by Tee O'Fallon
Matt bolted after her, his friends not far behind. When they returned to the SUVs, Sheba paused in front of the massive iron gates, jaws open, nose alternately sniffing the air then the ground.
She circled round and round before sitting, indicating she’d lost the scent. Either that or Trista had gotten back into a vehicle.
“Something happened here.” Nick swung his own flashlight in every direction. “They had to have driven here, then she somehow wound up in the woods.”
“She tried to escape, and they caught her.” Matt couldn’t hide the panicked edge to his voice. “I’m guessing there was a struggle, and her bracelet fell off.”
A hum sounded from the distance, growing steadily louder. Light rain began to fall on the trees and pavement. Matt looked up at the sky, which was pitch black. If it rained any harder, none of the dogs—not even Sheba, who was the best tracker he’d ever seen—would be able to pick up a scent.
“Back in the trucks,” Matt shouted. “Follow me.” He rounded the Explorer and indicated for Sheba to get in. He shut the door behind her and got back into the driver’s seat.
They drove deeper inside the complex, not seeing a building for a solid half mile. At an intersection, he stopped, his headlights illuminating building after building along all three roads as far ahead as the eye could see.
“Fuck, they could be anywhere.” And if they’d parked behind any of the buildings, he could have missed them and driven right by. He keyed the mic. “Split up. Check behind all the buildings.”
“Copy that,” each of his friends came back.
He gunned the engine and went straight. Nick followed, with the other vehicles peeling off, either left or right. This could take time. Time Trista didn’t have. “Hang on, baby. Hang on.”
At the tenth building, he jumped the curb, driving around back, still seeing nothing. With the rain coming down harder, he was forced to flick the wipers up another notch. Behind him, Sheba pawed at the partition, whining in frustration.
As he drove back to the main road, Nick’s headlights flickered from behind an adjacent structure. Matt put the Explorer in park and keyed the mic. “I’m getting out with Sheba. There are too many buildings, and we’re flying blind. Regroup at my location.” He flashed his headlights several times.
“Ten-four.” Nick pulled up beside him.
In the distance, Matt caught the headlights of the other SUVs speeding in his direction. He grabbed Trista’s T-shirt and Sheba’s twenty-foot lead, then got out and rounded the SUV. When he opened Sheba’s door, she practically leaped into his arms, eager to get on track. He hooked the leash onto her collar, then stuck the T-shirt under her nose for her to reprocess Trista’s scent. She nuzzled the green fabric, taking short, deep snorting inhales.
He stepped aside, and she lunged past him out the door, quickly taking up slack in the leash, her body straining to get on track. With the rain this heavy, it would be a miracle if she found something. “Get Saxon,” he shouted to Nick. “Stay behind me.” He didn’t want Nick’s dog or the other K-9s interfering with Sheba’s track.
“Copy that.”
Matt released the extra length of the leash, allowing Sheba to run ahead without getting loose. Even as good a shape as he was in, once she got loose on a hot track, he’d never be able to keep pace with her.
Lightning lit the sky, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Rain pounded steadily heavier, sending a sharp jab of worry to his gut. Sheba lifted her head, then turned in another direction. A strong gust of wind shot down the road, powerful enough that Matt had to shield his eyes from the driving rain. Sheba stopped short, turning her head in several directions, struggling to reacquire Trista’s scent.
He clenched his jaw. Wrapping the leash several times around his hand, he reeled the dog in, bringing her back to the last spot she’d hit on. She put her nose to the ground, trotting in a serpentine pattern, then took off again.
Heavy rain had dampened his shirt, and water dripped down his face. Soon there’d be nothing for Sheba to follow. Another gust of wind tore the scent away, and she circled back, hitting again on something and charging ahead. Again he tightened up on the leash. If he let her proceed too quickly, she could overshoot the track and lose it. But she didn’t.
Matt thanked God for his steadfast partner. If anyone could find Trista, it was Sheba.
Minutes later, she led them to a building covered in vines. Fifty yards back, his friends followed, two of them with their leashed K-9s. Too many dogs could be a clusterfuck.
