Capture the Night

by Cheryl Pierson

  “Oh…God…” Pete breathed. He sprinted to Levi’s side, kneeling beside him.

  “From the looks of you, I’m—I’m hurt…pretty bad.” Levi’s body was taut with pain. He inhaled sharply before continuing. “Pete—tell Ana—”

  Pete shook his head doggedly. “No!” He took a deep breath, fighting back the rising panic. “You’ll tell her, Levi. We’re gonna get you to the hospital and—you’re gonna be okay…”

  Levi reached for Pete’s hand, his grip weak. A flash of the old humor touched his lips and flitted through his dark eyes. “You never could…lie…so well, hermano. Too much—too much gringo blood in you, I guess.” The quick smile would not come, even with the tease that had been between them for years. Pain pushed it back, as Levi’s brows drew together. His hold tightened on Pete’s fingers to a bone-crunching grip, and Pete squeezed back.

  “Levi—”

  “Pete—listen.” He bit his lip, a low groan escaping. “It’s done.”

  Pete nodded, his eyes stinging as he swallowed hard. “Take it easy, Levi. Just…easy, now.”

  “Get those…bastards…” Levi’s voice was fading.

  “I will.”

  “Pete? Glad it was…you—you an’ me…”

  Pete bowed his head over his friend, his partner. “I am too, Levi.” Somehow, he managed to keep his voice from cracking. Helpless acceptance slid over him. Honesty would be between them to the end.

  Levi closed his eyes, his grip loosening. Pete looked up to see Bill Norick, the precinct chaplain, hurrying toward them, Ray Carter beside him. So this is really it. His best friend since seventh grade was dying right in front of him. He looked back down into Levi’s face, and Levi’s lips quirked.

  “Don’t let her…be mad at me, gringo.” His eyes slid shut, and his breathing became even shallower.

  Pete’s lips twisted wryly at the thought. As if he could keep Ana from becoming angry about anything. But he shook his head. “No. I won’t.”

  The chaplain knelt quickly beside Levi. He met Pete’s eyes and Pete slowly released Levi’s hand, reluctant to let him go, knowing it was impossible to keep him. “Adios, brother. Go with God…”

  Levi tightened his fingers weakly, in farewell.

  Norick began the last rites as Pete came slowly to his feet. Levi whispered the first response, and then…his last breath left his body.

  Norick stood. “I wonder if you have a covering of some kind—”

  But Pete already knew what was required. He popped the trunk and walked to the back of the cruiser, reaching inside for a rain slicker. His or Levi’s. It made no difference now. He didn’t give the standard issue body bags a second glance. Those were for other people—people he didn’t know. Levi would laugh at him, he knew, for using a good coat instead—probably ruining it. But it was his coat. Levi deserved better than a regular body bag. Abruptly, he glanced at the chaplain again, handing the coat to him. He looked away quickly, afraid of what Norick would see in his eyes.

  Pete sure wasn’t praying for Levi Santiago right now. The only thoughts in his mind were of what he would do when he got his hands on the men who had killed his partner. He would probably be giving up his career—or his life—tonight, for what he intended.

  “Pete, I’m sorry.” Norick’s voice called him back to the present.

  “Yeah.” Pete blew out his breath, his hands on his hips. “I know. Thanks.” His anger was an inferno, exploding inside him, and he wasn’t at all sure he could keep it contained until the time was right. But he had to, if he didn’t want to run the risk of being sent home. The captain was on the verge of doing just that already.

  I have to maintain.

  He blinked back the burning fire from his eyes, unsure whether it was caused by the threatening tears of grief, or the blaze inside him.

  Not now, he told himself harshly. Now isn’t the time for grief.

  Now is the time for revenge.

  Chapter 6

  “Johnny? I found something!” Alexa had left only moments before in search of a bathroom. From the excitement in her tone, Johnny guessed she’d come across something considerably more interesting than that. Without waiting for a response, she plunged on. “A bed—and a refrigerator! Just a small one, but still…There’s bottled water, and everything.”

