Every cell inside him wanted to scream for her to return the way she’d come.
She stepped into view, behind Matthew, her gun centered on Roden as she sidestepped two upended chairs. Her eyes flicked over Matthew and then back to the man still trying to escape to the main office. “She knew too much and you decided to kill her. She wanted to call the police.”
Roden’s face took on a grayish hue. “I didn’t kill her.”
“Of course you didn’t. You had Ciamitaro do it. How much did you give him to complete the job? Don’t tell me there wasn’t money involved. I can smell crap a mile away.” McKenna’s brow wrinkled. “Did you enjoy faking your sincerity to her grieving widow? Bet you had a good laugh when you had Ciamitaro stage Mr. Gaidies suicide.”
Roden swallowed audibly. “Things got out of hand.”
McKenna nodded as if she were a therapist listening to a patient speak of minor troubles. “What’s the matter? Ciamitaro had plans of his own?”
Roden opened his mouth.
“Shut up,” Birmingham spat at the other man. “Drop your guns.” The sight of his .45 wavered toward McKenna. The stern lines around Birmingham’s eyes softened. The gun in his hand wobbled before he centered it on Jordan once again. Good. He’d take the heat any day.
They never should have come. Any way he thought about it, the outcome wasn’t in their favor. He should have tucked her safely at home.
As if she could read his thoughts, she shook her head. The non-verbalized, wouldn’t work-Bening-I’m-here-get-over-it, hung in the space of those brief seconds.
It calmed him for an ephemeral moment.
Then she shifted her SIG in Birmingham’s direction as she stepped next to Matthew. Something glinted in her right hand as she moved it. “Ciamitaro flew with you to Vegas.”
Birmingham’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s all about being ‘even’ in these situations, isn’t it?” The glint appeared again. Birmingham’s eyes flashed from her gun to her free hand so close to Matthew’s.
“What did you owe him?” Jordan asked.
“Nothing.” Birmingham’s lips formed a thin line, his focus off McKenna’s free hand.
“Why cover for Ciamitaro?”
“He didn’t have a choice,” Matthew said. Some of the color had returned to his face. “He persuaded Ciamitaro to change the complaint and forge her signature. Ever since then, he’s been covering his tracks. One lie building into another.”
“Bet it felt great to give him a taste of his own medicine?” McKenna smiled. “Silence his blackmailing forever. When you found out that I was missing, you knew what he’d done. Was that a part of the plan? You jump in and play hero?” She stepped closer to the monster, her gun unwavering.
It took everything he had not to move a muscle. The roaring of his heart flooded out everything in the room except McKenna. He couldn’t lose her again. Not to the highway miles between them for the last ten years, nor death.
She didn’t look scared. Not his wife. Her eyes stayed glued to Birmingham’s, a calm superiority claiming her posture.
Birmingham stood silent, almost transfixed.
“You called Ciamitaro with that prepaid phone. You found him, beat him, then shot him.” She took another step closer, as if she were walking on thin ice, but knew she wouldn’t fall into the frigid water below.
“And somehow found time to call in a tip to the crime hotline,” Jordan interjected. He tried to keep the anxiety from his voice. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to leave McKenna? No one would have ever known.”
Sweat dotted Birmingham’s upper lip.
“No.” Roden shook his head. “This is all just a big misunderstanding. I couldn’t have Emily go to the police. What happened was in the past. Over.”
“It’s not over.” McKenna threw the object in her hand toward Birmingham, then she stepped to the side. The blade of a swish army knife sliced through the flesh of his left cheek, bounced off a chair behind him and skittered back toward Matthew. Blood oozed down his face. Matthew popped up, the chair still affixed to his left arm as he swung it in the other man’s direction.
Birmingham ducked, but the chair grazed his torso and threw him off balance. He landed on the floor and took aim in his wife’s direction. Jordan didn’t think, he pulled the trigger.
The older man’s body jerked, red blossoming across his left shoulder. “I did you a favor, you ungrateful brat. Both of you.” With his free hand, he grasped the bloody area.
Matthew seized the knife from the floor at his feet and he freed himself with one slice, then tackled a retreating Roden to the ground as he slipped into the outer office.
The crashing of a body on a hard surface echoed into the space.
The distraction enabled Jordan to grab Birmingham’s armed hand and twist. With a grunt, the .45 fell to the floor.
“Move and you’ll regret it.” He said. McKenna tossed him a pair of cuffs and he clapped them around the other man’s wrists.
“I wish you’d never been born,” he spat. His face had taken on a clammy, pale hue.
Jordan grabbed his arms, hauled him to his feet and pushed him into a converted storage area. “The feeling’s mutual.”
Birmingham fell on his rear end. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing!”
Jordan slammed the door, then stuck a chair beneath the handle.
Another loud bang came from the other room, followed by a few curses.
McKenna looked toward the door, worry etched on her face.
He grabbed her hand. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Please, don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into his arms. He buried his shaking hands in her hair and took a deep breath. The adrenaline pumping through his system kept his heart bashing into his ribs at the pace of drums in a metal band. The scent of her flowery shampoo filled his nostrils and calmed him some.
