Wire - (Wrong #3)

by LP Lovell

  That's fine by me. That's all I need.

  He shuffles to the side and I continue up the sidewalk, eyeing the two Feds who still have their damn guns drawn as I pass them. I don't even glance at Tidwell when I step onto the porch and shoulder my way inside the house right past his fucking ass. Tor gives me a pitiful look before she spins around and moves through the living room. “Where’s Cayla?” I ask.

  “With one of the agents.”

  We stop at the end of the hallway. She walks into a bedroom and I follow, closing the door behind me.

  "What the hell happened to your arm?" I ask.

  "I got shot, Jude." One bullet to the shoulder…she’s lucky she’s not dead. She sits on the bed with her gaze fixed on the floor. "You shouldn't have come here." She presses the palm of her hand against her forehead and closes her eyes.

  "Why would you go to the FBI knowing damn fucking well I'm not supposed to be here?" My pulse clangs in my ears.

  "That was the idea—that you wouldn’t come here," she whispers, opening her eyes to stare at me.

  "What?" I narrow my gaze at her "Why would you—"

  "Because they came into our house, Jude! They were shooting to kill! They were in Cayla's fucking room!" She stands, chewing on her nail as she paces to the window. "I told you I didn't feel safe,” she says as she turns around with a pain in her voice that cuts me. “I begged you to let me leave. Do you even know whose men they were?"

  "I'm fucking handling it."

  "Of course you are,” she laughs. "And you wonder why I came to them?" She points to the door.

  "Jesus, would you give me a fucking chance, woman?" I shake my head. "You didn't even give me a chance to fix this, Tor."

  "Are you going to tell me who's after us, or just leave me in the dark? Because you know, I just love when my house turns into a war zone with no warning!"

  I pace the room, rubbing my hand over my chest. If I tell her, she's going to lose her shit, and, if I don't tell her she'll lose her shit. Fuck it. "It's the goddamn cartel, alright?"

  "The cartel?" She breathes, her eyes going wide, her chest rising in ragged swells. “The cartel…”

  "Yeah, and like I said, I'm fucking handling it."

  "God, I want to believe you," she whispers, shaking her head before her steel blue eyes lock with mine. "You treat me like I'm stupid, Jude but I knew you were getting in too deep."

  "Oh, and you running off to the FBI is not pulling me any deeper into a load of shit?"

  A bolt of anger flickers through her eyes. I watch her jaw tense. "You want to know why I came to the FBI? I came here because I didn't think you would follow."

  "You didn't think I would follow?" I laugh. "You don't know me very fucking well then, do you?"

  "I thought you'd see the writing on the wall. I thought you might be selfless enough to let us get to safety!" she shouts, her voice breaking.

  My chest tightens and I swallow around the lump in my throat. "Just let you and my daughter go? Never finding out what the hell happened to you? Not knowing whether you're alive or dead?" I shake my head. "Come the fuck on, Tor."

  "Well, now you know. We’re alive." She hesitates, her eyes falling to the floor. "And now you have to leave." Even though her words are stern, I hear the weakness in her voice. She doesn't want this. She's just afraid, and I can't blame her.

  "You expect me to leave you and Cayla?"

  "We're not safe with you, Jude."

  I take a step toward her. "You're not safe anywhere but with me." Another step. "You hear me, Tor? You are only safe with me." Anger ripples through me. I don't like the thought that she doubts me, that she doesn't feel safe. That she feels safer with some fucking Feds than she does with me. One more step and I have her backed against the wall. I stare down at her, reaching up and brushing my finger along her jawline. I can see tears building in her eyes, the doubt, the worry. "Don't do this to me, doll. Don't..." I whisper, leaning down and gently pressing my lips to hers. "I fucking love you." I move back to find tears streaming from her closed eyes. Her lips tremble and I kiss her again. "I love you."

  She grabs my shirt, balling it in her fists. "I love you too, Jude. So much…" Pulling away, she opens her eyes, her gaze slowly rising to meet mine. "But it's Cayla."

