SB01 - The Guardian's Mission

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Do I have a choice?” she asked, though no matter what his answer was, she knew she didn’t. Her mind was fuzzy, the room swimming, colors blurring. She needed to sit down now before she fell down.

  “No.”

  “Then I’m ready. I’ll be back in a little bit, Dad. Stay strong. I love you.” She leaned over, placing a kiss on his parchment skin, then straightened, blackness edging at her vision at the quick movement.

  Tristan must have noticed, because he grabbed her arm, holding her steady as she sat in the wheelchair again. She felt weak. Weaker than she ever had before. As if someone had taken her energy and sucked it out, leaving her empty and wanting. Getting shot stunk.

  Watching your father get shot, that was even worse.

  Seeing your father lying in a hospital hooked to machines that beeped and buzzed and breathed for him, that was worst of all.

  But things would get better. What choice did they have? Trouble couldn’t last forever. Her father had told her that often enough. It was a motto he lived by, and one Martha had learned before she could read.

  All she had to do was keep her chin up, keep believing that God was in control and keep hoping that no matter what the next day brought, He’d get her through it.

  That’s all she had to do, but right now, as Tristan wheeled her out of the ICU, it felt like a lot more than she could handle.

  NINETEEN

  Martha didn’t plan to sleep when she returned to her room. She had too much on her mind. When Tristan stepped into the hall to make a phone call, she leaned back against the hospital pillows and tried to make a mental list of things she needed to get done. Call the church and put Dad on the prayer list. Get someone to feed Sue’s cat. Call a cleaning company who specialized in removing bloodstains.

  That one made her shudder.

  What else?

  Call work. Let them know she wouldn’t be in for a day or two. Find out who her father’s doctor was and discuss the prognosis with him. Maybe that one should be at the top of the list.

  She yawned, her eyes closing despite her best efforts to keep them open. Just for a minute. That’s all she needed. A minute or two of shut-eye and she’d be good as new.

  Blood-red sky. Deep black clouds. Rain falling like tears. Dad, lying on cold gray stone, his eyes open, but unseeing. Johnson, gun drawn, a feral smile on his face, pointing the gun at Martha, pulling the trigger. But she wasn’t the one falling with a bullet hole in her. Tristan was. Tumbling onto the ground, sprawling lifeless next to Martha’s father as Johnson’s laughter filled the air.

  Martha jerked awake, her heart slamming in her chest, her breath heaving out as she tried to remember where she was, how she’d gotten there, what was going on.

  Johnson. The hospital. Her father lying nearly lifeless in ICU.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as her body protested the sudden movement. She felt as if she’d been run over by a truck. Every muscle in her body ached, her shoulder throbbed and she was pretty sure that things wouldn’t feel any better once she was on her feet.

  She was going to get to her feet, though. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but it was long enough that the sun streaming in through the window seemed muted, casting long shadows. According to the clock, it was just past three. She’d been sleeping for hours while her father struggled for life.

  She shifted her weight, determined to ignore the pain and get up. It’s what her father would have expected, and what she expected from herself.

  “Going somewhere?” Tristan’s voice came from behind her, and she screamed, whirling to face him.

  “Tristan! I didn’t realize you were here.”

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you. I decided to catnap in the chair while you were sleeping. You and I both needed some rest.”

  “Some rest. I’ve been sleeping for hours.”

  “Like I said, we both needed it. With Johnson still on the loose, we’ve got to stay on top of our game. That means getting the rest we need.”

  “But my father—”

  “Is being well taken care of.” Tristan ran a hand down his jaw.

  “I need to see him.”

  “I’ll bring you up.” He didn’t even hesitate, just pushed the wheelchair to the bed, and gestured for her to take a seat.

  “I don’t think I need that this time. I’m feeling about two hundred times better.” If she excluded the pain, and she thought she would. After all, a little pain was a lot better than being dead.

  He looked as though he was going to argue, then changed his mind, shrugging broad shoulders and offering a half smile. “Suit yourself, Sunshine, but if you get halfway to your father and pass out, I’ll be forced to perform a fireman’s carry to get you upstairs.”

  “At least it would give the nurses something to talk about.”

  “And Brian McMath.” His words were tight as he mentioned Martha’s ex, his expression guarded.

  “What does Brian have to do with anything?”

  “He’s been in here twice while you were asleep.”

  Ugh. That wasn’t a pleasant thought. Brian McMath hanging over her while she snored the day away. Worse, Tristan sitting in a chair watching her while she snored.

  Had she snored?

  The thought was appalling, and Martha’s cheeks heated. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “So, what did you do, stare each other down to prove who was the most manly?”

  He chuckled, his hand resting on the small of her back as they stepped out of the room. “Thanks for the laugh. I needed that.”

  “Did something happen while I was sleeping?”

  “Something didn’t happen. Johnson is still on the loose.”

  “Maybe he left town.”

  “Not Johnson. He’s got a mission. He’s going to follow through. Get you out of the picture so you can’t testify. It might take him a day, a week or a month, but Johnson has the kind of patience that allows him to wait things out rather than rush in.”

  “That’s not a comforting thought.”

