by Jo Davis
“Tio!” Michael shouted, bringing up his own gun. The man spun, and Michael did on pure, honed reflex what he was trained to do.
He blew the motherfucker’s brains out.
Lowering the weapon, he reholstered it and jogged to Bastian, avoiding the human feces that used to be Tio. He dropped to his knees. Even in the darkness, he knew his friend was in bad shape.
One leg of Bastian’s jeans was saturated with blood, as was his face. He wasn’t moving or making a sound. Reaching out, Michael placed two shaking fingers to his neck and found a weak pulse.
“Oh, my God.” He ran a trembling hand over his friend’s hair. “Bastian? It’s me. Christ, please don’t leave me. Hang on, help is coming.”
And it was taking too long. Fishing in his jeans, he retrieved his pocketknife, flipped it open, and used it to split the seam of Bastian’s bloody pant leg as far as he could without cutting flesh, then used his hands to rip the material all the way to his thigh. Peering at the wound, he saw a dark stream of blood pouring steadily from the hole. Not pumping in a full-fledged arterial spray, but losing too much all the same.
Working fast, he cut the torn denim into a long strip and cut it free. Then he wrapped it around Bastian’s thigh, tying it as tight as possible in a makeshift tourniquet. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all he could do.
A sound had him reaching for his gun, but it was just Ozzie sprinting toward him. “How bad is he?”
“Pretty bad,” he said, voice rough. His throat burned, but he had to keep it together in front of his men. “I think the bastard got an artery. What’s McKay’s ETA?”
“Seven.”
“That’s too long.”
“I know, but the nearest hospital is fifteen, even if we took him to the van and drove him in ourselves. And with the gunshot wound, there’s the mandatory reporting.”
“I don’t care about the red tape with the cops if it means Bastian survives,” he snapped.
“Our way is still quicker. McKay is bringing the helicopter and setting it down about a mile from here. One of our men is meeting him, driving him here. They’ll stabilize Bastian, take him back to the copter.”
Michael nodded. The helicopter would whisk his friend back to the compound, shaving off crucial minutes. Time Bastian didn’t have to spare.
He wanted to pull Bastian into his arms, but didn’t dare risk moving him. He longed to tell the other man just how much he meant to him, beg for forgiveness, and now it might be too late.
At last, a vehicle stopped at the mouth of the alley. Four men came into view; one was an agent, and the other three were McKay, a male nurse carrying a backboard, and another doctor named Rhodes.
“Come on,” Ozzie said, tugging Michael’s sleeve gently. “Let’s get out of their way.”
Reluctantly, he stood and moved back, half-frozen. Katrina was half of his heart . . . but the other half was pouring his life onto the filthy pavement, unaware that Michael’s soul was screaming in agony. That he’d give anything for Bastian to survive, smile at him again. Give him another chance.
Give the three of them a chance.
“I can’t do much for him here,” McKay said grimly. “We need to transport now.”
The doctors transferred him carefully to the backboard, strapped him down. They lifted their burden and headed back to their vehicle at a steady clip, the nurse holding the IV bag aloft. At the mouth of the alley, Michael started to climb into the van with them, but McKay shook his head.
“There’s no room for you in the helicopter. I’m sorry, Michael. Follow us, and I’ll let you know something as soon as I can.”
“I understand,” he murmured. “Take care of him, Taylor.”
“I will.”
And then the vehicle roared away, leaving him staring after it, a ragged hole in his chest where his heart should be. Was this how Bastian had felt after Michael had been shot? Like his whole world hung in the balance, as though he’d been plunged into hell?
“Michael,” Ozzie said softly. “Come on, man. He’ll be in surgery by the time we get there, and I’m sure we’ll know something soon after that. I’ll have someone from the cleanup crew give Willis a ride back from the motel.”
He shook himself. “Okay.”
On the interminable ride to the compound, Michael’s phone rang. It was Willis.
