by Misty Evans
“Shouldn’t these kids be in school?” Mitch asked as he and Brice searched for the mural, winding their way around the half pipes and other outcroppings and staying out of the way of the skateboarders. There were murals all over town done by local artists, but this one seemed to be hiding.
Brice pointed. “Maybe they’re not in school anymore. There. The mural’s on the other side of that concrete wall.”
Mitch took his word for it, following him past a bench. Sure enough, they rounded the corner and there was the mural of a mermaid. A seriously hot mermaid with blonde hair and…don’t go there. Going there only brought memories of Caroline naked on the lake shore.
Brice elbowed Mitch. “There’s Ethan.”
Yes. Ethan. Standing under a pinyon tree next to the mural of the hot mermaid. He wore a Diamondbacks ball cap and skipped pleasantries. “What the hell did you guys do?”
“Do?” Brice asked.
Ethan paced a few steps away, turned and came back. His eyes darted around, scanning the area. “The New Mexico U.S. Attorney ring any bells?”
Mitch exchanged a look with Brice. “What about him?”
“He called the ATF Special Agent in Charge this morning—my boss’s boss—wanting to know who this ‘blogger guy’”—he made air quotes—“was and how the hell did he get a report on a sealed case. Everyone from the taskforce, including the U.S. Attorney’s brother still here in the New Mexico ATF office, got a tongue lashing. Oh, and a little bird inside the office told me the ATF SAC and my boss went behind closed doors for a while. Supposedly they were on the phone with an FBI Special Agent in Charge in Washington, asking him what he knew. That had to be Tommy’s boss at the FBI.”
“Shit,” Mitch said. “Donaldson.”
Ethan put his hands on his hips. “It gets better.”
“What?” Brice was smiling like the shit about to rain down on them was the best thing that could happen. Mitch knew the feeling. They were kindred spirits in not caring how they shook things up, just that they did.
Ethan gave Brice an aggravated look. “This Donaldson? He jumped on a plane today to meet with my boss and the ATF SAC. All the higher-ups who put the taskforce together. Shit is going to hit the fan big time.”
Both Ethan and Brice looked at Mitch. “He was probably planning to come here anyway. He knows Caroline is messing with this and that she accessed one of the databases from the hotel.”
“What do we do?” Brice asked.
“The same thing we’ve been doing. Lay low, keep digging. We knew we’d ruffle some big feathers when we started this.”
Ethan raised his hands in the air. “I’m out. I’d like to help you guys, but my ass is on the line here. I’m one of the only ATF guys left in this office who had any involvement, and mine was only finding Tommy’s body. They have to know I’m the one feeding you information. I can’t risk my career. I have a family.”
Mitch reached out and shook his hand. “You’ve done enough. We appreciate it.”
Brice and Ethan exchanged a handshake and a man-hug complete with slaps on the back before Mitch and Brice headed back to the truck.
“Where to now?” Brice asked, his tone sounding slightly defeated.
It was one thing to bring chaos down on your own head, another when the chaos started thinning the ranks.
Mitch watched a kid landing an Ollie. “We need another set of burn phones.”
“I just bought the ones we have this morning.”
“I know. Just in case. We’ll switch ʼem out. And I want to go back to Maria’s and have a look at her laptop.”
6:56.
Caroline checked her text for typos, then read it again. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU BOYS?
No typos. Perfect. She punched the screen and sent the message off to Brice. They’d been gone almost five hours. Not that they hadn’t checked in. They had. Once. Three-and-a-half hours ago to tell her Ethan wanted another meeting. Since then, radio silence.
So Caroline sat in Maria’s sedan, continuously checking her surroundings while Maria’s motel room door stayed perfectly, quietly…shut. Not a peep out of there. Caroline supposed, after a fourteen hour shift, the woman could still be sleeping. Five hours—in sleep time—wasn’t that much.
Five hours sitting in a car doing nothing? That was a lot.
Still, as the sky darkened, and her bladder filled, Caroline wondered about the brilliance of talking Mitch into leaving her alone. Food she could live without for a few hours. A bathroom? Not so much.
