Ruined: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 6)

by April Wilson

  I make a quick call to Shane on the sat phone to get an update on Roger Stevens.

  “There’s nothing new to report,” he says, sounding less than thrilled.

  “Something’s off,” I say. “Stevens isn’t skilled enough to evade both the feds and the local police department for this long. Not if he’s still living rough in the woods outside Sweetwater.”

  “Check in with me after your hike. I’ll let you know if I’ve heard anything new.”

  “Will do.”

  The sausage is done, and I’m frying up some eggs and potatoes when my baby staggers out of the bedroom dressed only in a pair of black boxer briefs, looking like he’s still half-asleep.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” I say, reaching for my coffee mug.

  He runs his fingers through the long strands of his hair, which came loose in the night, and gazes at me with bleary eyes.

  “How many beers did I drink last night?” he says, groaning.

  “A few. Sorry. Suck it up, buttercup.”

  He laughs. “Hey, that’s my line.”

  I nod toward the stool at the breakfast counter. “Have a seat, and I’ll pour you some coffee.”

  Sam drinks his first cup of coffee black, while I finish preparing breakfast. Then I fill two plates with food, grab my second cup of coffee for the morning, and join him at the counter. With him sitting there half naked, I have a hard time concentrating on my food.

  We both eat our fill, because we know we have a long day ahead of us. Sam nurses his second cup of coffee as I wash the dishes.

  “I’ll dry,” he says, indicating the dishes sitting in the dish drainer.

  “No, you go get dressed. I’ll finish up here.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Sam comes waltzing out of the bedroom, dressed in jeans, his red plaid flannel shirt, and a black leather jacket. His hair is freshly washed and pulled up into a top knot, and he looks raring to go. I’ll carry a pack filled with our food and drink for the day. He’ll carry his gun pack.

  “Looks like we’re good to go,” I say. After a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up, we’re out the door.

  It’s still early, not even nine o’clock yet, and we set off with a map, compass, and a GPS device. Besides the handguns, just for precaution, we have our cell phones, even though we probably won’t get a signal in the woods.

  We hike the easy first two miles to the falls, which border on the state forest, and stop to admire the view. From there, we pick up the trail that leads into the state forest and hike due west, deeper into the woods.

  The weather is perfect for a hike—sunny, but cool enough that we’re not going to burn up the entire day. I take the lead, and Sam follows behind me, both of us happy to stretch our legs and give our muscles a good work-out. The farther west we go, the rougher the terrain becomes, and we face a steady incline in elevation. It should take us about five hours to reach the ranger station and visitor center, which is our destination. Then it’ll be about a four-hour hike back as we’ll be going downhill most of the way back.

  While we’re hiking, I mull over the fact that Sam has a birthday coming up. He’ll be twenty-nine in a couple of weeks, and I want to do something special for him. I keep thinking back to when Beth organized a surprise birthday party for Shane at Rowdy’s. Shane was really touched by that, and I think Sam would like it too. And he’d like it even more if I arranged everything myself and surprised him. I’ve never planned a birthday party for anyone before, so I mull over my to-do list in my head. I’ll invite the whole McIntyre family, of course, as well as the McIntyre Security employees based in Chicago. I think that pretty much covers all of Sam’s friends in the Chicago area. I should also invite his mother and sister.

  About halfway to the ranger’s station, we stop to drink water and each eat a trail bar for some quick energy. Sam takes off the gun pack and inspects its content.

  I take a peek. He brought three Berettas and enough ammo for a small army. “Expecting trouble?” I say, laughing.

  He shrugs. “No. But out here, it never hurts to be prepared.”

  We are pretty isolated out here. We haven’t seen another soul all day. Lia and Jonah did have some trouble in Harbor Springs last year when they were staying at the cabin, but that was a separate incident. It has nothing to do with us.

  Glancing deeper into the dense woods, I feel a frisson of unease crawl up my spine, and I shake it off. “Let’s get going.”

