by CW Browning
“Do I need to get anything? Bowls? Food?” Stephanie asked, resigned.
“I’ll bring all that. Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“When are you boys descending?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Ok. Let me know when you think you’ll get in,” she said, “and keep me posted about the situation down there.”
“Will do.”
Stephanie hung up and dropped the phone onto the cushion next to her. Suddenly, the day looked a little brighter. She didn’t question it. She just accepted that Blake coming up made her happy. Well, Blake and his pit bull. She looked around the small living room again.
This was going to be interesting.
Senator Robert Carmichael glanced at his phone and surreptitiously slid it back into his pocket. He was seated in his chair on the floor, listening to the roll call vote winding down. It was not a highly publicized vote. It was expected to follow party lines and, as such, the President was expected to sign it into law within the next few days. All in all, not a very interesting day at the office, but a required one nonetheless. Once it was concluded, he could leave the Capitol Building and head to his favorite restaurant for a late lunch. There he could give some thought to the situation he suddenly found himself in.
A frown crossed his face. He wasn’t sure when this enterprise went so drastically off the rails, but he suspected that it was around the same time Special Agent Blake Hanover began questioning what really happened to that FBI agent in New Jersey last week. Until then, everything was running along smoothly. Everything was on schedule and he was slated to make an absolute fortune on the stock market. Then it all went sideways somehow. Within the space of a week, Robert had two dead street racers, one of which was an FBI agent, and he was watching his guaranteed windfall from a calculated stock purchase disappear before it was ever realized. Just like that, months of planning went down the drain.
Even then he could have recovered with little damage if it weren’t for Dominic DiBarcoli’s sloppy handiwork. The frown turned into a scowl. The man had simply become too arrogant for his own good. Dominic thought he was invincible, when nothing could have been farther from the truth. Witness him getting stabbed to death outside the Willard.
Robert pursed his lips thoughtfully. While he hadn’t arranged for that particular incident, he had to admit he was a bit relieved to read about it in the paper the following morning. Someone had very obligingly taken care of Dominic for him, making that one less thing he had to worry about.
The vote came to an end and Robert stood up, nodding to a colleague as he moved toward the closest exit. Now he just had to worry about Blake Hanover.
That was decidedly trickier. Why was he so interested in the death of Special Agent John Smithe anyway? Robert shook his head as he moved out of the chambers and into the wide corridor. How did they even know each other? John Smithe worked out of the Philadelphia office and Blake worked in DC. There was no reason for their paths to have crossed at all, but they obviously had. Blake was in New Jersey last week questioning Dominic about the whole thing. That was a problem, and a big one.
Blake Hanover had made a name for himself in the short time he’d been in DC. He was respected in the law enforcement circles, and he was a damn war hero to boot. Hell, he was awarded the Bronze Star. He wasn’t some random over-achieving agent who could be bought with money or promises of promotion. He was a man who, by all accounts, lived his life by a code of conduct most had forgotten existed. He was a damned Boy Scout.
Robert’s lips tightened. Getting to Blake Hanover was tricky, but not impossible. He’d already laid the groundwork. By tonight any standing Special Agent Blake Hanover had in this city would be questioned. Once his reputation and character were tarnished, it would be a simple matter to roll up any doubts anyone might have as to the death of John Smithe in New Jersey. Once that was removed, there would be no reason to look twice at the death of Dominic DiBarcoli. More importantly, no one would think to look at what, exactly, Dominic had been doing when he met his Maker, or who he was doing it with.
That was the main key. Robert had to ensure he was as far removed from Dominic DiBarcoli as possible, and that meant removing anyone who could conceivably connect the dots back to him.
Robert stepped outside into the sunlight. Not only had he lost a fortune, but if anyone ever connected him to Dominic he would lose his position in this town, and possibly even his seat in the Senate. He had come too far to have everything stripped away from him over the little matter of a few dead men who should never have been connected in the first place.
Chapter Six
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
That was Damon’s first conscious thought as black nothingness disappeared and awareness returned. He was lying on something that felt suspiciously like a bloody uncomfortable bed, and five-star hotels did not have uncomfortable beds. He took a deep breath and frowned as the smells of antiseptic and sterile plastic filled his nose. What the hell?
Damon opened his eyes, trying to focus on...what was that? Was it a shower curtain? No. The fog in his brain cleared as he came fully awake. It was a partition. Damon turned his head on a white pillow and looked around. He really was in a bloody uncomfortable bed, covered with a functional sheet and a warm blanket, both white. An IV was taped to his left arm, inserted into the back of his hand. The line ran to a bag hanging from a tall, metal stand next to the bed.
Where the hell was he?
Damon tried to sit up and gasped softly as sharp pain sliced through his body. He let out a groan and sank back against the pillows. As soon as he relaxed, the slicing stopped, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache.
Hawk took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. What was the last thing he remembered? He’d start there. Maybe then he’d get some idea of how the hell he was lying in what seemed suspiciously like a hospital. Except he didn’t do hospitals. They couldn’t, he and Viper. It was too dangerous. So where was he?
They were on the balcony of the hotel.