Her phone whistled and she hit the little message envelope. ON OUR WAY. HAD TO MAKE A DETOUR FOR MORE PHONES. MITCH IS PARANOID AND WANTS TO SWITCH AGAIN. YOU OKAY?
Phones. Excellent. Paranoid or not, switching couldn’t hurt. Considering Mitch had crushed the phone her father had given her.
I’M FINE. ALL QUIET. SEE YOU IN A FEW.
She set the phone down, shifted in her seat, and glanced out the driver’s side window to the main road. Rush hour traffic had trickled to a car every ten seconds, but headlights were steady and the road well lit.
The parking lot on the other hand, was in desperate need of ten or fifty more street lamps. Hadn’t the owners ever heard of parking lot safety?
She lifted one hip, slid her sidearm from her holster, and set it on the console for easier access.
Just.
In.
Case.
Pressure in her lower belly made her wince. “Watch that door, Caroline,” she muttered. “Forget your bladder.”
And hunger. Forget the hunger.
She shot Brice a second text—BRING FOOD—and tossed the phone on the passenger seat.
It would delay them a few minutes, but her body was most definitely crashing. The second they got here, she’d bolt into the office and use the restroom. Then she’d eat. Mitch had better remember to super-size her order.
He wouldn’t forget. Not after all the time he’d spent harassing her about her ability to pack away food and still stay at a healthy weight. What could she say? Tapeworm?
Headlights flashed in the rearview. Couldn’t be them. Not that fast. She set her hand over the gun, ready to arm herself if necessary. She kept her eyes glued to the mirror, waiting. The car swung left out of the parking space in the row behind and exited the lot. Caroline let out a small breath. So, maybe she was a little edgy.
Her phone whistled and she leaned over to reach for it.
Smash.
Broken glass rained down on her, tiny flying knives slicing across her bare forearms where she’d rolled up her sleeves then dropping into her lap. Caroline gasped, the horror and shock paralyzing her for a few seconds until a hand—a man’s hand—reached in from the driver’s side window.
Fight.
Trapped in the seat by the console, Caroline jerked sideways and smacked, connecting with bare skin. Gun. Console. She reached for her weapon, but the man’s hand came at her again and she lurched sideways, knocking the gun with her elbow to the floor.
Son of a bitch.
Plan B. Door. If she could shove the door open, she’d buy time and maybe get a look at her attacker. She grasped the door handle and yanked. Nothing. Locked.
That relentless hand came at her again and she smacked at it, shoving her attacker away. Next time she’d bite. Or scratch. Whatever it took. She craned sideways hoping for a look at her assailant over the door frame. No chance. Too tall.
“Relax, bitch,” the man said.
“Screw you.”
A second man laughed.
No, no, no. A wicked hissing filled her head—focus—and she sucked in air because no, absolutely not. She would not die in a crappy motel parking lot for a crappy reason she didn’t fully understand. I’m in trouble. With her training, she might be able to fight off one man. Two? Gotta try. She hit the lock button, yanked the handle, and threw her weight into the door.
Barely any movement. Not with two men blocking the other side.
Get a look at them. She leaned left, looked up, b
ut the only thing she saw against a starry night sky was the giant fist coming at her.
Boom!
Caroline’s world went fuzzy. No pain. Just…fuzz. Her vision floated, every colorless edge suddenly vibrant and flexing and she moaned a little.
The door opened and she sagged left. No. It couldn’t end this way. Get up. As much as her mind willed it, her body gave in and dipped left again. One of the men caught her and the second man laughed again as her head looped and looped and looped and noise from outside, cars and birds and voices, mingled into a pot-luck of sounds all coming together and forming nothing but rowwwr, rowwwr, rowwwr over and over again. She gave her head a small shake.
The pot-luck cleared for a second.
“Hey!” another male voice shouted. “Police are on the way.”
Police.
“Shit,” one of her attackers said.
“Leave her. No time.”
Something flashed. A light? Or did she make that up? Don’t know.
