Like Arrows (Cedar Tree #6)

by Freya Barker

  Caleb pulls out his wallet and throws some money on the table. "I best head over to meet up with Gomez. He's set up a briefing at the police station. If you could drop me off there? I'll get a ride to the hospital when I'm done, or I can call Neil."

  Mercy Medical Centre is clear on the opposite end of town and since Katie used their vehicle to take Kim this morning, Caleb drove into town with me. We settle in the truck when an uneasy feeling that started in the diner quickly grows into an anxious sense of urgency.

  "Call Neil," I tell Caleb as I turn the key in the ignition and pull out of our parking spot into traffic. I can feel his intense glance in my direction.

  "What are you thinking?"

  "Just call him."

  I listen to Caleb dialing and wait.

  "No answer. Reception could be bad in the hospital. Let me try Katie."

  Again I hear him dial, my knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

  "Hey little one, are you with Kim?—Okay. Look, we've had some development. Hartnett was found dead this morning.—Yes. It looks execution style.—You've got it. Anyway, I can't get a hold of Neil.—Please. Call me when you're in the room with her."

  We stop at a traffic light and I look over at him. "And?"

  "Katie was grabbing some breakfast. She left Neil outside the door to the room and the nurse was just getting Kim set up."

  Our eyes lock just for a moment before Caleb simply nods. No words needed. I slam the gas the moment the light turns green and with squealing tires I yank the wheel, making a U-turn in the middle of the intersection under a concert of honking. Caleb is already dialing and I vaguely hear him talking to Gomez, but my focus is on getting to the hospital. The closer we get, the tighter the cold fear squeezing my chest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Kim

  The tall man standing in front of me, casually lifting his shirt to display a gun tucked into the waistband of his scrub bottoms. He looks nothing like a doctor on closer inspection. The scrubs and white coat might do the trick at a quick glance but his appearance is almost regal. Dark, with an olive complexion and distinguished grey threading through the almost black hair by his ears. The laugh lines around his mouth and by his eyes put him somewhere between forty and fifty, but it's his eyes that look ancient. Dark, black and devoid of any emotion. The mild amusement shifting over his face doesn't seem to reach his eyes. He exudes cold power and that is more frightening than the weapon in his hand.

  "I'm afraid we'll have to take a little trip, my dear," he coos, his voice soft and deadly silk with only a hint of an accent. "The good news is, you won't need that any longer." He gestures to the IV pole and the bags hanging from it.

  "What do you want?" I manage to squeak through an airway constricted with fear. My eyes flit to the door, wondering why Neil isn't barging in.

  "I'm cleaning up. Our Texas oil baron was kind enough to provide me with your name. A simple search by a talented information expert is all it takes these days to flag anything with a name attached, floating around the ether. It took him two days to follow a trail of medical reports here. It's so—"

  A sharp intake of breath from the direction of the door has the man swinging his gun around, and without even thinking, I am out of the chair and duck down behind it like a shot, accidentally yanking the IV from my wrist.

  "Ernesto!"

  I'm confused when I hear Katie apparently call the man by name.

  "Hijo de puta! Ekatarina..."

  "You were the force behind Hartnett, weren't you?" Katie says, accusation thick in her voice. "I thought you'd vowed not to set foot in the US again? You're taking a big risk coming back here."

  "Mi hermana, don't involve yourself in this."

  I don't remember much Spanish, but I know hermana means sister. Katie is this man's sister?

  "That woman is my family. She's going to be my sister-in-law."

  "I'm your family, Ekatarina. Tu hermano. Don't you forget that."

  "Half-brother, and I never knew of your existence until a few years ago. We are on opposite ends of the law, always have been, always will be. No amount of blood between us is going to change that. But what binds me here to these people—to my chosen family—is love. And guess what, Ernesto, love is much, much thicker than blood."

  "Madre de dios. I cannot risk leaving loose ends."

  I'm surprised to hear exasperation in the man's voice where before it was flat, and a small niggle of hope that Katie is getting through to him surfaces.

