by Jenna Ryan
“I’ll drive,” she agreed. “After I inspect that wound.”
“Great. Are you a doctor and McCabe neglected to mention it?”
“I took a survival course in South America one summer after college. It included field training for medical emergencies.”
“Like bullet wounds?”
“People get shot, Gage, often by jerks with rifles who can’t tell a deer from a dinosaur. Go somewhere off this road and let me at least take a look at the damage.”
She sounded calm. Edgy, but in control. He swung the truck onto a side road, bounced through ruts that had him seeing stars, and finally braked in a small clearing near what smelled like a bog.
He climbed out so she could examine the entry wound by flashlight. Too much blood, he realized immediately and went down on one knee.
She pulled up the back of his jacket. “There’s no exit hole.”
“Yeah. Figured that.”
“You won’t make it a hundred miles, Gage, and we can’t go back to Halo. What’s near here?”
“Abel’s fifteen, maybe twenty miles east.”
She drew his jacket back down. “What or who is Abel?”
“Abel Bodine. He trained me. He was search and rescue before taking on the cop life.”
Standing, Amber rooted through the back of the truck. “I want to say that name sounds familiar, but I’m not sure why. There’s no chance he’s on Fixx’s payroll, is there?”
“Doubt it.” Breathing was becoming more difficult. And his head was pounding. “He brought down three like Fixx when he was on the force. Got medals for bravery and achievement. What’s that?”
“A steel-toed boot.” Wrapping it in a sweatshirt, she handed it to him. “Press it against your side while I find something to hold it in place.” She worked up a smile. “Feel free to swear.”
“I’ve pretty much got that covered.” The words had been running like a litany through his head since they’d left Halo.
“This’ll do.” She drew out a thick rope. “Keep pressing on the entry wound.”
The litany changed as pain arrowed through his entire upper body. Then she twisted the rope, and he hissed in an accusing breath.
“Jesus, Amber. Any tighter and you’ll cut off my blood flow completely.”
“That’s the plan.” She tied the rope, caught his chin, and looked into his eyes. “Or as close as I can come to it. Can you stand?”
He didn’t answer, just let her help him to his feet. Which sent waves of dizziness through his head.
How the hell much blood had he lost?
It took two attempts for her to get him into the truck and three to figure out how to change gears without stalling the engine.
“Let me guess. You’ve never driven a five-speed.”
She yanked on the stick shift. “My Daddy’s old Dodge truck four times and Gareth Fixx’s cherry red Lamborghini once. The car slept in a body shop.”
“Because Gareth drove like a bat out of hell?”
“No, because even the smallest scratch bothered him. I thought he was normal and nice at first. Turns out he’s as anal as his father.”
“Just not as ambitious.”
“Not ambitious in the same way. Where do I go, Gage?”
Her hands were rock steady. Her jaw was set and her breathing level. All good signs in Gage’s opinion.
“Reverse out of this swamp,” he told her. “Check for any kind of movement, and head north.”
“But I thought—”
“Away from Halo and back toward Black Creek. They won’t expect you to take that direction. They’ll be looking south or west, maybe east.”
“Which is what we want, right?”
Gage fixed his mind on Abel Bodine even as he worked his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. “Gonna give you a really twisted route, Snowbird. Follow it. You see any sign of Fixx’s henchmen, do what you can to lose them. McCabe figures you for a survivor. Survive.”
She rocked the gear shift into place, checked for oncoming traffic. “That’s not exactly what I was hoping for in terms of encouragement.”
“Best I can do.” And a helluva lot more than he’d thought he could manage with his brain turning lopsided somersaults and his throat filled with gravel.
He gave her the phone—pretty sure he did anyway—and heard her reply. Gorgeous, but with a mouth like a longshoreman when challenged. For some reason, and despite the pain, the realization amused him. Under other circumstances, he’d be thinking hot sex and a very different use for that incredible mouth of hers.
They bumped and bounced through the mud and the rocks and the dark, dense woods. He began to drift. That couldn’t be good.
When he moved his hand, fresh blood seeped over his waistband.
