by Joli Torres
Suddenly, as they were cruising along yet another slow turn, her danger sense went off.
A flood of adrenaline pounded through her veins. She felt herself getting ready to fight or run. Something, no doubt about it, was kicking on her adrenaline drive.
She slammed on the brake and stopped off the side of the road fast enough to whack the Celtic’s forehead against the dashboard.
“Ow!”
“Get out,” she commanded. “Now!’
“What? No.” He touched his nose and brought his fingers away red. “I think you broke my nose.”
“Get out!”
She reared up the front of her gun and pointed it at him. Her danger sense was going nuts. Something was about to happen. He clambered out of the car, hands still shackled. Keeping the gun pointed at him, she yelled for him to run. He didn’t question her this time. Then Adrianna took off running too.
And then the bomb planted in the engine of the car exploded.
The funny thing about explosions that Adrianna had learned over a couple of them was that they were loud. Really, really loud. As close as she was, the sound hit her like a tidal wave, tossing her off her feet like a ragdoll.
She slammed into the moss beside the road. She screamed in pain, clutching her ears. It felt like a bus had run her over, stopped, reversed, backed up over her, and then drove forward over her again. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t hear. The flaming car was just an orange blue.
She let out a scream of curses, some of which were real and others of which she came up with right then in a moment of inspiration, fueled by pain and shock.
A blur stumbled away. A pale one, with a hint of blue.
The Celtic was making an escape.
She tried to get to her feet and stumbled. She hugged her stomach, groaning. She was a tough gal, but she’d still been close to the car when what she could only assume was a planted explosive had detonated. Hardened soldiers had been killed by less. She was amazed she was even alive. The Celtic had been near enough to get some of the blast, but he’d gotten farther away than her.
Now the blur of The Celtic grew closer to her. Not good. She fumbled for her gun, but she couldn’t see it. Her head felt like someone had put it in a blender. His boot cleared in her vision, right by her skull.
She heard The Celtic say something. She couldn’t pick out most of what he was saying, but her brain kicked in enough to read his lips.
Are you okay?
She was pretty sure that she said something back, but she couldn’t even hear that. The world was the quietest that it had ever been. She could have unloaded her handgun right next to her ear and wouldn’t have heard a thing.
The Celtic put his shackled hands around her forearms and gently pulled her to her feet. She was still pretty well out of it, but he was still speaking to her. She wasn’t picking up any of it.
Together, they hobbled away from the burning hulk. As Adrianna’s vision cleared, it became obvious that he hadn’t come away without a scratch. Something—a piece of the door, probably—had gouged a cut over the top of his right eye. It wasn’t gruesome, he would be fine, but head wounds tended to bleed quite a bit. Both of them were limping, and Adrianna was relatively sure she’d broken a rib or two. Something had clocked her in the ribs with a tremendous amount of force right after the blast.
She inhaled and it hurt. Yup. She’d had enough broken ribs throughout the years to recognize one.
“That could’ve gone better,” she coughed finally. She wasn’t even ready yet to deal with the fact that he had helped her. In a minute, she could think about the implications of him stopping to protect her instead of running while she was down, but right then, it took up all her mental strength to keep upright.
“Yup,” he said, and spit. She was starting to pick up his voice again. She spotted a deep, red liquid seeping from his ears. She suspected her own ears had sustained some damage. “How’d you know?”
“Just a hunch.”
He gave her a funny look. “You have some impressive hunches.”
“Thanks.”
Adrianna knew they had to get out of dodge before whoever planted the bomb showed up to see if it had worked, but all she wanted to do was curl up on a couch somewhere and sleep for eight to ten hours. She forced herself to wake up and snap out of it.
“We gotta get out of here,” she heard herself say. The shock was starting to wear off. She could at least think, which was a huge step up from earlier, when her thought processes capped out at realizing that the fire was warm. She patted her jeans. No phone. She assumed that it had gone up in flames with the car.
They started off deeper into the woods. Most folks would walk along the road, but anyone coming to clean up would search the road first. If that biker was alone—and she felt confident that he wasn’t—she might be able to handle them. If he had friends, they were in some big trouble. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t checked for bombs. She’d known the biker was trouble. She knew someone was out for her, and, if she trusted The Celtic, someone was after him too. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but for this whole case she’d been just one step behind. Rare, for her.
But that wasn’t what was bothering her. What was simply perplexing to her is that The Celtic hadn’t run off while she was down. He’d come back to help.
“Why’d you stay?” she finally asked while they were hiking in the general direction of the city.
“Why not?”
“Because you owe me nothing.”
He nodded and stepped over a fallen tree. “I’m not a killer. I didn’t know if the car was going to blow again. I couldn’t just leave you.” He looked over at her. “Would you have left me?”
“No. Probably,” she added after a moment.
He snorted in amusement. The motion made the chains of the shackles jingle. “Do you believe me now about The Owl?”
“Starting to.”
He pulled at the shackles, but they were too tight around his wrists. He tried to slip out to no avail. “Wanna let me go?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I told you, The Owl is hunting us. I need to be able to fight.’
