I knew this wasn’t over.
I rolled the carpet back. The spare was pristine. Sliding my fingers around one side of the tyre, I heaved it out of the recess. A jack rested in the curve of the wheel, and wedged alongside it was a canvas tool roll. Jackpot. Grabbing the roll, I dropped the spare back into the recess, pressed the trunk shut and hurried back to our room.
JT was lying on the bed, eyes closed. Not asleep. Resting, almost peaceful. I knew that wasn’t going to last.
I re-bolted the door. When I turned back, JT was watching me.
‘You found it?’
‘Yeah.’
I untied the roll and unfurled it on the bed, counted one pair of metal handcuffs and ten tools: spanners, screwdrivers and a pair of long-nosed pliers. Perfect. Pliers would do the job just fine. I set them on the bed with the rest of my improvised kit.
Second step: Sterilise.
On the desk in the corner a coffee-making set was laid out nice on a plastic tray. The water-boiler was empty. I picked it up, filled it from the basin tap and switched it on.
JT raised an eyebrow. ‘You making coffee?’
I smiled. ‘Maybe later.’
As the water boiled, I found the mini bar and unlocked it. On the top shelf stood a half-dozen miniatures: bottles of rum, whiskey and gin. Great. My methods of sterilisation, pain control and courage were right there.
I carried them across to the bed and added them to my kit. I took a closer look at JT’s leg, the crusted blood, the jean fibres stuck into the wound. Picked up the pliers. Even cleansed with alcohol and the boiled water they were still a crude piece of equipment.
‘You sure about this?’ I asked JT.
He nodded. ‘The mob’s still after me – Emerson’s guys too if they’ve figured out what happened back at GatorWorld. Boyd’s guys at Winter Wonderland saw me get shot. They find out we escaped, they’ll know I’d need medical.’ He glanced towards the door to the room where Dakota was asleep. ‘Can’t let you risk it.’
I got it. Appreciated his sacrifice. ‘It’ll hurt like hell.’
He forced a smile. ‘Yeah, figured that.’
The kettle reached boiling.
I carried it, the pliers and a bottle of gin across to the basin. Poured the boiled water over every inch of the metal. When the kettle was empty, I twisted the cap off the gin, and poured it over the business end of the pliers.
Taking care to hold the pliers by their handle, I grabbed a couple of fresh towels from the bathroom and took them over to the bed.
‘You ready?’
JT nodded.
‘Okay then.’ Folding one towel double, I threaded it under his thigh.
Third step: Pain control.
I took a bottle of whiskey from the bed and handed it to JT. ‘For the pain.’
He twisted off the cap and gulped two-thirds, then held it out to me. ‘For your nerves.’
He always could read me, no matter how hard I tried to cover my emotions. I took the bottle and finished it. The whiskey tasted spicy-sour.
I knelt beside JT. Opened a bottle of vodka and tipped some on to a cotton pad. I swabbed the area around the wound, then poured a little of the alcohol into the hole.
JT cussed. Punched the duvet.
It must have hurt like a bitch. But I couldn’t let that stop me.
Fourth step: Get it the hell done.
Taking the pliers, I opened them about a half-inch wide, and eased them into the wound.
JT inhaled sharply, gripped the duvet in both fists. His eyes were closed, his face pale, jaw rigid.
I couldn’t stop now. Knew he wouldn’t want me to. I rotated the pliers inside the wound, searching blind. Blood oozed out, dribbling down his leg. I ignored it, focused on hunting out the bullet. Went deeper, glad the pliers were long-nosed. I had to be getting close.
JT’s whole body went rigid. ‘Jesus fuck.’
Millimetre by millimetre, I eased the pliers further in. Then hit something solid. ‘Found it.’
He kept his strangle-hold on the duvet. ‘Well don’t take it out for dinner. Get it done.’
I widened the mouth of the pliers a fraction, then pulled them closed. Felt the bullet between their jaws. Squeezed tighter, just to be sure, then withdrew the pliers real slow. The suction of the wound held the bullet in place a moment longer.