The thought came to him suddenly. They had eaten dinner, and he was waiting for Sergei to put in an appearance at the hotel across the street. He was staying there with part of his entourage, and Hawk had been watching, waiting. Damon closed his eyes, his brows pulled together in concentration. That’s right. He was waiting for his target to show, and Viper had been sitting on a lounge chair working on her laptop. She got up and went over to the table where the left-over dinner was laid out. They were talking about something, but Damon couldn’t remember the conversation. Then what? How did he get from a balcony with Viper to...wherever here was?
Voices interrupted his thoughts, and Damon listened as they entered the room.
“...doing very well,” one said. “He’s very fortunate. It could have been much, much worse. Whoever patched him up before he got here saved it from being more serious. The wound was cauterized, which stopped the bleeding and prevented infection from setting in.”
The partition was pushed aside suddenly and Hawk’s eyebrows soared into his forehead. A doctor had pulled the curtain aside, a wrinkled but clean white coat hanging over blue scrubs. It wasn’t he who managed to surprise Hawk, however. Given the preceding conversation, he was expecting another doctor.
He was not expecting Charlie.
He stared at him, at a loss for words, and Charlie’s gray eyes stared back calmly.
“Ah, you’re awake,” the doctor said, glancing at the monitor. “How do you feel?”
“Like hell,” Damon replied, his voice hoarse. “Where am I? What happened?”
“You’re in a trauma center in Virginia,” Charlie told him. “This is Dr. White. He’s been taking care of you.”
Damon stared hard at Charlie, then turned his attention to the doctor examining a clipboard at the foot of his bed.
“Doctor,” he murmured in acknowledgment.
“You’ve had quite a couple of days,” Dr. White said, looking up. “You’ve been kept sedated, so I�
�m not surprised you’re confused. What’s the last thing you remember?”
Damon glanced at Charlie. He nodded, his unflappable calm reassuring.
“You can speak freely,” Charlie said. “He’s one of our surgeons.”
“One of our...” Damon sputtered. “I didn’t know we had surgeons.”
Charlie smiled faintly.
“There’s a lot you don’t know.”
Damon shook his head and looked back at the doctor waiting patiently for an answer.
“The last I remember, I was standing on a balcony in Singapore,” he said. “What happened? How did I get to Virginia?”
“You were flown here,” Charlie answered. He looked at the doctor. “Well?”
“He’s certainly not showing any confusion outside of what’s to be expected,” Dr. White replied. He walked over to the side of the bed and leaned down. A small flashlight appeared in his hand from nowhere and he shone it into one of Damon’s eyes, then the other. “How’s your head? Does it hurt?”
“Everything hurts,” Damon muttered, “but not my head especially. Why?”
“You had a mild concussion when you arrived,” Dr. White said, straightening. “Not surprising, really. You have a pretty good-sized lump on the back of your head.”
“I feel like I’ve got more than a lump on my head.”
Charlie let out a guffaw at that.
“A little bit more, yes,” the doctor said with a grin. “You don’t remember anything?”
“I told you, the last thing I remember was standing on a balcony, looking at...” Damon’s voice trailed off and his eyes widened. His heart started to pound and he suddenly went cold. “Oh my God,” he breathed, looking at Charlie. “Where is she?!”
“Whoa, careful!”
Dr. White moved swiftly, holding Damon back against the pillows as he pushed himself upright with his arms. Even in his weakened state, Hawk was much stronger and Dr. White shot a look at Charlie as he struggled to subdue the suddenly frantic man.
“Calm down,” Charlie barked, his voice acting like a bucket of ice water on fighting cats. “She’s fine. Who do you think got you here?”
Damon sighed in relief and sank back against the pillows. Dr. White shook his head and stood up, straightening his coat.
“Good God, man, do you want to start hemorrhaging?!” he exclaimed. “You just got closed up an hour ago!”
Damon looked from him to Charlie and back again.
“Would you care to fill me in on my injuries?” he asked, forcing himself to speak more calmly.
Dr. White glanced at Charlie, who nodded back.
“It was a high-powered rifle,” he said, “although, you look like you already knew that. The round entered your left side and nicked your large intestine before glancing off a rib, going through the muscle and exiting out the side. All things considered, you’re one lucky son of a bitch. If the bullet had been just a little to the right, you wouldn’t have made it here.”
Damon stared at him.
“That’s it?” he demanded. “It was a through and through?”
“That’s it. You hit your head pretty good when you fell, but like I said, you’re one lucky SOB.” Dr. White scribbled something on his chart and hung it back on the foot of the bed. “I want you to stay calm until we get your blood pressure back to normal, so no more outbursts. I also want to monitor for infection, so we’ll be taking blood regularly. No moving too much and no food yet. How’s the pain? I can have the nurse put something through the IV if you like.”
Hawk waved a hand impatiently.
“The pain is nothing,” he said. “I’ve had worse. How soon before I’m cleared to leave?”
“Barring any complications, you should be up and around again in two to three weeks.”
“Two to three...that’s not going to work for me,” Damon protested. “I can’t just lie here for weeks!”
