Head to the side, she breathed in the scent of smoke, charred wood, propane, all mixed with pine and wet snow stuffed up her nose. Hands roamed her body and lit on a tender spot on the back of her head. She cried out.
"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here, and I'm so sorry." Emmet rolled her onto her back.
His form swam in front of her. A few blinks brought him into focus and the flames behind him.
“Get her out of here!” A deep voice shouted, one she recognized.
Emmet lifted her into his arms, but she fought him. “I’m fine.” Even she recognized she slurred her words.
“Shhh!” Emmet cradled her, and she nestled into his chest. She drew in his comfort and was desperate for more. Shots came from somewhere. Everyone ducked. “Let’s go.”
“I’m staying.”
There was that voice again, familiar, yet distant. She pushed away from Emmet’s chest to see her father standing defiantly in front of the smoldering remains of the chalet.
“We’ve overstayed our welcome. Let’s go.”
“He’s here! I’m not leaving without his head.” Hank started toward the house with Whiskey next to him.
“Hank,” she called out, only to have him ignore her. “Hank!” She shoved off from Emmet, forcing him to let her stand.
Without her to carry, Emmet palmed a gun. “Damn it, Hank, answer her.”
“Dad!”
He stopped and turned a quarter. Their gazes locked. And for a precious moment, he saw her. Then continued on his way. She’d waited years for him to see her again, he did exactly what she’d expected, he turned away. Damn, if it was a dull knife in her heart.
Emmet grabbed her hand and yanked her away. She stumbled but caught herself before landing in the snow. Gunfire whizzed past them. She ducked but kept moving with Emmet leading the way.
He returned fire until an explosion lit up the trees. And another one. And another one. Screams filled the air and more gunfire. "Keep running! The landmines are working," Emmet ordered.
Her stomach heaved, and she gagged on the vomit crawling up her throat.
“We can’t stop.”
She hadn’t realized she had stopped till Emmet threw her over his shoulder. She spewed but thank God, she didn’t have much in her stomach. Someone came out of the woods behind them. No time for a warning, she pulled the gun tucked into the small of Emmet’s back and fired. She got two rounds off when Emmet spun and followed up with two more.
A blur in her peripheral caught her attention too late to shout a warning. A body slammed into them. Bailey went flying. At the last second, she tucked her knees into her chest and landed in a snowbank at the base of a tree.
She rolled out of the snow in time to see Emmet, his arm wrapped around a man’s neck in an unbreakable headlock. One brutal twist and the snap reverberated until another explosion rocked the house.
He flung his assailant away and, breathing heavily, stalked over to her and pulled her to her feet. He studied her as she wobbled on her feet, then hoisted her onto his shoulder again.
Bouncing along, the dry heave returned. By the time he dropped her to her feet, she was groggy, and her head wanted to come off her shoulders and walk away. She reached up, trying to keep it on her shoulders. Her hands came away bloody.
She couldn’t breathe, there wasn’t enough air.
She was on her feet only for a few seconds while he yanked the camouflage off the snowmobile and dumped her on the seat. A shot echoed, and Emmet grunted. He leaned heavily into her yet gunned the engine of the snowmobile and took off.
Behind her, the sounds of gunfire and explosions continued. All that planning and they were running away, leaving carnage, and leaving Hank to his death.
Chapter Eighteen
Blink.
The dim interior of a trailer lit by the neon blue of a lot of electronics swam into focus. Men shouting, their voices heated, yet Bailey shivered from the cold. Their identities she couldn't discern. The fog clouding her mind prevented it, and when she tried to force it, darkness swallowed her.
Blink.
Same trailer, but they were moving, bumping along a pitted road. Emmet sat on a stool, back bowed and crimson from the blood covering his tanned skin. Elbows braced on his knees, someone stitched up a wound on his back, a large wound that needed a doctor and a hospital, not someone with passing knowledge and a spare sewing kit.