  My heart skips a few beats because fuck, I know she's right. Tor buries her face in my chest and I hold her while she cries. How many times will I break this woman? How many fucking times will we break each other? God, I fucking love her, and sometimes loving someone, well, you have to do shit that tears you apart. Tor was right to run from me but it doesn't make letting her go any less painful. She steps away and I cup her cheeks, sweeping my thumbs below her eyes.

  "You were right to leave," I whisper because I need her to know that. "You did Cayla right." A sob breaks from her lips and I kiss her one last time before slowly backing toward the door. "I'm gonna fix this though. Okay? I'm gonna fix it." And with that, I open the door and walk out into the hall because I'm going to fucking lose it if I stay a second longer. I can't fall apart.

  When I step into the living room I see Cayla clinging to a female agent. She sees me over her shoulder and smiles. "Dada. Dada," she screams, holding out her arms.

  "Hey, little doll," I smile even though everything inside of me is shattering. I reach for her and the woman hands her over to me. Cayla squeals when I lift her in the air. "I missed you," I say.

  Cayla's little arms wrap around my neck and she lays her head on my shoulder. I squeeze her tight, closing my eyes as I kiss the top of her head. I could have lost her. I could have lost Tor. If Tor wasn't such a fucking good shot, they'd be dead now. "Daddy loves you." I kiss her cheek. "He loves you so much."

  She grins and grabs at my face. "I wuv you."

  I turn to the side and see Tor lingering in the doorway, her face crumpling as she fights back the tears. "Daddy has to go now."

  "No, Dada no go," Cayla whines, grabbing me tight. "No, Dada.” A pitiful sob breaks through her lips. “No!" I try to pull her off me but she holds on, and damn if this isn't breaking my heart. Tears blur my vision as I try again to hand her over. "Daddy has to go, Cayla,” I say, “but he loves you. I love you."

  She screams when the woman rips her away from me, her little hands opening and closing as she frantically reaches for me. "I'm sorry," I say as I turn and head to the door.

  She's still screaming for me when I walk outside and close the door behind me. I take a deep breath before looking up and noting the agents with guns drawn and aimed at me again.

  I toss my hands up. "I'm fucking leaving," I say and walk right past them.

  I go around the block and climb into my car, staring at the house my girls are in as I sit behind the wheel. I just walked away from everything in my fucking life. Tor and Cayla are it. I walk away…the cartel kills me—it doesn't matter. They'll come after them too on pure principle, and the FBI—they aren't a fucking match for the cartel or else the cartel wouldn't exist. My heart bangs in my chest. Heat drowns my face and I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles wash white. Whatever reason I got pulled into this—whether it's because of my deal with the Feds or just being in the wrong fucking place at the wrong time, I'm in it now. Right in the motherfucking middle and I may only be one man, but I'm pissed as hell, and I will not rest until every person who’s now come between me and my family is dead. Whatever the cost. If I have to die to know that Tor and Cayla are safe, so fucking be it.

  15

  Tor

  We're moving to another house.

  Tidwell doesn't like that Jude knows where this one is. He left, but I know Jude. He'll watch and keep tabs on us even if it's from a distance. And I don't know whether that's a good thing or bad thing at this point. I feel like I'm cast adrift with no direction, no anchor. Jude was my anchor and without him I'm just grappling, trying to do the right thing.

  Tidwell climbs into the front seat of the car and Hart gets in the back beside Cayla’s car seat. I turn around
and watch as Cayla smiles at her. She likes her. It's nice to see a smile on her little face. Cayla cried for hours after Jude left. Every one of her tears felt like a blade slicing over me. I hate this. I hate it for me but more, I hate it for her. I turn back around and watch the suburban roads pass us by. I have no idea where we're going, but I just have to trust that we're safe. For now, I can only entrust my daughter’s safety to these strangers and I'll be honest, it doesn't sit well.

  We've been on the road for about an hour. I glance out the window and see nothing but miles of marshland. I think it may be the Everglades and all I can think about are all the snakes and alligators that inhabit it. Sighing, I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes for a second as I listen to the radio play quietly in the background.

