by DiAnn Mills
Her attention turned once more to the ER doors leading outside. A police officer guarded the entry, and several were posted around the various entrances, but the men who’d tried to kill Cole and her possessed heavy firepower.
Her cell rang: Max. He’d texted twenty minutes earlier when the doctor was stitching her up. At the time, she’d typed back about the firefight at the oil rig site and Cole’s serious condition. Max must be antsy.
“Hey, I’m in the ER waiting room while they work on Cole.” Her voice shook, and she regretted the display of weakness. “Not sure if he’s gained consciousness. He also took a nasty blow to the head. Lost too much blood in my opinion.”
“What about you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Tori, I asked a question.”
“Stitches in my lower right arm. Some bruises. A bump on the head from the same piece of metal that hit Cole.”
“What happened out there?”
“We found Jose Aznar’s body in a shed. Seconds later we were attacked by shooters driving a white cargo van. One of them used what looked like a Barrett M82A1 on the oil rig. From the light, I’m saying they had magnesium compound in the tracers. I got the license plate and gave it to the ASAC.”
“A visual?”
“They were hooded. Dressed in black. Didn’t leave a business card.”
Silence met her, then, “Do you have any idea how lucky you two are?”
She hadn’t gotten past the shock to consider anything but Cole’s injuries. “A paramedic mentioned it. We were about forty yards away when the well blew.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Max, you’re in no shape to drive. I’ll be fine. The ASAC is en route.”
“Didn’t say I was driving.”
“Are you taking a bus?”
“Cut the sarcasm. Janie’s driving. I called her when I got the news. She just pulled into the driveway. See you in a few.”
Janie? How good to see her again, even if the circumstances stank. Max and his wife would have over an hour to talk on the way here.
Mom . . . Tori pressed in the number and waited for her mother to answer, hoping the news came first from Tori and not the media.
Mom picked up on the second ring. “How’s your weekend?”
“Oh, I’ve spent easier days. Are you at home or out?”
“Home. Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Cole and I were attacked in the Texas City area. I wanted to tell you before the media announced it.”
“Where are you?”
“The ER of the University of Texas Medical Branch in Galveston.”
“How badly are you hurt?”
Tori explained her minor injuries and Cole’s condition.
“He’s the deputy Marshal you told me about?” Mom said.
“Yes. A good man. He saved my life.”
“My purse and keys are walking to the door.”
“Mom, stay where you are. I have no idea the extent of Cole’s battered body.”
“This is your mother, and I’m locking up the house now.”
“Hold on for a minute. I can’t stop you from coming, but would you call Sally? She shouldn’t find out about this on the news.”
“Yes, of course.”
Tori observed the strangers around her. Some wept. Others talked in hushed voices. A woman rocked an infant. “I do want to see you.”
“Oh, honey. That means so much. I’m hanging up now. I’ll contact Sally and will see you soon. You know how I feel about talking and driving.”
Tori brushed away a tear. Where was her tough-girl FBI agent persona? She dropped her phone into her purse and leaned against the door overlooking the parking lot. Dizzy. Disoriented. If the bad guys shoved their way through the ER doors, she wouldn’t have enough sense to shoot back. Inhaling, she closed her eyes. A bed sounded good, but she needed to be alert. A doctor had said Cole was in serious but stable condition. The thought frightened her. How long before the doctor reported back to her?
Cole was a decent man. He had Kevin’s good qualities and more—a solid investigator, one whom she admired, respected, and might learn to love. He’d confessed his interest . . .
She and Cole had talked about fear . . . his nightmare and her disease phobia. Today trumped both. She fought to stay awake, especially with the bump on her head. Rubbing her face, she willed away the beating to her body. Too bad there wasn’t a pill for logic.
“Ms. Templeton?”
She peered into the face of Dr. Nguyen, the doctor she’d talked to earlier, a petite Asian woman. Her brown eyes emitted confidence.
“How is Cole?”