JT gasped. Cussed, louder this time. Started to twist away.
‘Come on, you son-of-a-bitch.’ I’d gotten the thing, and I’d be damned if I was letting it beat me. I held the pressure. Put my other hand on JT’s calf. ‘Hold still.’
He kept cussing, but stopped moving. After a short moment the flesh yielded, and the bullet came free. ‘Got it.’
JT didn’t speak. His face had flushed red; his breath came in gasps.
I stayed focused. Put the pliers, and the bullet, on the nightstand, and grabbed the closest bottle of alcohol. Gin. Tipped it into the wound, using the whole thing. Hoped it would do the job.
Frothy blood coursed down his thigh and on to the white towel beneath. Blood mixed with gin. It smelt fruity yet metallic. A real strange combination, and not one I ever wanted to smell again.
His breathing sounded laboured.
I glanced at his face. ‘You okay for me to keep going?’
‘Yep.’
Opening the sewing kit, I threaded a fine needle with a length of black cotton, and got to work. I’d never been a needlepoint kind of girl, but this I could do. Keeping an even pressure, I brought the skin together.
Done.
Grabbing the remaining cotton pads, I pressed them tight against the wound, binding them in place with the stocking. It wasn’t pretty, but the bullet was out and the bandage seemed functional.
I glanced at JT. ‘You okay?’
Stupid question, I knew. His leg would be hurting real bad.
He nodded, but still gripped the duvet.
‘There’s a couple of whiskeys left.’
‘Sounds good.’
I twisted off the caps, and handed him a whiskey. Propping himself up on an elbow, he took the bottle. ‘Thanks.’
‘Sure.’
He held my gaze. ‘I mean it.’
‘I know.’
He kept staring. ‘I’ve missed the hell out of you.’
I took a gulp of whiskey. Looked away. Counted to three. Looked back.
He was still staring.
I frowned. ‘I don’t want to talk about the past.’
‘Neither do I.’
I kissed him. Wasn’t planned, not wise either. I knew that, but did it anyways. Could’ve blamed it on the liquor, or the shit that’d gone down those past three days, or some nostalgic bullshit. But it wasn’t none of that. He was just something I wanted.
He tasted as I’d always remembered: bourbon, smoke. Him.
I pulled away, glancing at the door that connected our room to Dakota’s. It was pulled to but not shut, so I’d hear if she woke in the night and called for me. Inside she’d be sleeping, unaware how close her parents were getting next door.
Her parents.
I looked back at JT, into his blue eyes. The eyes he’d passed on to my baby. Hell, Dakota reminded me of him every time she looked at me.
‘Hey.’ JT brushed a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. ‘She’ll be okay.’
I forced a smile. Nodded. He’d misread my thoughts. I knew Dakota was safe That wasn’t what was bothering me in that moment.
Things had always been complicated between me and JT. The secret I’d kept from him all these years would only make it worse. Still, as I gazed into his eyes I knew I couldn’t hide the truth any longer. ‘There’s something you should—’
JT pressed a finger to my lips, stopping me mid-sentence. I let him, allowed myself to pretend it was a sign for me not to tell him. I said to myself that I’d tell him later. I traced my fingers across his jaw, over his throat, down his chest. Wanted to blot out the past, and not think about the future.
&
nbsp; Wanted him.
JT whispered, ‘Thought you said the old times weren’t so great?’
I held his gaze. Thought of all the things I could say, should say, then told the truth. ‘I lied.’
He pulled me to him, his lips on mine. My heartbeat accelerated.
I knew, again, that I was ruined.
52
The vibration of my cell woke me. The room was dark, like a Florida sky in hurricane season, just a thin shaft of daylight visible around the edge of the drapes. I knew it was early. Even so, I reached for the cell on the nightstand and checked the caller ID: Quinn.
I didn’t want to speak to him. He’d ask too many questions, force me to think about facts I did not want to face. Not yet. I dropped the vibrating cell on to the duvet and snuggled closer against JT.
He looked down at me. ‘Who is it?’
‘The office.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You not answering?’
