by Debra Webb
No one else in the world called Director Casey by his first name. Lucas suppressed a tiny smile. He doubted anyone other than Victoria would get away with it.
“I believe I have some insight that might be of use,” he allowed.
“Why don’t we sit.” Lucas gestured to the chair directly across the table from where he and Victoria sat. “Coffee?”
“None for me, thanks.” Casey settled into his chair.
Victoria shook her head when Lucas looked to her.
“Well then, let’s get this thing started.”
Casey set his briefcase on the table and opened it. He removed a manila folder marked classified and passed it to Lucas.
“I’ve looked a little more deeply into Cole Danes’s past.”
That news surprised Lucas. “His record is outstanding.”
“That’s true. Not a single failure.” Casey leaned back in his chair. “Graduated from Yale with a law degree, went on to achieve his doctorate in foreign affairs. The man speaks a dozen different languages, even trained with Special Forces just to get the physical logistics right in case he needed them. He has negotiation and intimidation tactics down to a science. I’d like nothing better than to recruit him for my unit.”
“So what else is new?” Lucas already knew all that. That’s why he’d selected Danes for this assignment.
“Professionally he’s something of a superhero,” Casey agreed. “It’s his personal life where things get complicated.”
Lucas shrugged. “His father was an ambassador to an African country. He and his wife have since retired to Florida. One brother, six years older, who also worked for the State Department.”
“Died in a car bombing in Libya fifteen years ago,” Casey interjected.
“Not surprising,” Lucas countered. “Libya’s not exactly the place to be if you’re American, not then, not now.” Even with the new, so-called cooperation the Libyan government had shown lately, the country was still an unstable environment for Americans.
“One would think,” Casey said mysteriously. “But when I considered Danes’s handling of the Howard Stephens case and then this latest turn of events, I took a closer look at his activities in the past ten or so years.”
Lucas leaned forward to flip through the pages of the file Casey had brought.
“We know Errol Leberman and Howard Stephens formed an alliance. With a team of six men they carried out death warrants all over the world.”
Again Lucas wondered what was new with that. “Go on,” he prompted knowing Casey would not have come all this way without good reason which would include new information.
“I formulated a number of simulations,” Casey explained. “I considered the deceased Danes son’s work in international terrorism and the time frame. The man had quite a handle on the homeland terrorist situation even then. He made statements that our own worst enemies might come from within.
“If Cole Danes’s beloved brother, his only sibling, had been murdered by homeland terrorists rather than foreigners that would make for excellent motivation for Danes to go after the culprits.”
Lucas narrowed his gaze. “You’re saying someone commissioned Leberman and Stephens to do the job and make it look ‘work’ related, as if his visit to Libya had been the reason he’d died.”
“Right.”
“But that’s only speculation.” Lucas flared his hands skeptically. “I’ll admit that after what’s happened I considered the possibility that Danes had a personal stake in this, but there’s no evidence to back it up.”
“Maybe there is.” Casey pointed to the file. “Check the dates. Until today, four of the six men Leberman and Stephens had recruited have been executed. We know this from what Victoria’s son has related during the past few months.”
Victoria shifted in her chair. “He hasn’t remembered everything,” she reminded. “There are a lot of holes in his memory.”
“I understand that. But in each instance when one of Leberman’s team was executed, there is documentation that Cole Danes was traveling in the area.”
That got Lucas’s attention. He shuffled through the pages. “You’re certain.” He didn’t know why he asked. He knew Casey wouldn’t introduce the scenario if he hadn’t done his homework.
“Even when Leberman was here in Chicago, Danes was in the area. There’s no evidence, of course, that he was involved in any way or made any sort of contact, but he was here.”
Lucas sat back in his chair, a cold hard knot of apprehension forming in his gut. “So you think Danes is avenging his brother’s death.”
Casey nodded. “Not just his brother, his brother’s wife and children, as well. Vengeance is the most likely scenario. Especially considering this morning’s shoot-out. Another of the original six went down.”
Lucas knew all about this morning’s escapade. Chicago PD had related the story to Victoria when she called to inquire. One officer insisted that the EMTs had stated that Danes had questioned the shooting victim extensively before allowing him to be transported. The man had been DOA. Both EMTs had admitted that he would likely have died anyway. He’d lost a massive amount of blood, had serious internal injuries.
“That leaves only one,” Victoria said, the worst-case scenario obviously taking shape for her, as well. She turned to Lucas. “My God,” she murmured. “Surely he won’t put his need for revenge ahead of Mildred’s life.”
Lucas wanted to reassure her…but he couldn’t.
Considering this latest data, there was no way to know what Cole Danes would do.
“I will say this,” Casey offered, dragging Lucas’s attention back to him. “Cole Danes has a reputation for being fair as well as ruthless. Despite the scenario I’ve presented, we have every reason to believe he’ll do the right thing. He always has.”
Lucas hoped like hell he would do the right thing this time. He set his jaw hard. If Cole Danes allowed Mildred or Angel Parker to be hurt, Lucas would have no one to blame but himself for bringing the man into this situation. There was nothing he could do to change that glaring fact, but he would make it right on one level. It would be Cole Danes’s first and final mistake.