  She knelt beside him, her eyes glowing. “It’s not too far…” She hesitated a moment, glancing at his thigh, then back up to his side. “I mean, if you think we can make it.”

  The doubtful tone that crept in at the last was what made up his mind. And the way she had said “we”. How can I not at least try? Though, God knew, every time he moved, something, somewhere on him hurt like blue hell. But looking up into her face, seeing the hopeful light in her green eyes, the gorgeous smile on her lips—well, he supposed being enchanted gave him the right to also be stupid and try to move to wherever she had in mind. She’d been right about one thing: He sure couldn’t lie here in the floor beside the doorway forever.

  Someone would come looking—at some point. And not knowing who, or when, had his nerves on edge. He didn’t like surprises. Especially when he was covering someone else’s ass as well as his own. Finding a bed and a refrigerator was not reassuring to him, but he didn’t have the heart to burst her bubble. It might mean a temporary haven for them, but only that—temporary. Those things meant they were not alone. Someone else used this place.

  If these terrorists were thorough, and he had to assume they would be, eventually they’d get to this part of the hotel as well. The discovery that someone was living up here made Johnny wonder if it was a maintenance man or a plant…one of the terrorist group’s own.

  “What’s wrong?” Alexa asked softly, the smile fading.

  Johnny shook his head. “Just wondering if…if I’ll hold out long enough. Where is it?”

  Alexa pointed back the way she had come, then she shrugged, as if realizing there was no way to tell him how she had traveled through the maze of pipes and tubing and equipment. “I think I’ll just have to show you. It’s not too far—really. It’s by the restroom. It’s a good place, Johnny. Maybe now we can take care of those bullet holes in you.”

  Johnny was sure Alexa had never been shot. The way she seemed to believe he could do whatever needed to be done with three holes in him made him recognize that fact. But it also made him believe it, too; that he had strength he maybe really didn’t have, and the ability to get to this magical place with the bed and the refrigerator she had found.

  ”It doesn’t take much…to make you…smile.”

  “Yeah,” she answered dryly. “Just a bed and a refrigerator for my wounded guy.”

  “And…the restroom.” He rolled slowly and began to lever himself up, Alexa immediately reaching to support him.

  “Can’t forget that, can we?” she quipped, but the worry in her voice came through loud and clear.

  He sat, propped against the wall behind him. His breath came shallow and fast, a dizzy blackness making his head swim. How had he ever thought he could do this? Alexa had thought he could, that’s how.

  The sudden, harsh pain in his side brought a groan to his lips, beads of sweat to his face and neck. His armpits prickled with it. He gritted his teeth and fought back the cry of agony that hovered.

  The world righted itself, just for a minute, and he focused his gaze on Alexa’s worried expression. She drew her full bottom lip between even, white teeth, and her green eyes showed every misgiving she felt, as clearly as if she’d spoken.

  Johnny hurt too badly to think. The thought of getting up and walking anywhere seemed like a monumental impossibility.

  But when Alexa reached to help him up, he took her hand, and made it to his feet—somehow. There was a wall on one side to lean on, Alexa on the other. Oddly, it seemed easier than he’d expected it would be, and he knew himself well enough to realize that much of it had to do with this woman.

  She had gently lifted his wounded left arm and put it around her shoulde
rs, but still, he tried not to lean too heavily on her. Didn’t want to hurt her. And she seemed able to bear the weight he gave her with more ease than he had expected…as if she were used to carrying the heaviness of the world on her feminine shoulders.

  He felt a stab of remorse at that; maybe she was carrying that unknown worry and him added to it, now. He hoped he’d have the chance to make it up to her, once they got out of here. If they ever did.

  “Almost there,” she whispered.

  The small bed and refrigerator seemed to materialize out of the darkness as they approached. They were there suddenly; as if, in the blink of an eye, he and Alexa had traveled four or five steps. His mind was playing tricks because of the blood loss…and the pain. He stumbled, cursing in Spanish, and Alexa’s grip tightened more firmly. She wouldn’t let go. She would be there for him. Steady. Beautiful. He wet his lips, told himself there were just a few steps left, then heard her murmur the same words in his ear.

