“You can’t hurt my boss, my friends at the paper.” Kaylee struggled in her bonds as she stared at Clutch and past him to Caspar.
“Haven’t you figured it out already, Kaylee? I can do anything I want.” Caspar laughed, a hollow sound without a shred of humor. “I’m in control here. I’m the one pulling the strings. You got yourself involved in something you shouldn’t have.”
“You took Aaron—you forced him into this group and you used me against him, so yes, I’m involved the way I should be.” She tried to jerk away from the man who held her but couldn’t, yet didn’t seem afraid of the knife or the gun. No, she was running on pure anger. “And if I find out that you’ve hurt Nick—”
“What will you do, Kaylee?” Caspar sneered. “Write about it? That’s just words, little girl. No one’s going to believe you. Or maybe they just won’t care about a bunch of washed-up soldiers.”
“Who are you?” she demanded as the man who’d held her tethered her to a chair. He used heavy tape around her wrists. “Are you one of them? Are you in Witness Protection too?”
Caspar didn’t answer her, but Clutch felt the man hesitate, just for a second.
“I’ve made my decision,” Clutch told him. He pressed his hands together and then fisted them, cracking his knuckles. And as he advanced and closed his fingers around her throat, Kaylee looked up at him in horror.
This wasn’t happening.
Kaylee kept waiting for Nick to crash through the door, the window, anywhere to stop it even as Clutch’s hands pressed her windpipe. Caspar was still behind him with a gun to his back.
Clutch meant to kill her, and yet, she couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t. Looking up into his practically colorless eyes, she didn’t see anything but kindness.
Don’t stop now, he mouthed even as he pressed, just enough to make her breath sound harsh—enough to make Caspar believe he’d started the job.Witness Protection .
Kaylee stayed as still as she could while trying desperately to free her wrists from the heavy tape. But at Clutch’s words, she knew exactly what she needed to do. “You’re not safe either, John Caspar. Aka James Roy. Born Alfred J. Kingston. Put into Witness Protection in 1992 after your father testified against a high-ranking member of an underground crime syndicate. You grew up as scared as the rest of the members of GOST. You were one of them until the government made you the monster you are now. How does it feel to turn against your own kind?”
Caspar froze, stared at Kaylee as Clutch’s hands eased from her throat.
“I hope you don’t mind, but that information’s in the article too,” she continued, grateful that Jamie had texted her the details on Caspar in time for Kaylee to text her boss. They would make a welcome addition to the article. “I refused to use Clutch’s real name—or any of the other’s—but yours seemed fair game. From what I heard, that particular crime family would be interested in knowing that you’ve still got all the evidence against them, and that you’d be happy to testify.”
Two shots rang out in quick succession. Seconds later, she heard a loud thump from behind her, felt the weight of the man who’d tied her up initially as he fell against her. She had no way to balance herself and the chair shifted and tipped along with the man’s body.
She saw stars as her head hit the ground, but remained mercifully conscious—or maybe she’d have rather not watched what was about to unfold.
The second shot had hit the man who’d been standing near Sarah—he lay half on top of the prone woman, her hands and feet tied. But Sarah kicked her way out from under him as both she and Kaylee tried to see who’d fired the shots.
“It’s all falling apart, John. I’m not sure why you thought it could last this long anyway.” A woman’s voice—softness wrapped with a steel edge—floated across the room from a doorway in the far eastern corner.
Her back was straight and she wore her hair in a long braid that hung in a dark strip over one shoulder. She held a rifle steadily in her hands as she moved slowly but unrelentingly toward John Caspar.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Caspar told her, his voice tinged with disbelief.
“I know. You did your best to make sure of that—none of the others survived the crash. None except for me.” She held the gun on him. “Did you think you could train us and not expect us to turn on our owners? Especially when they turn on us?”
“You have no idea what you’re up against, PJ. None of you ever did. Do you really think letting the world know about GOST will free you?”
“I’ll never be free anyway,” the woman answered cryptically.
