Fatal Fallout

by Lara Lacombe

  “Claire?”

  * * *

  She sucked in a breath, hardly daring to believe her ears. Was that—?

  No, it couldn’t be. Her mind was simply playing tricks on her. She was so desperate for help, her panicked brain had conjured up Thomas’s voice. And despite what she’d seen at the hospital, what she now knew to be true, her traitorous heart leaped at the sound of his voice, imagined or not. She closed her eyes against the sudden prick of tears, hating the weaknesses that kept her trapped in this alcove, in love with a man who would never love her back.

  “Claire? Are you in there? It’s Thomas.”

  She lifted her head at the muffled voice. Okay, that was definitely real. Someone was in the closet, someone who knew about the safe room. Someone who sounded a lot like Thomas.

  “Thomas?”

  There was a soft thud against the door, as if her visitor had laid his hand against it. “I’m here.”

  Her breath rushed out in a strangled sob that might have been his name.

  “Claire, open the door. We need to get out of here.”

  She slid the latch open before he’d finished speaking, stifling a cry of joy at the sight of him, kneeling in front of the alcove. He reached for her as she fisted her hands in his shirt, pulling herself against his broad, wonderfully solid chest. She plastered herself to him, wanting to crawl inside his embrace, never wanting to let him go again. He was really here. He had come for her; she wasn’t alone any longer.

  Then she caught a whiff of the cloying, musky perfume saturating his shirt, and she leaned back, putting some much-needed distance between their bodies. He’s not really mine.

  He cupped her face with one hand. “Now is not the time,” he whispered urgently. “But don’t believe everything you see. It’s only you, Claire.”

  He pressed something small and cold to her palm. She curled her fingers around it, realizing with a small shock that he’d given her a gun. “I don’t know how—” she protested, but he cut her off.

  “You shouldn’t need it, but just in case. You only have to point and shoot.” He squeezed her shoulder at her nod. “That’s my girl. Keep it down by your side while we move.”

  “Where are we going?” she whispered, wincing when she took a step. Her muscles, having adjusted to the cramped conditions in the alcove, protested her sudden change of position. Pins and needles shot down her legs, making her wobble a bit. Thomas noticed her difficulty and slipped his arm around her, drawing her close to his side while they moved through the bedroom.

  “There’s an escape tunnel in the kitchen. That’s our goal. If something happens—”

  “What do you mean, if something happens? What could go wrong?”

  His mouth tightened at her question, sending a spike of dread through her belly. She had assumed that Victor was gone, but if Thomas was worried, then maybe that wasn’t the case. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to ask, “Is Victor still here?”

  Thomas shifted his gaze to the door, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. His reaction made her stomach flip-flop. She screwed her eyes shut and focused on her breathing, counting so loudly in her head she almost missed his soft answer.

  “I don’t know.”

  Great. Just great. Thomas hadn’t found him in the house, which meant he was still out there somewhere. Oh sure, Thomas would get her out of this situation, but what about the next time? And the next? Until Victor was arrested and put in jail, he was free to find her, free to terrorize her until he succeeded in kidnapping her, or until she died.

  Was it only a few moments ago that she’d thought this ordeal was over with? When she’d opened the door to the alcove and seen Thomas in front of her, so strong and reassuring? She’d felt so safe with his arms around her, like nothing bad could ever happen again.

  She shook her head, cursing herself for being a naive fool. This wasn’t some movie, where the good guys always won. This was a nightmare, one she would never get to wake up from as long as that monster was still out there.

  “Claire?” Thomas’s voice broke into her thoughts. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, a concerned look on his face. “I know this is a lot to deal with, but we have to move, now.”

  She nodded woodenly, accepting his orders without question. What did it matter, at this point? Victor was only going to find her again. This would never end.

  Thomas gave her arm another squeeze. “I will find him, Claire. I will find him, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you or anyone else ever again.” His blue eyes burned with a fierce gleam as he spoke, almost scorching her with the force of his determination. Her heart melted a bit at the sight. He looked like such a warrior, ready to ride into battle. She wanted to believe him, she truly did, but it was just too much to ask. She settled for a nod and a lopsided smile, which had him frowning in response.

  “Stay behind me, okay?” He tucked her hand into the waistband of his pants, anchoring her in place. “Don’t let go.”

  With that, he turned and stepped into the hallway. She followed, crouching in the shelter of his shoulders, focusing hard to keep from stepping on his heels as he walked. The last thing she wanted to do was trip him as he guided her down the hall.

  “Almost there,” he whispered, then froze as he stepped into the living room. Claire stopped, too, but when he didn’t move again, she risked a glance around his body to see into the room. It appeared empty. Why had he stopped?

  Slowly straightening up, she lifted her head to ask that very question, only to see the answer for herself. Victor stood flush against the wall, his arm extended with his gun pointing directly at Thomas’s head. The bastard had been lying in wait the whole time.

  “So glad you could join us, Agent Kincannon,” he said solicitously. “Claire was quite upset at the thought of leaving without saying goodbye.”

  * * *

  Son of a bitch!

