Hearts Under Siege

by Natalie J. Damschroder

  “Thanks.” Molly walked in that direction, snaking between people and behind the nurses’ station. No one was paying attention to her, so she passed the hall with the rest rooms and went through the archway into the open ICU section.

  Family members stood around the edges of the central area, some watching from inside their loved ones’ rooms, some right outside the door. All faced one room across the way—the one with the cop standing outside.

  No longer caring about stealth, Molly hurried over to him. “What’s going on?” When he turned to her, hands raised as if to grab her shoulders and bodily move her away, she said, “I’m on his HIPAA.” She showed him her ID instead of saying her name, because she didn’t know who might be nearby.

  “I’m sorry, Ms.—” He stopped when she said pssht and made a cutting motion with her hand. “I can’t tell you anything.”

  Molly looked past him into the room. Chris’s surgeon and a few nurses worked over his still body on the hospital bed. The alarm had been turned off, and the machines measuring his vitals still beeped. There was no crash cart evident. The doctor barked orders and made statements that sounded like he was intubating Chris, based on Molly’s occasional watching of medical dramas, but all the bodies around the bed blocked her view.

  “Can’t because you don’t know, or can’t because you think you’re not allowed?”

  He didn’t blink. She took that to mean the latter.

  “Have you called Detective Wiszowski yet?”

  Now he blinked, but he schooled his surprise quickly and didn’t give her an answer.

  Frustrated, Molly eyed the nurses and staff around the hospital bed, trying to decide who was doing the least and could be approached. But more important than the what was the how.

  “What happened?” she asked the officer again. “I don’t mean what’s wrong with him. Did someone go in there?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Just medical personnel.”

  “Or people dressed like medical personnel?” she guessed. Again, the blank stare. “Crap.” She needed to find out what was wrong. Forget being tentative. She strode over to the nearest nurse and touched her arm. The woman immediately turned to usher Molly out. She didn’t try to hold her ground, knowing the woman had a lot more experience at ushering than Molly did at holding. But she made sure the woman came with her.

  “What’s happening?” she asked yet again. “I’m family. You have his permission to tell me his status.” She said it loud enough to catch the doctor’s attention. He glanced up, nodded, and said, “Tell her.”

  The nurse pursed her lips but let go of Molly’s shoulders. “His airway is swelling, and it cut off the tube supplying him with oxygen. We’re replacing it with a stronger tube to keep air going into his lungs.”

  That sounded very odd to Molly. “How often does this happen post-op?”

  “Not very often.” The nurse’s eyes darted to the side.

  “Like never.” Molly’s own throat tightened. “Someone did this to him.”

  Now the nurse looked to the cop, who was probably preparing himself to lose his job. “Yes,” she said in a low voice. “We think they injected something that—”

  “Shellfish.”

  “What?”

  “He’s allergic to shellfish,” Molly told her. “That’s probably what they injected.” It would have been in his file at SIEGE, but who knew how long it would have taken them to dig it up here? “Is he going to be okay?”

  “He will now.” She bustled back over and talked to the doctor, who met Molly’s gaze before firing orders at the crew.

  Molly left the room, urgency tightening her body as she headed for fight-or-flight mode. She stopped briefly to tell the officer, “Call it in, and make sure they send someone else out here. There had damned well better be a uniform inside the room at all times, as well as one out here.” She waited for him to nod, then headed down the hall. Once she was past the nurses’ station she broke into a run, skidding into Brady’s door. When she pushed through, he was standing next to the bed. The IV still held him in place, but the nasal cannula was lying on the sheet. He was trying to figure out how to unlock the IV pole’s wheels when she entered.

  “What happened?” he demanded. “It was Chris, wasn’t it? You were gone too long.”

