With a hand fisted over his midsection, Aladdin said nothing, his every focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Only then did Griffin notice the blackened spot on his shirt. What good had it done to come after Aladdin in this shape? He wasn’t any benefit to them like this. Of course, Griffin had always debated the assassin’s usefulness to the team anyway. But that wasn’t fair considering the situation.
They step-dragged through the doorway, and Griffin nodded at the lumpy mattress on the simple bed pressed against the wall. “Here we go.” He angled Aladdin so the man could ease down.
But instead of easing, Aladdin dropped. Hard. The assassin’s head bounced.
Griffin tensed. That had to hurt.
Aladdin groaned, twisted away, and curled onto the mattress.
He needed a doctor or surgeon. No, a miracle worker. And they had nothing. No water, no medicine. All their supplies were buried several klicks away.
Griffin stood over Aladdin, watching. Feeling completely useless.
“Going to watch me die,” Aladdin said, a sweaty sheen covering his face. He coughed and lifted a knee toward his stomach, as if to ward off the pain.
“What’d they do to you?”
Agony weighted Aladdin’s lids as he looked at Griffin for a second. Then closed his eyes and swallowed. “Nothing I can’t”—another cough—“handle.”
“Then why you so messed up?”
“Blood poisoning.” He lifted his hand that covered a dark spot on his shirt. “I was shot”—cough—“at the Shack during the attack.”
The attack! Griffin dropped to a knee. “The others, did they make it out?”
Rumbling quivered through the night. Griffin paused and hurried to the door. Through it, he saw a glint of metal bouncing across the field. He gripped his M4 and peered through the scope. A vehicle. He lined up the sights.
The headlights flashed twice.
Sleek and black, an SUV rumbled, popped up over the foundation of the house, over the debris, and straight into the living area, or what was left of it. Parked, it was effectively hidden from any passersby.
Kacie exited the driver’s side, a scratch over her left cheek.
“What happened to you?”
Without a word, she eyeballed him as she moved to the hatch, lifted it, and grabbed a bag. She tossed it to him.
Surprise spiraled through him. She’d retrieved their gear. Baby Girl had more skills than he realized. But it bugged him. Something bad. She’d put herself in danger, had no one to back her up or bail her out.
“You going to stand there staring at me, debating whether to argue, or are you going to save your man’s life?”
Griffin curled a fist around the nylon straps of the bag.
Kacie nodded to the bag. “Medical supplies.” She pointed to the room. “Dying friend.”
Cold-hearted, unfeeling…Grinding his teeth, he pivoted and went to work. He slid a wide-bore IV into Aladdin’s arm and administered a painkiller that would take the edge off the pain but not off the warrior. Then he slid another one in that pumped antibiotics into his system.
As the drugs spiraled through his veins, Aladdin gradually relaxed…then went limp on the rusty pallet.
On his knee and spent, Griffin fought to hold down the power bar he’d eaten earlier as he cut away the soiled shirt and exposed the infected wound. Digging in someone’s side and extracting a bullet did a lot to curb a man’s hunger. And did little for one trying to hold down his cookies. He dabbed with the sponges, working to cleanse the wound. But something…something still wasn’t right. He squinted around the swollen angry tissue as blood rushed over it. He reached for a cloth—
“Here.”
The soft voice pulled his attention away. Kacie stood beside him, a clean wet cloth in hand. “It nicked an artery. You’ll need to stitch it up.”
“I know.” Griffin worked around the area to find the artery. “This is why I never went to medical school. If I wanted meat to bleed, it’d be beef on a plate. Not a friend dying on a bed.”
“So, he is a friend?”
Griffin ignored the comment and dug till he found the artery. He clamped it off, then finished cleaning up the wound. As he applied a bandage, he used his shoulder to swipe away the sweat dribbling down his face. “You’re supposed to wipe my face.” “What?”
He stitched the wound up, his gaze never leaving it. “You know, like in the movies. The nurse and the doctor—you’re supposed to blot my brow as I work.”
