by Seton, Cora
Peeling off one of his gloves, he called Agent Thurmon and relayed the information.
“I’ll send someone over there before anyone hears anything about what’s going on here over the police scanner.”
“What’s your ETA? Mitchell’s been shot.”
“ETA, two mikes.”
Two minutes later, the snow crawler and three snowmobiles stopped beside them. Emergency medical technicians unloaded equipment and converged on Mitchell. Within minutes, they had her covered in blankets, loaded into the crawler, an IV started, and a pressure bandage taped in place over the entry and exit point of her gunshot wound.
Another EMT administered aid to the man who’d shot Mitchell. Part of Remy wished he’d killed the man for hurting her. He hoped he’d have the opportunity to testify against the man in court, to ensure he served the maximum sentence for attempted murder.
Both patients were loaded into the crawler, and the dead man was loaded into one of the baskets pulled behind a snowmobile. The vehicles moved slowly back down the mountain in the blinding snow, careful not to drive too close to the edge of a drop off.
Remy sat between Mitchell and her captor, who’d been firmly strapped to the backboard. Remy held Mitchell’s hand the entire trip down the mountain, where two ambulances awaited them at the base.
Mitchell blacked out on the trip down the mountain. When she was transferred to the ambulance, she gripped Remy’s arm. “Make sure Rocco doesn’t get away.”
“What about you?”
She smiled. “I’m not going anywhere. Please, go with Agent Thurmon. I have to know Rocco is captured.”
Remy reluctantly released her hand and watched as she was loaded into the ambulance, the door closing behind her.
“The county sheriff and five of his squad cars are meeting me at the entrance to the airport. They’re under strict radio silence. He notified them all by their cell phones. Are you going with me?”
“Mitchell wanted me to go along for the ride. She needs to know with absolute certainty that Rocco is captured and will not get away again.”
“You can go along, but not armed.”
“I can live with that.” He handed over both his weapon, and the Glock he’d retrieved for Mitchell. “As long as you nail the bastard. And believe me, shooting him would be too good for his sorry ass.”
“Let’s do this.”
Thurmon led Remy to a rental SUV.
The ski boots weighed him down. “You don’t happen to have a spare pair of snow boots, do you?”
“No, but I have some gum boots in the back of the vehicle.” Thurmon opened the back, dug out a pair of rubber boots, and handed them to Remy. “They won’t keep your feet warm, but they aren’t as heavy as the ski boots.”
Remy quickly unbuckled the ski boots, dropped them in the back of the SUV, and pulled on the gum boots. He felt lighter, but Thurmon was right, his feet were already getting cold.
Within a few precious minutes, they drove out of the parking lot, headed for the Eagle County Airport. A quarter of a mile before they reached it, a sheriff’s SUV stopped them.
“The Vail SWAT team was sent in to check out the hangars. They’ve located Rocco.” He held out a computer tablet with an aerial view of the buildings surrounding the flight line. Pointing at the one at the end of the row of privately owned hangars, he said. “He’s in there.”
“Does he know anyone is onto him?”
“I don’t think so. He posted guards on the corners of the hangar building. It’s the only building with guards standing out in the cold. SWAT is in place, and we have the roads out of the airport blockaded.”
“What can we do to help?” Agent Thurmon asked.
The sheriff sighed. “We’ve been ordered to stay out of the way. The SWAT team has everything under control.”
Remy stood in the middle of the road. He didn’t like being on the periphery of the action with no say or control. But this operation wasn’t his to run. The best he could do was wait for the SWAT team to do their job. Then he could go back to Mitchell and let her know Rocco was either captured, or dead.
“I don’t like being on the outside, looking in,” Thurmon commented, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth.
“How long until they initiate contact?” Remy asked.
A loud boom sounded, and the earth shook beneath Remy’s feet.
“I’d say they’ve initiated contact,” the sheriff said.
Immediately, his radio crackled, and an excited voice came on. “Suspect got through and is headed your way in a black Ford Excursion!”