Muscles tense, his face tight from the pain, he gritted his teeth, yet uttered not a single sound, until she groaned. His head whipped around and those blue eyes of his landed on her with the force of a freight train. He pushed away from the man stitching him up and came to her, but she couldn't hold on. Darkness was a cool, comfortable blanket she couldn't fight.
Blink.
A light pierced the soothing cocoon surrounding her and stabbed deep into her brain. She flinched and tried to pull away but had nowhere to go.
“What’s your name?” a man said, elderly by the tone, Swiss by the accent.
“Bail—”
“Ask another question. Her name, you don’t need to know,” Emmet demanded with no room for argument.
Bailey managed to open her eyes and focus on the short, gray-haired gentleman in front of her. But she wanted to see Emmet.
“Yes, of course.” His jowls trembled as his head bobbed up and down. “Miss, what month is it?”
“February,” she said through a dry throat.
“Good. What color are your eyes?”
“Blue.” Dizzy, she forced a quick glance at her surroundings. They were in a small hotel room. White walls, functional furniture, it was clean and neat. No frills.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.” She forced through a bout of nausea.
“And, where are you?”
Not quite sure, she paused. How much time had passed since the explosion? “I was in Switzerland.”
"Good." He took her hands. "Now, squeeze as hard as you can." She did as she was told and earned a grin and another "Good." He looked over her shoulder. "She has a concussion, but her pupils are reactive, and she's cognizant of herself and her surroundings. Standard procedure dictates a CAT scan and an overnight hospital stay—"
“Unless she is dying, that’s not happening.”
The doctor’s—Bailey took a guess that was his title—eyes widened. “S-she’s not dying; however, without a CAT scan I cannot guarantee that won’t happen.”
“We’ll take the risk.” Emmet came into view. Dressed in jeans and a white tee, he grabbed the elderly man by the back of his button-down shirt, shoved a thick stack of bills into the man's hand, and bodily led him to the door.
“We’ll take the risk?” she echoed, her vision blurry again as he rushed back to her. “I want to go to a hospital.”
“We can’t, at least not a hospital in Switzerland.” He helped her into a seated position.
“Why?” She winced from the throbbing pain in her head and instinctively reached to soothe the ache. Her fingers brushed against gauze tapped near the back of her head. “W-what—why?”
He took her hand and moved it away. “It’s not as bad as it feels.”
He should know since he had his own scar on his back. “Why can’t we go to a hospital?”
“Because Rogers is still out there, babe, and I have to get you away.” His hand rubbed her back in calming circles.
She closed her eyes and buried her head in his chest. “I’m tired of running.”
His lips brushed her temple. “I know, babe. I’m tired of running too.” He lifted her chin and met her gaze. “We won’t have to run for much longer. I swear it won’t be much longer. You—we—will be free of Rogers and Hank.”
And Hank? That gave her hope. “You promise?”
His lips whispered across hers. "I promise." He slanted his lips over hers, and his familiar taste filled her mouth, then it was gone in a too-brief kiss and, oh, how she missed it.
“We’re getting out of Switzerland. I’m
taking the backroads, which are gonna be brutal on you.”
Propped up under her own power, she watched Emmet reach for a bottle of pills and a bottle of water on the bedside table. He shook out two and twisted the cap off the water. “These are the same pills I slipped you on the plane. They’ll make you sleep, get the rest you need.”
Bailey reared back and shook her head, which made stars dance before her eyes.
He took her in his arms again. “Breathe through it. Slow and easy. I’ve had a few concussions in my life. All you can do is rest and sleep it off. The pills will help you do that.”
Her head hurt like a sonofabitch, but…
“You said you trusted me. If you do, then trust me now.” He placed the pills in her lap. “I won’t force you to take them or trick you, Bailey. It’s up to you.” He rose and went to the window. Body slanted to present a smaller target, he peeked between the blinds.
Bailey shoved the pills into her pocket and pushed to her feet. “Shouldn’t we be on our way?”
He picked up a coat off a chair in the corner and held it open. “It’s from lost and found.”
