Mountain Shelter

by Cassie Miles

  Since there was nothing she could do in the OR, she glanced toward the window where Dylan stood watching her. Though he wasn’t carrying a weapon, he radiated protective strength and courage. If anybody got too close to her, her man would attack.

  She patted the arm of the neurologist. “It was nice to meet you, Doctor.”

  “Same to you,” he said. “Did you get the message?”

  “What message?”

  “The Sherman kid mumbled it several times, said the word message repeatedly. It was something about doctors and Martin.”

  Every other thought was wiped from her brain. She had a clean slate. She grasped his arm, “Come with me.”

  “If I take off my gown and mask, I’ll have to scrub again and put on new stuff to go back into the OR.”

  As she pulled him into the hallway, she didn’t care how many times he had to change clothes. She yanked down her own mask, then his. “This is very important. Tell me exactly what Sherman said, word for word.”

  “He repeated several variations on ‘Dr. Jayne. Message. Jayne is a doctor.’”

  She remembered when Koslov was holding her at the parking structure in the medical complex. His words were unclear, but she’d told him that as a doctor, she was obligated to come to the aid of anyone who needed her help. She would turn no one away.

  Still clinging to his arm, she stared into the eyes of the neurologist. “What else did he say? Tell me as much as you can recall.”

  Dylan had come up behind her. “What is it, Jayne? What’s wrong?”

  “Hush,” she said to him, keeping her focus on the neurologist. “Go on, Doctor, please.”

  “Help Martin. Martin needs you.” He gestured helplessly. “And there was another name. Diego. That was it. Diego needs your help.”

  She released her grip on his arm and stepped backward until she was leaning against the wall. “Thank you.”

  Everything made sense to her now. She closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. From the very start when he’d broken into her house, Koslov had made it clear that he didn’t want to hurt her. No matter what happened, she would not be harmed.

  He needed her skill as a doctor. He wanted her to operate on his father, Diego Romero, an elderly man who had probably had a stroke.

  She looked up at Dylan and said, “This was never about a kidnapping. It wasn’t about my father. Martin Koslov was coming after me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dylan couldn’t believe they’d been so blind. And he wasn’t the only one. The professionals, like Cisneros and Agent Woody, had wasted their time tracking down connections to her rich, powerful father. They were so sure that it was a case of kidnapping, and they were so dead wrong.

  “Can we get a diagnosis for Diego Romero?” he asked.”

  “We need proof that he’s incapacitated.”

  “His doctor won’t say anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “I wouldn’t,” she said. “Information about patients is privileged. Plus, Romero is a powerful man, the leader of a cartel. If he was weakened, he wouldn’t want his enemies to know.”

  Her reasoning was on track. If the old man was suffering the aftereffects of a stroke and had lost his memory, criminals from other cartels would take advantage. Not to mention, law enforcement moving in. The Romero organization would be picked apart.

  Why did Martin Viktor Koslov want Jayne to bring back Romero’s memory? Secrets, the old man had secrets. He’d run the cartel for over thirty years, knew who could be trusted and where the stash was hidden. Koslov—who was probably the old man’s bastard son—might see these secrets as his inheritance. He needed Jayne and her groundbreaking neurosurgery to open Romero’s memory.

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “We get word to Koslov that you refuse to operate.” He guided her through a set of double doors and down a corridor. “He won’t have any reason to come after you.”

  “Who says I refuse to operate?”

  “Believe me, Jayne. You don’t want to help this man. He’s violent, cruel, evil, altogether a bad guy.” He started walking her down the corridor. “Nothing good can come from operating on the old man.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He hadn’t really come up with his next plan. Returning to the shelter didn’t seem wise. Koslov might be clever enough to follow them. The thought of a cartel assassin at large in his gentle sanctuary horrified Dylan.

  He and Sean had talked about returning to the hotel in Denver, but he wanted to stay close, to find out if there was anything more he could do for Tank. Dylan knew it wasn’t his fault that Tank had gotten himself hooked up with Koslov, but he still felt responsible. In terms of chronological age, Tank was an adult. But he acted like a kid.

  He glanced over at the beautiful woman who strode down the hallway beside him. “I need to take you somewhere safe.”

  “Too bad we can’t stay here,” she said with a grin. “I mean, the place is full of beds.”

  “Was that a joke? Are you being funny?”

  “Giving it a shot.”

  He considered it a good sign that she was able to smile after all the threats to her. Discovering Koslov’s true agenda was sort of a relief.

  He came to a quick halt and pulled her close. Her pliant, slender body molded against his. Through the layers of shirts and jackets, he felt her firm breasts crush against his chest. His hand slid down the curve of her back.

  His lips joined with hers for a hard, hot kiss. Her natural fragrance mingled with the leftover smell of the river outside the kayak shack and the hospital and the metallic scent of blood. Life experiences crowded around them and deepened their connection.

  Jayne was more to him than a client or a woman who needed his help. She was becoming central to his life, and he wanted her always beside him. She balanced him. If she weren’t here, he’d go spinning wildly of control.