Dr. White looked at Charlie.
“This is where you come in,” he said humorously. “I’ll leave you to deal with it.”
He turned and left the cubicle, leaving the curtain open, and Damon heard a door open and close beyond his line of vision. He turned his attention to Charlie.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
Charlie sighed and looked around. Spying a chair outside the cubicle, he stepped past the curtain and pulled it over to the side of the bed. He settled into it, crossing his legs comfortably.
“She’s in DC right now, then it’s my understanding that she’s going back to New Jersey,” he told him, sitting back. “Tell me what happened in Singapore.”
Hawk stared at him for a moment, then shook his head.
“I don’t know. I was waiting for Sergei Kuriev. She was standing about a foot away when...I saw a reflection in the hotel wall behind her. It was only a freak stroke of luck I saw it. There was a helicopter flying overhead and the lights glinted off the rifle. It lit it up like a beacon in the mirror finish on the side of the hotel.”
Charlie studied him for a moment.
“You saw all that in a reflection?” he asked softly.
Damon shrugged.
“I wouldn’t have seen it except for the light from the helicopter.”
Charlie was silent for a moment.
“Then what happened?”
“Apparently I was shot,” Damon retorted dryly.
Charlie’s lips twitched despite himself.
“Do you think it was Sergei?” he asked.
Damon thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“He didn’t know I was there,” he said decidedly. “He never saw me, and none of his body guards know me.”
Charlie nodded slowly.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.
“Was Viper hit?” Damon demanded. “Is she OK?”
Charlie studied him for a moment.
“She’s fine,” he said slowly. “For now. You heard what the doctor said. The bullet went through your side. What he doesn’t know is that something threw it off target, which caused it to go through your side instead of your chest.”
Hawk stared at him, feeling hot then cold.
“You mean...”
Charlie nodded somberly.
“If you weren’t directly in front of her, and the shot was true, it would have hit Viper either in the throat or the head, depending on the path. Either way, she wouldn’t have walked away.” Charlie studied him for a moment. “Would you care to tell me why you saw fit to move yourself into the path of the shot?” he asked softly.
Damon met his gaze and a rueful smile crossed his face.
“How did you know?” he asked.
“She told me.”
Damon was surprised into a bark of laughter, quickly choked back as pain gripped him with the sudden muscle contraction.
“Of course she did,” he muttered. “Yes, I moved in front of her. I wasn’t thinking, I was reacting. I saw a rifle and moved. What made the shot off target?”
Charlie shrugged.
“We don’t know. It was a clear shot from the room the shooter was in. Viper’s guess is the helicopter. She remembered it passing after you went down. She thinks the same light that showed you the rifle blinded the shooter.”
“What?!”
“Dr. White was right. You’ve got some luck on your side, both of you,” he said. “At the very least, one of you should be dead, most likely both. It was only a freak accident that saved you.”
Hawk laid his head back and stared up at the ceiling, his mind whirling.
“Who knew she was there?” he demanded.
“No one,” Charlie said flatly. “No one knew you were going except me.”
Hawk looked at him. He pressed his lips together and was silent for a moment.
“I can’t be laid up here for two weeks,” he said finally. “It’s not gonna happen.”
“I know.”
Hawk looked at him, a glint of amusement creeping into his eyes, and Charlie sighed imperceptibly
.
“Viper patched you up and took you to a private doctor in Singapore, who got you ready to travel. She had you in the air less than six hours after you were shot. She stabilized you, kept you sedated, and got you here to give you the best chance to recover quickly. It would be a shame to ruin all that effort by pushing yourself out of bed too soon.”
“It’s just a flesh wound.”
“A nicked intestine isn’t exactly a flesh wound,” Charlie said dryly. “At least stay long enough to make sure no infection sets in and let the muscles start to heal. You’re no good to me dead.”
“I’m not going to die,” Hawk retorted, “and there’s no infection. Dr. White said that when you two walked in. You can’t honestly expect me to hang out in bed while someone is hunting Viper. If they found out she was halfway around the world in Singapore, they’ll find out she’s in New Jersey.”
“She said the same thing just as she was leaving,” Charlie nodded. “I didn’t get the impression it bothered her. In fact, just the opposite. I think she’s looking forward to it.”
Hawk started to laugh, then groaned instead.
“Of course she is,” he muttered. “She’s looking for blood.”
“If she wasn’t already, she certainly is now,” Charlie agreed thoughtfully. “I wish she’d found what I sent her to Singapore for, but I suppose it will happen in its own time now.”
“Who is the ex-soldier you had her looking for?” Hawk asked, sending Charlie a sharp look.
Charlie returned the look squarely, his gray eyes hooded.
“Someone who tipped the scales,” he said obscurely.
Hawk scowled.
“Well isn’t that helpful,” he muttered. “And Sergei?”
“Oh, you’ll have to finish that,” Charlie said matter-of-factly. “However, it can wait until you’re healthy. By then he’ll be back in Georgia and it will be more difficult, but that’s something you’re used to.”
Charlie stood up and buttoned his charcoal suit jacket.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he said, looking down at Damon.