The sheriff waved his hands at the SUVs idling at the sides of the road. The drivers pulled their vehicles across the road, overlapping them to create even more of a barrier.
No sooner had they moved into place, a vehicle appeared, headlights on high beam, the lights reflecting off the barricading vehicles in the center of the road.
“They aren’t slowing,” Remy said, his muscles tensing.
“Get out of the vehicles,” the sheriff yelled.
Doors opened and deputies bailed out and ran away from the barricade.
The big, black SUV slammed into the two vehicles, pushing them forward twenty feet. On impact, the airbags inside the Ford Excursion deployed, blinding the driver.
The doors burst open. Three men leaped out with automatic weapons and sprayed the immediate vicinity with bullets.
As soon as the doors opened, Remy dropped to the frozen ground. Without a gun, he couldn’t defend himself and gritted his teeth at the lack.
“God damn!” Agent Thurmon dropped to the ground beside him, rolled onto his side, pulled out a Glock, and aimed at one of the shooters.
The sheriff and his men took cover behind whatever they could. Two of the deputies were hit, and lay bleeding on the ground.
“Here.” The NCIS agent shoved Remy’s H&K .40 at him. “Do what you can. It’s a fuckin’ bloodbath with those automatics.”
Remy wished he had his H&K 416 rifle, but was happy he had something. Problem was, at that distance, he couldn’t get a good shot. He had to move forward. “Cover me.”
With random bursts from the automatic weapons, the gunmen peppered the ground surrounding the SUV, the shots reverberating in the cold air.
Remy would be taking a big risk. If he did nothing, the sheriff and his deputies would be killed. Remy low-crawled into a roadside ditch that provided some cover, but meant he had to stand to stay above the snow drifts. Hunkered low, he moved parallel to the firefight until he was perpendicular to the SUV. Then, crawling up the banks of the ditch, he lay in the foot-deep snow and lined his sights on the armed man taking cover behind the rear door of the SUV.
He breathed in and held the breath, caressed the trigger.
The bullet hit the man in the chest. He crumpled to the ground where he stood, his finger still squeezing the trigger of his automatic weapon, the barrel pointing at an angle. Several bullets hit the man taking cover behind the front door of the SUV. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground screaming and cursing, still firing at the sheriff’s vehicles and anything that moved.
Remy took him out with a single bullet, hitting him in the head.
The gunman on the other side of the vehicle fired until he ran out of bullets. One of the sheriff’s deputies, or the sheriff, took him out.
From where Remy lay, he could see a shadow hunkered low in the front passenger seat of the vehicle. Then a body tumbled out of the driver’s seat, landing on the ground in a heap. The door closed and the vehicle shifted into reverse, its tires spinning on the icy pavement until they engaged, sending the Excursion backward and spinning around.
Remy shot at the front tires, hitting one.
The spinning vehicle careened out of control and rolled into the ditch, flipped, and landed upside down.
Lying still, Remy waited for the sheriff’s deputies to move forward. Because he was farther forward than they were, he stayed put, not wanting them to mistake him fo
r one of Rocco’s men. But he kept a close watch on the upside-down vehicle. He wouldn’t let Rocco escape. Not this time. The man’s number was up.
Sheriff’s deputies, the SWAT team, and ambulances converged on the downed officers, gunmen, and the wrecked Ford. Breathing deep to release adrenaline, Remy pocketed his weapon and stood. For the first time since the bullets began flying, he could feel the cold biting at his toes.
He joined Agent Thurmon on the pavement.
The agent handed him Mitchell’s Glock. “Here. I never should have taken away your guns.”
Remy palmed the gun and then shoved it in his back waistband. “At least, you didn’t hesitate to return one when I needed it.”
“Figured we could use all the help we could get.”
Two sheriff’s deputies dragged a body out of the wrecked vehicle and up onto the pavement. “It’s him, the man on the wanted poster. Rocco Hatch,” one said.
The other straightened, his face grim. “He’s dead. Broke his neck in the rollover. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt.”
