John (Guardian Defenders Book 3)

by Kris Michaels

  Travis stood up. “How long for the helo?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Coach, you and John stay with the woman. Ricco and Scuba, let’s gut this place. Nothing is too small or insignificant. Bag and tag everything. Channel Jared-fucking-King. If you find a dead gnat on the stairs it goes into evidence, let the laboratory crimefighters sort it out. I’ll video the room with my phone. It will have to do, no time for pictures.”

  John watched as blue gloves and evidence bags were taken out of backpacks, but his attention migrated back to the woman. He picked up her hand and held it. She was so damn cold. He wasn’t much on praying, but he’d been introduced to it when he started living around Frank and Amanda Marshall. Those people lived what they believed. He bowed his head and sent a word Heavenward. It couldn’t hurt.

  Coach slid a cuff around her arm and inflated the device. “Her heart rate and blood pressure are low. She has significant soft tissue damage, her nail beds are shot. Toes and fingers.” John continued to hold her hand as Coach ran experienced fingers down each limb, careful to only expose the area he was examining.

  When Coach sat back on his heels, John asked, “Will she make it?”

  Coach slowly shook his head. “I don’t know, man. Depends on internal injuries and her will to live. Right now, she’s breathing and I’m going to do my best to keep her that way until the real doc gets here.” Coach glanced at his watch and then back down at the woman. “You hear that, lady? You need to hang in there. Don’t you dare quit on me now.”

  John let a sad smile spread across his face. “That’s why they call you Coach, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Halftime pep talks. That’s what the Skipper calls them. Sometimes it’s the best first aid I can dispense, you know what I mean?” The younger man’s stare met his eyes. “A person has to know they matter, that someone wants them to fight.” He pointed to John’s connection with the woman. “That hand-holding you got going on there, you keep that up, and talk to her, too. She needs to hear a kind voice.”

  At the unmistakable sound of a helicopter above, Coach jumped up. “I’m going to get them down here and brief the doc on her injuries so he can bring what he needs. You got her?”

  “Yeah.” John nodded. Coach hit the stairs at a run. The others didn’t even look up from collecting evidence. John moved so he was sitting beside her. Hunks of her long brown hair had been hacked or sawed off and the vivid bruising and swelling prevented him from knowing anything else about her. She wore no rings on her damaged fingers. John leaned down and whispered, “You’re safe now. Be strong just a bit longer. We’ll make sure no one hurts you again.”

  He carefully stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. It was the only place he wouldn’t encounter wounds. He glanced up when he heard a light step coming down the stairs. A woman with strawberry-blonde hair pulled back into a long ponytail jogged across the floor. “I’m Poet. I’ll take over. Thank you for staying with her.” The woman glanced at the men in the room. “You have three minutes to finish collecting evidence. I want you out so we can work on her.”

  Travis swung his head her way. “Roger that, we’ll be done in two.”

  John stood up and backed away from the poor soul on the ground. He snapped himself out of the weird connection he felt with the woman. “Travis, what can I do to help?”

  “All the bags over there in that box, take them up and get them on the helicopter. We’ll have the last of it in a minute. Then go find Luke and Harley. They need to get that fucker into the helicopter and have him hog-tied so he won’t cause her any more damage. I hate taking that bastard back in the same transport as his victim, but it can’t be helped.”

  John grabbed the box and headed out but stalled at the bottom of the stairs. A tall blond man and Coach were coming down the stairs carrying a stretcher that had a fuckton of equipment on it. The new man nodded at him but kept his rapid-fire questions of Coach going. John glanced back as Scuba and Ricco started to collect the team’s equipment. He ran up the stairs and headed to the waiting helicopter. One of the pilots saw him and jogged over to help him. He shouted over the motor noise, “These can go in the exterior skid storage bins.”

  The man led the way and John followed. John shouted, “There’s more coming.”

  The pilot gave him a thumbs-up, and he bolted to find Luke and Harley, passing Scuba and Ricco on the way back. He hustled to where the men were. Time was of the essence.

