by Cait Jarrod
“His low-profile idea went away when the café became a battleground.”
“Agreed.” Jake tilted his head to the side. “How much do you know about Steve Anderson?”
“Are you wondering if he’s dirty?”
Jake shrugged. “He could be.”
“Not a chance. When Steve receives word about what has happened, he will be worse than a tornado touching down. From what the Director has told me, Pamela and Steve have been tight since high school.”
“Is he being informed?”
“Not yet, the Director wants him to stay removed from the case. Furthermore, Steve’s overseas on assignment.”
“Why keep him away? He could provide extra protection.” A stupid question, he knew, but he had to ask it anyway.
“You know as well as anyone, you’re at your worst when emotions are involved.” Larry leaned his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands together. “Although it seems that the Director picked the wrong man to watch over Ms. Young. You seem to be getting too close yourself.”
Jake groaned.
Larry’s phone rang. A second later, a dark-haired man a touch shorter than Jake’s own six-three height entered.
“Jake, this is Agent Matt Dennis. Agent, this is Special Agent Jake Gibson, Retired.”
Jake stood. “IA?”
“At your service.” Agent Dennis stretched out his hand.
Jake took in the man’s face and enormous nose. He lifted his chin. “What happened?”
“I found myself caught in the middle of two pissed-off Russians, so I thought I would use my face as a shield.”
“Did you get a few good licks in of your own?”
“With the help of my partner, Beretta.”
Jake chuckled.
“You’ll have to deal with my ugly mug until the swelling goes down.” Agent Dennis gently touched the schnozzle in question.
Larry picked up a folder from his desk. “Agent Dennis will be your leg man. Anything you need, he’s your go-to guy.” Larry passed one of the folders to Agent Dennis and one to Jake. “Here’s the info you’ll need concerning the case.”
“What’s your cover?” Jake asked.
“I’m just a friend from work who retired early on disability.”
“Makes sense.” Jake reached for the doorknob. “Larry, this afternoon when the motorcycle drove by, I think he recognized me.”
Larry braced his hand on his hip. “You’re just now telling me?”
Chapter Seven
“No!” Pamela screamed. Her breathing quickened. She looked around frantically, trying to make sense of the destruction. Her beloved café demolished. Glass scattered, tables and chairs toppled, and people screamed.
Her eyes landed on a body in the middle of the mess. Her body tensed, and pain pierced her heart. “Marge!” she yelled until her throat felt raw.
Something pinched her arm. “Get away from me,” she ordered, trying to see what had touched her. She couldn’t see anyone, only the battleground of The Memory Café. Warmth flowed through her veins, and her body relaxed. She slumped into a nearby chair. “I need to help Marge.” Her eyes were heavy. I’ll lay my head back, and wait for Dad, she concluded. Her breathing evened out, and she fell to sleep.
“How’s the patient this morning?” the doctor asked, lifting a hospital chart out off its holder.
Paul glanced at Pamela lying still in bed. “Not good. She’s quiet now. Earlier, she had yelled and tossed around so much that I thought she would hurt herself. The nurse gave her some medicine to help her relax. That’s the second time she needed drugs to relax her.”
“And look at her sweating. Is that normal?” Celine broke in.
“She experienced trauma and has a rather nasty bump on her head. It’ll take a little while for the nightmares to go away, but she’ll be okay,” the doctor said, reading the chart.
“Were the results of the CT scan conclusive?” Paul asked.
“Everything checked out fine.” The doctor stopped next to the bed, and Paul moved aside. “Sweating is the physical release caused by the nightmares. She looks good, just needs some rest. I want to keep her on fluids for a little longer, but she’ll probably be able go home later today.” The doctor made notes in the chart and returned it to the wall. “Let the nurse know when she wakes. We’ll need to check her pain level,” he said over his shoulder before leaving the room.
A second later, “How’s Pamela?” Jake asked, moving close to the bed. “I see she’s still asleep. I figured she’d be up and running the place by now.”
