Moving Target

by Desiree Holt

  Fifteen minutes later, he slid into the diner booth opposite Pendera, waving away the hovering waitress. “What’s so urgent I had to drop everything?”

  “I managed to overhear a conversation this morning that everyone needs to know about.”

  “Yeah? How did that happen when you haven’t been able to find out squat up until now?”

  Pendera took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “Fortune smiled on me. By some circumstance, I happened to be outside Kane Barton’s door when he was having a phone call with someone. A man named Quinn.”

  “God damn it,” Peter muttered, barely restraining himself from banging his fist on the table. “I’d like to kill that fucker myself. Go on.”

  “Thank God the walls in the building are paper thin.” Nervously, he repeated the subsequent conversation he’d heard Barton have with Jake Garza and Dean Morgan. “I left as quickly as I could, without raising suspicion, and called you. So what do you think? Is this what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes.” Peter wished he’d agreed to meet in a bar. He wanted a drink in the worst way. “If we don’t grab the woman before she steps into their office, they’ll have the goddamn flash drive and we’ll be in deep shit. And it doesn’t look like we’ll have any luck locating the man she’s with beforehand. Damn it all to hell anyway.”

  Peter drew in a long breath. He was losing it, and he couldn’t afford to do that. Not now. He was silent for a moment, turning everything over in his mind. He punched a number into his cell.

  “Salazar? I have a job for you. Meet me at Esai’s in half an hour.” He snapped his phone shut, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Efron. You’re sure Quinn is bringing the girl in at seven tonight? Your information is correct?”

  “Yes. Right into the garage and up in Barton’s private elevator.”

  “All right. I don’t like it, but I’ll have to take her there. It will be the only time she’s exposed. We can’t let her get to that meeting.” He opened a paper napkin. “Draw me a diagram of the garage.”

  Pendera shook his head. “Pedro, that won’t work. It’s impossible to get someone in there. There are guards everywhere. And cameras.”

  “Not everywhere, pendejo. How do the janitors dump the trash?”

  Efron stared into his coffee cup. It was obvious he didn’t want to do this.

  “Efron?” Peter’s voice was soft, but the tone lethal. “Don’t fuck with me on this.”

  “There’s a side door by the dumpster. It’s also used as an emergency exit.”

  “No guard? Easy access?”

  “You need a key card to open it. A guard opens it for the cleaning crew.”

  “And you have such a card, don’t you, amigo?”

  Pendera squirmed under the steady gaze. “Yes.”

  “Hand it over.” He stretched out he his hand.

  “Peter, I can’t…”

  Peter snapped his fingers. “The card. Now.”

  Sweating profusely, Pendera pulled the key card from his wallet and dropped it into Peter’s hand. He had to make two tries, he was shaking so badly.

  “Now the keys to your car.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll get them back to you. Don’t worry.” Because you aren’t ever going to need them again. “Be sure you’re inside that door at six-thirty just in case. You hear me?”

  Pendera stared. “Yes. I hear you.” He looked as if he also heard the bells of doom clanging in his head.

  “Go back to work. Act natural. Don’t screw this up.”

  He dropped dollar bills on the table to pay for the coffee and walked away.

  ****

  Quinn left the house early enough to take several detours before actually heading downtown. They were well east of Windswept before he picked up the Interstate. One or two times he thought he spotted a tail, but then the car veered in another direction.

  “Probably someone going home,” he told Kate. “I’m just making sure.”

  If the Hill Country was a pioneer woman draped in earth tones, San Antonio was a laughing senorita in a riotous explosion of color—vivid reds and yellows and blues that tantalized the senses. The city was full of life and rich in history, from the winding San Antonio River to the Mexican Marketplace to the Alamo, the famous Cradle of Liberty. It was a blend of cultures, of personalities, a throbbing life force, that wrapped you in its flowing cape and challenged you to embrace it.

  The streets were crowded with people in colorful attire, tourists and residents alike out for an evening’s festivities. The faint sounds of a mariachi band drifted up from the Riverwalk below, punctuated by the laughter of the pedestrians. Horns honked as cars negotiated turns, and bells dinged as the bicycle police pedaled their routes.

