by Liliana Hart
“I’m not letting you leave here with Rachel, Carrie,” Shane said. He started to move forward slowly so he could keep them both in sight.
“Stop right there,” Carrie yelled, her voice breaking. The pressure was starting to get to her and her grip became so smothering that Rachel saw spots in front of her eyes. Carrie moved the gun so it was pointed at Rachel.
“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” Carrie said, calmer now. “Put your gun down before I shoot your girlfriend in the thigh. You can hope she doesn’t bleed to death before I hand her over to Angelo. It doesn’t matter one way or the other to me at this point.”
Shane had lived his life by playing the odds, and he knew if he lowered his weapon then she’d put a bullet into his heart. And he’d be no good to Rachel dead. He kept his gun pointed at Carrie’s head and hoped for a clear shot, but luck wasn’t on his side. “That’s not going to happen,” he said, hoping he’d made the right choice.
“You like to live dangerously,” Carrie said. “I guess she doesn’t mean as much to you as I’d thought.”
Shane didn’t look at Rachel, afraid of what he might see in her expression. He was playing a game with a madwoman, and any distraction or break in his focus would get them all killed. Shane prayed Rachel could forgive him when it was all over.
“You lose Shane,” Carrie taunted. “I know every trick in the book, and you can’t bluff your way out of this one.” Carrie backed them up the stairs, and Rachel tried to slow her down as much as possible by becoming dead weight in her arms. “Enough!” Carrie said, pressing the gun hard enough to Rachel’s thigh to leave a bruise. “I’ll do it. I swear. If I hit an artery you’ll be dead in a matter of minutes.”
“Do as she says, Rachel,” Shane called out. Rachel immediately stopped her struggles and went with Carrie higher up the stairs.
“Say goodbye to your lover,” Carrie whispered in her ear.
“No!” Rachel screamed, fear gripping her like it never had before at the thought Shane’s life could be over in a matter of moments. She forgot about the threat of being shot and struggled frantically to try and dislodge Carrie’s grip on her. Carrie took her gun and slammed it across the side of Rachel’s face. Her cheek throbbed in pain and the taste of blood filled her mouth so rapidly she was choking on it. She was momentarily stunned by the blow and went limp in Carrie’s arms.
“It was nice knowing you,” Carrie said to Shane as she pulled something small and round out of her jacket pocket and threw it into the open door of the safety deposit box room.
Rachel didn’t even have the strength to scream as Carrie pushed her the rest of the way up the stairs and all hell broke loose behind her.
Shane saw the tiny black object that Carrie threw into the room and only had a moment to react. He kicked the metal table in front of him to its side and ducked behind it, throwing his body over Wildcat’s to protect both of them as much as possible. There was nothing he could do to save Mr. Norman, but there was still life left in Wildcat, no matter how little it was.
The explosion rocketed through the entire room and pieces of metal and concrete flew from every direction. His ears rang from the force of the blast and his body shook from the vibrations. Shane shielded the back of his neck with his hands and hunkered over Wildcat, protecting his friend as best he could while the metal table they were hiding behind buckled and folded around them.
The heat was unimaginable, as the metal and concrete in the room made it feel as if they were trapped in an oven. Shane’s mind was racing and he knew he had to stay in control to find Rachel alive. But the first order of business was making sure he stayed alive.
The smoke was thick in the room and it was almost impossible to see, but the debris finally stopped falling. Shane pushed at the heavy pieces of metal and concrete that covered his back and felt the sting of the raw scrapes over his body. The wound in his shoulder had reopened and his arm was slicked with blood, but time was of the essence and the adrenaline coursing through his body masked the pain.
He needed to get Jones out and get him help. It was obvious Jones’ lung had been pierced by the bubbling pink foam around the wound.
“Come on, buddy, don’t give up on me now,” Shane said. The muscle Jones had added over the past couple of years added extra weight to his body, and Shane struggled to lift him into his arms. He picked his way over the debris carefully, trying not to jar his friend too much. By the time Shane reached the top of the stairs, sweat dampened his brow and the scrapes on his back and the wound in his shoulder were screaming with pain.