Didn’t matter. Again she lifted her head, but it lolled forward, hanging there. Dead weight. She closed her eyes. A nap. That’s what she needed.
No sleeping.
Yelling startled her and she opened her eyes, followed the sound, her vision blurry. The clerk from the office ran toward the car, his longish blond hair flying behind him. He’d saved her.
From what?
No telling, but later, she’d thank him. That’s what she’d do.
Caroline sighed. Just a little nap.
And then, finally, darkness came.
Chapter Sixteen
“Maria? Can you hear me? Come on, Maria. Talk to me.”
Something poked Caroline’s cheek. What the hell is that? She moved her head sideways and pain ripped through her jaw, lashing at the bones in her face. Dear God, that hurt.
“Maria? Wake up, Maria.”
Female voice. Where am I?
“Maria?”
“Not. Maria,” Caroline said.
Something touched her eyelid and—yow—sudden brightness blinded her.
“Cut that out,” she mumbled, smacking at the offending light.
“Welcome back. My name is Hillary. I’m going to check you out. Okay? Do you remember what happened?”
“Oh, hey,” a man said. “She’s not Maria. She’s Caroline Foster and she’s FBI. Just found her badge in her briefcase.”
In a rush, the fog in Caroline’s head cleared and she came fully awake, her eyes darting left and right. Where was she? Maria.
Directly above her a blonde woman stared down. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Hillary. We’re going to get you fixed up.”
Fuck hi. Caroline lurched up, swung her head left and right and, holy crap, agonizing stabs shot through the side of her face and she let out a gasp.
Motel parking lot.
It was fully dark now, and for the first time Caroline and her aching head were thankful for the bad lighting.
“No way,” Hillary said. “You need to stay down. We’re about to load you into a bus and run you to the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”
She shifted her eyes right and beside the gurney stood a uniformed cop holding her briefcase. Cops.
“Caroline? Tell me what happened.”
God, the left side of her face was screaming. Like an ax hacking at bone one swing at a time. Over and over and over. Her vision blurred again. “Assholes. Two of them. One punched me. No hospital.”
She rolled sideways and the cop whooshed in, helping Hillary shove Caroline down.
“Caroline!”
Mitch’s voice. No. Stay away. Cops.
“Whoa, buddy,” the cop said. “Who’re you?”
Don’t tell him.
“She’s with me. What happened?”
Run, Mitch.
But there he was, looming over her, out of breath as if he’d run hard for miles and she lifted her hand, grasping for him. He latched on and squeezed.
“Sir,” Hillary said, “you need to back away.”
The gurney moved and then, clunk, it dropped, her stomach going with it. “Hillary, I’m sure you’re a nice person, but do that again and I’ll arrest you for assaulting a federal agent.”
Hillary smiled. “Well, at least you still have a sense of humor. Sorry, Agent Foster.”
“I’m riding with her,” Mitch said.
“You can meet her there,” the cop said. “Meantime, I need some information from you.”
Listen to him, Mitch. Her eyes locked with Mitch’s. Please. ”It’s okay. I’m okay.”
Mitch focused on her for a solid minute—please—then turned back to the cop. “Absolutely. Whatever I can do to help.”
Charming Mitch. The guy nodded and headed for the motel clerk who was giving the play-by-play to onlookers. Brice made some kind of hand motion at Mitch and he started backing up, watching the cop and then scanning the area as if memorizing the faces of everyone standing around.
“What hospital?” Mitch asked as Hillary locked the gurney in place.
“St. Luke’s.”
“Caroline, I’ll follow right behind the ambulance.”
Stupid man. She waved one hand. “Stay here. I’m fine.”
The bus doors banged shut and Caroline winced at the movement and abrasive sound. Had Mitch heard her? He must have. They needed to stay with Maria. She was the important one. They knew that. They knew they needed to protect their witness.
She had no doubt.
Stay here? Was she delusional? Fuck staying here. Mitch swung away from the cop who had taken a brief statement and seemed satisfied Mitch hadn’t seen a thing. Mitch had lied about his name and worked at keeping his face in shadows while he’d schmoozed the nice police officer. “Brice?”
