swallowing hard. “Three? Really? It had to be him.”
“Who?” Gabe asked quietly.
“Alex. I think... Alex brought me here.”
Gabe didn’t gasp, blink or betray one iota of surprise. It must not have been enough to convince her that he believed her though.
“But he did. You have to believe me.”
“I do,” Zack answered. “Hell, Kels, you’re here safe and sound. Who else would’ve taken care of you like this? We both believe you.”
Gabe nodded, going along with whatever came out of his senior agent’s mouth. But what kind of a jackass would play a cruel trick like this on someone as sweet as Kelsey? The poor thing trembled against him, inciting every male instinct to protect and guard her—and to kick the living shit out of whoever had hurt her.
“Trust us,” he said. “You’re safe now. If you believe he was here, then by hell, so do we.”
“You do?” She searched his face.
He peered directly into those deep, sad brown eyes. He didn’t mean to hesitate. He’d never lie to this woman. Tears brimmed anyway. He hadn’t answered quick enough.
“But he did,” she cried, melting against him.
Gabe shot a desperate look over the top of her head at his agent in charge. Zack answered with one short shake of his head.
Yeah. No way it could’ve been Alex.
Chapter Six
It had been a whole day since Kelsey was found. Once again, Mark assigned Gabe and Zack to protect Kelsey—not like he had much of a choice. Her recovery sparked The TEAM’s energy. They argued to relieve each other in overlapping shifts, but no way would Gabe or Zack consider it. They stood firm, their hearts on their sleeves and their minds made up. They’d found her, and possession was nine-tenths of their unwritten sniper code.
She’s ours. Leave your flowers. Visit for a while, but back off.
The unexpected dilemma of finding Kelsey turned out to be Mother. She’d shown up at the hospital ready to move into Kelsey’s hospital room with her, only to be politely rebuffed by Gabe. When Mark agreed with him, things went from bad to worse. She’d left in a huff, a very un-Mother-like reaction at a time when Kelsey needed her most. He chalked her bizarre behavior up to stress. He had more to worry about than the resident drama queen.
Kelsey had slept most of the time since Gabe and Zack found her. She was groggy and exhausted by the time Zack pulled into the emergency room parking lot. Mark had been so emotional just seeing her alive that he hadn’t asked enough questions before Kelsey was hustled off to her own room.
The doctors called it fatigue and said it was nothing to be concerned about. It sounded logical, but now Mark wondered. Relieved that she was safe, but damned baffled as to what really transpired that day on the river bank
Some guy named Olsen owned the place she’d been located in. He’d been out of the country with his wife at the time. He didn’t know her. Kelsey didn’t know him. No friend of Alex Stewart knew him, either. Curious.
The anonymous male tipster who’d contacted Harley had to be the one who’d saved her from drowning. Cared for her. Hid her for three long days. Then refused to reveal his identity? Why?
Unease prickled up the ba
ck of Mark’s neck at what might’ve happened during all those missing hours. Even the authorities were perplexed. Damn it to hell. What kind of a sicko stashes an injured woman, then doctors her himself instead of taking her straight to an emergency room?
The facts remained. By the time Gabe and Zack found her, she was already on a strong antibiotic, which her doctors immediately replaced with one of their choosing.
The IV Zack had found in Olsen’s home was simple saline. Someone had professionally set and splinted her broken fingers and hands, none of them compound fractures. Her hands were a bruised mess, but healing. Even her broken nose had been correctly straightened, the lateral gash across it stitched with the tiniest stitches to minimize scarring.
The whole thing smacked of Alex, but never in a million years would he have walked away and left Kelsey behind in that kind of condition. Hell, no. He’d have her in the best hospital with the best doctors. Nothing meant more to Alex than his wife. Nothing and no one.
The rumor still spread like wildfire. Harley’s nervous energy hit an all-time high. Exhumation took on another dimension Mark hadn’t expected—the need to prove once and for all who had been laid in Alex’s grave, if only to get everyone past the hysterics of all the what ifs.