  “Yes. Let’s go.” She opened the cubby next to the sink, relieved to find his clothes there. “Someone injected him with shellfish, or whatever’s in it that he’s allergic to. Closed his throat. He’s going to be okay,” she assured him, tossing his jeans and shirt on the bed and grabbing a wad of gauze from a tray by the sink. “I told them to put more uniforms on him.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “They blew their best chance. They won’t risk going after Chris again, and the police are on higher alert. They know he doesn’t have the information, which makes you a bigger target, and maybe Dix, if the guy who shot you recognized him. So keeping you safe while we get Shae is our priority.” She grabbed his hand and pressed the gauze over the IV insertion point.

  “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t bother explaining, just pulled the needle out.

  “Ow!”

  “Be quiet. Hold this.”

  He scowled but put pressure on the mild bleeding until she secured the gauze with a bandage.

  “Get dressed,” she ordered next.

  “How?” Brady gestured to his shoulder.

  “All right. Hang on.” She checked the door for a lock and twisted it. It was probably more of a privacy lock than a real one, but that was all they needed. “Lean down a little.”

  “You’ve gotten bossy,” he grumbled, leaning. He flinched when she yanked the gown off his shoulders and dropped it on the floor, leaving him naked. Before he straightened she had his shirt over his head. He was able to put the right arm through, but she had to twist and pull the shirt to get the left arm in. The body in front of her didn’t make the job any easier.

  He was supposed to seem frail and weak after getting shot, not strong and virile. She closed her eyes when she knelt to hold his jeans for him, and escaped around to the back to pull them up. She had no choice but to do the fly, though. She made short work of it, ignoring his squeak at her speed.

  “Shoes.” She knelt again, this time with a lot less tension, and held the shoes so he could shove his feet into them. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not leaving Christopher,” he protested, his good hand on her shoulder to keep her from opening the door.

  She kept her voice low so no one outside could hear through the door. “The fastest way to save your brother is to get that information to your father. Once oversight has it, there won’t be any way to hide it anymore, and all of us will be safer, including Shae.” She hoped. These people would go far enough to kill an agent. Would they kill a kid, too? “We have to find Dix—before they do—and figure out our next step. They’re desperate, Brady, and we have to stay ahead of them. They could be in here any second, coming after you.” When he didn’t move, she resorted to pleading. “Please, Brady. I can’t do this without you.

  He stared at her as seconds ticked past. She struggled not to push him; she could see his brain working over what she’d said and looking for alternatives. But then he smiled and slid his hand under the curls at the back of her neck, the warm, strong fingers curving against her skin.

  “You’re fantastic, Molly Byrnes,” he murmured before lowering his head to give her a soft, intense kiss that sent heat zinging through her body, awakening everything she’d been tamping down for days. Years. Tears pricked her eyes when he pulled away. She turned quickly and opened the door, blinking as she peered out. They didn’t have time for emotion.

  Dix wasn’t in the waiting room where she’d left him. She shoved her hair back, trying to think. He might be with the detective, or he could have gone to get the information. They couldn’t figure that out from in here.

  Brady was scouting the hallway, listening for buzz among the staff, when sh
e joined him.

  “Nothing,” he told her. “They contained the attack on Christopher and nothing could have happened to Dix here.”

  “Okay, good. We need to go outside and call him.” She snagged Brady’s arm and hurried him to the elevator. Once they were on it, she scowled at the grin playing over his mouth. “What?”

  “You. You’ve gone all commanding officer on me.”

  “I—” She shut her mouth. He was right. “Sorry.”

  He laughed. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Seriously, though, you’re the field agent, and this is really your mission. So to speak. So…” Her cheeks flamed and she watched the numbers above the door.

  “You’d make a good field agent. I don’t know if I’ve told you that, but you’ve proved it over and over since South America.”

  His quiet sincerity cooled her embarrassment. “Thanks.”

  She thumbed the power button on her cell phone as they hurried through the lobby, so it was ready by the time they got to the sidewalk past the loading area. Dix answered on the first ring.

  “Where are you?” She asked him. She motioned to Brady to come closer so he could hear, but he shook his head, his shoulder obviously paining him. He actually sat on a nearby bench and propped his elbow on the arm, a sigh escaping him as he relaxed.

