He waited for him to show, and when he did, he came up behind him, surprising him.
***
Vic heard the scream and ran. When she saw him, she bounded up behind him latching her arm beneath his neck, attempting to cut off blood flow to his brain. It was hard to gain purchase with her leather jacket on, and within seconds, he’d freed himself. She heard a grunt behind her, but refused to take her eyes off her target, knowing he could kill her easily. She flipped around and landed a roundhouse kick to his head and watched as he dropped to the ground. Before he could stand up, she landed another. This time, he grabbed her leg, dropping her to the ground. All the creatus had been trained by the same person, so they all had learned the same moves, which was good—and bad. She knew what to expect, but so did he. The only difference was that she was faster and lither, even if he was stronger.
She’d trained hard for this moment, though. She’d been wrestling creatus men for years, and she had flexibility on her side. Rarely could they pin her. She was back on her feet faster than he could grab her. He reached for her, but she ducked and landed a solid punch to his kidneys, sending him to his knees.
And then she heard the crack.
***
Derrick heard the scream as clear as if she’d been in his apartment. From the roof? Kristina was on his roof? Clearly it was a set up, he knew, but he had to go.
He charged out of his apartment and darted toward the stairwell. He was on the rooftop of his condominium within seconds, her voice clearer as she called his name. Derrick ran toward her voice, but only saw a thin rope tied to one of the roof vents. “Kristina!”
“Derrick,” her voice rang out in relief. “He’s waiting, Derrick! It’s a trap, I’m sure.”
He peered over the side and she gazed up at him, even though she was blindfolded and couldn’t see him. Thank God she was—An arm latched around his neck, pulling him backward. Derrick tore at the leather jacket. The attacker had trouble gaining purchase as Derrick pulled his chin down in response to the threat. Derrick freed himself and prepared for battle with the rogue. He was dressed as a watcher of course, full black leather and ski mask.
Kristina grunted as if trying to come up, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the threat, he’d have to pray that the tiny rope and ledge held. The rogue flipped around and landed a roundhouse kick to his head and Derrick dropped to the ground. Before he could stand up, he landed another. He was stronger than any other creatus he’d fought and he was fast. The next time the rogue kicked, he grabbed his leg, dropping him to the ground. But in a flash, he was back on his feet again.
Derrick swung, but he ducked, landing a solid punch to his kidneys, sending him to his knees. And then he heard the crack of concrete.
“Derrick!” Kristina cried.
Derrick came back up, grabbing the rogue and pulling his arms behind his back. He threw him to the concrete, pinning him with his arms strapped behind him. Derrick glanced to the rope holding Kristina. It was unraveling. He watched as individual strands popped.
“Kristina?” he called to her. “Are you still on the ledge?”
“No…” she cried. “The one below my feet is gone, but I think I can hold onto the ledge above me.”
“I already whittled them away, Derrick,” the rogue growled in a raspy, unrecognizable voice. “The ledge will give way the moment the rope breaks.”
Derrick slammed the rogue’s head against the concrete, hoping it would knock him out and ran toward the sound of the snapping rope. He launched, but the rope slipped out of his reach. He darted to the edge of the rooftop, thankful to see Kristina holding onto the ledge, but he could see the hairline cracks and knew it’d only be a couple of seconds before the ledge gave way. He glanced over his shoulder at the rogue, who still lay on the concrete, but assumed he’d be up in a second.
As he tried to decide whether to go back and immobilize him, he heard the crack. It was too late; he had to make a choice. Save Kristina or secure the rogue.
***
Vic turned to the sound of the crack. The man she’d protected had a gun in his hand and had shot the rogue she’d been fighting.
“Victoria,” the rogue called behind her. No, not the rogue, she realized. “Michael?” That’s why he hadn’t fought back, only tried to stop her advances. She darted to his side, falling to her knees beside him. “I don’t understand. You’re the rogue?”
Blood seeped out of his mouth. And she realized the man had shot him. “No… for you. Everything for you. I love you…” he gurgled out. “The agent… get the brief… case.” Michael collapsed on the ground.
