Shadows of Our Past

by Tanya Jean Russell

  As he eased closer his vision adjusted to the gloom and he could see that the expression on her dirt-streaked face was blank and her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t completely still. A repetitive twitch gave away that she was conscious. He didn’t know how she wasn’t falling apart. As he took another step forward, she came into clearer focus and he froze for a split second, his breath suspended in his chest. There was a gash running across her cheek and what he’d thought was dirt was blood trickling down her face. At the realization she’d been hurt, all rational thought stopped.

  Dashing across the remaining distance between them, he pulled desperately at her bindings.

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry, are you okay? What have they done to you? I’ll kill them with my bare hands,” he babbled quietly as he tried to snap the plastic ties holding her in place.

  She didn’t react immediately, but as he continued his efforts her head snapped up.

  “You can’t be here. Go. Tell them it was Tim. Tell them Pavol is actually Marek.” Her words were a clear order despite the whispered tone.

  Her blank expression belied the seriousness of their situation and she looked away from him, keeping her eyes fixed over his shoulder. He glanced over his shoulder, checking that the door remained closed before turning back to her wrists.

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “There isn’t time. Go, go now,” she insisted. “The team needs to know what I’ve learned.”

  “I’m not one of your team. I’m not following orders. We’re leaving here together.”

  “Damn it, Jackson. This is bigger than me. Just get out of here, get safe, and let them know.”

  Ignoring her pleas, he scoured the room for something sharp to cut through the plastic bindings. He had to get her free if they were going to get out of there, and he couldn’t do that until he’d dealt with her restraints, but he didn’t want to leave her side. His chest pounded harder with each step, every inch of distance making his skin prickle with sweat in the cold air.

  A heady wave of relief washed over him as he finally found a chunk of weathered glass hiding in a dusty corner. Grabbing it, he sped back to her. Despite being dulled with age, the glass dug into his fingers and palms with his efforts to break her bindings, but the sharp pain barely registered as he concentrated on getting through the plastic. His fingers slipped as his blood coated the glass, but still he didn’t feel it. Finally the last tenacious thread broke.

  Pulling her up to him, he ignored her protests and wrapped his arms around her, the relief at having her back where she belonged so strong he was nearly knocked to his ass. She could protest all she liked, he was never letting go again, not if he could help it.

  The dull sound of a single slow clap rang out through the room, Amory’s widening eyes telling him who it was without him having to turn around.

  “Very touching,” Pavol’s smooth voice snarled.

  Jackson turned to face the man, using his weight to pin Amory between himself and the wall in the process, his sheer size and strength holding her there despite her strenuous efforts to break free. He’d come this far and hell would freeze over before any further harm could get to Amory.

  Some distant voice whispered that he should be afraid, but all he felt was a white hot anger as the two men walked across the dusty broken concrete floor toward them before stopping just out of arm’s reach. His heart pounded a spike of adrenaline through his body, Pavol’s look of amusement fueling his fury and overruling any concern the sight of Marek pointing a gun at him may have caused. The men standing in front of him had hurt Amory. He’d never felt anything as intensely as the hatred consuming him. When he spoke, his voice was low and controlled.

  “What have you done to her, you bastards?”

  “Nothing compared to what I’m going to do when I get her on my plane.”

  Pavol gestured to the currently empty runway and Jackson realized he could hear the sound of an engine closing in on them. A plane, they were bringing a plane in. He growled. There was no way on earth that monster was getting Amory onto a plane. There was no way they were taking her anywhere.

  “That’s Marek,” Amory whispered.

  He shook his head in confusion. If Pavol was Marek, the pieces slotted into place, the weird power dynamics between them finally made sense. That was what Amory had been trying to tell him, what she’d wanted him to go back to the team for. Rationally he understood the value of that information but he couldn’t make himself care. Nothing mattered except protecting the woman he loved.

  “Give her to me,” the man he now understood was Marek said, his words clipped.

  “Over my dead body,” Jackson said.

  “That can be arranged. Let me have her and you get to live,” Marek shrugged unconcerned. “But she will be coming with me either way.”

  Amory began fighting his hold with earnest.

  “Let me out.”

  Her hands were pushing against his hips hard enough that it was taking all his strength to hold her in place as she tried to shift his weight from her, but he ignored her words.

  He kept his eyes trained on Marek.

  “Let me go with him,” she said firmly.

  Those words sank in, and he wanted to argue with her, to spin around and let her see how terrified her words made him, but he didn’t dare move. He couldn’t take the risk she meant it. He wasn’t stupid. There wasn’t a chance in hell Marek was letting him walk out of here alive just for handing Amory over, but even if he meant it, there was nothing on earth that would make Jackson do it. When he’d thought he’d do whatever it took to save Amory, he’d meant it deep into his soul. If the price was his own life, then it was a price he was more than prepared to pay.

  “Give her to me. I will show her what it is like to be taken by a real man,” Marek sneered. His eyes flicked to Amory before he continued, “You think what I did to those other girls was bad? Girls like Katja.”

  “I’ve already said I’ll go with you. Stop making this worse,” she said, her words quiet but unwavering.