She shoved her hands in the sleeves. “I’m not picky.” Then stood still as he played nursemaid and zipped it up.
“Stay here. I’ll get a wheelchair.”
“I can walk.”
“Not fast enough.” He hefted a familiar duffle bag onto his shoulder and left. It didn’t take long for him to return with a chair. Bailey parked her butt in the cushioned seat and didn’t complain as he sped through the hotel, even though her stomach rolled from the motion.
He got her to a blue Mercedes, strapped her into the passenger seat, tossed the bag onto the back seat, and drove out of the hotel parking lot at a sedate pace. She flipped down the visor, shielding her from the blinding sun making like an icepick behind her eyes.
“This isn’t so bad. European roads are light years better than American roads.” The pills were unnecessary. She closed her eyes and settled into the plush, heated seat for a comfortable ride.
Which lasted exactly ten minutes by the dashboard clock.
"I warned you we were going off-road," he murmured.
“Don’t be an ass.” She moaned and opened her eyes. She lasted another ten minutes then gave in and reached into her pocket for the pills. They bounced off the back of her throat and went down with a gulp of water. He spared a moment to glance away from the road to study her. “I trust you.”
His smile was quick, then he was all business.
“What happened? I know the house exploded, but I don’t know what happened.”
"Rocket launcher is my best guess," he said dryly. "Not much defense against one of those.
They were all lucky to be alive. She settled deeper into the passenger seat. “You didn’t tell me where we’re going?”
“Not far. Germany. Plan B is in effect.” He checked the mirrors.
“Plan B?” she gritted her teeth through the pain. He nodded once and gave her nothing else. “I suppose there’s a Plan C and D?”
“One plan at a time.”
She didn’t like the way he said that. “Is this your Plan B or Hank’s?”
“It’s our plan.”
She took that to mean Hank's plan, and she had run out of faith on any plan he created. "You keep putting your faith in Hank," she said through a yawn.
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “This isn’t faith. It’s a plan.”
She reclined the seat and found a comfortable spot. “It better work this time, Emmet. I refuse to be blown up again. Understand me.” She mimicked his deep voice, which earned her a chuckle.
“Yeah, I understand. Now, stop talking and go to sleep.”
Not a problem when sleep crept at the corners of her mind. But she had one last question. “Is Hank alive?”
“Yes. He’s alive and fine.”
And he wasn’t here, with his daughter, checking to make sure she was alive.
Chapter Nineteen
The briny sting of the sea had Bailey stretching and peeling open her eyes. She glanced at the clock. Nine hours ago, they’d cleared the border between Switzerland and Germany. One pitstop for food, petrol, and the bathroom, and they were back in the car. Except for the one stop, she slept the entire time. It was the best thing she ever did. While not one hundred percent better, her head had stopped ringing and her stomach no longer heaved every time she moved.
“Where are we?” She adjusted the seat and peered out of the windshield at a postcard picture of a town dusted with a fresh coating of snow, in the distance, a river. He turned down a cobbled street as a church bell rang.
“Hamburg, Germany.”
Hamburg, three hours from Berlin, approximately six and a half hours from Prague. She spent some time tooling around Germany when she was nineteen with Daisy. God, they had a blast.
“We have to dump the car.”
“The university is a mile away. We can dump the car there.” She didn’t ask why they needed to dump their ride. It had to be part of the mysterious Plan B.
His gaze narrowed on her, sharp and assessing. “How do you know about the university?”
“Spent a summer here with Daisy. Not here, but all over Germany and England.”
He snorted which digressed into a dry chuckle. “You and your bestie are trouble magnets. So how much did you get into?”
She tossed him a sly “I’ll never tell” smirk. “A lot. Daisy is the best kind of friend. She’s a ride-or-die bad influence with a heart of gold.”
“I found your phone and the messages you sent her.”
Damn, she thought she’d lost it in the Swiss woods. Now, he had the sly smile. “So, can I have my phone?”
“No.” He pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine.