  “No, but at least we can be pretty confident that he won’t go into hiding until he’s achieved his goal. As long as he’s not in hiding, we should be able to find him.”

  “I guess that’s going to have to be good enough.”

  “For now.” Tristan led her to the elevator doors and pushed the button to open them. “Sue’s son arrived a few hours ago. He’s up in the waiting room with her, and he plans to stay until your father is released from the hospital.”

  “That’s really good of him.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad he’s here, since you won’t be.” He said it so matter-of-factly, the words almost didn’t register.

  When they did, Martha stiffened, turning to face him. “I am going to be here, Tristan. I don’t know where you got the idea that I wouldn’t.”

  “From my boss who’s finally managed to arrange a safe house for you until Johnson is caught.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wouldn’t kid about something like that.” The elevator door slid open again, and Tristan stepped out, grabbing Martha’s arm and pulling her with him when she hesitated.

  “You may not be kidding, but there is no way I’ll leave this hospital until I know my father is going to be okay.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Martha. Johnson wants you dead. He’s already made that more than clear.”

  “We knew he wanted me dead before he tried to kill me. I don’t see how last night changes anything.”

  “It changes plenty because now I’m not the only one who believes he’s coming after you. You’re a key witness in this case. No way does the ATF want to lose you.”

  “I don’t particularly want to be lost, but I’m not leaving my father.”

  “Like I said, you don’t have a choice.” The words were final, and Martha had the feeling that no matter what she said, how she tried to argue, Tristan
would say the same.

  She didn’t care. She’d continue to argue her point. If push came to shove, she’d simply refuse to leave the hospital.

  Sure she would.

  She couldn’t imagine facing down Tristan, let alone the police, the ATF and whatever other government agencies might want to have a part in finding Gordon Johnson.

  So she’d deal with that when the time came.

  Right now, she needed to see her father and make sure he was okay.

  They walked into the room, and Martha’s heart sank. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting or hoping for, but it wasn’t what she was seeing—her father looking exactly the same as he had when she’d been in earlier. “He still doesn’t look good.”

  “Give it time.”

  “How much? A day? A week? Shouldn’t there be some improvement by now?” She spoke quietly as she lifted her father’s hand. “Dad? Can you hear me? It’s Martha again.”

  To her surprise, his eyes blinked open, the usual bright hazel, muted and muddy. A tube in his throat prevented him from speaking, but he squeezed her hand, his grip weak.

  “Dad! You are in there. I was beginning to wonder. How are you feeling?”

  He frowned, gesturing toward a pad of paper and pen sitting on the table next to his bed. Once she handed both to him, he wrote slowly, his hand shaking, the letters wobbly and light. Barely legible. But at least he was communicating. That had to be a good sign.

  He held the paper up, and Martha squinted, trying to make out the words. “I look awful, and you want me to go get some sleep?”

  She smiled, shaking her head at her father. “I can’t believe you’re worried about me at a time like this.”

  “I’ll make sure she gets the rest she needs, Jesse. You just worry about getting yourself healthy.” Tristan moved smoothly into the conversation, his arm brushing hers as he leaned closer to the bed.

  Martha’s dad nodded, closing his eyes again. A man who’d worked hard his whole life, who could stay on his feet for twelve hours straight, tired after lifting a pen.

  Martha lifted his hand again, trying to will some warmth into his cool skin. “Are you cold, Dad? Do you need another blanket?”

  He didn’t respond, and she squeezed gently, praying that he’d open his eyes again. “Dad?”

  “Let him rest, Sunshine. He needs that more than you need him to talk.” Tristan spoke quietly, and Martha knew he was right. Still, she wanted to know that he was getting better, that he was heading further away from the precipice he’d been hovering at the edge of.

  “I need to speak to his doctor.”

  “Let’s go find someone who can tell us who his doctor is.”

  Us.

  She liked the sound of that but knew she shouldn’t. Tristan was dangerous. Too much time with him and she might just start imagining that there was more to their relationship than Gordon Johnson. “Why don’t you wait here with Dad in case he wakes up again. I’ll go find a nurse.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, then you go. I’ll stay.”

  “I don’t think you understand the way things are going to be. Once we talk to the doctor, we’re leaving here and going directly to the safe house my boss has arranged. You’re staying there until Johnson is caught.”

  “I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand, Tristan. I’m an adult. I make my own decisions. And I’m deciding right now that I’m not leaving this hospital until my father is off the ventilator and close to going home.”

  “You made your own decisions until you walked in on a gun raid and became the state’s key witness. Now things are different. You may as well get used to the idea.” His eyes flashed, his jaw tight with frustration, but Martha didn’t care. Short of carrying her out of the hospital, there was no way anyone from any agency was going to get her to leave.

  She planned to tell Tristan exactly that, but her father made a soft noise, drawing her attention away from the argument and back to the bed.

  “Hey, you’re awake again. Are you—” Before she could ask if he was in pain, if he needed something, if she should go get the nurse, he gestured toward the pad of paper and pen.

  As soon as she handed them to him, he scribbled a message and held it up for her to see. Stop arguing and go.

