“Let’s go.” He took over, his instincts kicking into overdrive and he escorted her to the door, where he looked first to the left, then the right before leading her out into the hallway.
Blake squeezed his hand and he turned. “He’s armed,” she whispered. “He has a gun.”
Mason reached inside his coat and pulled out his own weapon. “So do I.”
A flood of relief washed over her, followed quickly by a sharp slap of fear. What if this turned into a major gunfight? Suzanne didn’t have a chance if Rich stumbled across her. They were all putting themselves at a huge risk.
“Suzanne is out there.” Blake nodded toward the living area. “I don’t know if she left the house or not.”
“Is she working with him?” Mason’s brows furrowed. “Did they draw you out here on purpose?”
“She’s not with him. Not really.” Blake shook her head. She wanted to believe Suzanne’s story but she still wasn’t sure. The misery etched all over face had been hard to ignore, though. “I think she’s as much a victim in this as I am.”
His face was stark, grim determination. “We need to be quiet while we sneak out of here. And I need you to follow my lead, no questions asked. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.” She trusted him implicitly to lead her out of this mess.
“Then let’s go.” He held a single finger to his lips to silence her and then headed toward the living area. She followed behind him, her heart beating so hard, she was afraid anyone could hear it.
They slunk against the walls and Mason turned to the left toward the kitchen. She kept up with his steady pace, her gaze searching for any sign of life. For Suzanne, for Rich, maybe even for the police.
Had Mason called the authorities? She hoped so. The local sheriff deputies didn’t see that much action on Whitney Island, but having them arrive would be better than no help at all.
They went into the small kitchen. The counters were littered with empty beer bottles and torn food wrappers. The sink was full of dirty dishes and the entire room had a dirty, dank smell permeating it.
Blake wrinkled her nose. How could Suzanne live in such filth? Was it all Rich’s creation?
The front door banged open and Mason froze, his arm automatically going out to stop her. Blake stood still, bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from releasing a shaky breath and they waited, listening.
“Amber!” Rich’s urgent footsteps sounded throughout the house and Blake assumed he headed toward the bedroom. The soulful wail that sounded was downright pitiful. “Where are you? You won’t get away from me again!”
“We’ve got to go. Now.” Mason’s voice was firm, urgent, and it scared her. She realized why he’d taken her to the kitchen.
He threw open the backdoor that led out to the small backyard and they stumbled down the rickety wooden steps, onto the marshy grass.
The rain pelted down on them in sheets, loudly plopping on their bodies and Blake tugged the hood back onto her head.
“Follow me!” Mason yelled over the pounding rain. “If you hear me say ‘go’ then I want you to run as fast as you can, whatever direction you choose. Whatever you do, don’t follow me. If I say that, it’s because I spotted the guy and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Mason!” She couldn’t imagine running away from him. It didn’t make any sense.
“Do as I say.” He grabbed her by the upper arms and kissed her, his lips firm and wet from the rain. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Okay.” She nodded, wished she could tell him how she felt. Was this it? If something happened to Mason, she’d be full of regret for the rest of her life. “I love you,” she whispered.
It was as if he didn’t hear her. He probably didn’t. “Let’s go.”
They ran alongside the house and out into the front yard. She saw her car parked in the driveway but remembered her keys were in her purse. And the purse still sat inside the house.
Crap. She ran faster to catch up with Mason, wanting to ask him where his car was, when she heard the sound of the front door crashing open. She swore the wood splintered and the hinges cried from the force of the slam.
For such a skinny man, Rich had a ferocious roar. He sounded like a wounded animal and a popping sound filled the air.
“Go!” Mason’s panicky yell told her everything in that one word.
She needed to get away. Fast.
Chapter Fifteen
The man was going to shoot him.
All the air left Mason’s lungs and he whipped his head around, looking for Blake. He saw her retreating back, her long, black puffy coat flaring out like she had wings, the hood flapping behind her head as she ran southbound down the narrow road.