****
Pamela’s eyes popped opened and darted from one side of the room to the other. She tried to focus on her surroundings, but her vision was cloudy, and her head ached.
Off to the right, some sort of contraption blocked a sink, a red receptacle near it. She wasn’t in this room last night. Something tickled her face. She tried to scratch it, but her right arm wouldn’t move freely. An IV tube poked out of her arm. On her chest, wires sprouted from unfamiliar clothing. A mangled sound escaped her. She had forgotten they hooked her up to all these machines.
“Pamela?”
A voice from far away called her name.
She shifted her eyes off a thin blanket covering her body to metal bars. All the air escaped her lungs. I’m in a hospital.
“Pamela.” A hand wrapped around hers and squeezed.
She squinted at two of the BOFs. Paul sat in the chair next to the bed while Celine stood behind him. Their concerned expressions unnerved her. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, and asked, “Where are Dad and Marge?”
Paul coughed while Celine shuffled to her other side, neither seeming to want to answer the question. She nudged the contraption, which Pamela now recognized as the IV pole, out of her way and sat down in the empty chair. Celine picked up Pamela’s hand in her cold ones, and Pamela knew something bad had happened. She swung her eyes to Paul. “Tell me.”
“Do you remember what happened at the café?”
No, she didn’t remember. Or had she? Was the destruction in The Memory Café a nightmare or reality? She wanted to run, run away from everything and everyone that had to do with the mess she found herself in. “Just tell me, Paul.”
“Shots were fired inside the café.” He paused.
A knot formed in her throat. She swallowed and forced out, “Go on.”
“A piece of glass from the window hit Marge.”
The knot slammed into her stomach, and her heart raced, feeling as if it would explode any second. If she hadn’t been lying down, she would have fallen.
Celine squeezed her hand.
Pamela's eyes widened. “Is she okay?”
Paul twisted his mouth. “She’s stable in Intensive Care. She’s survived the night, which is the most critical time. The odds are in her favor.”
Pamela tried to process what she heard, comparing it to her nightmare. Marge hurt, café destroyed. “Wait, you said overnight?”
“Yes.”
She’d been here all night. It felt like she’d just arrived. Several hours had passed, and she hadn’t been there for Marge … or her dad. “I’ve got to get up.” She released both of their hands and pushed the covers back.
The IV tugged on her arm, and at the same time Celine said, “You can’t.”
Pain pierced her head, black dots appeared, and she lowered onto the bed. “Where’s my dad?”
“With Marge,” Paul supplied.
“My dad needs me.”
Jake appeared. “Hal Kennedy is with him.”
Pamela’s gaze slid over Jake. Had he stayed the whole time? She remembered him being at the café. “Did you come to the hospital with me?”
“I did.”
A quiver of excitement touched her that he cared, and then as quickly it disappeared. She was his obligation. Of course, he had to stay.
“I called your dad. He’ll be here shortly.”
Shifting a little, she looked at the man who called her da
d so easily. “You have my dad on speed dial?”
Paul slid out of the chair and moved out of the way, allowing Jake to edge closer.
“Yeah, he’s my new BFF.” Jake tickled the bottom of her foot.
She fought off the smile that risked lightening her depressed mood. “Why am I in the hospital?”
“You blacked out,” Celine said.
Her nurse came in and checked her IV. “Ms. Young, I’m glad to see you awake. How do you feel?”
“I have a bad headache, and I’m sleepy.”
“I’m sure you do. There’s a sizeable bump on the back of your head.”
Pamela touched the spot. “Ouch!”
“I’m sure it’s painful. At least you’re able to lay your head back without hitting it directly. Last night, we gave you some medicine to help you sleep, along with pain medicine, due to the trauma and all.” The nurse stuck a needle into the catheter in her arm. “I’m giving you another dose of pain medicine now, but later you’ll take it orally. I believe the doctor intends for you to go home today.”
