Hiding Jessica

by Alicia Scott

  He had to protect Jess. He had to protect...

  The world suddenly spun, the warm wetness on his face trickling into his eyes. He lashed out again, as if he could conquer even the dizziness. But the momentum of the motion spun him slightly around, skewing the world even more.

  He was going to pass out; he could see the black mist just beyond his sight. He howled, low and dark, the frustrated groan of an animal that sees its own trap.

  One last time he tried to come around. One last time he fought for his life and the woman still unconscious at his feet. One last time his massive fists reared back.

  And the second FBI impostor stepped forward with the deft agility of a healthy man, and slammed Mitch Guiness in the jaw.

  Dotti and Henry’s son crumpled to the hard asphalt, and knew no more.

  * * *

  Jess came awake to the persistent throbbing in her head. She groaned, the sound rousing her further. She hurt, she thought dimly. She hurt in every known muscle and then some she hadn’t known about before.

  She tried to open her eyes and bring the world into focus.

  It took a while—much longer than it should have. And then she became aware of the fact she was in the back of a car, her face pressed down against the seat. She remembered the car crash, and with it came the horror.

  In a sudden, swift movement, she tried to find Mitch. The pain rocketed through her like a knife, and she thought she might pass out again. But then she caught sight of his hair, to her left, and her muscles sagged with the relief.

  He was here with her. He was here.

  Dimly she heard the voices of two men talking. They were low and forward, muffled by the barrier of plush seats. She tried to move again, this time the motion subtle and slow. She didn’t appear to be tied up, but her back hurt, and a low, consistent pain throbbed in her right leg. Face down on the seat, there was little she could do that wouldn’t arouse immediate attention.

  She tried to simply shift her head to see Mitch better. He appeared to be folded over somewhat, his body curled like a lifeless rag doll. The first pangs of dread clutched her chest.

  “Mitch?” she whispered.

  He didn’t move.

  “Mitch?”

  Slowly, ever so slowly, his head bobbed. She waited a minute more, then whispered his name again. This time the movement was even more pronounced. As she watched, he pulled himself back from the unconsciousness.

  “Jess?” he muttered at last, the word more a groan than a whisper.

  “I’m here, Mitch,” she managed to whisper, the string of three coherent words sending a needle of pain through her forehead.

  “Give me a moment,” he said at last. She waited, her dark eyes worried and tight as he propelled himself back into the land of the living.

  They were in a car, his senses said. In a car. Which meant, of course, his muddled mind concluded, that they weren’t dead. Why weren’t they dead? His head protested the thinking, but he got the thought through. Witnesses. If Les’s men had shot them in front of all those people, there would be too many witnesses.

  And why risk the attention when Les’s mistrial presented him with an opportunity to walk away altogether?

  Especially when they could drive him and Jess to the middle of nowhere and kill them there. Nice and neat and no attachments. Maybe cement shoes and big-city bridge?

  How sublimely cliché.

  “Mitch?” Jess’s whisper penetrated again. And for the first time that he could recall, he heard fear in the Ice Angel’s voice.

  It rallied him, giving him the focus he needed to clear the last of the pain and grogginess from his mind. The human body could withstand an amazing amount, as long as you didn’t think about it.

  “How bad?” he replied, keeping his voice low so not to attract attention to them.

  She hesitated. “My back hurts,” she said at last, the fear still there but controlled. “And my leg. You?” she said in a rush, the words more urgent than she’d intended. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course,” he told her, his voice so arrogant, she knew that if she could see his face, he would be grinning at her. “I’m the magician.”

  She smiled, recognizing his false bravado, but welcoming it nonetheless. Leave it to Mitch Guiness to try and make her feel better even when they were tossed like corn sacks in the back of a Cadillac, headed most likely for certain death.

  “Can you make us disappear with a puff of smoke?” she whispered back. She found herself biting back the ridiculous desire to giggle, and one corner of her mind recognized the beginnings of hysteria. Funny, she thought. She’d never been hysterical before.

