“Oh, hell no.” The only way she’d be going with them was over his dead body.
“I said come,” he demanded. “Now.”
“She’s not going—”
The discharge of the gun sounded before he felt the impact and he stumbled backwards. The captor used his shock to reach out and drag Amelia with him. Wyatt reached for her but fell to the floor, the sound of Amelia’s screams echoing in his head.
#
Ryan Marx wasn’t sure if he was alive or if he lingered in some kind of purgatory, waiting for his life’s sins to be rehashed before he was allowed to either float skyward to the pearly gates or descend downward, into the fiery pit of hell.
He’d done things in his life that would surely punch his ticket to Hades. He’d killed. Men and women. He remembered the Ten Commandments from Sunday School and Thou Shall Not Kill was a big one. He wasn’t sure it mattered that he’d done so in the name of country, ridding the world of terrorists. In the big book of life sins, murder was still murder.
He knew he needed to wake up, but the pain was intense. His entire body ached, and he felt as if his head was about to throb off his shoulders. He struggled to remember what happened. He’d been hiking with two of his high school friends, BJ and Keith. That much he remembered. Somehow, they’d separated. He had a quick impression of tying his shoelace. Maybe they’d gone ahead when he stopped. He recalled a spurt of panic when he realized they were gone. He jogged up the path but there was no sign of them.
More images started coming back. Years of training as a member of CSOR, Canada’s Special Operations Regiment, told him someone was coming up behind him. He assumed it was BJ or Keith playing a trick on him. But something slammed into his head with enough force to drop him to his knees. He’d whipped around and fired his weapon, hearing someone scream. Then there were meaty fists and steel-toed boots coming at him so fast, he couldn’t ward them off. If his body didn’t ache so bad, he’d wonder if they’d killed him.
The pain had eventually overwhelmed him, and he passed out, for how long, he had no idea. He had no concept of time. The ground below him felt like dirt. His hands and feet were unsecured. Good. It’d make it easier to escape here—wherever here was.
He heard sobbing in his head, wondering if he was so bad off that he didn’t even realize he was crying. But no, it wasn’t coming from him. There was someone else close by. One eye was swollen shut, so he concentrated on opening the other one. The first thing he saw was a set of iron bars. He was in a cell. The only light came from a bare bulb hanging outside the bars. Had the person he shot been a cop? Was that why he’d been locked up?
He finally managed to locate the sound of the crying, only to realize it’d stopped. A woman was curled in a ball. She was naked and bloody, her long, dark hair in a tangle around her face. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
No answer.
He wanted to go to her and make sure she was all right, but a wave of pain and nausea swept over him and he gave into the beckoning darkness.
#
They shot him! The man actually pulled the trigger and shot Wyatt. Amelia struggled against his hold as he dragged her from the cell, fighting for everything she was worth. “Let me go,” she ground out between clinched teeth. She couldn’t even take satisfaction when one of her fists connected with his chin and he grunted. She needed to get back to Wyatt and tend to the injury. She had no idea where the bullet impacted. He could be bleeding out now. Or it could’ve nicked a vital organ.
Her renowned calm under pressure was gone. She was kicking and screaming, teetering on the verge of hyperventilating. Wyatt’s condition was more important than anything they might do to her. He couldn’t die. She wouldn’t survive without him.
The man roughly shoved her in a small room, causing her to tumble to her hands and knees. The extra hard push was no doubt payback for her right hook. Though the dimensions were about the same, this room wasn’t a cell. There was a door instead of bars. A man was lying on a cot pushed up against the back wall. He was covered in blood.
“You say you are a doctor,” the man who shot Wyatt sneered at her in Spanish. He hauled her to her feet and prodded her forward. “Fix him.”
She stumbled but righted herself before she collided with the cot. A small part of her was relieved they wanted her for her medical skills. Her fear had been that they’d use her like the other woman. She spun around and faced the man with the gun.
“I help the one you shot first. Then I’ll work on him.”
The man lifted the gun and stalked forward until it touched her forehead. She refused to show fear.