  We collect our trash and continue on our hike, more than half-way to our destination. Twice on the trail, we hear rustling out in the deep undergrowth. The second time, we’re rewarded by the sight of a beautiful doe and her two adolescent fawns from the previous season.

  We make it to the ranger station, which is currently closed—probably due to budget cuts—and climb to the top of the look-out tower to gaze out over thousands of acres of pristine forest. We eat our sandwiches up there and munch on more dried fruit and nuts.

  Sam finishes his food first, and after disposing of the trash, he steps between my legs and puts his hands on my hips. “Have I thanked you for bringing us up here?”

  “Yes, you did. Last night. You’re welcome.”

  “Remind me to thank you again, tonight, naked in front of a roaring fire.”

  I laugh. “That I will be happy to do.”

  Having rested and caught our breath, we climb down from the look-out tower and start on our journey back to the cabin. The return trip should be a bit quicker as we’ll be going downhill, letting gravity work in our favor. The afternoon is wearing on and this deep in the woods, it’s already starting to look like dusk.

  Sam takes the lead this time, and we’re a little more than halfway back to the cabin when fire tears through my right calf. My leg collapses, and I drop to the ground like a stone, gritting my teeth at what feels like a hot steel blade running through my leg. As I struggle to deal with the burning pain radiating through my leg, I hear the report of gunfire.

  “Shooter!” I yell, rather unnecessarily, as I roll to my left side and shake off my backpack.

  Sam’s at my side a moment later, grabbing me under my arms and dragging me and my pack deep into the dense underbrush, about a dozen yards from the trail. Dropping down beside me in the waning light, he whips off his pack, opens it and pulls out a first-aid kit. He holds a penlight between his teeth and shines it on my leg as he uses a retractable knife to cut away my jeans so he can inspect the wound.

  “Through and through,” he says, sounding almost relieved. But the relief is short-lived when I start to feel blood streaming down my calf. “Shit. He nicked your fibular artery.”

  He pulls a roll of gauze dressing out of the first aid kit and wraps it tightly around the source of the fire in my calf. Then he applies a pressure bandage over top, holding the gauze in place. “The bleeding is manageable. This should keep you stabilized until we can get you to the hospital.”

  Reaching into his pack, Sam pulls out one of the Berettas, shoves in a magazine, then hands the gun to me, along with a spare magazine. Then he helps himself to the other two guns, loading them both quickly. One of them he tucks into the back of his waistband. The other one he lays at his feet. Then he shoves two spare magazines into his jacket pocket.

  “Stay here and stay down,” he says in a clipped, low voice. “If you hear anyone sneaking up on you, shoot to kill. Do you hear me? Do not engage. Do not hesitate. You shoot.” Then he grabs armfuls of leaves and small branches and drags them toward me, using the foliage to cover me, providing camouflage. He reaches down and squeezes my shoulder. “Hang in there, babe,” he says. “I’ll take care of this asshole, and then I’ll get you back to the cabin. Just lie still for now. Try not to move.”

  And just like that, he’s gone.

  Jesus, Sam.

  My heart is in my throat, my pulse pounding. My leg is on fire, and the pain is searing. Shock must be setting in, because I feel cold all over, even as I’m starting to sweat and shake
.

  Feeling increasingly dizzy, I lay my head back on the ground and stare up at the late-afternoon sky, which is barely visible through the dense branches. It’ll be dark in the woods in another hour, and I have no idea where Sam is, or what he’s facing out there. Was this a hunting accident? Or was it something more nefarious? Sam’s going into this blind, with no idea who’s out there. And I have no way to help him.

  My worst fears are realized when I hear the crack of a rifle shot split the air, followed by several pops from a Beretta in rapid succession. This was no accident. Sam’s involved in a live gun fight, and I can’t help him. I’ve never felt so fucking helpless in my life. He’s out there, fighting my fight, risking his life for me.

  My vision starts to darken around the edges, and I shake myself mentally, trying to stay conscious. I don’t know how much blood I’ve lost, or how bad the injury is. And it’s going to be dark soon, making it so much more dangerous for Sam to be out there with an active shooter.