Sheba led them around the corner of the building. A flash of lightning lit up a sedan parked on the grass next to a door.
Bingo.
His heart slammed as he unhooked the leash and drew his weapon, aiming at the darkened vehicle. Sheba bolted for the car, standing on her hind legs and pressing her snout to the driver’s side window.
Nick and Saxon approached from another angle, while Eric and his K-9, Tiger, covered them. Markus, Dayne, Jaime, and Kade hung back, awaiting orders.
Sheba whined then dropped back to the ground and ran to the other side of the vehicle, repeating the same process on her hind legs. Based upon her reaction, Matt already knew the vehicle was empty, but out of caution, he clicked on his flashlight and swept the car’s interior. Sure enough, it was empty.
With his free hand, he urged Sheba to the door where he holstered his weapon to hook the leash back on. He glanced over his shoulder to see his friends moving forward, readying to follow at a distance that wouldn’t interfere with Sheba’s track.
He turned the doorknob, praying it wasn’t locked, then wincing as the door creaked. Pausing for barely a second, he aimed his flashlight through the opening and pushed it open the rest of the way with his foot.
With her nose to the floor, Sheba led him inside and down a long hallway. She continued past a mural of an American flag on the wall, past room after room. Other than the faint glow of his flashlight, which he’d set on low beam, the hall was pitch black. Luckily, the floor was so pitted and littered with debris and paint chips that the scrabbling of Sheba’s claws and his boots were well-muffled.
Up ahead a faint glow came from the last doorway on the left, then he heard a low sob, followed by a scream.
Trista.
Reeling Sheba in, he unhooked her leash then drew his weapon and ran down the hallway after his dog.
Sheba bolted into the room. Matt couldn’t see inside yet but heard a bloodcurdling growl followed by a man screaming.
At the open doorway, he dropped the flashlight and went in blind. Trista’s scream shot tactics down the toilet. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. Trista was strapped to a chair, her head lolled forward.
He aimed his gun point-blank at the man holding a syringe just above her arm. A killing rage, the likes of which he’d never experienced, rolled through him, and it took every ounce of restraint not to pull the trigger. “Police! Drop it!”
Trista didn’t move. Jesus, am I too late?
The syringe clattered as it fell onto the metal tray and the man—Lukashin, he guessed—threw his arms in the air, as did the other guy standing beside Trista.
Booted feet pounded into the room behind him. Sheba made a gruff snort, and the guy on the floor screamed again. “Get off! Get off!”
The man beside Trista looked at Sheba, then reached to his belt, pulling out a gun.
Matt swung the barrel of his duty weapon and double-tapped the guy in the chest. Gunshots reverberated in the room. The thug staggered backward, then fell sideways to the floor, his gun skittering a few feet away.
“Zadrrz,” Nick shouted behind him, and Matt caught a blur from the corner of his eye as Nick’s enormous black German shepherd bounded into the room. The man on the floor screamed again as Saxon clamped his powerful jaws around another limb.
Matt refocused on Lukashin, who stood calmly, his arms still raised in the air, a smug half smile on his face. He wanted to drill the bastard. Instead, he jammed the barrel of
his gun in the asshole’s face. “What did you give her?” Fury nearly drove him to the brink of doing something stupid. Like blasting this fucker to hell. But he needed to know what he’d injected her with.
Dayne and Jaime now also had their guns pointed at the rezidentura while Eric, Kade, and Markus helped Nick control the other two men, one of whom he was pretty sure was dead.
Matt glanced at the metal tray, noting the syringe the rezidentura had dropped appeared to be full. But there were other syringes on the tray. And one of them was empty.
Jabbing his gun harder on Lukashin’s face, he gritted his teeth. “What did you give her, asshole?”
“Easy, Matt.” Kade’s deep baritone somehow penetrated the blood-red fog blinding him, and he eased the pressure off his trigger finger. “If you wanna live, I’d wipe that shit-eating grin off your face and answer the man’s question before he drills you in the head.”