  “Just a little farther, Johnny. See?” she cajoled.

  He nodded. With a surge of relief, he realized he would make it to the bed.

  And as he thought it, Alexa said it aloud. “Almost there.”

  “You…readin’ my mind, Lex?” He panted heavily with the exertion.

  “If I was…” she helped him down to the edge of the twin mattress, “I’d be teaching myself how to cuss. In Spanish, of course. I’m already pretty good at it in English.” She slipped out from under his heavy grasp and eased him down on the rumpled surface, quickly pulling the top sheet and quilt out of his way as he lay down.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  She reached to smooth his hair back, but stopped herself just before she touched him.

  “Don’t…be afraid…” he said in a low voice, noticing her aborted gesture. He missed the touch of her hand that had never come. Right now, she was the only thing keeping him grounded. Someone he had to protect.

  She wet her lips. “I—I’m not.”

  “I won’t…hurt you—”

  “I know you won’t,” she said.

  “Is it…all the blood?”

  She shook her head, gave a short laugh. “I did keep you from bleeding out back there, remember?”

  “What’s the…problem, Lex?” She was going to have to do a hell of a lot more than just touch him if he had any hope of surviving .

  He rolled slowly to his back, careful of his wounds—each and every one of them. He opened his eyes slowly, but keeping them open required too much concentration. He took a long look at Alexa, holding herself stiff and straight, not even wanting to tell him what was wrong…why she didn’t want to touch him. Then, his eyes wouldn’t cooperate any long, closing, despite his efforts.

  Just when he’d decided she wasn’t going to answer him, he felt her relax and take a deep breath.

  “I was married for twenty-four years to a man who—didn’t want to be touched. In fact, I think he would have been perfectly happy for us to have conceived test tube babies to avoid having—” she broke off and Johnny heard her sniff, then the fumbling sound of her looking for a tissue in her purse. “Except for that first time.”

  He gave her a minute, but when she remained silent, he said, “So…uh…you don’t…like…touching, now? That it?”

  She shook her head, and he opened his eyes again to see her looking at him. He wanted to pull her to him and hold her. He fought the urge, his fist clenching at his side.

  “No. That’s not it.” She raised her gaze, looking at the far away ceiling. “Not that I don’t like it. Just that I’ve forgotten how.”

  “Tell me.” Johnny’s voice was low. He reached for her hand, enfolding it in his.

  Alexa shook her head. Her fingers tightened on Johnny’s. “I’ll tell you all about it—later. We’ve got to get you on the road to recovery before we do anything else. And so…I guess you better tell me—what I need to do.” She met his eyes. “I’m not afraid to touch you—just…need to remember what—what it’s like, Johnny. To touch a man.”

  “I’m…patient.”

  She squeezed his fingers in silent thanks. “About taking out these bullets—I’m not sure…” her voice trailed off as she began to pull his shirt back, then stopped. “Maybe—once I get started, I’ll just ‘know’ what comes next…”

  Johnny smiled at the hopeful note in her voice.

  She went on, more serious now, “I’m sorry you’re my guinea pig—I wish I knew more.”

  “You’ll…do fine.” His lips tightened as she stood and crossed the few feet between the bed and the dorm-sized refrigerator, set on a folding table.

  Alexa opened the door and stooped slightly to glance inside. It was filled with a mixture of sandwich makings, bottled water, two apples, and behind the water, three cans of Budweiser. She exclaimed in surprise as she pulled one of the beers out and popped the top.

  “There is a God,” Johnny murmured.

  Alexa raised a brow, but couldn’t contain the smile that came to her. “It’s not for you—not to drink, I mean. One thing I do know is that alcohol will purify a wound.”

  He sighed. “’Magine it…burns like…hellfire, too. Besides that…’s only hard liquor, good for that. Purifying, I mean. Beer—that’s for drinking. Only. Just for…drinking.” He reached toward her, his hand cupped.

  She knelt beside the bed. “Nice try.” She smiled. “I’m sure whiskey would be much better than beer, but we have to use what we have. Here. Have one drink. We’ll need to parcel it out for your injuries.” She helped him raise his head and take a drink from the can.

