As they stumbled to a stop, casting worried glances through the observation window to their daughter, Hargrove gave them a frown of disgust and disappointment. “Morris called earlier. I’ve been expecting you.”
“So have I,” said a menacing voice behind them. A man in a security guard uniform stalked toward them, and something about the officer’s dark eyes and grim mouth sent an uneasy shudder through Connor.
“Who—?” Darby started.
But in the same instant Connor recognized James’s brother, Victor Gale raised a pistol with a silencer and fired two quick shots at Hargrove.
Darby screamed as the marshal crumpled. Hunter and Connor closed ranks, putting themselves between Darby and the assassin’s gun.
Victor realigned his aim toward the three of them, clustered in front of Savannah’s door.
Connor’s pulse slammed into overdrive, and his mind raced. Protect Darby. Protect Savannah. End this!
Raising his hands, he shouted, “No! Leave them out of this! It’s me you want.”
“Exactly.” Victor moved his pistol a few degrees, centering his aim on Connor. “For Pop.”
Connor dropped, pulling Darby with him, a millisecond before the muffled crack of the pistol. He felt the heat of the bullet whiz past him, heard the thump as it lodged in the wall.
Adrenaline surged in Connor’s blood, and he used the burst of energy to spring up and lunge at Victor. His move surprised Victor just enough to buy him a critical second. He charged at the gunman. Tackled him. The pistol fired again, the bullet flying wildly.
“Connor!” Darby’s panicked cry reverberated in the tiny waiting room. On some level Connor recognized the sounds of alarm from the nurses’ station down the hall. But his focus was on Victor, the gun. Victor’s grip on his weapon was steely. He battled Connor with brutal force, slamming him against the floor and cracking the pistol against Connor’s ear.
Pain rattled through Connor to the bone, but he ignored it. He had to do something to draw Victor and the danger he posed away from his family and other bystanders in the critical care wing.
With a twist, he landed a punch to Victor’s jaw and followed it with a knee to the solar plexus. Victor wheezed and loosened his grip enough that Connor wrested himself free and staggered to his feet. Sucking in a lungful of oxygen, Connor glared at Victor and gritted, “You want me? Come get me.”
Darby gasped and struggled against Hunter’s hold. “Connor, no!”
Backing toward the exit, he aimed a finger and an unyielding look at Darby and Hunter. “Stay here! Protect our daughter!” With that, he slammed through the stairwell door.
As he’d prayed, Victor gave chase. In a snap choice, Connor headed up the steps, hoping he’d encounter fewer hospital visitors or staff on the stairs to the higher floors. He reached behind him and withdrew the pistol Darby had found in the glove box, flicking off the safety. He’d not drawn on Victor earlier because he hadn’t wanted an exchange of gunfire on the pediatric floor, where too many bystanders could get hit with a stray bullet.
“Give it up, Mansfield!” Victor taunted. “We both know how this will end. There’s only one way this will be over for your family. When you’re dead!”
Connor took the steps two at a time. He could hear Victor’s feet pounding the concrete, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty well. He paused and glanced over the railing long enough to draw Victor’s fire. Hold his attention and keep him in pursuit. As long as Victor was charging after him, his family was safe. He was buying time for the police to arrive. By now, Darby and Hunter would have called 911. He just had to evade Victor, keep up the chase for a few more minutes....
Another bullet zoomed past his ear, and he jerked back, continued running up the stairs. Sixth floor. Seventh, then...dead end. He’d reached the roof.
* * *
Darby’s hands shook as she ripped at Hargrove’s shirt to find his wound. “Help us,” she shouted. “He’s been shot!”
The marshal wheezed, coughed and a bubble of blood formed at his mouth.
Hunter held his cell to his ear with one hand while he worked to loosen the buttons at Hargrove’s neck. The marshal struggled to breathe, his eyelids fluttering and his gaze unfocused.
Darby’s own breathing was shallow and nervous, but she refused to fall apart. She would be no good to Hargrove, or Savannah, if she gave in to the fear pulsing through her. She would be no help to Connor....
