by J. L. Saint
“I think I’ll call her first, see what she says, how she reacts to my questions, okay.”
Lauren nodded, her relief evident.
Suddenly pain stabbed a hot dagger into his brain follow by a loud pop. The bullet plowing into his skull had come out of nowhere. His knees buckled and a dark tunnel swallowed him alive. “Lauren,” he cried out, reaching for her through a dark mist. He thrust his weapon into her hand as he went down, doing his best to push her back into the car and cover her with his body. His last thought was of her, want of her, need of her, fear for her. Fear for what would happen to her without him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mari couldn’t seem to stop the tears. From her cramped huddle on the floorboard, she cried for Neil and she cried for her unborn baby, certain she would never be able to hold him in her arms. Never see his sweet smile or suckle him at her breast. Never be able to love him, sing to him or watch him grow into an honorable man. It seemed Allah had decided on her death and she had no idea when and where her execution would be, only that it would come. What else was she to believe?
Anyone around her was in danger. People at the hospital had been hurt and Mr. Weston…Roger…he’d missed getting shot by seconds. The bullet meant for her would have killed them both. She’d seen the gore and the harsh realities of war and death in her village among those less fortunate than her family. With her father being a very important person among the ruling religious leaders, she and her sisters had been somewhat protected.
But not always. The men who had attacked her had hated her father.
Her body screamed at her to escape, but she couldn’t seem to move, too afraid that the man with the gun would try and shoot her again and this time succeed in killing her baby or Roger. That brought more tears streaming from her eyes. Visions of Roger, memories of Neil, and the horrors of her shame all jumbled together in her mind, leaving her in a very dark place where time and anything good in life abandoned her.
“Mari, you’re safe now. Do you understand?” Roger had stopped the car. He now was next to her. He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her toward him. “We’re just outside Fort Bragg and need to go through security. I need you to sit up on the seat. Please, look at me. I am so sorry I let this happen. God, can you forgive me?”
Mari looked up to find Roger’s face only inches from hers. He had crouched down on the ground outside and leaned in through the passenger’s doorway to reach her. A deadly grimness had consumed his rugged features. She touched his roughly stubbled cheek with her icy hand. “Not your fault. It’s mine. I hurt the man.”
“No.” Roger looked even fiercer. “It isn’t your fault. You have to believe me.”
She shook her head. Roger wouldn’t be able to understand unless she told him of her sin before. Of the men who had used her. She had been violated, taken by force, but apparently that didn’t change the fact that she was now impure. She thought it had, had believed Neil, but now that Allah had taken him away, now that an executioner hid in the shadows, she couldn’t believe any more. But she couldn’t tell Roger all of that. She just couldn’t.
“Damn it. The man is evil, and you aren’t responsible for evil being in this world are you? Were you around at the very beginning of time and brought that horror upon mankind?”
Mari sucked in air, shocked at Roger’s question and forced herself to answer. “No, but—”
“There are no buts. Evil exists and evil preys upon the good. You aren’t responsible for its existence nor are you responsible for its manifestations, unless you choose to become evil yourself. Understand?”
She blinked and found herself nodding, surprised that he made sense. Then he did something that wiped everything from her mind. He kissed her tears on her cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers. “I won’t let it happen again, Mari. I promise. That man’s evil will never touch your life again. I vow my life on it.”
She grasped his arms, feeling the tense bulge of his muscles and the strength and rage teeming within him. She meant to push him away from her. His life? He’d vowed his life. She could never let that happen. She had to leave him to protect him. But instead of distancing herself from him she buried herself into the warmth of his embrace.
Shot. Jack had been shot. Lauren saw the barely healed wound on his temple rip open and the bullet whizzed over her head before it clunked into the roof of the car. It all seemed to play out in slow motion right before her eyes and every core emotion she possessed—love, fear, anger, hate—coalesced into a gut wrenching cry. “Jack!” she screamed.
Blood splattered her face and gushed down the side of his head. She grabbed him as he fell and did the only thing she could think of, use all of her weight to shove him farther into the car and out of harm’s way. She didn’t know how badly he was hurt, and every fiber of her being hurt too. She gasped for air as the world careened around her. Somehow his gun ended up in her hand and she tightened her grip on it.
Dear God! She prayed for a miracle and latched onto the only lifeline she had at the moment—the bullet had grazed his skull rather than bore a hole through his head.
He fell on his side, head in the passenger’s seat, the console crushing his ribs, his hips in the driver’s seat and his legs sticking out the door. The pistol he’d shoved into her hand was still warm from his skin and bolstered her strength as she crouched behind the car door. Her purse still hung from her arm and swayed with her every movement. She was wedged between the car door and Jack’s legs with her heart beating so hard that she thought her chest would split open from the force. Two things consumed her now.
She was damned determined to protect Jack.
And she would kill to do it.
A man dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask dropped into view in the carport. He carried a rifle and stopped to grab some rope draping from a hook on the carport wall before he moved. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry and obviously thought she’d be easy pickings. He even shifted his rifle under his arm so he could loop the rope as if preparing a special knot just for her.