  "Listen." I hear her say in a strong voice. "This woman is Malachi's and you and I both know that if anything happens to her, he will not rest until he has you six feet under, and my husband will be right behind him closing the hole."

  "Jesus fucking Christ! Of course that hijo de puta has to be involved. I should've killed the bastard when I had the chance."

  "Hey!" I stand up and yell. "Mal is not an hijo de whatever the hell that is and you don't stand a chance of hurting him."

  The man, Ernesto apparently, turns around and looks me up and down, but I stand my ground. I even ignore Katie when she softly pleads for me to stand down. Instead I lift my chin, tuck Mal's grandmother's afghan around me and look him straight in the eye. To my surprise he drops his shirt back over the weapon in the front his scrubs, straightens the white coat over top and chuckles softly, the smile reaching his eyes this time.

  "Figures that son of a bitch found himself a little bola de fuego."

  A ruckus in the hallway draws my attention. The heavy tread of boots comes closer and suddenly, Malachi is in the doorway, a wild look in his eyes, with Caleb right behind him.

  "Fucking Duarte," Mal spits out after looking at me for a split second, and launches himself at Ernesto. Luckily Caleb manages to grab his brother around the waist, doing his best to hold him back. Chrissy squeezes in between the two big bodies and the doorway, takes one look at me and immediately turns to take in the crowd assembled.

  "Out!" she commands, her hands on her hips. "Out right now, or I'm calling security."

  I'm stunned with this bizarre turn of events and watch open-mouthed as Katie grabs Ernesto's arm and Caleb follows closely behind, keeping his arm firmly around Mal. At the door he pulls away and walks toward me.

  "You're bleeding. Are you okay?"

  I look at my hand and notice some blood dripping down my hand from where I'd accidentally pulled the IV out. "I'm fine, just...confused. Very, very confused."

  "I'll be right back and I'll try to explain, okay?" he asks, stroking my hair from my face before kissing me lightly on the lips.

  "Lucky girl," Chrissy mumbles as she bends over my other arm with a fresh needle.

  "From what I picked up you have gained a...let's say 'unique' family. But honey? Watching Mal with you? I totally get it." She smiles at me as she tapes the IV lines down securely. "Lucky," she repeats softly, before leaving the room.

  Lucky, not necessarily a term I would ever have thought to describe me, but—she's right. Even without any explanation as to what just went down here, all it takes is the sight of my beautiful Malachi leaning against the doorway, staring back at me, to know she's so right. I might be battling the biggest fight of my life, but I'm doing it lucky.

  Mal

  I almost beat the snot out of Neil when I saw him talking to an old man at the front desk. He was supposed to be keeping an eye out on the hallway outside the treatment room. When I yell his name, his head snaps up and he looks surprised. A sharp snap of my head in the direction of the oncology wing has him following us to the stairwell. As soon as the door closes behind us I turn on him.

  "What the fuck? Thought you were going to be by the door?"

  "Did something happen? There was an old woman who slipped and fell by the elevators. I was the only one close and had to call the nurses to help. That was her husband down there." A pale Neil pushes past me and talks while taking the stairs two at a time. I catch up with him before he slips through the door on the second floor.

/>   "Hartnett is dead," Caleb blurts out beside me and Neil's eyes immediately focus on him.

  "How?"

  "Shot to the base of the skull," Caleb offers.

  "Cartel." The statement is made matter-of-factly, as if there isn't even a question in his mind. "Fuck. FUCK!"

  Pulling his arm loose he barges through the door and down the hall, where I catch up with him again.

  "Stop the fuck running. You're either gonna give Kim a heart attack or you're gonna warn whoever is in there with her off. Back up."

  Without waiting for his answer I walk at a normal pace down the hall toward her door. The moment I spot the man apparently in a stand off with Katie and a bleeding Kim, rage courses through my body.

  "Fucking Duarte."

  The smug smile on his arrogant face works as a red flag and if not for Caleb wrapping himself around me from behind, I would've torn that smug face off his fucking skull.