  Crap. She should have found him a sling.

  She didn’t sit. She kept turning, watching cars moving through the nearby parking lots, looking for people walking toward them, glints of light where there shouldn’t be any.

  “I’m on my way to get the package,” Dix told her. The rushing noise of the highway backed his statement. “How is everyone?”

  “Aside from someone trying to kill Christopher—again—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. “We’ll meet you.”

  “We who?”

  “Me and Brady.”

  “No way, he just got out of surgery! Don’t let him out of that hospital, Molly.”

  “Too late. We weren’t safe there, Dix. Brady’s mobile. But we don’t have transportation. We know what to do with the package, but—”

  Dix clued in that she wasn’t going to say on an unsecured line. “I’ll come get you. Lot C, there’s a bus kiosk. It’ll provide some shelter and a place to sit down. Give me twenty minutes.”

  “Or fewer,” she told him, and he chuckled.

  She relayed the plan to Brady after she hung up, and he nodded. But he was chalk white, and the relief he’d gained from propping up his arm had been momentary. Pain pinched his mouth and showed in the awkward way he sat.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told him, nerves building a lump in her throat at the idea of leaving him like this. He nodded, and she dashed back inside the hospital and followed the signs for the gift shop. They had a wall of sample-size toiletries, and she snatched half a dozen packets of painkillers before pacing the little shop, looking for something she could use for a sling. She spotted a rack of hats and gloves and beelined for it. Hopefully…yes. Perfect. She paid for the painkillers, a couple of bottles of water, and a scarf with the Capitol building embroidered on it, then rushed back out to Brady, relieved he was exactly where she’d left him.

  Relief turned immediately to fear when she reached his side and found him slumped over.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Brady!” Molly shouted, and his eyes snapped open.

  “What?” he yelled back, jerking upright. Then he grabbed at his shoulder and moaned, leaning forward.

  She dropped to her knees in front of him. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, but his jaw was tight, teeth clenched, and he’d squeezed his eyes closed. “What the hell did you shout for?” he ground out.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were…” She trailed off, visions of him being shot or injected or stabbed, all in a drive-by, snapping in and out of her head.

  “I didn’t pass out or get knifed.” His eyes opened and he managed to look amused at her chagrin. “What’s that?” He indicated the bag.

  “Let’s go over to lot C first, then I’ll get you taken care of.” She felt too exposed here. Not that they would be any safer there, but the bus shelter should be less open. “Lean on me.”

  “I’ve been doing that a lot.” But he did use her shoulder as support to rise and let her wrap her arm around his waist to help him across the macadam. Lot C, thankfully, was to the side of the building and therefore not as far away as it sounded. Once they’d reached the bus kiosk she gave Brady some of the painkillers and a bottle of water, then tied the scarf into a sling to support his elbow. When he guzzled the entire large bottle of water, she gave him the second one, too.

  “Better?” she asked, holding her breath.

  “Much. Thank you.” He reached for her to sit beside him and took her hand. “When will Dix be here?”

  “Any minute.”

  “And then?”

  “Hopefully he’ll have the package and we’ll all take it to oversight. If not, we’ll go with him to get the package, and then take it to oversight.” She was careful not to specify location or person, just in case. In case what, she didn’t know, but it felt safer. “We have until morning to get to New Rochelle. That’s plenty of time to come up with a plan.” God, she hoped. She was sure she was going about this all wrong, but doing what the bad guys wanted felt even more wrong.

  A silver performance sedan pulled into the lot from the access road and sped in their direction. Molly watched it, her heart racing. Dix, or the enemy? Damn, she wished she had a gun, even if she didn’t know how to use it. She sat clutching Brady’s hand and waiting for rescue or attack.

  …

  Brady fumed as the car took a corner too fast. The tires squealed and the engine growled as the driver goosed the gas. Instinct told him it was Dixson, but what if it wasn’t? With this bullet wound, he’d be unable to protect Molly. Hell, he’d be unable to stop her from protecting him.

