by Kit Frazier
“But ” I said, but I stopped talking when he kissed me. It was a long, sorrowful kiss that made me feel strangely full and empty.
He broke the kiss and looked at me for a long moment. My vision went a little blurry.
“Help will be here soon,” he said, then he turned, picked up the paint can and disappeared through the back door. I heard the padlock on the back door click into place, then the roar of the van’s engine. Then silence.
In the dusty quiet, Selena’s mother began to laugh. It was an awful, sultry laugh.
A wave of bile swelled in my stomach.
“Look at you,” Obregon said. “You let him get away.”
She took a small step toward me.
“Stay back,” I said, pointing the gun at her. She laughed again and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
“Can’t you see that you are hurt?” she said.
Well, when she put it that way. For the first time since I’d been stabbed, I realized I wasn’t doing too well. The floor shifted and I had to fight not to sink down beside Selena.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, inching closer.
“Stop it!” I said, feeling weaker by the moment, like I was being drained. Tiny dark stars flashed in my peripheral vision, and I had a bad feeling I was about to pass out. “Stop it or I swear to God I’ll shoot!”
Obregon moved closer, her cool, blue eyes fixed on me as she advanced. My skin felt cold, my arms and legs weak. Had I really lost that much blood?
“You won’t,” she said, closer now. “But I will.”
My tongue felt like a wet bath mat, and I struggled to stay upright. “You killed Scooter.”
She laughed. “No, querida, but I authorized it. He had simply outlived his usefulness. He was becoming a nuisance. He was not so smart, but he knew more than he should. He was going to report us to the authorities.”
I could barely keep the gun steady, much less pull the trigger. My left leg was soaked with my own blood, and it felt like the blood was filling my shoe.
I could hear my heart slowing, pounding arhythmically in my head. I leaned back against the wall to steady myself, so tired and cold I could barely stand. I got that nauseated feeling in the pit of my stomach that you get right before you pass out.
Obregon continued toward me and I couldn’t keep my legs straight for one more minute. I slid down the wall until I landed with a thump on the floor next to Selena. My heart thumped slow and I tried to keep the gun steady on Obregon.
Help is on the way, I thought. I just have to keep my eyes open. Breathe. Stay alive.
“Just let go, Cauley,” she said, still moving toward me, her words soft and soothing, her hand moving in front of me like a snake charmer. I had the insane urge to run, but I couldn’t move.
“I’ll take that,” she said, and reached for the gun.
The door behind her exploded.
The large form of Tom Logan filled what was left of the splintered doorway. He looked dark and dangerous and on my side. And he was pointing a large automatic at Obregon.
“FBI! Drop it! Now!” he shouted in that deep voice I’d come to recognize all the way to my bones. It may have been the best sound I’d ever heard.
I should have been surprised he’d come, but I wasn’t. Tom Logan said if I ever needed him, I should call, and I had.
I watched, feeling oddly detached, like a spectator. Cantu maneuvered past him, a short-barreled shotgun braced against his shoulder, moving alertly as he scanned the shed.
Suddenly, I was aware there were more people in the room. A woman wearing a black raid jacket with big white letters that read “FBI” knelt beside Selena, feeling for a pulse. Two men in blue APD uniforms were handcuffing Obregon. Looking over, I saw another man in an FBI jacket rolling Van Gogh over and handcuffing him. I wanted to tell him it was too late, but I was too tired to form a complete sentence.
My pulse sounded like a slow base drum thumping in the front of my head. My hands felt cold and wet, and I realized I was sitting in a very large pool of my own blood.
Logan dropped to a knee beside me.
“Hey,” was all I could say.
His face looked grim. “Cauley,” he said, and nothing else.
Logan pulled a small knife out of his pocket, hit a switch and the blade snapped open. He rolled me to my right and sliced my jeans near the wound. I twisted at the waist, trying to see what he was doing.
Cantu dropped beside Logan. They looked at the long gash and the blood gushing from my leg, then at each other.