…
Every firefly transformed into a headlight in Amber’s mind. Or would have if she hadn’t clamped down on the bulk of her panic. She could have a meltdown later, after she untangled herself from the fifth wrong turn in thirty minutes and arrived at Hickory Lake, home of Gage’s cop trainer, Abel Bodine.
As she maneuvered along yet another boulder-clogged road, she ran the man’s name through her head. Why did it sound familiar? Was the near-recognition a good or bad thing?
Her heart stuttered when Gage’s cell phone rang. “Perfect,” she muttered. Then she read Tom Vigor’s code name and breathed a little easier.
Pressing speaker, she answered. “Hey, Leroy Brown. Got stuff happening here.”
“Don’t tell me too much,” her WPP contact warned. “Are you alone?”
“No.”
Tom gave one of his deliberate dumbass laughs. “Men just can’t leave you be, can they.”
“I think this one probably would if he could. Some other men seemed interested earlier, but I—well, we—discouraged them.”
“So all’s well then.”
“Except for a bit of blood. His,” she clarified when Tom made a choked sound. “We’re good. Sort of. Heading for help…I hope.”
“You need more of that than you get, you let me know.”
“I will.” She reverted to code. “Gonna need a personal trainer, Leroy. Someone who can rescue me—us—from this nightmare.”
“All nightmares end, even the real ones.”
“Searching for the end, Tom.”
“I know it, Snowbird. I’ll keep in touch. You do the same.”
As always, hearing her contact’s good old boy drawl settled her. To a point, and only for a minute.
She glanced at Gage beside her. Sexy as hell and passed out, but thankfully still breathing.
More miles clicked by. His friend’s place must be close by. Yet even as hope passed through Amber’s mind, the right front tire dropped into a hole the size of a small crater, causing the truck to buck and her head to slam against the side window.
“You drive like Judy Blue.”
Gage kept his eyes closed when he spoke. To Amber’s relief, his voice didn’t sound as bleary as it had when he’d faded out earlier.
She rubbed her throbbing temple. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who’s Judy Blue?”
“Third girlfriend, senior year. She had a screw-you attitude. I wanted in on it. Any headlights behind us?”
“No. So far, all the traffic’s come from the opposite direction. No one’s turned to follow us.” She started down a steep hill. “If Fixx’s men are back there, we’re going to trap ourselves in this gulley.”
“One road in, Snowbird. Anyone comes down who shouldn’t won’t make it out again. Won’t even make the lodge.”
She sent him an unbelieving look. “Your friend owns a lodge? As in guests?”
Gage’s lips curved. “He calls it a lodge. Sounds better than a cabin. No guests. Just Abel. And maybe one of his two ex-wives, or his stepdaughter.”
“Does he know we’re coming?”
“I sent a coded email. He’ll figure it out and show. Kill the lights.”
She did, and barely avoided plunging the truck
into a ditch. He told her to park behind a small outbuilding that smelled strongly of grain and woodsmoke. However, when she hopped from the driver’s seat, smoke of a different kind assailed her.
“You didn’t mention your friend’s a pothead.”
Gage winced as his feet hit the ground. “He wasn’t—not on the force anyway. Ideas change. He was a whiskey man when we worked together.”
“Still is by the smell coming from that shed. I hope he’s conscious when we get inside.”
“If he isn’t, pump my gun. He’ll wake up soon enough. Some reflexes are instinctive no matter what condition you’re in.”
Amber dipped lower so Gage could sling an arm over her shoulder without raising it. “You’re not exactly bolstering my faith in this guy. Do you really want someone who’s intoxicated plucking a bullet out of you?”
“No worries, Snowbird. He’ll probably want you to do that part.”
She grunted out a breath as he leaned the bulk of his weight on her. “You so need to work on that reassuring attitude. Which door?”
“Whichever’s closest.”
She spied one and got him over to it. Luckily, the knob twisted freely and the door creaked open.
The smell of smoke was more pungent, but not overly fresh. A light, possibly from a fire, flickered in the room ahead of them.