‘Not right now.’
‘Good.’ He caressed my cheek with his thumb, kissed the tip of my nose.
I tilted my head so my lips met his. Reached beneath the duvet, felt the contours of his chest beneath my hand. Traced my fingers lower, across his stomach. Felt his abdominals tighten beneath my touch. He pulled me closer, pressed his mouth on mine.
The cell began to vibrate again.
I ignored it.
Moved my hand lower still, felt him harden. Moved astride him. Kissed him, felt his stubble rough against my face, his tongue strong against mine. I’d missed this, craved him all this time, but never let myself acknowledge it. Instead I’d denied the memory, changed it into something else. Anger.
I felt him hard beneath me. Bit my lip as he slid inside.
He exhaled fast. Held my gaze.
We moved, slow at first, then faster. JT grabbed my hips, thrust deeper.
I didn’t want him to stop. Ever.
How had I kidded myself to believe I didn’t miss this? Miss him. The way he felt, the way he made me feel. I moved with him, quickening the pace. He bucked harder beneath me.
I came with him, his name on my lips. Kissed him, and collapsed against his chest, breathless.
It was never like that with the others. Never had been. The raw, real, urgent need I’d always had for JT was something different. No act: just me and him.
I felt him run his hand up my back, stroking the nape of my neck where my hair lay against my skin. He kissed my forehead. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, but I wasn’t. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, reality was creeping into view: Quinn, the Miami Mob, Emerson. The eight o’clock deadline to collect the bounty on JT’s head, and the final demand for Dakota’s medical treatment.
I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes before six. Soon I’d have to make a decision.
JT smoothed the hair from my face. ‘You ever think about what might have been if—’
This time I put my finger to his lips. ‘Don’t. What’s done is done.’
He pulled me closer, kissed me again. ‘I guess it is.’
We lay there a long while. Neither of us wanted to end the moment, both of us knew what happened next wouldn’t be real easy. As it was, I got up first. I needed some time to think, to decide my next move.
So at a quarter after six I rolled out of bed and moved across to the connecting door. Easing it open, I peered through the gap to check on Dakota. She was still asleep, cocooned in the duvet. Safe. Leaving her be, I walked to the bathroom and locked the door behind me.
I stood in the shower, hot water pouring down my aching body, and tried to think of a way we could all be together. I stayed in there far too long, until my skin wrinkled prune-like, and the water ran cold. Still, however long it’d been, it wasn’t long enough. I hadn’t found an answer.
Shutting off the water, I grabbed a towel from the rail and dried myself off. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror – not a great sight: a black eye, dark red bruising across the left side of my jaw and a split lip. I looked away. It didn’t matter what I looked like, my three days would be up in less than two hours. I had to make a decision. Whichever choice I made I’d lose one of the two people I loved. If I was unlucky, I’d lose both.
I walked back into the bedroom. JT was still in bed. His tanned skin dark against the white linens, his dirty-blond hair mussed up and flopping over one eye, the few days’ old stubble making him look sexy as hell.
He threw off the duvet and pushed himself to sitting. He didn’t say anything, but from the tightness in his jaw as he moved his injured leg, I could tell the wound must have hurt like hell. He picked my cell off the nightstand and held it out to me. ‘Thing’s been buzzing again.’
I checked the display: one new message, CF Bonds’ number. It was no good; however much I wanted to stay in the protective bubble of this motel room, I’d soon be forced to make a choice about the reality of our situation. I guessed I may as well start now. I looked at JT.
‘It’s Quinn.’
He nodded. ‘I figured.’
I played the message. Quinn sounded real nervous. ‘The cops are crawling all over us here. There’s a warrant out on you, Lori. They’re saying you’ve been helping Tate, that you’ll do time for it. I’m so sorry.’
I hung up. Stared at the cell. Felt dizzy, sick. With a criminal record I couldn’t work as a bail runner in Florida. Without the bond money from JT’s skip trace I couldn’t pay for Dakota’s treatment. From a jail cell I couldn’t be her momma.
‘What’d he say?’
