Crossfire Christmas

by Julie Miller

  “As a matter of fact, I do. She needs her rest.”

  Agent Moreno took a couple more steps into the room. “I just need a quick look at that bed behind you, ma’am.”

  Before Teresa could stand and block his path at the foot of the bed, Laila piped up with one of her curious questions. “Are you a cowboy?”

  “Huh?” Cruz Moreno stopped, looking almost startled to hear the patient speak.

  “You’re wearing cowboy boots and a hat. You’re supposed to take it off inside. Do you have a horse?”

  “No, kid. I’m a cop.” He dismissed Laila and directed his explanation to Teresa. There was no charm to his words or smile now. “I’m looking for a man. Taller than me. Light hair. He may be injured.”

  Teresa shrugged. “This is a pediatrics ward. We don’t have any adult patients here.”

  “This is my friend Laila,” the little girl interjected.

  Agent Moreno ignored the introduction and moved toward Teresa. The man wasn’t that tall, but he was huskily built, and she got the idea that he was willing to throw some of that weight around. “He might not be a patient. He might be masquerading as one of the staff or acting like a fugitive.”

  “What’s that?” Laila sat up from her pillows, determined to be heard.

  “A criminal. Someone who doesn’t want the police to catch him. Seen anyone like that, kid?”

  Sensing his irritation, Teresa drew his attention back to her. “I haven’t seen anyone like that. Are we safe here?”

  “Depends on how desperate he gets. Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll find him.” His shoulder brushed against Teresa’s and she flinched away as he reached around her to pull open the curtain. He chuckled when he saw the empty bed. “I thought maybe you were hiding something from me, Laila.”

  Teresa held his suspicious dark-eyed gaze, keeping his focus on her and not the closet. But before she could think of the dismissive words that would chase him from the room, the real Laila started talking. “You have an accent. Are you from Mexico? They have horses there. They speak Spanish and Andalusians are Spanish. From Spain. They’re horses.”

  “What?” Agent Moreno shook his head. Laila’s questions seemed to confound him. And distract him from his purpose.

  “Do you have an Andalusian horse?” she asked.

  “No, kid.” He tipped his hat to Teresa and slipped past her to the door. “Sorry to have bothered you, ma’am.” Teresa’s feet stayed rooted into place until the door closed and she heard Moreno talking to the other officer outside. “Without any better leads than what we’ve got, this is like searching for a needle in a haystack. Let’s call this floor clear and start looking where the grown-ups are.”

  Teresa hurried to the door and peeked through a small opening just as Nash had, waiting for Moreno and the other officer to get on the elevator at the end of the hall. She looked the other direction, too, seeing no one but a couple of staff members she recognized.

  “They’re gone,” she announced, dashing back into the room. She opened the closet door and crossed over to Laila to give her a gentle hug. “Sweetie, you were wonderful.”

  “Did we win?”

  “You bet we did,” Nash answered, sliding out of the cramped space.

  Laila was still sitting up straight in the middle of the bed, her dark eyes eagerly following Nash’s every move. “I don’t like him. He wears fancy cowboy boots. Not real ones you can work in, like yours. His were too shiny.” Nash handed Teresa her bag and coat. “I like you. You listen when I talk. Even when I’m boring.”

  He flashed the girl a crooked grin that had captured Teresa’s heart, as well. “I like you, too, darlin’. And somehow I doubt you could ever be boring. I owe you one for helping me out.” He slipped into his coat before helping Laila get situated back under her covers. Teresa’s breath did funny things in her chest when he leaned over to kiss the girl’s cheek. “I won’t forget.”

  Teresa had a kiss for her, too. “Bye, sweetie. You do whatever the doctors tell you, okay? I’ll be back for Christmas.”

  Laila held on to both their hands. “Are you coming to the Christmas party, too, Mr. Nash?”

  Golden-brown eyes locked on to Teresa’s over the girl’s bed. She read the message there. Christmas, even just a few days away, was too far in the future for him to even consider. To even hope for.