Not that she expected a different reply, still it irked her.
“Calling her places her in danger. Rogers won't hesitate to use your friend to get to you. Think about that the next time you want to contact her." He exited the car, and she didn't wait for him to be a gentleman. She climbed out under her own steam and took in the bustling streets even on a cold wintry day. Goosebumps ran down her spine and spread outward. They crawled across the front of her body and leeched all the warmth from her body. The thin, donated winter coat wasn't cutting it.
Wrapping her arms tight around her shivering body, she joined him on the sidewalk. “Where to now?”
He slung the duffle bag over his shoulder and said, “Shopping and food. We have some time to kill.”
Time to kill for what, she didn’t ask. Instead, she wedged herself to his side and hustled down the road.
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. “I’d give you my coat, but I’m armed.”
She felt the steel between their bodies. “I’m good. The shopping district is up ahead.” Two more blocks and they struck gold. “Oh! H&M.” Her favorite store during her college days. She grabbed his hand and dragged him inside.
A blast of hot air hit her the moment the sliding doors opened, thawing her frozen bones. She wanted to linger but dare not give in to the temptation. "I'll be quick and grab a coat."
He grinned into her upturned face. “I told you we have the time. Plus, you need everything, and so do I.” His gaze skimmed the half-empty store. “Do your thing, I’m heading to the men’s section.”
“Y-you’re leaving me alone?” She didn’t hide her surprise.
“We’re safe, for now. And by the time it’s not safe, we’ll be gone.” He kissed her temple and headed away.
She didn't buy it. He was up to something, probably had to check in with Hank. She gritted her teeth and forced all her ugly thoughts away. He told her to go shopping, and that's exactly what she planned on doing. Shop.
She snatched up the warmest coat in the store, a reversible blue/red down jacket. Three pairs of fleece-lined jeans and a bunch of sweaters, and socks. She was headed to the lingerie section when she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirr
or. It took concerted effort to avoid all the other mirrors in the store. By the few stares she'd caught, she had a good idea of the hot mess she presented to the world.
Well, you go on the run and get blown up and see how presentable you are to the world.
Ignoring the nosy busybodies, she rounded a corner, and the mirror practically leaped out at her. That may have been an exaggeration. She may have been the only one doing the leaping.
The person staring back at her wasn’t the person who vacationed in Jamaica ten days ago. She’d lost weight, weight she couldn’t afford. Dark smudges under her eyes gave her a gaunt, haunted appearance. The bruise on her jaw made her the poster victim of a domestic abuse flyer. And her hair, let’s just say the white bandage on the side of her head, in the middle of a shaved patch of her black hair, wasn’t a fashion statement.
Emmet came up behind her. He had her by a full head. Their eyes met in the mirror, his questioning. “What are you doing? You’ve been standing here for three minutes.”
Him surveilling her should’ve been disconcerting, not comforting. Also, it wasn’t fair that he was Mr. Rugged with his bruises and scrapes while she doubled as a punching bag. “Should I thank you for not telling me how ragged I look, or slap you for letting me out in public like this?”
His brow furrowed, and his head dropped down to rest on her shoulder. “What are you talking about? You’re beautiful. A scar, a bald spot, a bruise, doesn’t mean shit. You survived an explosion meant to kill you. A bath, a couple of hot meals, and some rest, and you’ll be fine.”
A quick kiss to the side of her neck and he took her hand. “Let’s finish up and get you out of here.”
She pulled him back and brought him down for a lip lock. Sometimes, all it takes is the right words from the right person to see yourself in a new light. He may or may not get how those four sentences propped her up, which made them matter more, because they were sincere, and precisely what she needed. "Thanks."
“For what?”
Bailey shook her head. "Just thanks." She handed him her mesh shopping bag. "I need a few more things, and I'll meet you at the cash register." She headed to the lingerie section and grabbed a pack of functional bikinis when she caught him studying a pretty lacy thong on display. He winked at her and strolled away.
Plain Jane and the Hitman Page 13
