A body slam threw him backward ramming his already throbbing head against the concrete floor. Stars swam in his eyes as hands clutched his throat. His brother sat on his chest, choking him. Desperate, about to lose consciousness, he mustered every ounce of strength left, swung his Glock up, and connected with his brother’s temple.
Jack clutched his head and stood, lurching between the drones, he cackled and crowed, “Oldest trick in the book, my brother, coyote plays dead. Let’s see how you like being dead.”
Turning in a circle, all twelve drones aimed their AR15s at Bronco and began to fire. Hit in the shoulder, arm, and leg, bleeding badly, the edges of his vision began to turn black. Pain resonated and found a home in his body. He crawled behind a metal workbench for protection. As bullets ricocheted around him, a tunnel with a light at the end opened and Bronco floated up toward it. No, not yet. He hovered on the ceiling over Jack’s head and shouted, “No, you don’t.” If Jack could use a pulse to knock him out of a remote viewing session and to knock him across the hangar, then maybe he could do the same. His brother looked up, and Bronco channeled his seething rage into a bolt of fury and struck his twin.
Jack stumbled back into the direct line of fire of the ring of drones.
As the scene below him faded into shadows, Bronco’s last thought was how he and Jack had been together at the start of life and now, it was only fitting they be together at the end.
Chapter Nineteen
Following Gaucho’s bounding steps, Emma found Lucius sitting on a pile of clean hay behind a horse blanket with the reins of a bridle wrapped around his leg.
Pale, sweaty, mustache drooping, but still alive, thank God.
She touched his cheek, and his eyes fluttered. “Hello stranger. What brings you to this part of town?” He groaned when she touched his thigh. “Mind if I take a look?”
He nodded and hissed when she sliced his pants open.
“Good thinking on the tourniquet.”
The cat butted his head against Emma’s hand. “And on sending Gaucho out with Beautiful’s medicine stick.” What could she do now? They were good and truly screwed. Since the explosions, she’d been sending a distress call to Bert on their usual channels—but received nothing in return. Even if he got a sense of her danger, Homeland would be hard pressed to scramble a team to this remote location. The satellite phone had been their back up plan—until that moron Leroy confiscated it. The FBI undercover agent had never revealed himself to them—if he was even alive. For all they knew, that guy had pissed off the lunatic and been executed by a firing squad. Bronco had gone off to the drone hangar with a madman—God. Don’t go there.
Focus on Lucius.
Glancing around the barn, she spotted a large, brand new red and white barn first aid kit hanging on the wall. Well, that was unexpected. Someone cared about the animals and the people who tended to them. With the bag on the floor next to Lucius, she opened it and placed the sealed packages around the bag. Quickly scanning the labels, she found what she wanted.
“Lucius, you’re a lucky man. The wound goes through and through, that’s the good news. No arteries, but a large vein, so we need to get this packed and wrapped until we get you to a hospital.”
Eyes closed, he grunted and nodded.
“I’m going to need to clean the wound first, squirt some antibiotics in, and then sprinkle in some blood abatement powder. After that, I’m going to pack the wound and wrap it with this flexible gauze. Okay?”
He nodded again and popped one eye open. “Anything for pain in that bag?”
“The best I have is ibuprofen.”
“I’ll take it, whatever that is.”
She ripped a packet open, stuffed the two pills in his mouth. “Hold those. I’ll go look for water.” After locating a spigot and a metal bucket, she returned with water. “Sorry, this is all I could find.” Cupping her hand, she pulled water up to his mouth. Most ran down her arm, but after three attempts, he swallowed the pills.
As she worked on his leg, he asked, “Where’s Bronco?”
“With that crazy brother of his.” Probably getting killed. She changed the subject. “How did you get here?”
“The night you left. After you went up to your room. Looked out the window. Saw Otterlegs. In the hotel parking area. To impound the CPAs’ cars. I thought.” He grimaced and sucked in his breath when she began to pack the wound with gauze. “Damn.”
“Deep breaths, you know, like you’re having a baby.”