  “Follow my lead, Jess,” Mitch suddenly replied, his voice low and intense. He doubted she’d recognized it yet, but the car was slowing down. No doubt they were about to reach their destination. “No matter what happens,” he told her, “just do as I say.”

  She tried to nod, and almost fell unconscious again for her efforts. The pain in her leg intensified, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from groaning. Her hands were clammy, and she suddenly trembled with the cold. Shock. She was going into shock.

  The passenger door was thrown open.

  Mitch had to blink against the sudden infusion of bright light. He squinted and made out the face of the man he’d decked earlier. Upon seeing that Mitch was conscious, the man’s face drew into an ugly scowl.

  “Move, and I’ll kill you,” the man said without preamble.

  Mitch acknowledged the statement with the slightest motion of his head. “Where are we?” he asked, the words thick and rough in his dry throat.

  “Nowhere,” the man replied. He smiled suddenly, the smile of a man who knew what he was about to do and was delighted by the opportunity.

  “I need to speak to Les.” Mitch worked to get the words out. His mouth was so dry, he thought he might kill for a glass of water. “I have information for him.”

  “Too late. Out of the car, Guiness. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

  “Sure. But when the D.A. calls up the surprise witness at Les’s new trial, and the witness reveals I knew all about him, even helped him, Les is going to have a conversation with you. A very short conversation.”

  “You’re bluffing,” the man said, his face not taken in at all. But then Mitch became aware of a second voice.

  “Wait a second, Charley. He may be bluffing, but he may not. And I know better than you what Les will do to us if we’re wrong.”

  Charley’s face scowled even deeper, and he turned away to address his companion. Mitch let out the breath he’d been holding. Seeds of dissension had been planted—now it was just a matter of watering the field. He risked a glance back over to Jess. Her eyes were closed once more, her face dangerously pale. His chest tightened, and for a long moment he thought she might be dead. But then he made out the slow motion of her rising chest. She was still alive, but she needed medical help, and fast.

  “She’s dying,” he said out loud. Charley’s gaze swiveled immediately back, his suspicious gaze focused on Mitch and Jess. “She’s dying,” Mitch repeated again. He didn’t have to force the dread into his voice. “And if she does, I guarantee you Les will see you both to hell and back.”

  For the first time, Charley began to look uneasy. “It just saves us the bullet,” Charley said, puffing out his chest in a display of false bravado.

  “When Les hears who the witness is, he’ll want her again,” Mitch said. “He’ll need her for bargaining power. But if she’s already dead...”

  “You’re making this all up,” Charley repeated again.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the second voice said abruptly. “Look, Charley, it’s our hides we’re talking about. Why take the risk? Look at them. She’s half-dead, and he’s so banged up, he’ll pass out again if you breathe too hard. Let’s take ‘em to Les, and let him decide. If he’s lying, we’ll shoot them there. If he’s telling the truth, Les will be pleased with us. Don’t be stupid, Charl
ey.”

  Charley’s face grew dark, but his eyes were uncertain. Finally he gave in with an ungraceful shrug. “But we tie up Guiness,” Charley insisted, his hand unconsciously coming up to his sore jaw.

  After further discussion, they did more than just tie Mitch up. They also split up him and Jess. She was moved to the front seat, while Charley joined Mitch in the back. The situation made it impossible for Mitch to communicate with Jess, but at least it bought them some time. And when the second man finally saw how bad Jess’s leg was, it also earned her some medical attention. After all, they wouldn’t gain anything by delivering her corpse to Capruccio.

  The second man brought out a first-aid kit, and allowed Mitch to treat her the best he could. He had to cut off the leg of her jeans, the mangled mess of her thigh almost making him sick. He’d never sewed up a woman before, and every time he had to pass the needle through the rubbery texture of her smooth skin, another bead of sweat popped onto his brow. He hated himself for having hurt her, and he hated Capruccio even more. The first chance he got, Mitch would show Les Capruccio just what a Guiness could do.