“He’s your friend,” Amber said. “You call out to him. I don’t want to be mistaken for a deer.”
“It’s all bears around here.”
“Reassuring attitude,” she reminded him and shifted her grip on his waist.
They made their way toward the front room. Amber’s eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. By the glow of a dying wood fire, she made out a shape on the sofa.
As they entered, the shape uncoiled itself and stood, swaying. “Got company, Wanda,”a female voice said.
“Heard ’em.”
When a lamp clicked, Amber found herself staring down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun.
The woman holding it stared back, coldly and without expression. Then she lowered the shotgun a fraction. “Well, will you look at what the cat dragged in? Half dead, but still yummy enough to bite.” A nasty smile split her face. “You want I should bite you, Gage, and finish you off? Or d’you wanna leave that tasty morsel for your new lady friend.” Her gaze shifted to Amber. “Where’d he’d dig you up, honey? Strip club or honkytonk bar?”
“Hell, she ain’t no barfly.” The other woman, a pretty blond, sneered. “She ain’t no stripper, either. Too snotty looking to wrap herself ’round a pole.”
The spell holding Amber’s voice in check broke. She sent the blonde a quick look, then returned her gaze to Wanda. “At the risk of sounding snottily forward, do you think you could help me find a flat surface before Gage and I both collapse?”
“What did I tell you?” The blonde rocked on her feet. “Gotta be strong to work a pole.”
Amber let the obvious comeback slide and regarded the still smirking friend.
“What’s the story, Gage?” Wanda lowered the shotgun all the way. “Short version’ll do.”
“Bar fight, bullet, beautiful bystander. Where’s Abel?”
“Louisville, last I heard. But then, I’m just his black sheep stepkid, right, so what do I know? Ma’s living thereabouts. Could be he’s trying to woo her back. Got a thing for her he can’t dig out of his craw. This here’s Mandy. She’s my partner.”
“This here’s Lily.” Gage sagged and took Amber with him. “She’s mine. Need that surface now, kiddo.”
“You sure do at that. Over here, then.” Wanda used the shotgun to indicate the sofa Mandy had recently vacated.
A short, stout woman with hacked-off brown hair, Wanda whipped off her T-shirt and stuffed it under Amber’s makeshift compress. “That’s a lotta blood you’re wearing, handsome. You a doctor?” she asked over her shoulder.
“No.” Amber rolled her aching shoulder once Gage was on his back. “But with help, I should be able to cope.”
“I can skin a rabbit. Is that helpful?”
Not quite what she’d had in mind, Amber reflected. However. “We’ll need a knife, forceps or something like that, sterile cloth—plenty of it—and the strongest whiskey you can find.”
“Got sour mash.”
Fresh brewed and with a powerful kick, Amber imagined.
“It’ll do,” Gage said. He regarded her half lidded. “Start cutting, Lily.”
Now it was Amber’s turn to swear in silence. Or partial silence, she realized when Mandy snorted. “My daddy’s a trucker, and he don’t cuss like that ’round women. ’Less he’s hammered, which he mostly is.”
“I’ll remember that next time I pass a big rig on the road.” Amber re-secured her ponytail. “Where’s the bathroom?” And the nearest window, she thought, because she truly did not want to start cutting on Gage. Not with her thoughts jittering and every last thing she’d learned during her survival course currently scuttling to the corners of her brain.
Once the tools were in place and Gage had several shots of sour mash under his belt, Amber took a deep breath and removed the makeshift tourniquet.
The blood flow had slowed considerably, but that didn’t make the task at hand any less difficult.
She’d cut into Rachel’s leg three years ago when her sister had been bitten by a snake. A vastly different scenario, considering she hadn’t been forced to go deep back then. But she could do this. Because she had to.
Mandy’s sense of humor proved to be malicious. She played AC/DC at full volume while Amber hunted for the elusive bullet.
“Dirty deeds,” Wanda muttered. “They’ll come back to haunt you every time.” She shone a flashlight over the entry wound. “That bullet went deep. You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“What I’m doing, yes. If it’ll work is another question.”