“Let’s sit down and talk.” The doctor pointed to an empty area of the visitors’ waiting room.
Once seated, Dr. Nguyen smiled, a gesture Tori feared accompanied bad news. “As you may have already realized, Mr. Jeffers lost a considerable amount of blood prior to his arrival. We prefer a patient to build up his own blood as long as he’s not in shock. I made a call that the borderline shock and his physical condition eliminated the need for packed cells, and he’s responding positively. He regained consciousness in the ER, so we stabilized his airway, breathing, and circulation. We’ve drawn blood, and until we have the hemoglobin/hematocrit report, we’re giving him an IV to support his blood pressure. A cursory physical exam and neurologic evaluation revealed no red flags. That’s good, Ms. Templeton. Currently he’s having an MRI scan of his head to look for subdural or epidural hematomas—bleeding on the brain. Also X-rays of his left shoulder, ribs, and back. He’s tender in some areas, and I want to make sure there aren’t any fractures. Assuming those areas are okay, we’ll suture his head wound. I’ve contacted an orthopedic surgeon to explore and debride—”
“What is that?”
“I’m sorry. Debridement is when foreign tissue is removed from a damaged area.”
A definition Tori hoped she never heard again.
“Assuming no bone damage, the ortho surgeon will close the wound and put him in a sling.”
“Would you say he’s still in serious but stable condition?”
“Yes. We’ll know more after test results.”
Tori trembled and she breathed deeply to control it. “Providing test results and your other procedures go according to plan, what will be the treatment after surgery?”
“If all goes well, he’ll be kept at least overnight for observation—vital signs and a neuro check for late symptoms after the blow to the head. His length of stay is difficult to determine at this point.”
“I appreciate your explanation.”
Dr. Nguyen excused herself, leaving Tori feeling very alone and scared.
If a God truly existed, now was the time for Him to show up. Step through the ER door and wave His magic wand to heal Cole, end the crime spree, and cuff the ones responsible. What do You want from me? Every Sunday attendance until the day I die? Daily Bible reading?
A flash of her promise to Kevin . . . The times spent at his grave . . . The moments in her sporadic church attendance when something made sense. Kevin spoke as audibly as if he were standing beside her.
“Sis, don’t test God or bargain with Him. Just trust in who He is.”
Tori sank onto a chair and buried her face in her hands. Trust was what she had in her job and her skills. Stepping outside her safety net scared her beyond comprehension. Could she even embrace an invisible God? What came of relinquishing control? Kevin claimed peace and a life that began here and existed long after her body turned to dust.
The truth punched her hard. If her way of living hadn’t calmed her restless heart, perhaps it was time to accept the intangible. Kevin called Him the Creator of the universe, the God who never slept, and the Author of life.
Yes, God. Whatever this means, I’m on Your side. Please help Cole live through this. I now have faith in what I’ve thought was a myth. You, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit working to keep me alive . . . and unconditionally loved.
TORI’S I
NJURED ARM THROBBED—the pain meds were supposed to keep the agony under control, but not yet. A strange feeling had swept over her. One she couldn’t describe but definitely a supernatural assurance that the ugly happenings would be resolved.
Dozing off, she relived the attack . . . The man who’d shot Cole had laughed at his fallen body. The shooter had raised his weapon to take her out too, but she’d gotten him in the head. Nothing for her to gloat over, just a memory that would live with her forever.
“Ms. Templeton.”
She recognized the voice of Dr. Nguyen. Through blinding pain, she opened her eyes to the doctor. “Yes. How is he?”
“Awake and asking for you.” The woman smiled. “Insistent, as a matter of fact. He’d like a word before we take him into surgery.”
Tori struggled to her feet, and the doctor steadied her. “Be careful, or you’ll be in the bed next to him.”
