Duty to Defend

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “Hold on, Williams.”

  Jax turned. Tim Baker, a PD uniform known to him from his work as an attorney, was speed-walking after him.

  “I’m taking first shift on Deputy Marlowe’s protection detail.” Baker fell into step with Jax. “Heard you were there for the gun battle.”

  “Not much of a battle. Pistol against rifle was a poor contest, but backup was quick to get there, and somehow we managed to stay alive.”

  They reached Daci’s floor, but with hallways heading in different confusing directions, Jax asked the way to her room number.

  “Up that way.” The nurse pointed.

  “Thanks,” Baker said. “I’ll go relieve hospital security on her guard detail now.”

  “Hospital security?” The nurse’s brows drew together. “I don’t think so. That nice deputy marshal’s been hovering around waiting for her arrival on this floor. He’s maybe half a minute ahead of you.”

  Jax’s heart stopped and then plunged into a gallop. Whirling, he took off up the hallway, Baker’s shout and footsteps following on his heels.

  With all deputies in the field, if one was here, he had to be an impostor. Personnel, patients and equipment blocked his way, but he dodged and wove with the single-minded determination of a football running back with the goal line in sight.

  Where was that room? There!

  He barreled through the door into hazy dimness. Someone had shut off the light. Jax flipped it on, and his blood went arctic. The man in a Marshals Service uniform who had brought him his car keys leaned over Daci’s bed, jamming a pillow into her face.

  Seven

  Through a mental fog, Daci fought for breath. Something dense but fluffy molded itself to her face, obstructing her nose and mouth. If only she could move—fight! But the commands from her mind didn’t seem to reach her limbs. Her arms remained at her sides. Something seemed to bind them in place.

  She heaved with her midsection. Pain screamed through every pore and out her mouth, releasing the last vestiges of much-needed oxygen.

  Someone shouted. A familiar voice—one that made her feel safer in spite of her fear.

  Footsteps pounded. The obstruction over her face eased, but did not disappear. A metallic crash assaulted her ears, and she flinched. Human grunts and the smacks of fists on flesh filled the air. A marginal amount of oxygen reached her lungs, and her mind cleared the smallest bit. She willed her arms to move, but they yanked uselessly against restraints.

  Where was she? What was going on?

  She turned her head to the side, away from the object covering her face, and more oxygen filled her lungs. Of course! She’d been shot and was in the hospital. But why were her arms tied to the guardrails of the bed, and who had put this pillow over her face? More to the point, who was fighting with the person who had tried to asphyxiate her?

  Jax!

  Yes, that was the voice she’d heard shouting.

  “Freeze!” A different voice hollered. “Hold it right there!”

  The hand-to-hand battle went silent, and a third voice started cursing as the familiar click of handcuffs met Daci’s ears. A moment later, the pillow was stripped from her face, and Daci blinked up at a most welcome sight—Jax’s face. The right side of his bottom lip was split and puffy, and a trickle of blood had cut a path from there to his chin, but he was beautiful.

  “Jax.” She breathed his name. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He undid the strips of cloth holding her wrists to the bed’s side rails. “Creep must have tied you up so you couldn’t fight even if you awakened. Are you all right?”

  “I—I think so.” She raised a hand to brush hair from her face. The movement hurt. “My side feels like a hot poker is stirring up coals in there.”

  The uninjured half of his mouth tilted upward. “A few hours ago, it was a hornet’s nest. Now it’s coals and a hot poker? What next—a branding iron?”

  A snicker escaped her lungs, drawing a fresh pang from her side. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”

  A man in PD uniform began giving the Miranda warning to the prisoner. Daci’s gaze moved to the sullen captive. He was a stocky Hispanic of medium height and bland features. Probably midthirties. Not anyone’s idea of a cold-blooded killer, but his actions proved that he was certainly that. And he was posing as a deputy marshal.

  Daci lifted her head, despite the twinge of pain, and gasped at the mess in her room where the bedside table and all of its contents had flown every which way.

