Stolen Child
Page 10
Pure mean glittered in his eyes along with a spark of anticipated triumph, and she knew he’d enjoy making her hurt before he killed her. She couldn’t let him win. It wasn’t just her life at stake, but Grey’s, as well.
When she was in range, she went for his jaw, giving it all she had. A dazed look slid into his eyes, and she knew she’d found his weak spot. Unfortunately, her hand sustained considerable pain when delivering the blow. The hand was a delicate part of the body, the bones small and fragile and easily damaged.
With an outraged cry, he crumpled, but not before he caught her foot and pulled her down with him.
Rachel was in the fight of her life. Her opponent had made it clear he’d like nothing more than to break her in half.
They clawed their way across the ground with one goal: the Desert Eagle. At one point she was ahead, but he grabbed her foot and pulled her back. She wrenched it free and continued scrabbling over the forest floor.
It seemed an excruciatingly slow race, hands and knees working together, inch by inch, though the actual time was probably measured in seconds.
When she reached for the big automatic, her hand was crushed by a huge palm. She and her opponent wrestled over the gun. She thought she had it, but his greater reach allowed him to snatch the weapon from her. She sprang up, her lighter weight allowing her to get to her feet more quickly than her opponent.
But he’d gotten his hands on the weapon. When he stood, he aimed it at her, a vile grin on his lips. “Gotcha now.”
She unfurled an arm and knocked the hand holding the Desert Eagle aside, then rolled right under it. Caught off balance, he overcompensated and swung the gun too rapidly. The momentum caused him to lose a beat and gave her time to raise her leg and kick the side of his knee, a trick she’d picked up in her training at Quantico. The side of the knee was an especially vulnerable place. Get it in just the right spot and an opponent will experience severe pain.
Surprise registered in his eyes before he gave a gratifying moan. A second blow to the jaw would probably finish him off, but she was loath to inflict more damage to her already throbbing hand.
Instead, she drove her forehead into his nose. With a natural slope, the forehead was surprisingly strong and could withstand incredible pain. Her opponent’s nose burst open, and a fat worm of blood trickled out, followed by more and more blood until it was spouting in a steady stream.
With both hands occupied with his injuries, the man had no choice but to drop the weapon. She snatched it up, as well as that of his partner. The partner’s gun, she set aside, but she kept the Desert Eagle. Loaded with soft-shell bullets, it would blow a hole the size of a manhole cover out of its target.
Clutching his knee with one hand and pressing on his nose with the other, her opponent made a comical picture, like a character from a Saturday morning cartoon. Apparently, though, he didn’t appreciate the absurd image he presented, and he shot her a venomous look. “You’re gonna—”
“I know. I’m gonna pay for that,” she said in a bored tone. She didn’t have time to play games; she had to get back to Grey.
“You near crippled me, woman.”
“Too bad,” she said without sympathy. “Give me your belt.”
“Whadya want my belt for?” The snarl in his voice combined with the blow to his nose made his words almost unintelligible.
She flashed a hard smile. “You’ll see. Use your left hand and give it to me. Now.”
Muttering vows of retribution, he removed his belt and handed it to her.
“Lie down.” When he didn’t obey, she unlatched the safety, the click unnaturally loud in the stillness of the forest. A little intimidation never hurt, even though she didn’t plan on using the weapon on him.
He took a step toward her, but she raised the Desert Eagle, aiming at center-mass. “In case you’re wondering, I know how to use this just fine.” At any distance, but especially this one, a blast from it would kill him. She knew it, and, from the look on his face, so did he.
“I said lie down. Hands behind your head.”
Still, he hesitated. “How do you expect me to lie down when you took out my knee like you did?”
She didn’t answer directly. “This is your baby,” she said conversationally. “You know it better than I do and what it will do to the human body. I’m guessing death would be immediate, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it would take a while for you to bleed out. I hear that’s a painful way to go. What do you think?”
He growled. “I think you’d better make sure that we don’t meet again, girlie, or you won’t see another sunrise. You got that?” But his voice lacked any real menace, which wasn’t surprising given the agony he must be in.
“Yeah, I got it. Now lie down, or it’ll be you who doesn’t see another sunrise.” She felt ridiculous even uttering the clichéd words, but the situation seemed to call for it.
When he did as ordered, she pulled flex-cuffs from the pocket of her pants and bound his hands. She then rolled him over so that she could see his face. He smelled of tobacco and dirt and sweat. Everything about him was repulsive, including his breath, which could rival the spray of a skunk and be used as a weapon all on its own.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to use a breath mint once in a while,” she said. “Now tell me who hired you.”
“None of your business.”
“You tried to kill us.” She let that stand for a moment. “I think that makes it my business.”
“Lady, you don’t look like the kind who can kill in cold blood, so I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.” His tone turned abruptly fearful, the bravado gone, and he seemed to shrink in size. “I can’t. He’ll kill me for sure. He’s connected.”
