by Vicki Tharp
“Hang up the phone, Tessa,” Bradley said. His voice came out even as if he’d told her to change the channel on the TV, and not as if he was cornered and running out of viable options.
“Mom?” Jack’s voice wavered, but she had to hand it to her kid for keeping his cool.
“Don’t move, baby.” Tessa raised her hands, the phone high as she used exaggerated movements to disconnect the call and lay the phone on the ground. “Every thing’s going to be okay.”
Injecting as much authority as she could, Tessa said, “The sheriff is on the way. Give me Jack, and you can be gone before they get here.”
“You must think I’m stupid.” The tension in Bradley’s voice rose as sirens wailed in the distance.
Lights flashed as airport security sped around the far hanger in their utility vehicle.
Bradley raised his gun, level with Jack’s chest. “You need to get them to back off. Right the fuck now.”
“Hold on,” Gil said to Bradley, “No need to get excited.”
Hank turned to deal with security while Tessa did her best to talk some sense into her ex. Every fiber, every cell of her being wanted to scream at Jack to run.
“Tick tock, Martin,” Gil said. “Give us the kid, and we’ll let you go. You have our word.”
How Gil sounded calm and collected, Tessa would never know. After aiming the rifle for so long, it must feel like it weighed a hundred pounds, but Gil’s aim was rock solid, the end of the barrel perfectly still.
There came a ruckus behind them as airport security blew past Hank. Bradley raised the gun and put it to Jack’s temple. Jack shook, Bradley’s hand shook, and Tessa’s knees almost gave out.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Gil stood, holding the rifle and his other arm to the side. “Everybody calm the fuck down.”
Over his shoulder, Gil identified himself and told the airport security to back off. Gil laid the rifle on the ground and to Bradley, said, “Point that thing at me.”
“Gil, no.” Tessa thought she spoke out loud, but Gil didn’t respond, so she wasn’t sure.
“At me, Martin. At my head. Come on.” Gil eased forward as he spoke. “I’m a big, fat target at this distance, you can’t miss.”
Tessa saw the indecision on Bradley’s face.
“Do it,” Gil ordered. “Do it now.”
Bradley held Jack tighter against his body, but he shifted his aim from Jack’s head to Gil’s.
“That’s it,” Gil said. “I’m the one you want. I’m the one fucking this up for you. You want to take it out on somebody, you take it out on me, not the kid.”
A tsunami of relief washed over Tessa at the same time guilt swamped her. Bradley adjusted his finger on the trigger, his hand shaking as no doubt the combination of stress, adrenaline, and muscle fatigue worked against him.
Tessa didn’t dare move, didn’t dare speak. One flinch, one false move, and Gil would be dead.
Compared to your ex, a relationship with me looks like a no-brainer.
Gil’s words flashed in her head, as he took one cautious step toward the plane and then another. The truth of those words hitting her psyche hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs and all her previous reservations from her head.
This man, this big, bold, brave man was her and Jack’s everything. Risking his life for her son’s. He was the definition of selfless, the spitting image of integrity, the perfect picture of what a man should be.
It didn’t come as a revelation that she loved him. Though she hadn’t admitted it to herself, her heart, her body had known all along. It had just taken her brain some time to catch up.
The sirens were getting louder, but Bradley might still be able to get away if he hurried.
Gil eased closer and closer, his hands raised by his head, as he said, “Take me. I’m the one you want, Martin. Easy now. Easy.” Though Gil’s words were soothing, Tessa noticed the subtle way Gil’s body tensed, reminding her of a panther about to pounce. Jack’s eyes went to Gil, and in Tessa’s peripheral vision, Boomer shifted.
“They’re here,” Hank said.
Bradley’s focus shifted to the airport entrance. Sirens blared, tires squealed, and the full force of the Bison county sheriff’s department bore down on them.
Bradley froze.
Gil dove.
Tessa screamed.
Bradley and Boomer fired.