  As the sun drops, so does the temperature. The ground below me feels cold and damp, and I’m not sure how much of that wetness is my blood. If I bleed out here, I won’t make it back to the cabin. Thank God he didn’t hit my femoral artery, or I’d probably already be dead. At least with the fibular artery, I have a chance. And while I don’t care about myself so much, I can’t bear the thought of what Sam would go through if I bit it out here. I just can’t do that to him.

  I hear another crack of the rifle, way off in the distance, followed by the report of the Beretta. It sounds like Sam is running him to ground. “Jesus, baby, be careful.”

  Chapter 30

  Sam

  As I work my way back toward the path and in the direction of the shooter, I’m reminded of my days in the Rangers when I trained endlessly for this kind of guerilla combat. And here I am, right back in the thick of it. Only this time, Cooper’s life is on the line. I don’t have much time. I need to neutralize this shooter quickly so I can get Cooper the help he needs. I have no illusions that he can survive for long out here in the cold, damp forest. Even with the pressure bandage, he’s still bleeding pretty badly, and he’s likely already in shock.

  Keeping low to the ground, using the natural ground cover for camouflage, I make my way back to the path. I wait patiently for an indication of where the shooter is located, but I hear nothing. And as I don’t have time to wait for him to make a move, I have to force the issue.

  It’s hard to believe he made it this far north, but my gut tells me we’ve located Roger Stevens. He must have seen us leave the apartment building and followed us to Harbor Springs.

  “Show yourself, Stevens! Come out in the open and face me like a man, instead of hiding like a coward!”

  The sound of a rifle shot coming from my right helps me pinpoint his general direction. I want to move the fight to him, to push him farther from Cooper’s location.

  Leaving my cover behind, I dart across the open path, risking exposure, and am met with two more rifle shots in rapid succession. He’s not far from me, and he must have decent visibility. The shots sounded like they were coming from ahead and to my right. Using the undergrowth as cover, I make my way in his direction, hoping I can push him back a bit and eventually pin him down. Whatever I do, I have to do it quickly, as time is working against me. Cooper needs help fast.

  “Is he dead?” Stevens calls out. “I know I hit him. I saw him go down.”

  I refuse to answer, instead using the sound of his voice to narrow down his general location. I keep moving in his direction, keeping low to the ground and moving as silently as possible. When I pause to get my bearings, I peer out from behind a tree trunk, and a rifle shot hits the trunk, splintering the bark off the tree several feet above my head.

  “You’re a fucking coward, Roger!” I yell. “Ambushing us in the woods, instead of facing us head on. That’s what a coward would do. You’re a coward now, just like you were forty years ago when you threw two teenage boys off a bridge to their deaths!”

  “Shut up, you pervert! You’re no better than Cooper! After I take you out, I’ll find Cooper and finish him off, if he isn’t dead already!”

  I’m running out of time, so I step out into the open again, taking a chance as I attempt to draw him out. I’m close enough now to Roger that I can hit him at this distance with my nine millimeter if I can get a clear line of sight on him.

  Just as he steps out from behind a tree, lifting his rifle in my direction, I shoot him square in the chest, sending him flying back onto the ground. Cautiously, I make my way forward, pretty sure he’s dead, but not taking any chances. If I screw up there, Cooper’s a dead man.

  I quickly locate Roger Stevens’ body, and sure enough, with a slug right to his heart, he’s dead. I check his pulse, just to be certain, then quickly cover his body with branches and leaves. After cutting off a strip of my red plaid shirt, I tie it around the trunk of a sapling just a couple feet from the body so that the authorities will be able to locate it later.

  * * *

  “It’s all right, babe—it’s me,” I say loudly as I stomp through the undergrowth on my way back to Cooper, making plenty of noise to alert him to my presence. It wouldn’t do for him to shoot me now by mistake. “He’s dead, Cooper. Roger Stevens is dead.”

  “Sam.”