  “I’d love to be able to really see the city sometime,” Kate said wistfully, as they wound their way through the streets. “It all looks so exciting.”

  “San Antonio is a wonderful place,” Quinn told her. “I used to spend a lot of time down here. The restaurants are great, and there’s always something going on.” His face tightened. “Lisa and Nikki used to love eating right by the water, then riding on one of the sightseeing barges.”

  Kate reached over and touched his arm. “I’m so very sorry about what happened.” What else could she say?

  “It’s all right.” He moved her hand from his arm and curled his big one around it. “At least now you’ve freed me to talk about them.”

  Kate studied his beautiful face, the angular planes, the square jaw, the eyes like onyx framed with thick lashes, all capped with that silky midnight hair. She wanted to memorize it in case something happened. When she reached up and touched his cheek, tracing the line of his cheekbone, he took her hand again and kissed her palm.

  “I’ll say it again, Kate. Everything will be fine. We’re on the right track here.”

  “God, I’ll be glad when this is over.” She leaned her head back against the seat.

  “Just a little while longer. Then at least tonight will be out of the way.”

  The guard at the garage entrance called upstairs for Kane’s okay, then waved them through.

  “Mr. Barton says Mr. Garza will meet you at the elevator,” he told them. “He said you know where it is.”

  “Thanks.” Quinn drove on into the concrete cavern.

  They parked in a slot right next to the elevator just as the doors opened and Jake emerged. Quinn jumped down from the truck cab as Kate released the catch on her seatbelt and gathered her purse. The men shook hands.

  “We’re all set upstairs,” Jake said. “Everyone’s waiting.” Then, noting Quinn’s sport shirt worn loose rather than tucked in, added, “Is that shirt hiding what I think it is? You can’t take your guns upstairs, Quinn. You know better than that. Besides—” He opened his jacket. “—I’m carrying and so is Dean.”

  “I know. I just feel naked without them. And I want to make sure we give Kate all the protection possible.” He grinned. “It was worth a shot.”

  “Well, stash them away, and let’s move. I don’t want to stand here any longer than possible.”

  Quinn pulled the gun out of his waistband at the small of his back. Kate opened her door and turned to exit the truck, and Jake headed toward the truck to help her as Quinn bent down to put his gun in the box under his seat. A soft thunk! sounded, and the driver’s side window shattered.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As soon as he heard it, Quinn recognized it for what it was. A shot from a weapon with a silencer. He whirled in a crouching stance, gun still gripped in his hand.

  “Down!” he shouted. “Kate, get down.”

  He looked only long enough to see that Kate wasn’t visible and Jake had pressed himself against the alcove wall, gun in hand. Eyes swiveling, Quinn searched for the source of the shot.

  “Won’t need a gun?” he hollered to Jake.

  He started to rise from his crouch when he heard another soft thunk and something pinged on the metal of
the truck right next to him.

  “A silencer,” he yelled. “Shots coming from the cars behind the elevator.”

  Jake, still using the alcove for cover, had his cell phone out. “I’m calling upstairs. Don’t take any chances.”

  Using the parked cars as shields, Quinn moved to the other side of the elevator housing. Two more bullets zinged over his head, and he fired in their direction. Then he heard a motor turn over and a door slam. Tires squealed as a car backed out of a space just up ahead and burned rubber toward the exit. Quinn stood up and fired three more shots at the retreating vehicle. He had the satisfaction of seeing glass shatter, but then the car was gone.

  Shoving his gun back into the waistband of his pants, he ran back to his truck.

  “Are you okay?” he asked Jake.

  Garza, holding his cell phone to his ear, nodded.

  “Kate?” he called as he came around the truck. “You can stand up now, darlin’. It’s okay.”

  No one answered him. When he reached the passenger side of the truck, his heart stopped beating. Kate lay crumpled on the floor, one arm outstretched, a pool of blood widening beneath her.