“I’m okay. Really. Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“So far, we haven’t detected further problems or injuries. Three of his ribs are broken, but we won’t have an idea about the damage done to his shoulder until we’re in there and the orthopedic surgeon can see what’s going on. He’ll have scarring from the gunshot and burned area, but a good plastic surgeon can do wonders. Come on back, and you can see him. I’ll be with you.”
Tori blinked a few times to gain control. Thank You, God.
Behind the enclosed area, Cole lay with an IV dripping lifesaving fluids into his body. The massive swelling and bruising on his face appeared worse under the bright lights. Stitches on his left temple were an angry red, a sharp contrast to the blue and purple. She took his hand, and he opened his eyes.
“You look awful,” he whispered.
“Should’ve seen the other guy.” She bent over the bed. “Hey, you had a close call.”
“Plural. We.”
“But you drew the short stick. How are you feeling?”
“Haven’t decided yet. Mad is right up at the top.”
“The ASAC and Max are on their way. Even my mom.”
He dragged his tongue over cracked and bleeding lips. “Party.” He swallowed hard. “Would you contact my parents? Go light on ’em. Hate for them to hear about this on the news.”
“I’d be glad to. I memorized the license plate to the van.” She took his hand in hers and wrote on his palm. “Better than any hottie’s phone number.”
“Hurts to laugh.”
“I’m trying my best to keep you entertained.”
A nurse opened the drape. “Mr. Jeffers, we’ll be taking you shortly to surgery. Any questions or concerns?”
“Just get it done,” he managed.
Dr. Nguyen checked his eyes. “What did a big, strapping US Marshal do to make those guys so angry?”
“Stole their girlfriend.”
The doctor swung to Tori. “You?”
Tori rolled her eyes like a sixteen-year-old—purposely. “I’m an FBI agent. We’re working a case together. I have no idea what he’s talking about.” She hid her mirth, not sure why when they’d both nearly been candidates for a mortician. “Must be whatever’s flowing from his IV.”
Dr. Nguyen shook her finger at him. “I might have to cut back on the meds.”
Two men in blue scrubs swung back the drape and assisted Cole onto a stretcher.
“I’ll be back when you’re fixed as good as new,” Tori said.
He closed his eyes. “Thanks.”
Tori returned to the waiting area, where ASAC Hughes was speaking to an ER nurse. She recognized two FBI agents beside the police officer positioned at the ER door.
The ASAC joined her. “How’s he doing?”
“Awake. Hurting. He was just taken to surgery.” She relayed his condition.
The ASAC pointed to the seating area. “You’re pale as a ghost, Tori. Let’s sit down.”
They chose an isolated area. She wanted to sleep, badly. “Back to your question. Cole and I left Houston early this morning to attend Preston Ustach’s funeral and check out who was in attendance.” Tori explained the tail leading up to the firefight. “They either placed a tracker on Cole’s truck while we were in church or waited for us to leave the funeral and followed us.”
“His vehicle was totaled in the explosion.”
She recalled the security guard, a retired man who teased Cole about the pretty girl beside him. “The only witness bled out while I waited for the ambulance.” She jammed strength into her words. “Cole told me in so many words that we signed up for whatever it takes to end a crime. It’s our job.”
“We all enlisted for the same thing. But we still hurt and bleed like anyone else. Take a look in the mirror. I’m sure you feel the same. Let me arrange a ride home.”
“Not yet. I’m sticking around until Cole’s out of surgery.” In truth, she had no plans to leave until Cole was discharged.
He frowned. “Is Max aware of the attack?”
“Janie is driving him here.”
“Good news in that arena.” His cell rang. “This is a report from our guys at the explosion. I’ll be right back.” He headed to the ER doors.
Until ASAC Hughes returned, she’d rest. He’d bombard her with questions, and she’d have her own. Right now, she wanted to hear the investigators’ initial findings. Then stick with Cole until the doctor determined how to proceed. Oh, the dread of dealing further with the ASAC, Mom, Max, and even Janie. She’d rather sit at Cole’s bedside, alone. For that matter, how would the two of them go forward—with the case and her bewildering attraction to him?