I met his gaze. ‘Seems there’s a warrant out on me.’
He said nothing, just blinked slowly and breathed.
I heard movement in the adjoining room. Dakota’s voice. ‘Momma?’
I pulled on my jeans and searched for my bra. Found it on the floor beside my improvised medical kit. Put on a clean singlet from my carryall ‘She can’t know about us,’ I told JT.
He didn’t argue. A part of me wished that he would.
Easing open the connecting door, I gazed at Dakota. She looked so tiny, lying in the queen-sized bed alone. She looked worried. ‘What is it, honey?’
‘Is JT okay? He was bleeding. In my dream he—’
I sat on the edge of the bed beside her. ‘I fixed him up. He’s just fine.’
She looked relieved. ‘He’s not a bad man is he?’
I smiled. ‘No, he isn’t.’
She gazed at me a long moment, then smiled. ‘Can I take a shower?’
I took her hand in mine, stroked her palm with my fingers. ‘Sure you can.’
‘And can we go home after?’
It couldn’t be possible that the things she’d seen hadn’t affected her. She’d been abducted at gunpoint, had a bomb strapped to her, seen a man shot, and nearly been drowned. She had to be in shock. I wondered how long the delay would last, and what would happen when the events of these few days finally hit her. Hugging her to me, I kissed the top of her head. ‘Soon, honey. I promise.’
With a heavy heart and a deep sense of dread I knew what I had to do.
53
At five after seven I called Quinn’s number. It rang only twice before he picked up.
‘I’m coming in now. I’ve got Tate.’
‘Lori?’ The relief in Quinn’s voice was clear. ‘Thank God. I thought—’
‘Yeah. Things got tough for a while, but I have him. I’ll be at the precinct before eight.’
‘Good job. I’ll tell the boss.’
‘Yeah, you do that.’
‘Look, I never doubted you. I want you to know that.’
‘Quit the bullshit.’
‘It was—’
‘Whatever, okay, Quinn? I’ve had a hell of a few days.’
Quinn cleared his throat. ‘I’ll call the precinct, let them know you’re en route.’
I ended the call before he could say anything else. Looked at JT. ‘It’s done.’
He nodded. ‘You should cuff me.’
> I knew that I should. Our plan was for JT to stay silent, and for me to talk. I’d tell a story about how my pick-up turned bad. We needed the cops to believe JT had forced me to act with him rather than me having been a willing partner. They had to think I’d feared for my life, for my daughter’s life, and that had only changed when I’d managed to wound him. The fact I’d emailed Special Agent Monroe the CCTV evidence played into the story. I’d tell them I’d managed to do it in a brief moment when JT wasn’t watching me, but that he’d grabbed me again before I could escape the park. The story we’d concocted would be a stretch for sure, but ultimately believable, or so I hoped.
JT held out his wrists. ‘Go ahead.’
I slipped the steel over each of his wrists in turn, snapping the cuffs closed. His skin felt warm beneath my fingers and I didn’t want to let go.
I looked to the door where Dakota was waiting fresh from the shower, her skin scrubbed clean of the dirt of the past few days, her damp hair hanging long and untangled down her back. I smiled at her. Knew I’d made the right choice, the only choice: Dakota.
JT had chosen her, too. That didn’t make it any easier; in fact, it made it worse. Not for the first time I wondered if I should tell him the truth.
He leant closer. ‘She’s tougher than you think.’
‘But after what they did?’ I shook my head. ‘I just can’t imagine what she—’
He looked at me real serious. ‘Not your fault.’
I shook my head. ‘She was in that situation because of me.’
‘No. She was there, you both were, because of me.’
I remembered that night after Sal had died. How he’d held me as I cried. How he’d said those very same words. I looked up into his big old blues, knew he remembered too. ‘It’s time.’
54
As we turned into the precinct parking lot, I saw that three police cruisers were parked out front. The clock on the welcome board showed seven fifty-three. Our time would be up in seven minutes.
I parked the Mustang in the space furthest from the building and turned to look at JT. ‘You ready?’
Deep Down Dead Page 32
