Yet Jorge used that for leverage. Bleeding profusely, he shoved off the wall and caught Renner full in the chest with a fist, sending him flying backward over the carefully laid out table covered with instruments of torture.
Instead of ragdolling out of control, Renner performed the most perfect backflip. He stuck a three-point landing. What a magnificent sight. Sweat drenched his short hair and face, but when he lifted his head to face Jorge down, when he glared through his brows—the harsh, dark light in his eyes told a story all by itself. Renner was military trained. He was primed and he was lethal.
Jorge was already dead. He just didn’t know it.
The fight to the death became a slow-motion dance of one-two-three punches followed with slicing uppercuts to Jorge’s throat. He reeled back. Blood gushed from his nose and open mouth. It poured out of the cuts over his eye. The big baby whined, and Tara wanted to spit in his face. But Renner was the master assassin here. He kept dishing out punishing blows and brutal kicks. Slapping Jorge, egging him on, until suddenly the world went wonky and everything dissolved into slo-mo.
Tara knew it then. Renner had come too late, and she was so, so tired. It was time to let go.
With her cheek to the dirty concrete floor, she whispered the softest, “Love you,” into the universe. She meant it for her mom and her dad and for sweet little Jessica. For Tyrone and for Kelsey. For everyone she’d disappointed in her short, worthless life. For everyone she’d let down. For herself, and now—for Renner. Her savior. Her knight in shining black armor.
She hadn’t known him very long, but she wanted to. She already liked him. His mom. Crazy Eights. But now he’d never know.
He nearly snapped his neck looking back at her when Tara sighed. What’d she say? Sounded like ‘love you.’ It was time to end this battle. She was all that mattered, not him. Certainly, not Jorge.
Renner fingered his blade up from his boot sheath and cursed Jorge What’s-His-Fuckin’-Name back to hell with it. Of course, the knife flew true and, like the perfectly balanced weapon it was, it landed where Renner intended. In Jorge’s thick meaty thigh instead of between his beady eyes. The guy dropped to his knees howling.
Renner’s pistol came up then, pointing at the asshat who’d hurt Tara. “Get on the ground! Face down! Now!”
“You stuck me,” he hissed. “I can’t.”
“Find a goddamned way!” Renner ordered.
Sniffling, Jorge complied, twisting one knee to keep the knife from going deeper. With his knee in Jorge’s back, Renner jerked his arms behind his back, and snapped flex cuffs on his wrists. He logrolled his prisoner onto one side, then cuffed his ankles.
“Make one move and I’ll kill you,” Renner whispered as he kneed Jorge one last time before lifting to his feet.
Jorge seemed inclined to want to live and breathe. Renner stepped away from him to tend to Tara. She lay taped to a stool, for fuck’s sake, and the bastard had beaten her. She was bleeding from multiple wounds. Her poor face. Her arm. Her hands.
Renner shot Jorge a dark look and a promise of death as he sliced through the tape that held her and gathered her limp body into his arms.
“You beat a defenseless woman,” he hissed, angry enough to shoot the bastard in the face.
“She’s my wife!” Jorge bellowed. “I do what I want!”
“Not anymore,” Renner whispered to the valiant woman in his arms. “Hey,” he breathed even as he thumb-dialed Ember. “Don’t die on me, Tara Shanahan. I know who you are now. You got some ’splaining to do, babe, and—”
Ember interrupted with a steady, “Help’s on its way, Renner. Do you need medical?”
“Yeah,” he cried, suddenly overcome with all he stood to lose, tears and sweat and blood running in his eyes. “I need EMTs. She’s hurt, Ember. Bad. Send EMTs and the Life Flight guys. Send everybody! H-Hurry.”
“Copy that,” she murmured kindly.
He lifted Tara into his cheek and pressed his mouth to her temple. “Please stay with me. I don’t want to lose you now that I found—”
The door burst open. God bless Ember. Mark and Harley were already here.
“Kill him,” Renner begged his senior agents, nodding at Jorge and meaning it from the depth of his soul. “Please. Kill the bastard, so Tara can live in peace. He’ll never let her go. End the son of a bitch! Before anyone else gets here. Do it! God, please.”