“Just because you were telling the truth about one thing doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go free.”
They walked in silence for several minutes before The Celtic spoke. “Well,” he said. “At least it can’t get much worse.”
“Don’t say that,” Adrianna said.
“Why not?”
“You’re gonna jinx it.”
“I don’t believe in jinxing something.”
“Well, I do.”
“At least it can’t get much worse,” he repeated.
“Stop it!”
He grinned. He had found something that irritated her. “At least—”
And then one raindrop fell onto his shoulder. He stopped, more than a little surprised, as more drops began to fall from the sky.
“I told you not to say it!” Adrianna hissed.
Chapter 4
The rain caught them about three miles from the car, and when it came, it didn’t just sprinkle. It poured. Buckets of rain plummeted from the dark sky, chilling Adrianna and The Celtic to the bone. Worse, Adrianna had to stick her gun under her shirt in an effort to keep it dry. She wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if water managed to sneak into the inner workings of it, but she was convinced it wasn’t going to be good.
Worse, her rib was starting to kill her. It felt like every step she took, every time she inhaled, someone was punching her in the side. At first, it wasn’t a big deal. But the more the rain fell and the longer they walked in the seemingly endless forest towards what she hoped was the city, it became a big deal. No, it became a huge deal.
“You look mad,” The Celtic declared.
“You had to jinx it,” she muttered. Her hair was falling into her eyes and the socks in her shoes were making a squish, squish, squish sound every time she stepped. �
��I said, ‘don’t say anything.’ But you had to. You freaking had to. And look where we are.”
“You really believe I did this?” he asked, tossing his head to indicate the storm overhead.
“You bet I do.”
“Well… it’s not like I’m having a grand ole’ time over here. I’m as tired as you are, probably more.”
“Yup,” she said, very tightly. “That’s why you don’t kill people. You get tired.”
“I. Didn’t. Kill. George.”
“Sure.”
“You honestly still think I did, after all this? The bomb? Everything?”
“Look,” she finally snapped. “I don’t know what I think right now. I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m hurting. I really don’t want to talk about whether or not you did it! Nothing I do can change your fate—get it? Nothing. Not one, teency, weency thing. I bring you in. That’s all. I don’t decide whether you’re innocent or not, so would you please stop telling me that?”
They drifted back into silence for several minutes as the rain pelted them. “Is she happy?” The Celtic finally asked, a little hesitantly.
“Who?” she grumbled.
“My daughter.”
“What? Oh. Yeah, she’s fine. She’s having a great time as far as I know.”
He seemed to think about it. “I hate to do this to you. I’m sorry in advance, but I have to clear my name, and I can’t do that here.”
“Do what?” she asked warily.
“This,” he said, and took off running.
“Hey!” she yelled, chasing after him. He was fast; being a professional athlete had its perks. Even handcuffed, he was dashing through the wet bushes, right and left like a human rabbit. He slipped a couple times, but he kept his balance and kept charging through the woods away from her.
Adrianna wanted to recite all the curse words in the dictionary and then some more.
First of all, as she realized while giving chase, she couldn’t shoot him. They were trying to stay hidden, and he knew it. He knew, the blasted man, that she dared not shoot him for fear of killing him or being found by their pursuers. Second of all, her rib had stopped feeling like regular pain, which she could ignore.
It felt like death.
Every time she landed a step, every hard breath she took, felt like someone was stabbing her in the chest with an ice pick.
She could just barely see The Celtic out in front of her—just his body as a little dot. He’d gotten a head start and she was hindered by her broken rib. She opened her mouth to yell at him to come back, regardless of who was in the woods with her, when she heard a loud crack!
A gunshot.
The Celtic’s body dropped like a rock.
She skidded to a stop, staring. She could see his form stumble back up, hugging his side. He’d been shot in the side, she guessed. She didn’t even think about it: She just charged towards him. Though whoever had shot him couldn’t see her, she could see The Celtic just fine. He was staring at the ground with something like shock as a helmeted man approached him. At first, Adrianna thought she was looking at the biker that had been chasing them from the start, but it was a different man. Leaner. Less bulky.
He took off his helmet. Nothing too amazing or unexpected underneath. It was hard to see any distinguishing features from afar.
She was still a solid fifty yards away when The Celtic stood up and put a right hook right into the jaw of the stranger. Startled, the stranger didn’t do much to avoid and caught all of it solidly. It was a good shot. Spit flew out. Hs skin rippled. His head snapped back.
And he was out cold.
He toppled like a felled tree. The Celtic stumbled up, still clutching his side as she jogged up.
“What were you thinking?” she snapped.
“I’ve been shot again,” he groaned. His blood was seeping through his fingers, but it didn’t look too bad.
“I told you to stay near me!”
“No you didn’t,” he said, sitting down on the ground. “And just so everyone knows, I. Was. Shot. Again.”
