Voss paused and sized him up, doubt in his eyes. "Look, guy, I'd like to help you out, but you have to give me something. You're not above the law—"
"No, that's true, but right now I'm going around it, and if you get in my way it's not going to be pretty."
He moved his hand from the baton to his pistol. "Sir, I don't want this to get ug—"
Whispers interrupted him. Matt caught the REC7 Blossom tossed to him without turning toward the door. "Company," she said. "ETA one minute."
Voss's eyes widened at the assault rifle. "Holy shit. You can't—" As Blossom stepped out the door, Voss's grip tightened on his pistol. Matt grabbed his wrist before he cleared the holster, and shook his head. Voss's eyes narrowed in determination. "Sir, I'm going to have to place you under arrest."
"Sorry." Matt head-butted the deputy, hard enough to knock him out but not crush his skull. He plucked the Glock 19 from Voss's hand as the policeman collapsed, checked the safety, and tucked it into the back of his pants.
He bolted to the nurse's station, where Blossom knelt, weapon aimed out the glass automatic doors that led to the Emergency Department. Next to her, a trio of scrub-clad nurses lay face down, hands folded over their heads, eyes wide and terrified.
"What are we up against?"
"Tactical van, with a bonk. Akash's outside, behind them. Hope they don't know that."
"Jason sold me out." Matt looked down at the nurses. "Ladies, I'm going to need you to run. Out the back. Fast as you can."
They looked at each other, then bolted. The fire-door alarm went off right as a black-haired bonk in tactical body armor walked through the Intensive Care Unit door, ducking its head to fit under the eight-foot doorframe. Its lips peeled back to reveal massive, square teeth—a smile. Matt recognized Murdock Yardley but had never worked with him. A former MMA superstar, he'd joined ICAP after a career-ending concussion and had earned a reputation for brutal efficiency and a casual disregard for collateral civilian casualties. He dropped the mirrored visor on his helmet, covering his eyes, the one target vulnerable to bullets.
"We don't have the gear for this," Matt said. He dropped to the floor as weapons barked from behind Yardley, peppering the nurse's station with bullets. Frightened screams erupted from the patients' rooms.
"Take the men," Blossom said. "I got the bonk."
"MURDOCK," Matt hollered. "I HAVEN'T BONKED. YOU'RE BEING LIED TO."
Yardley's grin never wavered as he charged.
Matt rolled out and took four short bursts between Yardley's legs, shredding ankles and feet. Cries of pain joined the cries of panic from the patient suites. As the massive creature trundled forward, Blossom hit him head on. The impact sounded like a gunshot as she shattered the bullet-proof visor with her hand, and before he could grab her she slipped around him and delivered a vicious two-handed strike to the side of his knee. Her coupled fists bounced off.
Matt advanced, firing over Blossom's head to force the rest of the fire team to take cover. Yardley kneed Blossom through the wall and she disappeared in a cloud of plaster dust. Matt shot Yardley twice in the throat, and the bonk roared, a deafening bellow that drowned out the sound of gunfire from outside.
Bodies fell as Akash shot them from behind. The bonk charged, and Matt's world compressed to the immediate fight. A massive fist crushed into his shoulder, and the assault rifle spun out of his numbed fingers. He rolled with the impact, turned, and pulled the Glock out left-handed. He rammed it under Yardley's tactical vest and pulled the trigger. Matt got off three shots before Yardley wrapped him in a bear hug, pinning his arms.
Yardley squeezed and Matt groaned. Bones shifted, then cracked, and he couldn't break free. He lost feeling in his arms. The pistol clattered to the floor. Matt tried to kick but had no purchase. Red filled his vision, and he tried to breathe. Air left his lungs, but wouldn't go back in.
Huge brown eyes widened in confused surprise as Blossom shoved an oxygen canister down the back of Yardley's vest, the mask still attached. She followed it with a grenade, then dove into an adjacent room as he shook her off. He must not have realized the danger, because he grinned and squeezed again. "Goodbye, Matt," Yardley said, two octaves below human normal.
The shockwave shattered Matt's eardrums. He rebounded off of a steel medical cart, his hair on fire. He smothered it with his hands and leapt to his feet. The bonk sprang up, his back a butcher’s block of shredded meat.