He closed his eyes. “Tallulah’s gonna kill me.”
“If one of these crazies doesn’t, that’s a very good possibility.” She lifted his leg to wrap it several times, then pinned the material in place. “Done. Breathe.”
Lucius took a deep breath. “He was snooping around your truck. Saw him put something under your bumper.”
Emma nodded. “And?”
“I used the Medicine stick. He was taking a leak in the bushes. I climbed into the backseat of Otterlegs’ car.”
“Too much information.”
“You guys left. He followed. GPS tracker on your truck.”
“Idiot.”
“Yup, he is.”
“No, you. Tallulah is going to be so pissed, she’ll never talk to me again. If we all get out of here alive, it’s going to be a miracle. How did you get shot?”
“Things looked bad. You needed a diversion. I set a fire in the ammo storage unit.”
“And got yourself shot.”
He frowned. “Worked didn’t it?”
“Yes, thank you.” She patted his hand. “Bedlam and chaos. Well done.”
Smiling, he rested his head back against the blanket and closed his eyes.
Beneath the background warzone noise of gunfire, explosions, and shouts, a low rumbling sound and the whup whup whup of a helicopter gave her heart a jolt of hope.
Couldn’t be—could it?
Lucius straightened up. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes, but I can’t go out to see if it’s really a helicopter to save us or kill us. I wish I could talk to Gaucho the way Bronco does,” she sighed. “I’d send him out to see what’s going on.”
The cat, who’d been lying next to Lucius, sprang to his feet and ran out of the barn—and within minutes flew back into the stall. Boot steps followed. Lots of them.
She handed Lucius the Medicine stick, watched him disappear, and stepped outside the stall with her hands raised. Leroy, the moron with the halitosis and rotten teeth led a team of five men in full SWAT gear, all of whom carried assault weapons.
Shit. She was dead.
“Freeze,” Leroy shouted. “FBI. Who the hell are you really?”
Emma nearly wet her pants with relief. “Homeland Security. Anomaly Defense Division. Call Bert Blackfeather for confirmation.”
“I will.” Leroy pulled out her satellite phone and dialed. “Thanks for the phone, by the way, those assholes took mine away the first day I arrived.”
Leroy? An undercover FBI agent? Man, he’s good.
He shouted into the phone. “We’ve got a situation here, woman says she’s with you.” He started to go into detail, then clearly got cut off by the other end. He handed the phone to her. “Your brother wants to hear your voice.”
“Bro, it’s me, I’m alive.”
Bert’s sigh of relief was mixed with concern. “What’s the real deal? I don’t want to hear FBI speak.”
“Lucius is wounded—” She peeked around the side of the stall and gave the clearly visible Lucius the thumbs up sign. The bobcat was glued to his side. “—needs medical attention. I don’t know where Bronco is, I haven’t seen him in over an hour. Okay, good. Love you, too.” She handed the phone back to Leroy. “Have you found Bronco?”
The FBI agent ordered one of the SWAT team members to get help for Lucius, then turned to Emma. “I have bad news.”
His mouth kept moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Sounds ceased, the room spun, and the world went bla
ck.
****
Emma woke up in a helicopter with a medic peeling her eyelids back and shining a light into her eyes. “Stop.”
Jerking back in surprise, the EMT pointed to his head set. He reached up and placed a set on her head. He smiled. “Welcome back.”
She tried to sit up, but found herself strapped onto a board. “Think you could undo this?”
He shook his head. “You passed out, might have a head injury.”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. “How and where’s Bronco? Where are Lucius and my cat, Gaucho?”
He gave her the thumbs up. “The one with the mustache is fine, thanks to your doctoring. He’s holding the cat. But that animal glares at us when we touch the tattooed guy”—he shrugged—“head, arm, and shoulder wounds, a leg wound, no major organs or blood vessels hit, but—”
Alarmed by his tone, she strained against the damn strap. “What’s going on with him?”
The medic shook his head.
“I’m his wife, dammit, you have to tell me.”
He motioned to someone to come over. Leroy, if that was even his name, hovered into view. The EMT moved away to allow the FBI agent to crouch at her side. “He’s not responding.”