She cut an anxious glance toward the stairwell. She knew Connor’s motive for leading the gunman away, but his means left him in the assassin’s crosshairs. Nausea roiled in her gut, and she whispered a prayer. Please, God, keep him safe.
When she finally got Hargrove’s shirt open, she blinked in surprise. Not blood. A bullet-proof vest. But the blood in his mouth and his wheezing both pointed to internal damage. The impact of the bullets on the vest could still have caused broken ribs, punctured lungs or bruised organs. “Someone help us!”
A tall man in a dress shirt, suit coat and Windsor tie stepped into her field of vision and bit out a curse. “Where’s Mansfield?”
She recognized the man looming over her from Tracy’s funeral, the pictures in the marshals’ car and a business party she’d attended once with Connor. James Gale. A chill rippled through her.
“Where are Mansfield and my brother?” he shouted, getting right in Darby’s face with a lethal and terrifying glower.
Hunter lunged for him. “Get away from her!”
James reached under his suit coat and jerked a handgun toward Hunter. “Stop right there, hero. My beef’s not with you. Just tell me where they are, before anyone else dies.”
Hunter growled an anatomically impossible suggestion in reply. But something tickled the back of Darby’s nape, something James had said not even an hour ago when Connor had him on speakerphone in the marshals’ car. Let me handle my brother.
A team of nurses hurried toward them with a gurney and crash cart. Her gaze flashed from the medical staff to Hunter, then back to James. Her mouth dried, and air hung in her lungs. Wetting her lips, she rasped, “The stairs.”
* * *
Connor yanked on the door to the roof and staggered out into the bright glare and oppressive heat of the Louisiana sun. To his left were massive air conditioner compressors, whirring at full force. He scuttled between the units, using the metal giants as cover as he moved away from the door. Across the tar-and-pebble rooftop, an area had been resurfaced as a helicopter landing pad and a large X painted in white to direct the pilot. The medevac helicopter was there, idle and waiting for the next emergency flight. Immediately past the helicopter, he spied a set of double doors, wide enough to accommodate a stretcher and medical personnel.
If he could reach that set of doors...
The creak of hinges called his attention back to the exit he’d just come through. He raised the marshal’s gun.
Victor stepped out and cast a wary gaze around the roof. “Come on, Mansfield. I know you’re up here.” He crept forward another step, glancing between AC units. “It’s just a matter of time before—”
Connor fired. Missed. Victor jumped behind an AC compressor, cursing.
“Okay.” Victor gave a bitter laugh. “We can do it that way.” He fired back in the direction Connor’s shot had come.
Crouching behind the nearest compressor unit, Connor gauged his chances of reaching the double doors of the helo pad. Too risky. Too much open space yawned between him and the second hospital entrance. Moving target or not, he decided he was better off staying behind the air-conditioning units.
Victor started moving toward him, his weapon aimed right at the spot where Connor hid. Quietly, Connor scooped a handful of the pea gravel on the roof and flung it in the direction of the helicopter. The tiny rocks hit with an effective plink and clatter, drawing Victor’s ga
ze and changing his course. A pigeon took flight from behind the helicopter, adding to Victor’s distraction. Connor held his breath as Victor followed the sounds and edged away from him.
Connor seized the opportunity to circle back, easing from one AC unit to another, moving as silently as he could and praying the rumble of compressors would mask his footsteps.
He’d almost made it back to the stairwell door, had ventured a few steps away from the cover of the compressors when Victor swung around, his gaze locking with Connor’s.
The following seconds may have passed in real time, but they slowed, stretched in a surreal blur for Connor.
Victor swung his weapon up. Fired. Connor spun to the side, then flinched as Victor’s bullet hit the concrete wall behind him. To his right, the hinges of the stairway door shrieked. The steel door flew open.
Victor’s aim shifted abruptly as someone burst through the portal. Connor didn’t wait to see who’d stumbled onto the scene. He dove toward the figure that emerged, knocking the newcomer’s solid frame to the ground. Shielding them as Victor squeezed off one, two, three shots that peppered the gravel around them.