Ten endless minutes passed. Gage didn’t make a sound. A clock ticked over the fireplace, and AC/DC mellowed to Garth Brooks.
Finally, in the middle of a down-and-out song, she located the bullet and exhaled. “Got it.”
Wanda hung over her shoulder. “One piece?”
“I think so.” She drew it out. “Yes. Jesus.”
“So you’re okay then if I go and puke?”
“Sure— What?”
“This wasn’t no rabbit, sweetie.” Straightening, Wanda headed for the bathroom.
When Amber looked up, she saw Mandy perched on the hearth, filing her nails.
“Why’d he get shot?” She sounded more bored than curious.
Amber’s smile was thin. Very carefully, she used a sterilized needle and nylon thread to stitch the wound. “He cheated at five card stud. Pissed his opponent off.”
“Guy had a gun? Bang, bang?”
“Like that.”
Headlights sliced across the shaded window.
“That’ll be Abel.” Mandy blew dust from her nails. “I’m guessing he struck out with Wanda’s ma. He won’t like finding me here. Figures Wanda can do better.”
In Amber’s opinion, jumping down a rabbit hole would be infinitely preferable to being in that place right then. But, of course, reaction was setting in, and God help her, her hands were beginning to tremble.
She finished applying the bandage to Gage’s side just as the front door opened. A big man in a stained cowboy hat and worn boots strode in.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he demanded. “Go away, Mandy. Who are you?” He scowled at Amber. Then he caught sight of Gage and snatched off his hat, slapping it against his leg. “Well, ain’t this a kick in the crotch. God’s sake, Morgan, what’ve you done to yourself now?”
“Bar fight, bullet, beautiful bystander.” Mandy sashayed past him en route to the bathroom. “I’ll leave you three alone and tend to Wanda’s weak stomach.”
“I got your email.” Abel glanced again at Amber, frowned, and returned his attention to Gage. “You spelled most every word wrong. I knew that meant trouble, probab
ly of the female variety.”
“Yeah, well.” Gage hissed in a breath through his teeth. “Some of that trouble’s been handled. Your sour mash packs a punch, by the way. You’re skirting the law brewing that stuff, Abel.”
“I turned in my badge a good while back.” The older man cocked his head at Amber. “Why do I figure I should know you?”
“She’s a stripper. ” Mandy’s voice sailed down the hall, accompanied by a wet snicker.
“So, friend of yours then,” Abel called back. Crouching, he smacked Gage’s hip. “Fill me in, and don’t skimp on the details.”
“Send Wanda and her friend for milk and eggs and I will. Until then, Lily’s a stripper.”
Abel rolled his eyes, raised his voice. “Okay, you two. Take a drive.”
Mandy sauntered back in. “How’s about we take a walk instead, check out your latest batch of booze. I’m always up for a taste test. Come on, Wanda. Your stepdaddy wants us gone.”
Wanda returned, looking pale but smug. “Told you Ma’d say no. She’s moved on, old man. You need to do the same.”
Abel waited until the door closed before he gave Gage’s hip a second tap and rose. “Long story there, crappy ending. You ever been to Baltimore?” he asked Amber.
She let her head fall back. “Maybe.”
A thick finger stabbed the air. “Renata Chase. You’re the spitting image of her. D’you know Renata?”
Grinding her teeth, Amber glanced at Gage, who’d pushed himself up onto his elbows.
Gage shrugged. “Go ahead, if there’s something to tell. You don’t know McCabe. I do. There’ll be more reasons than he chose to explain about why he gave me this particular assignment.”
Although she hated to admit she half understood that, Amber regarded Abel and forced herself to relax. “Yes, I know her.” Her cool eyes met his. “At least I did until I was thirteen. That’s when she ran off with another man. Renata Chase is my mother.”
…
Owen Fixx hated the desert. And that, he knew, was precisely why Mockerie generally chose it for their meetings. Out in the middle of dusty nowhere, far from the Las Vegas lights and as often as not in a dead zone for cell phone reception.
His boss was a bastard.