Alex wasn’t Elvis, for hell’s sake. Not Lazarus, either. The miracle of resurrection didn’t exist in this day and age. Yes, someone had saved her from the river. Kelsey had seen what she’d wanted to see. That was all.
And Harley? Well, he was another case all together. He’d grown more intent on finding Alex since Kelsey had been located. Mark knew exactly what he needed. Or who.
Ember had located the list of ten in a folder Alex kept in his file cabinet of all places. The man never utilized technology. For a savvy entrepreneur, he’d still relied on pencil and paper when it came to detective work, that or his razor sharp memory. Taylor and Izza were working hard on the list, but coming up with a lot of dead ends.
The FBI meeting Mark had postponed when Kelsey went missing had finally taken place. Unfortunately, it raised more questions than answers. Mark listened politely with Harley and David while Agent Kenny outlined his forensic evidence. He corroborated the Medical Examiner’s finding that three ten-millimeter rounds had killed Alex.
The ME had the three slugs in an evidence locker should the assailant’s weapon ever be located. Kenny had pictures depicting the proper-sized holes in a man’s chest, plus others that showed corresponding blood spatter inside Alex’s car that fit the scenario.
He presented very scientific diagrams that proved the kill shots came from the rooftop across from The TEAM’s parking garage exit. The only thing Kenny couldn’t prove was who pulled the trigger. The shooter left no casings behind and no fingerprints. The FBI had no leads. While Harley insisted it had to be the gang of ten, Agent Kenny wasn’t impressed by unsubstantiated accusations.
“That was odd,” David stated quietly when Kenny left.
Harley leaned forward, his hands clutched in front of him on the table, his toe tapping a mile a minute beneath it. “Looked like he was trying to convince us how it all went down, huh? Didn’t it look that way to you?”
Mark remained thoughtfully quiet. The FBI had agreed with the ME. That in itself was unusual, but Agent Kenny used the identical phrasing from the ME’s report. Harley might be right.
“Their forensic evidence may lead us to the killer,” David commented in his agreeable way. He was like that, always willing to see both sides to keep the peace.
Harley snorted. “I don’t believe a word of it. The only way we’ll know what happened is to get on that rooftop ourselves.”
“It will take time. The Bureau cordoned it off as a crime scene.” David sighed.
“So? What’s the plan then? Sit on our thumbs while—”
“The plan is that we do our job. We go over the evidence as soon as we can and we find the truth,” Mark interrupted. “Have you heard from Judy yet?”
“Ah, yeah.” Harley glanced at the pager on his belt. “She buzzed me a while ago, but—”
“She buzzed you? And you’re still here? Go home.”
“Nah. She said her water broke. It’s no big deal. She’s got plenty of time, and—”
“Get your dumb ass out of here, Mortimer. I’m not asking. I’m telling.”
“But I wanted to see if the FBI...” Harley brushed a hand over his head and headed out the door. “Okay. I give. You’ll call me if anything breaks?”
“Something’s already broken. She’s in labor, for hell’s sake. You don’t work here right now. Get her to the hospital.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You’re an ass, Mortimer. Judy needs you more than we do. Get the sonofabitchin’ hell out of here.”
The door shut quietly behind Harley.
David shook his head. “He needs help.”
Mark stared at the closed door. “No. He needs Judy.”
“Don’t say one word to me, Mortimer,” Judy warned.
How could he? She clenched Harley’s hand as if she meant to snap it off at his wrist. A woman in labor had some awful powerful strength, especially under the influence of one breath-stealing contraction after another. It didn’t help she was mad when he showed up. Spitting mad.
She yanked his face down to her nose, her teeth grinding. “This is all your fault.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is, b... b—”
“Don’t call me ma’am!” Her face morphed into a sweaty Halloween mask that in no way resembled the joys of motherhood. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she whined in a throaty, threatening kind of way he’d never once heard before.