The cold night air and rain felt like heaven against Shane’s tortured body when he finally made it out the back door of the bank. He laid Jones gently on the pavement and wondered how long it would be until emergency vehicles began to arrive. His friend was fading fast, the wheeze coming from his chest more prominent and the blue tinge around his lips growing darker in hue.
Shane was relieved to see that the SUV they’d arrived in was still in the parking lot, which meant that Carrie’d had someone waiting for her with another source of transportation. Probably one of Angelo’s men. He opened the door of the SUV and rummaged around inside until he found what he was looking for. A Snickers bar sat in the glove compartment. Shane carefully removed the thin plastic wrapping and opened it so it was completely flat. He tossed away the chocolate and grabbed the wrapper and the phone Jones had plugged into the cigarette lighter.
He ran back to his friend and stripped off the sweatshirt he was wearing, placing it under Wildcat’s head. Wildcat’s eyes were open and dilated and his breathing was shallow and raspy. Shane tore his friend’s shirt down the middle and exposed the tiny wound in his chest. He placed the candy wrapper over the hole and held it in place. The wheeze of air stopped leaking from Wildcat’s lung and his breathing eased.
“Dammit, I don’t have anything to hold this in place,” Shane said. His hands were slicked with blood and he looked around for anything that he could tie around Wildcat’s chest to keep the candy wrapper in place and pressure on the wound.
“In the back of the truck,” Wildcat gasped out.
“Don’t talk,” Shane ordered. He placed Wildcat’s hand against the wound and noticed the thready pulse in his wrist. “Leave your hand here, and press as hard as you can. I’ll be right back.”
Shane went to the back of the SUV and rummaged around until he found a black windbreaker that would fit around Wildcat’s chest. Or at least he hoped it would. Shane ran back to his friend and propped him up so Wildcat was resting against Shane’s knees.
“Here we go,” Shane said, tying the sleeves of the jacket tightly over the wound. It would by them a little time, but not much if emergency help didn’t arrive soon. “Help is on the way,” he assure Jones. “Just hold on.”
Shane scrolled through the numbers on the phone he’d found in the SUV until he located the one he was looking for. He waited impatiently for someone to pick up on the other line, and when the voice answered he didn’t waste time on small talk.
“This is Jax.”
“Wildcat’s been shot, and it’s critical,” Shane said. “He’s got a punctured lung. Carrie is Angelo’s insider, and she’s taking Rachel to Angelo as we speak. Get in touch with Merlin and Dixon and make sure they don’t lose sight of Angelo. He’ll want to finish things tonight and clean up any loose ends.” Shane heard the sirens in the distance and noticed Jones was struggling to stay conscious. “Call me back at this number with a rendezvous point so we can all meet.”
Shane hung up the phone and felt the pulse at Wildcat’s neck. His heart was working overtime, pumping blood faster and faster even as his pulse grew weaker. Wildcat’s eyes were dilated, and Shane thought he was probably going into shock.
“Dammit, Wildcat, you’re not a quitter. I thought bullets couldn’t touch you.”
The ghost of a smile played around his friend’s mouth. The sirens drew closer. “Get out of here,” Jones said weakly. Blood tinged his li
ps as he talked and Shane fought to keep down the surge of panic.
“I’m not leaving you,” Shane said. “We all leave together. That’s the rule.”
“I’m your commanding officer,” Jones said, coughing. “Get out of here so you can save her. They’ll be here soon to take care of me, but they’ll arrest you if you stay. There’s nothing more you can do. I’ve been closer to death than this before. I’ll be okay.”
Shane clenched his hands into fists and wished for something to punch, something hard that would hurt and take some of the pain he was feeling away. It went against every amount of training he’d ever had to leave Wildcat wounded and possibly dying in the rain.