Yardley stepped forward with a roundhouse kick. Matt ducked it and landed two punches, his fists burning with the impact. Yardley's downward chop blasted through his block and crushed him to the floor, forearm bent thirty degrees. He rolled away from one stomp that caused the whole floor to shudder, then another and another. He hit the wall and looked up into a massive boot tread, with nowhere left to go.
Blossom appeared behind Yardley, a surgical knife in her right hand. She severed his exposed spine between the shoulder blades, then again just above the hip. Matt scrambled out of the way as Yardley dropped to his knees, then his face. Blossom tore a ropy bundle of nerves straight out of his vertebrae. She knelt, jammed Voss's Glock up through Yardley's viscera and under his solid-fused ribs, and pulled the trigger over and over. He flailed his arms and head, and blood spurted out his mouth. The weapon clicked empty after the twelfth shot.
Dripping gore, she smiled and said something. Between the wail of the fire alarm and his ruptured eardrums, Matt couldn't hear her. Akash signed to them from the ED doorway. Let's go.
Matt stumbled into Monica's room, where deputy Voss lay in the corner in a fetal position, clutching his head, legs twitching. It stank of urine; he'd pissed himself. Matt ignored him. His ribs and shoulder screamed in protest as he scooped his pregnant wife from the bed as gently as he could and hurried out toward the parking garage.
Yardley's eyes followed him as he carried Monica by, and the giant man's fingers twitched. Even after that punishment, the tough bastard would live . . . if this newest round of trauma didn't push him over the edge into uncontrollable psychosis. He couldn't have much time left either way.
Matt carried Monica past the assault team scattered across the hallway like broken dolls, ten men with ruined legs, bloody torsos, one with a half-missing head, all wearing ICAP emblems on their body armor. One man panted in short, frantic breaths as he pressed both hands to his gushing thigh. "Sorry," Matt said as he stepped around him. He meant it; these men were soldiers doing their jobs.
Akash had collected four bandoleers of grenades and dozens of extra magazines for the rifles, and wore one of the assault team's ear pieces. He spoke as he gave half of the ammo to Blossom, and, though muffled, Matt could understand him. "We've got two ICAP choppers and every cop in the state incoming." He looked around at the carnage, then at Matt. "Good thing we were here, eh? They thought it was just you."
"I'd be dead," Matt said without slowing down, and Akash winced at the volume. "Yardley by himself would take care of that."
A beat-up, maroon Caprice Classic shrieked past them through the garage, Father Rees in the driver's seat. Akash choked up his REC7, but didn't fire. The car disappeared around the corner.
Matt didn't waste time with him, instead running to the SUV. Matt set Monica in the back and hung her saline IV from the handle above the door, then climbed in next to her, draping her legs across his lap. He wrapped the seatbelt around her as best he could while Akash took shotgun. Blossom climbed in the driver's seat and hit the gas, the door slamming shut as she accelerated.
She put on her blinker and pulled out into the street.
Three minutes later, a police car passed them, lights on and sirens blaring. Then another, and another. Matt kept a lookout for helicopters, but aside from the two that converged on the hospital, he didn't see any.
Chapter 15
Matt leaned back on his haunches, pulled the binoculars to his face, and looked at the light green, two-story farm house. "I'd feel better if we had full kit." His breath frosted in the chilly air; he
worried that Monica wouldn't handle the cold in her weakened state, but they couldn't just leave the car running. She'd taken her second bag of saline, but had had no nourishment or painkillers. Wake up, babe.
Blossom snorted. "We grabbed what we could."
"I know."
The well-manicured lawn and fastidious but barren flower garden contrasted with the controlled chaos of a turkey farm down the road, whose halogen lights bathed the clouds in an orange glow. Smoke streamed from the chimney, and he saw no dog house, no tie-outs. Their approach options sucked; they could come in from the road or through a massive fallow field overrun with goldenrod and brambles.
A single light popped on at five am, illuminating the upstairs bedroom. Matt watched as Janet LaLonde clambered out of bed, and almost averted his eyes when she stripped off her light green flannel pajamas. He grunted in surprise at her muscular, well-toned back. The leggy, gum-chewing IT specialist had a green—no, a jade—Iron Cross tattoo stretching from the base of her neck to her perfect ass, and full across her shoulder blades.
