by Lara Lacombe
Wanting a distraction, her thoughts turned to the morning attack. How did the man know her name? What did he want with her? Did he know where George was? What was the motive behind the bio-attacks? Would there be another? Where? When? So many questions, but no answers in sight.
She glanced at James from the corner of her eye. The rapidly setting sun outlined his profile, casting the side of his face in shadow and making it impossible for her to see his expression. Why didn’t he believe her? How could he possibly think she was involved when she’d clearly run from the man who had tried to take her? Maybe this was some holdover from her walking out on him earlier—she’d hurt him then, so he didn’t trust her now. But really, couldn’t he see all the evidence pointed against her involvement?
He pulled into her apartment complex and found a spot by the door. “Pack a week’s worth of clothes,” he advised as they walked into the building and approached the elevator.
“I thought this was only approved for three days,” she said, confused by his directions.
“It is, but if we have to extend it, I don’t want you coming back here,” he explained as they walked down the hall to her apartment.
They approached her door, but before she could reach out to insert her key in the lock, James put a restraining hand on her arm. She shot him a questioning look, and he reached up to put a finger to his lips.
“Let me go first,” he whispered. “There might be someone waiting.”
Her frustration flared to anger at his words. Why would he care if there was a second attack? It wasn’t as if he believed her anyway. Or did he think she was going to give some kind of signal to whoever was watching if she went first? That was probably it. He wasn’t concerned for her safety—he just wanted to make sure she couldn’t communicate with her henchmen. Jerk.
She shook off his hand and shoved the key into the lock, giving it a savage twist that had the metal digging into her fingers. Ignoring James’s muttered curse, she shoved the door open and reached for the light switch.
James placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back, keeping her from stepping into the apartment. “Dammit, Kelly, I told you—” His next words were lost as a movement inside the apartment caught her eye. There was a sudden bright flash and a muffled pop, and she was slammed back into James’s chest. They fell into the hall, landing in a heap on the tiled floor.
James reacted quickly, rolling her off him and tugging her down the hall, away from the door. He pushed her up against the wall by the elevator, wincing as he moved. She stared at him dumbly, her mind struggling to process what was happening. A wet patch was spreading on his shirt and she reached out to touch it, amazed to find it warm.
He clapped a hand over her fingers to stop her tentative exploration. “Listen to me,” he said, punctuating the words with a little shake. “Stay here. Don’t move.” His eyes drifted down, and he took her outstretched hand and pushed it onto her shoulder, igniting a burning flare of pain that had her seeing stars.
She heard movement, felt the air stir. When her eyes focused again, he was down the hall, gun drawn as he stepped into her dark apartment.
The pain in her shoulder was a constant throb, and a sticky, cooling warmth coated her fingers and was spreading across her shirt. Blood. She knew it even before she pulled her hand away to find it stained red.
“Oh, God.” Tears began to fall as she put her hand back over her shoulder, trying to plug the leak. Her heart galloped in a pounding rhythm that left her gasping for breath. Air. She needed air, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fill her starving lungs.
Her vision blurred and grayed, and she felt herself slide across the wall until she hit the floor. Her hand fell away from her shoulder and landed in front of her face; her fingers were stained an absurdly cheerful red. She tried to force her hand back into place, but her arm was strangely numb and wouldn’t cooperate.
So this is dying, she thought, her world shrinking down to a pinpoint that gradually faded to black.
* * *
James crept through the dark apartment, leading with his gun as he moved. He felt like a hot poker had been jammed into his side, but he ignored the pain, trying to focus on the job at hand. There was a gunman on the loose, and he knew that a distracted agent was a dead agent.
The kitchen was clear, as was the living room. He started down the hall, making a quick check of the small bathroom before moving on. Kelly’s bedroom was ahead, and it was the only place the perp could have gone.
Stepping carefully, silently, he approached her bedroom, ears straining for any indication of the assailant. He had to know he was cornered and would likely be waiting to shoot James as he walked into the room.
James paused outside the room, not willing to risk it yet. “FBI,” he shouted out. “Drop your weapon and approach with your hands up.”
There was no response, but he hadn’t really expected one. “I repeat, drop your gun or I will shoot you.”
Still nothing. He could see gray light in the room—probably from a streetlamp—but there was no way to know how big the room was or where the perp could be hiding. He had the advantage from his position in the shadowed hallway, but the longer he waited, the more time the shooter had to regroup and replan.
A faint scratching sound came from within. If the gunman was moving, he’d be distracted. James decided to risk a quick glance, and he poked his head around the door frame, scanning the room before pulling back again.
Nothing. The room appeared to be empty. Fighting a sinking feeling of dread, he risked another, longer glance. When he saw no apparent threat, he stepped into the room, clearing the corners and checking the shadows for any sign of an intruder.
The room was empty; the curtain billowed in the breeze from the open window. The fabric grazed the surface of a desk, disturbing papers and pens and re-creating the scratching sound he’d heard. Frustration and anger welled up as he stalked over to the window. The shiny black of the fire escape mocked him as he approached.
