No one knew what he’d been doing. Certainly not his family. And he planned to keep it that way. They didn’t need to know he was involved in fight clubs. Better if they didn’t. It would only worry his parents and piss off his brothers. None of which he needed right now. Everyone had their own way of dealing with grief and this was his.
Shoving the bag away, Evan strode toward the locker room. He had some calls to make. Fights to set up. Punching a bag wasn’t cutting it anymore.
One way or another he would numb the pain of losing a brother.
12
Jamshid, Azbakastan
Kell tucked a stray strand of hair behind Shea’s ear. He’d seen the dazed look in her eye and the way she fought to stay sober. She was a fighter, no doubt about it. But the demands of her body couldn’t be dueled with. Not even by a stubborn woman like Shea.
He hated seeing her like this. It wasn’t her. Weak was not a word associated with Shea Morrissey. But he needed her strong and rest would be the only way to do that. The wolves were at the door and he would need her in order to escape them.
He sat down and turned up the volume on the television to a low murmur. Only way to stay on top of things right now. There wasn’t much to go on yet, the reporters too terrified to stay on the streets.
Someone knocked on the door. A dark-haired, middle-aged woman walked in, her heels clicking on the tile. She held a notepad in her hands.
“Mr. Miller?” she asked.
He rose. “Yes.”
“I’m the therapist Dr. Haydarov requested talk to your wife. Is this a good time?”
“Penny just fell asleep. Can it wait?”
She nodded. “Of course. But, you understand, the restraints won’t be removed until I give my consent.”
“Yes, I understand. I’ll have the nurse call you once Penny wakes up.”
She gave him a tight smile, obviously not happy with being put off before leaving the room. Bombarding Shea right out of sleep wouldn’t help their cause. He trusted her to stay in character, but couldn’t risk it. She’d been through hell. He wasn’t making things worse.
He turned off the television, plunging the room into silence except for the occasional beep of a monitor. He felt restless, edgy. A run would do him good. Or a vigorous workout. Something to get rid of the edginess.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway outside the door. Kell hurried to the door and cracked it open. A nurse noticed him and said over her shoulder as she ran past, “Stay inside your room.”
A warning, not a suggestion.
Kell closed the door and strode to the window. He pulled the curtain back and looked out. In the parking lot below a small crowd had gathered, pumping their fists and holding up their signs chanting “Death to America.” A couple of them had molotov cocktails in their hands.
He jerked the curtain back in place. Dammit. Time had run out. Protestors were rallying. Most likely they were attacking local hotels, hospitals, anywhere Americans would be shored up.
Dammit. The hospital would go on lock down but he doubted their efforts were capable of keeping out an angry mob. Especially one fueled by retaliation. Hell, in countries like this it didn’t take much for the troops to rally.
They needed a plan. An escape route. No way would he leave their lives in the hands of hospital staff. Not on this.
Acting quickly, he roamed the room for Shea’s clothes, opening the cupboard to find it empty except for her boots which looked much like combat boots, just more feminine. No pants. Or shirt. Not even undergarments. They must have had to cut them off her in the emergency room.
Her hospital gown would stand out like a beacon in the night.
Left without choice, he crept out of the room, sticking close to the wall. The nursing staff was nowhere to be found. Probably downstairs trying to talk the protestors down. Good for him because he was able to find the staff locker room down the hall. He searched every locker until he found what he was looking for. A bright, colorful patterned silk shirt and beige pants, a pair of flat slippers and an equally colorful scarf. No undergarments, of course, but these would do. The more she looked like a local, the better.
As far as his clothing he didn’t have much choice. His cargo pants and t-shirt were going to have to work.
He was able to slip back inside their room without being seen. The elevator dinged just as he closed the door. Without preamble, he began unhooking Shea from the wires and tubes attached to various parts of her body. Unstrapped her wrists. He turned off the monitor to silence the alarms. As he removed the oxygen from her nose her eyes fluttered open.
“What’s going on?” she asked groggily.
“We have to go.”
She blinked, shook her head as if to clear it and started to sit up. When she was able to move freely, she looked down at her hands. Something passed over her face he couldn’t read. She masked it too quickly.
“Yeah, right. Let’s go.”
Kell helped her out of bed. Her legs wobbled for a moment before holding her weight.
“I need clothes,” she said, her hand wrapping around his forearm for support.
“Right here.” Kell motioned toward the clothes stacked at the foot of the bed.
She nodded, but still looked dazed. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough. Need help with those?”
She shook her head and reached for the shirt. He didn’t turn his back and she didn’t ask him to. Why bother? They had seen each other naked before.
Her hospital gown hit the floor and he was struck once again by her slender, athletic body. Except now it was covered in bruises and red welts. Rage coursed through him seeing her like that. Monsters.
He stood, prepared to catch her if she passed out. She was a bit unsteady on her feet. Still weak from the blood loss and beating she’d taken.
She slipped her arms into the sleeves of the shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons. “Damn it,” she muttered.
Kell nudged her hands away and finished buttoning it up to her neck, then the wrists. The fabric was light enough she wouldn’t sweat to death in long sleeves. One thing about Azbak culture they liked their women’s wrists and ankles covered at all times.