"Wouldn't have pegged her as the religious type," Akash whispered next to him.
She left the room without turning on the hallway light, and came back a moment later, still naked, toothbrush in her mouth. With her left hand she pulled a bright blue dress out of the closet, held it up to her body, then laid it out on the bed. Akash muttered "wow" as she walked out of the room, and Matt couldn't help but agree.
The bathroom light came on, and Matt let the binoculars hang at his neck. He picked up his REC7 and crept through the brush until they reached the edge of the yard, thirty feet from the house. A tractor fired up in the distance. Most of Fulton, Maryland, still slept, but not for long.
Security? Matt signed.
Blossom shook her head. I don't see any. Maybe on the doors or windows.
Matt looked back at the bathroom window. Fog built up on the inside glass.
Go.
They approached the house weapons-ready. Matt didn't expect resistance, but shit and the fan were too well acquainted to play it safe this time. Besides, none of them knew whether or not Janet had any field training.
On the side porch, they spread out to multiple windows. Matt closed his eyes to listen and heard only the patter of water from the shower. Opening one window, he saw no telltale lights or keypads that would indicate a security system. Her furniture, like her lawn, had an aura of severe order to it.
Clear, Akash signed, though he looked unsure.
I see nothing, Blossom replied.
Same here. Matt tried the knob. Locked. The old farmhouse doorframe had warped over time; he could see the latch mechanism through the crack. A moment's work with a knife, and the door opened with a creak.
Akash took point, leapfrogging with Blossom through the living room and up the stairs. Matt followed behind them after a quick sweep for a security pad; he found no evidence of one. Janet hummed in the shower, and he recognized the tune as he opened the bathroom door: "I'm Gonna Miss Her" by Brad Paisley.
He stepped through billowing steam, rifle pointed at the floor. The foggy glass shower doors left little to the imagination. Janet arched her back and ran her hands through her straight brown hair, water cascading over her head. A quick check revealed no firearms he could see. Here goes nothing.
He banged on the wall.
Janet jumped, stumbled back, and put her hand over her heart. Eyes wide, she exhaled, then inhaled. "Fuck–a-duck, you gave me a heart attack, Matt."
It wasn't the reaction he'd expected, and he hesitated.
She opened the door a crack, peered at him, then turned off the water. She reached an arm out and grabbed a faded maroon towel. She held it to her chest, obscuring just enough to be even more distracting. "He said today, but holy shit, I wasn't expecting you to bust in on my shower at the butt-crack of dawn." She raised an eyebrow and slid the door the rest of the way open with her toe. "Do you mind turning around? It ain't like I'm going to come out shooting."
Instead, Matt stepped back and Blossom took his place. He took another step back, lurking around the corner with Akash.
"Not better," Janet said. A pause, then, "Whatever. I'd be paranoid, too."
"Hurry up." Blossom's voice held no humor. "When you're done, you sit on the couch."
"Sure."
She stepped out a minute later, the maroon towel around her head, a large beige bath sheet around her midsection. She exuded a confidence that unsettled Matt, even patting Akash on the cheek on her way by. "Morning, Rastogi."
She sauntered downstairs, feet leaving tiny puddles on the steps, and sat on the couch, legs crossed.
"You were expecting us," Matt said.
She nodded. To her right, Akash stood at ease in the doorway. Blossom took up position on the stairs, eyes scanning the doors and windows.
"Cavalry on the way?"
She shook her head. "Nope."
"You know why we're here?"
"You're looking for information." She reached one-handed into a large, garish purse on the end table, and instead of pulling out a piece of paper or a gun or something that made sense, she opened a pack of Orbit, popped out a square, and put it in her mouth.
"What information are we looking for?"
Janet flashed her eyebrows and chewed her gum. "You want to know where to find Fraulein Gerstner, and Jeff didn't tell you before he pancaked himself. But I don't know where she is. It's not in the computer."
Matt exchanged looks with Akash and Blossom.
"How . . . do you know this stuff?"