Soaked to the bone, his clothing was heavy with rain and dragged him down but he ignored it. Focused instead on the crazy man who stood on the front stoop of the ramshackle house in just a T-shirt and jeans. His clothes were plastered to his rail thin body, as was his hair and it hung in his face, over his eyes.
The gun he waved in his right hand made Mason fucking nervous, to say the least. The incomprehensible yelling that came from him sent a chill racing down his spine.
The guy was clearly unhinged. Was he high? The rain didn’t seem to affect him whatsoever and he kept saying the same name over and over.
“Amber! Amber! Where the hell are you? Amber!”
Mason ran for cover, diving into the thick bush that sat close to the driveway. It was as if the man didn’t even spot him, he was so focused on finding this Amber—who Mason realized had to be Suzanne.
He noticed her before the man did. Suzanne crouched beneath the large pine tree that took over the entire front yard, hidden almost completely by the low, swaying branches. She hunkered down, her entire body shaking from the cold wet rain and hot fury flowed through Mason’s veins.
She was the reason Blake was in danger. And she had a lot of explaining to do.
If she came out of this in one piece, that is.
“Come out!” the man bellowed. “I see you! Get out here now, Amber!”
Mason watched as Suzanne crawled out from under the tree and came into view. Her long, dark hair stuck to her head and shoulders, her entire body shaking violently.
“Just do it,” she pleaded. Her sobs sounded low and desolate in the falling rain. “Shoot me. Put me out of my misery.”
Mason tightened his grip on the gun, glancing behind him. Where were the deputy sheriffs he called? They should’ve been here by now.
“Damn it, I don’t want to kill you. I want you to come with me! Where’s the pretty little rich girl?”
“Gone. She’s gone, Rich. You’re only left with me now.”
The man—Rich—cursed loudly. Suzanne flinched at the filthy stream of words. “We didn’t get any money out of her besides a measly eighty bucks! How is that going to get us out of town?”
“I don’t know.” Suzanne’s shoulders slumped, wracked with sobs and her head dropped low as she stared at the ground. “Don’t take me with you. I’m begging you.”
“Stupid bitch, you’re mine.” Rich pointed the gun at her with a wobbly hand. “You belong to me.”
It was now or never. Gritting his teeth, Mason stood, aiming his gun directly at Rich’s chest. So much for using the county deputies for backup. “Drop the gun now!”
Rich turned wildly in Mason’s direction, his eyes widening when he spotted him standing in the middle of a bush. “Who the hell are you?”
“Secret Service. Drop your weapon now!”
“Rich, do as he says,” Suzanne said, her voice weary, defeated.
Rich turned back to Suzanne, training the gun upon her and Mason released the safety on his Glock. “Don’t shoot her, she’s not to blame for this. Drop your weapon and no one gets hurt.”
“She doesn’t come with me, she doesn’t come with anyone.” Rich straightened his arm, the gun pointed right at Suzanne’s head. Mason heard her anguished cry.
Jesus. Mason swa
llowed hard, his arm steady, his aim true. He’d never shot someone before and Rich wasn’t backing down. At least Blake wasn’t around. He had no idea where she was.
He’d done his job. He had that to hold onto.
“Please. Please, listen to me,” Suzanne begged and Rich shook his head, his arm whipping about violently. “I’ll go with you, I promise.”
“No you won’t. You’ll leave me, I know you will. No one can have you ever again, Amber. You’re mine. Forever.”
Before Rich got a chance, Mason fired his gun. Rich turned at the sound, his trigger finger jerking reflexively, sending a bullet in Mason’s direction. Rich flailed upon the bullet’s impact from Mason’s gun, landing sprawled on his back on the porch. The searing pain that hit Mason sent him crumpling to the ground.
“Oh, my God!” He heard Suzanne’s screams and assumed she ran to the man.