  I must have fallen asleep because I jolt awake when I'm thrown against the door. My mind struggles to catch up, processing the sound of squealing tires as the car careens sideways. I'm thrown forward. The seatbelt cuts into me when the front of the car collides with a telephone pole and a sharp, stabbing pain radiates through my wounded shoulder. And then all hell breaks loose. There’s the distinct sound of bullets pinging against metal. Tidwell shouts. My heart slams against my ribs hard as I fumble for the seat belt and reach for Cayla—she's gone. Her car seat is empty, the straps tossed to the side, her sippy cup in the floorboard.

  "Cayla!" I shout as I attempt to clamor to the door. Tidwell firmly grabs my arm and drags me across the driver’s seat and out of the car, pulling me down to a crouch on the other side of it. "Where's Cayla?" I scream. “Where’s my daughter?”

  "Hart has her,” he pants. “She ran for cover." He jerks his head toward a small barn about fifty yards away. "Can you fire a gun?"

  I snatch the gun from him, flick the safety off, and pull my arm from the sling as I grip the gun with both hands. Bullets continue to rain down like a storm battering the metal car. I take a quick glance at the barn, thankful Agent Hart got Cayla away from this. My vision swings to the back of the car where it stays, waiting for someone to round it. There's a loud bang behind me and Tidwell grunts. I whirl around and fire the gun at the guy in a black mask looming over Tidwell. I hit him right in the head and he falls hard and fast

  "Shit," Tidwell groans, clamping his hand over his thigh. Blood pours between his fingers.

  "Keep pressure on it," I shout. Another masked figure creeps around the car and I fire at him, hitting him square in the chest and taking him down. My heart is racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Tidwell moans next to me and I quickly glance down at his wound. His hand is covered in blood, the ground saturated with it. Too much blood. I shrug out of my shirt and throw it at him. "Tie that around your thigh. Above the wound. Tight."

  The whirl and ding of the bullets stop, and I pause. The only sound is my breath. My rapid heartbeat... I hear car doors slamming and I slowly raise up to my feet, peeking through the windows of the car to watch several masked men hop into a silver Hummer. I stand a little more, gun still gripped tightly in my hands as relief washes over me momentarily. And then it’s ripped away because Agent Hart is sitting in the passenger side of that car with Cayla on her lap.

  "No. No!" I shout, hysteria and fear wrapping around me. I run around the car, shouting and screaming as the engine to the Hummer revs and they peel out, their car fishtailing as it speeds away. "Cayla!" Blind panic consumes me as I watch the car barrel down the road. Without hesitation, I grab the door to the wrecked car and jump in the driver’s side.

  "Victoria!" I hear Tidwell call, but I ignore him. They have my little girl.

  I turn the key over, praying to anything and everything that the car starts. The engine sputters and chokes. I slam my foot over the gas and it roars to life. I shove it in drive, the gears grinding as I lay my foot over the accelerator. The car lurches forward, steam billowing from the smashed hood as I floor it after the car. I can still the red taillights. Shit. What do I do? I'm shaking, tears blurring my vision as fear cripples me. Jude. I have to call Jude. I steer with one hand as I shove my other in my pocket, fishing for the phone Tidwell gave me, but it’s empty. Shit, I must have lost my phone in the chaos, but surely they have one in here? I open the center console and dig around before I yank open the glove box and feel around inside. A small bit of hope flares in my chest when my hand lands on a phone. I pull it out, keeping my foot flat to the floor as I dial Jude's number.

  "Yeah," he says.

  "Jude! They have Cayla!" I'm crying, sobbing into the phone. There’s nothing but silence.

  I pull the phone away and quickly glance at the blank screen. No battery. Shit! I grit my teeth in frustration and throw the phone into the foot well. The Hummer turns off ahead, skidding across the road and I follow, the tires screeching in protest as I floor it around the corner. We're now on an open country road with nothing but marshland either side of us. I just have to follow them and then…what? Jude doesn't know where I am, neither do the FBI. I'm alone. Completely alone. And so is Cayla. I'm all she has right now. So I keep going, never quite catching up because the demolished car won't go any faster.

  After a few miles, the engine stammers and spits. The car slows regardless of how far I press the accelerator. I want to scream in frustration. "No!" I bang my hand over the steering wheel. "Come on. Please!" The steam coming from the hood thickens, the engine cuts out and black smoke pours from the bonnet. "Fuck!" I watch the silver Hummer drive away from me, taking my daughter with it. I've never felt so helpless in my life.