“What, then we fall madly in love?”
“I like options, know what I’m saying?”
“How about I dump a bucket of water over your head instead?”
Grinning, Griffin pushed away from the bed and turned, hands raised and bloodied. “Don’t think you could reach.”
“There’s more than one way to take a man down.” Though Kacie stood at least a foot shorter, her attitude made up for it and stared him square in the eye. She toed a bucket of water on the floor. “Wash up.” She spun around and strode into the other room. “We need to talk.”
Scrubbed clean, he would never be able to wash away the images of seeing Aladdin in that condition. The nimble, stealthy man nearly dead. Even with the bullet removed and wound cleaned, there was no guarantee they’d gotten to the sepsis in time to stop it.
On the other side of the wall, he stilled, taking in what his eyes saw but his mind rejected. A command center, all set up and blinking and bleeping at him. Crates used for a table and chairs. Baby Girl had improvised. Camouflage netting covered the area, and the SUV sat just outside the door to the living area but still inside the house so it wasn’t visible to aerial surveillance.
“We need to get out of here.”
“He’s in no condition to travel.”
“We need to move,” she said as she rearranged supplies.
“Did you hear what—?”
“If you want to guarantee he dies, we’ll stay.” She stuffed a duffel into the SUV. “If you want him to have a chance to live, we move.”
Griffin pointed to the half-concealed room where Aladdin lay unconscious. “If we move, he dies. That wound—“
She snapped around, her white-blond hair appearing as the tips of flames in the darkness. “If they find us here, they won’t take time for pleasantries like waterboarding and electrifying interrogations, which is exactly what they’ve spent the last two weeks doing to him. For you, they’ll skip right to swords or Pin the Bullet on the American’s Heart.” She shoved her fingers through her white hair. “Look. We have to meet a plane in two hours. That is our only way out of here. Trust me, I want your man alive as much as you do, but staying here will get us killed.”
Suspicion rippled through him. “What do you know, Baby Girl? What aren’t you telling me?”
“They’re looking for me—him, your assassin.”
He hesitated then slowly shook his head. “You said ‘me.’ They were looking for you? Why?”
“It doesn’t matter! We need to get out—now!”
Teeth grinding, Griffin eased back onto the crate, which creaked and cracked beneath him. “He’s going to die.” The thought burned his conscience. Could he stay here, find a place to hide out…? Yeah, right. A black man hiding an assassin with a sucking chest wound. Aladdin’s magic carpet would stall out—permanently. Gaze bouncing over the rocks and pebbles by his boots, he wrestled with making the decision. No, he didn’t like the guy, but he didn’t want him dead either.
At the crumbling wall, he planted his hands on the cement cinder blocks, dirt and rocks poking against his palms. Less than a week ago, he’d been caged, fighting a lethal case of boredom. Now he was back in action, fighting to save men he’d come to think of as brothers. All those years he’d spent building a reputation of respect…all gone. Now he would bear the stigma of not only being a supposed murderer, but an escaped convict. A fugitive of justice.
Fugitive of injustice.
“Medic!” a shout came from the kitchen. “We need a med
ic in here, stat!”
Madyar and Phoenix were in there. What happened?
With every last morsel of strength, Griffin pushed against the carpet pile crushed beneath him. A booted foot stomped down—hard. Griffin ground his teeth against the pain spearing his hand and wrist. The nightmare unfolded right here, in the middle of his living room, with his family. Voices squawked, cartoonish in the haze and ghoulish chaos that swallowed his hearing and thinking.
“Griffin Riddell, you will stand down.”
His gaze locked with Dante’s. Fury lit within Griffin. He pushed up again.
“Stand down!”
Why did this have to happen in front of the boy?
A hiss pressed into his thoughts.
The tight band that had woven around his mind snapped. He blinked.
Wide beautiful eyes framed by a halo of white stared up at him. “Do you need an extra hand?” Kacie looked down.