Mason stared up at the dark gray sky, blinking against the rain that fell upon his face. In the distance, he heard sirens and he shook his head, making himself groan. Resting his hand briefly on his stomach, he lifted it, held it in front of his face.
His entire hand was covered in blood.
Sucking in a sharp breath, he blinked, hard. It didn’t help. His vision was blurry, his head woozy and an icy cold numbness swept through his body.
And then he fell into nothingness.
* * * *
Blake watched the deputies’ cars speed by, their flashing lights and obnoxious sirens alerting their arrival. She sat in Mason’s rental car, her entire body trembling, too afraid to come out.
Afraid of what she might discover.
She thought she’d heard shots, she wasn’t sure. She wanted to go find Mason, but it was as if she were frozen, stuck to the driver’s seat.
An ambulance drove by next and cold fear wrapped itself around her, choking her. A sob escaped, then another. She needed to get out of the car She needed Mason but she was petrified.
What if something happened? Her eyes slid closed and tears flowed down her cheeks. She rested her hand on the door handle, slowly wrapping her fingers around it and tugged.
The door popped open with ease and she climbed out, started walking toward Suzanne’s house. Two deputy cars sat in front of it, as well as the ambulance. She heard the shouts of frantically working men.
One of the deputies spotted her and rushed toward her, his face one of concern. “Blake Hewitt?”
She nodded. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.
“Are you all right? Have you been injured?” He stopped her from walking, his hands resting on her sopping wet shoulders, his gaze intent as he studied her.
“No,” she croaked. “Where’s Mason?”
His thick, graying brows dipped down low and he glanced back toward the house before meeting her gaze once more. “Who are you talking about?”
“Mason. Agent Mason Russell.” She swallowed hard, the tears still running down her cheeks, mingling with the rain that splattered her face. “Is he okay?”
The deputy slipped his arm around her shoulder and led her toward the ambulance. “Let’s get you checked out, make sure everything’s all right.”
“I’m fine, I’m just cold.” Her teeth chattered with the words. “I need to know if Mason is hurt.”
“I’m going to have you talk to the medic,” the deputy said. Worry filled her, gnawed at her gut, making her sway on her feet.
Something was terribly wrong with Mason. She knew it, could feel it in her bones, especially since the deputy didn’t want to answer her questions.
Oh God, what would she do without Mason in her life?
She approached the ambulance, startled to see another one arriving. A kind-faced female medic took over, her smile soft and friendly, eyes a warm golden brown as she approached.
“I’m not hurt,” Blake immediately told her. “I need to make sure Mason’s all right.”
The medic’s gaze flickered and she stared above Blake’s head, releasing a soft sigh. “They’re getting ready to take him to the hospital now.”
“What? Is he in the ambulance?” She left the medic and ran toward the ambulance, scrambled up through the open door and the two medics already inside immediately asked her to leave.
There lay Mason on a stretcher in between them, his eyes closed, skin unnaturally pale. His shirt had been torn open and they worked in the vicinity of his stomach. The tattered ends of his shirt were soaked with blood.
“Oh, my God.” Blake covered her mouth with her hand. Her head spun, a wave of nausea washed over her, making her dizzy.
The medic who’d told her about Mason wrapped an arm around Blake’s shoulders and led her to a bench that ran alongside the interior of the ambulance. She sat heavily, as did the medic, and the two men who worked on Mason glared at them.
“We need her out of here,” one of them said through gritted teeth.
“She’s with him,” the female medic said, nodding toward Mason.
“Where are you taking him?” There was no hospital on the island, only a clinic and they wouldn’t know how to take care of Mason properly.
“We’re taking the ferry back to Eureka. He’ll be admitted to the hospital there.”
“Is it good enough, that hospital? How bad are his wounds?”
“You need to calm down.” The woman smiled gently. “He’s going to be okay. He’s been shot. Once, on his side close to his stomach and he’s lost a lot of blood. But they don’t think the bullet hit any vital organs so that’s good.”