  “You can’t be serious, Dad. You were shot. You were almost killed. I’m not going to…” Her voice trailed off as he started writing again.

  If something happens to you it will kill me.

  “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

  Go. It will be better for both of us.

  “How can it be better for both of us if you’re sick and I’m off who knows where not knowing what’s going on?” But it seemed her father’s strength had run out. His grip on the pen slackened and it rolled onto the blanket.

  “I think what your father is trying to tell you is that he’ll worry too much if you don’t go to the safe house. In his condition, that kind of worry is the last thing he needs.” Tristan spoke into the silence, and her dad gave a subtle nod of agreement.

  “You don’t have to worry, Dad. I’m going to be fine.”

  “Because you’re going to do what your father and I are suggesting, and go to the safe house.” Tristan leaned past her to squeeze her father’s hand. “Don’t worry, Jesse, I’ll take care of your daughter. Before you know it, we’ll all be sitting down to another one of Sue’s fine meals together.”

  Her father blinked twice, then closed his eyes, his face sinking in on itself. What little animation had been there was gone. If anything, he looked worse than when she’d walked in. Had she done that to him? No. No. Of course she hadn’t, but Tristan was right. Her dad didn’t need the extra stress that worrying about her would cause. Whether she liked it or not, the best thing she could do for him was go somewhere safe and wait things out.

  And she didn’t like it.

  What if she went off to the safe house and he got worse? “Will I be able to call the hospital from the safe house?”

  “We’ll make sure you’re updated on your father’s condition as frequently as we are.”

  “We?”

  “A female agent will be staying with you.”

  “Oh.” So she wouldn’t be Tristan’s responsibility anymore. That was good. So why did she feel so lousy about it?

  Because she was leaving her father, that was why.

  And if she kept telling herself that she might start to believe it.

  She leaned down and placed a kiss on her father’s forehead. “I’m going, Dad, but if you get worse I’m coming back, so you’d better just keep on getting better if you want me to stay away.”

  She thought he might be trying to smile as Tristan took her arm and led her out of the room.

  TWENTY

  The safe house wasn’t anything like Martha imagined it would be. Not that she’d spent much time imagining it. She’d been too busy worrying about the doctor’s guarded prognosis regarding her father’s health to give anything else more than a cursory thought. Twenty miles from town, tucked away on a gravel road deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, the house Tristan pulled up in front of was a charming villa that overlooked stunning views. Several acres of yard surrounded it, free of trees, shrubs or any other potential hiding place. Aside from that, the place didn’t look any more safe than Martha’s house.

  “This is it?”

  “Yep.” Tristan stopped the engine and turned to face her. Two days without shaving had given him a rough, hard look that shouldn’t have appealed to Martha. After all, she’d only ever been attracted to clean-shaven men. Men like Brian who were smooth, polished, restrained and predictable. Those were the kind of guys who were safe, easy. Tristan would never be either of those things.

  Somehow that didn’t seem to matter to Martha’s treacherous heart. Not only did she find Tristan extremely attractive, but she was pretty sure safe and predictable would never appeal to her again. Good thing she’d decided before she’d met him that rel
ationships weren’t for her, or she might be having thoughts she shouldn’t.

  She cleared her throat, turning to look out the car window, avoiding Tristan’s probing gaze. “It’s a pretty house, but it doesn’t look particularly safe.”

  “It’s safe. Trust me on that.” Tristan rounded the side of the car and pulled open her door. “Come on. Rayne has probably paced a hole through the floor already.”

  “Rayne is the agent who’s staying with me?”

  “She’ll be the one you’re dealing with, and she’s not so good at waiting.” He led her to the front door, knocked once and walked inside.

  “You were supposed to be here two hours ago.” A tall blonde moved across the two-story foyer. Mid-twenties. Dancer slim. Indigo-blue eyes in porcelain skin.

  She was an agent?

  As if she sensed Martha’s doubts, Rayne met her eyes, letting her gaze drop to the bloodstained jeans and sneakers Martha wore. “You’re Martha Gabler.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Martha nodded anyway. “That’s right.”

  “I’m Rayne Steward. I’m sorry about your dad. I know it must be hard to leave him behind.”

  “Thanks. It is.”

  “He’s in good hands.”

  And if Martha had a dollar for every time someone had said that to her in the past twelve hours—

  “But I’m sure you’ve heard that way too many times, so let’s just get you up to your room. You’re probably anxious to get cleaned up. Personally, I think a hot shower can wash away a boatload of trouble.”

  A shower sounded good. Great even. But Tristan would probably leave while she was trying, without success, to wash away her problems.

  She might not want to need him.

  She might not want to want him around, but she did. Chalk it up to fatigue and injury, but the thought of not having Tristan close by filled her with dread. “It’s okay. I can wait for a while.”

  “Go on, Sunshine. I’ve got a couple calls to make before I head out of here. Then we need to talk about the rules.” Tristan nudged her toward Rayne.

  “Rules?”

  “Did you think I was going to leave you here without some? Who knows what kind of trouble you’d get yourself into.” He smiled, and Martha wanted to throw herself into his arms, beg him not to leave her in the middle of the mountains with a stranger.