They were alive. And they couldn’t stay here.
He pulled away and they crossed the room together. “Did you call Robinson?”
“Yeah. ETA five minutes.”
The crack of a bullet electrified the air. Something hit the wall on the other side of the door from them.
He pushed McKenna behind him, raised his gun and opened the door. Crushed glass littered the desk that now resided against the outer wall. A lamp sat askew across its polished surface. Roden stood with a gun in his hand—the gun he’d given to Matthew. He aimed it toward where Matthew lay, against the wall. A circle of blood fanned out near his stomach. A dribble of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth as he struggled for breath.
McKenna gave a harsh gasp and rushed toward her uncle.
Roden tracked her movements.
A scream came from somewhere in the room as he fired his weapon at the same time Roden did. He jumped in McKenna’s direction. A slice of red-hot pain went through his head. The floor rose up to meet him then, causing a sickening crunch in his side. From across the room, Roden’s lifeless eyes stared at him, a hole resting in between, a dark pool extending toward Jordan.
Harsh footsteps sounded all around him. Shouts pierced his ears. The ragged sound of choked sobs broke through.
McKenna.
Blackness crowded in, until everything went silent.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
A thousand jackhammers worked their way into Jordan’s skull.
Bright white light flitted through the slits in his eyes, making it difficult to breathe. The weight of a semi-truck squatted on his chest. He tried to sit up. His muscles protested.
“Don’t struggle,” a soft, familiar, feminine voice said.
He tried to open his eyes, but it seemed like someone had sewn them shut. A wave of nausea built in his stomach and forced its way upward, but then disappeared.
“The pain is good, Jordan. It means you’re still alive.”
The light dimmed to a dancing shade of buttercup yellow and Caribbean blue. A breeze flitted across his skin. The scent of bleached laundry tickled his nose. The strumming of a guitar filtered into his mind. Soft chords that relaxed his tensed muscles and buried the pain.
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
A searing hot hand squeezed his shoulder. His eyes sprang open. The colors he’d witnessed behind partially closed eyelids disappeared. Endless blue sky radiated above him.
Where am I?
“Hey, baby.” Someone appeared above him, blocking out the bright blue sky, causing a halo of light to surround long hair and a shadowed face. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Cass, he can’t stay.” A man’s figure came into view. “You did good, son.”
Like a pin dropping in an eerily quiet room, his surroundings came into focus with a sharp rush. He was nowhere and everywhere at once. Like a feather floating on a weightless breeze.
He sat up. The blue sky faded back to white as if he were stuck in a greenroom with a major loose circuit. In fact, all his surroundings seemed white, with no distinction between wall and floor. The images of the man and woman cleared.
Matthew lounged in front of him, his feet crossed ankle over ankle, a crisp blue shirt and jeans on his frame. Next to him, his mother sat with her legs bent at the knee and tucked beneath her. A peach-colored knee length dress brought color to her skin.
“Mom. Mom? You’re…” Dead. Something heavy settled in his stomach.
She nodded.
He turned to Matthew, “But, you can’t…”
“I tried to hold on, but I couldn’t.”
He stood so fast, their faces swam in front of him. “No.” He had to be dreaming. He started backing away, only to encounter something hard. Then, as if they’d not had to move at all, both his mom and Matthew were beside him.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she took his hand in hers. “You’re not dreaming.”
“W-where am I?”
“Baby, you’re in a hospital.”
“What?” Now, his heart started racing again. He had to be hallucinating. That hit he’d taken to the head must have been harder than he’d thought. A searing pain invaded his skull and he gripped his head.
An image of Matthew sprang into his mind. On a floor, blood surrounding him. The pain passed and he glanced up. Matthew watched him. “This is my fault. McKenna’s never going to forgive me.”
“Don’t do that to yourself. We can’t change it.” The other man squeezed his shoulder. “But your friend came through for you.”
“My friend?” Confusion rolled through him. “What do you mean?”
His mom took his head in her hands. “Rupert helped saved your life, baby. He’s as much a victim of circumstance as you are. Remember that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” She kissed his forehead, the motion leaving warmth in its stead.
“Come on, Cass.” Matthew checked his wrist as if he wore a watch, but the hairy area was empty.
She nodded. “They’re doing everything they can to keep you alive, but you’ve got to help a little. I’d love to keep you here with us, but she needs you more.”
His eyes connected with the other man, then, the truth crystal clear. He wasn’t dreaming. They were here with him, wherever ‘here’ was. And neither of them seemed saddened by it. Like those emotions didn’t exist. But he was… “Where’s McKenna?”
“Waiting for you.” A new voice said, childlike. Something tugged on his hand, small fingers gripped his.
He looked down. A little girl with black, curly hair and his mother’s blue eyes looked up at him. She wore a cheerful, checkered sundress, a smile overtaking her face. She had to be about five. “Hi.” A giggle left her mouth. “You’re looking for McKenna, right?”
“Where is she?” He had to see her. Had to make sure she wasn’t here.
Like something straight out of movie, they all pointed to his right, into the ever-expansive whiteness. A rabbit hole in reverse.
“Go,” his mother said. “Before it’s too late.”