  “That was nothing compared to what I will do to her,” Marek said. His attention shifted back to Jackson, and his mouth curled into the hint of a lazy smile.

  A red mist descended over Jackson as Marek continued speaking, growing until all he could hear was the roar of his own blood. That bastard wasn’t going to lay another finger on her.

  He lunged forward, the crack echoing through the room not registering until he stumbled and began to fall, realization hitting just as everything went black.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  In that moment the world stopped. Gasping with terror, Amory dashed to Jackson and dropped to the floor.

  “Please be okay, oh God, please, please,” she pleaded, sobbing, her words stuttered and rambling.

  Lifting his head from the cold floor she cradled him in her arms, his blood seeping into her clothes and soaking through to her skin. The wound wasn’t mortal but if he didn’t get help, and fast, he was going to bleed out.

  “You bastard,” she screamed at Marek. “I was coming anyway.”

  “He was an annoyance,” Marek said casually, as though the only reason she had let them lead her from the house wasn’t now lying on the floor, his life draining away.

  He stepped closer and she looked up to see an amused expression on his face. Without conscious thought she released Jackson and launched herself at Marek, punching his face with a satisfying crunch before moving quickly to bury her other fist in his stomach. She was lifting her knee to connect with his groin when Pavol wrenched her backward, dragging her off of his boss. The sheer desperation of someone with nothing to lose strengthened her and she punched, kicked, and screamed, inflicting as much damage on both men as possible before Pavol managed to pin her arms behind her back.

  Marek grabbed the hollows of her cheeks and wrenched her head around to look at Jackson.

  “Watch, bitch, watch the man you love as he dies, and all for nothing. You still have no pr
oof I have done anything. Nothing will stop me from carrying on.”

  Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, Marek taunting her the whole time.

  “For years no one has stopped me. I am untouchable. Your pathetic sacrifice was for nothing.”

  He spat his last words at her. “You lose.”

  Watching Jackson lie motionless on the floor, she was beyond sobbing. It didn’t matter what happened next, she couldn’t survive this moment. Her heart wouldn’t make it through watching Jackson die, it would surely stop.

  His chest still moved with the rise and fall of his breaths but they were becoming shallower, the movement shrinking as his blood spread across the dusty concrete. She silently pleaded for him to survive, straining to escape Pavol’s grasp and reach Jackson. The thought of him dying alone was more than she could endure.

  Despite all her training and experience, her brain shut down. She could think of nothing but Jackson, of getting to him, as if her very presence could force the life to stay in his body.

  She barely registered the men around her speaking. Didn’t hear Marek say that she was too much trouble to take with them, or his order to Pavol to give him the gun. The fact that he wanted to kill her himself passed her by completely. This was all her fault. Jackson wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her. Nothing could be worse than the pain wracking her entire body as she watched him slowly die.

  Vaguely aware of the gun as it pressed against her temple, she stared unblinkingly at Jackson. At least he would be the last thing she saw. Her own death didn’t matter now. Even as the hammer clicked and the bullet slid into the chamber she didn’t flinch, her every thought filled with the man lying in front of her.

  When the shot finally rang out she didn’t immediately register that it was Marek’s body wavering and slumping to the ground, not her own. Startled, Pavol released her as he lunged for Marek and his gun, but a second crack echoed and Pavol fell.

  At the sight of Holly sprinting into the hangar, trailed by a team in black attire and full weaponry, her brain finally caught up. She flew to Jackson, dropping to the ground and pressing the wound in his shoulder with her hands, desperate to stem the bleeding. Relief at the labored rise and fall of his chest was framed by cold fear at the amount of blood on the ground around her. A hand on her shoulder made her jump but she resisted the effort to pull her away.

  “Let the professionals do their job,” Holly said softly, gesturing to the paramedics waiting to take over.

  She looked back at Jackson and nodded, shifting her position so they could get close enough, only moving her hands as the paramedic’s own hands took their place.

  “Where are you hurt?” Holly asked with a familiar efficiency that reassured Amory even as she kept her eyes trained on the man she loved.

  “It’s not mine, it’s Jackson,” she said, answering almost absentmindedly, all her attention focused on the paramedics’ actions.

  “Please make sure he’s okay,” she said, addressing them as they worked.

  “They will do everything they can,” Holly assured her when the paramedics didn’t reply.

  Amory didn’t speak, appreciating the fact her friend wasn’t trying to pretend everything was going to be alright. Uninformed promises were worthless and guaranteed to make her lash out.

  “What happened to your face?”

  Unconsciously reaching up, Amory touched the gash Marek had left across her cheek, wincing as her fingers made contact.

  “Marek,” she said flatly, the single word saying everything.

  The paramedics finally stabilized Jackson enough to move him onto a stretcher. He was completely silent, eyes firmly closed as they lifted him, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, as though somehow he would die if she did.

  “Ma’am,” one of Holly’s team said as he approached cautiously.

  “The DCI is on his way,” he advised.