Clutch still stood ramrod straight. The entire room seemed to be stuck in some kind of hazy time warp, or maybe it was just Kaylee—pain and fear and adrenaline mixing together to keep her completely off balance.
But now Caspar seemed that way too—he still held the gun on Clutch, but was so mesmerized by the woman that he didn’t hear Nick come up behind him and put his hands around his throat.
The next moments were like lightning—full-on technicolor—and Kaylee could barely hear over the yelling.
Caspar bucked against Nick’s hold—it wasn’t enough to shake him off but all three men still went down to the ground in the struggle.
She heard one shot, and then another, and could only watch helplessly as the men rolled on the ground.
Nick heard the shots. He knew he was risking Clutch being wounded when he’d grabbed Caspar, but he’d yanked at the man hard enough that he’d hoped Caspar would lose his grip entirely.
No such luck, but he still wasn’t letting go. He put enough pressure against the man’s windpipe, heard the last desperate gasps for air even as Clutch managed to crawl out from underneath them on his back, blood from his shoulder smearing across the floor.
Nick wasn’t sure if he wanted John Caspar dead—if the man was alive, he could talk, could maybe help to free Clutch more quickly than Kaylee’s article. Kaylee, who was down on the floor, trying desperately to free herself from the chair she was tied to—it had been all he could do not to run to her when she’d fallen, but he’d remained in place, waiting for the right time to take down Caspar.
And now, even as he tried to decide the man’s fate, Clutch was pulling at him. “He’s mine,” he said, teeth bared as he stared at Caspar. When Nick let go, Clutch’s hands replaced his on the man’s neck.
“Thanks for teaching me how to do this so efficiently,” Clutch told Caspar. “I knew it would come in handy one of these days.”
Nick was close enough to hear the snap as Clutch broke the other man’s neck. Caspar’s gun fell from his hand to the floor with a clatter—Clutch remained with his hands on Caspar’s neck, until Nick gently pulled him away.
“You’re hurt, man. Come on, it’s over. He’s gone,” Nick told him. He eased Clutch to a sitting position, unable to do anything but help the wounded man even as he saw the woman with the dark hair move to untie Sarah and then Kaylee.
“It’s not over, not yet,” Clutch croaked. He was pale as shit, and Nick knew he spoke the truth. It would be days—maybe longer—before the impact of both Caspar’s death and the article were truly known.
“It’s better than it was,” Nick assured him. “Lay on your side—I’ve got to stop this bleeding.”
Clutch nodded, shifted his body so Nick could rip off what was left of his shredded, bloodied shirt and saw the two entrance holes through his upper shoulder.
“Kaylee, are you all right?” Nick asked as he continued to check Clutch.
“I’m fine,” she told him as Sarah and the dark-haired woman helped her to sit up against the wall. “Help Clutch, please.”
“Someone’s coming,” Clutch said, attempted to draw his weapon, until they heard someone calling Nick’s name.
“It’s my brother. Chris, we’re okay!” he called out the opened door, heard the clatter of footsteps and then his brother was in the room, followed by a woman Nick assumed was the FBI agent.
Within seconds, N
ick and Clutch were surrounded by Chris and Sarah and Jamie.
“I’ve got Clutch,” Chris said. “You’re okay?”
“Fine. Just fine.” He rubbed his bloody hands on his pants.
He stood and went over to where Kaylee sat, in the corner, propped against the wall. She’d taken a good hit to her head when she’d fallen, but she managed a small smile even as he dropped to his knees in front of her. “Kaylee” was all he could manage for a second while his hands traveled over her face then to the egg-sized lump at her temple.
“I’m okay, really.” She reached up to take his hands in hers.
And still, Nick’s protective instincts were in overdrive. “Did he hurt you when he took you away? Did he touch you? Tell me.”
“No, he didn’t. I’m just shaken. But he hurt you—I heard it, saw it.” Her voice broke for a second and then she swallowed, tried to remain stoic.
He didn’t answer her—not with words. Instead, he simply gathered her into his arms for a few moments, holding her tight against him.