“Boss, we got that kid, Cory. Kelly picked him up and is taking him to the compound. We figured he wasn’t safe going home with Dietz still out there.”
“Good,” he said numbly. “You guys did exactly right. Take him to one of the empty living quarters and let him get some sleep. We’ll figure out tomorrow what the hell to do with him.”
Michael knew what he’d like to do to him, especially after listening to the little shit service Bastian—enthusiastically—for hours on end. And then the naive brat almost fell for Dietz’s trick. Even though the kid had wised up in time to redeem himself, he might have cost Bastian his life, anyway.
“Got it, boss.” Willis ended the call.
Immediately, Michael placed a call of his own. Katrina answered on the third ring.
“Hey, you! Is the stakeout over? This was the last night, right?”
“Yeah. Um, listen, baby. Bastian . . .” To his horror, his voice broke.
“What is it? What’s happened?” she demanded in alarm.
“One of Dietz’s men got to him. Can you meet me at the compound’s hospital?” His teeth chattered and he started to shiver. Delayed reaction.
“Oh, Michael,” she breathed. “I’m on my way. Hang in there, honey.”
“Yeah.”
Ending the call, he stared at the blur of lights whizzing past and prayed harder than he ever had. Which was saying something, because he’d never been a praying man.
Tonight, he was making an exception. On his knees, if necessary.
Please, God, don’t take him from me. From us.
Katrina grabbed her purse and keys and hit the door, uncaring that she wore only a pair of well-loved sweat pants, a T-shirt that stated YOU CALL ME “BITCH” LIKE IT’S A BAD THING, and running shoes. She’d gone for a walk earlier and was just about to take a long, hot bath when Michael phoned.
One of Dietz’s men got to him.
The heartbreak and terror in his voice got her moving, fast. She’d paused only long enough to make sure she had her ID badge for entry to the compound.
All the way there, she wished she’d asked for a few more details. Her mind was spinning with all of the possible scenarios, each one more horrible than the last. Three weeks, and not a single appearance from Dietz. The guys were ready to scrap this op. What the hell had gone wrong?
Okay, enough. No use speculating. She had no choice but to be patient and get the story later. One thing was for sure: tonight effectively put an end to her argument with Michael over her moving to his estate. She’d claimed that such a move would clue in Dietz as to their relationship. He’d countered that the asshole might know already, and she’d be safer at his place. Now Michael would get his way.
She wasn’t so sure she minded. Hell, she was at his place more often than not. Which, if she was honest, was in no way a hardship.
At the compound, she found a close parking spot and rushed inside. Took the elevator to the fourth floor, vibrating with impatience. The second the doors slid open, she sprinted down the corridor to the hospital and pushed inside. As she approached the receptionist, she tried to be calm and polite though she felt anything but.
“Could you tell me where Mr. Ross is waiting? He’s expecting me.”
“Through those doors, dear. He’s in the private waiting room, second door on the right.”
“Thank you.”
She forced herself to slow her steps, to project calm strength despite her fear. If she barged in panicking, that wouldn’t do Michael any good. Pausing outside the door, she took a deep breath and pushed inside.
Michael was sitting in one of the padded vinyl chairs, elbows on
his knees, face buried in his hands. As she approached, her serene facade evaporated.
Michael was crying.
Tears dripped off his chin and his shoulders shook. He was pulled into himself so tightly, as if afraid he’d fly apart. “Michael?”
His head jerked up and it took him a couple of seconds to process that it was her. His face was ravaged, eyes red. Dark stains were drying on his shirt, the knees of his jeans. Blood. He rose, visibly attempting to pull himself together, and then his face crumpled, his arms reaching out.
“Katrina . . .”
Launching herself into his arms, she enveloped him in her embrace, held on. He clung to her and she stroked his back, rubbing in soothing circles. “Shh, I’m here. Right here, with you.”
She kept talking, mostly nonsense. She’d never been good at this sort of thing—comforting another person in a terrible situation—but this felt right. Natural. Michael was hers, and she wanted more than anything for Bastian to be, as well.