  He knew it had seemed too easy. He’d been so focused on finding Claire he hadn’t stopped to really search the house, to verify that Victor was gone. It was a costly mistake, one that he was now going to pay for.

  “Drop your gun,” the man instructed.

  Gritting his teeth, Thomas did as he asked. At least Claire still had a weapon. If she could even use it. She was holding on to his pants with a death grip, and she seemed frozen in place. Shock, probably. No telling what Victor had said to her while she huddled in the small panic room. No, he couldn’t count on her to shoot him, but maybe she could give him the gun....

  He casually reached back with his right hand, hoping she would catch the gesture and hand it over.

  Unfortunately, Victor wasn’t stupid. Before Thomas could so much as wiggle his fingers to get her attention, the assassin jerked him forward and around, swinging him into the living room and away from Claire.

  “Much better,” he said with a smile, keeping the gun trained at his chest while he moved to stand in front of Claire. “I don’t like you so close to her.”

  Thomas tried to catch Claire’s eye, but she stood unblinking in the hallway. He could tell by the glazed look in her eyes that she wasn’t registering what was happening in front of her. Maybe that was for the best. She’d already been traumatized enough.

  “So what’s your plan now, Victor? Are you just going to shoot me and run?” Not his best suggestion, but he wanted to stall, to keep the other man talking until Valdez’s plan kicked in. It should only take a few more minutes....

  Victor shrugged. “Yes. But before I go, I wanted to tell you what a sweet little girl your niece is. Emily and I had so much fun together. Has she told you about it?”

  Thomas took a step forward, his hands curving in anticipation of wrapping around Victor’s neck as rage, white-hot and blinding, pumped through him.

  Victor laughed and raised the gun, his eyes widening when T
homas didn’t stop. “If you attack me,” he yelled, backing up a step, “I will pay her a visit when I’m done with you. Your sister-in-law, too. And your mother.”

  That brought Thomas up short, his chest heaving like he’d finished a marathon. Victor didn’t know that backup was on the way—if Thomas got killed now, there would be nothing to keep the assassin here. Better to wait until he had numbers on his side. Then he could kill the man. Slowly.

  “You’re sick,” he spit, his arms shaking with unspent anger.

  “Hardly,” Victor drawled, his voice calm now that he was back in control. Or so he thought.

  “I’m simply a man who takes advantage of every resource,” he continued, stepping forward again. “You have too many weaknesses, Agent Kincannon. It makes you an easy target.”

  Thomas opened his mouth to reply just as a flash of movement caught his attention. Claire stepped forward, her gaze focused on Victor’s back, her eyes full of fear and determination.

  “Oh yeah?” Thomas replied, hoping Victor hadn’t heard her move. “Then why did it take you so long to kill me?”

  Claire raised her arm, the gun wobbling as she took aim. Thomas fought to keep his expression neutral. If she missed, he was going to get hit, and then it was game over. Although, if he had to die today, better to be shot by the woman he loved than by a psychopathic killer.

  Victor sneered and took a small step forward just as Claire pulled the trigger. His body jerked when the bullet entered his back, but he didn’t go down. He turned to face her while she fired again, lifting his arm to aim his own gun at her. Seeing his chance, Thomas reacted on instinct, lunging forward and tackling him as Claire fired for the third time.

  Victor struggled, thrashing under him with a surprising amount of force for a man with two bullets in him. Thomas elbowed him in the nose and fought for the gun Victor still held in his hand. He had to get that weapon before Victor got a shot off.

  He yanked hard on Victor’s arm, pulling it back until his elbow gave with a sickening pop. The man screamed but didn’t stop fighting, twisting and rolling in an effort to dislodge Thomas. Thomas brought up his knee, planting it in Victor’s back and pushing, trying to get some leverage over the other man while he worked to pry his fingers off the gun.

  A loud boom split the air, and Victor jerked underneath him. A second boom, and the man lay still, his muscles slack. Confused, disoriented, Thomas turned to try to find the direction of the sound.

  Claire stood off to the side, his gun in her hands, her arms locked as she kept the gun pointed at Victor. Tears streamed down her face while she stared at the man, and after an endless moment, she lowered her arms. The gun slid from her hand, dropping to the floor with a thud he felt in his knees, and she reached up to wipe her nose. He saw her lips move when she looked at him, and realized with a sense of shock that he couldn’t hear her.

  He shook his head, reaching up to rub his ear. He started to move off of Victor’s limp body but lurched at a sudden dizzy spell. His arm shot out just in time, his hand on the wall the only thing keeping him from doing a face-plant on the floor. He tried to push off, but his body wouldn’t respond. He sagged forward until he hit the wall, the wallpaper blessedly cool against his heated cheek.

  Hands grabbed at him, tugged him back. He opened heavy eyelids to see Claire kneeling over him, a look of abject terror on her face.

  “Don’t worry, he’s dead,” he mumbled. He tried to reach up to cup her cheek, but his arm wouldn’t cooperate. Her tears fell on his face, hot droplets that soaked into his skin until he felt he was drowning. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and let the water take him away.

  Chapter 15

  Claire couldn’t take her eyes off Thomas, lying so still on the gurney. The flame of his hair was muted by the darker red of his blood, a red that coated her own hands in a sticky, drying mess.