Chapter Eight
Renaissance Hotel, East Side of Chicago,
12:20 p.m.
21 hours, 55 minutes remaining…
There was no exit wound.
The bleeding had stopped but from what she could see Danes had already lost more blood than he should have. Too much for her comfort.
He lay on the bed now, a feat she would never have been able to accomplish alone. He’d roused enough to help, though she’d hated that his exerting any additional effort had been necessary.
“What’re you waiting for?” His voice sounded sterner than it should for a man in his condition, but she didn’t miss the thin quality. In the past twelve hours or so she’d come to know quite well the strong, rich sound.
She ordered her hands not to fidget and kept her gaze carefully away from his. “There’s no exit wound.”
“You’ll find tweezers in the supplies I purchased. Dig it out.”
Disregarding his suggestion, she looked around for any kind of distraction. “Have some ice chips.” She’d called room service and ordered bottled water, crushed ice and coffee. She’d needed the caffeine, the rest had been for him. She’d cleansed the wound and surrounding area with bottled water and the peroxide he’d purchased. She’d also gone into the bathroom and made one other call…he wouldn’t like it.
As hard as she tried her fingers still shook as she held a few chips of ice to his lips. He sucked them from her fingertips, the feel of his lips even under present circumstances sent an unexpected tingle through her.
She bit down on her lower lip and studied the small wound in his side as if considering his suggestion. There could be internal hemorrhaging. Experience told her that if the internal injuries were massive he’d be in shock by this point, suffering from extreme blood loss. But she couldn’t be certain. Each indivi
dual’s tolerance for pain and ability to function beyond normal limits was always different. He could be hanging by a thread, but his vitals were damn good if that turned out to be the case. His pulse was still strong, his heart rate very good considering.
“What have you done?”
Her head came up. “What do you mean?”
A knock at the door confirmed his suspicions. Why was it her luck never held out?
The weapon was in his hand before she realized his hand had moved. “That better be room service again.”
She stood quickly and backed away from the bed. “I had to call a friend.”
He pushed up into a sitting position. The grim line of his mouth exposed plainly how much the move cost him but he didn’t make a sound in protest. “Don’t answer it,” he ordered, fury flashing in those eyes. “I don’t want to have to kill anyone else this morning.”
His words shook her but she refused to be intimidated on the issue. He needed more help than she could give. She was only a nurse, not a surgeon. “You don’t have a choice.” She strode to the door and reached for the knob. The sound of him chambering a round gave her only a second’s pause; she twisted the knob and opened the door.
Keith Anderson smiled at her. “I was beginning to think you’d played some kind of joke on me,” he said good-naturedly.
She pulled him into the room and quickly closed and locked the door. “Thanks for coming, Keith.”
“Whoa! Who’s the guy with the gun?”
Angel rolled her eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh. “Put the gun down, Danes. He’s here to help.”
Keith Anderson looked at her a little skeptically. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
He’d asked that on the phone but she’d insisted that there was no time to explain. She’d only known Keith a few months. He was friendly and flirtatious and currently in his surgical rotation. She’d warded off his friendly advances from day one. As nice as he was, as cute as he was, she’d learned the hard way not to date the doctors, med students or interns.
She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer to the bed. His hesitation was understandable since Danes refused to put his gun away.
“You brought what we need?” She glanced at the large shopping bag in his hand. She’d warned him not to look like a doctor, hence the casual attire and big brown paper bag.
A mixture of confusion and apprehension had claimed his face. “I brought what you asked for.”
“Who the hell is this guy?” Danes demanded. His hair was loose now, hanging around his shoulders, the silver earring glinting in his earlobe. His black shirt ripped open, the leather shoulder holster still in place. She could well imagine what Keith thought.
“Keith Anderson. He’s an intern at the hospital. He’s going to help.”
She looked away from Keith’s questioning expression. He would want to know later, assuming either of them survived to see a later, why she’d lied. She saw him most every day at the hospital rightly enough, but he was only a fourth-year medical student. Still, he had three things going for him, he was in the final weeks of his surgery rotation, he was friendly and Angel knew she could trust him.
Danes’s furious gaze locked onto hers. “Did you warn him that I’d have to kill him when he’s through?”
“Put the gun away. We’re wasting time,” she ordered in the sternest tone she could marshal.
“Look, Angel.” Keith backed away a step. “This is a little intense.”
She seized his arm with both hands and waited until he’d looked at her before she spoke. “Please, Keith, this is important. I won’t let him hurt you. Just do this for me, would you?”
He looked from her to the gun still aimed in his direction and back. “All right, but it’s going to cost you.” A wicked grin slid across his handsome face, outshining any of the other emotions still lingering there. “I won’t let you forget it, either.”
“Whatever you want,” she promised.
Keith passed the bag to her and sat down on the edge of the bed, ignoring Danes’s glare as well as his weapon. That was another thing she’d known about Keith. He would risk his standing at the hospital as well as the university to bring the necessary items. She doubted anyone else would have done that for her.