  The second man, still nameless, was humane enough to cover Jess with all their jackets, and blast the heater for extra warmth. He also pulled out three bottles of water from the trunk, allowing Mitch to drink a little, and administering the rest to Jess. Then Charley took over, binding Mitch’s hands behind his back and shoving him into the back of the car.

  Mitch’s head swam once more, and with the loss of adrenaline, he became aware of his own aches and pains. There was nothing more he could do for Jess and himself but rest. He closed his eyes, and as the Cadillac turned onto I-76 heading east, he fell into exhausted slumber.

  They drove nonstop. Charley and Neuman—as the other man was called—switched off the driving.

  In the front of the car, Jess passed to easier breathing. Neuman kept her plied with water at least, and her body had stopped its shivering. She slept continuously.

  They stopped at a rest area, and Mitch felt his hopes rise. If he could just get to a phone and tell Liz or Cagney or someone what had happened. And where they were going. Hell, where were they going?

  But Charley escorted Mitch to the men’s room, not allowing any openings even as he untied him briefly. The best Mitch could do was stretch out his muscles as much as possible and ease the circulation back into his fingers. The dull throbbing in his head had begun to ease, though he knew he looked like a fright with all the dried blood on the left side of his face. He could use that to his advantage.

  They stopped again, and still Charley didn’t let him out of his sight. The third time, however, Jess was conscious.

  “Jeez, I can’t take her to the ladies’ room,” Neuman was whispering to Charley under his breath. “I mean, there are people here. How would that look?”

  “Well I can’t take her, either.”

  The two men stared at each other.

  “Maybe we don’t let her go.”

  “Charley, if she’s gotta go, she’s gotta go. We got eight hours of driving left. Don’t be stupid.”

  “Can she walk?”

  They turned to Mitch and Jess, staring at them both hard. “Can you walk?” Neuman demanded to know.

  Jess, leaning heavily against the car and pale as a sheet, shook her head.

  “She don’t look good.”

  “She don’t look good.”

  “If we’d have shot ‘em, we wouldn’t have these problems.”

  “Charley, don’t be stupid.”

  They continued to stare at Jess, who finally summoned a wan smile.

  “Why can’t Mitch at least walk me to the door?” she suggested weakly. “I can handle the rest on my own.”

  Charley puffed out his chest. “I’ll walk you to the door. Then you take care of the rest.”

  Mitch looked at her sharply but couldn’t catch her eye. Leaning heavily on Charley’s arm, she began shuffling toward the bathroom. Few cars were around the rest stop, few people noticing as he pulled the heavy metal doors open for her, and using the wall for support, she struggled into the dark, dank interior. At the sink, however, a stooped-over woman with gray hair was washing her hands.

  Jess went straight toward her.

  “Ma’am,” she whispered urgently, her voice cracking with the effort. The woman didn’t look up, and finally Jess tapped her on the shoulder. The silvery head popped up, finding Jess’s reflection in the mirror with startled, watery blue eyes.

  Jess looked at the aging woman, and began picking her words carefully.

  “Look,” she said softly, leaning against the wall until her shredded thigh was apparent “I’m with the FBI, but I’m in trouble. There’s a man standing outside this door, a very big man, who hurt my leg. I have to go back out there, and I think he may kill me. Do you understand?”

  The woman blinked her watery blue eyes and said nothing. Jess felt her hopes sink.

  “Please, I don’t need you to do much. Just call the police. Tell them FBI agent Mitch Guiness of the Witness Protection Program needs assistance. We’re on I-76, eastbound. I don’t know where we’re going. Maybe you could get the license plate number off the car when we leave. Please, anything.”

  Her voice cracked completely, and she slid down a little on the wall. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and she felt suddenly nauseous. God, she was probably going to get this sweet old lady killed, as well.

  Then the woman began to move her fingers in sign language, and Jess thought she was going to cry. She closed her eyes, the sweat rolling down her cheeks in silent desolation. She didn’t know what else to do.