He should have remembered the fire escape, should have moved faster. He’d wasted precious time being overly cautious, and now the shooter had gotten away. His instincts told him to chase after the guy, but he knew there was no way to tell where the perp had gone. He had too much of a head start and was likely far away by now.
Besides, he thought, pressing a hand to his side. I’m not in any shape to run right now.
Neither was Kelly. His heart had skipped a beat when he’d seen the blood on her shirt, but it looked like a flesh wound, nothing more. She was lucky. A few inches to the left, and she would have been dead in his arms.
He dug his phone out of his pocket as he made his way back through the apartment. “It’s Reynolds,” he said, then explained the situation in a few terse sentences. “I need an ERT and a bus. I’ve got two casualties.” He relayed the address, then snapped the phone closed and stepped out into the hall. Time to deal with Kelly and give her the dressing-down she deserved for ignoring his instructions.
Oh, God. His anger evaporated as he took in the scene.
She was slumped over, lying on the floor in a crumpled heap. Her outstretched hand was limp and bright with blood, but she wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t she moving?
Heart pounding, he rushed over and dropped to his knees next to her. “Kelly! Kelly, wake up.” The words were a strangled croak, so he tried again, reaching out to roll her onto her back.
She moaned faintly at the change in position. He ran his hands over her body, searching for another wound. Was the injury more serious than he’d thought? Had he missed something? He’d never forgive himself if he’d left her to bleed out in the hall....
She was starting to come around, her eyelids fluttering as he continued his search. “Kelly, I’m here,” he said, hoping his voice would help bring her back. He didn’t find any other injuries, so he turned his attention to the bright red blossom of her shoulder.
Gingerly, he peeled back her shirt to expose the wound. Th
ere was a small hole in her skin, a neat, round thing that was oozing blood. Relief washed over him at the sight, causing his hands to shake. It was just a through and through, no arteries involved. Thank God.
“James?” she whispered, her voice wobbly. She blinked up at him, her eyes hazy with pain. He sat with his back to the wall and gently gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
“I’m here, baby,” he said, pushing a strand of hair off her face. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He pressed his mouth to her forehead, feathering soft kisses across her brow. He wanted to squeeze her tightly, but knowing that would only cause her pain, he fought to keep his hold gentle.
“My shoulder hurts.” She frowned, concentrating. “You’re hurt, too.”
At the mention of his own injury, the pain in his side roared to life again. The adrenaline rush had kept him from feeling it before, but now that things were calming down, his body was wasting no time in communicating its displeasure with the events of the evening.
“I’m fine,” he assured her. Although he hadn’t looked yet, the injury felt like a flesh wound. He shifted slightly, the fabric of his shirt sticking to his side. No fresh bleeding, then, which was a good sign. The bullet had likely passed through her shoulder and grazed him, making them both damn lucky to be alive.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, a tear leaking from the corner of her eye. “I should have—”
“Hush,” he told her, wiping the drop away with the pad of his thumb. “Just rest now.” Time enough to yell at her later. For now, he needed to get her to a hospital, make sure she really was going to be okay. Once he knew she was safe and whole, then he’d talk to her about following directions.
The muted wail of sirens sounded, a beautiful symphony that grew louder by the second. The cavalry was here.
* * *
The ambulance ride to Shady Grove Hospital seemed to take forever. Kelly lay on the gurney, trying not to moan at every bump in the road. It felt as if the driver was going out of his way to hit every pothole, but maybe it was just the speed that made the ride feel so rough.
James sat next to the paramedic, having refused to ride in the second ambulance. “We stay together,” he’d said, his tone and expression brooking no argument. He had deigned to allow the paramedics to check his wound, and he sat now with his shirt open, his hand pressed to the white strip of gauze taped along his side.
She didn’t know how he could just sit there, so stoic and reserved. Her shoulder was screaming and his side had to be, too, but he gave no outward indication of feeling any discomfort. He winced slightly when the driver hit an especially rough patch of road, but otherwise he could have been made of marble.
After what seemed like an eternity, the ambulance pulled into the emergency bay. A moment later the doors at the end opened, bringing fresh air tinged with diesel fumes into the back. Kelly gritted her teeth as the paramedics jostled the gurney out and onto the pavement. She knew they were trying to be careful, but her pain was overwhelming. Her whole consciousness was focused on her shoulder and the throbbing that kept time with her heart.
They wheeled her into the emergency room, James trotting alongside. He looked like an avenging angel, with his hair mussed and his hands bloody. There was a streak of red down the side of his face where he’d wiped his hand in a moment of distraction, and his eyes were bright and focused. He had the look of a man who would mow down anyone or anything that got in his way, and she saw several orderlies and nurses jump back as they rolled her down the hall and into an exam room.
A triage nurse approached and began her examination with brisk, efficient movements. She asked a few questions, but Kelly only heard about half of them. Her tongue was thick in her mouth, and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes against the bright overhead lights.
She was cold, so cold, and she reached down, fumbling for a blanket that wasn’t there. James pulled the sheet over her legs, telling her to lie back and relax.