He smiled, showcasing a mouth full of rotten teeth. “You work on him,” he indicated the man on the cot, “or I will go back and empty the gun in the other man.”
She had no doubt he would carry out the threat.
Spinning around, she assessed the patient, gasping when she recognized the buzzed brown hair and the tear drop tattoos. It was the man with the dead eyes. Manuel thought his name was Enrico. The quicker she worked on him, the faster she’d get back to Wyatt. Time was of the essence. A cursory scan of his condition wasn’t good. He looked on the verge of death. Ashen face covered in sweat. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow. His hands rested on his stomach, covering a wound that had bled profusely. There wasn’t much she could do to save him outside of a hospital, and even then, he’d lost too much blood.
Penetrating gunshot wounds to the abdomen causing visceral or vascular injuries were serious. Various organs might be affected. Without an x-ray or ultrasound, she didn’t know if there was damage to the liver, kidneys, stomach, colon, intestines, bladder or spine.
“If you want me to work on him, I need my medical bag.” He was a lost cause, but she didn’t plan on sharing that information with her captors yet. She wanted to be able to gather supplies to tend to Wyatt. She choked back a lump at the thought of him bleeding out inside the dingy cell all alone.
Another man appeared with her leather satchel. She ripped it from his hands and dug inside for a pair of gloves. She felt inside for her scalpel. It’d make a nice weapon. Only, it wasn’t there. She peeled the sides apart and searched. The bastards had confiscated it.
After snapping on the latex gloves and examining the wound, she knew her initial assessment was correct. He wouldn’t live much longer. The hole where the bullet entered was puckered and oozing blood. She felt beneath him, but there was no exit wound. The lead was still inside him.
She looked over her shoulder at the other two men. “He needs a hospital. I don’t have the necessary equipment to save him.”
“You fix him,” the one who shot Wyatt demanded, gesturing with the gun again.
“I’ll need my scalpel to dig out the bullet.”
He looked at her with a confused expression. She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “Knife. I need my knife.”
“It’s gone.”
“Where?”
The man shrugged carelessly.
She ground her teeth. “Then I need clean towels, water and any available knife.”
Wyatt’s shooter indicated with his head that the other man should retrieve the supplies. While she waited, she checked the man’s blood pressure. It was dangerously low. When dingy white towels and a bowl of steaming water was placed beside her, she looked up. “Knife?”
“No knife.”
Urgh! Bastards. Gritting her teeth, she dipped a towel inside and swabbed off the blood. They were not going to make this easy on her. The wound still oozed, but there was no sense in stitching him up since he’d be dead before morning at the latest. She folded gauze and anchored it over the hole with a bandage. It was the best she could do for him.
When she rose from his bedside, Wyatt’s shooter grabbed her arm and hauled her from the room. She dug in her heels. “Wait. I need my bag to tend to the other victim.” He ignored her, towing her down the hallway and unlocking the cell door. He shoved her back inside. She stumbled but didn’t go down this time.
She didn’t spare a look over her shoulder. She flew to where Wyatt was sprawled on the ground and practically dove on top of him. “Wyatt, are you okay? Can you hear me?”
His eyes cracked open, then he was yanking her into his arms, squeezing the breath out of her. “Thank the Heavens,” he sighed. “That scared the bloody hell out of me.” He lifted her above him to inspect her. “What did they do to you?”
“Nothing. They wanted me to tend to a gunshot victim, but it was a gut wound and he lost too much blood. He has no chance of survival without a hospital.”
He sighed and crushed her to him again. “If I’d heard you scream, I’d have pulled the bars apart like Superman to get to you.”
Despite the precarious situation they were in, she smiled, having no doubt he’d have done so. Her smile evaporated and she tugged against his hold. “Let me go, Wyatt. I need to check your injury. Where were you hit?”
He released her and she scrambled off him while he sat up. “The kid’s a lousy shot.” He tapped the side of his chest. There was a fair amount of blood staining his blue shirt. “Just nicked me, but I wanted them to think I was hurt. I hoped to lure them inside and then overpower them, but they didn’t come check on me. Then I tried working on the lock but couldn’t get it picked before I heard you return.”