  She was tired and scared and utterly defeated.

  She turned, and crawled back toward the door. She was actually grateful for the support of Charley’s arm, and that only made her feel worse.

  They stopped twice more but never could get a moment alone.

  Eight hours of hard driving later, they were in northern New Jersey.

  Charley shoved Mitch out of the car when they finally pulled up to the back of the nondescript house. Mitch stumbled once, then regained his balance. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even bother with a dark glance. Let Charley play bully. Mitch was saving himself for the real opponent.

  Jess was awake, her brown eyes dull and glazed. She leaned heavily on Neuman, obviously unable to walk on her injured leg. Mitch watched her in growing concern, his jaw muscle tightening unconsciously. But then for one fleeting instant, her gaze swept up to meet his. He was startled by the clarity he suddenly found there. Then her glazed look returned, and she moaned softly as she stepped.

  Mitch looked away, the small communication clear in his mind. He wasn’t the only one that knew how to play wounded sparrow. Damn, but she was impressive. He almost grinned, feeling suddenly rejuvenated.

  The Ice Angel was back and in fine form. Now he just had to bail them both out of this mess.

  The next thing he knew, they were face-to-face with Les Capruccio.

  Les looked them both up and down as if dirt rags had suddenly been paraded into his living room.

  “I don’t like you bringing them here,” he said flatly, addressing Charley and Neuman.

  Neuman spoke up. “They said they had information for you.”

  “Most likely they were lying in a vain attempt to save their own skins, you idiot,” Capruccio said, clearly bored. His gaze flickered to Jess, taking in her damaged leg and bruised face.

  “You don’t look so good, sugar,” Les drawled. “But then I always told you you’d get what you deserved.”

  Jess didn’t say anything, but looked at him with her glazed, expressionless eyes. This seemed to amuse Capruccio, and he rose from the sofa to walk toward her. Mitch had to consciously restrain himself as Capruccio reached up and caressed Jess’s face with deceptive tenderness.

  Mitch forced his attention back to the rope binding his hands. Each time they’d retied it, it had gotten looser. Now, while everyone was distracted by Jess, he
had his perfect opportunity.

  “Nice haircut,” Les whispered silkily. “But then, I never much went for brunettes.”

  Jess didn’t respond. If anything, she sagged heavier against Neuman, who had to shift suddenly under the change in weight.

  “You lose, sugar,” Les told her with one last Cheshire grin. “I go free, and you die. You weren’t worth much anyway. Hell, you weren’t even worth it in bed.”

  He turned sharply away, his dark eyes finding Mitch.

  “Nice try,” Capruccio said, buttoning up his silk suit as he straightened his shoulders. “But I have my own contacts, Mr. Guiness, and I probably know more about what’s going on in the program right now than you do.”

  He turned away, already heading for the doorway.

  “Kill them both,” he called out casually behind him.

  But just as he was about to step from the room, a bullhorn suddenly interrupted the silence.

  “This is the police. Come out with your hands up.”

  Les pivoted sharply, his face turning a mottled red. “You fools,” he hissed fiercely to his men. “You led us all into a trap.”

  With a roar of rage, he reached inside his jacket for his gun.

  Mitch didn’t wait. Giving his hands one last vehement tug, he barreled into Les.

  “Run, Jess!” Mitch yelled. “Get out now!”

  A shot exploded, both Mitch and Les crashing to the floor. Charley and Neuman danced at the edges, guns pulled but denied a clear target. Jess pushed herself forward, grabbed the nearest lamp and slammed it down on Charley’s head. He crumpled to the floor, even as Neuman whirled and fired his gun. Her leg gave out, and she toppled off-balance in time to hear the bullet whiz by her ear.

  Dimly, she heard the front door splinter open, then the sound of more gunfire. Neuman staggered back, red blooming across his chest. But then she caught sight of Charley’s gun, sliding across the floor. She scampered toward it, clutching it desperately.

  Another shot rang out, ceiling plaster collapsing upon them in a choking cloud of dust.