“He was shot and beaten,” Michael said, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a sob. “The bullet hit his thigh and he was bleeding out. They’re in there trying to save him.”
God, no. “They will. We have to believe that.”
“Rhodes came out a few minutes ago. They had to restart his heart, give him lots of blood to replace what he lost.”
“He’s strong. He’ll make it.” Please.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Just let me hold you.”
“This must’ve been how he felt. When it was me, in there. And I didn’t understand what he went through until now.” He paused. “Do you think he knows?”
“That you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Deep down, he probably does. But you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”
“I swear I will.” Pulling back a bit, he gazed into her eyes, more serious than she’d ever seen him. Even for Michael. “I love you, too, baby. It’s newer, but it’s there. I want you to know that, because it seems time is so short. . . .”
“I do know,” she assured him, soul lightening some in spite of the agonizing wait. “I feel it, too.”
“Why have I been so stupid? So stubborn? I’ve wasted all this time, and now he might—”
“No. We’re not going to think the worst,” she said firmly. “Let’s sit down, and I want you to tell me what happened.” Maybe if she got him into agent mode he’d have something to grab onto, be able to pull it together. A scattered, devastated Michael frightened her more than she’d ever dreamed possible.
“That kid, Cory. The one Bastian has been seeing. Dietz got to the kid, fed him a story about how Dietz was FBI and Bastian was a criminal they were after.” Michael gave a bitter laugh. “Can you believe that shit? Our Bastian, a fugitive? But the whelp bought it and agreed to get Bastian to the hotel tonight so the FBI could collar him. Dietz had promised the kid five grand for his cooperation.”
“I’m sure Dietz made it sound legit. He likely even had authentic-looking FBI identification.”
“Probably. Anyway, we kept listening after Bastian said to call off the op. A gut feeling on my part, I guess. We heard Cory get suspicious of the story he’d been fed, and finally confess his role to Bastian. They got out of the motel room, but Dietz’s men arrived. Cory got away and called our private emergency number. Bastian killed one of the two men Dietz sent, but was shot in the thigh. He ran, and Dietz’s main henchman, Tio, pursued. He cornered Bastian, beat the hell out of him, and was about to shoot him in the head when I got there.”
“And you stopped him.”
“I blew the bastard’s fucking brains out.”
“Good,” she said fiercely. “I’m glad.”
He nodded and fell silent, but kept a tight hold of her hand. Relating the story had done the job, giving him the chance to compose himself. She didn’t have to be told how important appearing strong was to a man like Michael. Even if she knew the truth.
He was a kind man with a huge capacity for love. For hurt and grief. He might not want anyone to know, but Katrina did.
And that just made her fall deeper in love with him than ever.
Ten
Almost three hours with no word. Ozzie and Willis had arrived a couple of hours ago, and all three men had finally succumbed to exhaustion and were dozing in their chairs.
Next to Michael, Katrina was listening to his even breathing when McKay walked in and gave her a small smile. “Shall we wake up these guys? I have some news that will put their minds at ease.”
“Thank God,” she said. Turning, she gently shook Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, sweetie? Wake up. Michael?”
He stirred, blinked. “What?”
“Taylor has news.” She nudged Ozzie’s foot with her toe. “Guys, wake up.”
The three men straightened, coming instantly awake when they saw McKay standing there. Michael gripped Katrina’s hand.
“How is he?”
McKay’s gaze swept them all. “Barring any further complications, he’s going to completely recover.” His tone was guarded but optimistic. “He’s critical but stable. I expect to be able to move him out of intensive care tomorrow.”
Collective relief sucked all the tension from the room like a giant vacuum. Now that the main fear was behind them, Katrina imagined they were all like balloons deflating. Terror had been their air, and now there wasn’t much to hold them up, tired as they were.
“Thank Christ,” Michael whispered, running a hand through his hair.