The shirt fit a bit snug but it would do.
She sat down on the bed and stuck her feet into the legs of the pants. When she swayed he grabbed her shoulders.
“Let me,” he said, crouching down to help her get her foot into the leg. She put a hand on his shoulder to stand and pull them up. Her hands were more steady when she buckled the belt. The pants barely covered her ankles, the women of this country not nearly as tall as Shea.
“Do you have weapons?” Shea asked as she slid her feet into he shoes. “Ooh, these are gonna pinch.”
He glanced at her feet stuffed into the slippers. “Can you walk in them?” Her military style boots weren’t going to work.
She took a couple tentative steps. “Not important. I’ll make them work. Weapons?”
“In my car.”
“Where’s that?”
“In the west side parking lot.”
She went still for a moment and he could almost see the gears turning in her head. Her intelligence had always been attractive to him.
“We’re on what floor?”
“Second.”
“And there are how many floors in this hospital?”
“Four.”
He picked up the scarf and handed it to her. “Wrap this around your head. Cover your hair.”
With quick hands she twisted her hair into a messy bun and wrapped the scarf over her head and around her neck with the ease of a woman who had done it numerous times before. When she finished she held her wrist protectively across her midsection and he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. The wound was stitched closed, but would be sore for a while. Even if she didn’t let on. She was good as schooling her features. Made her one hell of a spook.
“There’s a mob outside the doors. It won’t be long before they storm the place,” he said.
Shea pressed a hand to her forehead. “Right. We need to get to your car.”
Glass shattered below them, followed by shouting and cheering.
Kell moved to the window and looked out. The crowd was making a big push through into the hospital. “They’ve breached the front doors.”
“That means the bottom floor is no longer an option.” Shea looked around the room, grabbed the I.V. pole and tried to take it apart. “Damn it,” she said when it wouldn’t come apart and tossed it aside.
The room had been cleared of anything remotely resembling a weapon. A safety precaution in case Shea got free.
“Come on,” Kell said, grabbing her hand. “We have to find a way out before they reach this floor.”
He cracked the door open, looked both ways down the hall, and ducked back in when two nurses ran past the door toward the stairwell.
They waited a minute and tried again, this time able to step into the hallway. Not three steps later all hell broke loose. The elevator dinged and a pocket of people swarmed out. Some in hospital wardrobe, some in street clothes. Doors began to open as patients came out to find out what was happening.
A woman screamed.
Kell turned in time to see a militant raise his weapon and shoot her. She crumpled to the floor.
“They’re already here,” Shea said.
Kell took off in the opposite direction, toward the red lighted Exit sign. Shea clutched his hand tightly as they dodged people running aimlessly in a panic. Shots from an automatic weapon echoed down the halls. Screams. Shouts.
Chaos.
Shea stumbled behind him, tugged on his hand. He propelled her forward in front of him, protecting her back. Someone ran into them from behind, knocking Kell into Shea. He looked over his shoulder to see a middle-aged American fall to the floor, blood streaming out of a hole in his back.
“Go, go, go,” he urged, pushing Shea faster.
When they got to the door he punched the silver bar to open it, bursting through before Shea could. A blonde haired woman froze in her ascent, eyes wide with terror. Behind her, a dark-haired man stopped, also frozen with panic.
“Go,” Kell ordered them. “Hurry. Head for the roof.”
The man broke out of his trance first, nudging the woman forward. “Do as he says.”
Three more people ran up the stairs, cutting them off. Kell tugged on Shea’s hand, hitting the stairs at a run. To her credit, she kept up. And he knew she had to be in a tremendous amount of pain. Meds had been cut off, her body would rebel.
More people burst through the doors when they reached the third floor. A mix of hospital staff, patients, and visitors. Everyone tangled together, a flurry of bodies pushing to get to the upper floor first.
A gunshot rang out in the hollow stairway, shattering the wall above Kell’s head. Instinctively, he ducked, pulling Shea’s head down and shielding her from any fallout. More bullets. A woman stumbled, fell, and tumbled down the steps, bleeding from a bullet wound to the head.
Screams.
Pushing.
Stumbling.
Panic.
Kell glanced back to see two more people go down. The man who shot them racing up the stairs behind them. He shoved Shea in front of him so any bullets would catch him first and urged her faster.
They burst onto the roof. Kell held the door open, shouting for people to hurry, pushing them through. When the last one fell through he slammed the door closed and looked for something to barricade it with.
He didn’t have to look far. Shea was there, holding out a block of wood leftover from a recent renovation. Kell shoved it in through the door handles, barring entry for now. It wouldn’t stop them for long.
Women were crying, everyone searching the roof for some kind of cover. Somewhere to hide. Finding nothing.
Kell raised his voice above the din. “Does anyone have a cell phone on them?”
He’d somehow lost his in the plight for safety because it was no longer in his pocket.
A woman held up her hand. “I do.”
He turned to Shea. “Look for anything we can use as a weapon.” Then he went to get the phone.
“What are we going to do?” Someone cried.
