“I guess Jones is going to want to talk to you,” said Roman.
“We have to get this patient to the hospital,” the EMT said to Ian. “Do you want to ride with her?”
Petra’s stretcher had been placed in the back of the ambulance. Without a word, Ian stepped onto the tailgate and slid into a jump seat.
While buckling his five-point harness, Ian leaned over to Roman. “Tell Jones if he wants to talk, he can find me at the hospital.”
“But don’t you want to wrap up this case?” Roman asked. “I thought bringing down Mateev was your life’s purpose.”
“I thought so, too,” said Ian honestly. “But I was wrong. It’s Petra. It’s always been her, I was just too damn blind to see.”
The EMT slammed the door shut and the ambulance rolled forward, kicking up a cloud of dirt. The world outside the back window disappeared, replaced with a coating of dust.
He didn’t care what was happening at the warehouse. He didn’t need to be in charge and didn’t even worry that there was important intel he would miss.
“Ian?”
He looked at Petra. She regarded him through swollen eyes.
He reached for her hand, wrapping it in both of his. “I’m here,” he said. Where she’d felt cold before, her flesh was hot with fever. “Close your eyes and rest now. You’re going to the hospital and they’ll take care of you.”
“It was Rick,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said. “Rick attacked Joe, framed you and then went back to kill your client.”
“I’m innocent.”
“I know, love.”
“And Nikolai...” She struggled to draw in a breath.
“There’s time enough for what happened to Nikolai.”
She shook her head slightly. “I heard them talking. I need you to know, in case... Nikolai came here because Rick developed a drug. It was supposed to cure his cancer.”
It cleared up a good bit of the mystery, but Ian didn’t care. “Just rest,” he urged again.
This time Petra nodded. “And, Ian,” she said as her eyes drifted closed. “Will you stay with me?”
“Of course,” said Ian. “I’m never leaving you again.”
Chapter 17
Ian sat in a hospital lounge, waiting for the surgeon’s report on Petra. His chest ached and he remembered why he’d stopped wanting to care about anything after Travis Wetherby’s death. The pain of loss, he had thought, was worse than the void of apathy. Yet he’d been wrong. The joy in loving someone—and in being loved—was more important than any agony that followed grief.
The question he needed answered was, would Ian only be left with memories of Petra and regret for what might have been? Would she be willing to risk a second chance on him?
“Care for some company?”
Ian looked to the door. The whole team stood on the threshold, Roman, Julia, Cody—even Martinez had come along.
“You are all a sight for sore eyes,” said Ian as he got to his feet and greeted them.
“How’s Petra?” Julia asked.
Ian shrugged. He hated to be uninformed and not able to control the outcome. “She’s in surgery. That’s all I know.”
“So, what happened?” Cody asked. “How’d you two end up in a burning warehouse?”
“Rick Albright kidnapped Petra and took her to Nikolai Mateev, who was hiding out.”
“Martinez explained some of what happened to us,” Roman said. “But how does a team doctor get involved with Russian gangsters?”
Ian recalled what Petra had told him in the ambulance. “Albright had developed some kind of medicine. My guess is that it started out as something for athletes, but he discovered that it could also be used to treat certain kinds of cancer. And Mateev came to America to seek it out as an experimental treatment.”
“And does any of this have to do with Joe Owens?”
Ian hadn’t focused on the football star much over the past several hours. The texts to and from Yuri Kuzntov came to mind.
“Joe needed street drugs to counteract a problem, and my guess is that it was the side effects of Albright’s meds. When Yuri couldn’t supply Joe anymore, he got worse and his behavior declined. Then once the street drugs were out of his system, he started thinking clearly and decided to speak out about the performance enhancer.”
“And you think that the doctor figured out what was about to happen,” Roman offered. “And then there was a fight that got out of hand?”
It was a possibility, and Ian shrugged. “Or maybe Albright intended to kill Owens from the beginning. In the end, it doesn’t matter much.”
“That’s a lot of maybes and guesses,” said Roman.
Ian didn’t have anything better than supposition, although he doubted that he was wrong. “Albright will probably confess. He doesn’t seem like the type to serve jail time to protect anyone.”
“How’d Petra get involved?”
“She is, or rather was, Joe’s agent. He called with important news and wanted to meet in person. Petra showed up at Joe’s house as the attack was happening. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Albright tried to frame her. It almost worked.”
“We have a few updates,” said Roman. “Albright and the other man who survived the blaze have been arrested. They’ve yet to make a statement.”
“They will,” said Ian. “With Nikolai Mateev dying in that warehouse, there’s no more worries about retribution.”
Martinez’s phone buzzed. He fished it from his pocket and stepped away to answer the call. With shoulders hunched, the cop had his back to the group. He nodded as he spoke, his voice an urgent whisper. He ended the call and cursed before tucking the phone into his jacket.
“Everything okay?” asked Julia.
Martinez pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I gotta get back to my precinct. Word’s gotten out in the PD that I never should’ve been on the Owens case and I shouldn’t have been at the warehouse.”
