Hopefully, Five would cooperate. I only had a few minutes before the grounds would be searched.
As new as the stables were, I was surprised at the lack of outdoor lighting, necessary to see predators. Shrugging off the musings, I snuck into the stable, knowing the plan had a two percent chance of success. I wasn’t a spy, I wasn’t a SEAL, or the recipient of extensive training. I was, however, Daddy’s little girl, and he’d been very specific about what I would and would not learn. The military enforced the early teachings, none of which covered rescuing a man incapable of walking while trying to save an eleven hundred pound horse, and the three of us sporting deep, possibly mortal, injuries.
I found Five, and the black duffel bag sat next to the stall door. Slinging the bag over a shoulder, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around the stallion's eyes. He’d be quieter and more docile blindfolded.
Moving as fast as I dared, I managed to lead him to the trailer and get him loaded. I quietly closed and secured the door. I tiptoed to the front, and searched for anyone in the shadows. I opened the door, relieved at the sound of “ding-ding-ding” and the sight of the keys in the ignition. Terrified of the sound and lights.
I locked all the doors, put on the seatbelt, and cranked the engine. Diesels are loud, obnoxious and used because of power, not speed. The noise of the truck would make the escape difficult, easily discovered. I turned the truck around, wincing at the noise of the engine, and drove. I heard shouting, the firing of several shots, and one of the four tires on the back axle was hit. The back window shattered, but didn’t explode. Thank goodness for modern glass technology.
I hit pavement and pushed the truck to its limit. I rode the middle of the dark road, not turning on the headlights, struggling to see the road. In the mirrors, the sight of headlights approaching fast signaled their knowledge of my escape. I jumped at the sound of ringing from a cell phone, dropped in the drink holder of the center console. I picked up.
“Pull over, Karen. You’ll be allowed to live.” Rupert’s voice sounded tinny and far away.
“No, but thanks for letting me know I can call 9-1-1.” I hung up and quickly tapped out the numbers on the touchscreen.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a sweet voice answered.
“My name is Karen Barnes, I’m in a dark brown, late model Ford F-350 dually, heading east on I-90, pulling a trailer with the stolen stallion, Five Alarm. Several people are dead, I’m injured and don’t have long.” I could feel unconsciousness sneaking around the back of my mind. I’d lost too much blood.
“What mile marker are you at?” Her voice went from sweet and soothing to business-like.
I squinted at the one just passing us, “I can’t read it. A black Mercedes is moving toward me at high speed, he will kill me. I’m twenty miles west of Miles City with an injured passenger and Five is severely wounded. Is anyone nearby?” I looked in the side mirror, seeing Rupert’s car trying to get around the trailer. A shot rang out. “Can you hear the shots? Honey, I need help now!”
“Stay with me,” the operator begged, and I could hear her fingers tapping at lightning speed on a keyboard. “A car is a mile away, can you keep him from going around the truck?”
“I’m trying!” Breathe, Karrie-girl, you can do this. “It’s not easy with an injured horse in the trailer!”
I saw a flash of red, speeding east, and relief flooded every cell. It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.
Another shot from the Mercedes shattered the rear driver’s side window. I ducked instinctively, heard the operator yelling my name. I fumbled with the phone, dropping it onto the floorboard, screaming, “Help me!”
The flashing lights multiplied, as another shot rang out. Acute pain spread from my shoulder as the front windshield cracked and webbed, impossible to see through. I lowered the driver’s side window and watched the stripes as a way to stay on the road. Two more shots. I heard Five scream, high pitched and eerie, sending goosebumps over every inch of skin. The dull sound of bullets hitting metal made me flinch.
I slammed on the brakes, released them, romped on the gas pedal, slammed on the brakes, and hit the gas. I repeated the move several times, watching the trailer pull the back of the truck all over the road as Five was thrown from side to side. It made the truck hard to handle, using all my strength to keep the rig on the road, but the Mercedes backed off. I tried to hit the gas again, missed, my foot stomping the cell phone, and the truck lurched. Through the side mirror, I watched in horror as the trailer did a slow fall onto its left side, Five screaming in abject terror. The sounds of metal on pavement drowned the noise of the engine, and sparks flew. I slammed on the brakes, but it was too late, the truck and trailer jackknifed.