“We’re sitting ducks up here!”
“What’s going on? Why are they shooting at us?”
“My wife! Where’s my wife? She was right beside me.”
He held the phone up to the sky, trying to find a signal. Nothing. Cell towers were probably down from the overload of calls.
Someone banged on the door. It shuddered from the force eliciting screams and cries from the occupants on the roof.
More pounding on the door. The wood splintered.
Kell looked at Shea. Time’s up.
13
Jamshid, Azbakastan
Adrenaline kept Kell sharp, ready for anything. He’d feel better if he had a weapon. The way Shea looked at her he knew she was thinking the same thing.
“They’re going to bust through that door any second,” Kell said, scanning the roof.
Shea did the same, circling, trying to find some way down. She ran to the edge of the roof and looked over.
“Kell,” she yelled.
He was at her side within seconds, along with others desperate to know their plan.
“We have to jump,” she said, meeting his gaze.
He broke contact to peer over the edge. “That’s a twenty-five foot drop. With a twenty foot gap.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to jump?” A petite woman asked, her voice wavering.
The rest of the people started talking, voices rising in panic as the door slammed open behind them.
Before Kell could stop them the people started jumping off the roof, screaming as they missed the rooftop and fell four stories to the ground. Bullets rained over their heads. He ducked, grabbing Shea.
The man who had been looking for his wife ran past them. Just as he was about to jump a bullet hit him square in the back and he tumbled over the edge. More screams.
“Oh my God,” Shea said in horror as more people jumped. “They’re doing it wrong.”
“Come on.” Kell pulled her back from the edge, away from the men shooting at them. Heart pounding, he tightened his grip on Shea’s hand to draw her attention away from the suicidal jumpers. “You ready?”
Her beautiful green eyes met his. “Yes.”
He gave her hand a squeeze, knowing she meant it and knew exactly what she had to do.
A bullet zinged over their heads. “Go,” he shouted and lunged forward. Shea kept up with him. When they hit the ledge they jumped, their hands tearing apart.
For a brief moment the air left his lungs. Gravity pulled him down until he landed hard, scraping his flesh and jarring his bones. He rolled a couple times before coming to a stop.
Beside him, Shea let out a cry as she landed just as hard. Kell stumbled to her side, pain shooting through his shoulder. He grabbed her by the shoulders and rolled her over.
“Shea? Talk to me.”
She let out a groan and opened her eyes. “I’m good.”
A bullet splintered the cement roof, peppering them with debris.
“Run.”
Shea scrambled to her feet. Together they ran toward the door. When they reached it Kell pulled on the handle.
“Dammit. Locked.” He looked around for another alternative. They were on top of a flower shop or the like judging by the empty pots stacked near the wall and piles of dirt. A few dead plants. A greenhouse, half torn apart, the plastic flapping in the wind.
He ran to the edge. Looked over. Definitely a business. There were dumpsters in the alley, papers tumbling down the cement. Both dumpsters were closed, stymieing that escape route.
“Kell, over here.”
Shea stood on the other side of the roof, staring over the edge. He skidded to a stop next to her.
“Perfect. I’ll go first. Wait until I give the all clear to come down.”
She nodded, blood streaming down her cheek from a deep cut she’d gotten when she landed.
“Go,” she urged.
Without hesitation he climbed backwards over the edge, his feet making purchase on a metal ladder. He climbed down, kicked the extension out and went down the rest of the way, ignoring the intense pain in his right shoulder every time he moved it.
His boots landed softly on the ground. He scanned the alley both ways. Pressed against the wall when a small group of men passed between buildings, sticks in their hands.
When they were gone he motioned for Shea to come down. Watched her climb gingerly over the edge and begin her descent. He helped her jump down from the lowest rung.
“Can we make it to your car from here?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Too risky. The hospital is probably overrun by now. What about your house? Is it secure?”
She sent him a look that showed how ridiculous the question was.
“Right,” he said. “If we can get there we might stand a chance.”
“No other choice,” Shea agreed.
“First,” he said, bending his elbow to a ninety-degree angle. “I need you relocate my shoulder.”
Shea nodded and gripped the his elbow with one hand. She placed her other on his forearm.
“On three,” she said. “One. Two…” With a quick, precise, practiced move she rotated his elbow and applied pressure. There was a loud pop as the ball of the humerus rotated back in it’s socket.
Kell cursed at the sudden pain. Hurt like hell but when he rolled his shoulder he knew she’d done it right.
“What happened to three?” he muttered, massaging life back into his arm.
Shea didn’t look at all repentant. “It works better if you aren’t tensed up waiting for it. Do you hear that?”
He paused, listened. Clubs beating on hard plastic. Shouts. Chants.
“It sounds like they’re right down the street.”
No more had the words left Shea’s mouth when a mass of police, wearing black uniforms, helmets and kevlar marched past the opposite end of the alley. Pushing back whatever crowd had gathered in the street.
“This isn’t good,” Kell said, scanning the alley in both directions. “We’re about to be boxed in.”
Worth the Risk (Book 3, Wolff Securities Series) Page 7