Both looked more worried than I would have liked.
Everything moved in slow motion, as though I was floating just under the surface in a pool of water.
Cantu rose to his feet, jerking the radio from his utility belt. He called for two more buses and asked for an ETA when the dispatcher told him an ambulance was already on the way. The thumping of my heart sounded slower.
Logan ripped off his white dress shirt, revealing a kevlar vest. I thought about the big slash in my rear and wondered if they had kevlar shaped like pants. I’d have to remember to ask.
“I’m sorry,” Logan said. He got a pained look in his eyes as he stared down at me, the lines in his face deepening as he wadded up the shirt and pressed it hard against the gash in my thigh.
I screamed.
Pain shot straight up my spinal cord and the pressure he applied felt like he was pressing exposed nerve and bone. I heard the wail of sirens in the distance. Then the world spun twice and went dark.
Chapter Twenty-eight
When I woke up, I was lying on my side in the hospital and the entire right side of my body was throbbing with pain. I blinked and the room came into focus. My mother was standing over me with a green Jello mold. Suddenly, the events of the past few days crashed in on me. John Fiennes, the Anschluss Eagle. Selena and her awful mother.
“Where’s Selena?”
“Well, look who’s joined the living,” Mama said, tucking the sheets tightly around my legs. Using my good leg, I kicked them free.
Tom Logan stepped into my field of vision. He looked tall and strong and very dependable, and my heart did a little jazz riff.
“They released her yesterday. She went home with her in-laws,” he said.
“She’s pregnant…” I said.
“The baby’s fine,” Logan said. “Doc says it’s going to be a boy. We’ve, uh, helped them leave town until this thing blows over.”
“Witness protection?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “They’ll be back for Obregon’s trial. How you doing?”
Mama bent down and whispered, “He’s been here most of the night.”
Great. My butt hurt like hell and the big gash was sending a pulsing pain from my knee to the middle of my spine. My whole body felt like I’d been hit by a truck and I was pretty sure getting a good look at myself in a mirror would make me feel even worse. I checked my pillow for drool.
“Well, I’ve got to go find Clairee,” Mama said brightly. “She was having some young doctor examine her ankle, so I’ll just leave you two kids to yourselves.” She breezed toward the door humming something that sounded suspiciously like the Wedding March.
“Subtle,” Logan said and I sighed.
“Your friends were here most of the night,” he said. “Nurse Ratched marched in here and kicked them all out.”
“Oh.” I looked around at a forest of flowers. “How long have I been out?”
“Almost thirty hours,” Logan said, handing me the little florist cards he must have gathered from the vases. He looked tired, but he sat on the side of the bed and watched me as I read the cards.
“My mom and the Colonel, Clairee, Aunt Kat, Tanner, the Girls.”
I teared up. “Coach and Golly Barnes sent flowers with Selena.”
I thought of Selena’s awful mother and my throat went tight.
“Mama?” I called out.
She poked her platinum head around the doorway, just like she wasn
’t eavesdropping. “Yes, Cauley?”
“I love you.”
“Of course you do, sweetheart,” she said. “Eat your Jello.”
And then she disappeared around the corner.
Logan picked up the Tupperware of Jello and sniffed it while I laid the cards on the table near the bed.
I sighed. “He wasn’t a Customs Agent, was he?”
“Let’s just say he’s a person of interest.”
“He had a badge,” I said miserably. “The business card I know can be forged, but a badge? What did he do, get it on the Internet?”
“Don’t beat yourself up, kid. Some of those badges look pretty authentic if you don’t know what you’re looking at.”
I shook my head. “He said he was a citizen.”
“His dad was a lieutenant at Ramstein. His mother was a German national. According to our sources, his father met his mother when he was stationed at Ramstein. Fiennes went to live with an aunt in Argentina when he was five years old.”
“He’s El Patron, isn’t he?”
Logan looked away.
I felt hollow inside. John Fiennes had stolen Nazi gold and very nearly stolen my heart.