  She glared at the imposter. “Who are you, and where did you get that uniform?”

  The bland face turned wicked in a sneer, but he said nothing.

  A hospital security guard burst into the room, pistol at the ready. “Nobody move!” In a shooter’s crouch, he stared from the two men in uniform to Daci with Jax at her bedside. “What’s going on in here?”

  Daci pointed toward her attacker. “That man tried to suffocate me.”

  The guard’s gaze narrowed on the PD officer and the man in the deputy marshal’s uniform standing next to each other. “Which one?” he asked.

  The words the one who shouldn’t be in that uniform almost left her lips, but her brain, still a bit muddled from the aftereffects of anesthesia, corrected itself in the nick of time. “The one in handcuffs.”

  “Oh.” The guard lowered his pistol.

  “Everything is under control now,” the officer said. “This man is under arrest for attempted murder and impersonating a United States Deputy Marshal.”

  “Get medical staff in here, please,” Jax added. “Daci’s had a horrible shock on top of surgery. I hope she hasn’t torn her wound open.”

  “I can do that.” The guard holstered his gun and left.

  “Baker,” Jax said, “search this guy’s pocket for keys and then find his car. It’s possible he stole the uniform from the real deputy who brought my vehicle from the shooting scene at the park.”

  The men exchanged grim gazes. Daci’s lungs constricted. Who knew what this killer had done to the other deputy in order to get his uniform? Had the vendetta against her cost a colleague his life?

  “Will do.” The officer Jax had referred to as Baker jerked a nod and shoved the suspect toward the door.

  “Wait!” Weariness like a heavy tide flowed through Daci, but she forced herself onto one elbow.

  Jax gripped her arm. “Relax. You’re safe.”

  She met his deep blue gaze. “There will be no relaxation or safety until we get to the bottom of who wants me dead and why.” Her jaw tensed as she turned her stare on her attacker. “Any answers for me?”

  The man chuckled. Not a pleasant sound. “A big price has been placed on your head, chica, and I’m not the only one eager to collect it.”

  “Why the bounty?” Jax barked.

  The would-be assassin shrugged thick shoulders. “Nobody knows. Nobody cares, as long as the pay is good.”

  With a deep groan, Daci settled back onto her bed, barely aware of Officer Baker and the attacker leaving the room. Her reading of the man’s body language said he wasn’t lying. The guy really didn’t know why she was being targeted and truly didn’t care. They were no closer to finding out who wanted to plant her six feet under or why her death was worth so much to that person.

  A nurse and a doctor hustled in. The nurse fussed at Jax to leave the room, but he wasn’t accepting any shooing away. Daci said it was okay for him to remain, and the tension eased. The doctor, a woman with a Middle Eastern complexion, checked her sutures—holding fine—took her vital signs, including air saturation, and pronounced her no worse for the wear. The nurse offered pain medication, which Daci gladly accepted, and then said she’d have housekeeping come in to clean up the mess. She uttered that last sentence as she left the room with a glare toward Jax, who stood stoically near the far wall with hi
s arms crossed.

  Daci managed a faint grin at the territorial byplay, then turned her attention toward the doctor. “What’s the damage, and what is my prognosis?”

  The woman bestowed a patient, though weary, smile. “As you know, you sustained a gunshot wound to the right flank. The bullet entered here.” She pointed to her lower right side nearer the back than the front. “And exited here.” She moved her finger toward the edge of her waistline. “You can be thankful that most of the damage was to muscle and tissue. Only the slightest invasion into the abdominal cavity occurred. Deeper penetration would have been catastrophic. We stopped the hemorrhaging from a nicked blood vessel and repaired the tissue damage, but you are going to be quite sore in your abdominal region for a number of weeks. The soft organs in your abdomen were bruised from being tossed around by the velocity of the bullet passing through, and they will need significant time to recover.”

  “How long can she be kept in the hospital?” Jax asked.

  “How soon can I get out?” Daci amended.