  I throw myself out of the car and kick the door, slamming my palms against the window in frustration. I brace my forehead against the cool glass for a second before my legs give out and I slide to the ground in tears. I can't explain this feeling, just…utter desolation, helplessness, worthlessness, because I am her mother and I'm supposed to protect her at any cost. I failed her. Hart—a woman I willingly handed Cayla over to—took her. I thought I could trust the FBI. We aren't safe with Jude, but Jude wouldn't have allowed Cayla to get taken. I did.

  16

  Jude

  I sit staring at the TV. Nothing that rolls across the screen registers, it’s just background noise. I have no idea what I'm going to do because I can’t go to Tor and Cayla again. The FBI fucking hates, me and I'm sure as shit not trying to lead any cartel spies to them.

  My mind is nearly numb from thinking, from trying to formulate some plan to get them back and get the cartel off my ass. The only hope I had was Andrea, thinking we could use him as leverage, as a threat, but Gabriel called earlier this morning and told me Andrea's condition is touch and go. If that piece of shit croaks—well, there goes that fucking plan. He also gave me the address to the new location the Feds are moving Tor and Cayla. If it’s that easy for Gabe to get the address, how hard would it be for Jésus’ guys to get it? I sink back in the chair and try to calm my nerves as I focus on the TV, watching some couple skip along the beach on an advertisement for some dementia medication. My phone vibrates on the table. A random number flashes across the screen as I pick it up. "Yeah."

  "Jude," Tor shouts. "They have—" The line goes dead. I jump up, knocking the chair over as I frantically call the number back. It doesn't even ring before the line clicks over to a voicemail. "This is Agent Wilson. I'm not available to—" I hang up, the panic in Tor's voice playing over and over again in my head. "Shit!"

  I light a cigarette and take the first drag as an unsettling feeling grows in my stomach. They aren't safe even with the FBI. Blood pulses through my jugular, my vision thumps with each beat of my angry-fucking-heart. I grab the gun from the coffee table, loading it. I'm heading to the door when Marney steps into the living room. He has a can of beer in one hand and a newspaper in the other and he glances at the gun I'm now tucking into the waist of my jeans.

  "Aw, shit..." Marney mumbles before he takes a sip of beer. He grabs his gun from the end table, sighing as he tucks the newspaper under his arm and follows me to the door. "I'm getting' too old
for this shit."

  ***break***

  We’ve been driving for two hours. I have no idea how I'm going to find them. All I have to go off is the address Gabriel gave me. I turn and stare out the window, watching the green, swampy marshes whirl past. I can't fucking think right now. Marney changes lanes, swearing under his breath as we pass a truck.

  "Who the hell would live by the Everglades?" he mumbles.

  I don't respond, I just sit in the passenger seat steaming. The car slows and I glance through the windshield at a crowd of people standing beside the road. A line of black SUVs are pulled onto the shoulder and there's an ambulance. An officer stands in the middle of the road, attempting to direct rubberneckers.

  "Shit," Marney hisses, pulling the car to the side of the highway, the gravel crunching under the tires.

  A line of black SUVs—that’s got to be the Feds. I feel sick. The truck hasn't come to a complete stop yet, but I'm already throwing the door open and tripping over my feet as I run toward the flashing lights. I stop dead in my tracks when I see the bodies. Two men with black masks lie sprawled out on the wet grass, blood seeping over the ground littered with bullet casings. Two officers are taping off the scene and another one is bent over placing the numbered evidence cards by some of the bullets. My heart hammers in my chest, my ears ringing as my head spins. This has to be why she called me. Shit. I glance at the ambulance and swallow, wondering if Tor or Cayla are in there. I head in the direction of the open ambulance doors, passing several cops on my way.

  "Sir," a cop shouts, "you can't go over there." I continue toward the back of the ambulance and step behind the door. Two paramedics hoover over Tidwell. He’s laid on the stretcher, his pants torn off as the paramedics tend to his bloodied leg. And on the floor, next to the stretcher, lies Tor's crumpled bloodstained shirt.