by V. R. Marks
Snatching the weapon, he rolled toward the nearest tree for cover. Who the hell had joined this fight and whose side were they on?
"Rick! Are you hurt?"
He dared a look, unable to trust his ears. "Bart?"
"Who else could haul your ass out of trouble? Eva called, said you needed back up." He looked around. "Where's your girl?"
Rick lurched up toward his friend, his legs shaking from the adrenaline rush. Bart's one armed hug brought tears to his eyes when the man's hand landed hard on the fresh wound. "She left the car, but I haven't found her. She won't answer when I call her name."
"Where's your phone?"
Rick pointed to the car, dejected.
"No it's not," Bart said. "Eva claims she heard something else after the gun shots and explosion."
Rick studied the area around the car. "Call the phone. Hurry." He didn't care if Bart thought he was desperate or pathetic, he just wanted to find Nicole.
Bart dialed and both men strained to hear the ring tone over the sounds of the fire while one of Bart's employees used a fire extinguisher on the car.
"Damn voice mail," Bart grumbled. "I'll keep dialing. Give a shout when you find her. I'll go get the litter off the road."
"I have questions for them."
Bart shrugged. "So I'll use duct tape."
On the wounds as well as their mouths, Rick guessed, feeling no sympathy for the bikers. He moved as quietly as possible, deeper into the trees, listening for one of the stupid ring tones Eva had programmed when he wasn't looking. The woman made a hobby out of annoying him at every turn. At this particular moment, when he finally heard the crazy banshee scream, he was grateful, though he'd never admit it to Eva.
The phone was lighting up and vibrating under a thin cover of leaves. He scanned the area, and his heart stalled when he saw Nicole slumped against a tree, the backpack and book bag behind her.
He rushed forward and slid to his knees, checking for a pulse. It was slow, but steady under his fingers and he murmured a prayer of gratitude. His gaze raked her head to toe, enormously relieved at no obvious signs of blood or trauma. The way she was sprawled, he had to assume the explosion knocked her back. A bad headache was the best he could hope for.
"Rick!"
He answered Bart's call, waiting impatiently as his friend skidded down the slope to join them.
"How bad is it?"
"Head to tree is pretty much a guaranteed concussion."
"At best."
Rick gingerly explored her scalp with his fingers. "She's got a goose egg started and may need stitches." He wiped his bloody fingertips on his jeans and glanced up at Bart. "You didn't bring a back board by any chance?"
"You're lucky I had a fire extinguisher in the truck."
"Options?"
"You both need attention."
Bart had to know Rick wasn't about to visit a hospital. Not with so many people interested in Nicole's status.
"The stupid triplets up there are stable. Mostly. Do you trust me to take care of them?"
"If you're willing to stand in that spotlight." It was putting Bart in a tenuous position having him lie about how he found the bikers and car.
"We've done worse."
True enough. "On more than on occasion."
"I've got a tow truck on the way." Bart held out his 9mm Beretta. "Trade."
"What's your plan?"
"Eva's probably got me in Ross' god-forsaken RC Investigations system already. I'll step into your role here and stay with the triplets until the law arrives. You take my truck wherever you need to go."
"Her enemies won't give up so easy."
Bart snorted. "I figured that one out already."
Nicole groaned and her eyelids fluttered, but didn't open.
"You've gotta disappear. You'll have to move her and hope for the best."
Rick agreed. "There has to be something around here to brace her neck. Just in case."
Bart pulled a shoe off Nicole's foot and handed it to Rick. "Hey, it's better than nothing."
Rick pulled a t-shirt out of his backpack and ripped it into strips to secure the impromptu neck brace. Far from ideal, it was the best they could do for now.
"There's a country doc down near Richmond who treats a bunch of the truckers without insurance. He's the quiet type." Bart put the information into Rick's phone.
"Is there a code phrase?"
Bart chuckled. "Trust me, he'll know you're from my inner circle."
When they got Nicole back up to the road and settled into the truck, Rick was amazed by the lack of traffic. He was sure they'd be fending off at least a couple curiosity seekers by now.
"Guess they picked the right road to jump me," he grumbled.
"Not a bad choice, all in all. Too bad they didn't know who they were up against."
Rick gave a mock salute. "Thanks for saving my ass. Again."
"Don't think I want to make it a habit." He tossed over the truck keys and pulled a small duffel bag out of the truck bed.
"If you get anything useful out of these three or whoever comes to claim them, let Eva know."
"Will do," Bart said with a nod. "Take care with her." He thumped the tailgate twice as Rick pulled away.
Chapter 9
Clifton felt the disposable cell phone vibrate in his suit pocket. Only one person had this number. He stifled an anticipatory smile and instead of checking it immediately as he wanted to, he finished his walk-through of the fire at the gang house and gave notes to the agent at his side for the report.
Good work, if he said so himself.
"Why would she come after this house?"
"Must have a grudge."
"None of her friends or coworkers gave us any indication the woman had gang affiliations."
"I'm telling you to dig until you find it." If they didn't dig up the evidence, his efforts to plant it were wasted, he thought.