“I’m glad you were there,” said Ian. “Without you, Albright would’ve gotten away.”
Martinez shrugged. “I’m worried that my job is on the line.”
“Oh, Luis,” said Julia. “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the detective. “Joe was my best friend. He was like a brother. Losing my job is nothing compared to catching his killer.”
“Julia,” Ian said, “can you take Martinez back to his car? It’s parked at my house.”
“Sure thing,” she said.
Then it was just Ian, along with Cody and Roman. There was a lot that he needed to say to these two men, his operatives. With the three of them working together, they’d brought down the biggest crime syndicate in the world. He owed them something, but his mind was in surgery with Petra.
“I gotta ask,” said Roman, thankfully breaking the silence. “You keeping Rocky Mountain Justice closed forever? Was catching Mateev all you needed? Or do you still have more to do?”
“I guess that’s it,” said Ian. “I don’t know. With Petra in surgery, I haven’t really thought about it.”
“You don’t know? That’s the biggest shock of all,” Roman said. His voice was stern, but his eyes held a heaping dose of skepticism. “You always have a plan for everything.”
Ian smiled and gave a laugh. It was cut short by the appearance of the surgeon.
“Mr. Wallace?” The surgeon wore a lab coat over scrubs. His brow was lowered, the corners of his mouth pulled down.
Despite the air-conditioned room, Ian began to sweat. “Yes?”
“Petra Sloane is out of surgery.”
“How’d it go?” asked Ian. “How is she?”
“Petra lost a good bit of blood from the bullet wound. Debris from the fire had gotten into the wound and she had already developed an infecti
on. Combined with the amount of smoke she inhaled, she was in acute distress when she arrived.”
Ian tightened his jaw to keep from howling with anger. “What does all that mean? How is she?”
“She was in rough shape,” he said. “But Ms. Sloane is a tough woman. She’ll survive.”
Feeling as though a thousand pounds had been lifted from his shoulders, Ian dragged both hands down his face. “Thank you,” he said.
Petra was alive, and he intended to keep her with him, always. He just had to convince her that he could go the distance for real.
* * *
Petra’s throat was raw and her chest burned. Her shoulder throbbed. She opened up her eyes, only to squeeze them shut again. A yellow fluorescent bulb shone behind her head. A continuous beeping filled the quiet.
It took only a moment for her to get her bearing and realize she was in a hospital, which meant that she’d survived being trapped in the burning warehouse and being shot. It also meant that she hadn’t blacked out and attacked her client, Joe.
She opened her eyes again, this time slowly. She lay in a typical hospital bed with rails that had various controls. An IV was attached to her arm and clear liquid dripped from a bag that was attached to a pole. A small TV hung on the wall and a newscast played softly. In the corner, Ian slept in a chair.
It was almost hard to believe that he was with her—not wrapping up the Mateev case, his lifelong obsession. Only two years before, he’d let her go so he could continue his hunt for the Russian. Had Ian really changed that much?
It was dark outside, and Petra wondered if Ian had been with her all along. Although she longed to talk to him, and truly find out what she could about the case, it was late. He was tired and if he were asleep, she’d let him rest.
She turned her attention to the TV on the wall. A news anchor sat behind a desk in the studio and looked directly into the camera. “Truly,” she said, “this case has rocked the Rocky Mountain state. What began as an assault between athlete and agent has quickly become an international case that involves a drug trafficking ring, murder, kidnapping and athletes being used to test secret drugs.”
Petra reached for the remote and considered changing the channel. After all, this was her story and she knew all there was to know. Or did she?
The reporter continued. “The latest bombshell in a story full of explosive twists and turns is the arrest of the Colorado Mustangs’ owner, Arnie Hatch.” Film showing a handcuffed Hatch being led from the stadium to a waiting police car played as the reporter spoke. “Hatch is accused of working with a known Russian drug lord to develop a performance enhancer that evades detection during NFL drug tests.
“The drugs, developed by team doctor, Richard Albright, had been given to Mustangs quarterback Joe Owens. Owens realized the side effects of the drugs and had decided to go to the authorities. It was then that Albright allegedly attacked Owens and tried to pin the entire incident on Owens’s agent, Petra Sloane.”
A mug shot of Rick filled the screen. Petra tried to feel angry at him—to find a soul-deep fury for what he’d done and what he’d tried to do. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel any anger, only sadness for a good life that had gone bad.
The reporter continued, “Aside from a charge of murder, Albright has been accused of drug trafficking, kidnapping and attempted murder. Even though Albright’s attorney said that his client is cooperating fully with police, it’s hard to imagine that this doctor will be practicing medicine any time soon.”
She used a remote attached to her bed to turn off the TV. Ian snuffled in his sleep and then sat up, ramrod straight.
“You’re awake,” he said. He stood and moved to her bedside. “How do you feel?”
“Grateful to be alive. You saved me, Ian. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Just keep staying alive and we’ll call it even.”