Mark’s dark somber gaze flittered over Tara, to Jorge, then back to Renner. “How about we make sure she lives instead?” he asked as he jerked the first aid kit out of his gear bag and knelt with Renner. Antiseptic wipes came first, then butterfly bandages on her cheek and forehead.
Snapping the endothermic icepack he’d unwrapped from his own gear bag, Harley applied it gingerly to her forehead and told Renner, “Can you hold her steady?”
“Yes,” Renner answered, frightened at the depth of his feelings for this woman he really didn’t know. His chest still heaved like a blacksmith’s bellows at the thought of losing her, and droplets of his sweat were splashing onto her.
For the first time, he doubted himself. He should’ve ended Jorge the moment he laid eyes on the bastard instead of slapping him around, keeping him alive to get to the mastermind behind him. He could’ve at least wounded Jorge, taken him out with a non-lethal shot instead of wasting precious time. He should’ve rescued Tara first, and only Tara! She was the prime objective. Not some egotistical asshat out to kill her.
“I should’ve just killed him, but I was so mad,” he explained to no one. “I knew if I even touched my piece, I would’ve shot him in the face first and asked questions later.”
With every drop of his sweat that splashed onto her sweet face, Renner cursed himself for being too late and being less than what Tara deserved. She had yet to moan or sigh, but she was alive, and for that, he thanked his lucky stars.
The EMTs had arrived with flashing lights, howling sirens, and a police escort.
“Renner,” Mark said, snapping his fingers. “Hey. Renner.”
Renner hadn’t realized Mark was talking to him. “Yes?” he asked as the EMTs lifted Tara out of his arms and gently placed her onto their gurney to begin their assessment and treatment.
“The police will need you to stay and answer questions.”
“Will you go with—?”
Mark shook his head. “Not me. Harley will accompany Miss Shanahan to the hospital, and he’ll stay with her until I can get there. In the meantime. I’ll post around the clock guards at her room. No one gets in to see her but her doctors, namely McKenna and Libby, and her nurses, do you understand me? Are you listening?”
“Your wife’s going to be her doctor?” Renner asked, incredulous. “You’d let Libby do that for someone you don’t know?”
Mark sent Renner a brotherly nod. “Hell, yeah. This woman’s important to you, right? Anytime. Anywhere.”
It was enough to make a grown man cry, but Renner swiped the moisture off his brow, sure most of it was sweat anyway. “Thanks,” he told his friend hoarsely as he tugged his phone out of his butt pocket. “I’ll be there as quick as I can get away.”
Renner had to know what happened to Kelsey after she’d called. Now that he had time to think on it, he hadn’t even asked her if she’d been injured, and he should have. Yet something told him to keep that conversation private. Else why had she called him instead of Alex, Mark, or Ember?
Turning his back on Mark and Harley, he sent Kelsey a text.
U OK?
Her answer came back instantly.
Thank God! I’ve been waiting. Did you find Tara? Is she OK?
Got her. She’s on her way to the hospital. She’s been roughed up a bit, but she’s tough. She’ll be OK.
And U?
Better now. U?
Fine. On my way home. Thx Renner!
We need to talk.
He got a smiley face back for that instead of an answer. But yeah, Renner h
ad questions, and if Tara couldn’t answer them, by hell, Kelsey would.
Chapter Seventeen
Alex woke groggy as shit. Stiff. Sore. And still at home in his son of a bitchin’ bed.
“Kelsey!” he barked, as in truly, like a dog barked. Not only did he feel as if he’d been run over by an eighteen-wheeler, but his throat hurt like a mother. But Alex was not one to lay around. He lifted to his elbows, assessing how much he ached and where. Damn. Everywhere. Head to toes. But ready to forge ahead nonetheless. Rest was not on his schedule. It could wait.
Someone knocked at his door. “Who is it?” he snapped, instantly regretting the vehemence in his tone while pulling the blanket over his naked ass at the same time.
“Well, I’m not Kelsey,” Doc Fitz said as she opened the door and peered into the room, looking every bit like the physician he’d hired her to be. Only she was supposed to be at the office, not here. She worked for him now. “And you, sir, aren’t going anywhere, so lay back down and let me take a look at you.”