I’d failed.
Chapter Fourteen
I woke to the sound of beeping machines, and rubber soles whispering against a tiled floor. My skin stretched too tight, I was hot, the need to escape almost intolerable.
“Easy, ma’am, take it easy. You’re safe. We had to airlift you and your passenger to Denver.” The male nurse’s voice was soothing, easy, comforting. He messed with the various tubes coming out of my body, asking in a low voice before touching at all times. I noted his wedding ring.
“Your …” I croaked. He smiled and grabbed a plastic cup with a straw.
“It’s lukewarm, small sips. That’s it,” he held the straw as I tried to get a few more sips of liquid down my throat.
“Your wife must love your voice,” I rasped out.
He chuckled. “Yes, it’s great with kids. Especially ours. Would you like to sit up a little?”
I nodded.
He pushed buttons, elevating my head a little at a time. He stopped short of what I wanted, but I didn’t complain.
“Horse? Gage?” I tried to reach for water, but my arms were made of cement.
“Both survived. It’s why all of you are here in Denver. Apparently your friend’s father is fairly powerful. Now, don’t worry, I want you to go back to sleep. The doc prescribed drugs and wants you to sleep for a little longer, okay?” The winning smile accompanied the insertion of a needle into the IV. Cold trickled into my veins and I gladly allowed the darkness to swallow me whole.
It was a different nurse the next time I woke. She was older, but her quiet, calm presence kept the panic at bay. She looked at me, and immediately brought a straw in a cup of water to my lips. “Easy, go slow and sip. It’s been a few days since the last time you’ve had anything, and I don’t want you tossing it back in my lap.” She smiled.
I pulled back, exhausted from the small movements. I watched her move around the bed, checking bags and tubes, muttering to herself. One side of my mouth quirked up.
“We aren’t going to keep you asleep any longer, we think you need to start waking up. I’m going to stall the police, there are feds here with questions. A lot has happened, and TV crews are about to storm the hospital. Do you have any family that can talk for you?” She laid a hand on my arm, and I relaxed into the thin mattress.
“No.” I was an only child.
“Okay, I’ll let the hospital director know. Unless you want to be wheeled in front of the cameras.” She raised an eyebrow at me, pretty brown eyes questioning.
“Hell no,” I whispered, feeling the need to sleep steal over me. Being awake was exhausting.
She smiled, patted my arm gently, and left.
The next time I woke, I was alone. My skin no longer felt stretched across my bones, and I was comfortable. I counted the IVs and various tubes coming out of body parts best left unsaid, hips wrapped in twenty pounds of gauze, a good cast on my arm, my upper body a mass of bruising, bandages, and healing scars. I reached for the buttons to sit up. Once accomplished, I rang for the nurse. It was the male nurse. I noticed his thick, wavy, and slightly unruly, brown hair, with soft, milk chocolate brown eyes. He wasn’t handsome in GQ fashion, but he was compelling. His eyes were a little too close, mouth just a little too full. But it was the eyes that kept yo
ur attention. I had no doubts he cared about his patients.
“How are you feeling this morning? I have orders to take you for a ride around the floor, after we see if you can stand.” He walked to the door and rolled in a wheelchair.
I grimaced. He laughed.
“I know, you probably don’t feel like it. But it’s been two weeks, most of which you’ve been out. We need to get you moving. Come on, honey,” he crooned.
It took a lot of work, moving all the IV and urine bags. Eventually, he managed to arrange the tubes and bags on the hooks welded to the wheelchair. I was suitably impressed. He walked to the side of the bed, pushing buttons until I was in a sitting position.
