Deadly Vows

by Shirlee McCoy

  “My guess would be the prosecuting attorney, but who knows? All I know is what I’ve been told. The trial is in May. Not April.”

  “I’d like to speak with McGraw about that.”

  “You’re welcome to contact him as soon as we reach the safe house. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was there to meet us. Seems to me, he had some things he wanted to say to you, too.”

  Ford had no doubt about that. He’d spoken to McGraw briefly before he was questioned by the Cody police. The special agent had made no bones about his irritation. He’d expected Olivia and Ford to follow orders and to stay put. Which proved that he didn’t know much about either of them.

  “I’ll be happy to hear whatever it is McGraw wants to say to me after he explains why the trial date has been moved.”

  “That’s between you and Special Agent McGraw. My only concern is getting you to the safe house in one piece,” the agent responded, frowning into the rearview mirror. “Looks like we’ve got company coming.”

  The agent sitting beside Olivia glanced back and Ford did the same. A dark car kept pace a few car lengths behind their vehicle, and at first Ford thought that was the company that was being referred to. Then he noticed the white work van. Dirty and neglected, it didn’t look like much and wouldn’t have been noticeable at all if it hadn’t been moving quickly through the waning traffic. Five cars away. Then four. It pulled up beside the dark car, swerved sideways, nearly forcing the other vehicle off the road.

  Seconds later, it swerved again, this time sideswiping the smaller vehicle. The car spun away, slamming into a cement divider.

  Someone cursed, the sound sharp and harsh, and Olivia tensed, pivoting so that she could see the approaching van. “Dear God, help us.”

  Ford heard her whispered prayer above the sound of their driver shouting into his radio, above the pounding of his heart, above his own petitions to God. It echoed in his head as the driver accelerated, speeding through the remaining traffic and trying to put distance between their car and the van.

  It wasn’t going to work.

  Ford could have told the agent that.

  All the defensive driving in the world couldn’t prevent what was about to happen. Despite its neglected appearance, the van seemed to pick up speed with ease, bearing down on the car without any effort.

  “Give us some more gas!” The agent beside Olivia shouted, and the car pulled ahead of the van again. Not by much, and not enough. Ford braced himself, throwing his arm around Olivia’s shoulders as the van rammed into the bumper of their car, propelling it forward.

  Olivia screamed, her terror filling the car, mixing with the sound of mumbled curses, the harsh shouts coming from the radio.

  “Hold on!” the driver shouted, braking hard as he swerved to shoulder. The van shot past, then squealed to a stop. The back door flew open, and several men spilled out onto the road, guns in hands, weapons already firing.

  Glass exploded and the driver of the car slumped over the steering wheel, the long high-pitched moan of the horn filling the car. The agent beside Olivia threw open the door, ducking low, the crack of his weapon joining the horn’s mournful cry.

  More glass exploded, and Ford shoved Olivia down, covering her with his body as the agent in the front seat pushed his door open, joining his comrade in the gunfight.

  Ford’s ears rang from the sound of gunfire and from the blaring horn, and he could no longer tell where the shots were coming from. The FBI agents? Martino’s hired guns?

  The agent closest to Ford, flew back, landing in a heap on the ground, his gun clattering a few inches away. Ford needed that gun. It was Olivia’s only chance.

  He pressed his mouth close to her ear, nearly shouting to be heard about the cacophony of noise. “I’ve got to get a weapon or we’re not going to make it out of this alive.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re not going out there,” she shouted in reply, shifting so that she could look up into his face. Her skin was chalk-white, her eyes so blue it almost hurt to look at them, and Ford knew he would do anything to keep her safe.

  “I don’t have a choice. Stay down,” he said, gently pushing her back down. “And, whatever you do, don’t move!”

  If she responded, he didn’t hear, he was too focused on his goal—get out of the car, get the gun, make sure that he had some way of protecting Olivia.

  He slipped out of the car, ducking behind the open door and staying low as he ran to the fallen agent. He didn’t have time to check for a pulse or administer first aid. Not with bullets still flying. He reached for the gun, flying backward as something slammed into his chest. High. To the right.

  You’re still alive, so keep moving.

  The command echoed through his head, filled mind, and he obeyed, reaching for the gun again. Lifting it, pivoting hard on his knees. No time for pain. No time for losing consciousness. There was too much at stake. Olivia. The baby.

  Strobe lights flashed, doors slammed.

  Backup arriving?

  Ford didn’t know. Couldn’t take the time to look. Someone was running toward him, running toward the car, aiming a gun at the open door and the seat where Olivia lay. He didn’t think. Didn’t worry about the ramifications of what he was going to do. Just aimed and fired, watching as the assailant fell.

  Olivia.

  Ford wanted to shout her name, but could get nothing past the hot, coppery taste in his mouth. He stumbled to his feet, his head swimming, the gun dropping from his hand. The gunfire had ceased, and other sounds filled the sudden stillness. Voices shouting. Car doors slamming. The incessant horn still screaming.

  Ford barely heard them. His focus was on the car. On Olivia.

  Was she okay?