She scowled, gum between her teeth. "Dawkins told me before you captured him."
"There's no way he could have known that."
She rolled her eyes. "He can if he's fucking psychic. Your precog ain't got nothing on his." She held up a finger. "Here, I'll show you."
She opened a thin drawer under the coffee table—he never would have noticed it—and removed a cheesy-looking romance novel. She flipped through, found a scrap of paper, and handed it to Matt.
Matt took it and grunted. It read, "Rowley, Rastogi, Sakura. October 29th. Your house."
Akash raised an eyebrow. "I don't get it. If he's so damned psychic, why didn't he just give us Gerstner's location?"
She sat back, re-tucking the towel to keep from flashing them again. "Look, you're already in this, yeah? You know he's telling the truth?"
Matt wasn't sure of all of it, but close enough. He nodded. So did Akash. Blossom's eyes didn't leave the windows.
"So get this: he knew either he was going to capture you or the other way around. Every scenario was worse than the last—in every one he tried to get away, he ended up dead instead—so he planned for both contingencies, arranged the best final outcome he could either way," she pointed her finger at Matt and went 'bang' with her thumb, "which was to blow up your life to the point that you either help him or get yourself killed."
Matt frowned. "So if you can't help us, what are we doing here?"
Her smile met her eyes for the first time. "He knows where they're holding Gerstner. I know where they're holding him. You're going to break him out, then you're all going to shut this whole sick thing down."
Nobody said anything for a moment.
"What's your stake in this?" Akash asked. "Why is it so important that he walks free?"
She raised her eyes just enough to meet his. Matt gasped just before she said it. "He's my brother."
* * *
Monica stirred as Matt set her on the bed in Janet's guestroom. The sparse furnishings included a full-sized bed, a small nightstand, an empty bookshelf, and a cheap floor lamp. The candy-apple-red wallpaper and faded teal throw rug accentuated the unspoken message: whoever you are, we'll make you feel welcome, but we don't really want you here.
He ran his hand through her hair and shushed her. "It's okay, baby. I'm here."
Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she hissed as she tried to sit up. "Where are we?"
He tried to remembe
r if she'd ever met Janet and landed on "probably not."
"Don't sit up. There was a . . . problem at the hospital. We had to move you." As if on cue, Akash carried in a narrow wooden coat rack, from which hung another bag of saline. Her eyes widened, fluttered closed, opened again. Her head lolled to the side. "I'm so tired."
He kissed her cheek. "I know, baby. You need to rest. I got to get going—"
She dug her fingernails into his wrist. "No, no." I lost our baby.
He put his hand on hers and cut her off before she could voice the thought. "No, you didn't. He's okay."
Her eyes snapped open and her hands covered her belly. "What? They . . . the doctors said they had to—"
"The surgeon patched you up, Mon. Saved the baby. You're going to be okay. Both of you."
Worry drained from her face, replaced with exhaustion and joy. "Really?"
"Really. But you need to rest."
She grabbed his arm. "I will, if you stay with me."
He kissed her.
"I would if I could, babe. But what happened at the hospital, it could happen again." She furrowed her brow, and he realized she wasn't conscious for the battle. "Don't worry about it." He smoothed her bangs out of her face. "The important thing is that you rest."
Instead of responding, she rolled her eyes over to Akash. "I don't want drugs."
In reply, he knelt, rubbed the inside of her elbow with alcohol, and inserted the IV needle. "You need fluids, and we don't want you getting up if you don't have to. You need to rest, and we'll fetch you some food."
She grimaced. "I'm not hungry. I feel . . . queasy."
"That's the anesthetic," Akash said. "It'll wear off, and you need to keep up your strength. For you and the baby."
She looked back and forth between them, and when Matt nodded she closed her eyes in resignation. "Okay."
Matt turned on the drip, and Akash injected the sedative into the plastic bladder. Her sharp breaths faded to smooth, deep sleep. Akash left the room. Matt followed him out several minutes later.
Janet, dressed in jeans and a Florida-Georgia Line T-shirt, met him in the hall. "I took a personal day. They weren't real happy about it and'll probably call me in anyway if forensics figures out that Jeff took a dirt nap."
Jade Sky Page 18