  The doctor looked from one to the other, dark brows arched. “I would not like to discharge you before we are certain all internal bleeding has been addressed and also that the swelling in the bruised organs is diminishing and they are functioning properly. Plus, we must closely monitor you for infection. Four or five days, I would think.”

  “Three days,” Daci said firmly.

  The doctor’s brown eyes twinkled. “You are determined, and mental attitude helps with healing, but too much activity too soon will set you back and lengthen your recovery time. Even when you are released to go home, you will need to take it quite easy for a month or so. But we can discuss those parameters later.” The woman patted Daci’s hand. She glanced at Jax then back to Daci, brow furrowed. “Is it safe to leave you now?”

  “She’ll be fine with me.” Jax stepped forward.

  Daci nodded. Of course, she would be safe with him physically, but emotionally not so much. Just looking at him standing there, wearing blood on his face that he’d spilled in her defense, turned her heart to mush. When had anyone except her grandmother ever looked after her instead of the other way around?

  She closed her eyes. As if she could resist any longer the pull of morphine in her system! It was tempting to fight to stay awake, but her body required rest. She had to get her strength back. She was going to need it. Weeks of taking it easy? Not going to happen. In fact, a plan was forming in her brain, but Jax wasn’t going to like it.

  Not. One. Little. Bit.

  * * *

  Eighteen hours and one restless night’s sleep later, Jax stared into the cooler full of live floral arrangements in the hospital gift shop and rubbed sweaty palms on his slacks. Did he dare give Daci flowers? Not red roses, of course. Majorly inappropriate. Daisies or carnations were nice. They were casual yet attractive, but they were still flowers—something a boyfriend would give, not a coworker, unless it were a group of coworkers.

  Rey had hit him up to chip in on the live plant the Marshals Service sent up this morning, and he was glad to be included, but that generic gift wasn’t enough. A part of him wanted—no, needed—to give her something that was just from him. But, no, flowers were not the thing.

  Jax turned away from the cooler and scanned the other items available in the gift shop. There were magazines or books, but he didn’t know what she liked to read. Did she enjoy games like sudoku or word find or crossword puzzles? He shook his head. Those were mundane gifts. Daci was special, and she deserved something special, something that said he appreciated her as an extraordinary human being without suggesting romance. But what might that something be?

  His gaze fell on a collection of journal-type notebooks with zippered leather covers. Nearby, stood a rack displaying packets of pens in assorted bright-colored inks. He stepped closer, and his heart gave a little jump. A scripture verse was embossed on the turquoise cover of one notebook. It was Philippians 4:13: “I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.” In church this morning, the pastor had referred to this verse in his sermon, pointing out that our weakest moments provided the greatest opportunity for God to show Himself strong.

  Perfect! Daci was the strongest woman he’d ever met—and that was saying something—but everyone needed to lean on the Lord, especially when life had knocked them down. The notebook would remind her that help through Christ was as close as her next breath. And it would hopefully tell her that the person who gave her the notebook was also available to help.

  Jax paid for his purchase of notebook and pens, had them wrap the gift and attached a small get-well-soon card, and then he headed for the elevator. All the way up to Daci’s floor, his heart pounded like he’d just run around the block. Would he read delight on her face when she opened his present or would he receive a polite thank-you for an offering that struck no chord? And why did it matter so much to him to please her?

  The closer he got to her door, the slower his feet moved and the less sure of his gift selection he became. He shoved the second-guessing away as he purposefully scanned the environment for any threat to Daci, but the comings and goings of staff and patients appeared routine and ordinary. At least the local PD had two officers stationed at Daci’s door, not just one.

  Jax quickened his pace. Daci might not know yet about Serena and Chase going missing or about other overnight developments. He had a lot to tell her. If he was in her place, he would want a full report, not mollycoddling.