The sound of the shot didn’t even register, and Gil barely felt the bullet rip through his shoulder as he yanked Jack from the plane by the ankle, tucked him in his arms, and ducked and rolled under the plane.
They came to a stop against the fence, while the sheriff’s deputies leapt from their vehicles and charged the plane. Chaos surrounded them. Shouting, yelling, sirens howling.
But in the shadow on the far side of the plane, Gil and Jack were sheltered. Gil came to rest on his back, Jack tight in his arms against his chest.
He loosened his grip and held Jack at arm’s length. Gil grunted at the movement as the adrenaline started to wear off and the searing pain started taking its place. “You okay, Squirt?”
Jack nodded. Grass clippings fell out of the kid’s hair, and his body shook worse than palm fronds during a Florida hurricane. But there were no tears. The kid was too much like his mother for that.
Jack scrambled off Gil and sat in the grass. “You’re bleeding.” There was no panic in his voice. Again, so much like his mother.
“It’s not as serious as it looks.” Gil should know. It was close to where the last bullet had struck him. He took in a measured breath. At least this one had only hit meat instead of lungs.
He couldn’t turn his resignation papers in fast enough.
“Does it hurt? Billy’s dad was shot in the leg one time while he was hunting, and he said bullets hurt like a b—”
“Watch your mouth,” Gil said, though he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
“Biscuit,” Jack said. “I was going to say biscuit. You thought I was going to say bitch.” Jack slapped a hand over his mouth before Gil could. “Don’t tell Mom I said that.”
“Don’t tell me you said what?”
“Mom!”
Jack jumped to his feet, and Tessa scooped him up in her arms. He wrapped his skinny legs around her waist as she held him extra, extra tight.
“Mom, I can’t breathe.”
Gil propped himself up against the fence and spared a glance at his shoulder. The bullet had left behind a hole and a trail of blood in the borrowed T-shirt.
Tessa sank to the ground beside him, loosening her hold on her son enough to keep him from turning blue. She ran her hands all over Jack, looking for signs of injury.
Jack giggled and squirmed. “Stop, that tickles.”
“Don’t move, I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Mr. Gil’s not.”
Tessa shot a look at Gil. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m okay. Seeing the two of you together is the best medicine.” Though he’d be lying if he said morphine wouldn’t feel good right about then.
Tessa leaned over and pressed a kiss against his lips. “My hero,” she teased, though as soon as she said it, her eyes welled, and she blinked back the tears.
Gil shifted and flashed Tessa a smile, though the painful movement made it come out more like a grimace. “Does that mean I get a reward?”
Tessa’s eyes went dark and mischievous, but before she could say anything, Jack piped in. “Of course, you do. When I’m good, I get something extra special.”
Gil didn’t take his eyes off hers when he said, “Oh, little man, I’m counting on it.”
Tessa smiled. Full of relief, gratitude, and sinful promise.
Boomer came around the nose of the plane. “Hey, little man,” he said to Jack, “Is this a private party or can anyone join in?”
Gil shifted, his shoulder pounded, and he grunted against the waves of pain that radiated up and down his arm.
“Whoa,” Boome
r said when he got a look at his shoulder. “I think we should take this little party over to the ambulance, let the EMTs take a look at that.”
“Come on, Jack,” Tessa said.
Boomer reached down and locked wrists with Gil’s uninjured arm and helped him up. A wave of dizziness made Gil take a stutter step to catch himself.
“You good?” Boomer asked.
Gil leaned his uninjured shoulder against the plane until the world righted itself. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Twenty minutes later, Gil sat on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance, an IV in his arm and his shoulder temporarily bandaged until he could get to the hospital. His condition wasn’t critical, and since he was friendly with the EMTs, he managed to talk them into letting him stay on scene until they’d gotten Martin cuffed and stuffed into the back of a cruiser and the deputies could get his statement.
It would all be in a report to Spinks later, but the sheriff’s boys needed to do their jobs and truth be told, he wasn’t going anywhere until Tessa had her leg evaluated.