“Let me have a pair of those gloves,” he mumbled to Angel, already distracted by the injury. He pulled a stethoscope from his jacket pocket.
Relief chased away the last of Angel’s uncertainty. She handed him a pair of the gloves he’d brought and hurried to set up so she could assist him. She dragged the chair and table closer, then arranged the surgical equipment and medical supplies from the bag atop it.
“Let’s get that IV going,” Keith told her. His eyes told her he wasn’t completely happy with the circumstances. She understood.
Angel donned a pair of gloves, took the necessary implements and moved to the other side of the bed. She draped the IV bag on the headboard and repeated, “Put the gun down, Danes.”
He lowered the weapon to the mattress but didn’t release it. When she pressed him with her gaze he said, “That’s as good as it’s going to get.”
“Fine.” She surveyed his forearm and decided on the best spot for the introduction of the IV catheter.
“What’s in that?” He glanced toward the IV bag.
“Nothing to worry about,” she assured, annoyed. The man needed help and all he could do was ask questions and complain. “You need the fluids, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“No drugs?”
“No drugs yet, sir,” Keith answered for her. “But you’ll need something for this. It’s going to be quite painful.”
“No drugs.” This time Danes directed his no-arguments order at Keith. “If I feel the first glimmer of an anesthetic you’ll regret it.”
Keith looked from Danes to Angel. “No way am I doing this without anesthesia.”
Damn. “Did you bring a local?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but—”
“Give him that.”
“Angel, you—”
“Do it,” Danes commanded. He repositioned the weapon on his right side, well within Keith’s line of vision.
“Whatever.”
Angel would not soon forget the next few minutes. The local helped somewhat, but not nearly enough. It was insane to do it this way, but Danes refused to allow any additional numbing drugs. To his credit, he didn’t make a peep as Keith increased the size of the wound, then prodded with a pair of surgical retrieval forceps until he found the bullet lodged against a rib and removed it.
“Man, you were damn lucky,” Keith said as he explored the area as best he could for any other damage. “A millimeter to the right and that sucker would have gone through your lung. As it is, you’ve got a fractured rib, but not a lot of other damage.”
A fractured rib was no laughing matter. Angel scrubbed the back of a gloved hand over her forehead. She couldn’t see how he’d withstood the pain for hours. They’d waited in that parking garage for what felt like forever, then purchased new clothes and come to this hotel. He’d driven, staying in complete control without so much as flinching. Amazing. She refused to consider that the bullet he’d taken had been as much to protect her as to help himself.
As far as she was concerned at this moment, he didn’t deserve quite that much respect or gratitude just yet.
As any good nurse would do, she wiped his face with a cool cloth, his sweat the only outward indication of what he’d just endured.
“I’ll get this sutured and then you’ll need an injection of penicillin. That drug acceptable?” Keith inquired facetiously.
Danes lifted the corners of his mouth in a facsimile of a smile. “That and nothing else.”
Angel rolled her eyes again. She had no desire to watch this part. The local was surely wearing off by now. She busied herself cleaning up the remnants of the crude procedure. Using a trash bag from one of the lined cans in the room she concealed the contents by tying the bag. She doubted
Danes would want anyone to know surgery to remove a bullet had taken place in this room. There wasn’t much she could do about the bloody towels except trash them, too.
“Looks like you’ll live.”
As she moved back into the room Keith stood and gathered the remainder of the items he’d brought. He’d bandaged the wound and injected the antibiotic.
“I suppose I’ll allow you to do the same,” Danes offered with something less than civility.
“I really appreciate your help, Keith.” Angel followed him to the door. “I know this was…” She couldn’t think of any words to put the situation into proper context.
Keith tugged her into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind them. “Look, are you sure you’re okay? What’s going on here?”
For a guy so young, with mostly medicine and sex on his mind, Keith looked dead serious and immensely worried.
“I can’t tell you anything more now.” She placed her hand over his. “I promise I’ll explain everything later.”
He shook his head. “But this guy. He’s—”
“Helping me,” she finished. “I can’t do this without him. Trust me, Keith, I’m doing what I have to.”
“All right.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Be safe. I plan to collect on this debt.”
Angel couldn’t say what possessed her at that moment, but she flung her arms around the handsome young doctor-to-be’s neck and kissed him hard right on the mouth. She couldn’t help herself. The desperation, the need to connect with another living human was too great to ignore. And the last thing she intended to do was let that need get out of control with no one around except Cole Danes.
Maybe this kiss really did belong to him, but he wasn’t going to get it.
“Well now, that’s what I call tangible appreciation,” Keith murmured when at last they came up for air. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Be safe. I’d like to follow up on this procedure, nurse.”
Trembling with the sudden drain of adrenaline, she watched him walk out the rear exit of the hotel. A part of her now certain that she’d lost her mind completely. She’d just kissed the cutest, sexiest, most available male medical student at Winnetka General. And she hadn’t felt a thing—except desperation.