I looked up at Logan. “Did he get away?”
“We’ll find him.”
“Knock, knock.” Jim Cantu stuck his head around the corner and despite the roller coaster of emotions rolling around inside me, I grinned.
“Am I interrupting?” he said.
“No,” I said. “You’re just in time to hear Logan ream me for overstepping my bounds.”
“Good,” Cantu said. “I’ll take notes.”
He produced a bouquet of daisies. “Arlene said to give you these. The kids drew you a card.”
“Thanks,” I said and smiled. “What about Selena’s mother?”
Cantu slid a glance at Logan.
“We’ve got her,” Logan said. “There was a lot of batting eyelashes and heaving bosoms.” He shook his head. “She actually thought we were going to let her go. She lawyered up the minute we cuffed her.”
I adjusted the blankets to make sure my bandaged backside wasn’t showing through the hideous little green hospital gown. My head was pounding and the big gash in my gluteus maximus throbbed. “Am I going to be okay?”
“Okay as you ever were. What the hell were you doing in there by yourself?” Logan said.
“Hey,” I said. “I tried to call you, and besides, I didn’t know Selena was going to be there.”
“Yeah, right,” Cantu said. “You’re goddammed lucky is what you are.”
Logan nodded. “You’re probably going to have an interesting scar.”
I felt my face go pink, realizing that while unconscious I’d mooned at least half the men in the room.
“What?” I said, defensively. “Are y’all war buddies now, or are you just here to get a statement?”
“Don’t know what the Feds want, but you can come down to the station and give your statement when you spring this joint,” Cantu said, and his cell went off. Cantu excused himself and went to the corner to take his call.
“We heard most of it,” Logan said and handed me my cell phone. “You left your cell phone on. That’s how we tracked you. But you’re going to have to come down to the Bureau for a debriefing.”
I took my cell phone, crusted with blood and green paint. Without looking up, I said, “Logan. Did you save my life?”
“Nah,” Logan said. “We caught the bad guys, or most of ‘em anyway. You saved yourself, and probably Selena, too.’
Cantu said, “I gotta get back to the station,” he said, and he leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “Call me when you two get done playing Nick and Nora.”
I waited until Cantu left, and I said to Logan, “I know why Selena’s mother wanted the Eagle coins, but what’s the connection with John?”
“Greed,” Logan said.
I felt sick. “So what happens next? With John, I mean.”
Logan looked toward the window. “He can run but he can’t hide.”
I nodded, not sure how I felt about that.
A clatter of commotion rang outside the door, the sound of metal against metal, and I heard Miranda’s silky voice say, “Just a quick word with Ms. MacKinnon…”
Then I heard my mother in full Mama-mode roar, “Over my cold, dead, Liz Claiborne-clad body!”
Through the open door, I could see Miranda as she tried to wrench herself out of my mother’s grip. She nearly made it into the room, a cameraman and sound guy trying to pry my mother off of her.
“Excuse me,” Logan said to me, looking amused.
Miranda’s face brightened to full-star status as Logan crossed the room.
“Special Agent Tom Logan, I presume?” she purred. “Miranda Phillips. I just have a few questions…”
“Talk to Public Information,” he said politely.
“Yes, I know, but since you’re already here, you could just answer a few questions ” She flashed her million-dollar smile just before Logan took her by the elbow and led her out the door, my mother still attached to her other arm. I heard them clattering and clanging down the hall, Miranda sputtering something about First Amendment rights.
Logan sauntered back into the room, smacking his hands together like he’d just finished a dirty job. He sat on the edge of my bed.
I grinned, trying not to look smug.
“Wow,” I said. “You can be handy to have around.”
“You have no idea,” he said, and I could sworn he was flirting with me.
My mother gleamed back into the room, the Colonel and a doctor in tow. She was carrying little cartons of chocolate pudding and handed one to Logan.
The Colonel leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “You okay?” he said. I nodded, but my chest felt tight.