Remy knelt beside the man who’d nearly succeeded in killing the woman he loved. Just to make sure, he touched his fingers to the man’s neck. He couldn’t feel a pulse, and the dirtbag’s skin was already cooling in the frigid air. When he straightened, he stared across at Agent Thurmon. “Could you take me to the hospital?”
The man nodded. “Gladly.”
Tired, his toes going numb, bruised from fighting bad guys, Remy felt a flood of relief wash over him. The hunt was over. Rocco wouldn’t terrorize Mitchell ever again.
Chapter Twelve
‡
Mitchell opened her eyes and stared up at a bright florescent light hanging from a sterile white ceiling. Her body was draped in a heated blanket, instead of inside a dark, freezing shed, tied up and awaiting her fate at the hands of Rocco Hatch’s henchmen.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
At the sound of a deep voice, she turned her head and her chest filled with warmth.
Remy sat in a chair beside her hospital bed, wearing the sweatshirt he’d worn skiing. His hair was rumpled and he had a thick, black shadow of a beard. Though his eyes were bloodshot and he appeared a little worse for the wear, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever known.
“I’m not gorgeous. In fact, I imagine I look like a train wreck.” She tried to raise a hand to brush the hair out of her face, but the one she lifted had an IV stuck in it.
Remy chuckled. “You look pretty good for a train wreck.”
“I don’t suppose you have a hairbrush or a toothbrush handy?”
“Let me check the bag the hotel sent over. I understand you refused to go into surgery until you had them promise to deliver some of your things.”
“They brought it?” Mitchell had refused to let the nurses wheel her toward the operating room until she cajoled, begged, and pleaded for them to do one thing for her. She had them call the hotel staff and ask them to deliver the Christmas package she’d left on the desk in her room to the hospital for when she got out of recovery. Mitchell lifted her head and the room spun a little. “Whoa. I feel like I’ve been on an all-night bender.”
“Pain meds and the effects of anesthesia will do that to you.” Remy stood and smoothed the hair back from her face. “The doc said you’re going to heal just fine.”
“That son of a bitch hit me in my shooting arm.”
“Yeah, but it was a clean shot, and didn’t tear up the bone or muscles. EMTs were mostly concerned with your blood loss. The doctors here got that under control and gave you a few pints of refill. With a couple week’s physical therapy, you’ll be back to shooting bad guys.” He crossed to a small cabinet and opened the door. Inside was a plastic bag. “This was the bag of things the hotel staff sent over.”
“Could you bring it here, please?”
He did and laid it beside her on the bed. “What do you want first?”
“A nurse, and you out of here for a few minutes.” She reached for the call button and pressed it. “Nothing personal, but I could use a little help cleaning up.”
“I don’t mind doing it.”
“I thought a man liked a girl with a little mystery.”
A soft knock on the door preceded the entrance of a nurse wearing cheerful scrubs with a pattern of Christmas trees and candy canes scattered across a bright green background. “Merry Christmas, you two. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes,” Mitchell said. “Boot him out.”
“Sir…”
“I know. I’m leaving. But not for long.” He winked at Mitchell.
A simple gesture that set off those butterflies in her stomach. She wondered how many years they had to be together before the butterflies faded. Hopefully, never.
The nurse helped her to the bathroom where she used the facilities, washed her hands and face, and brushed her teeth. After escorting her patient back into the bed, the nurse brushed her hair and tucked the blanket back around her, adjusting the bed to a more comfortable sitting position. “Now you’re perfect.”
Mitchell didn’t feel perfect, with her shoulder bandaged and a bruise on her cheekbone where she’d been backhanded by Flashlight Man.
“Will you help me with one more thing?” Mitchell asked before the nurse could leave.
“Certainly.”
“There should be a gift bag in that plastic sack. Could you hand it to me?”
The nurse found the gift bag and set it beside her on the bed. “Is it for your fella?”
Mitchell’s cheeks warmed. “Yes.” God, she hoped he liked it. He’d done so much to make her Christmas special.