  Chapter 4

  John leaned against the fence and gazed at the herd that lingered near the fence line. He was physically exhausted and was damn glad about that fact. Since he’d joined the Marshalls, he’d worked from sunup to sunset and worked damn hard. When he first showed up, his body was soft from far too much time behind a computer, but the march of time and countless hours of hard work had honed his body into the tool he needed to perform the countless tasks of manual labor ranch life demanded. He glanced up at the sky and pulled his cowboy hat off to mop the sweat from his forehead.

  He wiped the sweatband of his hat as he glanced up toward the ranch house. House? Hell, it was a mansion. He chuckled when he thought of Frank Marshall’s indignation when he told him he wouldn’t stay at the main house, nor would he partake in meals with the family. John insulated himself from all contact. He’d occasionally play a hand of poker with the twins or Chief, but that was only when the isolation of his existence began to gnaw on his soul. When you grew up knowing how to double deal, stack the deck, and had an almost indistinguishable mechanic’s grip on the deck, he could wipe out the friendly card game within a few hands. It was why he didn’t play cards. Too many memories, most of them bad.

  He glanced down to the leather strapped around his wrist. He’d lost his only remaining reason he had to be happy the day the CIA determined he and his sister were liabilities. There was no way to prove they’d killed Lori, but he didn’t believe in coincidences. He was burned by someone inside the CIA, his identity outed to the world. Every faction of every intelligence-gathering agency in the world wanted to know what was stuffed inside his brain. The man he was died, and John Smith emerged.

  He drew a deep breath and gazed over the rolling hills that were dotted with cattle. The low calls and swishing tails were now familiar and safe. He pictured his sister’s face. The blonde hair and hazel eyes weren’t as easy to recall these days. He didn’t have many pictures of her, but he did have one he’d framed and put in his small office. All his belongings were blown to hell and back after he was ‘killed’ in a car bombing.

  John’s thumb tapped the rail where he leaned. If it hadn’t been for Gabriel, he would have been in that car—and he would be dead. He glanced down to the weathered pole and picked at a loose piece of wood. The series of operations he’d participated in this past winter had led to nothing; well, except for the woman they’d rescued up in Canada. He last saw her in Winnipeg when they’d dropped the woman and the medical team off at the helipad on top of the medical center. He’d never heard if she’d made it or not. It was hard to imagine being able to come back from that type of trauma.

  “Deep in thought.” Frank Marshall’s voice snapped his attention back to the present. He’d damn near jumped a foot at the sound of the man’s voice.

  “Ah, yeah.” John shifted on the rail, giving Frank room to lean against the fence.

  “Worried about anything in particular?”

  “No, just doing some reflecting.” A hobby in which he indulged far too much time.

  Frank grunted and shifted his gaze over his property. “Need to ask you a favor.” The older man took out a piece of taffy and offered one to John.

  “Adding sugar on top of the favor? Must be something big.” John chuckled at the glare Frank shot his way. The man might be able to fool the kids on the ranch, but he wasn’t the callous old fart he pretended to be. The man had a heart the size of the Dakota skies and it was filled with love. Love of the land, love for his fellow man, but most of all, love for his wife and t
hose people he claimed as family.

  “Got a little problem. Guardian has a special case coming in tomorrow. Rehab.” Frank unwrapped his candy and popped the confection into his mouth.

  “How’s that a problem for us?” John looked at the pink and white candy in his fingers and pulled the ends of the wax paper, unwrapping the peppermint-flavored fluff.

  “Yeah, well, physically the Mossad agent is on the mend. I don’t mean to spread Guardian business around, but she’s been seeing a professional for the things that happened to her up in Canada. Her mind isn’t healing as fast as her body. She’s pretty messed up.” Frank looked off into the distance.

  The dots connected in his mind. It took him a couple of minutes before he asked, “Is it the same woman? The one Sierra Team and I brought out?”