“To what? Voices? Light?”
“Anything.” He shook his head. “He’s breathing, heart rate and pulse are strong and steady now, thanks to the EMTs, but he’s not responding to anyone or anything. We’re headed for St. Vic’s, it’s a Level One Trauma Center. They’ll take good care of him.” He patted her arm. “Good work back there. You saved a lot of lives.”
Puzzled, she shook her throbbing head. “I only saved Otterlegs—if he made it.”
“Oh, he made it.” Leroy snorted. “Some crazy chick named Stephanie showed up halfway between the compound and the Crow Reservation—along with a couple hundred friends, all in pick-up trucks, all armed to the teeth. Told my guys on the ground her job was to keep an eye on Otterlegs. Spotted him heading out of town. Followed him for an hour, then realized there was only one place he could be going out in the middle of nowhere. She got on what she called her ‘Indian telegraph.’ Organized a war party. She was coming to save him—and you.”
Hot tears leaked down the side of her face as she chuckled. “Stephanie has always been a bit dramatic.”
“The local public health department has been notified about the measles outbreak. They’re sending in a medical team to treat the kids. Thanks to you, the mothers and children were all isolated in their living quarters, away from the fire and the fight zone. They’re all safe—even the Obergruppenführer’s wife. Seems he planned to execute her after he launched the drones.”
Her weeping turned to choked back tears of joy. No matter her bad choices, Eva had been trapped and making the best of a horrific situation to protect her children. She didn’t deserve to die.
“And Immigration and Customs Enforcement, I.C.E., is deploying people to manage the trafficking victims. We freed some slaves, today, Emma Bearkiller—if that is your real name?”
Voice clotted with emotion, she said, “Emma Horserider. And you? Is your name really Leroy?”
He grinned and the rotten brown teeth were gone, replaced by nice even white ones. “Fauntleroy. Can you imagine sticking a kid with that name?” He shook his head. “My mother loved that book, Little Lord Fauntleroy. I got the crap kicked out of me every day in elementary school. Changed my name to Leroy in middle school.” He stood. “We’ll be at St. Vic’s soon. Hang in there.”
She waved the EMT over. “Just so you know, that cat is my anxiety animal. He stays with me at all times.”
The medic stared at her and glanced at the crouching bobcat. “I don’t see any—”
“My paperwork’s at home. When I get to the hospital, I’ll deal with it. That cat and I are inseparable. Is that clear?”
Giving her and the cat a wary look, the medic nodded. “Crystal.”
Hours later, the ER doctor declared Emma fit to go home after X-rays, CAT scans, and numerous other tests, but she refused to leave the hospital. With Bronco and Lucius still at St. Vic’s, she had no plans to leave anytime soon. Lucius was stable, but in need of surgery, IV antibiotics and a hospital stay, which was good because shortly after their helicopter landed, Tallulah arrived at the ER—in active labor.
Taking the role of delivery coach Lucius had been expected to play, Emma gowned and masked and held her friend’s hand as she cursed the pain, the no anesthesia birthing process, and her “ridiculously heroic” husband. After three hours of some very colorful language, including some words Emma didn’t know even existed in English, a healthy, eight pound, five ounce, twenty-two inch long redheaded girl arrived in the world.
Emma retrieved Gaucho from the changing room and called her brother with updates on all the patients, and then headed to the ICU and Bronco. She found Stephanie and Tommy Otterlegs outside the unit’s doors. Looking forlorn, the little man wore a two sizes too large warm up suit and kept pulling up his pants as he shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was an undercover agent. I thought I was doing the right thing.” He shook his head. “Now I’ve screwed everything up.”
Lump in her throat, Emma said, “It’s not your fault. His brother created that monster out there, not you. You’re a good investigator, Tommy.”
He lifted his head, and his eyes widened. “You really think so?”
She nodded. “I do. You followed the leads, and you did your job. It’s not your fault we couldn’t bring you into the loop. We wanted to keep you safe.”