She was elated by the news, yet at the same time it scared her. What if those men returned?
The nurse dropped the needle into the red bin that Pamela eyed earlier. “Do you have any questions?”
She started to move her head back and forth, but thought better of it. “No.”
“Okay then, if you need me, just push this button.” She patted her leg, then left.
Pamela eye’s locked on her friend’s fretful ones.
“Celine, Paul, could you give us a few minutes?” The gravity in Jake’s tone seized their attention.
Paul nodded and kissed Pamela’s cheek. Celine repeated the gesture and together they left the room.
Jake sat in the chair Paul vacated earlier. With his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward. “Pamela, do you remember when we saw the motorcycle?”
Afraid of his next words, her lower lip started trembling, and tears stung her eyes. She nodded.
“He came back.”
The nasty black spots jumped, her skin grew clammy, and her breathing became shallow. Whoever wrote the notes made good on their threats.
“Actually, several Black Scorpions drove by your restaurant.”
Paul already said that someone shot into her café, but she wanted details. “In my nightmare, my café had exploded.”
His lips flattened, and his shoulders drooped. He picked up her hand and rubbed his thumb over her skin. “It didn’t explode.”
Pamela forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying, instead of his soothing touch, but it was hard.
“The Café is intact.” He cleared his throat. “However, there are several holes in the plaster, and the front windows need to be replaced.”
“Holes?” she repeated, her brain not able to wrap around the concept of her café being shot up.
“Yes.”
Her eyes fluttered closed for a split second. The terrible sound from that night echoed in her brain. She had visited the firing range with Steve enough to know the sound came from guns being fired.
“Was anyone critically hurt?”
The stroking on her hand never eased up. “Only one person in the café, Marge.”
Pamela stared at her hand in his. She had caused this. Closing her eyes, she sucked in her lips, trying to ward off the guilt that plagued her. Paul had already told her about Marge, but hearing the news a second time didn’t lessen its impact.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jake said softly, reading her thoughts. “You can’t go down this path. Marge wouldn’t want it.”
Pamela gazed at the man who seemed to know her so well. His oval face didn’t have any visible lines, except for the one scar on his forehead, yet he looked worn. She remembered the night of the storm in the café, how she thought the expression on his face resembled Marge’s sons. He had seen war too, just not in the military.
She moistened her dry lips.
Jake rose from his chair and handed her a cup of ice water with a straw. Her mind muddled, she looked down at the blanket and fingered its edge. One question seesawed in her head, similar to the way the ball does in a Ping-Pong game. Were his lips the ones that touched hers? Her head started to throb, and the ball pushed images of The Memory Café to the forefront. People running frantically, men dressed in suits rushing inside the café shouting orders, loud noises booming. At least she knew now, that the noises were gunshots and not a bomb. Somehow, that knowledge didn’t comfort her.
Just before the loud noise, she remembered a body shielding hers. A space of time lapsed where all recollection vanished until something warm covered her lips, then nothing. Her eyes closed, remembering lips pressed against hers.
“Pamela?”
She heard him say her name, but she didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to hear any more bad news. She wanted to retain the warmth she felt before everything went black.
“Should I get the doctor?”
“No.” Her eyes slowly rose to his arms resting on his jean covered knees. He stared at his twisted fingers. He had fine hands, she thought, strong and capable. Her eyes traveled higher. His shirttail hung out, hiding whatever hung on his belt. The shirt pulled taught over his well-developed chest muscles. With the top button undone, a thick neck flashed at her. Continuing the journey, her eyes stopped on his face.
Jake appeared to be a genuine, decent person. Undeniably, he was not anything like the man who’d attacked her. Sam would never have come to her rescue.
Her mother unjustifiably told her to stay away from Jake a decade ago. Would Vivian say the same now, considering Jake had rescued her not once, but twice?