  “Call for paramedics,” Quinn shouted to Jake as he knelt beside her, hands searching for the wound. “Tell them to get their asses here right now.”

  The hours after that were a kaleidoscope of activities for Quinn, time shrinking and expanding. The shooting had barely stopped before the elevator doors opened and several men pounded out into the garage. Two of them were security guards with guns drawn, but Jake shook his head at them. Whoever had done this was long gone. Kane Barton and Dean Morgan crouched beside Quinn as he tried to assess Kate’s condition and find the source of the bleeding.

  “EMTs are on the way,” Kane said. “Where’s she hit?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He was afraid to turn her over, afraid not to. Gingerly, he rolled her toward him, saw the blood flowing from her arm and her side. He yanked his handkerchief from his pocket, bunched up her blouse and pressed it against her side, the source of the greatest bleeding. Holding it tightly, he blinked at the tears clouding his eyes. Everything in the garage receded except for him and Kate, lying there so small and white, covered in blood.

  “Kate? Darlin’? Can you hear me?”

  I promised to protect her. If she dies, it’s my fault. Shit, shit, shit. Not again. Please God, not again. Don’t let me fail twice.

  Tires screeched as vehicles roared into the garage. Heavy footsteps sounded next to him. He felt a hand on his arm and shook it off.

  “Quinn.” Jake’s voice, solid and steady. “The paramedics are here.”

  Quinn didn’t move or make any sign of acknowledgment.

  “Quinn. Damn it, let them get to her.”

  More hands, pulling him away as two strangers in blue coveralls took his place beside Kate.

  Voices, floating around him.

  “Get a tourniquet and pressure packs on her.”

  “She’s shocky. Start an IV drip now. Get the high-flow oxygen going.”

  “Call the hospital. I’ve got the patches on for the EKG. Tell them to stand by for her vitals.”

  Quinn loomed over them. “What is it? What’s going on? Damn it, someone tell me something.”

  “She’s bleeding a lot,” one of the EMTs said. “She’s lucky, it’s not arterial blood. But the bullet’s still in her, and we don’t know what damage it did. We need to get her to the hospital right away.”

  “Kate.” Oh, god. The pain he felt was like a knife to his heart.

  “They’re taking care of her.” Jake’s voice. Soft. Kind. Reassuring.

  More people arriving. Men in suits, in casual clothes, in police uniforms. Kane Barton, looking like a thunderhead, issuing orders in a harsh voice.

  Quinn shook his head to clear it, then barged his way into the ambulance. “I’m riding with her.”

  No one was about to argue with him.

  Images piled on each other in his brain. The wild ride to the hospital, sirens screaming. Jogging beside the stretcher as they wheeled Kate into emergency. Protesting violently when they insisted he wait outside the treatment area.

  The normal activities of the hospital swirled and eddied around him, but he might have been in an isolation room for all the attention he paid to it. Jake, Dean, and Kane found him pacing the corridor in the trauma area, muttering curses under his breath.

  “How is she?” Dean asked.

  “I don’t know. They won’t tell me a damn thing. God.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “How in hell did this happen? How did I let it happen?”

  “No one let anything happen,” Jake stated. “What I’d like to know is how someone knew you guys were coming and when? We didn’t discuss it with anyone.”

  “There’s a leak somewhere,” Quinn said and turned to Kane. “This is exactly what Kate tried to tell you. What she was afraid of. None of you took it seriously. Well, it’s serious now. You’d better fix it quick, damn it.”

  A doctor emerged from the treatment room, searching for someone, and Quinn stepped forward.

  “What’s happening?” he demanded.

  “I’m Dr. Halsey. Are you with the young woman just brought in?”

  “Yes. I want to know what her condition is.”

  “Are you family?”

  “I’m her fiancé.” Quinn gritted his teeth, ignoring the shocked faces around him.

  “All right. We’ve got her stabilized, but the bullet’s still inside her, and we’ve got to get it out. I’ve called for a surgeon.”

  “But she’ll be all right.” A statement. A question would bring answers he wasn’t ready to hear.

  “I think so, but we can’t tell any more than that until we get her in surgery. Can you sign the consent forms for her?”