“Good news,” Mama announced. “They’re going to release you from this wretched place this afternoon.”
She looked at Logan. He rose from the bed and cleared his throat. Mama had the nerve to look disappointed. “You aren’t leaving, are you Agent Logan?”
Logan accepted the pudding and grinned. “I’ll be back.”
“Wonderful!” she said. “And you won’t forget about the Fourth of July picnic Saturday?”
“Mama,” I said. “He’s just doing is job. He’s got better things to do than sit around with us eating barbeque and watching fireworks.”
Logan turned to my mother. “Thanks for the invitation, Mrs. Connor. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Brave man,” the Colonel snorted.
I shook my head. “You don’t know the half of it.”
The physicians at St. David’s released me right on time, probably because my mother was screaming for painkillers every two hours, for me or for her, I wasn’t sure.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to get home. My friends had cleaned up the rest of my house under the watchful eye of my mother, the Queen of the Clean Freaks.
Muse and Marlowe met me at the door, and the whole place smelled like Fresh Scent Clorox. My butt still hurt but the pain was manageable.
I lounged in bed for the next forty-eight hours watching a Turner Classic Movies Dashiell Hammett marathon. I’d already used all my sick days, but it was the extended Fourth of July holiday, so I was taking full advantage. I’d made up my mind to skip the fireworks and I was watching the Maltese Falcon and in the middle of a pretty good wallowing jag when I heard a bang at my front door.
Marlowe lifted his head and growled.
Sighing, I grabbed a robe and swung open the door to find Mia and Brynn standing on the front porch with two big bags of supplies.
“Good Gawd, Cauley, you look awful,” Brynn said.
“Thank you,” I said. “Hello to you, too.”
“How’s your behind?” Mia said, and before I could say anything else, they barged through the door.
“So you’re going to the fireworks with Tom Logan?” Mia said, and my heart did a little lur
ch.
“I really don’t feel up to going,” I said.
Ignoring me, my friends tossed bags on the kitchen counter, ferreted out chips and queso and headed straight for the bedroom, were they kicked off their shoes and sprawled on my bed with Muse, ready to offer helpful hints on proper picnic couture.
I shook my head and sighed. It was clear I was not getting out of the fireworks.
In deference to my stitches, I pulled a pair of my loosest jean shorts from a drawer, along with a white shirt and a red ponytail holder.
“I’m not going with Tom Logan,” I said. “I hadn’t even planned on going and I’m not even sure he’s going, so clearly, we are not going together. End of story.” I skimmed into the shorts, careful to avoid my stitches. “Does this make me look fat?”
“Fatter than what?” Brynn said, and Mia hit her with a pillow.
I grinned. Getting dressed by committee. Everything was back to normal. Whatever that was.
I wondered if Logan would really be at the fireworks, but he’d told my mother he would be there, and I had the distinct feeling that Logan was a man of his word. On the off chance that I’d see him, I rummaged through the bag the orderly at the hospital had put my belongings into and pulled out the bloody, sliced jeans. Fishing in the pocket, I pulled out the coin I’d stuffed into my pocket when Obregon had burst into the shed. I looked at it for a long moment the last of the Anschluss Eagles.
“What’s that?” Mia said as I slipped it into the back pocket of my shorts.
“Nothing but trouble,” I said.
My friends and I were a little late getting out the door and my stomach was tied in knots at the thought of seeing Logan again.
We’d already missed the sunset when we loaded the folding chairs and a blanket into the cargo area of the Jeep. I whistled for Marlowe and we all motored down the street to the community park, where the tangy scents of barbeque and beer mingled with the smell of bug spray in the hot evening air.
“Cauley!” Mama said. “Sweetheart! Look who’s here!”
I rolled my eyes as Mama hooked her arm around Logan, who’d been talking quietly with the Colonel. The sight of Logan made my breath catch. He was tall and dark and wearing jeans and a black Polo shirt, his biceps slightly stretching the short sleeves. For the first time in my life, I understood why Southern women get the vapors.