After a last glance at the readouts, the nurse left.
Before the door closed, Remy returned.
“Much better,” he said, and sat in the chair beside her.
“Uh-uh. Not there.” Mitchell scooted over and patted the bed. “Come here.”
Remy’s brows dipped. “Are you sure? Don’t want to hurt you.”
“Never more sure in my life. Get up here.”
He eased onto the bed and smiled. “Merry Christmas.”
“You, too.” She handed him the bag. “I hope you like it.”
Remy’s frown returned. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
She shook her head. “Yes, I did.” Mitchell rested her hand on his leg while he pulled the tissue out of the bag, laying it on the chair beside him. “I wanted to give you something that says how much you mean to me, and how honored I am that you want me in your life.”
Eyes wide, Remy pulled out the cat-o-nine-tails and laughed out loud. “Babe, I can’t think of anything that says honor more than one of these.”
“Crap.” Mitchell’s cheeks burned. “I forgot that was in there. Look for the box at the bottom. That’s the real gift. The other was just for fun.”
A grin spreading across his face, Remy set the cat-o-nine-tails on the bed, his chest shaking with residual laughter. “Wait’ll the guys hear about that.”
“You wouldn’t!” Mitchell pressed her hand to her burning cheeks and held her breath while he surfaced the ring box and held it in his hand.
He glanced across at her. “Is this what I think this is?”
Mitchell nodded, worried when his brows dipped low and he didn’t open the box.
He opened the box and stared down at the ring inside. “Mitchell.” He slid off the bed. “I—”
Mitchell held up her hand, her heart pounding against her chest. “You don’t have to keep it if you don’t like it, and I’m not asking you to make a commitment, if you don’t want to. Damn it, Remy! I love you, and wanted something that told you that I’ll love you forever.”
“But, Mitchell, sweetheart…” He backed away from the bed, digging his free hand into his pocket.
Her racing heart dove into her belly. She’d screwed it up. The man obviously wasn’t ready for the next step in their relationship, and she’d pushed him too fast. She wouldn’t be surprised if he walked—no,
ran—out of the hospital room without saying goodbye.
“Oh, Remy, I’m sorry if I’ve ruined everything.” Her breath caught, and she swallowed hard. “I just realized that you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, even though I didn’t know I wanted it. And forever isn’t long enough to be with you. Please, don’t leave me.”
“Leave you?” He laughed, the sound somewhat choked as he dropped to his knees on the floor and gathered her hand in his. “Oh, baby, I’d never leave you. I set up this trip for one purpose and one purpose only. And I so wanted the moment to be special.”
Mitchell’s eyes misted and a tear trickled down her cheek. “And I ruined it.”
“No, you made it perfect.” He handed her small black box with a red ribbon wrapped around it. “I wanted it to be special when I asked you to marry me. Because, you see, I could not imagine my life without you in it.”
Tears flowed in earnest now, and Mitchell brushed them aside. “Why?”
Remy opened the box and removed the diamond engagement ring. “Not exactly the response I’d hoped for, but at least it wasn’t a ‘no.’”
“I’m not a romantic.” She waved a hand. “You know that.”
“Don’t worry, I’m good at that. Two romantics would make things a bit mushy all the time.”
Mitchell laughed and hiccupped. “I’m not a girly-girl.”
He slid the ring onto her left finger and kissed her. “You’re a girl in all the important ways.”
“You could do so much better than me.”
He climbed on the bed beside her and carefully slid his arm around her. “On that subject, you’re wrong. You are perfect to me, and I wouldn’t have anyone else. I love that you’re tough. It takes a strong woman to marry a SEAL. One who is independent, can take care of herself, and still find it in her heart to love him when he’s there and when he’s gone.” He held her hand in his, looked straight into her eyes, and asked, “So, Mitchell Sanders, will you marry me?”
“You’re sure you want me?”
“Never more sure of anything in my life.” He kissed her lips and curled his hand around hers. “You’re wearing my ring. I won’t take it back. Please, say yes.”