  Kim's nurse comes in and with a show of some serious sass, she kicks us all out of the room. When I look back and see Kim standing there, a bit forlorn, I pull out from Caleb's grasp and walk over to her to see if she's all right. I want to stay, but the damn nurse is shooting daggers and I can see the blood dripping from Kim's hand. She needs looking after first, so I promise I'll be back to try and explain what just happened—as soon as I can figure it out myself.

  Caleb, Katie and fucking Duarte are standing to one side and Neil is glaring death daggers at the leader of one of Mexico's most dangerous cartels. Passing by them, I lead the way into a blessedly empty waiting room on the other side of the hallway, closing the door behind us.

  "Hartnett was found this morning," I start, keeping a close look on Duarte who doesn't even blink at the name. "My guess is you used his obsession with expanding his oil empire to gain a semi-legitimate solid source of income on US soil, to fund your other endeavors."

  The only response is a slight shrug of the man's shoulders, but his face remains unaffected by my words.

  "You never intended to let him live, did you? I bet you ever only intended to use him as a pawn, use his expertise in the field to get to a certain level of production before you pulled the plug on him. Am I in the ballpark?"

  Another noncommittal shrug, but this time accompanied by a slight tilt of his mouth. Cocky motherfucker. Time to move this along, since Caleb's call to Damian will likely result in the local PD and FBI alike flooding the hallways in short order. "You're done here. Kim never knew anything about you anyway. We let you leave, you cross back over that border and we don't see you in the neighborhood again. Deal?"

  This time his eyebrow almost hits his hairline. "Who's to say you can keep me here if you tried?"

  "You wanna play pissing games? Special Agent Gomez, I'm sure you're familiar with the name, is less than ten minutes behind us. Your choice, Duarte. We're done here, or one way or another, you're going down," I bite off.

  Slowly he pushes away from the wall he's been leaning against. "I want to see my nephew," he directs at his half-sister who pulls herself up to her full height. It isn't much but the steel in her spine all but makes up for it.

  "I'll email you pictures. That's it. Take it or leave it and don't for a minute think that I'd hesitate taking you down if you even think of threatening my family again."

  For a few tense minutes they stare each other down. Surprisingly it's Duarte who drops his eyes first. "Fine. Take care of my sister and her boy," he directs at Caleb almost in a challenge.

  "My woman, our boy. He's my blood and that's my wife you're talking about," Caleb doesn't hesitate to point out.

  Duarte starts moving to the door, stopping right in front of me, his eyes boring into mine. “I had no idea until five minutes ago that this had anything to do with you and your woman. It wasn’t personal,” he says as if that should be explanation enough for why he came tearing into Kim’s oncology unit. Duarte lets his glare hit each of us in turn, with his final glare landing on his sister, before he opens the door and closes it behind him

  We release a collective sigh, except Neil, who has smoke coming out his ears. "You're gonna let him fucking walk? We could've taken him down, handed him over!"

  "It's like this, grasshopper," Caleb says calmly. "We take him in, there are ten other, more dangerous, motherfuckers waiting to take his place. Ten others we have no leverage with, any one of whom could and likely would launch a full out war simply for revenge, to gain respect and solidify their position of authority."

  Neil is grinding his jaw, trying to reconcile his strong sense of justice with the blind eye we're asking him to turn.

  Caleb puts a hand on his shoulder. "Look, this way we can at least ensure our little corner of the world stays safe—our families, our friends, our home. You know what they say, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."

  Without another word, he grabs Katie's hand and walks out of the room, and into Damian Gomez barreling down the hallway with two agents by his side.

  "Did you get him?"

  This time I beat Caleb to the punch. "Bastard pulled a gun, took off on us. No way we're gonna shoot up in a hospital."

  "Tell me you at least got a good look?" He looks at me hopeful.

  "Sorry, man. Latin dude, but I didn't recognize him. You?" I turn to Katie who shakes her head, the regret on her face almost believable. The rest of us deny recognition.

  Frustrated, Gomez turns to walk into Kim's room, but I hold him back. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

  "The chick saw him, maybe he said something."