Quickly, Connor flipped to his back and returned fire. He managed only one shot before his gun jammed.
His gut clenched, and he turned to shout for the person beside him to take cover inside. But his throat froze. The new arrival, the man he’d knocked down, was James Gale.
A shadow fell over him, and Connor jerked his attention back to Victor, who now loomed less than ten feet away. Victor wore a gloating grin as he held his weapon with a two-handed grip, aimed straight at Connor’s center mass. “Hey, big brother, glad you could make it for the grand finale.”
Connor crab crawled back a foot, but he hit the wall. James lay between him and the stairwell door. When Victor narrowed his eyes preparing to fire, Connor gritted his teeth, braced for the bullet. Images of Darby and Savannah, his parents, his brothers flashed in his mind. Everyone he loved enough to die for. Everyone he wanted to live for.
An ear-shattering blast rent the air. The concussion ricocheted in his chest, and a wrenching regret ripped through his heart.
But the cry of pain didn’t come from him. He raised a startled gaze, as Victor shouted a curse. Victor clutched his right arm, which bled through the fingers of his left hand. Lifting a furious glare to James he screamed, “What the hell?”
James still held his own snub-nosed revolver leveled at his brother. “Drop your gun.”
“Are you insane?” Without waiting for his brother’s response, Victor raised his injured arm with his left hand and took aim at James. “You son of a bitch!”
Connor rolled to his feet and sprang forward in one smooth motion. Ducking his head, he rammed Victor with his shoulder. His momentum sent both of them reeling backward, stumbling.
Victor growled with rage and grabbed fistfuls of Connor’s hair, his shirt. He twisted and fought Connor’s hold. Connor backed Victor against one of the air-conditioning compressors, bending his opponent backward as he reared back with his arm and smacked the jammed pistol into Victor’s temple.
Victor blinked hard and shook off the blow. When Connor took aim to thwack him again, Victor jerked his head forward, slamming his skull into Connor’s nose. The roof rocked under Connor’s feet, and his vision blurred. He felt Victor plant a foot in his gut and shove. His head foggy, Connor staggered back and landed on his butt.
As he was blinking to refocus his eyes, another crack of gunfire split the air. He jolted and watched, stunned, as Victor slumped on the roof. A red stain spread at his heart.
Adrenaline muted Connor’s pain, but left his body shaking and his head spinning.
James Gale’s shoes crunched in the gravel as he stepped over to his brother’s body and stared down at him with a haunted expression. His voice was little more than a murmur when he turned a bleak and angry glare toward Connor. “I told you to leave my brother to me.”
Connor pressed a hand to the warmth seeping from his nose and held James’s stare. “So I guess you’re going to kill me now?”
James’s mouth tightened, and he exhaled a harsh breath that made his nostrils flare. “I should.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “When Pop hears what happened to Victor, he’ll hire men to come after you.”
Connor gave a humorless laugh. “So what else is new?”
James took a slow step toward him. “I’m done. I don’t want any part of the killing anymore. That’s not the man I want to be, not the person I want my children to see and emulate. I don’t want to be in a position where men with a grievance could come after my family.” He sighed and looked off over the skyline of Lagniappe, squinting in the bright sun. “I’m done.”
Connor pushed warily to his feet. “So my family—”
“Is safe. From me and Pop. I’ll see to it. You saved my boy seven years ago, and you saved my life today. I get to go home to my kids and wife tonight. For that, I’ll protect your family. But you—” James returned his gaze to Connor. “Pop won’t overlook this. He’ll blame you.” He rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck. “You need to get back in the U.S. Marshals’ car and get lost. Hide. Today.” James shook his head and pursed his mouth as he glanced back at Victor. “Pop won’t forgive this.”
Connor clenched his back teeth and nodded. He was back to square one, needing to leave Darby and his daughter behind to protect them from getting caught in the cross fire. Connor’s heart wrenched so hard it stole his breath. Giving up Darby and Savannah would be its own kind of death, and he grieved the loss to his bones.