The smile disappeared, replaced by a vicious sneer. “Sodium pentothal.”
Matt slipped his finger from the trigger and glanced at Trista. When her head moved and she moaned, he blew out a breath. “If you’re lying, you won’t leave this room alive.” No need for him to sic Sheba on the guy. He’d rip the man to pieces with his bare hands.
The sleazy smile returned in full force. “Do you know who I am?”
“I don’t give a fuck who you are.” Matt holstered and yanked a set of cuffs from his belt. Without a shred of gentleness, he jerked Lukashin’s arm to the small of his back, clicking one cuff on the man’s wrist, then repeating the process with his other arm.
“You should. I have diplomatic immunity. I’ll be out of jail before nightfall.”
“Don’t count on it, asshole.” Matt roughly handed the rezidentura over to Dayne and Jaime. “Pat this piece of garbage down. Careful of sharps. Son of a bitch likes needles.” He nodded to the metal tray and began unbuckling the straps at Trista’s wrists and ankles. Placing two fingers at her carotid, he checked her pulse, grateful for the slow, steady thumping beneath his fingers.
Gently, he picked her up in his arms, nestling her head against his shoulder. “I’m taking her down the mountain to a hospital. Kade, you’re with me.”
“You got it.” Kade led the way out the door while Nick, Eric, and Markus remained behind to deal with the two thugs and the local authorities.
As they passed the rezidentura, Trista lifted her head. Before Matt could stop her, she lashed out with her fist, popping Lukashin in the eye. The man’s head jerked back, and he uttered something Matt assumed was a Russian oath.
With Dayne and Jaime gripping Lukashin’s elbows, the blow was hardly strong enough to knock him down, but it might just leave him with a little shiner.
“Thazzz fer burning down my house, you—you…azzhole.” Her head fell back against her shoulder. “Sssorry, Matt,” she mumbled. “Truth serummm gives me potty mouth.”
“Well, look at that.” Jaime snorted. “Little pixie learned a new curse word today. Asshole.”
Nick grinned. “She’s definitely got the hang of that right hook I taught her.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Matt’s friends chuckled, and he resisted the urge to plow his own fist into the rezidentura’s face.
“Sheba, k noze.” As he made for the door, the dog heeled at his side, glancing occasionally up at Trista in his arms. She moaned, an adorable little smile lifting her lips, one that gave him reassurance that the asshole really had been telling the truth. Not that he’d ever experienced it, but sodium pentothal was old-school truth serum, the effects of which were similar to being drunk.
“Baby?” he whispered as Kade opened the passenger seat of Matt’s Explorer. “It’s Matt. Can you hear me?”
Her lids cracked enough for him to get a flash of green eyes. “Maaatt.” She giggled sleepily. “Handsome man. Totally hot guy.”
His heart somersaulted with relief. If she could joke around, she’d probably recover, but a checkup at the hospital was in her future, regardless of his medical opinion.
Kade had already loaded Sheba into the Explorer. “Right behind you, buddy.”
After lowering Trista into the passenger seat, Matt gripped the other man’s shoulder for a moment in silent thanks.
Luckily, the rain had eased and less than an hour later, he laid Trista down on a gurney and watched her get wheeled into the ER. He’d taken a step to follow, then stopped.
“You’re not gonna go with her?” Kade eyed him with surprise.
He stood rooted, clenching and unclenching his hands. As things stood, he was unable to move forward and unable to go back. She’d changed him.
He wanted his little pixie so much, the thought of living his life without her now was unthinkable. He wanted to be all things to her, forever and always. Friend. Lover. More, if she’d have him. But it was too soon.
Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for what he had to do next—confront his past.
“Promise me you’ll stay with her,” he said to Kade, who nodded. Then Matt turned and walked out of the ER.
Chapter Thirty-One
The early November air was crisp and cool as Trista jogged into Bonnie and Kevin’s driveway. She and Poofy had been staying with her friends for the past month while her house was being rebuilt. Much to her surprise, while she’d been in protective custody at the safe house, her friends had finally hooked up and moved in together.