  Before Teresa could plead with him to move beyond that fatalistic outlook, he released Laila and started for the door.

  “We’ll see, darlin’.” He clasped Teresa’s hand instead, pulling her into step behind him. “Let’s get out of here. I assume you know a back way?”

  Teresa nodded and moved into the hallway ahead of him. “Follow me. The emergency wing is closest to the garage where we parked.”

  A nod or a smile to the coworkers they passed was enough to discourage any conversation. Although she imagined there’d be plenty of questions about the tall, tough-looking man following her down the hallway when she came back to work on the twenty-fifth.

  Provided she’d be alive and able to report back to work.

  The possibility that she might not, that she might lose Charlie Nash even if she did survive, sharpened her gaze and hurried her steps.

  No one met them coming or going down the back stairs. They didn’t even run into anyone as they jogged through the employees’ inner hallway.

  But when she opened the door into the busy waiting area down by the E.R., she saw the one thing that could stand in the way of their escape. A cop.

  Teresa pulled up and hung back in the stairwell. “Nash, look. With Emilia.”

  He peeked over her shoulder to watch Emilia and the uniformed officer walking down to the E.R. bays where they’d been that morning. “Do you think she’s telling him about me being here?”

  “No. She promised.”

  “Wait a minute. Ah, hell.” He tensed behind her. His fingers bit almost painfully into her shoulders. “That gun isn’t regulation.”

  “What difference does that...?” The shiny silver pistol that stuck up out of the officer’s holster had meant nothing to her. But when the man chatting with Emilia turned, glancing up and down the hallway, his gaze moving right past the shadowed doorway where they hid, Teresa’s knees wobbled, and she leaned back into Nash’s grasp. “That’s the man who was at my apartment. Why is he dressed like a cop?”

  Nash swapped positions with Teresa. He pulled back the front of his coat, checking his own sidearm. “Why do you think?”

  “Captain Puente,” she groaned. “He called me by name. He knows I work at this hospital.”

  Nash swore as the fake cop held open one of the swinging doors and followed Emilia inside. “Then he knows your sister does, too. Stay put.”

  “He won’t hurt her, will he?” Nash’s answer was to dart across the hall, flattening his back against the wall there. “Where are you—?”

  But he was already stealing down the hall and slipping into the E.R. entrance next to the door through which Emilia and the man had disappeared.

  Worried now for both Nash and her sister, Teresa followed. She copied the slim profile Nash had used and sidled along the wall until she reached the E.R. doors. Although there were four separate sets of swinging doors along the way, the workstations inside were sectioned off into several more bays divided by privacy curtains. The configuration of the rooms made it easier to change the layout to meet patient needs. Unfortunately, the interior curtains also made it nearly impossible to know where her sister and the cartel thug had gone or where Nash might be. But when she heard the fake cop’s thickly accented voice challenging something Emilia had said, Teresa went straight to the doors where their conversation was escalating into an argument.

  “Where is your sister and her boyfriend?” the creep demanded.

  Teresa peeked through the win
dow. When she saw the curtain was drawn, she pushed the silent door open and sneaked inside to do whatever she could to protect Emilia.

  Although the curtain blocked her view, Teresa could hear Emilia moving about the work area with the cool efficiency of the doctor she was. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I told you the E.R. was empty. Now get out of here. You’re contaminating this room.”

  “You don’t know how to reach your own sister?”

  “She’s on vacation from work. It’s the holidays.”

  “You lie.”

  Teresa dropped to her knees at Emilia’s startled yelp. Her blood ran cold when she peeked beneath the curtain to see the man point his gun at her sister’s belly. Emilia backed against the stainless-steel counter, shielding the baby with her arms.

  What should she do? Cry out? Show herself? Tell that vile, gutless bully that she was the one who could lead him to Nash, not her sister?

  The man was screwing a silencer onto the end of his gun. “Don’t think I won’t do this. According to my sources, she was in the hospital this morning with an injured man. The man I’ve been paid to find. You choose. Your sister or your baby. Where—?”