  Brewery heaven slid down his throat, wet and cold and perfect, burning as it went. “Thanks,” he muttered.

  She was right, and he knew it. But God, he wished he could drink that whole damn can. Reluctantly, he handed it back to her, and she set it out of the way on the floor.

  Alexa reached for the top sheet and began to tear strips of bandaging. “When we get out of here, I’m going to buy you as many beers as you want—”

  His lips curved upward. “Promises, promises.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I should be buying…drinks for you, pretty lady.”

  “I might think you were propositioning me, then.”

  “I might be…propositioning you…’Lexa.” He was silent a moment, then he added, “No, I would be…propositioning you. Long word.”

  She laughed. “I’m surprised you can talk at all with the shape you’re in.” She tore another strip. “I don’t even know your last name.”

  “Logan,” he gritted, shifting again. He sucked in his breath as a sudden shot of fire streaked through his side. “Johnny Logan.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Logan.” Alexa ripped the third strip of the sheet and laid it close beside him on the mattress, her hand brushing his leg.

  He grimaced.

  “Did I hurt you?” She leaned close to him quickly, putting her hand on his shoulder.

  “No. Just…no more of that…’kay? ‘Mr. Logan.’ That hurts.”

  Alexa smiled at his teasing, patting his hand lightly. “I won’t let it happen again. Promise.” She stood up, careful not to jar him, and tore a big square from the sheet. “Before we start this, I need to go clean up the blood…in case—” she broke off.

  He nodded, glad she had thought of it. A measure of how he’d slipped so far in such a short time. If someone came in that door…saw the blood… “Sorry, Lex. Sorry you have to—” His teeth grazed his bottom lip as the pain got the better of him. He winced, then muttered a curse.

  “Shh…” She touched a cool, soft finger to his lips. “Please, don’t worry about that. Just rest. I’ll be back—soon’s I can. I need to be sure I get it all, so it may take a while.”

  He shifted, trying to get comfortable as best he could. Might as well get used to it. He opened his eyes to look at her. “I’ll be here, ’Lexa,” he sighed. “I’m…not goin’ anywhere.”

  Chapter 7

  Kieran McShane powered u
p the huge television in the lobby, then sat back to watch the show. And so far, he thought smugly, “the show” had been all his.

  Sorley had radioed one word to him—‘success’. He’d gotten at least one of the helicopters. The others had turned tail and run.

  As it should be. He sighed. Killing should always be done to make a point. He was not such a coldhearted bastard as all that—after all, he had let the women and children go. Well, most of the women. He’d kept two of them for his pleasure, later on.

  Hostages had to die sometimes. And that old man had just plain pissed him off. Now, if the others could mind their bloody manners, maybe he’d let some of them live. But not the Prime Minister.

  His eyes strayed once more to where Brendan Roberts sat—and he was amazed to see the Prime Minister watching him.

  He had his nerve, did Bren.

  The old man’s defiance strengthened McShane’s resolve. No matter what he got from these Yanks, when this whole thing was played out, one thing would be true. One thing would be accomplished, if nothing else was.

  Brendan Roberts was going to die.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Alexa warily made her way to the restroom to dampen the scrap of sheet in the lavatory. The restroom wasn’t far from the makeshift living quarters, for convenience, she supposed, and because the sparse furnishings had a bit of privacy in this vast open space, being around a corner, beside a wall.

  She pushed the door open and went inside, turned on the water, and thoroughly soaked the cloth. A container of Comet and a sponge sat by the sink, and the toilet and sink looked as if they’d just been cleaned. Funny. She hadn’t noticed that “clean” smell before when she’d come in here…and she hadn’t noticed the Comet or the sponge. She wrung the cloth out and turned for the door.

  She emerged cautiously. Johnny still lay in the same position she’d left him in. Maybe he’d drifted to sleep. He needed the rest. Especially before she had to—to do what she had to do. Remove those bullets. The thought terrified her. What if she caused his death, somehow? Picking splinters from her daughters’ childish hands was nothing compared to cutting a bullet out of someone you cared for.