  “Please,” she begged, stepping forward in an attempt to get closer to him. If she could just touch him, let him know she was here, that she was sorry...

  Jenny stepped in front of her, cutting off her access and her view of the E.R. doctors working to cut the clothes off Thomas.

  “Stay out of the way,” she snapped, her hands tightening painfully on Claire’s arms.

  “Please, just let me see him. I need to talk to him.” She craned her head, trying to see around Jenny, but the other woman mirrored her movements, blocking her at every turn.

  “No, you don’t. You need to stay away from him and let the doctors do their job.” Jenny punctuated her words with a little shake. “They can’t work on him if you’re in the way. You need to leave, now.”

  She felt the air stir and turned her head to see the woman from earlier, the one Thomas had kissed, dash toward the gurney.

  Claire choked back a protest when another set of hands grabbed her, taking her shoulders and steering her away. But not before she saw her lean over the gurney to whisper something to Thomas. He smiled at her, his hand coming up to cup her cheek before falling back down to the bed as his eyes drifted shut.

  Don’t believe everything you see. It’s only you.

  Yeah, right. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

  “Come on, Dr. Fleming. Let’s wait outside.”

  It took her a moment to register who held her. Valdez. She stared up into sympathetic brown eyes. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

  She glanced down, registering her appearance for the first time. Blood soaked her clothes and stained her skin, making her look like a deranged ax murderer. “Oh my God,” she murmured, pulling the soaked shirt away from her body.

  “It’s not that bad,” Valdez assured her as he led her from the room. Once in the hall, he removed his blue FBI jacket and draped it around her shoulders, zipping up the front to hide the worst of the carnage. “Nothing a quick shower and a change of clothes won’t fix.”

  “I shot him,” she murmured while he guided her down the hall. “I can’t believe I shot him.”

  “You did a good job, Doctor,” Valdez replied, his tone low and fierce. “Victor Banner was a bad guy who deserved to die. I’m sorry you had to be the one to kill him, but I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

  Claire shook her head. “No, I shot Thomas.”

  Valdez stopped, one eyebrow raised as he regarded her. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Victor didn’t fire his gun. I was the only one who pulled a trigger tonight.”

  Valdez shook his head slowly. “I don’t want to dismiss what you’re saying, but I can tell you from experience that shootings can be very chaotic. Is it possible you’re mistaken? Perhaps Banner did get a shot off before you hit him.”

  “Maybe,” Claire said, knowing she was correct but not wanting to argue the point.

  “I’m going to take you back to headquarters, where you’ll be debriefed. There’s an evidence team at the house now, and once their report is in, we’ll know once and for all who shot whom. In the meantime—” he started walking toward the elevator again, his grip on her arm solid but gentle “—try to put it out of your mind. Nothing good will come from you worrying about it now.”

  She nodded, knowing he was right but unable to turn off her thoughts.

  In the past forty-eight hours, she’d gone from having a normal, if slightly boring, life to this waking nightmare. Ivan was dead. She’d been stabbed, chased, battered and bruised, and she’d fired a gun for the first time in her life, killing an international assassin and badly wounding the man she was on her way to falling in love with.

  Except he didn’t want her, and never would.

  Thomas had his own family, his own life and she had no place in it.

  It was like the situation with her mother all over again, except her mother had never lied to her about her feelings, or lack thereof.

  It’s only
you.

  I don’t have a girlfriend.

  Over and over, his words raced through her mind, haunting her. Why had he said those things to her? What had he gained by lying to her?

  She nearly snorted. He’d gotten a roll in the sack, but she wasn’t so conceited as to believe he’d been desperate for her company. Whoever she was, his mystery girlfriend was a beautiful woman and, given the way she’d kissed him, quite passionate. No, it was unlikely Thomas was feeling lonely.

  But maybe he was one of those men who liked variety. She shuddered at the implications of that thought. Although she was on the pill, they hadn’t used any other form of protection. Aside from her broken heart, what else had she taken away from their encounter?

  How could she have been so stupid? Looking back on it, she could see why she’d fallen for him. Ivan’s death had brought her grief over the loss of her father to the front of her mind, and after learning about Thomas’s brother, she’d wanted to connect with someone who understood the pain of losing a loved one. She’d let her emotions cloud her judgment and her interactions with Thomas, and now she was paying the price.

  Her feeling of betrayal was further complicated by the deep disappointment she felt at the thought of Thomas. He’d seemed like such a nice person, a stand-up guy who had put his own safety at risk to protect her. She just couldn’t reconcile the Thomas who’d saved her from Victor with the Thomas who’d slept with her and then very publicly kissed his girlfriend a few hours later.

  Although by now she should really understand how complex people could be. She’d thought she’d known Ivan, too, but she couldn’t argue that the evidence suggested he’d been involved in shady dealings. It was just another example of her spectacular failure in judgment. If she couldn’t be trusted to see the complicated facets of a dear friend, why should she see them in someone she barely knew?

  Lesson learned, she thought, as Agent Valdez ushered her into the car. You played with fire, and you got burned.