Refocusing, she scanned his blue eyes, relatively small nose, and square jaw with a five o'clock shadow. He shuffled his feet, and her eyes locked with his. Like a freeze-frame, her body pulsed with each beat of her heart. His eyes didn’t merely meet hers; they reached into her chest, tugging at her very essence.
The unfamiliar feeling left a tingle in her belly, yet she stayed relaxed and calm. Minutes before, she wanted to run away from everything, including herself. An evil man chased her, a mother figure fought for her life, and she lay in a hospital bed. All this was happening for reasons that escaped her, and a man she barely knew watched over her. Nothing made sense.
“I’ll get the nurse.”
Jake’s deep voice followed by the scraping of his chair against the hard floor penetrated her musings. “No, I’m okay. Just thinking.”
Jake settled in his seat. “Ask me.”
His statement startled her.
“I’m sure you have questions. Ask them.”
She shrugged. “I’m having a hard time remembering details.”
“A situation developed. I pulled you inside the café and shielded you.”
The scene unfolded in her mind’s eye. Unfortunately, the image of Marge lying on the café floor materialized. “I remember most of what happened.” She shook her head and fumbled with the blanket. “I don’t want to, though.” Her eyes flicked closed. “What caused me to black out?”
“Shock. The EMTs thought it would be better to bring you to the ER for fluids. Their prediction that you’d be home within a couple of hours was a tad off. The doctor ordered a CAT scan to check the bump on your head. The results were negative. It’s not uncommon for people experiencing trauma to black out, but when you stopped breathing—”
“I stopped breathing?”
“For a moment,” he cleared his throat, “the EMTs were on the scene quickly.” He studied her a moment. “Do your lips hurt?”
A flush crept across her cheeks. Had she really stopped breathing? His voice did hold a hint of mischievousness. She held her bottom lip between two fingers, remembering the warmth before she blacked out. Her wayward fingers fell onto the bed. “No.”
With a gleam in his eyes, he winked, then his face returned to the earnest expression she had seen earlier. “Once you get out of here, we’ll talk more. With FBI agents po
sted along the hall and outside your door, you’ll be safe.”
They were supposed to keep her safe last night. They didn’t. She rolled to her side. Pain stung her butt. Last night, she had fallen on a rock. “Where are my clothes?”
Jake opened a closet door, yanked a bag from its constraints, and placed it on top of the blanket next to her.
Pamela slipped her hands into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a white piece of paper.
Jake groaned. “You should have given it to me when you found it.”
Blood rushed to her head, and her palms sweated. “I found it during the commotion just before I blacked out. How could I give it to you?” Her voice elevated an octave. “And what the hell do you call keeping me safe?” She rolled onto her back.
Jake extended his hand. “You need to stay calm. I figured you had been carrying it around for a while.”
She snorted and lifted her shoulders off the bed. With narrow eyes, she fumed, “Don’t tell me what to do. FBI agents were supposed to protect me.” The tears that threatened, escaped. “They were supposed to protect my café and the people inside it. Where were they?”
Hands on his hips, Jake lowered his head, but his eyes were glued to hers. “They blindsided us. The Black Scorpions arrived on the street by motorcycle and on foot. The ones on foot picked out the agents posted on the South and North sides of the street. They took them out. They even managed to restrain the agents at the back entrance. The gang members on motorcycles had free access to the street after that point. No one knew that a quarter of the gang would show up. We thought we were only dealing with a couple. How so many snuck into the area undetected is a mystery.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she swiped at the wetness on her cheeks. “What do you mean took out?”
“Three agents are in the hospital. One agent didn’t make it. The others were checked and released.”
Her stomach rolled. “Agents were killed?” she squeaked. The strength in her muscles deserted her, and she fell backwards. Pain shot through her head and butt. She could do nothing else, but stare at the ceiling. Her eyes wandered. There were no overhead lights. She scanned the contents of the room, not much resembled a hospital room. “Where am I? This isn’t an actual patient room.”