Petra gave a small laugh. A pain shot through her shoulder. She winced.
“Do you need anything?” he asked. “Water? Something for the pain?”
She shook her head, suddenly tired again. “Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a minute.”
“You go ahead and sleep,” he said. “I’ll be right here.”
Petra had a vague memory of Ian making the same promise in the ambulance. Had he? Or was it just a pleasant dream?
“How long have you been here?” she asked, as she began to sink into sleep.
“I’ve been here the whole time, Petra. And you aren’t getting rid of me. Not this time.”
* * *
Petra sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her arm in a sling. In their early morning rounds, the doctors had proclaimed her fit enough to be released. She held a stack of discharge papers, the top one a list of dos and don’ts for her recovery. Kat had brought some clothes for Petra—a shirt and pants. And now, Petra was anxious to leave and put this whole episode in her past.
She glanced at the wall clock: 7:32 a.m. She’d spoken to her parents earlier, and they were on their way from Cleveland, expecting to land in Denver by lunch.
All she needed now was Ian.
“Hey,” he said. A white bandage was wrapped around his hand, and even though he’d changed clothes—another black T-shirt and jeans—Ian had yet to shower and he still smelled of smoke.
“Hey,” she said. She stood, her legs were weak and she stumbled.
Ian was at her side, holding her up. “You need to take it easy.” With his arm around her waist, he led her to the door. “You can use this until we get you to the car.”
“A wheelchair? I can walk.”
“Humor me, then.”
She sat. “Humored?”
“Yes. And thank you. It’s a media circus outside, just so you know.”
Petra groaned.
“Are you going to make a statement?”
With a shake of her head, Petra said, “I never wanted to be famous, much less infamous. I’m better behind the scenes. And besides, I’m not sure what I would say. I just got shot and then ended up here.”
Ian began to push the wheelchair down the hall and towards the elevators. He hit the call button and maneuvered the wheelchair into the tiny car. “You did a lot more than just get shot.”
“Don’t believe everything you see on TV,” she teased.
Ian laughed, and the elevator door opened in the lobby.
“Can you at least let me walk out the front door? I’d like to salvage some of my dignity in front of the cable news networks.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Ian said and he helped her to her feet.
The throng of TV reporters gathered just outside the glass entrance was visible. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. Holding her head high, she reached for Ian’s hand. Together, they walked out the door—ready to face the cameras and the questions.
The lights were blinding. A hundred questions were asked at once. Yet she had Ian at her side. They were a hell of a team and they’d be able to face anything—even the reporters. She recognized one face among the many—her former boss, Mike Dawson.
“How’re you doing, kid?” he asked. For a moment, she thought his concern was real. Then she noticed that Mike wasn’t looking at her, but rather at the surrounding cameras. He continued, addressing the reporters. “You don’t know how worried we’ve been about you.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t know how worried you’ve been, especially since you fired me because I was accused of—not found guilty of—a horrible crime. Even the justice system presumes innocence.”
“Petra, please,” Mike said. His brow was damp. He wiped the sweat away with a silk handkerchief. “Let’s just be happy that you’ve been exonerated, and we can discuss everything else at work tomorrow.” He turned to the cameras “That’s right, you still have your job. What I said the other day was a misunderstanding.”
“Let me be plain, then, so we all understand. I quit, Mike.”
“Don’t be silly, kid. We can work this out.”
Silly? “Stop patronizing me. And Mike, you’re a jerk.”
Mike’s mouth hung open. Ian pushed through the crowd of reporters, his grip on Petra’s hand never wavering. She followed, never once bothering to look back.
Ian’s SUV was parked near the entrance and he opened the passenger door. Petra sank into the seat, thankful that the nightmare was over. She still had questions about what would happen in her life, especially since she’d just quit her job on live TV. And yet there was really only one thing she wanted to know. How did Ian feel about her, about them? Did he want anything at all, or was this truly the end?
Petra was so lost in thought that she didn’t realize they’d arrived at Ian’s house, and now, well, now she had to make a choice. Her eyes were drawn to the front door.
“It’ll be nice to get home,” she said. Home. Her condo. That was never her home, just a resting place until... Well, until what?
Until Ian, she supposed.
“You can stay here if you think the press might be waiting for you again,” he said.
Petra’s heart leaped, but she shook her head. “I’m not sure that it would be wise. Things could get complicated.”
“Complicated?” Ian snorted. “I’ve never seen life more clearly than I do right now. Petra, I love you. I want to be with you. You belong with me. You allow me to feel, and without you, I am a shell of a person.”
“Those are nice sentiments, Ian. And honestly, I don’t doubt that you love me.” She hesitated. “I know I love you.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Us. You don’t have a job, you have a calling. And me, I want to matter in a relationship. Neither of us are bad people...” She let her words trail off. “I’m sorry, Ian.”
“No,” he said. “No way am I going to let you give up on us. On me. I’ve changed.”
“It’s not magic. You can’t snap your fingers and make everything all better.”
Rocky Mountain Valor Page 20