Birthing rooms weren’t his area of expertise, although it felt a lot like a warzone now that he thought about it. The panting woman digging her fingernails into the flesh on the back of his hand did remind him a few hand-to-hand combat scenarios he’d lived through. She grunted the same way his opponents had, only she looked deadlier than any insurgent he’d ever encountered. Maybe the United States Army ought to drop a few women in labor on the Islamic terrorists. That would teach ’em.
Even the kind professional words from the delivery nurse at his elbow didn’t soothe the savage beast crushing his fingers. “You’re doing fine, Judy. Take a deep breath. Remember how we practiced.”
“How we practiced? I don’t remember you being there, either!”
Harley cringed. Those words were meant for him. He eased his fingers from his wife’s grip, but he didn’t escape her wrath. She glared at him with the malevolent eyes of a wolverine caught in a trap, ready to chew its leg off and attack anything that moved. “You and your damned job! You’re never home.”
“I know, darlin’, and I promise—”
“Oh, shut up! You know I don’t mean it. Arghhh!”
Another contraction stole the nasty words right out of her mouth, and Harley hoped, out of her mind. Since he’d left the office and shown up at the hospital barely two minutes after she’d arrived all by herself—just two minutes, mind you—she hadn’t said one nice word to him or to anyone else.
The strength of this woman was fierce. He’d no sooner leaned in for his customary hello darlin’ kiss when she’d pinched his lower lip, pulled him down to her nose and shrieked in no uncertain words, “YOU’RE LATE!”
From that split second on, he tried not to say anything, and he was pretty sure his lip was bleeding.
His cell phone sent out a barrage of flute tones. Mother. Great. She probably just wanted to know if the babies were born yet. He scooted the noisy thing out of his tight jeans pocket, and—
Oh, shit. If looks could kill...
Judy glared at him like one of Charlie Manson’s girlfriends, her left lip lifted and baring teeth. “So help me, Mortimer, if you answer that phone, I’ll get off this bed and kick your ass. God, I feel bad about what happened to Alex. I’m sorry about Kelsey, but I need you to focus for once in your life. I need you in this room with me. Here! Now! Do you hear me?”
“Okay. That’s better. One breath per second.”
The cheerful nurse seemed unflappable. Harley on the other hand was close to passing out. He hadn’t eaten or slept in days, and here he was in the middle of a different kind of hell again. What he’d thought would take minutes had stretched into hours while Judy grunted, cursed, and sweated through the—get this—joys of natural childbirth.
Next time, we adopt.
“There you go, Judy. Now slow your breathing. Good job. Good girl,” the nurse crooned.
“I’m not a good girl and I’m thirsty,” Judy snarled before she relaxed into the pillow at the end of an extra hard contraction. And just like that she was her old self again. She turned pleasantly to Harley with a small smile. “I need an ice chip, honey. Could you please... get... a tiny one... for me? Hurry.”
He scrambled for the plastic cup of ice on her side table and spooned a single chip out, intent on redeeming himself. By the time he got it halfway to her prehensile lips, she grabbed his fingers again, twisting and clenching and, oh, hell. The ice chip sailed. Damned woman had the grip of ten men. Something cracked. Felt like fingers. His.
“Ow. Ow. Ow! Not so hard,” he whimpered, trying real hard not to make as much noise as she did.
The contraction eased off. She relaxed her grip. Closed her eyes. Took a deep breath.
He rescued his fingers.
“Big baby.” She shoved his hand away. “You wanna trade places?”
He kept his lips zipped. She had that shut-up-and-go-to-hell look in her eye again.
“I’m having a baby here, and... and I want a divorce, and I want you to get a different job, and I want... VALIUM!”
He held his breath. The beautiful, sexy woman he’d fallen in love with had turned into a raging schizophrenic on her way to the divorce court, with or without him. And this two-headed beast would now be responsible for the welfare of his innocent children? To what—eat them alive? How much longer could having a baby take? Is this what woman had been doing for thousands of years? What was God thinking?