  “Livy?” He managed to rasp out as he peered into the car. To his relief, she sat up, her face streaked with tears.

  He reached for her, pulling her from the car and into his arms. “It’s okay, Liv. It’s over.”

  “Don’t ever do that again, Ford. Ever.”

  “If it means the difference between you living and dying, I’ll do it again a hundred times.”

  “What about you living or dying? You could have been killed? If I didn’t have the baby to think about, I’d have gone out and pulled you back into the car by your hair.” She stepped out of his arms, and he swayed, the world spinning a little with her movement.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, her hand pressing against his chest, her eyes swimming with more tears.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “You’re bleeding badly, Ford. Sit down. I’ve got to get help.” She slipped an arm around his waist, urging him to the car.

  He planned to tell her that he didn’t need help, but his legs had other ideas and he slid into the car. It was that or collapse onto the ground.

  Olivia started to move away, but he grabbed her hand, holding her in place. “Stay here. The police will figure out that it’s safe and move in soon enough. The last thing I want is for them to mistake you for a bad guy and start shooting.”

  “Do you really think I’m going to sit here and watch you bleed to death while we wait for the police and FBI to figure things out?”

  “I’m not going to die,” he said, gritting his teeth as pain shot through his chest.

  “Like the FBI wasn’t going to let the Martinos find us again? Sorry, I’m not going to take any chances that you’re wrong.” She pulled her hand from his, leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Be okay, Ford, because I really don’t want to raise our baby alone.”

  “You don’t have to worry, Livy. I’m too ornery to die,” he said, but the world was spinning and blackness was edging in.

  “You’d better be,” she said, her lips brushing his again before she backed out of the car.

  He wanted to grab her dress, force her to stay with him, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. Searing pain shot through his chest again, stealing his breath, nearly stealing his consciousness. Maybe the wound wa
s worse than he thought. Maybe he was going to die, but he’d accomplished his goal. Olivia was alive. The baby was. God had intervened once again, protecting the only woman Ford had ever loved. Protecting the child they’d conceived. Whether he lived or died, at least Ford had that.

  But there was so much more that he wanted.

  Just a chance, Lord. A chance to do things Your way instead of mine. A chance to cherish the gifts You’ve given me. Olivia. Our baby.

  Just a chance.

  The prayer was still running through his mind as more pain exploded through his chest and the darkness that had been threatening blocked his vision, shutting out his thoughts, his fears, his hopes until there was nothing but darkness and the gentle touch of lips on his forehead, the softness of fingers resting against his neck, the warmth of tears dropping onto his cheek.

  Olivia?

  Or just a trick of the darkness?

  Ford didn’t know, couldn’t care as the blackness carried him farther away from the car and from his pain.

  EIGHTEEN

  Olivia paced the length of the small waiting room for what seemed like the hundredth time, ignoring the concerned look of the FBI agent who was standing guard by the door. She didn’t care if her endless pacing was causing him concern, didn’t care if it wore holes in the rug. All she cared about was Ford and the fact that he’d been in surgery for five hours and there was still no word from the doctor.

  “Pacing isn’t going to get your husband out of surgery any sooner, Ms. Jarrod. Why don’t you sit down? Let me send someone to get you something to eat and drink?” The agent suggested, his green eyes searching Olivia’s face as if he expected her to break down at any moment.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for offering, though,” she responded, her voice having an edge of irritation that had nothing to do with the agent’s question and everything to do with fear and worry.

  What was taking so long?”

  The surgeon had said three or four hours. Not five or six. Was Ford okay? Had something gone wrong? Had he…

  She refused to go there. Refused to even contemplate the possibility that Ford had died on the operating table.

  A soft knock sounded on the door, and the agent motioned Olivia back as he pulled it open.

  Olivia tensed, expecting to see the surgeon, wondering if she’d be able to know Ford’s fate by simply reading the doctor’s face. But instead of the gray-haired surgeon, a tall, dark-haired man walked in. Broad-shouldered and confident, he was someone Olivia hadn’t seen in almost four months, but she recognized him immediately.

  “Jackson.” She stepped toward him, her heart sinking as she looked into his face. “What is it? Has something happened to Ford?”

  “As far as I know, he’s holding his own,” Jackson responded, his gaze somber and filled with so much compassion Olivia’s eyes filled with tears. She refused to let them fall. If she did, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop them again.

  “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because I owe you an apology. Tonight shouldn’t have happened. We fell short on our job of protecting you. I blame myself for that.”

  “Why? You’re not the only one who was responsible for keeping me safe.”

  “But I am the one who looked you in the eye in December and told you that we’d make sure the Martino family couldn’t get to you.”

  “You did your best. The agents that were with us tonight, they did everything they could to protect me. I wish…” Olivia’s voice broke and she couldn’t continue.

  “They knew the risk going into this, and they knew their duty.”

  “Are they…” She couldn’t make herself say what she was thinking. Had the agents who’d fought to protect her, given their lives to keep her safe?

  “Two are in the hospital. One didn’t make it.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She tried to fight back tears, but they fell anyway, spilling down her cheeks and onto her shirt. She was too tired to wipe them away.