“We’re going to swing your legs off first, then I’m going to put your arm around my shoulders and get a good grip on your waist, okay? Lean into me and we’ll shuffle you to the chair.” He did exactly as he said, warning me of every touch.
I found strange comfort in knowing when his hands would be on me.
I was weak. I couldn’t hold my own weight and had both arms around his shoulders, hanging on for dear life. If it wasn’t for the steel grip on my waist, I would have fallen to the floor. My legs were jello, but if he could hold on, I’d try to help.
I sat in the chair, breathing hard, wondering how two short weeks could sap so much strength.
“When you lie in a prone position, trying to heal, it takes a lot of strength. A physical therapist is scheduled to come see you this afternoon, and we’ll get you back to running marathons in no time.” He smiled. I relaxed into the seat.
“How did you know?” surprise lacing my tone.
He grinned, “You mumbled out loud.”
He wheeled me around the entire third floor twice. Nurses lined the hallway, applauding every time I took a turn around the floor. I looked up at the nurse, “First, what is your name? Second, why are they applauding?”
He faltered. “I’m not sure I’m the one to tell you, but you are considered a hero, and call me Adam.”
“A hero? How can I be a hero?” I started sagging in the seat, trying to stay awake.
“That, Miss Karen, is for the police to explain, and the FBI, and the German consulate.” He turned into my room. “We’re going to do the opposite of twenty minutes ago, then you can go back to sleep for a few hours. Ready? I’m about to grab your body and heft you up …”
Tucked in a clean bed, I put hands in my hair and grimaced. Ewww. I could feel the knots, grime and sweat in the curls. “Adam? When can I take a bath, or shower, or something? I feel nasty. Please?”
“I don’t blame you. Listen, I’ll have one of the female nurses come in and help you bathe. We have some dry shampoo to help, but from the looks of it, we may need to cut your hair off.” He winced speaking the last sentence.
I nodded. My hair grew rather quickly, so it was all good. Plus a cute bob would make for a nice change.
True to word, another nurse came in with a cart full of supplies, and helped wash most of the ick off my skin. A hairdresser showed up an hour later, and after Adam put me in a wheelchair, carefully cut my hair short, and scrubbed the curls with dry shampoo. I used astringent to clean my face, and felt better once I was back in bed. A nap was the cherry on top.
A noisy little woman hustled into the room, with a booming voice and permanent smile. I raised my eyebrows at her, as the bed was put into the upright position.
“Hello, Karen! I’m Mikey, your physical therapist. We have a lot to do, but I think we should visit first. What do you think?” she talked fast, with rapid hand movements. She reminded me of a hamster on espresso.
“I suppose,” I drew out.
“Oh, good. First, let’s get some information, okay?” She pulled the only chair in the room next to the bed, setting a clipboard in her lap, pen poised and ready. “What’s your full name and birthdate?”
“Karen Hyacinth Barnes, eleven, fifteen, nineteen eighty two.”
She clicked the pen and wrote furiously. She asked questions for half an hour, writing every word. After five sheets of paper and more questions than an SAT test, she finally put it all in a shoulder bag, sat back and linked her hands over her stomach.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Her eyes never left mine.
“Not really. Thought you were a physical therapist.”
“I am, as well as a state licensed social worker. I’m a specialist in trauma survivors.”
“They’re calling it trauma?” I laughed without mirth.
“Look, from the reports, you went through hell. I’ve seen your medical records, and the fact that you aren’t a babbling, incoherent mess makes you one strong cookie. But your ordeal is far from over. I’m not going to make you talk, just know law enforcement won’t be as nice.” Her demeanor was all business, no signs of pity or sympathy.
“I have a phone call to make then. Meantime, what physical therapy am I in for?”
She smiled and was back to mimicking a hamster on espresso. She explained, and I gasped at the list of my injuries. As the truck jackknifed, the impact caused me to hit the metal of the door, bounce off and slam into the steering wheel, and I lost consciousness. The truck not only jackknifed, but the trailer was ripped off the fifth wheel and slid in one direction, while the truck flipped twice going down the side of the interstate. Gage and I survived because we were unconscious, and I had on a seatbelt.