  Teresa shot to her feet when he aimed the gun again.

  But her shout was muffled by the rolling tray table that came flying through the side curtain and smashed into the would-be assassin, knocking him off his feet and crushing him against the storage counter. Nash!

  Before the fake cop could get to his feet, Nash’s fist crunched against the man’s jaw, driving him back onto the table. But the man kicked out, forcing Nash back. He swung his gun around, but Nash charged his midsection and lifted him off his feet. Teresa ran in to pull Emilia aside as the two men tumbled over the edge of the table and hit the floor. Hard. The gun slid beneath the table. She heard Nash’s grunt of pain, cringed at the thud of fist against bone.

  She had to help. Nash had had a bullet in him just three days ago. His strength wouldn’t last. It wasn’t a fair fight.

  The men flipped, rolled, knocked over a stool. Emilia dodged their twisting legs while Teresa spotted the medicine dispensary and got an idea. She dashed around the table. “Emilia, what’s the combination?”

  Her sister rattled off the computer code and Teresa unlocked the cabinet. She grabbed a vial. Peeled open a syringe.

  “Teresa!” Emilia warned.

  She spun and saw the knife the thug had pulled out.

  But Nash was on top again, his fist clamped over the other man’s wrist. He banged the hand clutching the knife on the floor—once, twice—until the man released his grip and the weapon skittered away into the next bay.

  And then he pressed his forearm against the other man’s throat, pinning him to the floor, choking him.

  “Who’s Graciela’s inside man?” he demanded on a wheezing breath. He increased the pressure on the man’s throat. “Who told you where to find me?”

  The black-haired man with the bloody lip laughed and spit at Nash. “Son todos los muertos.”

  You are all dead.

  The moment Nash blinked and swiped the spittle from his face, the other man reared up with a roar. Teresa dropped to her knees and jabbed the loaded syringe into his thigh. The last-ditch rebellion was short-lived. Nash pushed him back to the floor, pinning him until the other man’s muscles relaxed and he passed out.

  “You don’t threaten the pregnant lady, understand?”

  Only then did Nash ease his grip and roll off onto the floor beside the unconscious man. With his chest heaving in deep, labored breaths, he pulled the gun from beneath the examination table and sat up.

  He braced his elbows against his knees and grinned at her. “Good shootin’, Peewee. But I thought I told you to stay put.”

  “He pointed a gun at my sister and future niece. I wasn’t going to lose any of you.” Teresa crawled over to him and started to tug at his jacket. “Are you all right? I need to check your stitches.”

  “Let me do that.” Emilia picked up a stack of gauze pads to wipe the mess from Nash’s jaw and dab at the bump on his cheek that was oozing blood.

  “Sorry, ladies, but there’s no time.” Nash shrugged off both their efforts and tucked the oversize handgun into his belt. He got up on one knee and rolled the black-haired assailant from one side to the other, checking his pockets. He removed the would-be killer’s wallet and opened it. “Angel Sanchez. All the way from Harlingen, Texas. I’ve heard of the Sanchez brothers. They do a lot of work for Graciela. First time I’ve met one in person.”

  Teresa could see there was no badge in his billfold or anywhere else on the unconscious man, either. Her stomach soured as she feared the worst. “Where do you think he got the uniform?”

  “Hopefully, he got it from someone’s locker. I don’t see any bullet holes to indicate he took it off an actual cop. With his DEA badge, our mole could walk right into any KCPD building and help himself.” Nash pocketed Sanchez’s wallet and cell phone before he unhooked the handcuffs from his belt. “These look real enough.”

  He flipped Sanchez onto his stomach and pulled his hands behind his back to cuff him. “Peewee, I need you to go find his knife. Dr. Grant, is there anything in here I can gag and restrain this guy with?”

  “Yes. And it’s Emilia.” She opened the storage cabinet and ripped open a packet of IV tubing to hand him. “Will this work?”

  “Perfect.”

  Nash had hog-tied the hit man and righted the stool for Emilia to sit on by the time Teresa had picked up the knife. “Are you all right, Doctor?” he asked, winding a few strips of gauze through the man’s mouth to keep him quiet when he regained consciousness.