“You and the horses saved me.” He stared at her, and his voice dropped. “How did you do it?”
“Oh, you know me. I’m just a horse whisperer.” Tears pricked her eyes. “Where are they now?”
“On your ranch. Hank’s taking care of them.” He shook his head. “You’re out of my league. I get it now.”
“Tommy—”
“Go to him, Emma.” His voice grew husky. “He needs you.”
Stephanie put her arm around his shoulder. “Come on, baby, let’s get you home.” She waved at Emma. “You heard him. Go to your man.”
After stopping by the nurse’s station to get directions, Emma paused in the doorway of Bronco’s private ICU room and took a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst. Someone inside the room was speaking. Was that Bronco? Was he awake? Heart tripping with joy, Emma shoved the door open, only to be greeted by a smoky haze in the air and the beeping of monitors. Off leash, Gaucho loped into the room, placed his paws on his partner’s bed and chirped. She stood alongside the cat and rubbed his head. “Hard to see him like this, isn’t it?”
Wires and IV tubes snaked under the blankets, and a graphic monitor displayed his heart and breath rates—both normal. With his head swathed in gauze, a bulky white bandage encasing his shoulder and arm, and his leg covered in a similar manner, he looked like a half-wrapped mummy. Leaning over the railing, she kissed his full, warm lips, with a crazy notion she could awaken her sleeping prince. No response. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks and splashed on his pillow. She smoothed his wild hair back and trailed an index finger down the scar on his cheek. “Poor guy. You don’t deserve this. Come back to me. I’ll help you forget your past and create your future.”
Glancing around the room, she saw a TV—as if a man in a coma would watch it—and found the control. Exhausted, she and Gaucho dozed off watching the late news in the uncomfortable orange vinyl encased folding chair next to Bronco’s bed. Every two hours, nurses came in and checked his vital signs, IVs, and monitors, and asked Emma if she needed anything. Gaucho curled in her lap, she pointed at Bronco each time. “Everything I need is right here.”
****
The next day, safely tucked in her clear plastic bed and behind the nursery glass, Miriam Beautiful Stewart entertained a throng of teasing cousins, aunties, and uncles—until the baby nurse came to take her to her mother and father. In a wheelchair, with his leg up, L
ucius held his baby girl and kissed her head, while thanking Tallulah and telling her how much he loved her over and over. Emma closed the door to Tallulah’s room and shooed the family away. “You’ll have the rest of Miriam’s life to spoil her. Now, go make some toys for her. I have a feeling she’s going to like horses.”
Turning away from the life affirming scene, she traveled to the other end of the hospital and the opposite end of her emotions. In the ICU, filled with beeping monitors, IVs, and around the clock nursing care, Bronco continued to lie in a coma. Physical brain trauma had been identified with MRIs, but the intensivists would not rule out chemical injury, in addition, given the nature of the compound and the maniac in charge of it. Since only the twins had been present at the time of injury and Jack was dead, no one knew what transpired in that hangar. Sitting at his bedside the day after Miriam’s birth, Emma spoke to him, knowing that hearing was the last sense to go.
“Bronco, I know you’re in there and you can hear me.” She took his hand. “You're my captive audience, so here goes. Thanks to Homeland Security, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, I’m your wife and can be here at your side every day. I love you, and I want to marry you for real, with a big wedding feast, a gala affair. If you accept my proposal, you’re going to have to move in with me, because that’s my tradition. Meantime, I’ll be hanging at your bedside every day of my life until you come back to me. I’m not giving up on you, Brandon, Bronco, whoever you are right now. Never giving up on you, or on us.”
Exhausted, Emma dozed off with Gaucho in her lap. In her dream, Gaucho spoke, but she heard Bronco’s voice. “I don’t deserve to live. I killed my brother. Please let me die.”
Wide awake, she screamed, “Don’t you dare leave me,” as the code alarms went off. The rapid response team stormed the room and pushed her out the door. Slumped against the wall in the hallway, Gaucho climbed on her lap as Emma sobbed and prayed for a miracle.
Legacy of Evil Page 19