  Molly’s phone rang. They stood, and she pulled it out and answered on speaker.

  “Get in,” Dix’s voice echoed from the phone as the car screeched to a halt in front of them.

  Brady opened the back door and started to slide across the seat, but Molly closed the door behind him and jumped into the front. Dix raced off before she had her door closed. Brady burned with jealousy that she chose to sit with the handler instead of him.

  “Why the bat-out-of-hell act?” Brady growled, annoyed that the guy’s driving sent him tipping all over the place so he couldn’t get his seatbelt on, already difficult enough with one hand. He glowered at the back of Molly’s head. She could have helped him.

  “I was followed,” Dix said. “I think I lost them, but they could be doing tandem, so I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Do you have it?” Molly asked. Dix handed her an envelope she assumed Brady had retrieved from the drop. She started to open it.

  “Hey.” Brady reached his good hand forward. She immediately handed him the envelope. “Did you read it yet?” he asked Dixson.

  “No chance.” Dix’s voice had tightened. “Where are we going?”

  “North,” Brady said, already focused on the papers he’d pulled out. “Molly will direct you.”

  They drove in silence for a little while, the only conversation ramps and route numbers. Brady skimmed the papers until he hit on one name. “You know Howard Ellison?” he asked Dixson. It rang a bell for Brady, but he couldn’t think of why. Maybe because he was ready to pass out from exhaustion.

  “He’s one of SIEGE’s founders. A tagalong, not the guy who originally had the idea. And…he’s my father’s best friend.”

  “Ouch,” Brady said under his breath, grateful he hadn’t seen his own father’s name in the file.

  “What’s inside?” Dix tried to sound cool about Brady reading it, but whatever he thought it said was tearing him up.

  “Hang on, I’m not done.” The pages described a breakdown in standards, to the level of criminality. As an agent, Brady never kn
ew who he was collecting information from, nor to whom it was going. SIEGE was a private enterprise. But it was understood that the majority of the intelligence was to be used by either the US government or in cooperation with other agencies and countries friendly to the US. Every so often, Brady was pretty sure they also did business with corporations.

  But some of the missions listed here, sanctioned by Howard Ellison and another so-far-unnamed party, were with nonapproved countries. If SIEGE had supplied them with sensitive intelligence and the government found out, it would be the end of SIEGE, and everyone involved would be in deep shit. No wonder Christopher had become a target. Ellison had to be watching things carefully in case anyone caught on to his illegal activities.

  “How were you alerted there was a problem?” Brady asked Dix as he neared the end of the papers. “What made you send Chris up to Canada?”

  “It wasn’t just Canada,” Dix said. “That was just the last place. Christopher has been digging for me for the past year.”

  Molly gasped a little. “That long?”

  “Yeah. You were the first hint, actually,” he told Molly. That made Brady scowl even more.

  “How?” she asked. “I never have any idea where things are coming from or where they’re going.”

  “Officially, you don’t. But you figured out a lot, didn’t you?”

  She didn’t say anything, but neither did Dix. Both men looked at her until she cracked. “Okay, fine, I could sometimes tell who was from what agency, or private, or a SIEGE agent. But I never had anything to confirm what I thought, and we never talked about that, so how did I clue you in?”

  “You made a joke once about globalization making it difficult to tell who our enemies are.”

  “Seriously?”

  Dix nodded. “It struck me odd. So I looked up who’d had a pickup from you that day, and they seemed off. The more I dug, the more things didn’t match up. So I asked Chris to help me.”

  Brady was in shock. How many of the missions he’d been on had been illegal, or feeding enemies of the state? He thanked God SIEGE didn’t do wet work. Living with innocent blood on his hands… He thought back, way back, to college, when SIEGE had recruited him. Part of the appeal had been the idea of doing patriotic duty in a way that fit who he was. He wasn’t naïve. He was sure plenty of the information he’d brokered had led to deaths of some kind or another. But at least he’d believed he was doing work that would save American lives.