She shivered hard and aimed the gun at him, using both hands to hold it. Her body shook from head to toe, making it hard to focus and steady the pistol, but she knew enough to keep the gun out of sight as she concealed herself behind the car door. The man didn’t know she was armed, which increased her odds of getting herself and Jack out alive. Instinctively, she waited for him to come closer, knowing her chances of hitting him with a bullet would be greater.
Surely she could aim, pull the trigger and kill the man. She gulped for air, her hands sweaty, her skin freezing.
“I’m calling the police,” she yelled, voice warbling with fear. She would have been on the cell phone already if it wasn’t buried under Jack.
The man didn’t hesitate, but kept coming her way, slowly as if relishing every moment. “Go ahead, Sex Slave. Cops can’t help you now.” His guttural voice cut like a knife. “You’re mine for as long as I want.”
Sex Slave? It was the last thing Lauren expected to hear. What in the hell? What did this have to do with terrorists and Bill’s coded letter? Was this some sort of nightmare that she’d soon awaken from? The wetness of Jack’s blood on her face told her it was more real than she could imagine.
Dear God. The man coming after her seemed almost maniacal, as if he belonged in some B-rated horror flick. Still, his manner was more than effective. His complete assurance and total lack of fear for the authorities had her freaking out, despite the lethal gun in her hands.
“Guess what I’m going to be doing to you when the cops arrive at the door, Sex Slave? Your ass was made for my dick.” He laughed and her stomach wrenched. He made her feel violated already. She tightened her grip on the pistol, waited a moment longer, then brought it up and took aim. He was too far away to reach her and too close to avoid her. She pulled the trigger several times. The unexpected force of the gun flung her arms upward, and sent her back into the car. The man yelled, falling backward.
She d
idn’t wait to see what would happen next. She sat half on Jack and half on the seat, barely fitting into the car with her head cocked to the side and her knees against the dashboard. She started the engine and shoved the car into drive. The incline of the driveway had them immediately rolling forward toward the street, gaining a momentum that her stomp on the gas pedal fueled faster.
The driver’s side door hung open with Jack’s legs sticking out from about his lower calf on down. She had to maneuver carefully down the drive, afraid that she’d hit something and crush Jack’s feet with the car door. They no sooner hit the road than she heard him groan.
Within seconds of that his body tensed. He’d regained consciousness. “Son of bitch.” He grabbed his head. “What in the hell happened?” he sounded, gloriously normal and the relief flooding her made her giddy.
“I could use a little help here.” She maneuvered around a sharp curve.
He angled up on his elbow, hindering her ability to drive even more.
“This position is killing me. Pull over.” He pressed his palm to the blood welling from his head wound and groaned harder.
“I was lucky to get most of you into the car.” She glanced into the rearview mirror. “I don’t think he’s coming after us. I shot him. Besides, there wasn’t a car there, right?” She eased toward the roadside and brought the car to a stop.
“No car,” Jack said, succinctly. By the time they untangled and got out of the car, no part of her remained un-touched by him or his effect on her, which only amplified her need to pull him close to her heart and thank God he was alive. She wanted to hold him, to feel his heart beating, to feel the life rippling through his body. But if she touched him at that moment she didn’t think she would be able to stop for a long time, she fetched her cell phone from the seat and tried to focus on what they needed to do next.
Jack grabbed some tissues from the console and pressed the wad to his wound to stop the bleeding. He was pale and in obvious pain. She needed to get him medical help and make sure they remained safe. Provided she could get her own thoughts together. Every fiber of her being shook over how close he had come to being killed.
“I’ll drive,” he said.
She glared at him then pointed to the passenger seat. “You’ll sit and you’ll do it fast. The man I shot was alone, but he could have a partner nearby, and we aren’t wasting precious time arguing over your Superman complex.”
He clenched his jaw. “My what?”
“You heard me. Consider yourself kryptonited. Now sit.”
He didn’t argue, but staggered over to the passenger’s side and got in the car. She slid behind the wheel, wiped the blood from her face with a tissue then buckled up and took off.
“Kryptonited?”
“Yeah. And you might as well know right now that I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Absolutely not. No hospital. Just get us to a hotel to rest in and get cleaned up. I’m going to be fine. I’ve been injured enough times to know if I need medical attention or not and right now I don’t, Kryptonited or not.”
“But—”
He held up a hand. “If things change, if I start acting odd, get unusually drowsy, or if this headache worsens, then you can take me in, but I think the metal plate the doctors put in two weeks ago absorbed the brunt of the bullet’s force and averted any serious injury. What’s more important right now, is you telling me who you shot.”
After glancing at him several more times to assure he wasn’t delusional, she let the hospital issue go for now. The metal plate in his skull may have just saved his life. A life put on the line because of her. This was no game and she had no idea what she was going to do next. How could she let Jack keep putting himself in danger for her? Yet how could she possibly face this danger alone?
She trembled so badly inside that she could hardly breathe and she desperately needed a place safe from a bullet bolting out of the blue. She punched the gas, heading for the Interstate, and answered Jack’s question. “I shot the ski-masked man in black, who wanted me for his Sex Slave. He dropped down from someplace inside the carport after he shot you.”