At some point, Spinks had shown up. He must have finished with Boomer and Hank because he headed over toward Gil, Tessa hobbling along at the SAC’s side.
“Make room,” Spinks said as he handed Tessa up into the ambulance.
Gil scooted over giving Tessa room to sit on the end of the stretcher. The EMT put on a fresh pair of gloves and used bandage scissors to slice the leg of her jeans to expose her wound.
“They’re taking care of my leg,” Tessa said to Spinks, “now tell me what’s going on with the rest of the shipment.”
“We believe all trucks are accounted for. They’re being followed. Right now, it looks like they’ll converge somewhere on the coast in the Pacific Northwest. Quincy or Everett, Washington, Massey thinks.”
Tessa hissed in a breath. Her voice tentative when she said, “Quincy?”
Spinks’ eyes narrowed. “Yeah, why?”
“Bradley said—” Tessa hissed again, but it had nothing to do with a revelation and everything to do with the disinfectant the EMT was applying to her calf.
“Sorry,” the EMT said. “I’m almost done.”
Tessa closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth a couple times, then continued. “Bradley said something about my father keeping me out of the family business.”
Spinks crossed his arms over his chest. His hair was a mess, he had double bags under his eyes, and by his sour expression, he was a couple quarts low on caffeine. “What the hell does that mean?”
“My father owns a lot of businesses. A little of this. A little of that all over the world. But he specializes in logistics. That’s—”
“I know what logistics is. He specializes in getting things to people who need them.”
Tessa snatched her leg back from the EMT. “Okay, you’re done.”
“But I—”
“No more,” she said.
“I could give you something for the pain—”
“Not now.” Tessa pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. “Sorry, I know you’re doing your job. Give us a minute, will you?”
By the strain on her face, she needed the meds as much as Gil did, but he knew she would refuse, like he had. Pain management could wait. Right now, they needed to have their minds clear. Spinks needed their help. The EMT peeled his gloves off and backed away. “I’ll give you five minutes, then I’m taking both of you in. With pain meds or without.”
From across the runway, Jack’s laugh came fast and light as he played a game of keep away with one of Boomer’s baseball hats. Jack tossed it to Hank, but Boomer roared and swept him up with one arm and dangled the kid over his shoulder. Jack kicked and screamed, his laughter sweet and high pitched.
“My father has a warehouse in Quincy. It’s right on a rail line. It’s his preferred port when he ships supplies because it’s a smaller inland port in the middle of nowhere. It’s not nearly as busy as the coastal ones.”
“You really think your father’s in on this?” Gil gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“I hope I’m wrong, but the more I think about it, the more I think Bradley got the idea to use an out of the way port for his illegal activity from my father’s business model.”
Tessa went on to supply Spinks with her father’s full name, address and contact information and answered a few short questions her voice flat and hollow.
The EMT pushed in beside Spinks and said, “Times up. You can answer any more questions when they get done with you at the hospital.”
17
Two weeks later, Gil’s shoulder was well on the way to being healed. He scratched at the scruff growing on his jaw, liking what he saw in the mirror more and more each day.
And it wasn’t just the hair.
It was Tessa and the kid and the man he was becoming as their lives neatly dovetailed together.
By the time Gil pulled into the parking lot of the Sheriff’s Office, Spinks’ car was one of the few ones there. No surprise. Gil made his way through the halls and rapped on the jamb of Spinks’ open door. Spinks glanced up from his computer and silenced the CNN feed on the television behind him.
Leaning back in his chair, Spinks said, “This it then?”
Spinks had known this was coming. Gil had told him as much. “Yes, sir.”
Gil laid the envelope beside the SAC’s computer. Spinks sort of smiled. “You can drop the ‘sir’ now. It never sat well with you anyway.”
There was no point in denying it. “Filed the last of my reports. You know where to find me if you have any questions.”
“At Sterling’s you mean?”
He wished. At least with him resigning, he and Tessa didn’t have to find a way around their involvement while serving on the same task force.