Griffin followed her gaze—his hand engulfed her petite one. Her fingertips were almost purple in his grip. He flashed open his hand and released her, startled. “Sorry.” That’s when her “joke” registered—need an extra hand?—and he realized she’d tried to help him save face, ward off the embarrassment of being lost in a bad memory.
Something strange squirreled through her chest as Kazi watched the mountain-of-a-man crumble into a valley of bad memories. Something horrible lurked behind his stoic facade of indifference and machismo.
If he was lost in the past, then he’d get them killed. “Are you with me?” She hated the hard edge to her question, but he had to get it together. Maybe she needed to ditch him, tuck him in a safe house only she knew about, then round up the rest of his adrenaline-junkie friends.
His expression morphed from dazed and confused to humiliated and angry. He nodded.
“Good. Now, please.” She stepped back, out of his suffocating presence. “Stop fighting me. I’m not one of your men or part of your team, but I’m on your side.”
He scowled. “My side?”
“For now.”
Griffin looked at her again, those mahogany eyes unseating her, making her feel like he knew her every secret. Just like Carrick. Don’t let him get to you, Kaz.
“How do I know when you’re not?”
“Oh, you’ll know.”
He huffed and shook his head, running a hand over his bald scalp. As he pivoted and walked the length of the half-blown-up room, he cupped his hands behind his head. Unwilling to open the floor to discussion again, Kazi resumed packing the supplies. But she needed him with her, not just “with” her. If that made sense.
No, it didn’t make sense. She knew better than to trust anyone. She’d let Tina in, and look what happened. But this gig with the general bought her out, bought her freedom. “Okay, let’s load him.”
Kazi followed Griffin into the bedroom. Surprise wormed through her as he lifted the man without a grunt or breaking a sweat and carried him to the SUV. She zipped the assassin into the waterproof sleeping bag and hung the IV drips from the clothing-bag hooks. From another bag, she pulled out a keffiyeh and tossed it to Legend. “Suit up.”
She donned her own, then slid into the driver’s seat. She almost laughed when the entire car canted to the right as Legend folded himself into the passenger side.
“How do your knees taste?” she asked with a laugh.
“Hey.” He wedged himself in by closing the door. “This is all muscle, baby. If you’d choose a car that a man could actually fit in…”
She turned the engine over. “Tell me what car you do fit in, and I’ll make it a priority to appropriate one next time.”
He eyed her, then clicked his tongue.
The SUV trounced as they pulled out of the dilapidated house and aimed away from the town. “Thought you thrived on this stuff.”
Griffin looked out the window, his face stern again. “Yeah, well, that was before…”
“Before what? Prison?” Why did she ask? It wasn’t her business, and asking personal questions only opened up a sinkhole.
Thankfully, he nodded and let the silence swallow the journey.
Galveston, Texas
Commander Greene, you wanted to see me?”
“Please, come in, Lieutenant.” Greene waved the Coastie in. “And give us some privacy, please.”
Olin watched as Range Metcalfe shifted to close the door, his gaze lighting on him.
A steel rod seemed to slide down Range’s spine and granite overtook his face. “General Lambert.” His hands fisted as he shot a look at the commander, then back to Olin. “What’re you doing here?”
Greene rose and rounded the desk, hiking a leg up as he leaned back against it. “Have a seat, son.”
Robotically, Range complied, though his acidic expression warned he wasn’t happy about this setup.
And that’s exactly what it was. As much as Olin hated to admit it, he’d used every connection he had left while flying under the proverbial radar to get here and get Greene to help.
“Do you know why I’m here, son?” Greene tugged off his wire-rimmed glasses.
“Fleet and routine inspections.”
“Officially, yes.” Greene nodded to Olin. “Unofficially, I’m here at Olin’s request. This isn’t a formal meeting, so let’s cut the protocols.”
“Okay,” Range finally said through clenched teeth. “I have no idea why you’re here, General Lambert, but—“
“Your brother has been snatched from American soil by enemy combatants. I believe his life is in grave danger.”
Range’s lips flattened.
“And while I know you have less than congenial feelings toward your brother, I believe you very much loved Danielle.”