“That’s an order, Marine,” Wildcat said with a last burst of strength.
Shane got up from the ground and pivoted sharply on the ball of his foot. His ears were buzzing and tears stung his eyes. He got into the SUV and pulled out of the parking lot, never looking back.
***
Shane drove around the outskirts of Chicago for no more than half an hour before the cell phone jingled in his pocket and Jax told him the rendezvous point was the same place they’d picked up Mr. Norman. Merlin and Dixon were waiting with information, so he turned the SUV south. Shane wasn’t looking forward to going back to the neighborhood, but they didn’t have a lot of options since it was best if none of them were seen involving themselves in FBI business, especially since Wildcat was no longer in the picture. Shane wasn’t sure what his buddies had been up to the last couple of years, but if they’d all turned civilian like he had then they were putting themselves in a lot of risk.
Shane didn’t bother with the driveway once he found his way back to the dilapidated row house. He pulled the SUV across the lawn and parked right in front of the door. A Hummer and a pickup truck were already occupying space in the driveway, and he hoped one of the vehicles would still be intact when they were ready to leave.
The front door of the house opened before he was out of the truck, and Jax stood in the doorway. No words were spoken as Shane made his way into the house. Lives were at stake and there was no time for the celebration they’d normally share at getting to work together on a job once again.
Everyone was gathered in the kitchen area, if it could even be called that, and they were already dressed for the party in black fatigues. Dixon’s tall, lanky body sat erect in a straight-backed chair and he worked a toothpick nervously back and forth between his teeth. His dark blond hair was combed back from his face and tortoise shell glasses covered his somber gray eyes. A thin black laptop sat open on the table in front of him.
Merlin sat in the chair opposite Dixon with a roll of what looked like blueprints in his hands. He was Dixon’s complete antithesis—dark and stocky in build, skimming just under six feet, and his black hair was unruly and rumpled like he’d just gotten out of bed. A thin scar slashed just above his right eyebrow, giving him a dangerous look that he more than deserved.
Cutter stood with his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. He was almost as broad across the shoulders as Wildcat, but he didn’t have the height. His hair was the color of burnished mahogany and he’d grown a short beard since the last time Shane had seen him. His coloring betrayed his Irish roots, and direct green eyes took in everything at once.
Jax stood at his back while Shane took the last available chair. Jax was the cleanup guy—the man you always wanted at your back if you wanted to come out of a situation alive. He’d gotten the scar that ran from the top of his ear to the base of his cheek and ruining the pretty boy persona he’d lived with his entire life by watching their backs in a night raid in Iraq. They would all be dead if Jax hadn’t made the sacrifice.
“Were you able to pinpoint a location for where Angelo has Rachel hidden?” Shane asked.
Merlin unrolled the blueprints onto the table. “Angelo and several of his men left his house just minutes after Jax called us and told us what had happened. They took two separate cars from the Valentine estate down Michigan Avenue to a high-rise office building that is currently under construction. Our boy Dixon did a little digging and found that the building is owned by VCorp, which is one of the companies Valentine owns to make things seem more legitimate when it comes to tax time.”
“Did you see Rachel in the building?” Shane asked.
“Negative,” Merlin said. “There are more than twenty floors in the building. We can only assume that’s where he’s keeping her as he’s got men posted at all the exits, and he didn’t look like he was in any hurry to leave the building.”
Shane looked at the blueprints and wondered how they were ever going to find her before it was too late. It was worse than searching for a needle in a haystack. “Are any of the floors occupied?” he asked. “And can we get a visual inside from anywhere in the area?” Shane directed the question at Dixon since he was the one who could use his computer skills to break into any database in the world. The talent had come in handy more than once, and Shane was counting on it to help them this time.