“I’m at the ranch for now. Until I finish up the program and can find my own place, or…” He shrugged. Spinks was a bright enough man, he could fill in the blanks himself.
Honestly, Gil had no intention of finding his own place. He’d move in with Tessa, or they could find a place together when the time came. He was a patient man. At least now she encouraged Jack to spend time with him.
“I better get going. I’m picking up Lang and taking him to the barbecue tonight. You coming?”
Spinks shook his head. “Naw. I need to finish tying up all our loose ends. The case is being handed over to the FBI.”
“Wait. That was a joint case, how the hell did the FBI run us out—”
Spinks held up his hands in surrender, his face a combination of resignation and frustration. “The Brass duked it out. Don’t get me started.”
So much for inter-agency cooperation.
Of all the things Gil wouldn’t miss about leaving the ATF, the bureaucracy, the posturing, the fighting over cases like a pack of snarling, starving hyenas topped the long list. In the fight for recognition and promotion, sometimes the fact that they were all on the same team was lost in the minutia.
If Gil had learned nothing else in his years in the military and law enforcement, it was that there was no need for the agencies to squabble over scraps. There was enough evil in the world to go around.
They said their goodbyes and Gil hopped in his truck and headed over to Isaac’s place. Gil was around the corner from his friend’s house when a text came in. Pulling into Isaac’s driveway, he parked and pulled out his phone.
Two words from Isaac. Save me.
Gil chuckled and went to type a reply. He couldn’t get the text sent before the front door opened and Isaac wheeled himself out of the house and rolled down the newly finished ramp at warp speed.
Isaac didn’t even wait for Gil to get out of the truck before he yanked the passenger door open. By the time Gil came around to the other side, Isaac had already hoisted himself into the truck. Gil pushed the wheelchair out of the way and helped Isaac swing his legs inside.
“What’s your hurry? There’s gonna be plenty of food to go around.”
“I don’t care abou
t the food. Get in the truck and drive like you’re the wheelman on a jewelry heist.”
“Okaaay,” Gil said, as he folded the wheelchair and secured it in the back of the truck. His shoulder complained, but not too loudly. “You’re the boss.”
“Hurry.” The unmitigated panic in Isaac’s voice made Gil glance at his friend. You would have thought the Hounds of the Baskerville were nipping at his heels, but as Gil looked over at the house where Isaac was staring, it wasn’t hellhounds that were after his friend, but Isaac’s mother.
Rita hurried down the ramp, a backpack in her hand. “Izzy, you forgot your backpack. I’ve got water bottles in case you get—”
“Ma,” Isaac tried to get a word in, but his mother talked right over him. “Mom.”
“…and I put extra urinary catheters in because I know how you don’t like to use the collection bags when you go out and—”
“Mom. Enough.” The last time Gil had seen Isaac that red… scratch that, Gil had never seen Isaac that deep of a shade of crimson.
“Honey, I—”
Gil took the bag from Rita. “I’ll take good care of him, Mrs. Lang. Don’t you worry.”
“What time will you be back?”
“Don’t wait up,” Isaac said. By the look on Rita’s face, Isaac was wasting his breath.
She nodded, but her forehead remained creased. Gil got it. The woman had almost lost her son. Her only child. She was holding on tight, and she couldn’t see how it was suffocating him.
Rita stood in the driveway and waved as Gil backed up and headed back to the Lazy S.
Isaac slumped in the seat beside him, his head back. “Sorry about that. That was TMI, I know. That bullet not only took out my legs, it obliterated my mother’s verbal filter.”
“Aw, c’mon. Can’t be that awful.”
Isaac rolled his head toward Gil. “You think I’m exaggerating? She told Pearl at the diner that I haven’t gotten a boner since I got shot. Pearl shared my plight with her congregation down at the church. My dick’s been added to the prayer list.
“Somehow, I would think my capacity for sexual gratification would be farther down on God’s To Do list. Somewhere behind ending world hunger and sending the Cubs to the World Series again.”