We talked about schedules and what I could do between our times together. She handed me a folder filled with papers, and left smiling, talking up a storm.
I called my lawyer in Cheyenne.
Chapter Fifteen
“I really hate you right now,” I spoke through gritted teeth. I dragged one foot forward, holding the twin metal bars to stay upright, sweat pouring down my face and back.
“I know, and you should. It’s good for you. Hate will keep you moving. Now, get your scrawny ass to the end,” Mikey ordered.
I shot her the look the comment deserved, but did as I was told. One step at a time down the padded strip, trying to put more weight than yesterday on my legs. I ignored the massive, bright, shiny pink scars.
My family owned a small house in Aurora, and a cousin drove me to and from appointments, as well as helped me around the small house. I was at physical therapy every day, usually creating new names for Mikey, who wrote them down and said her Twitter friends loved them.
I had another appointment with various agents, several government agencies trying to track down Jake and Johnny. Rupert was going before a grand jury in two weeks, but the real surprise was Wolfgang. I was in the middle of an international incident, for Wolfgang was some kind of big wig in the German government, on special assignment. The details were fuzzy, but they hadn’t forgiven me for killing him. On one hand, I didn’t blame them. On the other, dude was slicing and dicing me.
My lawyer loved me, teased about buying a house in Bora Bora. I told him to shut up and just keep me out of prison. I had been told I was going to be charged in the incident, and didn’t fully understand why.
Maria picked me up from physical therapy, her gentle smile a balm on anger I couldn’t seem to power down. She drove to the little house, helping me from the SUV, and walking with one hand on the belt I was never without. I didn’t give in to the urge to throw the crutches into the bushes lining the front of the little house.
My Dad bought the place in the early eighties, thinking of moving to Denver and closer to family. Instead, it’d been used by various family members when their lives had taken a downturn. It was a three bedroom ranch, in desperate need of renovations, with peeling gray paint, windows covered in dirt, bushes growing out of control, weeds in the front and back yards, and the concrete driveway losing more every day. Inside, it’d been kept clean, but aging had taken its toll. I hobbled to the bedroom I’d taken over, longing for home. I missed the great expanse of wood and stone, the feeling of familiarity.
I flopped on the bed, wondering how Gage was doing. The last I heard was the day
before I left the hospital three weeks earlier. He’d been subjected to several skin grafts, and they’d kept him in a medical coma. He was under extreme security, and I’d met his father. A powerful Congressman from Texas, who looked at me like a bug he wanted to squash. I’d been barred from seeing Gage.
My new cell phone rang and I looked at the number. Frowning, I answered, “Yeah.”
“Is this Karen Barnes?” a raspy voice asked.
I sat up, wincing at throbbing, sore muscles. “Gage! I was just thinking about you. How’d you get my number? Are you okay? Where are you? Are you in a lot of pain?” The questions tumbled without thought.
“From someone in my security detail who likes me more than Dad, I’ll live, the hospital, and yes,” he whispered.
“Your son? Is he okay?” I remembered the tiny body clinging to me as we rode hell bent for leather, pushing Five Alarm hard. The small child haunted my dreams, fear of what happened to the innocent keeping me awake most nights. I woke more than once trying to squeeze him closer to my chest, screaming when I couldn’t feel his rapid heartbeat.
“He’s fine, doesn’t talk, but is okay. According to his new Nanny, he’s obsessed with sorrel horses. Has plastered his entire nursery wall with posters of various horses, it’s pretty bad.”
I heard how it tore him up, evident in every spoken syllable. I couldn’t understand, not really, I didn’t have children. But it made my heart stop thinking about it. The poor baby had been through more than most adults in America, only to have a strange woman throw him at a truck, riding a horse full tilt, and leave him to strangers. The kid was going to have issues. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize, you saved him. You saved all of us.”
The line went quiet, I didn’t know what to say.
Fractured Steel Page 7