He was right—even knowing what he and his partner had planned for her and Grey, she couldn’t kill him like this. “You can be put in isolation in prison,” she said, recognizing how ridiculous the statement was.
With nowhere to go, men marked for death in prison were easy prey. A hit could be bought for as little as a pack of cigarettes or as much as tens of thousands of dollars. Nothing was too little or too much if someone in power wanted an enemy dead.
He barked out a laugh. “Like that’s gonna keep me alive. I told you, the guy’s connected. Got it?”
She got it.
In criminal parlance, connected meant the person had ties to organized crime. “Have it your way. You might get reduced time if you decide to cooperate. Attempted murder comes with a hefty sentence. Maybe you’ll think twice about it when you talk with the DA.” But she wasn’t holding out much hope. The man was far more frightened of whoever hired him than he was of a prison sentence.
Using his belt, she shackled his ankles together, hobbling him so he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
She repeated the process with the other man, who had just started to stir.
Finally, she searched for their IDs and phones but wasn’t surprised that they didn’t carry them. Carrying either was a rookie move, and these two weren’t rookies. The IDs would have been nice, but the police could determine their names through fingerprints. It was the phones she’d really hoped to find. Phones were a treasure trove of information.
Her breathing was ragged, pieced together in short bursts of air, the kind of panting that came after a period of intense danger. After what she’d been through, she was fortunate to be alive, fortunate to have her skin in one piece.
At one time she’d have given thanks to the Lord. The thought that she could not do so tore at her heart. She thrust it away and returned to the hiding place. “Grey?”
When he didn’t respond, she knelt beside him and gasped in alarm when she touched his face. His skin was cold to the touch, a result of losing so much blood, his face the color of school paste. The shirtsleeve she’d used to stop the blood had been tossed to the side.
Why?
When the
smell of seared flesh reached her nostrils, she had her answer. Grey had cauterized his own wound. The pain must have been unthinkable.
The exertion he’d spent building the booby trap had strained him more than she’d thought and caused him to lose a frightening amount of blood. It had to have cost him every bit of strength he’d had, and he had paid for it by holding a hot knife to his wound.
Why hadn’t she stopped him from constructing the trap for their pursuers? She brushed the question aside. Grey had been determined, and there was no stopping him when he’d set his mind to something. No sense in regretting what couldn’t be changed.
As strong as he was, he’d passed out from the effort. It must have taken a boatload of courage to do what he’d done. She had to get him out of here.
Gently, she patted his cheeks. “Grey? Can you stand? Please, we need to get you to a hospital.” Desperation coated every syllable, and she worked to quiet her voice. “If I help, do you think you can walk?” Foolish question. Of course he couldn’t walk. He couldn’t even stand.
“Can’t,” he slurred.
Think.
Once again she searched the men’s pockets, this time looking for keys. She found them in the second man’s pockets. Okay, that took care of the transportation problem. All she had to do now was get Grey to their vehicle.
The logistics of the situation—carrying a two-hundred-pound man more than a mile over rough terrain—stymied her, and, making an impatient sound, she reminded herself that she was no simpering miss. She was a trained agent, first with the FBI and then with S&J. If she couldn’t come up with a plan to get her and Grey out of this, she didn’t deserve the title of agent.
An idea struck her. She didn’t have the survival skills Grey did, but she figured she could build a crude litter to pull him through the forest. She grabbed the knife he’d used earlier and cut branches, the task made more difficult with her damaged hand. After stripping them of their leaves, she wove the branches together in latticework fashion.
It was painstaking work. By the time she had finished, her hands ached and bore numerous cuts and abrasions. She ignored the discomfort and moved to the next task: making poles. For those, she chose extra thick branches, sturdy enough to support Grey’s weight. She unthreaded his belt and her own and used them to secure the poles to the body of the litter.
She half rolled, half lifted him onto the litter. She then cut off the tatters of his shirt. With little sun shining through the canopy of trees, the forest was cool, but it couldn’t be helped.
Grey needed to be kept warm, but the black T-shirt he wore beneath the shirt would have to do. She tied the sleeves around him to secure him to the litter. Finally, she tore the remaining sleeve from her own shirt and fashioned a carrier for the Desert Eagle, which she slung around her neck and under her arm. If anyone else came after them, she wanted to be prepared. The huge gun ought to see to that.
With a determined breath, she grabbed the poles.
“Hey,” one of the men called out. “You can’t just leave us here. A bear might get us.”
“Don’t worry. I doubt you’ll poison a bear. And I’ll send the police back to get you. I’m sure they’ll give you a nice ride to town...if there’s anything left of you.”
The men didn’t laugh at her weak joke; she didn’t blame them. She wasn’t feeling much like laughing herself as she contemplated the near impossible feat of pulling Grey over the rough ground to the road.
She put the men out of her thoughts, summoned every ounce of her strength, and started walking. It would take all of her willpower to get Grey to the SUV.
One foot in front of the other.