Today they proved working together professionally had its perks: he had her back and she had his. Literally. Cole had sheltered her from the onslaught of bullets, and she’d never forget the price he paid.
The ASAC stepped back inside and sat beside her. The familiar lines across his brow told her the intel wasn’t good. Before he could speak, she garnered his attention. “What have they found?”
“The van was deserted on a side road. Stolen. Sweeping it now. Blood everywhere. Towing it in.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “We ID’d the dead men.”
“Would I recognize them?”
“Hermanos de Pistoleros. Have a reputation for hiring out their services.”
“The Pistol Brothers.” Guns for hire. Her gaze swept to the interior hospital doors leading to patient care. “Has the public been notified?”
“The PIO released the news to every TV, radio, and online media source.”
“Which means they’ll be here, and I’m not in the mood to dodge them.”
“No need to. I got you covered. Agents and police officers are posted at each entrance and the parking lot. If the Hermanos de Pistoleros bring friends, we have the firepower to stop them.” He sighed. “Jose Aznar’s cousin is a member of the gang. I want to know where he fit.”
THE LAST THING Cole wanted to hear was the doctor requesting at least one overnight stay for observation. “Doctor, I have a hard head. No reason for me to drive everyone here nuts.”
Dr. Nguyen smiled. “You have a concussion and a slight fever. Furthermore, you could exhibit neurological symptoms that would need to be addressed immediately. We have no idea how your tumble affected the rest of your body.”
He tried to demonstrate a trait of humor. “Tumble? Never thought of being chased and shot at as gymnastics.”
“Admit him,” ASAC Hughes said. “My agents have to be in top physical condition.”
“I’m a US Marshal.”
“On loan to me.” The ASAC tapped the doctor’s clipboard. “Admit him.” He focused on Cole. “I’ll make sure you have protection. By the way, while you wait for your room, visitors are here with Tori.”
Although she’d mentioned company on its way, Cole wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. “Better not be a reporter or a troop of Boy Scouts.”
“Neither. Max and his wife. Tori’s mother.”
He groaned. “I hope they have a piñata. Hey, what abou
t my truck and the shooters?”
“Tori can fill you in. While you’re lying in bed, I suggest searching online for new wheels.”
No surprise there. “Any other good news?”
“I’ll keep you posted. Don’t worry about coming in on Monday—”
“I’ll be there.”
He shook his head. “Highly unlikely. But I’m glad you survived the attack. Sorta reminded me of us years ago.”
A slight smile surfaced, despite the pain. “If you’d been there, we’d have them arrested by now.”
“According to Tori, you made hero status.” ASAC Hughes left, giving Cole a few precious moments to put on his optimistic face.
The drape opened and Tori entered first, followed by a striking woman who strongly resembled her, another woman with white hair and no wrinkles, and Max, whose face held more lines than yesterday.
“This is the visitor detail,” Tori said. “Cole, this is my mom, Valerie Templeton.” The woman waved. “And this is Janie Dublin, Max’s wife.”
Mrs. Dublin stepped forward and took his hand. “Thank you for putting up with my husband. He can be a handful.”
He liked the woman.
“And thanks for putting up with my daughter,” Valerie said. “I heard you held your own with her, and that means she’s met her match.”
Okay, he liked her too. He’d be civil. Turning to Tori, he posed the most important question. “ASAC Hughes claims you have all the information from the shooting. What have you learned?”
“I can fill you in on some of it. The van was abandoned. Towed back to the office.”
“Okay. Who’s after us?”
“Hermanos de Pistoleros.”
The name sounded familiar, but his foggy mind refused to yank it to the surface. “Other than Brotherhood of Latin Gunmen, I’m lost.”
“Hispanic prison gang founded in the eighties,” Max said. “Independent contractors. Have a tat of a snake running up the left side of their arms. The big question is who hired them.”