  I stretch to my full height which puts me over Gomez by about three inches when I answer him. "That 'chick' happens to be my girl you're talking about, and if you think for one second I'd let you go in there and upset her while she is fucking fighting for her life, you've got another goddamn thing coming!"

  Gomez's compatriots step to his side in support when I raise my voice—hands on their weapons. Just as Caleb, Katie and Neil have obviously closed ranks with me. Ridiculous, in a small hallway in the cancer wing of a hospital, but I will risk prosecution for attacking a federal officer if he even looks at her door twice.

  Sensing my resolve, Gomez lifts both hands in the air. "You guys are a fucking constant pain in my ass, you know that? Bring her in when she's done..." Unsure of what to say next, he just waves his hands around. "...With all this." And with a head tilt to his team, he turns on his heels and walks off.

  "I'm going in," I announce and walk into Kim's room where I see a familiar afghan wrapped around her legs. My sister's wings.

  Kim

  Oh my God. Mexican cartels, oil conspiracies, unexpected family connections and execution style killings. It's all a bit much for my weary brain to comprehend, but when Mal sits down at my feet and lays his head on my lap, I feel as light as a feather. Granted, some of that might be the chemo, but I swear most of it is the relief when Mal tells me I won't have anything to worry about again. He's firm on that and I believe him. I even understand the tenuous truce GFI seems to have with the Agave cartel, as Mal tells me they are known. But the fact that Katie, who'd grown up without parents, never knew she had a father who was head of one of the most violent cartels in Mexico, was probably the most mind-blowing. Mal told me in gross outlines, promising to fill in the blanks when I'm not yawning every second. I don't have the heart to tell him it's not just fatigue, but a way my body is trying to fight off the nausea I already feel. Dammit.

  -

  "Time to go home, Nizhóní"

  Mal's voice pulls me from a heavy nap. Three hours is a long time when you're not really able to roam around at will. Chrissy comes in, unhooking me from the now empty bags and the moment I turn my head, a wave of nausea hits me out of the blue and I slap my hand over my mouth in a futile attempt to stop from vomiting. All the water and weak tea I've been sipping comes up and I'm mortified when I see I've not only thrown up all over myself, but managed to dirty the beautiful afghan and the bottom of Mal's jeans. I hate this part. It d
idn't start until a few hours after we'd gotten home the first time and I was prepared. This time I'm obviously not. I close my eyes and block out the room, only feeling Chrissy's gentle fingers removing the needle from my arm and sticking a Band-Aid on, as if I hadn't just puked up my guts all over the place. The moment Chrissy's touch disappears, a warm, wet washcloth is wiped over my face before Mal's hands, that I've come to know very well, clean off my hands as well. Without saying a word, he takes the afghan off my lap and brushes at the wet spots on my lap with a towel. My eyes now open, I follow the movements of his hands and can't help but wonder where I'd be if I'd never met him. If I'd dropped off that envelope the day I was supposed to, I might never have stopped at the diner, or been a witness in the assault on the Walkers. So many ifs, and most of them leading to a reality I don't even want to contemplate.

  "Thank you," I whisper, trying not to breathe on him.

  "Look at me," he urges and I slowly lift my eyes. "Let's go home. I want to take care of you."

  I just nod and let him lead me from the room.

  Once home he helps me strip and settle into the tub, with a bucket close by—just in case.

  "Going to look after Boo and send Neil to pick up something for us to eat so you don't have to smell cooking, okay? I'll be right back."

  I lay my head back on the edge of the tub and breathe deeply. One more round of chemo, one more session like this and I can start healing. And as I run my fingers through my hair I feel a large chunk coming away in my hand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Mal

  "Have you guys talked to Gus?" I ask Caleb.

  He and Katie hung around Durango for the day and popped in to say goodbye on their way home, but ended up staying for dinner.

  I'd made sure Kim was still sleeping, something her body seems to need a lot of these days. I'd found her asleep in the tub when I'd come back upstairs, and carefully got her up, dried off and dressed in one of my old shirts she's taken to sleeping in. Once in bed, her bucket right beside her, she looked up, her eyes shiny. "You're an intensely good man, Malachi, and I love you so much."