The words became her mantra. Her arms and shoulders burned with the strain of dragging deadweight. Her chest ached where the man had kicked her. Her breath came in short, hard pants.
Tree limbs and vines cut her arms, but she never considered giving up. Grey had taken a bullet for her; now was her opportunity to repay him for that sacrifice.
If they got out of this, she vowed to up her cardio workout at S&J’s gym.
When it became too much, she set the poles down and rolled her shoulders. After a minute’s rest, she picked the poles up and started walking. One foot in front of the other.
She nearly wept with gratitude when she caught sight of the road and the men’s SUV parked at the side.
A few dozen more steps. Just as she was congratulating herself that they’d made it, her foot caught in a root, and she stumbled, falling facedown on the unforgiving ground. Involuntarily, she’d let go of the litter, causing it to hit the ground with a hard sound.
For the second time in an hour, she’d had the breath knocked out of her, but she couldn’t afford to worry about herself.
She scrambled up and checked on Grey, grateful she’d thought to strap him to the litter. The fall appeared not to have disturbed him. That, as much as anything, alarmed her. Surely he should have stirred from such a hard drop. How much blood had he lost? And how soon could she get him to the hospital?
Her hands felt sticky. When she held them up, she saw the reason. They were wet with blood.
Hers.
TEN
Grey awoke disoriented and worked to get his bearings, unable to identify where he was until the beeping of machines and the cloying smell of disinfectant alerted him that he was in a hospital. Every fiber of his body hurt, but he’d live.
Thanks to Rachel and the Lord.
Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw her sitting on an uncomfortable-looking chair. Shelley occupied a second. Their expressions were grim, their eyes worried. When they saw he was awake, they jumped up. Rachel moved to stand by the bed.
“How did you get me here?” he asked.
“A little ingenuity and a lot of muscle. I borrowed the tangos’ vehicle and drove us here. By the way, the police have the men in custody. Not surprisingly, they’re refusing to talk.”
“You took down both of them by yourself?” Why couldn’t he remember anything? He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it and winced at the movement.
“Hardly. Your contraption took care of one. I just mopped up. Nothing to it.” The exhaustion in her eyes belied her light tone. Her shirt was missing its sleeves, her arms covered with scratches and welts and bruises.
There were a dozen more questions he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t rouse the energy to ask them at the moment. He tried to thank her, but his words came out in a mumble. All he could do was close his eyes and pray that the pain subsided soon. He couldn’t afford to be laid up, not when Lily was still missing.
Voices murmured. Machines pinged. Feet in soft-soled shoes whispered across the ancient linoleum floor. Nurses came and went, checking his vitals and asking him how he was feeling.
They were all background noise to the nightmares that plagued him.
Rachel alone against two armed men. In one particularly vivid dream, she was beaten and bleeding and begging for him to wake up. He tried to do as she pleaded, but his body wouldn’t obey.
How would she survive? his dream-self wondered. He wakened just long enough to understand he’d been dreaming. Had he ordered her to leave him? He couldn’t remember. So many things he couldn’t remember.
When he drifted off again, the images shifted to Lily. Lily crying for someone familiar. Where was she? What was she going through? Was she even alive?
The questions dogged him, tormented him, until, at last, he broke free of the grip of sleep. When a nurse appeared with pain meds, he didn’t protest as he might have. He needed to heal, and he couldn’t if all his energy was spent fighting pain and nightmares.
When he awakened fully, he found Rachel and Shelley there. How long had they been there? Had they watched him as he slept?
“You were thrashing about,” Rachel said softly. “It looked like you were being chased.”
She tucked her hands under her arms. “Just a few blisters. Nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t let her fool you,” Shelley put in. “Her hands were a mess when she got you here. The doctor treated them, then gave her a tetanus shot.”
“Tell me what you did to your hands,” he said to Rachel, making the words an order this time. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.
Shelley responded when Rachel did not. “She made a litter and pulled you out of the forest to the road.”
He was right. He didn’t like the answer. “You did that? For me?”
Her nod was enough.
Grey struggled with the knowledge that Rachel had hurt herself while helping him. He hadn’t thought twice about pushing her out of the way and ending up with a bullet in his side. He was a ranger, a man who ran toward danger to save others.
For Grey, that said it all.
He had failed her, just as he’d failed Maggie.
Rachel sent an annoyed look at her boss. “It wasn’t that bad,” she said, her brisk tone putting an end to the subject. “They had to give you blood. The main thing is that you’re going to be all right.”
“Thanks to you.” His parched throat begged for water.
As though reading his mind, Rachel poured water from a pitcher into a glass and handed it to him.
“Th...thank you. For everything.”
“Those two jerks who tried to take us out were only hired hands. I questioned one of them, and he refused to give up his boss. He said that the boss was connected.”
Grey understood the significance of the word. What did the mob have to do with Lily’s kidnapping?
“Whoever hired him and his partner must wield a lot of clout to make him that scared,” Rachel said. She looked like she wanted to say more, but she kept her own counsel.