"Right."
"Have they recovered a computer yet?"
"As you saw, sir, none of the electronics were salvageable in the apartment." He checked his notes. "Her work computer was seized by another agency and the phone found at the airport trash bin was no use."
Another agency? Clifton briefly wondered if the woman might have been handled for him if he'd let matters ride. Seemed her talent for making enemies hadn't diminished. Letting someone else take care of her might have been cleaner, but to make the move he'd been after, to put the finishing touch on his personal master plan, he needed to know she was out of the way – permanently.
No more tiptoeing around and calling in favors. No more tasking interns to search for her under the guise of testing new facial recognition programs. No more lingering stress of when a federal prosecutor might grow a pair and finally come after him.
Done with the report, he crossed the street to his government-issued black SUV and climbed into the driver's seat. He pulled out the phone and checked messages.
The first, that she'd been located on one of the back roads, had him praising the efficiency of working with money-motivated people. The second promised immediate, lethal action. He checked the time, smiling at the thought that she was probably dead by now.
His arrangement with the leader of the West Coast Dragons had been the smartest deal he'd ever made. Executing Chan, a relatively innocent bystander, hadn't been as traumatic as he'd anticipated, aside from the particularly annoying witness. Overall the agreement had been mutually beneficial – once the hierarchy had been established and understood by all parties. And in tight spots, he'd learned the biggest perk was having assets in the field to handle sticky situations like this.
Now the Dragons wanted to control a drug pipeline on the eastern seaboard. He'd been assisting by rounding up the competition based on leads from confidential informants – otherwise known as the Dragons themselves. Now they were going to eliminate his witness. Sometimes life was too perfect.
The burner cell rang again. "Go," he answered, eager for verification t
hat he could move on to the next stage of his life.
"Trouble," said a wet, breathy voice.
The man was obviously wounded, but they were all replaceable. "Is she dead?"
"Unknown." A roar of gunfire blotted out whatever the kid was trying to say. "…fighting back."
"Location." Clifton slammed the car into gear and started making his way to the Interstate. "Location!" he repeated, but the caller had either passed out or died.
"Better be dead," Clifton muttered, tucking the phone back into his pocket. "Better damn well be dead."
He hoped they managed to kill the woman in the process of dying in whatever conflict they'd created.
The one thing he hadn't counted on, the thing that could ruin his plans faster than the witness to the Chan execution, was a gang banger willing to trade information for less jail time. The vow of silence and gang-family code of honor crap was all well and good until it was a man's own neck in the noose. Clifton had turned enough 'loyal' criminals to know it happened regularly.
He tuned the scanner to the local police frequency and listened for an alert or emergency where he expected the biker team had launched the attack. If he got there first, he had to believe in an outside chance of containment.
His mind clicked through his options and he breathed easier as each mile he traveled without hearing an official dispatch kept those options open. He changed lanes, slowing down for the exit when the scanner blared to life and broke his tenuous control.
Clifton swore as the voice declared three motorcyclists in custody, multiple firearms, one burned out car, and one witness – male.
He slammed his fist into the steering wheel and proceeded to the next exit. His only choice now was to circle around and check out the scene once the police had cleared out. With any luck, he would find something to prevent this fiasco from landing on him.
* * *
It was a dreadful test of Rick's willpower to watch the road and keep to the speed limit when he wanted to get Nicole to the doctor immediately.
They'd tucked her into the cab on her side, buckling her into place. When she twitched or moaned, he counted it a good sign. Smoothing her hair back from her face, he rambled nonsense just to fill the silence.
For once, he was eager for Eva's voice to cut into his thoughts, but she didn't call. When a fire truck roared by, followed soon after by an ambulance, he hoped Bart's story held up long enough for them to get out of the area.
"That team of bikers was arrogant," he said, wishing for feedback and insight Nicole was in no position to share. "And trained enough to adapt." That was the piece that worried him. The triplets, to use Bart's term, weren't quite as stupid as they'd seemed. Sure, they didn't know he'd make a stand, but they dealt with it. "Why didn't they call for backup?"
Not that he'd wanted more of a challenge as he'd run out of ammunition, but still. Whoever sent the triplets must have had access to the traffic cameras that caught him leaving the interstate. It kept coming back to one conclusion: the agent determined to silence Nicole was well-connected or settled in a powerful position.
More likely both.
The navigation cued him as they neared Richmond and Nicole stirred. "Rick?"
Her voice, thready and weak, made him want to strangle Clifton and his biker crew. "Right here." He patted her shoulder.
"I can't move my head."
"That's just a precaution. We're almost to the doctor."
"No. No hospital." She put up a struggle against the seat belts, her agitation increasing.
"Shh. Take it easy." He rubbed her shoulder more firmly until she gave up the fight. "No hospital. Trust me."
She relaxed and a moment later he assumed she'd dozed off.
He couldn't quite identify why she got under his skin or why he was so determined to keep her safe.
Part of it was his individual code of conduct. He believed in doing what he could do to help people. Another part of it was the job. His boss sent him up here in part to verify Nicole's safety. But Rick was no fool. He knew without a doubt, part of his dedication to this woman was deeply personal.