The stranger slid a little down the hill. He was out cold. She’d heard of his strength in the ring earlier when she’d read his bio, but it was another thing entirely to see it in person. She took his gun and looked around for where he had come from. As it turned out, they were right there by the road. They hadn’t been, but their little chase had led right to the road. The stranger must have spotted The Celtic while searching and shot him.
“You’ll be fine,” she said absently. Maybe it seemed a little rude, but she’d seen plenty of wounds in her time to know their degree pretty quick. It was a small caliber weapon, and it looked like it had clipped his side. When she’d seen him fall, she’d gotten worried, but it was beginning to look like it might have just been from surprise.
She decided to check out the stranger. She didn’t recognize him, and he wasn’t wearing anything distinguishable. “Do you know this guy?”
The Celtic took his hand away to look at the blood. He seemed relieved. “No, but I know who he works for. The Owl.”
There it was again: The Owl. She was starting to really hate this guy. She searched around in the unconscious man’s pocket for a phone and found one.
Now all she had to do was call the agency and they’d come help out. They’d be out of the reaches of The Owl… if only she could remember the number. What was it? It wasn’t like the agency had a habit of letting people know their number. As stupid as it was, they usually had just given her phone a coded number. If she was ever caught, she couldn’t give it up. Why that mattered, she didn’t know. Maybe the agency hated robo-calls.
Whatever.
She would just call the cops.
She dialed up 911, waited for a moment while The Celtic complained about being shot again and the unconscious killer slid a little more, and heard someone answer from the other side.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hi, my name is Agent Whetmore. I’m out in the woods somewhere, I don’t know where. There’s someone trying to kill me and my friend.”
There was a pause. “Ma’am, you do know it’s a crime to prank call us, right?”
“This isn’t a prank call! I’m serious. Just call the FBI and they’ll tell you.”
Click. They hung up.
“Oh come on!” she protested, probably louder than she should have. “They hung up!”
“Well,” said The Celtic as he stumbled up with just the slightest wince. He was unbelievably tough. Most people would be crying if they’d been shot a couple times, but he looked like he was managing it somehow, like he was just willing himself to not feel it. “Looks like we’re on our own.”
She sighed. “Here. Let me patch you up.”
She used his shirt to bandage his side. His nice, muscular side. Wait! What was she thinking? He’s a wanted man, and here she is having these thoughts of how nice it feels being this close to him. Feeling his hot breath on her as he leans over to look at what she’s doing. Here in a little while, if he kept getting shot, it’d turn into a strip show. There was no way she was going to use her shirt to patch him. She had some bandages in her bag, but it had gone up with the car.
As she worked, he talked.
“The Owl’s got a small army. He won’t stop hunting us until we get to the FBI.”
“This guy doesn’t even sound real,” she said while tying the knot on his shirt. “I don’t understand how he hasn’t gotten busted before. You say he fixes the fights? How did no one ever…” she thought of the way to word it. “Expose him?”
“People who try usually end up like George. The higher ups know about him, but they’re scared to get offed too.”
Huh. Made sense.
The radio on the unconscious killer crackled. “Check in, 52. Check in.”
“Uh-oh,” said Adrianna, aptly.
Chapter 5
“Check in,” repeated the radio.
“What should we do?” The Celtic said, staring at the shoo
ter. “Answer it?”
“I’m a woman! They’ll know I’m not him!”
“52, check in,” said the radio.
Acting on instinct, The Celtic grabbed the radio and answered. “All good here.”
There was a pause. “52?”
“Yuuuup.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
“Just bad speakers on the radio,” The Celtic fabricated. There was a moment where everything was quiet except for the sound of rain falling all around. Adrianna figured they might actually get away with it, and then another voice came on the radio. Silky smooth and very, very deep.
“We’ll be coming for you soon.”
The radio switched off.
“Who was that?” Adrianna asked, hating to have to ask.
The Celtic didn’t seem like the kind of guy to get spooked easily. It wasn’t beneficial in the ring to show you were scared. If he was, he always hid it well. But Adrianna saw just a flicker of fear in his eyes before he squelched it. “The Owl. We gotta get out of here now.”
He stuck out his hand. “Free me. I need to be able to defend myself!”
She gestured towards the unconscious man. “Looks like you’re just fine.”
“He wasn’t expecting it. You want it on your conscience if I get killed because I can’t fight?”
She groaned. He was right. She didn’t want to deal with that. If he ended up getting murdered, it would be her fault. Traditionally, handcuffed men didn’t fare too well in fights against men with guns.
“Give me your word you won’t run off again.”
“I already learned my lesson about that,” he declared. “Trust me, I’ll be sticking near you.”
She hesitated. All her training told her to ignore his pleas and keep him locked up, but all her heart was telling her to trust him. If he’d wanted to kill her, he would have done it back at the car. She’d been pretty well helpless for a brief time. “Fine. We need to work together if we’re going to get out of here anyway.”
She unlocked him. The shackles dropped to the ground with a pleasing clink. For just a moment, she wondered if she’d made a mistake, but all he did was rub his wrists and stretch. “That’s better!”