When he pulled back, her eyes were wet. “How is Clutch? There’s so much blood…”
“He’ll be okay.” He turned to see Chris working on him. “I should go help.”
“Go.” Kaylee gave him a gentle push. “We didn’t come this far to have GOST win.”
———
Kaylee finally pulled herself up off the floor after Nick left her side to help Chris put Clutch up on a table. Jamie was going back and forth with clean towels and warm water, while Sarah remained at Clutch’s side. Kaylee could clearly see the pain and worry etched on her face.
She approached the table cautiously. There was still so much blood, even as Chris put pressure on Clutch’s back with a firm hand and a towel that had once been white but was now soaked with red.
“I can get the bullets out, but you need to go to a hospital,” Chris was telling Clutch. “I don’t have enough IV antibiotics to cover you. You’ll need a full round. You’ll need surgery to make sure I’ve gotten all the shrapnel out. You’ll also need a transfusion.”
“Do what you can here,” Clutch told him weakly. “I’m not going to a hospital. No fucking way.”
He began to cough, and she caught the look between Nick and Chris that told her things weren’t good.
“I’m not losing you to an infection,” Sarah told Clutch as Chris pulled out an instrument from his bag and told Clutch to hold on to something.
Clutch took Sarah’s hand, the pain he was in more than evident from the way he howled as Chris worked behind him. Nick was bracing Clutch with his own body, stopping him from rolling onto his back.
“One more, man,” Chris told Clutch, who nodded and held his breath. Kaylee realized she was holding hers as well. Another howl of pain that brought tears to Clutch’s eyes, made him slump forward, and then it was over. Nick was helping Chris stitch up the wounds, giving Clutch whatever medicine Chris had in his bag, while Sarah spoke softly in Clutch’s ear.
“We can’t, Sarah—can’t risk it. Suppose…” Clutch trailed off.
Suppose the article doesn’t help anything. Suppose there were more men no one knew about, waiting behind the scenes to finish GOST off, once and for all.
Suppose this was all for nothing.
And Kaylee was helpless again, hated that feeling more than anything else in the world. But she suddenly knew she could do something while they waited to see the fallout from the article.
Once Clutch and Sarah broke apart, Kaylee approached the man with the nearly colorless eyes and reached for his hand. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“I’m the one who needs to thank you.”
“You helped Aaron—you were there for him. Maybe the only one who was, and that means so much to me, to know he wasn’t alone. You let me prove that he was a good man, that he served his country well. His name will be cleared.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bankbook and the paper that held the codes for the new account. She opened it to the last page, the one with the total.
Clutch merely stared at it. “I meant it when I said I didn’t bring you here to take your money. That was Aaron’s—and now it’s yours.”
“No. It should go someplace where it can do some good. You deserve it. And I hope this helps give you a new start—for you and for Sarah.”
“I can’t—”
“Please, Clutch. Aaron would want it this way. I don’t need it—I’m okay. And with this, you will be too.”
Chris moved away from Clutch as Kaylee hugged him. “Go to the hospital. Please. I couldn’t bear if anything happened to you when you’ve come this far.”
She pulled back, to find Sarah smiling at her.
“I’ll go,” Clutch said, handed the bankbook to Sarah, who simply mouthed,thank you .
Jamie had watched Chris do a quick and dirty removal of the bullets from Clutch’s shoulder, all the while chomping at the bit to ask about Sophie.
Kaylee touched her shoulder. “If you hadn’t gotten me that information about Caspar, I don’t know what would’ve happened,” the reporter told her. “And then that woman came in…”
Sophie. “What woman? Where is she?”
Kaylee looked around the gray-walled room. “She had dark hair—she distracted Caspar. She was one of the GOSTs.”
“She went to check for bombs,” Sarah called over to the women. “She’s probably on the upper floors.”
Sarah was still talking even as Jamie took off through the warehouse, yelling Sophie’s name.