He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, the memory of kissing her sending a bolt of desire through his edgy system. He felt like a jerk, the woman was passed out and injured. But the what-ifs kept dancing through his mind. They were quick flashes of what life could be – if he was a different man. If she managed to survive the current onslaught of her long-standing predicament.
"Rick?"
He jerked his hand away from her, as if she might know his thoughts just from his touch. "Right here."
"I –" she hiccupped, her voice choked with tears. "I can't see."
"That's temporary," he assured her, hoping he was right. "We'll get it straightened out."
The speed limit dropped to twenty-five as they entered the town limits. Going so slow was excruciating when Nicole was in distress, but they didn't need the negative attention of local law enforcement if he ripped through town the way he wanted to.
"Almost there."
"You always say that," she said with a sniffle.
"Well, it's usually true." Every step forward was a step closer to the goal. The concept had been ingrained during months of training and emphasized on every mission. When the going got tough, sometimes the only comfort was to keep on going.
"And we're here," he said, pulling to a stop in front of a house that had to be a century old. "Bart recommended this guy."
"Bart? When?"
He considered her questions a good sign. "I'll tell you later. For now, know that you're safe. Not even a camera on the one street light in this town."
If they were lucky, the doc didn't watch the news. "I'll be right back." He shut the truck door to protect her privacy and cut off any protest.
Walking to the door, he wondered if he looked worse than he felt. Probably not possible. He knew Nicole's blood streaked his jeans and stained his hands. His own blood was a hot and sticky mess glued to the wound on his back. Even without the rear view mirror he could guess at the dirt and worry smeared across his face.
He reached for the bell, but the door swung open. Rick faced off with an older gentleman, tall and lean, with wire rimmed glasses sliding down his nose and a crown of thick white hair.
"The message said there were two of you."
Sharp eyes raked over Rick from head to toe and back again. He appreciated the direct approach. "There are. She's in the truck, possible neck or back injury."
"Pull around back. I'll meet you with a stretcher."
Rick jogged back to the truck and drove around the house as instructed. The doctor grumbled about amateurs as they transferred Nicole, but when they were inside his bedside manner improved slightly. He did a quick evaluation of her vitals and questioned her before wheeling her deeper into the house.
"She says she can't see," Rick said from the doorway of what turned out to be an x-ray room.
"Are you married?"
"No," Rick and Nicole answered in unison.
"Then be quiet," he ordered with a hard glare for Rick.
"He's right though," Nicole said.
"First things first, young lady." He barked orders at Rick as he prepared for x-ray. "Go clean up your truck. This will take some time. Supplies are in the closet by the back door."
"Great idea," Rick muttered when he was alone in the hallway. He hated letting Nicole out of his sight, but he had to trust Bart's recommendation as the only viable solution for medical care. Hospitals were full of security cameras and personnel and he wouldn't risk anyone recognizing her from the news reports.
He found the supplies and ignored the twinge of his wounded back as he cleaned the blood out of the seats.
Just as he was sending a text to update Eva, the doc called from the back door, "Get in here and be useful."
"Yes, sir!" He hurried over, only to be stopped with a strong hand on his chest.
"Her neck isn't broken. Her vision is gone. Temporarily, I believ
e, but she's quite upset. She's asked for you." Clearly the doc didn't care much for the idea. "Be positive in there or you're out."
"Yes, sir," Rick repeated, smothering his temper at the doc and burying his concern for Nicole under battle-field confidence. It was standard to keep reactions to a minimum in a crisis. He knew the loss of her vision– even temporarily – must be scaring the hell out of a woman who cataloged her whole life in images.
* * *
Alone in the exam room, Nicole knew crying wouldn't help a thing, but the tears kept rolling down her cheeks. Stupid, she thought, swiping at them with her fingers.
The doc told her it was likely a temporary condition, an opinion he'd emphasized when he explained the laceration and blunt force injury to the back of her head. He'd sounded calm and competent as he told her she just needed a bit of time.
Did they have time? She couldn't remember anything but her desperation to get out of the car.
Now she was face down on an exam table, waiting for the topical to kick in so Doc could stitch up the gash in her scalp. The world was different without her sight. Her ears picked up details of birds outside as well as the deeper exchange of male voices nearby. Doc was probably filling in Rick. What would he think, now that she was more of a hindrance than ever? She should tell him to leave and he should actually go this time. The thought brought more tears. All she'd wanted was to get away, to make her escape alone, but now… alone wasn't what she wanted at all.
To get her mind off that gloomy track, she took a physical inventory. The aches radiating up and down her body were mild compared to the pounding in her head. Doc said she had a concussion, and had promised her something for the pain after he stitched her up.
She heard footsteps in the hallway, surprising herself that she could discern Doc's stride from Rick's. Maybe she was just making it up, maybe he'd left already, maybe –
"Your friend is here, Ms. Livingston."
"Thank you." She couldn't suppress the gush of relief.
"You're taking the guy thing a bit seriously with the hair. I will have to call you Nick now."