Resolve stiffened Blake’s spine and she drank in the man she loved lying unconscious. He looked near death. “I need to call my father. I want him airlifted to the closest hospital with the best care available. I want him taken to San Francisco.”
“Are you his wife?”
Oh, didn’t that sound nice? Right now, she wished that more than anything. “No, but I’m his—employer. He’s a Secret Service agent.”
“Right.” The female medic nodded.
“And I’m the daughter of the vice president of the United States. Blake Hewitt.” She rarely threw her name around, thought it awfully pretentious but it was coming in handy right now. “I demand that you take him to San Francisco immediately.”
“Absolutely, no problem.” The medic smiled kindly, giving Blake’s shoulder a gentle nudge. “Go talk to him. He needs to hear your voice. He needs to know you’re waiting for him.”
The male EMT closest to her moved out of the way so she could crouch next to Mason. She studied his face, his rain-soaked hair, the scruffy beard covering his cheeks, surrounding his mouth.
He looked nothing like the man she’d first met and everything like the man she fell in love with. She hated that he was so pale, suffering and in pain because of her. Because of his unrelenting sense of duty to take care of her.
Reaching out, she rested her hand on top of his head, smoothed it over his soft, dark hair. She trailed her fingers down the side of his face, curved her hand around his cheek and she bent forward, brushing a soft kiss to his parted lips.
“Stay strong, Mason,” she whispered in his ear. “I need you too much to let you go now. Please. For me.”
He was completely still and she refused to look past his chest. She didn’t want to see the white gauzy bandages that draped across his stomach, hiding his wound from her eyes. But she could hear the steady beating of his heart and that offered some comfort.
“We’re getting ready to leave,” one of the medics said.
A deputy sheriff appeared by the open back door. “Is Blake Hewitt in here?”
They all turned to look at her. “I’m Blake Hewitt,” she offered.
He nodded toward her. “We need to talk to you, miss. About what just happened?”
“I didn’t see any of it.” She glanced down at Mason, then back up at the deputy. She didn’t want to leave Mason, not like this.
“He’ll be okay,” the female medic said, giving Blake’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “H
e’s in good hands.”
Blake leaned over Mason, pressing one kiss, then another to his yielding lips. His breath wafted over her, proof the life inside of him was strong and steady and she blinked back tears.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I won’t lose you.”
Drawing herself up, she exited the ambulance, watched as complete chaos exploded around her. Rich was laid out on a stretcher, being installed into the other ambulance, a grieving Suzanne by his side. The rain had let up, turned into a fine mist and deputies milled about all over the property. Yet another car pulled up, this one unmarked and three men in dark suits spilled out.
The suits headed straight toward her, their faces grim, their mannerisms reminding her of Mason.
“Ms. Hewitt?” One of them asked and she nodded her reply. “We’re from the Secret Service. We’re here to escort you home.”
“Back to the cabin?” She couldn’t go back there. She wanted to go with Mason and make sure he was all right. And besides, didn’t the deputy want to question her?
What was going on?
“We’re taking you back to Washington, to your father.”
“No.” Blake shook her head vehemently, backing away from them and right into the deputy. “I’m not leaving. I need to be with Mason.”
“He’s going to the hospital, Ms. Hewitt. There’s nothing more you can do for him.” All three of the agents stared at her, impassive expressions on their faces. “You’re needed back in Washington. Your father is asking for you.”
“We need to talk to her first before she leaves,” piped up the deputy from behind.
“You’ll get your chance right now. Fifteen minutes, maximum. We fly out in forty-five minutes.”
“I’m not leaving.” Blake wanted to stomp her foot but she restrained herself. “At least, I’m not going back to Washington. I need to go to San Francisco and make sure Mason is all right.”
The ambulance containing Mason had already pulled away and the second one just pulled out onto the road, taking Rich and Suzanne with it. Blake glanced at the deputy. “What’s going to happen to him?”
Under His Protection Page 17