“What about you?”
“We’ll be here waiting.”
“Come, on.” The girl said. She didn’t release his hand. “I’ll show you. I did it once. A long time ago.”
“H-hannah?”
The little girl rolled her eyes and tugged him toward the exit. “Hurry up. You gotta go. You walk slow and steady. Think about the best parts of your life. The things you’re fighting for.” She dropped his hand. “Go.”
Several steps in that direction, the hall stretched before him. Each footstep weighed more than the last. He looked back, to find them still standing in their original spot. Matthew had his arm around his mom, Hannah between them. Okay, he’d think about the best parts of his life. Not too hard.
We love you. The thought floated into his mind.
###
The steady beep of the monitors around Jordan formed a pattern in McKenna’s head.
On constant repeat, but a welcome one.
“You have to eat.” Rupert shoved a plastic-wrapped muffin in her face.
“Thanks.” She accepted it, because she knew if she didn’t, he’d stick around to make sure she ate it. Between him, Amanda, Robinson, her parents and half the bureau, she hadn’t spent more than five minutes of the past day and a half alone. It seemed like half of Charlotte had been at Jordan’s bedside at one point or another with kind words, stories and prayer.
The support was overwhelming and humbling.
She fiddled with the wrapper, then set it on Jordan’s bedside table. She rested her chin in her hand, her elbows propped on Jordan’s crisp, white linens. Flowers lined the windowsill. Flowers and cards, both of which she’d rearranged more times that she would admit.
Rupert rocked back on his heels, hands in the pockets of his slacks. The tails of the dress shirt he wore beneath his windbreaker stuck out. “Can I sit with you?”
“No, that’s okay. I know you’re busy. Thanks for stopping by.” She blinked, trying to add moisture to eyes that had spent the better part of those hours crying. Sand paper had more moisture. She watched the rise and fall of Jordan’s chest as aided by the life support machine to his left. She resisted the urge to put her hand there to make sure that air actually went in and out. To feel the steady beat of his heart against her palm.
She tried to block the sight of the bandage circling his head and the hours of surgery required to fix the damage the bullet had caused. Instead, she focused on the almost constant stream of medication dripping into the IV in his hand.
All she wanted was to see his blue eyes and know that he saw her, too.
The scraping of a chair caught her attention as Rupert positioned himself next to her at Jordan’s bedside. “If you’re not going to eat, at least drink something.”
She nodded, but didn’t look in his direction. Looking at Rupert brought it all back, right down to the fact that she’d been unable to save either of the men she loved. When she closed her eyes, she saw Matthew bleeding out in her arms.
I’ll be fine, kid. Take care of Jordan. One more breath and he’d been gone. Another bullet and Jordan was at her feet.
She gripped Jordan’s hand. Warmth radiated back into her palm, but his fingers didn’t hold hers back. What if he never regained consciousness?
“McKenna, talk to me.”
“I’m not up for a long conversation.”
“I haven’t stopped praying for him.”
Neither had she. And she’d sit here doing exactly that for the rest of her life if she had to.
A cough came from next to her. “I, I don’t know what else I could have done.” Rupert sat back. “I run through the scenario at least a thousand times a day.”
Bloodshot eyes returned her stare. A day’s worth of stubble lined his chin. He ran a hand through his hair. “In it, I arrive five seconds earlier and I take that bullet for him. Ins
tead of…”
Staunching the flow of blood.
He shifted and a patch of red caught her eye beneath his jacket, then disappeared. “Why would that be better?”
“It’s not.” A grunt of frustration came from his mouth. He wiped an arm across his face and stood, giving her his back. “I can’t stand to see anyone else die.”
“When’s the last time you went home?”
He shrugged. The spot she’d seen on his shirt came to mind. “You haven’t even changed, have you?”
No response. He continued to stare up at the television as if he were engrossed in The Wheel of Fortune.
“Family is that important to you? Even family you don’t really know?”
“It’s not hard to figure out what kind of man Jordan is.” Rupert’s voice was soft. “I’d be lucky to call him my brother.”
“When we were kids he always said he needed a brother.” She straightened the blankets around him. “He was stuck hanging out with Amanda and I a lot. I can’t even remember how many times he ended up playing the captured citizen during our cops and robbers games.” The memory of an annoyed Jordan affirming that the game they’d played, at age twelve and ten, would be his last, made her smile
Rupert turned and braced his hands on the railing at the foot of the bed. “He obviously didn’t mind hanging out with you guys, or he wouldn’t have done it.”
McKenna shrugged and her smile faded. Would he even remember those things, if he did wake up?
“What did the doctors say?” Rupert blew out a breath.
What hadn’t they said?
“Do they think he’ll wake up?”
“They have every reason to hope,” she said, repeating automated-sounding words. But it was still hope. “The scans look good. The swelling has been minimal. The bullet glanced off his skull, affecting very little temporal lobe brain tissue. We won’t know the exact amount of damage until he regains consciousness.”
She rubbed Jordan’s hand and squeezed it, hoping for some response. Nothing, then a small twitch of his index finger. She held her breath and waited.
LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1) Page 36