  The double doors behind them whooshed open. A loud, angry voice demanded, “What the hell are you doing, Jayne?”

  Her father. Well, of course. Dylan separated himself from her. They’d been so tightly joined that pulling apart felt like tearing Velcro.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said. “And you, too, Javi. Would you like to hear what we’ve figured out?”

  “Let me go first,” said Peter the Great. “Dylan Timmons, you’re fired.”

  “You can’t do that,” she said. “He works for me, not you.”

  “I’m not firing him because of this.” He gestured toward the two of them standing close. “I get it. You’re an attractive young woman, and men have a hard time keeping their hands off you.”

  She drew herself up. Her posture was ramrod straight. “Thanks, Dad, for the charming description.”

  Peter the Great was not cowed by her sarcasm. He thrust out his barrel chest. His resonant voice dropped an octave; he sounded like Darth Vader without the wheezing. “Dylan and his brother, Sean, took you into a dangerous situation. It was an irresponsible act. You could have been killed.”

  “I was never in danger,” she said coolly. “We were able to rescue Sherman, and he had valuable information for the police.”

  “You can tell Agent Woodward when he gets here. After he takes a statement from Dylan and his brother, they will be dismissed. You will go with Woodward into protective custody, WitSec.”

  “Do you even care about solving this?” she demanded.

  “I care about you.” He jabbed the air between them with a forefinger. “I care about your safety.”

  “What about the truth? Do you care about the truth?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Then listen to me,” she said. “We all thought the attack by Koslov was abo
ut you. Peter the Great Shackleford is so important that a cartel sent an assassin to abduct his helpless daughter to make him change his mind about some kind of business dealing.”

  “And I’m sorry,” he said. “How many times do you have to hear it, Jayne?”

  “Never again.” Her blue eyes went icy cold. “I never needed to hear it in the first place. Koslov was after a world-renowned neurosurgeon to operate on his father. He was after me.”

  Dylan heard a strange note of triumph in her statement. He doubted that she often got to tell her father that she was more prized and more important than he was. Being the target of a murderous Venezuelan cartel wasn’t the sort of success to brag about, but it was something.

  Agent Woody saved them from further awkwardness when he shoved through the doors. Another agent, also dressed in suit and necktie, accompanied him.

  Both Jayne and her father went toward Woody. Both were talking without pause. Both gestured dramatically as they stated their opinions about what should happen next. Neither hesitated in telling Special agent Woody exactly what the FBI needed to do.

  The father-daughter resemblance was inescapable. The Shacklefords were a hard-driving family, and Dylan was pleased to see that Jayne was winning the battle for Woody’s attention. The other agent was listening only to her and nodding like an FBI bobblehead.

  When she mentioned Diego Romero’s need for the neurosurgery that only she could provide, Dylan saw Woody’s eyes light up. The agent held up his hand for silence. He spoke to Jayne. “Are you saying that Diego Romero is in the United States? That he’s nearby?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s unlikely that a sick, old man like Romero would travel. It’d be easier to kidnap me and take me to Venezuela.”

  “If there’s a chance that Romero is here,” Woody said, “I need to take advantage of it. I need to coordinate with other agencies.”

  “Think about it,” Dylan said. “Not only does he need Jayne to perform the surgery, but he also needs all that specialized equipment. You saw the operating theater. You know what it’s like.”

  “What do you think, Doctor?” He turned back to Jayne. “Would most hospitals have the necessary equipment?”

  “It’s hard to say. MRIs and CT scanners are pretty much standard, but my work requires extremely delicate electro-imaging equipment. And how would Koslov gain access? I seriously doubt that a dangerous assassin can waltz into a hospital and commandeer an operating room.”

  “Right,” her father said. “So, we can assume that Koslov plans to kidnap Jayne and take her to Venezuela where she can operate.”

  Peter the Great seemed proud of himself for drawing this conclusion. Dylan almost hated shooting it down. “Except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?” her father turned on him.

  “Koslov could have already purchased the equipment he needs. He could have created an operating room in a house or a hotel room or a clinic. Diego Romero could be there, under a nurse’s care, waiting.”

  Peter Shackleford blustered, “How would he know what to get?”

  “My work isn’t secretive,” Jayne explained. “I’ve done a lot to publicize my procedures. I want other neurosurgeons to adopt and improve upon my methods.”

  Her motives were simple and pure as opposed to the devilish complexities of Koslov and the Romero cartel. Jayne worked for the greater good. Sure, she was gratified when her skill and talent was recognized, but she hadn’t become a neurosurgeon for the acclaim.

  She didn’t deserve to be stuck in the middle of this mess. She wasn’t safe, and it was up to him to take her away from the hospital and get her to somewhere safe. He hooked his arm through hers. “We’re going now. My brother has a car by the emergency entrance.”

  “Sorry.” Woody blocked their way. “I have more questions for all of you, including your brother.”

  “Jayne needs to be in a safe house.”

