Devoted
Page 6
He adjusted the earpiece. “We have company, Big Bird. Repeat. Visitors rapidly approaching.”
A minute passed, the familiar sound of motorcycles getting closer. Grabbing his night vision binoculars, Moses exited the truck, leaving the door open to scan the area.
Shutting off his comm unit, Tracker got out, looking across the truck’s hood. “What the fuck, Moses. Get your butt back in here.”
Ignoring him, Moses continued his surveillance. “Maybe Burn ordered more men as backup.”
Looking into the distance behind them, Tracker’s gaze landed on a group of lights approaching at high speed. “Get in the truck, Moses. Now.”
At the urgency in Tracker’s voice, he jumped into the truck, turning to look out the back window. “I count over a dozen headlights.”
They flew past all three Brethren vehicles, the last two bikes drawing back.
“Sonofabitch,” Raider bit out.
“Demons Blood. What the hell are they doing here?” Moses asked, already guessing the answer.
Tracker touched his earpiece. “Big Bird. The Blood have arrived. Repeat. The Blood are surrounding the vans.”
This time, Wrath responded. “Do not leave your cover. No engagement. Repeat. No engagement.”
The words had just come over the comm when members of Demons Blood dismounted their bikes, pulled weapons, and began to fire.
“Big Bird, Blood are firing on the Devils.”
Again, Wrath’s voice came through the comm. “Roger that, Red. Do not approach. Stay back and observe.”
The rapid tat, tat, tat of M16s filled the air as the Blood continued their assault on the vans.
“From our position, the Devils are not returning fire.”
“Roger that, Red. Hold your positions.”
As quickly as it began, the attack ended as a non-descript sedan pulled into the lot. Stowing their weapons, the Blood surveyed the area. Several moved the fentanyl from the vans back into the truck, while two men from the sedan climbed out and jumped into the driver and passenger seats. The transfer didn’t take long.
Leaving the old model sedan behind, the truck pulled onto the road. The remaining Blood mounted their bikes and followed.
“Red to Big Bird. Demons Blood are leaving with the merchandise in the original truck. Orders?”
A moment passed before Wrath responded. “Red and Green Teams, follow the truck. Blue Team, you’re to check casualties and report.”
Ghost, Rock, and Tracker all responded in the affirmative, following Wrath’s orders. Raider turned the truck around, the same as Rock did with his van. Glancing behind, Tracker watched as Ghost’s team approached the carnage less than a mile from the border.
Exiting the large, black SUV, Ghost, Gunner, and Iggy pulled their guns. Waiting for a nod from Ghost, they searched the bodies for any sign of life, careful not to touch anything.
“Ghost, you need to get over here.”
He and Iggy responded to Gunner’s shout, hurrying toward him.
Bending down, Gunner checked for any signs of life. Getting a pulse, he pulled back the man’s cut, studying the entry point before rolling him over, discovering where the bullet exited. Joining him, Ghost stared down.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. A through and through. He needs medical attention right away.” Gunner laid him down.
“Sonofabitch,” Ghost blew out.
“Yeah. We need to get him into the truck before someone calls 911.”
Iggy joined them, looking at the body. “What’s the problem?”
“We’ve got a live one,” Gunner said.
“Leave him. He’ll either make it or he won’t. Let’s go before the law arrives.” Iggy turned to leave, stalling at Ghost’s words.
“Jif is one of us, and we take care of our own.”
Ghost sat in the emergency room of the closest hospital. They’d removed Jif’s cut, along with his holster and Ka-bar knife, stashing them in the SUV before Gunner and Iggy headed back to Liberty Lake.
Ghost had left his own cut behind, unwilling to take a chance the medical staff would remember him when the police arrived. And after the carnage near the border, the police or sheriff’s deputies would show up.
Wrath was on his way south. Once stable, Ghost knew he’d make arrangements to transport the undercover DEA agent to the best facility available. The Eternal Brethren’s VP had seen plenty of bullet wounds and was ninety percent certain Jif’s wouldn’t be fatal.