She took the rickety metal steps two at a time up to the top floor. Her voice echoed through the broad halls, and she stopped for a second and just listened. She heard rattling coming from a room on the right, entered with her gun drawn, to find Sophie on her knees checking a floor vent.
Her sister turned and glanced up as Jamie entered—Sophie looked different, but she always managed to look so. Constantly changing, the ultimate chameleon, and Jamie was never sure if that was because of necessity or if Sophie would’ve been like that if they’d had a normal childhood.
Then again, Jamie had no real idea what normal was anymore. “It’s really you. Thank God—I thought we were too late. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
Sophie stood, brushed her hands off. Then she moved closer, touched Jamie’s shoulder, stroked her hair the way she always had when Jamie was younger and upset. “It’s okay. We would have found a way on our own.”
“God, that’s so like you—I broke my ass, risked everything to help you, and that’s all I get?”
“Okay, so you saved me. Does that finally make us even?”
“I don’t want even. I just want my sister.”
Sophie relented, barely, by changing the subject. She was good at that, using distraction when things got too close to her, when emotions threatened to break through the surface—hers or anyone else’s. “This wasn’t my choice. I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help you through your rehab, or to grieve Mike.”
“I knew you were—in your own way.” Jamie grabbed her sister’s hand. “Come on, we’ll take you back. We’ll talk to people at the FBI, figure things out from there.” Kevin would help—their foster father would have the pull to put Sophie’s name back into the U.S. marshals’ system.
Sophie shook her head. “There’s nothing to figure out. I’m not coming with you.”
Jamie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—the laugh came first and then the sob choked her throat. “So, what, you’re just going to leave? Disappear with Clutch and Sarah?”
Her sister looked at her calmly. Sophie could’ve been so many things—everyone who met her wanted to be her friend, wanted to be like her. Jamie included. Sophie had one of those faces, one of those bodies. Her expression was cool and haughty, and people always wanted to be like her.
“Yes. I’m going with them for now—they’ll need some help, some cover. And you know as well as I do that it’s not safe for me.”
“Not ye
t. But the article Kaylee wrote about GOST will run—I can make sure your name gets back in Witness Protection, with Kevin’s help. You’ll be watched by U.S. marshals again. You’re almost free—you can come home.” Jamie heard the pleading in her voice and hated it. “Please, Soph, after all we’ve been through—”
“Don’t bring up Mom and Dad. Not now.”
“I’m not the one who’s letting it get in the way.”
Sophie nodded, as if Jamie was right. “Clutch understands me. He’s been through Witness Protection too.”
“So have I, in case you’ve forgotten.” Jamie heard the anger in her voice and tried to quell it. “I want to be there for you, to help you, but you never let me.”
“It’s not the same for you. Maybe because you were so young… because you didn’t see it happen. I don’t know how, but you adjusted.”
Jamie didn’t know what to say to that.
“Stop thinking about it—please, Jamie; I can see the whole thing in your eyes,” Sophie implored her and Jamie wondered what that must’ve been like, to see the man who’d murdered their parents. To see him coming after her, until he’d been startled by the sirens and had run off, into the night.
To have him get captured, only to escape after Sophie testified against him.
Sophie had been a fourteen-year-old, very vulnerable witness, and yet, Jamie could still see Sophie’s face before she took the stand. So strong, even then.
“PJ, we have to leave now—we’re taking Clutch to the hospital,” Sarah’s voice came up the stairs.
“I’ll be right there,” her sister answered. Jamie noted that a packed bag lay in the corner of this nondescript room, nearly as bare as all the others.
But that wasn’t what made her blood turn cold. “‘PJ’? You’re calling yourself PJ?” she breathed. Back in Minnesota, Jamie had been Ana Caldwell and Sophie had been Patricia Jane, known to everyone as PJ.
Sophie gave her a quick hug. “That’s who I am, Jamie. Always was.”
Sarah and Kaylee were still talking—Nick left them by the car they’d loaded Clutch into the back of and headed to talk to Chris.
Too Hot to Hold Page 26