  Amory finally looked away from Jackson, worry in her eyes as she looked at Holly imploringly. If she was still here when James arrived, he’d insist on debriefing her immediately. It would be hours before she saw Jackson again and she needed to be with him, needed to know.

  “Go,” her friend said to her unspoken request, gesturing to the paramedics who were wheeling the gurney loaded with Jackson onto the ambulance.

  “Sergeant Parker will be accompanying the patient,” Holly ordered.

  The paramedics, too busy to argue, motioned Amory aboard. She sat silently, unable to even clutch his hand as the paramedic continued to work on him in the confines of the small space, his colleague stepping out to shut the doors.

  She was vaguely aware of Holly speaking to the assembled team and looked over.

  “Sergeant Parker has been injured and is en route to the hospital.”

  Holly glanced up just as the doors swung shut, meeting her gaze and nodding before turning her attention back to the team around her. She gave out orders that would bring some semblance of control to the chaotic scene.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Arriving at the hospital after what had been the most terrifying journey of her life, Amory trailed the paramedics who steered Jackson toward a set of double doors. As the gurney was wheeled through, a hand caught her arm and asked her to stop at the admission desk.

  “I’m fine,” she said with a frown, pulling her arm back and heading for the doors again.

  “Of course,” replied the woman. Her patient tone was one of someone who was clearly used to dealing with uncooperative people, as she moved to stand in Amory’s way and gestured toward the desk. “You are, however, covered in blood and have a nasty gash on your cheek. Let’s get you checked out now so that when the doctors have helped your friend you can be there.”

  Finally where Jackson would get the help he needed, the adrenaline that had been rushing through her veins slowed, taking her fight with it, and she nodded. Her chest pinched sharply at the thought of letting him out of her sight, but rationally she understood she’d be more of a hindrance than a help.

  ****

  Perched on the edge of an examination table with a curtain pulled around her as they cleaned the blood from her face, arms, and hands, she resisted the urge to scream at them to get on with it. Instead she swallowed down her frustration and her desperate fear for Jackson and let them do their job. They ignored her bruises and focused on cleaning and dressing the shallow cuts from where she’d been bound, cuts made far worse by her efforts to escape.

  “Well other than the cut on your cheek you’re in pretty good shape,” the doctor said.

  With herculean effort she didn’t roll her eyes at hearing what she’d been telling them repeated back to her. She’d been hurt enough times over the years to know the difference between something that would just be an annoyance and something that needed medical intervention.

  The doctor swiftly administered a local anesthetic and cleaned the wound, passing the used equipment back to the nurse who had accosted her when she’d arrived, before approaching with his suture kit.

  “You need to sit as still as possible,” he instructed. “I’ll make the stiches as small as I can to try and limit the scaring.”

  She held still and closed her eyes, wondering why he thought she’d care while he worked, a tugging sensation all she could feel through the anesthetic. As she stared at the darkness behind her eyelids, images of Jackson spread out on the concrete filled her mind and her eyes flew back open. Better to see the needle doing its job than keep facing that.

  “Are we done yet?” she asked, trying not to move as she spoke.

  “We’ll be a while,” the doctor replied.

  Holding her head still, she shifted her eyes to the nurse.

  “Any news?”

  The woman shook her head. “He’s in surgery and will be for some time. They know to come and find you here if you’re not in the family room when they have any news.”

  She appreciated the woman’s effort but this was unbearable. She needed to be w
ith him.

  Eventually they agreed that she was done and led her through the sprawling sterile corridors to the family room to wait for news. The domestic couches and faded ‘80s floral pictures had clearly been added to try and make the room comfortable for distressed friends and relatives. But none of that changed the sterile smell of the hospital that permeated everything, making it impossible for anyone to forget where they were, or why. As she paced around the otherwise empty room, anxiety coursed through her veins. How long could it take?

  Remembering Jackson’s face as he ran toward her in the abandoned building, a flicker of hope ignited deep inside. Surely he wouldn’t have come if he didn’t love her? Alongside her guilt that he was only here because of her, that this was her fault, his refusal to leave her fanned at that hope, letting it grow.

  She didn’t understand how Jackson had found her, or how he’d been there before Holly and the team, but he had. Now he needed to get through this and come back to her. His concern for her safety and the way he’d clung to her once he’d released her restraints had felt like more than human concern for another person. It had felt like love, and it had added to her hope, hope she wasn’t letting go of. Her heart pinched at the thought she could be wrong, that he would have done the same for anyone. The pain of considering that was worse than anything her body or face had suffered in the last few hours so she pushed it aside. Whether they had a future together or not didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had a future, any future.

  She walked up and down, agitatedly waiting for the surgeon’s report. How did people do this? How did they get through these moments in life where everything was out of their control? Where the words of a stranger could destroy their world in a second?

  An hour, but what seemed like an eternity later the surgeon appeared, his salt and pepper hair and weary eyes adding unnecessary gravity to the situation as he finally entered the room. Torn between a desperate need to know that Jackson was okay and terror that he wasn’t, she couldn’t form words. She just stared at the man who could destroy her life. Heart pounding, she waited for the life-altering pronouncement.