  “Yeah. She’s in a bad way. Guardian found out the Mossad had let her go. Too damaged to continue to work, but she was found on our op. We weren’t going to do that. She’s got a long road to walk. She’s pretty much shut down, but we’ll do everything we can to make sure she has a shot at a new normal.” Frank looked down at the ground and dug at it with the toe of his boot.

  John shook his head. Damn cold of the Mossad to drop an asset like that. “The mental and physical effects of the torture.”

  “Yeah. This undercover operation took a lot from her. Her partner’s body washed up on a beach in Italy. Don’t know how they managed to end up half a world apart, and that woman ain’t talking. To anyone for any reason.” Frank cleared his throat before he straightened and slapped the pole. “Anyway, she needs to heal. I offered the drover’s cottage next to your house. She accepted, but she made it clear she wasn’t ready to see anyone or talk about what happened.”

  “You know, she might never be ready to talk about it.” John turned, leaning his back against the fencepost.

  “Yeah. Heard that from her doctors. Anyway, they got her set up with Dr. Wheeler over in Hollister. He’s an all right Doc.” Frank nodded as if confirming his words in his own head.

  “So, what is the favor?” John watched his boss. He knew it was hard for Frank to ask anyone for anything. It just wasn’t the man’s way.

  “Could you on occasion look in on her? I know you don’t cotton to the neighborly ways, but a word here or there. She’s hurting and lost, and I don’t want to force her away from the one chance she has at getting herself healed up.”

  John stood and put his fingers in his pockets, letting his arms go slack. He glanced down at the ground and gave the request some serious thought. He shrugged and averted his gaze toward the little drover’s cottage that sat about three hundred feet from the house Frank had built for him. He’d lived in the cottage while the three-bedroom home he lived in now was being built. The cottage was snug and had everything he needed—a small bathroom with a shower and a tiny kitchen. The entire space was the size of his kitchen now. Frank cleared his throat again, snapping John back to the conversation. “I can do that. Not going to lie, it ain’t in my comfort zone, but I’ll speak when I see her or… something.”

  Frank chuckled and headed back toward the main house, clasping John’s shoulder as he passed in acknowledgement. John turned back to the pasture and shook his head. If Frank Marshall had his way, the old cowboy would draw him into the people he considered family. That thought sent a chill down his spine. No. Never again would he get close enough to feel the depth of loss he felt when he lost his father and sister.

  Never again.

  Chapter 5

  Shae shifted the pillow behind her back, padding the plush leather seat of the G6’s seat. Her body was still healing. Months of hospitalization, treatments, and surgeries had knit together her body. Once her physical ailments had been corrected, the Mossad cut her loose. She had nothing until the man from Guardian had requested permission to speak with her. She shifted again and winced. She had no recollection of how she’d injured her leg, but she’d been dealing with the nagging injury since she regained consciousness. Shae jumped and grabbed the armrests of the chair when the landing gear engaged. She flinched when the Guardian doctor’s eyes bounced to her as if the sudden sound was the event that would cause her to shatter.

  Her anger and humiliation at the cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof reaction to the noise added one more brick to the wall she was building to keep everyone away. She couldn’t stand the sympathetic looks or the solicitous manner of speech as if a stray word would break her. People didn’t know how to relate to her anymore, and she sure as hell didn’t know how to communicate what she needed from them. Because she didn’t know. She didn’t have the slightest clue what she needed from them… except space and time. Her mind was a battlefield on a good day and a graveyard on the bad ones. She was fighting a war that didn’t have defined rules. Her own mind, her thoughts and feelings, were harbingers of doom and guilt. The physicians referred her to shrinks, the shrinks medicated her to ‘manage’ the physical reactions to the emotional turmoil, and nobody—absolutely nobody—could understand the demons that were screaming at her all day, every day. She closed her eyes, shutting out the concerned looks. She didn’t have the energy or the desire to deal with their disappointment and concern. Waking up to face another day was struggle enough.

  The plane landed and she somehow managed to tear her death grip off the armrests. She took off her seatbelt and drew her legs up into the chair with her, adding to the mental distance with a physical shield. Not that it worked. Her medical team barged past her barriers, and that hurt almost as much as the distance she was trying to build.