She glanced over her shoulder and reached into her pocket to remove four vials. “I swiped supplies, including tranquilizers. When they come back, I’ll call them inside, telling them I think you’re dead.” She shuddered even saying the words. “Then I’ll hit him with the sedatives, and we can escape.”
“It sounds like a plan, but we need more intel before we attempt it. Failing to plan is planning to fail. Did you get a good look around?”
“Not really. The hallway opens to a large space with two more rooms off to one side. I didn’t see the exit.”
“Do you know roughly how many people are here?”
“I’ve seen six different captors, but one of them is practically dead. Besides the man they brought in earlier, there was a woman. She was…brutalized.” She closed her eyes, thinking of the pain and suffering the woman must’ve felt at the hands of two vicious rapists. She’d insist she check on the woman before they left.
She reached into another pocket. “I have bandages and antiseptic. Let me examine the wound.”
“It’s just a scratch.”
She narrowed her eyes until he rolled his and then he shrugged off the button down and reached behind his head to tug off his t-shirt. She almost got caught up in the gloriousness that was his body. She’d seen him without a shirt before, but she’d been in doctor mode, tending to his injuries. He sported six pack abs so clearly defined, they looked carved in marble. She needed to find her work focus now. When she did, she almost gasped at the jagged slice. The bullet had carved a gorge above his rib cage. If the man had aimed a few millimeters to the left, he’d have nailed Wyatt in the heart. She shivered at the close call. He was alive and she intended to keep him that way.
After swabbing it with the antiseptic pad, she pulled the skin taught and secured the bandage in place. He could’ve used a dozen stitches to pull the skin together, but she wasn’t able to grab the catgut and needle. Not even butterfly bandages to cheat. When she finished, she looked at him. He wore the intense focus of a warrior.
“Amelia, I need you to understand that in order for us to escape here alive, I’ll probably have to shoot our way out of this.”
Never breaking eye contact, she gazed into crystal blue eyes. “Not if I shoot first.”
Chapter Nine
Wyatt was very good at his job, but if Amelia had to listen to the plans one more time, she’d either scream or cover her ears like a petulant child. He wanted to go over every contingency and she agreed with his methods, but she was ready for this to be over.
She’d told him that she planned on shooting first, but she wasn’t sure she could go through with it after she voiced the words. It was one thing to think you could shoot a person, another to actually do the deed. Her oath had been to take care of the injured, not to do the injuring herself. She’d spent hours on the COBRA Securities gun range and had shot the hell out of paper targets, her bullets clustering around the brain and heart, but to know that when she squeezed the trigger, a person would lose their life, well, that was something else altogether. She was almost certain that she could use deadly force to save Wyatt’s life. If it came down to him or a person trying to kill him, she could easily picture herself taking the shot.
Wyatt’s plan hinged on making the next person who came to their cell, whether to bring food or take her to another victim, believe that Wyatt was critically injured to the point of death. It wouldn’t be hard to act since all she had to do was imagine it was real. She’d go into frightened mode in a heartbeat.
She’d never signed up for drama classes, so her acting abilities were severely limited. She wasn’t positive she could pull it off. But she was determined, and she was prepared. She could do this.
“I hear footsteps,” she whispered. “Get into position.”
After making sure Wyatt looked sufficiently incapacitated, she channeled Juliet LaRue, aka Jade Bradley, Logan’s Oscar winning wife, and acted her heart out. She dashed forward and grabbed the bars. “You have to help him,” she jabbered to the man in Spanish when he arrived with their paltry dinners. “I think he’s dead.”
“So?”
She gaped at him. “I don’t want to share a cell with a corpse.” God, even saying the words made her skin crawl. “If he’s dead, please remove him. Immediately,” she added when he just stood there like a statue.
“Aren’t you a doctor? You should know if he’s dead or not.”
This was why she’d never tried out for a play. Her acting skills sucked. “Okay, fine. He’s gone. Move the body, please.”