Chapter 22
That evening, the entire Mansfield clan, Darby’s sisters, and Marshals Jones, Morris and Ramsey gathered in the senior Mansfield’s living room. The mood was somber, funereal. The last time Connor entered WitSec, the marshals had faked his death. This time, Darby felt as if she were the one dying. With James Gale’s promise that she, Savannah and the rest of Connor’s family would be safe, and the heightened threat to Connor of vengeance from William Gale’s thugs, the marshals and Connor decided that the time had come for Connor to disappear again. He’d wanted to wait for Savannah’s release from the hospital, but the marshals had convinced him time was of the essence. A new life, a new identity and a new start were waiting for him in an undisclosed city.
In minutes, Connor would climb in the marshals’ car, and she’d be alone again. Heartbroken. But she knew Connor’s decision to leave was made out of love, sacrifice. Not only to keep him safe, but to ensure no one else in his family died as collateral damage the way Tracy had.
Connor released his mother from a bear hug, wiped his eyes and gave the marshals a tight nod as he started for the door. He gave the room an encompassing glance as he backed out. “I love you all. So much.”
A chorus of returned sentiments and sniffles answered him, but Darby’s eyes were dry. She was numb, shaking inside, unable to draw enough air into her leaden lungs. Connor’s gaze connected with hers, and he held his hand out, silently asking her to accompany him to the car for one last private moment.
Somehow she made her feet move and followed him to the door, then outside into the suffocating humidity and fading daylight.
Connor had stopped by Savannah’s hospital room one last time before his meeting with the family, and Darby hadn’t been able to watch the tender goodbye. Savannah had been asleep, unaware, but the heartache and misery on Connor’s face as he kissed his daughter’s forehead and whispered words of love had been more than Darby could bear.
She walked stiffly to the end of the sidewalk, her breathing no more than shallow, desperate pants. Don’t go. Don’t leave me!
Eyes bloodshot with grief, Connor drew her into his arms and rubbed her back. “Come with me?”
Darby shuddered, and pain lanced her heart. She swallowed hard, searching for her voice. “I can’t.”
Connor kissed her eyelids and stroked a hand over her hair. “I know. But I couldn’t leave this time without asking. So you’d know...” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The gesture meant the world to her, and she’d treasure the knowledge that Connor loved her, that he wanted her with him. That she mattered.
As he pulled away from their embrace, she offered him a parting gift, as well. “I’m going to tell Savannah who you are. That she has a father who loves her more than anything. Who not only gave her life, but who risked his own to save her, to heal her. I’ll tell her all about you. I promise.”
Connor drew a sharp breath, and moisture filled his eyes. “Thank you.”
Marshal Jones circled the front fender of the car and opened the driver’s door. “It’s time.”
Darby’s fingers curled into the muscles of Connor’s back, clinging to his shirt. No. No! She couldn’t lose him again! “Connor...”
His lips crashed down on hers in a deep, possessive kiss, a lingering, tender goodbye that she would hold in her heart forever.
As Connor stepped back, his hand slid along her cheek. “I love you, Darby. I always will.”
Her throat squeezed so tight with emotion that no sound came out when she tried to speak.
Connor climbed in the backseat of the marshals’ car and closed the door, and Jones backed down the driveway. A sob wrenched from her chest as the taillights disappeared down the street, and she rasped, “I’ll always love you, too.”
She jolted when Marshal Morris stepped beside her and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly icy cold despite the Louisiana heat. “Hard doesn’t begin to describe it.”
Darby couldn’t bring herself to go back inside yet and face all the well-meaning hugs and words of condolence. See the pain so like her own in Julia’s eyes. Hunter’s bravado. Grant’s grief-ravaged face. So she stood on the sidewalk, staring blankly, and Morris stayed with her, offering his silent commiseration. In the quiet of the approaching evening, a keening ache raked her, much like the emptiness and pain she’d known when her father had deserted her years before. Leaving her no option but heartache and rejection. No option...
The Return of Connor Mansfield Page 24