Many tried to boss him around. Few succeeded. But no one called him ‘sir.’ With the blanket secured at his waist, Alex swung both feet to the floor and growled, “Like hell I’m not. What are you doing here?”
“Kelsey asked me to stop by.” She crossed both arms over her chest. “You’re running a fever and that usually means you’re contagious. Do you want your agents sick on the job? And what about Kelsey and Lexie? Should they feel like crap just because you’re too hard-headed to listen to your doctor and stay home?”
He waved her off. “Knock it off, Fitz. I haven’t been sick in years. You’ll see. Coffee. Then I’m out of here. Where’s Kelsey?”
“I’m not leaving until I’m finished.”
“Where is my wife?”
“I heard you.” McKenna used her doctor voice on him. “She’s on her way home with Lexie, who is also running a fever.”
“My daughter’s sick?” That got Alex’s attention. “Since when?”
“I assume since last night. Kelsey said Lexie was fussy this morning. She wasn’t running a temp then, but she is now.”
Well, damn, that changed everything. “Did I make her sick?”
McKenna shook her head. “More likely, it’s the other way around. Two of David’s kids have been down with the flu.”
Alex stared at the floor, unashamed at his nudity but not willing to share any more with McKenna than he already had. His bedroom was off limits, and he was a Marine, for hell’s sake. Not one of those namby-pamby snowflakes who crawled under their desk to whine and cry when things didn’t go their way.
“Give me a minute,” he murmured.
He liked McKenna fine, but he didn’t care to be alone with other women. Call him old-fashioned and he’d kick your ass, but he had a code, damn it. One woman, ever and only, and that woman was Kelsey. Maybe she and Lexie would be home after he showered.
McKenna was smart enough to back off her high-and-mighty doctor schtick. “Great. I’ll make coffee.”
“I’ll make it myself.”
She closed the door without arguing, though Alex knew well she’d have a cup waiting for him when he showed his face. Okay then. Shower first. Coffee and a handful of ibuprofens next. That ought to do the trick.
He doffed the blanket and made it to the en suite bathroom on shaky legs which didn’t get much steadier after a good hot shower. Too bad. He had work to do and a thriving business to run. Although now that he knew Kelsey and Lexie were on their way back, he considered working at home for the day. What would it hurt? Mark and Harley handled TEAM business whenever he traveled. They were better at some things than he was. But Montego was still at large, dangerous. Today could be the day Renner ended her...
That made up his mind. Alex brushed his teeth, rinsed with mouthwash, and spritzed the men’s body spray Kelsey liked over his chest before he hung his towel on the hamper to dry. Striding back into the bedroom, he headed for his closet.
Choosing attire for the day was a no-brainer. He organized his life to be ready for anything at a moment’s notice; his closet was the same. Laundered and pressed dress shirts and suit jackets on one side; slacks on the other. Ties arranged by color on the tie rack hung on the door. Socks neatly rolled and ready in the top drawer of the built-in dresser that he’d made by hand. Underwear in the next drawer down. Shoes polished as they should be, arranged by color on the rack beneath the slacks.
Alex selected a silvery-gray shirt, red tie, black slacks with matching jacket. Eagle tie tack. Matching cuff links. In seconds, the closet door was shut, he was dressed, pressed, and ready to take on the world.
All he needed now was to lose these ungodly head- and body aches. Back at his bed, he shook the blanket out, smoothed the sheets, squared the corners on the duvet, and tossed Kelsey’s plethora of pillows back where she liked them. With the bed now tight and proper like it should be, he lifted his cell from its bedside charger, stuffed it in his inner jacket pocket, and beelined for the kitchen.
Only Doc Fitz was there instead of Kelsey. Problem easily solved. He palmed his phone and called his wife while McKenna dared him to leave. Only Kelsey didn’t answer.
“Kelsey Stewart’s phone. Renner Graves speaking.”
“Renner? What the hell? Where’s my wife?”
“Ah…” Sounded like Renner put his palm over the mic.
Alex strained to hear over his junior agent’s poor attempt to shut him up. A different voice on Renner’s side of the call declared, ‘Dr. Smyth, please come to radiology.’ “Are you in a hospital?”