  He stopped outside her door and showed his badge to the officers. Their gazes remained hard and questioning. Rather than being annoyed, he was grateful that they were being suspicious after yesterday’s deputy impersonation. Thankfully, the actual deputy who’d brought Jax’s Malibu to the hospital—and whose uniform had been stolen by the attacker—had not been killed, only clobbered cold, bound and gagged and stuffed into the trunk of the assailant’s car. He’d recover from his injury faster than he’d live down the humiliation.

  “Jaxton Williams. Daci Marlowe is my partner,” he told the officers.

  One of them jerked a nod. “We’ve been told to let you through.”

  The other chuckled. “You might as well join the party.”

  “Party?”

  “Marlowe has a family reunion going on, and that bunch read us the riot act about keeping her safe.”

  A burst of male and female laughter carried to Jax through the door, and his heart fell. Daci’s siblings must be in there. Sure, he was glad they’d responded promptly to the news of her injury, and he had to count their caring a good thing, but he wouldn’t be able to present his gift to Daci privately. His palms went damp again.

  Man up, Williams.

  He hauled in a deep breath, gave a brief rap on the door and then pressed through into the room. Five pairs of brown eyes all but nailed him to the wall, and he halted just over the threshold. Daci broke into a grin. The head of her bed had been raised so she was in a semisitting position. Her bright hair was pulled back loosely and formed a lush halo around her face, where she had regained a bit of healthy color.

  “Sibs—” Daci waved toward him “—this is Jaxton Williams, my temp partner in the Marshals Service.”

  A sturdily built young man of medium height with a thick head of light brown hair stepped forward and thrust out a square hand. “I’m Nate, nerdy dentist and rabble-rouser extraordinaire. Thanks for looking after our mamasis.” His eyes twinkled behind the lenses of his glasses.

  Jax took the hand and received a firm shake. “My pleasure. She’s an excellent deputy and very courageous.”

  “Tell us about it,” said one of the young women with a pixie build and a waterfall of flaxen hair. She was seated at Daci’s bedside, leaning one elbow on the mattress. “I’m Amalie. Ditto on the thanks.”

  “And I’m Noah,” said a jeans-clad fellow seated in the corner with an ankle propped on the opposite knee. The
guy was Nate’s mirror image minus the glasses but adding a five-o’clock shadow around his jaw. “News journalist and rabble-rouser double-extraordinaire.”

  “Says you!” his twin hooted.

  “Get a life, you two,” said another woman, rushing toward Jax. “How-de-do and shake my hand is not going to work for the guy who saved our mamasis’s life.” The young woman threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek with a noisy smack. She stepped back and gazed up at him with a sober assessment that belied her light demeanor. “I’m Ava, and in case you haven’t guessed, I’m the true enthusiast in this bunch.”

  “Pleased to meet Daci’s family.” Jax said each person’s name around the room with an accompanying nod.

  “Well done!” Ava clapped. “But you might have a bit of a challenge if you meet Nate and Noah dressed identically—Nate with his contacts in and Noah clean shaven. Even Amalie and I occasionally get it wrong, but never Dace. She knows them cold every time.”

  Jax laughed. “I can believe that. Not much gets past her.”

  “And what might you have behind your back?” Amalie wagged a slender finger at him. “Do I suspect correctly that you have a present for our mamasis?”

  Jax gave a start. He hadn’t realized he’d tried to hide the gift. Slowly, he brought the package to the front.

  Ava let out a tiny squeal, and if such noises could be tasteful and understated, this one was. “Let’s see what you’ve gotten her. I love presents—even if they’re not for me.”

  “Yes, let’s see,” Nate echoed with considerably less enthusiasm.

  He and Noah were gazing at him like skeptical employers at a new applicant. Jax bottled a smile. He totally got the protective instinct. Too bad he couldn’t reassure them he wasn’t interested in their sister in that way. Any protesting would leave the opposite impression. Besides, he might be lying.

  “Down, boys!” Daci said with a chuckle.

  The slight gasp at the end of the sound told Jax that she was still in a good deal of pain. To be expected, and yet the knowledge sent a pang through him.