  “Me, too. Come on,” he said, taking her arm. “Let’s sit down and chat about what happens next.”

  “I’m not in the frame of mind for sitting or chatting,” Olivia said, but she allowed herself to be led to the small sofa that stood against one wall.

  “I’m not, either, but it’s got to be done.” McGraw dropped onto the sofa and motioned for Olivia to do the same. He looked tired and slightly haggard, as if the day had aged him.

  “Jackson, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for what your agency has lost tonight. What those agents’ families have lost.”

  “We were fortunate to only lose one man tonight. But one man is one too many, and we are all grieving his loss.”

  “Please tell his family…” What? What could possibly be said that could make his death more palatable? Nothing. Olivia knew it, but continued anyway, desperate to offer them some small bit of comfort. “Tell them he was a true hero.”

  “I already have,” Jackson said, running a hand over his hair.

  “Do you know how it happened? How the Martinos knew we’d arrived in Chicago?”

  “If I knew that, I’d be a lot happier. Right now, I’m leaning toward believing that they heard you’d left Billings and were staking out the airport expecting that you’d arrive back in Chicago eventually.”

  “So no matter when we arrived, we wouldn’t have been safe,” Olivia said, more to herself than to Jackson, but he nodded.

  “It seems that might be the case, but we’re investigating and will hopefully know more soon. For now, we’ve got armed guards stationed outside this room and your husband’s. We’ve also got patrols outside the hospital. No one will get to you again.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “This time you can believe it.”

  “There’s a leak in the system somewhere, Jackson. Until you find it—”

  “You’ll be safe. There is no doubt about that. Only a handful of men know you’re here. All of them were handpicked for the job of protecting you. I’d trust any of them with my life. But that’s not what I came here to discuss. I wanted to talk to you about Martino’s trial.”

  “I heard it had been postponed.”

  “Until the beginning of May. Not too far off from when we’d originally planned it.”

  “I guess there’s a reason for that.”

  “We’re continuing to build the case against Vincent Martino.”

  “Build the case against him? I watched him murder a man in cold blood!”

  “And your testimony is vital to the state’s case, but the state’s attorney general is waiting on more forensic evidence.”

  “I was hoping to get the trial over with sooner rather than later.”

  “We were all hoping for that, but the last thing we want is to go to trial and lose.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?” The idea of Vincent Martino wandering Chicago as a free man made Olivia shudder.

  “No, but he’s weaseled out of too many charges for us to take anything for granted. We have a good witness. We’ve got forensic evidence. We just need to make sure our case is air tight. I know an extra couple of weeks under our protection isn’t what you want, but I hope you’ll continue to cooperate with us.”

  “Another couple of weeks isn’t going to kill me.” She hoped.

  “Good. Once your husband is out of surgery, we’ll escort you to his room. You’ll stay there under armed protection until he’s ready to leave the hospital.”

  “And then?”

  “We’ll move you to FBI headquarters where you’ll stay until the trial.”

  “That sounds…comfortable.”

  “It will be,” he said, offering a tired smile. “And it will be a lot safer than moving you to a safe house in the area. The Martino family didn’t become as powerful as it is by being foolish. No way will they launch an attack on our district office.”

  “They attacked an armed vehicle.”

  “The men in that van weren’t part of the Martin
o family. They were hired guns too stupid to know the kind of mistake they were making. The Martinos are smarter than that. They’ll bide their time, wait until they think they have a chance of being successful. Then they’ll strike.”

  “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

  “Me, neither. The good news is, they’re not going to have an opportunity to strike. Security is so tight around you and Ford that no one is going to get within a mile of you without me knowing about it.”

  “A mile?”

  “An exaggeration, but not much of one. We will keep you safe, Olivia. You have my word on it.”

  Olivia wanted to believe him, could almost hope that this time Jackson was right and that she really would be safe.

  Someone knocked on the door, and Jackson stood, following the other agent to the door.

  Both men stepped back as Ford’s surgeon walked in. Still dressed in blood stained scrubs, his salt-and-pepper hair mussed, he looked more upbeat than tired, and Olivia’s heart leaped.

  Hope she hadn’t even dared feel welled up as she stood and hurried across the room. “How is he?”

  “Better than he’s got a right to be. The bullet was lodged millimeters from a major artery.”

  “But he’s going to be okay?”

  “Barring any unforeseen complications, your husband should make a full recovery.”

  “Thank you, so much!” Olivia threw herself at the unsuspecting doctor, but he didn’t seem to mind the bear hug she offered.

  When she finally had the good sense to release her hold and step back, he smiled. “I’m not the only one you should be thanking. There was an entire team of people in the operating room, and I’m not convinced we were the only ones there. I’ve seen gunshot wounds less serious than your husband’s take a life. Some people would say he’s lucky, I say he’s blessed.”

  “He is,” Olivia said, smiling past tears of relief. “When can I see him?”

  “He’s in recovery, so I’ll have the nurse come get you. I’m afraid your entourage will have to wait outside the room. We only allow one visitor at a time,” he said, shooting a glance at the two agents.