“Are you a relative of Mr. Robertson?”
Standing, Ghost didn’t flinch. Since Jif had no ID on him, it was an easy matter to use Ghost’s surname. “He’s my brother.” The lie slid easily off his tongue.
“The good news is he’s in stable condition. No injury to internal organs. The bullet went straight through the muscle tissue on his side. He’s a lucky man.”
“What’s the bad news, Doc?”
Before the doctor could reply, Wrath came through the front doors, heading straight toward the two men, stopping next to Ghost.
“How is he?”
“And you are?”
“A good friend, Doctor. Will he be all right?”
Ghost answered before the doctor could open his mouth. “He’s stable with no real damage, except to the muscles on one side.”
“Excellent. When can he be transported to a hospital closer to home?”
Wrath’s question surprised the doctor. He looked at Ghost, who nodded for him to answer.
“As I was about to tell his brother, the sheriff’s department has been called and should arrive soon. It’s standard procedure with a gunshot wound.”
“Yeah, I know that, Doctor,” Wrath said. “The thing is, standard procedure doesn’t apply in this case.”
Features going rigid, the doctor glared at Wrath, then Ghost. “I beg your pardon, but there are no circumstances I’m aware of which preclude an interview by the sheriff’s department.”
As if to punctuate Wrath’s argument, the front doors opened. Two men in khakis and polo shirts entered, followed by two sheriff’s deputies. Relief washed through Wrath and Ghost at the arrival of the DEA agents.
One deputy stepped forward, casting a confused glance at Ghost and Wrath before focusing on the doctor. “You have a patient with a gunshot wound.”
“I do. If you’ll follow me.”
“Hold on.” One of the agents pulled out a card along with a piece of paper, handing both to the deputy. “We’ll be taking it from here, gentlemen.”
Scanning the paper and the card, the deputy shook his head. “I can’t let you take him without notifying the sheriff.”
Unfazed, the agent grinned. “Go right ahead. I guarantee it won’t change the outcome. Is he stable enough to travel, Doctor?”
“Yes. But—”
The agent turned his attention to his partner. “Tell them to come and get the patient.”
The doctor’s face reddened. “You can’t just—”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we can. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to direct the EMTs to the patient, we’ll be out of your way as fast as possible.” Facing the deputy, he crossed his arms, waiting for him to end his call. “Well?”
Shaking his head, the deputy slipped the card and documents into a shirt pocket. “He’s all yours.”
Chapter Eight
Liberty Lake
“We’re so pleased to have you with us, Doctor Stanifer. It’s taken a long time to find someone who fits our group. Your office is down the hall.” The tall, handsome doctor glanced over his shoulder. “You’re next to me.”
Julia didn’t know how to respond. Something about Doctor Frasier Bolton set her teeth on edge. She’d felt the same during the interview process. In truth, she’d almost turned down their offer because the man made her so uncomfortable. Now she’d have an office next to his.
“Great,” she murmured, following behind.
Frasier opened a door. “Pardon? Did you say something?”
“Just admiring the offices, Doctor.”
“Yes, they are beautiful, aren’t they? I did most of the design myself. I’ve always had an excellent sense of space and color. My office is right there.” He gestured to the next door down, then to the inside of her office. “I selected your furniture myself.”
Stopping just inside, Julia sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to gag. The room came right out of a 1950s television show. Hardwood chairs with thick pads in reds and greens which complemented the abstract pattern in the curtains. She hadn’t seen actual fabric curtains in an office since, well…never. Slapping a hand over her mouth, Julia stifled a laugh. It wouldn’t do to piss off the man who’d championed her employment.
Slim lamps with broad, light cream shades sat atop tables of the same wood as the chairs. The room was in exact symmetry. Nothing out of place. The items on the left of the room balanced the furniture on the right. Julia expected Ozzie and Harriet to jump out of the walls at any moment.