“’Bout time,” she’d said, happy for both of them, although inwardly sad because now she felt like a third wheel. Lovers—especially new lovers—needed privacy, and her presence wasn’t helping any. She’d lost count of how many times she’d rounded a corner and caught them in a major lip-lock.
After catching her breath, she leaned down to grab the Saturday morning paper and tossed it onto the porch before doing her stretches. Running every other morning and doing light weights or some sort of aerobic workout had become her routine, partly to get in shape and to give her friends some alone time.
“Who am I kidding?” She rested her hands on the side of her car for some calf stretches. True, her workout routine was all part of the new and improved Trista Gold, the vastly more confident version of her old self, but for a couple hours every day, it also had the added bonus of keeping her mind off what was missing in her life. Matt.
She alternated pressing one heel to the pavement then the next, deepening the stretch with each repetition. After awakening in a hospital, she’d looked for him, certain he’d been there, but all she’d found was Kade. When she was coherent, Kade gave her the rundown of what had taken place at the psychiatric center, including how Lukashin and one of his thugs had been arrested while the other had died from a fatal gunshot fired from Matt’s weapon. Ironically, she had no memory of anything, starting right after being injected with sodium pentothal.
Kade also told her how Matt and Sheba had tracked her via the locator on her charm bracelet. She should have been mad at Matt for tagging her with a tracker without her knowledge, but it had saved her life.
Trista swallowed the lump in her throat. Part of her would always miss that piece of jewelry.
Markus and Eric had been the ones to drive her to Bonnie and Kevin’s when she’d been released the next day. The rest of Matt’s friends had sent flowers and humorous cards that put a brief smile on her face.
Days later, the lab analysis report had revealed the contents of the syringe Lukashin had been about to stick her with—concentrated digitalis. It had been no surprise after what Hentz had told them about Lukashin’s proclivity for using poison as a murder weapon.
She shuddered at how close she’d come to dying. If Matt and Sheba hadn’t burst in and saved her, the rezidentura would have murdered her and buried her in the old cemetery on the grounds of the psychiatric center.
Easing into a hamstring stretch, she tried not to think about the vivid description Dayne had given her of the many unmarked graves in the psychiatric center’s cemetery. Lukashin had been burying
his victims there for years. An FBI work crew would be out there with a backhoe for months pulling out bodies, many of which were nothing more than bones that would have to be identified by dental records.
She shielded her eyes from the late-morning sun, wondering how the rezidentura and his thug’s hearing had turned out yesterday in federal court. Lukashin could be facing murder charges for Thomas George and two FBI agents. Due to the myriad of debriefing meetings, Trista had been unable to attend the funerals for Donald and Angie, but she’d sent flowers and condolence cards to their families. They’d died trying to save her, and she would never forget their ultimate sacrifice.
Both Lukashin and his surviving henchman could also be facing other charges—attempted murder for what had gone down at the psychiatric center and likely others relating to the bodies in the unmarked graves. Wayne and Genevieve had assured her they would notify her of the outcome when the hearing concluded, but the phone had been oddly quiet last evening.
As predicted, the Russian government refused to waive the rezidentura’s immunity, but the attorney general refused to back down. Trista shook her head in amazement. Lukashin was now linked to multiple murders, yet the case would undoubtedly be tied up in diplomacy and the courts for years.
She inhaled deeply, loving mornings like this. No cares or worries other than working out and reloading all sorts of new programs onto her brand-new personal laptop.
Going back to work had been difficult. Every morning when she went through Langley’s doors, her eyes automatically flew to the uniformed officer, both relieved and disappointed it wasn’t Matt. She’d heard he and Sheba had been temporarily reassigned to a pre-election security detail, one of the ones his friends were in town working. It’s just as well. After what had passed between them, seeing him every morning would have been torture.
She picked up the newspaper, then went inside. Bonnie and Kevin slept in late Saturday mornings, so she normally had this time to herself. Poofy jumped onto the seat beside her, purring, and she absently scratched his head. The front page contained yet another article about Senator Ashburn.