Vic pulled off her jacket and pressed it to his side, layering his hand over the top to stop the blood. She stood and launched herself at the human she’d been trying to protect. He was still on the ground. Evidently he’d put up a fight against Michael. She grabbed the briefcase and then hovered over him.
Pulling off her belt, she latched it around the man’s wrist several times. “If he dies,” she growled in his ear, “I’ll kill you myself.”
The blond-haired man’s eyes were wide, but he didn’t look scared; he looked to be in shock.
Vic raced over to Michael and pulled him up, allowing him to rest against her side. She walked back toward the man and dragged him by her belt. She obviously couldn’t let him go now that he’d seen them. Derrick would know what to do, but first, she needed to get Michael to the center. After she threw the agent in the cargo area of her SUV, latching him to the seatbelt and strapping Michael in the front, she called Lynford on his cell.
He answered immediately. “Derrick and I have been looking for you, Vic. Where are you?”
“Lyn, there’s no time to talk. Meet me at the clinic,” she panted out. “Michael’s been shot.”
Lyn hung up the phone without a word. It was the same characteristic she’d admired in Derrick. He thought quickly, no questions asked.
Vic stomped on the gas and headed toward the clinic.
Michael? Why now? Just when she’d thought… Why had Michael told her to meet him at the pub if he’d planned to confront the agent? Everything for her, he’d said.
As soon as she pulled up in front of the clinic, there were several nurses waiting. Lyn had apparently called, notifying them of her arrival. She watched as they pulled Michael out, transferring him to a gurney. She parked the vehicle and then opened the rear hatch, pulling the agent out on the concrete, not concerned whether she injured him.
The man looked up at her again. His eyes and mouth were swollen. A mere human had given Michael a challenge, but she was certain that Michael had never meant to hurt him; he only wanted whatever was in the case.
“What are you?” the man slurred.
She punched him, knocking him out cold, and then carried him into the rear entry of the clinic.
Chapter Forty-one
Derrick bounded over the side of the building at the same time the ledge gave way. He grabbed Kristina’s arm and then attempted to grasp on to anything he could. He couldn’t secure a grip. All he could do was slow their descent as he held onto her with one arm, pulling her against his side, and groping at the wall with the other. “Hang on to me, Kristina!” he yelled. She latched her arms around him tightly, freeing his other hand. He clawed at the wall, slowing their fall. Derrick peered below them, making sure they had a clear path before he dropped. Skin had already ripped from his fingers, and he didn’t know how much longer he could dig bloody flesh into the building and still maintain his grasp. At two hundred feet, they were within dropping distance, so he swung her up in his arms and dropped, his body taking the force and allowing his arms to fall further to lessen the jolt on her body. After all, his body was made for this; hers wasn’t. He removed the blindfold and realized the impact had still knocked her unconscious.
He heard a man’s laugh and glanced up to see the black-clad figure leaning over the wall. The rogue saluted and took off.
Derrick glanced around the alley, praying no one ha
d witnessed his stunt. Thankfully, one thing had gone right. Well, two, his wife was in his arms, which was more important than anything else in his life. But the rogue was gone, and it was clear he wasn’t going to give up.
He stood with Kristina, cradling her like a child and then walked inside the lobby of his building, ignoring the shocked face of the doorman as he strode toward the elevator to the parking deck. He was sure the blood dripping from his fingertips and an unconscious woman in his arms was enough reason to call the police, but as always, he’d come up with a story. He hadn’t been prepared, nor did he care at the moment. He just wanted to get Kristina to his vehicle and drive her to the clinic so he could check to make sure she didn’t have any internal injuries.
After reclining the front seat and strapping her in, he vaulted over the vehicle to the driver’s door. For the first time in his life, he didn’t care who saw him; he only cared about his wife.
He hit the “call” button on the steering wheel and clicked “recent calls”. The clinic’s nighttime receptionist picked up, rattling off her name.