  “Emilia?” Teresa hurried to her sister’s side. “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine.” Emilia rubbed the side of her belly. “The baby is still reliving the excitement, however. Oh, this girl can kick.” She nodded toward the man on the floor. “Is he the man who’s after you?”

  “One of them.”

  She reached for Teresa’s hand and squeezed it tight. “So you’re not safe yet?”

  Nash eyed the sisterly clasp of hands and turned to the door with a blend of regret and alertness stamped on his bruised face. “There’s another brother out there somewhere. We need to go. If he’s here, there are more on the way. They travel in packs, remember?”

  Teresa peered out the door, too, wondering if anyone in the lobby had heard the commotion. “We can’t leave her here with him.”

  Emilia picked up the phone on the counter beside her. “You gave him a full dose of that sedative. He’ll be out for a couple of hours. I’m calling security now. I’ll be fine. Go.”

  “It’s his friends I’m worried about,” Teresa insisted.

  Nash agreed. “Don’t let security touch that guy.” He put Angel Sanchez’s wallet on the counter beside the phone. “Call your brother or husband to pick him up. I’m sure he’s got a rap sheet a mile long. And there’s plenty more they can charge him with today. Ask if they’ll keep him in isolation for as long as possible so he can’t get word out that he’s found me.”

  Emilia nodded. “I can do that.”

  “And ask your husband or AJ to stay with you, in case one of Sanchez’s buddies shows up to ask you some questions.”

  “I will.”

  “Thank you.” To Teresa’s surprise, Nash leaned down and kissed her sister’s cheek. “I owe you and your family more than I can repay.”

  To her greater surprise, Emilia smiled up at him. “Thank you for protecting my child.” Her smile included Teresa. “And my sister.”

  Nash nodded, dismissing her acceptance and returning to the door to keep watch. Teresa could tell he was antsy to be on their way. But she hated to leave her sister unprotected, despite knowing the man on the floor could no longer harm her. “I’m sorry I b
rought this danger into your world.”

  “I told you it wasn’t an easy life.” Emilia stood to offer one more piece of advice. “I know my sister is trying to prove she’s invincible. But she’s not. Neither are you, I suspect. Keep each other safe.” She wrapped Teresa up in a tight hug. Then she released her and scooted her toward the door. “We have plans for Christmas, remember? You come home to us.”

  Nash reached for Teresa’s hand and linked his fingers with hers. “She will.”

  Ten minutes later, Teresa drove the silver pickup out of the employee parking garage into the glare of the sun reflecting off the snow outside. With his shaggy beard growth, hat pulled low over his forehead and a pair of sunglasses they’d found in Jake’s truck, Nash was practically unrecognizable as the man she’d first pulled out of that ditch. She, too, put on her sunglasses to help mask her face from all the searching eyes who seemed to be at Truman Medical Center today.

  It felt weird, wrong, perhaps, to be donning disguises and leaving her family behind to go into hiding with Nash and continue to help in his quest. The fear she’d known when he’d first forced her to do his bidding at gunpoint was gone. But so was any sense of excitement or adventure. That urge to show herself as competent and capable had matured into a sense of duty, a commitment to a cause...or person she believed in.

  As she pulled into a line of cars to wait for the traffic light at the parking lot exit to change, her gaze slid across the front seat to Nash. He was busy scrolling through the information on the perp’s phone, seeking answers. Her blood warmed in her veins at the sight of his broad shoulders and bowed head. But she chilled again just as quickly.

  Emilia was wrong. She wasn’t trying to prove her invincibility. Teresa knew she was anything but. She’d fallen in love with Charles Nash. And if anything happened to him, if men like Angel Sanchez got to him before he uncovered the truth, then she could lose him.

  And that would be a wound that even her talented sister wouldn’t be able to fix.

  “You’re staring at me, Peewee.” His golden-brown eyes tilted up to hers. “I’m not bleeding again, am I?”