“What?” Jack jerked his head and then groaned miserably. “Jesus, Lauren. How long have I been out? How did you get out of there? Did he—?”
“He didn’t get even remotely close to me thanks to you.” Lauren told Jack what had happened and how having his pistol saved them both. She pointed to his gun that now rested on the floorboard and he slipped it back into the waistband of his jeans.
“I knew something was off.” He cursed at himself. “The ground was dry except for a puddle of water on the back porch and in the carport. But there was so much clutter everywhere that I let the detail slide. The guy you shot, was he wet?”
Lauren frowned, thought back and realized Jack was right. “It’s possible, he kinda had the look.”
Jack cursed. “What do you want to bet the bastard killed Conrad, set the boat on fire, swam ashore and came here, positioning himself long before I arrived. If he’d been hiding in the woods, I would have picked up on him. Same with the house. He hid where I would least likely look. The rafters of an empty carport.”
“Which means he knew we were coming. He knew we were together. And he waited for me to show up before trying to kill you.”
“You got it.”
Lauren shuddered. “That makes what he said to me worse.”
“What?”
“Don’t ask. Just know it would have been bad. And none of what he said had anything to do with Bill, but sounded like a seriously crazed rapist stalking me.” She looked in her rearview mirror, searching for reassurance. Her heart pounded when she saw a non-descript black sedan approaching, but its turn signal flashed and it made a right. She focused back on the road ahead, unable to avoid the horror of the day.
“You’re not going to like this, but I don’t think we should go back to where the boys, Angie and Rico are. Not until we figure this out. Someone seems to be a step ahead of us and the farther we are from your children, the safer they are. In fact, they probably need to leave Atlanta.”
“You’re right.” Tears stung Lauren’s eyes and her heart ached with both pain and frustration. She was abandoning Matt and Mitch when all she wanted to do was to hold them close and keep them safe at her side, but that might be the most dangerous place for them. She was torn and holding on by a thread.
She listened as Jack called Rico, using her throw-away cell phone in case his had been compromised, and explained what happened at Gardner’s. Jack made light of being shot, but she’d expected he would. He suggested to Rico that Angie and the boys needed to go someplace a little safer and whatever Rico said had Jack frowning. “I don’t know about that. You’re right. You couldn’t ask for better cover, still there are so many people, control over the environment would be toast. I’ll let Angie talk to Lauren.”
Jack handed her the phone. “Angie’s wanting to take the boys to Disney World instead of keeping them cooped up in a hotel room.”
Lauren took the phone, her heart skydiving at the thought of Matt and Mitch traveling hundreds of miles away from her. She had no question over their safety in going to the amusement park. She’d trust Angie with her life. Jack trusted Rico with his. And since she’d entrusted Jack with her life, by default, she could rely on Rico as well. Angie got on and gave her spiel about going to Disney World, a Fairy Godmother treat as she called it and Lauren, heart in her throat, agreed. If she couldn’t be with them, she would much rather know her sons were being distracted by a world of fun than miserable in a hotel room. It still left her feeling hollow and adrift in a stormy sea.
An hour later she didn’t feel any better about the situation. They had tried to call Bob and Ray again with no results. Had something already happened to them? She and Jack checked into a motel south of Fair Play in Lavonia, Georgia. She’d given the clerk a false name and had paid cash for the room. It was as safe as she could get at the moment.
She didn’t
draw a deep breath until the room’s door closed and she slipped the security lock on. Jack glanced about but didn’t say anything about the one-room two-bed set up, and she didn’t mention it either. She wasn’t about to leave him alone after being hurt and they didn’t have connecting rooms. He set the pizza they’d collected on the mini-table, dropped his duffle bag, and sat down on the bottom of the closest bed, looking like death warmed over.
She put the first-aid kit on the bathroom sink, the Coke by the pizza, and walked over to Jack, moving in close so she could examine his wound. “Let me see.”
He bent his head and inhaled sharply as if the movement pained him.
She bit her lip, gut knotted that he’d been hurt at all. But in truth, the wound didn’t look as bad as she expected. The gouging scrape started above his right ear and angled toward his forehead, slashing across the previous, vertical scar at his right temple. Once healed, he’d have a permanent cross marking his temple.
“Come in to the bathroom and let me clean you up, then we both can relax,” she said past the emotion clogging her throat. What almost happened was still too fresh in her mind for her to be anything but overwhelmed.
“I can do it.” He stood, coming so close to her that she had to take a step back. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. He searched her gaze for a moment as if trying to assess her mood.
“So can I, and right now I need to make sure you’re all right more than you need to be Mr. Invincible.” She marched to the bathroom and pointed to the closed commode, determined to ignore the effects of his close proximity on her senses. “Sit.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up as he sat. “What’s next? The Terminator?”
“Sponge Bob Square Pants,” she said briskly as she turned on the water.
He snorted and winced. “Can we stick with Superman?”
“Depends on how cooperative you are, Dudley Do Right.” More like Studly Do Right.
He laughed, then groaned. “Okay. You win. Just don’t make me laugh again. No more torture.”