  “Agreed,” Woody said. “This won’t take long.”

  As Woody and his partner whisked Jayne down the hall and away from the rest of them, Dylan caught her gaze. He pointed to his ear where he wore the tiny, near invisible earbud. Did she still have hers?

  She touched her ear and nodded. She’d be able to hear him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Though accompanied by the feds, Jayne managed to apologize to the staff at Buena Vista hospital half-a-dozen times for disrupting their ER, OR and admissions area. Sheriff Swanson and two of his deputies herded the various groups from one room to the next until Jayne and the two FBI agents were settled in the social worker’s office in the admissions area.

  A nameplate on the messy desk identified Grace McHenry, and Jayne had a feeling that Grace wasn’t going to be happy about the way Agent Woody took over her office and scooped her papers out of the way.

  “I don’t think you should move those,” she said.

  “This is chaos. I have to move something.” He turned on a small recorder, stated his name and hers and their location and the time. It was all very official, and she stayed on point as she described how they had learned about Tank and his whereabouts, then left their safe house.

  “Where is it?” Woody asked. “I need a location on the safe house.”

  “I don’t feel right about telling you.” She didn’t want Woody and the feds charging through RSQ Ranch, disturbing the cats, goats and camels. “You’ll have to ask Dylan.”

  “Continue,” he said.

  As best she could, she explained what had happened when they got to the kayak shack. She probably shouldn’t have left the vehicle. But if she hadn’t, Tank might not have made it.

  “That’s when Dylan should have called,” he said. “I should have been part of that bust at the kayak shack.”

  “Dylan didn’t want it to be a bust and neither did I. Tank was helping us voluntarily. It doesn’t seem right for him to be arrested for that.”

  “He won’t be,” Woody said. “He’ll be arrested for hacking into an NSA database last month.”

  “If he survives,” she said darkly. While she had been apologizing to the Buena Vista staff, she’d gotten an update on Tank’s condition. After his surgery, which had gone well, Tank was in an induced coma. Tomorrow, they would wake him.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “I’m hiring an attorney for him,” she said. “You can’t ask questions until the attorney is in place.”

  “You haven’t been a whole lot of help, Doctor.”

  “Nor have you,” she said. “May I ask a question?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “If I operate on Diego Romero and make it possible for him to regain his memory, am I breaking any laws?”

  “Why the hell would you want to do that?”

  “I’m a doctor,” she said. “It’s my job to cure my patients, not to judge them. If Koslov had come to me and asked for my assistance, I might have gone along with his plan.”

  The door to Grace McHenry’s office crashed open. Dylan stood facing them. His tone was serious. “You can’t operate. Don’t even think about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Diego Romero isn’t like anyone you’ve ever met. He doesn’t operate by the same standards of right and wrong. Don’t make me run through the whole litany of terrible things he’s done. Help me, Woody.”

  “What are you doing in here?” Woody stood behind the desk. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  Dylan removed his earbud. “Jayne has one of these. It transmits both ways.”

  Jayne touched her ear. “My receiver is turned off. I couldn’t hear him, but he heard me.”

  “Obviously.”

  She stood and faced Dylan. “You see the differences in Diego Romero. I see the similarities. His heart pumps the same way yours does...or mine. His brain is co
nstructed the same way.”

  “If he were dead, the world would be a better place.”

  “That’s not your call,” she said. “As a doctor, I don’t get to decide who lives and who dies. It’s my job to patch people up and send them on their way.”

  Dylan came toward her. Totally disregarding Agent Woody, he embraced her. “I agree with you in theory, Jayne. I really do, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Romero doesn’t leave witnesses. He’ll kill you.”

  “Not if I save his life,” she said.

  “He won’t care. As soon as you’re done with him, you’re a dead woman.”

  The smooth, handsome Javier Flores rushed through the door. Her dad was right behind him.

  Javier said, “We must go. Koslov has been sighted at the hospital.”

  Her father grasped her wrist, attempting to literally drag her away from Dylan. “Seriously,” he growled, “we’re all in danger.”

  “Stop it.” Woody waved his arms. “Everyone settle down.”

  Then she heard the echo of gunfire from down the hall.

  Dylan couldn’t tell where the shots were coming from. There was a lot of firepower at the Buena Vista hospital, including Sheriff Swanson and his deputies and the federal agents and his brother, Sean. Their presence didn’t seem to deter the assault from Koslov and his men.

  He would have liked to grab Jayne’s hand and run for cover, but they encountered resistance at every turn. The sheriff’s men directed them toward a supposedly safe exit. Her father clung to her. The two of them had a lot to clean up, but that conversation was more suited to a psychotherapist’s office than a gun battle in a hospital.

  Through his earbud, Dylan heard his brother’s voice. “Don’t come to the ER entrance. Koslov and his men are coming in through these doors.”

  Their “supposedly safe exit” had been compromised. He separated Jayne from the others and guided her into the OR and recovery unit, which was now deserted. For the moment, they were alone.