Clearing her throat, she squared her shoulders to face him. “You’ve gone to so much work, Doctor Bolton.”
“Frasier.”
“What?”
“My first name is Frasier. I’d appreciate it if you used it when we’re in private.” He scanned the room with a satisfied grin. “Yes, it did take a good deal of time to get everything just right for you.”
Julia’s hand rested on the back cushion of one chair. The stiff fabric did nothing to soothe her misgivings, and she doubted it would be something any of her patients would want to experience. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the time period. She loved 1950s kitchens and diners. They always seemed welcoming and truly were a blast from the past. At least from her parents’ and grandparents’ past.
My birth parents. The thought had her throat tightening. If only…
Thrusting the spasm of pain aside, Julia checked the time. “Don’t we have a meeting in five minutes?”
“I almost forgot. We’re meeting the other doctors in the break room. The nurses will join us after we’ve had a chance to discuss a few pressing issues.” Frasier moved into the hall. “If you’ll follow me.”
Escaping the too close presence of the senior doctor, she inhaled a deep breath as they walked down the hall, turning a corner. It was a large facility. Six pediatricians, ten nurses, which included physician assistants, eight people handling administration and billing, and an office manager. The clinic was just a little smaller in size and number of staff than the one she’d left in San Diego.
Julia’s initial plan had been to join a group of no more than four doctors. She’d hoped for a less hectic atmosphere and more time with each patient. From what Frasier had shown her, she may not have chosen as wisely as she’d first thought. Still, it was in Liberty Lake, a town she could grow to love. Assuming she didn’t continue to run into Nate.
“Here we are.” He motioned for her to move past him. “For those who haven’t met her, this is Doctor Juliana Stanifer.” Light applause and broad smiles had her blushing. “She’s from Coronado and is friends with Doctor Tessa Walker. We should feel fortunate Tessa didn’t have an opening at her clinic or Julia might never have considered us.” The slight amount of sarcasm made her cringe.
Arrogant, condescending, and a snob, she thought, waiting for him to finish the introduction.
“I believe each of you has a folder with her education, residency, and experience. She—”
An older woman held up her hand, her features flashing with irritation. “Enough, Frasier. Let Juliana sit down so we can all introduce ourselves.”
Seeing an empty seat next to the female doctor, she headed toward it and sat down. “I’m quite glad to be here. And please, call me Julia.”
Clearing her throat, the woman next to Julia peeked over the frame of her glasses. “I’m Verona Height. My late husband and I started this clinic over thirty years ago. It has expanded to the monstrosity you see now.” She shot a wicked glare at Frasier. “I certainly hope you don’t feel you must see forty patients a day.”
“Verona…” Frasier’s voice rose in warning.
Waving a dismissive hand, she slid her attention back to Julia. “This place can do fine if we see twenty or twenty-five. But we’ll discuss this at our business meeting at the end of the week. For now, everyone should introduce themselves and share a little about their backgrounds.” She raised a brow, her gaze narrowing on the others. “That’s a little bit, people.”
Biting her lower lip, Julia found herself liking Verona. Certainly more than Frasier. Listening as the doctors made their introductions, she couldn’t help noticing the stiffness in Frasier’s shoulders, irritation clear in his features. Ignoring him, she focused on the others, fascinated at their backgrounds. Only one other, a younger female doctor who shot Frasier admiring glances, made warning bells go off in Julia’s head.
When they were finished, she took a few minutes to share her background and answer questions. They shared a little more about the challenges facing their practice and thoughts about the future before Frasier ushered the nurses inside.
An hour after entering the room, Julia walked out, ready for a quick lunch before seeing her first patient of the day.
“Is there a specific nurse assigned to me?” She followed Frasier back toward their offices, again noting the size of the building and several unoccupied offices.
“You’ll share a PA with me. The nurses rotate, depending on who’s in the office and number of patients. Contrary to what Verona said, we are upping our load to at least forty patients per day.”