  “Yes. Give them to me.” He grabbed the clipboard and scrawled his signature.

  A man in green scrubs jogged down the hall and joined them. “I’m Dr. DeWitt, the surgeon.” He nodded at Halsey. “We’re all set upstairs. Let’s go.”

  Quinn saw that two uniformed officers had arrived and were now stationed on either side of the treatment room entrance.

  “They’ll be on guard outside the operating area and Recovery,” Kane told him, “and then outside her room. I cleared it with the hospital, then called SAPD, and they were only too happy to help. I could have put agents on the door, but I figured the uniforms look scarier if someone gets ideas.”

  “Did anyone see anything? Hear anything? Did you check the guard logs at the garage entrance?” Quinn asked, raking his hands through his hair.

  Trust me, I told her. I’ll take care of you. Damn, damn, damn.

  Dean nodded. “Nothing. No one who shouldn’t be there.”

  “Then how the hell did he get in?” Images of Lisa and Nikki on the sidewalk flashed through his mind, then the picture of Kate lying bloody on the concrete. Not again. God, please don’t let it happen again.

  “You can bet I’ll find out.” Kane Barton loomed over them, his voice tight with rage.

  “This is my fault,” Quinn raged, sick with guilt. “I talked her into doing this. I told her I’d protect her, and now she’s nearly dead because of me.”

  “Hey.” Jake was beside him, one hand gripping his shoulder. “This is nobody’s fault. We knew they were narrowing their search. We just didn’t expect it in our own garage. Don’t beat yourself up over it. And she’s going to be fine. Believe it.”

  The doors to the treatment room opened and scrub-clad figures wheeled a gurney out. Quinn homed in on it, ignoring people who tried to brush him aside, taking Kate’s small, cold hand in his own, trotting along as they moved rapidly down the hall. He felt sick as his eyes raked over her white face, the IVs running into her system, the various instruments attached to monitor her.

  “I think she’ll be okay,” Dr. DeWitt said as they jogged along beside the gurney. “But we need to get her in the OR right now. Don’t hold us up, okay
?”

  They let Quinn ride up with them in the elevator, but when huge double doors swung open, they wheeled Kate through, and he was left alone again. He turned as a second elevator opened, the two cops from downstairs taking up their places outside the operating suite. Kane, Jake, and Dean were right behind them.

  “Let’s go sit over there,” Dean said, gesturing toward a cluster of molded plastic chairs at the end of the hall. “Come on.”

  “I can’t sit.” Quinn shook off the man’s arm.

  “You can’t do her any good pacing the floor, either,” Kane said. “Let’s at least put our time to good use and see if we can make sense out of this.”

  Reluctantly, Quinn nodded and followed them to the waiting area.

  “I didn’t even get to tell you it’s nice to see you again, Quinn,” Kane began. “We’ve missed you. Sorry for the hardass attitude about this, but you have no idea the magnitude of this case. Or the reach of this organization.”

  “This is why I didn’t want to bring her into town,” he reminded his former boss, his gut twisted in agony.

  “I think, on this one, it wouldn’t have mattered where you were. If they wanted her, they were going to do their damnedest to get her.”

  Exactly what Jake had said, last night and today.

  Before Kane could say more, another crowd of men tramped off the elevator, some in suits and ties, others in jeans and polo shirts. Quinn recognized a few of them from the garage. Kane and Dean went to meet them.

  “The guys on the Strike Force,” Jake told him in a low voice. “Some of them were at the office. The others were contacted at home. Kane’s going to meet with Noah and Clay, and they’ll be making assignments ASAP.” He looked at his friend. “We need to get you a change of clothes.”

  Quinn glanced down at himself. His shirt and T-shirt were soaked with blood. Kate’s blood. Her life, seeping onto him as he’d held her in his arms. Terror gripped him all over again. Could she lose this much blood and still be all right?

  He shook his head. “I’m not leaving here.”

  “I know. I know.” Jake sighed. “All right. Let me see what I can do.”

  He got up and walked down the hall.