“Roseanne, it’s Derrick. I need you to call my father and tell him he needs to meet me at the clinic. Tell him I’m bringing Kristina. She may have internal injuries.”
“Um…” She paused, making him want to crawl through the phone, as if she had any right to question him, but he held his tongue, waiting to hear her great excuse. “Um… Dr. Ashton… Your father, excuse me, Dr. Ashton is already here… for your brother.”
“What?” he asked, confused, thinking he’d misunderstood. “Why? What happened?” he choked out. Derrick had hurt the rogue, but he wasn’t that hurt, and he wouldn’t have been able to get there that quickly, so that was good. His brother was clear of any suspicion.
“Dr. Maher brought him in,” Roseanne responded.
“Victoria Maher or her father?” he pressed.
“Dr. Victoria Maher, sir.”
Hanging up, Derrick pounded on the gas, weaving through the narrow streets of Boston, ignoring every streetlight. Kristina groaned from the passenger seat, and he realized he needed to take it easy with the potholes. He touched her arm, but kept his eyes on the road. After a few seconds, her hand covered his and he breathed a sigh of relief, glancing down at her. Her eyes were still closed, but she was cognizant enough to recognize his touch.
“Where do you hurt, Kristina?”
“My… head,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Did you hit it?” He was certain jostling her around while keeping from falling couldn’t have helped her.
“Don’t… think… so,” she sputtered, and he wondered if she’d passed out again. “He… drugged… pungent, alcohol-like... thirsty.”
Chloroform, Derrick thought. A common person couldn’t get it, but anyone associated with the clinic could, simply by showing their ID, as it was still used in lab work.
Derrick pulled into the parking lot and jogged around to the passenger side, pulling Kristina out. He was careful not to bounce her as he carried her through the ER doors and back to the operating room. It was small, but they had everything the larger hospitals had, if not more. Being a private organization had its benefits. There was no board of directors. If something new came out, Derrick or his father ordered it.
Derrick shouted to Roseanne as he walked Kristina to the back where they housed an MRI. “Tell my father I’m here, please.” An MRI was the fastest way to see if there was any internal bleeding. In public hospitals, they screwed around with cheaper tests, but he didn’t see any need in wasting time with x-rays or ultrasounds. As he trudged along the corridor, he scanned the rooms for his father or Michael, but saw no one.
After the tests were completed, Derrick went to move Kristina from the platform, but Victoria appeared behind the glass wall, streaks of tears running down her cheeks. Derrick checked on Kristina, who was still out, and then went to the door. He needed to get Kristina IV fluids, as it appeared there were no internal injuries. She was just dehydrated.
As soon as he opened the door, Vic fell into his arms. “Michael’s in the O.R. He was shot. I was beating the crap out of him, thinking he was the rogue, and then the agent shot him—”
“Victoria,” Derrick cut her off, “slow down. Michael was shot?”
She nodded.
“You were beating him up?”
She nodded again. “I… I thought he was the rogue,” she stammered. “I heard the man yelp, and then I saw Michael, only he was all in black, fighting him. I just assumed…”
“Agent? Does he have spiky blond hair?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I have him cuffed to a bed upstairs in the psyche ward, since there’s no one there.”
“Is Michael okay?”
She exhaled a deep breath and more tears fell. “I don’t know. The man shot him.”
“Okay,” Derrick started, steeling himself. “Stay with Kristina. The rogue used her as bait to lure me to my roof, but then I had to make a choice to save her or chase him. So he’s still out there. He drugged her with chloroform, I think. So she needs something for nausea and IV fluids.” He stopped and stared at her, then lowered his voice. “Give her eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen for her headache. Nothing stronger, okay?”
“You’ll go assist with Michael?” She swallowed hard, shaking her head as if embarrassed. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t pull myself together. Some doctor I am, huh?”
“That’s normal, Victoria.” He rested his hand against her cheek and then pulled her into his arms to comfort her. “He’ll be okay. Dad won’t lose him,” he said, as much to convince himself as her. He stepped over to Kristina and kissed her on the head. “Please protect her.”