The man shot her a sour look and then reluctantly marched forward. As soon as he turned his back on her, she plunged the syringe into his neck. Shocked eyes whipped to her before they rolled back in his head and he started to fall. Wyatt leaped up and eased him to the ground.
As per the plan, she untied the shoelaces from his boots and handed them to Wyatt. He bound the man’s hands and feet before taking the gun and hat.
“You’re stealing his hat? Really?”
“He stole it first. This baby is mine.” He slammed it on his head. “Let’s go. Stay behind me.”
She clutched his belt loop as he checked both directions before creeping down the dim hallway towards the room where she tended to the unconscious man. As they approached, Wyatt stopped and plastered them against the wall. Another man was visible through the open door, but he wasn’t a threat. He was resting in a chair, his head lulled to the side in slumber. Amelia readied another shot and injected him to make sure he stayed out. Wyatt tied him up while she checked on the patient, but as she feared, it was too late.
Wyatt raised his eyebrows in question. She shook her head and met him as he stood from securing the second captor. He pointed to the corner of the room. “Our bags, but I can’t find a damn cell phone anywhere. This guy only carried a two-way radio. I did find a couple of flashlights.”
He shouldered two hefty backpacks, one with a sleeping roll that might come in handy. She slung the strap of her medical bag over her shoulder. Wyatt handed her the gun he lifted from the second captor. She stepped over the man’s legs and then turned back around to snatch the hat from his head. Hers had been lost somewhere along the way.
Wyatt lifted a hand indicating she stay where she was. Then he disappeared but returned quickly. “All clear,” he whispered.
By silent agreement, they headed back down the corridor leading to their cell, passing it by to check the one next to theirs. Wyatt had lifted the keys from the first captor, and he opened the lock. The man the guards brought in earlier was lying in a heap, his face battered, bloody and swollen. She checked his pulse, relieved he had one. “He’s alive,” she said as she s
tood and approached a woman laying naked in the corner, her body curled into a protective ball. Sadness washed over her knowing what the woman had experienced. It was torture for Amelia and all she had to do was listen. This woman endured the brutal attack.
She knew before she checked that the woman was dead. The barbaric men had broken her spirit and her body. Another wave of sorrow rushed over her when she realized her skin was still warm and rigor hadn’t set in yet. If they’d been able to escape earlier, she might still be alive. She said a prayer for her soul and then pushed to her feet, shaking her head to let Wyatt know she’d passed when he stepped back inside.
“There aren’t any other cells or prisoners. These two are the only other ones here.”
“What are we going to do? We can’t leave him here.”
Wyatt dropped the packs and then crouched down to lift the man over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She wanted to protest. Wyatt was injured, too, and still recovering from the attack on the compound. He shouldn’t be carrying a heavy load. But she knew it would do no good to argue. Wyatt was noble and caring. He would never leave a person behind.
After adjusting the man’s weight, he stood. The man groaned but didn’t wake. They couldn’t afford for him to wake up and make noise or try to fight Wyatt. Amelia placed a hand on Wyatt’s arm to stop him. Then she injected the man with a sedative. It would also make the trip easier on his battered body.
Wyatt awkwardly bent over to grab the packs, but she stopped him again. She was perfectly capable of carrying one besides her medical bag. He reluctantly relented, allowing her to carry the lighter one. She latched her satchel onto the pack before sliding the straps on and adjusting the fit. Once she was ready, she nodded.
With his shooting hand free, Wyatt led the way. He had the injured man over one shoulder, a large backpack slung over the other. He’d probably reopened his wound, but they didn’t have time to stop and check. The captors could come back at any moment.
They had no idea which way to go, so he followed a dark tunnel. He turned a corner and came to a stop, causing her to almost crash into his back when he ducked back. He held up a hand. A man approached, his eyes widening when he spotted them. He fumbled for his weapon, but Wyatt was faster, swinging the butt of his gun against his temple. With a strangled groan, he crumpled to the ground. She crouched down and swiped his gun and the extra clip in his pocket. No cell phone. Wyatt nodded his approval when she stood.
Without a Trace (COBRA Securities Book 18) Page 9