Renner blew into the phone. “Umm, yes. I’m at MedStar Georgetown with Tara. Her ex beat the crap out of her. She’s still unconscious.”
“When did this happen?”
“Hold on a sec…” Renner mumbled to someone else, “Yeah, he’s on the phone now. You want to talk to him?”
The phone got passed and, “Hey, Boss,” Mark said evenly. “I’ve got two agents posted at Tara Tumulty, er, umm, what? Shanahan?”
“Damn it, will you tell Renner to shut up and let you talk? Is that the same woman Renner was with last night?”
Mark chuckled. “Sure thing, but here’s the deal. Tara Tumulty’s real name is Tara Shanahan. She’s been hiding from her ex, and I’ve placed her under TEAM protective custody.”
“Good job,” Alex answered. “Did you get her ex? Is he dead? His name?”
“Yes, Renner apprehended the douchebag. Name’s Jorge… What?” Again, with the side chatter. “I can’t pronounce that. You tell him.”
Renner came back on. “He’s an ISIL militant from Indonesia, Boss. Name is Jorge… shit. I can’t pronounce his last name, either, but he’s an asshole. He abducted Tara from Hillcrest Heights this morning. Drove her over the river to what looked like a butcher shop in—”
“What was she doing in Hillcrest Heights? And why do you have Kelsey’s phone?”
More humming. More hawing.
“Renner?” Alex growled, not sure who he’d end up talking to next and getting damned tired of being passed around like a hot potato.
Sure enough, Mark came back on the line. “Details are still sketchy as to what happened, at least until Tara wakes up. The man who kidnapped her is Jorge Poer-bat-jar-aka.” That was a mouthful. “And he meant to kill her, that much is fact. Renner caught up with him at a rundown butcher shop in Deanwood, only it looked more like a clean-up shop where Poer-bat-jar-aka made people disappear.”
“How the hell’d she get tangled up with an asshole like him?”
“Not sure yet, but like I said, we’ll know more when we can finally talk to her. You’re not coming into the office today?”
“Yes, I am. Later,” Alex bit out, tired of talking and his throat raw. “Put Renner back on.”
“You bet.” Mark handed the phone over.
“Yeah, Boss?” Renner asked.
Alex paused, not sure what was going on, but positive he wasn’t ge
tting the whole story. “What were you doing in Deanwood? Or were you also at Hillcrest Heights?”
“Just following a hunch. Had one of those gut feelings Tara might be in trouble, so I, ah, tracked her GPS signal and… Is she awake? Great. Hey, listen, Boss, I’ve got to go. Call you later.”
And the phone went dead as Alex’s last frayed nerve sprang to life. Something was up and his men were not giving him the full story. But by then, McKenna leaned her hip into the counter, watching. Her light yellow scrubs made the raspberry streaks in her blonde hair softer. More golden. She really was the prettiest doctor Alex knew, and the best wife for Beau. Until she’d come along, he’d been a royal pain in the ass and on his way off The TEAM. Now Alex was glad he’d kept the young man.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” he hinted, his voice gravelly and his throat sore as hell.
She fluttered her lashes as she handed over a steaming cup of coffee. “I’m already on the job. Sometimes I make house calls when stubborn patients refuse to come to me.”
Scowling, Alex took the cup, then settled at the table, between Kelsey’s chair and Lexie’s booster seat. A bottle of ibuprofen sat on the table along with a tall glass of orange juice, a plate of toast and bacon. Damn. McKenna’d thought of everything.
Taking the chair opposite him, she folded her hands in front of her. “Tell me about your headaches.”
He would’ve argued, but if Kelsey was worried enough to have called McKenna, well… Shit. She’d already told Doc Fitz everything.
“Migraines,” he corrected, swallowing past the steaming lumps of coal in his throat. “I’ve had migraines for years. Mostly left frontal lobe. Always stress related.” He rattled the green plastic bottle of two-hundred-milligram pain meds. “These help.” Now leave me alone.
“But I’ll bet more often than not, they don’t.” McKenna dipped into her pocket and drew out a prescription pad. “I’m writing you an order for anti-seizure meds. Not that you’re having seizures, but this specific drug will ease those migraines. You have how many stents? Two? Three?”
Renner (In the Company of Snipers Book 19) Page 14