He flinched.
“And you should know that the same people who attacked your brother went after Danielle, too.”
That drew out a reaction. He scowled. Shifted in the chair.
Olin moved closer to Greene. “Your brother was part of a highlevel black-ops group. Their identities were, we believed, concealed. But someone put it together and took out the team.”
“Is she okay?”
Olin nodded. “For now.”
“Then I think this conversation is over.” He punched to his feet.
Greene caught his shoulder. “Hold on there, son. I don’t think you understand what this could mean for our country.”
“Our country? What, are you going to tell me Canyon’s going to save the president? Or stop a nuclear weapon from hitting strategic sites?” Range’s sarcasm hung thick on those words. “Please. I know my brother doesn’t know that much. He’s not that important.”
“On the contrary; he has been involved in some of the most secretive and sensitive missions. Remember Mauk? Remember Obigambwe?”
The implication swept across the young man’s face, then vanished. “I guess your golden boy proved beneficial.”
“He’s about to prove dead. And while I know you hate him, I seriously doubt you want him being brought home the way your father was.”
Range lunged at Olin, but Greene held him back. “How dare you! My father was a hero. He was the best of the best!” He shoved a finger at Olin. “Don’t compare my self-absorbed, coward of a brother with him.”
Surprise wove through Olin at the hatred spewing from those words. “Do you realize what Canyon went through to bring Danielle home, alive?”
“And what good did that do me?”
“So, your anger isn’t because you loved Danielle, it isn’t because you wanted what was best for her, but because you were beat out by your brother.” He ached, thinking of his daughter in these terms, of a pawn wedged between two brothers. “Then I guess I came to the wrong man. I thought I was coming to a hero.”
Blue eyes blazed. “If Canyon is what you call a hero, yeah, I guess I’m not that man.”
Ticked, Olin dropped a file on the desk. “If you discover that you wouldn’t be able to face your mother again, or see Danielle and your nephew ever ag
ain knowing you had a chance to save your brother’s life but did nothing because of your own pride and arrogance”—his pulse thumped against his temple—“Greene knows what needs to be done if you grow a conscience.”
CHAPTER 11
Unknown Location
Warbling and indistinct, voices swam through the darkness. Taunting. Daunting. Haunting. Fingers reached through the thick fog, clawing at him. Flashes, sparkling—no, it wasn’t sparkling, stabbing. Shooting! They were shooting.
Marshall jerked. Pain sluiced through the haze clouding his mind. He groaned and shifted. Brightness flashed against his corneas. He groaned again and turned from the light. Only it wouldn’t go away. Why wouldn’t it go away? He tried to lift his arm. It wouldn’t budge. What…what was wrong? Why couldn’t he move? “Why isn’t he awake yet?” “It takes time.”
“But why…?” The voice faded, dancing and wobbling on the edges of a nightmare. Marshall felt the talons of something sinister pulling him down, down…down…
Secure Underground Facility Lynchburg, Virginia
“This is ridiculous!”
Ignoring the pain in her side, Sydney Jacobs didn’t look up at the woman pacing, holding her wailing newborn son.
“We’ve been in here two weeks—weeks!” Danielle Metcalfe pushed a hand through her long, dark hair.
The first week Sydney had tried reason, encouragement, even her status as “wounded” from getting shot during the escape—anything to help them maintain a semblance of sanity in a facility with no windows, few toys, hard mattresses, and absolutely no visitors. Nobody would tell them why they were here or what was happening. They were alive. And for now, she held on to that thread of hope, thin as it was.
“Is it legal for them to hold us like this?” Piper sat in a chair, her son and stepdaughter playing on the large carpet that anchored the four bays that served as “rooms,” if you could call a curtained-off twelve-by-twelve space with a bed and dresser a room.
“Legal or not, we’re here. We can’t get out, and there’s nobody to complain to.” Dani laid her tiny, swaddled son in the swing and set it in motion. She shifted and looked around the room. “We have to do something.”
Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) Page 11