  I drop down beside Cooper and retrieve the penlight so I can shine it in his face. “Yeah, it’s me, babe. Damn, you’re pale.” I press two fingers to his carotid artery to check his pulse, which is slow and thready. He’s in shock. Not a surprise. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Cooper grabs weakly at my arm. “Sam, just go. Get back to the cabin. Radio the sheriff. I’ll be okay.” He’s shaking so hard, his words are barely legible.

  “Fuck no, I’m not leaving you here! Are you insane?”

  I brush the leaves and twigs covering Cooper aside so I can examine his wound with my light. “That fucker followed us here from Chicago. So much for the reports of him roughing it back in Sweetwater.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “Extremely.”

  I can sense the tension leaving Cooper’s body at my declaration.

  “Sam, you’ve got to leave me here,” he says. “Go back to the cabin—”

  “Shut up, Cooper.” I relieve him of the Beretta I’d left with him and put it and one of my two guns back into the pack. I still have the one tucked into the back of my waistband…just in case Stevens wasn’t out here alone. “All right. Let’s go. We’ll have to leave your pack here.”

  I rise to my feet and lift Cooper up and over my shoulder into a fireman’s carry.

  “You can’t carry me all the way back to the cabin,” he says, gritting his teeth against the jarring agony.

  I scoff. “Hell, I carried guys bigger than you much farther distances back in my Army days.”

  Cooper bites back a cry with each agonizing step, and I feel awful for causing him more pain. But we have at least two miles of rough, downhill terrain to go. The fact that it’s getting dark now just makes the job that much more difficult.

  Whenever I stumble, coming into contact with a half-buried root or a stone, I quickly right myself, but not before causing Cooper more pain. “Shit, I’m sorry, babe,” I say.

  Every step I take pains him, and it kills me to add to his suffering. The trail is littered with fallen branches and roots and stones, making it difficult for me not to jostle him.

  I’m grateful when I realize he’s finally passed out.

  I trudge ahead at a steady pace, using the penlight stuck between my teeth to light the way. I’m glad when we reach the falls, because that means we’re just a couple miles from the cabin now, and the path is easier. I carry him over the bridge, then pick up the trail once more, heading for the cabin.

  When we arrive back at the cabin, it’s dark. I carry him inside and lay him down on the bed in the back room. Then I grab the sat phone and call 911 to request emergency medical evacuation. The dispatcher calls
for paramedics and Sheriff Mitchell. Then I hang up so I can call Shane.

  “Hi, Sam. How’s it going?” he says.

  “Not good. Cooper’s been shot. Roger Stevens ambushed us in the woods.”

  “How bad is it?” Shane says, his voice now sharp and clipped.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s in shock. Medical evac is on the way. They’ll transport him to the hospital in Stowe.”

  “What about Stevens?”

  “Dead.”

  “I’ll be there as quickly as I can, via helicopter. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  Next, I hear the ping of the penthouse elevator doors, followed by the sound of muffled crying. I feel like an eavesdropper when I hear him say, “Sweetheart, no,” in a gentle voice. “Stay here. Lia’s on her way up. She’ll stay with you until I get back.”

  Then I hear more crying.

  “I know, honey,” Shane says. “But you can’t come with me. Cooper’s going to be okay, I promise. Sam knows what he’s doing. Please don’t worry.”

  Shane returns to the line with me. “The helicopter’s being prepped now. I’ll be in the air within a half hour. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  “All right. I’ll see you there.”

  As I hang up with Shane, I hear a siren in the distance, alerting me to the arrival of Sheriff Mitchell. I leave Cooper just long enough to unlock the door and let him in.

  “James Mitchell, sheriff,” the man says as he comes inside. “Where is he?”

  “Back bedroom.”

  The sheriff follows me to the bedroom and heads right for the bed. “How long has he been out?” he says.

  “A little over two hours.”

  Mitchell turns to me. “What happened. Who shot him?”

  “It’s a long story, but I can tell you that the shooter is dead. I shot him myself.”

  “Do you know where the body is?”

  I nod. “I can direct you to it—I marked the location—but he’ll be impossible to find in the dark. You’ll have to wait until morning. He’s deep in the forest, and I covered his body with brush. But I left a clear marker.”