She felt a sharp sting in her hand and looked over to find a nurse taping down a needle. She saw a few drops of blood on her skin, and then she was back in the tunnel, her vision narrowing down to a pinprick of light before finally going dark.
* * *
When she came around again, a young woman in a white coat was standing over her.
“Welcome back,” the woman said. “You gave us a bit of a scare there.”
“Sorry,” Kelly replied automatically.
The doctor laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I’m Dr. Mahoney, and I’ll be stitching you up today.”
“No more blood,” Kelly mumbled.
A blond eyebrow went up. “Oh, you’re one of those, are you? Good to know.” She moved around the bed to a cabinet, took out a blue cloth and returned to the head of the bed.
“I’m going to clean this out and stitch you up. The bullet didn’t hit anything important, which makes you very lucky.”
Kelly grunted in response. With her shoulder on fire and every breath painful, she didn’t feel too lucky at the moment.
“I’m going to need you to lie on your side so I can access both sides of your injury.”
Kelly sucked in a breath and moved as instructed, stretching out her arm to pillow her head. The position was very much like the one she assumed while sleeping, but there was little chance of her dozing off while being stitched up.
“You’re going to feel a little prick....” Kelly winced at the sting in her shoulder as the doctor injected something to numb the area. After a few more pokes, the pain began to ease, and Kelly exhaled in relief.
“Lidocaine’s a wonderful drug, isn’t it?” the doctor said.
Kelly could only nod in response, her limbs relaxing as the pain left. She sank more fully into the bed, not realizing until that instant how rigid her whole body had been.
The woman ripped open a package, took out a wandlike instrument with a sponge on the end and squeezed. There was a quiet cracking sound, and the sponge turned a dark orange. “Any shellfish allergies?”
“No.”
“Great.” Dr. Mahoney set about wiping Kelly’s shoulder, moving in an ever-expanding circle. She reached the margins of the numbed area and continued outward; the liquid was cool on Kelly’s skin.
“Do you want your, um, friend to stay?”
Kelly stiffened, unaware that anyone else was in the room. She tried to sit up, but Dr. Mahoney put a hand on her side. “Stay down, please. I don’t want to have to resterilize the area.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” There was a screech of wood on tile as James dragged his chair across the floor, then pulled it around to the other side of the bed. He sat down and glared at Kelly, as if daring her to ask him to leave.
She glared right back, not appreciating his attitude. Why was he here? He had his own injuries to deal with. And why was he so angry? It wasn’t as if she had known there was an intruder in her apartment.
He probably thinks I set this whole thing up! She felt her face heat at the thought and bit her lip to keep from crying out in frustration. Was that his problem? He had said he didn’t trust her, but surely he knew she’d never do something like this.
She closed her eyes against the prickle of impending tears. How had they gotten to this point? She’d gone from being his friend to his lover to a suspect in his investigation. Quite an evolution, and one she wasn’t sure she could reverse.
Dr. Mahoney’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. “You can’t stay if she doesn’t want you here.”
There was a moment of tension as James and the doctor faced off, gazes locked in silent battle. James might be the big, bad FBI agent, but the young doctor appeared to have a spine of steel and she wasn’t about to back down.
“It’s fine,” Kelly said, wanting to defuse the situation. James looked as if he was close to his breaking point, and the last thing any of them needed was for him to get into an argument with the doctor. Besides, if she made him leave, he’d probably think she was
trying to hide something.
“Are you sure?” the doctor said in a low voice.
Kelly nodded. “Yes. He can stay.” James nodded once and leaned back in the chair, apparently satisfied with the outcome.
“Thank you for asking,” she murmured.
Dr. Mahoney winked at her, then draped the blue cloth around her shoulder. A flap covered the side of her face, effectively blocking Kelly’s view of the proceedings. Probably for the best.
She heard the metallic tinkle of instruments as the doctor went to work on her shoulder. “Want to tell me what happened here?” Dr. Mahoney asked, a tugging sensation accompanying her words.
Kelly’s stomach fluttered a bit in warning. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing hard.
“There was a gun,” she gritted out, focusing on the memory of the shooting as a distraction from the sounds accompanying the doctor’s movements. “He fired as we walked in.”
“I see.” More tugging, then pressure. “You’re lucky his aim wasn’t better. A few inches to the left, and he’d have hit your heart.”
“James got shot, too.”
“Is that right?”
Kelly opened her eyes to see James frown at her, as if he was annoyed she’d brought it up. “It’s just a scratch,” he said gruffly.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
He harrumphed in response but didn’t press the issue.
There was a brief period of silence as the doctor worked; then she spoke again. “All right,” she said as she set down her tools. There was the rip of a package and the smell of rubbing alcohol, and Kelly felt a pressure on her shoulder as the woman rubbed the Betadine stain from her skin.
“I’m just going to tape this up, and you’ll be good to go.”
She worked quickly, applying bandages and taping them into place. She whisked away the drapes and helped Kelly sit back up, then tugged off her gloves.