Dixon’s slow southern drawl often misled people about his intelligence, which according to Dixon, always gave him the upper hand. “Well, tax records show that several businesses occupy the spaces between floors twelve and eighteen.” Dixon opened his computer and hit a few buttons so a screen of names and numbers showed up. “But a closer look at these companies show they don’t really exist at all. I hacked into a few of the past surveillance tapes and there’s never anyone shown going in or out of the building. It’s just a dummy operation as far as I can see.”
He hit another series of commands and the blueprints came up on screen. “I’ve blacked out the floors where the offices are located. My gut says he wouldn’t use those to hold anyone hostage. It would be inconvenient if the IRS showed up on his doorstep and wanted to take a look around.”
Shane could read between the lines. What Dixon really meant was that Angelo wouldn’t want to take the chance of dirtying the furnished areas with anything like blood. Shane put the thought out of his mind that even as he was sitting here trying to find a way to save Rachel, she could already be past the point of saving.
“Floors one through twelve are in the skeleton phase of renovations,” Dixon continued. “But I’d bet my money that he’s got her stashed either on nineteen or twenty. Renovations are a little further along on the upper floors. From what I can tell he’s turning them into apartments of sorts.”
“Can we get access?” Shane asked.
“Well, that’s going to be a little trickier seeing as how there’s just the five of us against at least twelve men that we saw guarding the building. Maybe more. The Hancock Hotel is directly across the street from the building, and it should give you a good view of those top two floors from the roof level. You can set up over there and the rest of us will go in on foot and take out as many as we can to give you plenty of time and the best shot possible.”
Shane broke out in a cold sweat at the thought of what he was going to have to do. Hadn’t he been in almost the exact same situation two years ago? And failed miserably? Now the woman he loved, because there was no doubt now what he felt for Rachel, was putting all her trust and her life in his hands. God, he hoped the saying was wrong about history repeating itself.
“Are you okay, Ace?” Cutter asked.
“Yeah,” Shane said, standing. “Let’s get a move on. We’ve only got a couple of hours until daylight.”
Chapter Fifteen
Icy cold water hit Rachel in the face and brought her gasping to consciousness. She didn’t remember the drive to wherever she was now or how long she’d been unconscious. She only remembered the fiery explosion in the basement of the bank and that Shane was buried somewhere in the rubble.
She’d screamed and fought against Carrie, not caring about her own safety, and she’d tried to run back down the stairs and into chaos. She remembered Carrie’s arms struggling to hold her and that someone else had been there. That’s when the second blow had com
e and it had felt like the back of her skull had exploded. It was lights out after that.
Her vision was blurred and the icy water wracked her body with chills. Her thoughts were scattered and her mind wouldn’t cooperate as she tried to piece things together. The right side of her face ached with every laborious breath she took and her eye was swollen almost completely shut. The fierce headache throbbing through her skull was from the blow to the back of the head she’d received. She tried to take stock of the rest of her body, but she couldn’t assess the damage since her ankles were tied to a chair with sturdy rope and her hands were cuffed behind her.
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Carrie’s voice sang out. “We wouldn’t want your uncle to make the trip all this way only to find you’d passed out. It’s more fun to torture when the victim is awake. I’m sure you understand that.”
Rachel’s wet hair hung down in front of her face and she didn’t have the strength to raise her head and give Carrie the glare she deserved. Her vision swam and she had to focus to stay conscious.
“I hope he kills you,” Rachel rasped. Her throat was dry and the words protested as she tried to force them out. “I’ll be glad to watch you die, but I promise you if he doesn’t that I will hunt you down and do it myself.”
“Ooh, that’s scary,” Carrie said. Her casual laugh chilled Rachel’s blood. “Are you going to come back as a ghost and haunt me?”
Rachel gritted her teeth and forced her head up so she could look Carrie in the eyes, ignoring the pain that was radiating from her skull. Carrie was still dressed in FBI black and her weapon was holstered at her side. But it was her face that gave Rachel the chills. How could anyone be that good of an actress when the insanity was so transparent behind the eyes? Blood was smeared on her cheek and her blond hair was matted and mussed from the aftershocks of the explosion.