“Yo.” Brice had hung back and eyed the cop now a few feet away. He hustled to Mitch and handed him the truck keys. “Go. I’ll take care of Maria and move her. We’ll meet up later.”
Mitch hung his head for a second, for just a goddamned second, and inhaled. The sight of Caroline on that stretcher, her cheek red and swelling, made his chest lock up.
“My man,” Brice said, not using Mitch’s name, which was smart with all the people filing around. “Keep it together, okay?”
He was trying. Dammit, he was trying. He wanted to punch something. Someone. Really tear that fucker up. Who had done this and why? Once again, guilt ate a hole in his stomach. This was his fault. He hadn’t wanted to leave Caroline alone. Hadn’t wanted to get her involved in this goatfuck in the first place.
Liar. You always wanted her in your life, one way or another.
He had to get his shit together and pronto. Stuff all the feelings and worthless emotions into a deep, dark hole. Raising his head, he gripped the truck keys, feeling them bite into his palm. “Go to ground, Brice. We don’t know who or what was behind this. Could have been a random attack, but we’ve pushed buttons in the past two days, and I don’t believe in coincidences. We’ve stirred the hornet’s nest and now we’re going to see who comes out. Keep your eyes open and watch your six.”
“Gotcha.” Brice cocked his chin at the truck. “You do the same. Take care of your gal and watch your back.”
Mitch was tired of watching his back. Tired of running. His first rule of survival was to stay away from the police and look what he’d done the moment he saw Caroline…ran right into the fray. Stupid, careless…
Caroline. He’d do anything for her.
He jumped in the truck and wheeled out of the parking lot, cursing himself. Some fugitive he was.
But then, you’ve always been a sucker for a pretty woman, just like Tommy. Not any woman, though. Only Caroline.
Pretty woman. An image of JLo Junior flashed through his mind. No. No way. Maria couldn’t possibly be…
Now who’s delusional?
It had been one long, fucking day. His mind was a mess. His heart too. No wonder he was having errant thoughts.
Get to Caroline.
“Okay, Agent F
oster,” the ER doc said, “we’re sending you up for an x-ray.”
An x-ray? Based on the noise level in the hallway, the place sounded packed. She’d be here all night and she didn’t have all night to waste. Now that she’d gotten a dose of that handy-dandy pain medication, she was good to go. Ready to roll out of this bed, away from this stuffy, antiseptic, dead germs smelling place, find Brice and Mitch, and check on Maria. Hopefully, they stayed with her.
Both men were smart enough to know that.
The ugly striped curtain separating her bay from the hallway flew open and in stepped Mitch. One of the two men who should have been smart enough to stay with their witness.
Caroline swung her hand in the air. “Oh, my God. Please tell me Brice stayed behind.”
“Relax,” Mitch shot. “It’s fine.”
The doctor extended his hand. “Doctor Winston. You are?”
“A friend. We’re traveling together. How is she?”
“She took a significant blow to her left cheek. I’m sending her for an x-ray.”
Yada, yada. Whatever. The doctor made notes on her chart, told them he’d return when he got results and whooshed out. Mitch waited until the doc cleared and whipped the curtain closed again.
And suddenly—maybe it was the painkillers—her body collapsed. Every tense muscle, like a fist uncurling, released as she watched Mitch move toward the bed. Toward her.
She lifted her hand, reaching for him like some weak-kneed high-schooler begging for his attention. For once, she didn’t care. Not when he reached for her. Not when he closed his fingers around hers. And definitely not when he kissed their conjoined hands.
The moment drifted between them, only the noise from the hallway filling the space and Caroline blinked a couple of times.
He spotted it and knowing she’d hate that he’d seen the weakness in her, he released her hand, set it back on the bed and patted it. No pity. Thank you. And, dammit, she loved him.
He bent to examine her cheek. “Holy shit, Caroline. That fucker popped you good. Did you get a look at him?”