“I will, Derrick. I understand. I saw your pain earlier. I don’t ever want to see you like that again. Do you hear me? We need you. You’re strong. The family can’t afford to lose you.”
He closed his eyes and released a shaky breath. He didn’t feel strong at the moment. He felt as if everything in his life was unravelling. He turned and exited the room, heading toward the O.R.
Derrick scrubbed up and entered the surgery area, but his father had just finished, it appeared.
Lynford turned to Derrick and gave him a quick nod. “He’ll be okay.” He motioned for Derrick to leave, so Derrick followed. Once outside the O.R., his father turned to him. “We have another patient. God only knows how, but Vic took them both out. Evidently, Mike had injured the human before Vic showed up, so we need to tend to him. Of course, then I don’t know what we’ll do with him.” His father ran his hands through his black hair that had only a sprinkling of gray, but right now, he looked older than usual. His normally olive skin was pale, and it looked as though someone had sponged a soft purple shade underneath his eyes. “Do you have any idea what’s going on? Why Michael would attack a human?”
Derrick chewed on his lip a second and then nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. We think he’s a government agent. I called his tag number into Michael the other day because he was following Kristina. Michael must have tracked him down. The man has the video of my dive off the bridge to rescue Kristina, and who knows what else.” He paused and whooshed out a deep breath, running his hand over his mouth. “But I’m sure Michael didn’t plan on killing him. I’m certain he just wanted the file.”
His father shook his head, seemingly exhausted of the entire situation. “Let’s go see what sort of medical attention he needs, and then we’ll decide what to do with him.”
Derrick shook his head at his father’s comment. He had to remember his father was around through two World Wars and several smaller ones. The mindset for them was you had to heal your prisoner of war, not dispose of him. Not that Derrick could ever hurt an innocent person, but if he’d seen Vic and Michael dueling it out after already witnessing his swan dive off the bridge, he’d know that they weren’t normal. So they’d definitely have to question the man. But then what? They couldn’t keep him prisoner in the psy
che ward forever. Someone would come looking for him.
Chapter Forty-two
Michael glanced up from his hospital bed as the door inched open ever so quietly. He forced a smile when he saw Victoria, but inside, his stomach wrenched.
“Hey… you’re awake,” she whispered.
“I was hoping I was dead,” Michael groaned.
She sat on the edge of his bed, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, obviously checking if he had a temperature. “Why on earth would you hope that you were dead?” She lifted up the pitcher from the bedside table, poured him a cup of water, and held it out to him. “You need to drink more; your temperature is still hovering above a hundred.” She glanced up at the antibiotics in his IV drip. His father must be concerned with the bullet causing an infection.
Michael accepted the Styrofoam cup, grazing her hand with his fingers in the process. It wasn’t his stomach wrenching, he realized, it was his heart. “Because I’m pretty sure if the bullet wound doesn’t kill me, I’m going to die of embarrassment.”
The edges of Victoria’s lips turned up and she wiggled her eyebrows at him playfully. She always did like it if she thought she’d beaten him in anything. Only she didn’t know that he let her beat him in sports and running, just because it made her happy. “You mean when everyone finds out I kicked your butt?”
He choked out a laugh, but then winced at the pain. “No…” He took a sip of water to gather his thoughts and then narrowed his eyes at her. He couldn’t let her think she’d won this match, though. He had to assure her he’d never hurt her purposely. “I wasn’t fighting you, Vic, so it doesn’t count.” He attempted to reposition himself on the pillow, which had fallen too low when he took a sip of water, but he grimaced in pain again. What the hell did the bullet do, play pinball inside of him? he wondered. It felt as if every internal organ hurt.
“Here let me do that.” Victoria moved the pillow so it was directly beneath his head and then propped her hand up against the mattress on the other side of his body and leaned into it, staring at him. “Why are you embarrassed then?”
Creatus (Creatus Series) Page 20