  “Do you want to have dinner with us?” the nurse who was traveling with them asked. It reminded her of the time her mom rescued a puppy from the side of the road. She’d nursed the little guy back to life using that same tone of voice. Shae hated that anyone thought they had to use that tone with her. She shook her head and looked out the window, waiting for the door to open so she could escape. Escape from her new agency and their well-meaning intentions. She shook her head. No, she didn’t want to eat, not with them, not at all.

  The doctor, Adam Cassidy, stood when the aircraft stopped. “We have a small cottage set up for you. I’ll go down there with you and make sure you have everything you need.” Her nurse placed a hand on her arm. Shae jerked her arm away; the action sent guilt careening through her. She didn’t deserve or want their kindness. They had no idea what she was willing to do during those last moments, what she’d told Maurice, how she’d begged, bargained, and pleaded… She needed to be alone so she could breathe.

  Shae folded her arms around her stomach and shook her head. “Just… please, get the door open. I need to get out. Now.”

  The doctor was moving toward the door before she finished her statement. He opened the hatch as the last engine was shutting down. The door to the cabin opened and the pilot, a huge man with strawberry blond hair, ducked through the opening. He glanced at the doctor in question before he cast her a look. Yeah, that was pity. Great, just great. Now she felt guilty for feeling the way she did. Why couldn’t she just stop acting like this? But then again, she didn’t know if she wanted to stop because her reactions were honest. At least, she thought they were, although she couldn’t tell most times if she was reacting to the people around her or the past, and that confusion compounded the twenty tons of brain garbage that she shifted through every fucking day. She was so tired of trying to act the way everyone expected her to act. The more she tried, the more shit stacked on top of her already-overwhelmed ability to cope.

  The nurse spoke in that soft don’t-scare-the-rabid-dog voice again, “We’ll get your bags down there for you. No need to worry about them right now.”

  Shae made rare eye contact with her nurse. She couldn’t look anyone in the eye because for some reason she knew if she met their stares they would know. She dashed her eyes down and examined her nailbeds. A single nod of her head was the only movement she made. She heard the others deplane. Her nurse stood and walked over to the door and waited.


  Shae stood and took a moment to get her balance. She still limped after she first stood up. The injury to her right ankle caused shooting pain at times. Shae clenched her teeth and waited for the sensation to pass. She used the chairs to make her way to the door because she couldn’t stand anyone touching her.

  The nurse made a move to grab her arm to help her out of the door and down the steps. Shae shook her head and grasped the thin railing. “No.” Her word cut through the silence.

  The nurse raised her hand and backed away. Shae gritted her teeth and hobbled down the stairs, aware of the nurse’s presence directly behind her and Doctor Cassidy’s to her side. The sound of a motor drew her attention when she finally made it to the cement tarmac.

  A four-seat ATV pulled around the nose of the aircraft. It stopped directly in front of her. “Get in. We are not taking no for an answer. We’ll take you to the cottage, get you inside and settled, and then we’ll leave you alone. For the time being.” Doctor Cassidy placed her suitcase into the rear seat next to him, leaving her the seat beside the driver, a man she didn’t recognize. Shae stared at one and then the other. Finally, Doctor Cassidy spoke, “You’re just wasting time on this beautiful April day. Get in or we’ll stand here all day.”

  She carefully folded herself into the seat not a foot in front of her. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to become small enough to disappear. She prayed the distance to the cottage wasn’t far, but as they trundled over the field, she thanked God the Doctor had made her get in. She wouldn’t have been able to walk the entire way and everyone but her seemed to understand that far better than she did. The crisp coolness of the April air swirled around her. The trip took longer than it should have because the man was driving like an old lady, but if he’d gone faster, she’d probably be in tears. Her shrink and physicians said some of her pain was from the depression she was suffering, but her body couldn’t differentiate the physical from the mental pain. The tears in her eyes were real, caused by real pain from even the gentle jostling the ATV had caused.