“Bastian was very lucky,” McKay continued. “He was beaten, but sustained no serious internal injuries. He does have a concussion from a blow to his temple, but no sign of swelling on his brain. The nicked femoral artery was the life-threatening injury, and it has been successfully repaired.”
“How long until he’s recovered?” Katrina asked.
“A couple of weeks. He’s going to be sore as hell for a few days and he’ll need to take it easy on that leg, but he’s in great physical condition, which will speed healing.” McKay paused. “My main concern at this point is who will see to his care once I release him. I believe Bastian lives alone.”
“He’ll be coming home with me,” Michael said firmly. “He’ll have all the care he needs.”
“All right. He’ll be on pain meds and antibiotics. I’ll make sure he has plenty of both when he leaves here, which should be in a couple of days.”
Michael stood. “Can we see him?”
“For a few minutes—just two people at a time. He won’t know you’re there, anyway. After that, go home and get some rest. I’m here all night and I’ll keep a close eye on him.”
“Doc, thanks for everything.” Michael stuck out his hand and McKay shook it.
“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” He nodded at the others. “See you all later.”
After the doctor left, Ozzie spoke up. “Why don’t you two go first?”
Michael didn’t argue, just led Katrina out of the room and down the hallway toward a set of double doors marked INTENSIVE CARE UNIT. Katrina had never been back there before, and after Bastian was released, she hoped she never had cause to visit again. Especially when they walked into their friend’s cubicle and she got a good look at him.
She didn’t know how it was possible for anyone to be that pale and still have a pulse. The ugly purple knot on the side of his head stood in stark contrast to the surrounding white skin. The bruises hidden by his gown must be just as bad. His breathing was so shallow, his chest barely moved, but at least he was managing on his own.
“God,” Michael rasped, moving to his friend’s side. “He looks . . .”
“I know. But he’s not.” She went to stand on the other side of the bed and laid a hand on Bastian’s, careful to avoid the IV needle. “He’s going to be fine.”
“He almost died.” His jaw clenched, rage warring with love as he gazed down at Bastian. “I haven’t made good on my promise yet, but I will. I swear I’m going to fin
d that foul piece of shit and I’m going to kill him. Whatever it takes.”
“He knows,” she said softly. “But what he needs most is TLC. I vote we make sure he gets plenty of that.”
Michael raised dark eyes to hers. “I couldn’t agree more.”
A knock interrupted and Ozzie strode inside, a clear plastic bag in hand. “Boss? I’ve got something to show you.” He thrust it at Michael, who took it.
“A motel card key,” he said, peering at the object inside. “From the Rest Right out on I-35.”
“The cleanup crew found that in Tio’s wallet.”
His entire body stiffened and his eyes hardened. “Are we ready to roll?”
“Damned straight. You coming?”
“Try to stop me.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
Michael started out, pausing long enough to give Katrina a quick kiss. “I’ll have Simon send the car for you. You’ll go to my place and stay there, and we’ll worry about your stuff later. I don’t want any more arguments about this.”
“You won’t get any,” she assured him. “I’m stubborn, not stupid.” She wasn’t about to make herself a target for Dietz because of foolish pride.
“I’ll see you at home.”
He walked out with Ozzie and she stared after him, the word “home” making her feel fuzzy and strange, but good. Great, actually. She was about to share her life with two exciting, dynamic men, if Bastian was willing to give it a shot.
She, for one, was going to do her part to convince him.
“Save your strength, handsome,” she told his sleeping form. “With any luck, you’ll need it.”
The cold rage twisting Michael’s insides needed an outlet. One in the shape of a tall, sandy-haired, average-looking man who was really Satan in disguise. For months, he’d done nothing but dream of creative ways to kill Dietz, prolonging the torture indefinitely. In reality, he’d probably have to settle for a method far quicker and less satisfying, but at least the vermin would be out of everyone’s misery.
At the motel, Michael and a handful of agents converged on the room registered to Tio under a false name. Surely they’d catch a break this time.