Stopping, Julia stared at his back before he noticed she’d fallen behind. When he turned, it was to see her arms crossed, features as neutral as possible given the news.
“What is it?”
“Dr. Bolton, I made myself quite clear when I interviewed for this position. I’ve been seeing forty to forty-five patients a day for two years. One reason I selected this job was the assurance I’d see no more than thirty-five per day. Those parameters have not changed. So, it seems we have a problem.”
Face ashen, Frasier held out his hands, palms out. “Julia, you must understand. We plan for this clinic to become the most profitable in the area. To do that, we must push the limits beyond our comfort zone. In my research, I found forty to be a comfortable number. We’ve acquiesced to Verona’s demand she see no more than twenty-five. After all, she is older and founded the clinic. The rest of us have agreed to the new number.”
A brief image of her stock savings accounts flashed through her mind. Julia knew she never had to work again. That wasn’t the issue, however. The issue was Frasier had lied to her about the caseload.
“I see. Then I must tender my resignation effective immediately. I’ll prepare it in writing before leaving.” Extending her hand, she allowed herself a deep breath to shove the anger down a notch. “It was a pleasure learning about the clinic, but given the change, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be a good fit.”
“Nonsense.” Verona marched toward them, her frosty gaze pinning Frasier. “The doctors here have made no such agreement and you know it. You’re one of only two who believe it a good idea. Including Julia, four of us do not agree, and I will not have you gushing such hogwash to our new doctor.” She turned her attention to Julia. “Forget what he said. Frasier didn’t like being on the losing end of the proposal, which was destined for failure from the start. You will be assigned a maximum of twenty-five patients a day, with the exception of seeing up to thirty when one of the doctors is out due to illness, injury, or vacation.”
“But, Verona, you know we need more to continue to grow.” Frasier’s voice had changed to a pathetic whine.
“You are welcome to see more patients,” Verona replied. “In fact, I think it’s quite unselfish of you to do that knowing your split will not change.” Ignoring how he sputtered, she shifted to look at Julia. “Have you plans for lunch?”
“Why, no.”
“Well, you do now.”
Wrath slammed a file on the conference table before taking a seat at one end. The men who’d been assigned to observe and report stared at him, their expressions impassive.
“As you know, Jif took a bullet last night when Demons Blood attacked the Night Devils. Grayson and Jif’s boss transported him to a secure military hospital. He’ll mend, but his cover is blown. My guess is Burn will order men to find and eliminate him.”
Raider rested his arms on the table, leaning forward. “That could take a helluva long time, Prez. Grayson and Jif’s boss will make certain he ghosts after leaving the hospital.”
“What about him joining us?” Gunner asked. “Rumor has it he’s an ex-SEAL.”
Rock shook his head. “That would put him right in the sights of the Devils. If they spot him, he’s as good as dead.”
“What about New Orleans?”
Wrath shot a look at Ghost, a slight grin appearing. “It’s under consideration.”
The eastern chapter of Eternal Brethren was started a couple years after Wrath and his crew had shown so much success. Based outside New Orleans, the missions were somewhat different, but they performed the same undercover role as those based in Liberty Lake. It might be the perfect place for Jif.
“Rock, Tracker, and their teams followed the truck and Demons Blood to a meet not far from Flagstaff.” Wrath nodded at Rock.
“We weren’t able to get as close as we wanted. We were able to identify Pacho, their vice president, and Snake, the sergeant-at-arms. Drago wasn’t with them. About an hour passed before a car approached from the east and joined them.” Rock tapped a few keys on the laptop before him, projecting an image on the wall. “Four men emerged from the car. At first, we didn’t recognize any of them. As you can see, they’re all wearing dark shirts, jeans, and caps pulled low on their foreheads.” He looked at Tracker.
“They spoke with Pacho and Snake for a few minutes before one of them walked back to the car to retrieve an envelope. When he handed it to Pacho, we were able to get a good look at the man.” Tracker reached over Rock to hit a key. Another image appeared. “It took us a minute to recognize him.”