Flashpoint

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “You’ll be all right here by yourself?” he asked. As if he were going to stay behind if she said no.

  “Yes,” she lied, scrolling through Murphy’s electronic phonebook until she found Nash, James. She glanced up at him. “Just—before you go—ask Khalid which hospital Murphy’s been taken to. So I can tell Nash. I’m sure he’ll want to know.”

  Deck nodded. He pointed to the phone. “Go up onto the third floor of the house with that. You should be able to get through up there. Don’t use your real name when you speak to him. This is important—there’s no telling who might be listening in.”

  She never would have thought of that. “Yes, sir.”

  He met her gaze. “It’s chief,” he said. “Not sir. I wasn’t an officer—I don’t know why they all call me that.”

  He was serious. He honestly didn’t know.

  But he went out of the barn without another word.

  Sophia followed and watched from the shadows just inside the door as he spoke to Khalid, who held a bucket of water so his horse could drink.

  Decker looked over at her. “Hospital Abdul-Rasheed.”

  She nodded, gave him a brief wave. She’d once thought of him as little—it seemed ridiculous now. He was compact, yes, but he was pure, radiant energy. And there was no such thing as a “little” lightning bolt.

  As she watched, he helped Khalid onto the horse, then, using the stone wall that lined Rivka’s yard as something of a gymnastic stepping stone, he leapt up behind the boy, like the hero in a cowboy movie. He reached around Khalid for the reins and, as he dug his heels into the horse’s sides, they went out the gate with a clatter of hooves.

  The only thing Decker was missing was a white ten-gallon hat.

  Sophia pulled her scarf up, and ducking her head so her face was covered, she scurried across the open yard and into the house, so she could try to call Nash.

  Jimmy was on the verge of putting his fist through a wall.

  No one he’d spoken to—nurses, doctors, cleanup crew—had seen Tess. And his phone was useless this far south.

  Murphy was in intensive care. He was stabilized, but just barely. He’d need extensive and delicate state-of-the-art surgery to save his leg. But he wasn’t going to get it in K-stan.

  The American doctor, one of the Doctors without Borders team that had come in following the quake, was harried and impossibly young. There had been no American woman asking about Murphy, not that he’d seen, no. Although he did tell Jimmy that he, like Murphy, was a former Marine.

  When? Back when he was freaking twelve?

  The doctor took several of his precious minutes to step closer and tell Jimmy that there was a relief aid helicopter coming in very shortly. It had been given special permission to deliver a shipment of desperately needed antibiotics to this hospital. The doctors were not permitted to ship any patients out, but if, in the chaos of this delivery—chaos caused by their additional need for extra haste in light of an approaching sandstorm—if Murphy were to make his way up to the roof . . .

  What the doctor was saying was more than clear. Murphy’s best chance of survival lay in getting to a real hospital, outside of this armpit of a country.

  Getting him to the roof, however, was going to be a challenge.

  And Jimmy still hadn’t found Tess.

  He was getting Murphy ready to travel when Decker appeared.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Hell of a greeting. “Nice to see you, too,” Jimmy told him. “Tess called me. Told me Murph was hurt.”

  “Tess?” Decker asked. “Not . . .” He stopped himself. “Miles?”

  Huh?

  Oh, yeah, Miles was what Dave had called Sophia back when she’d been an informant for the CIA. “Why would she call me? How could she call me?”

  “Khalid brought us Murph’s phone. I left it with her.”

  “Yeah, well, welcome to Snafu-land, where equipment malfunctions and nothing goes as planned.” Jimmy quickly filled him in about the impending chopper delivery.

  “We need to get word to Miles,” Decker said, opening his phone and glancing at it—it was lifeless—before putting it back in his pocket. “She needs to get over here so we can put her on that helo. She can pretend to be Murph’s wife, and . . . Look, James, Khalid’s got his horse out front. I need you to get back to Rivka’s and—”

  “Shit, Deck,” Jimmy interrupted him. “I’ve still got to find Tess.”

  Decker looked up, frowning slightly. “Find her? Tess isn’t out?”

  Out? “What?”

  “Didn’t you tell me she called you?” Decker said.

  “Yeah. She asked me to come here to the hospital, pronto. She was freaking out about Murphy,” Jimmy told him. “But I don’t know where she is. And nobody’s seen her.”

  Now the look on Deck’s face was not a good one.

  Jimmy felt himself get very still. “You said Tess isn’t out,” he repeated. “Out of what?”

  “Of police custody.”

  “Police custody?” He managed to speak but his voice cracked like a fourteen-year-old’s. “Are you telling me that Tess is sitting somewhere in some Kazbekistani prison?” He didn’t wait for Decker to answer that. Christ, he could not believe this. “What the hell happened?”

  “Khalid told me she used her shirt to keep Murphy from bleeding to death, and got taken in for being underdressed.”

  “Fuck! Fuck!” It was entirely possibly that he was now foaming at the mouth. “If they so much as lay one fucking finger on her—”

  “Are you going to be able to get her out?” Decker interrupted sharply. “Because if you’re going to go over there and get yourself arrested, too, that doesn’t do me—or Tess—any good.”

  “I’ll get her out. Where is she?” Jimmy asked from between gritted teeth. Yeah, he’d get her out of there, and then he’d fucking kill them all.

  “Best guess is the main police station,” Decker told him.

  “Best guess?” God damn it . . .

  “If you find when you get out there that your phone works,” Decker told him evenly, “call Murphy’s number. Tell her—Miles—to get over here as quickly as possible. I want her on that helo.”

  “Where the fuck is the main fucking station?”

  Deck gave him the address. It wasn’t far. If he ran, he’d be there in five minutes.

  “That’s not where Tess is.”

  They both looked up to see Will Schroeder standing in the doorway. The reporter was holding one arm against his chest as if it were broken.

  It was only because Schroeder looked as if he were in enough pain that Jimmy didn’t grab him and slam him against the wall. “Where is she?”

  “There’s a smaller police station over on Rue de Palms,” Schroeder told them. “Number 68. She’s there.”

  “She’s there?” Jimmy asked. “Or you guess she’s there?”

  “She’s there,” he repeated. “I’ve been working on a story about . . . well, according to whispers from the locals, sometimes people who go in to number 68 don’t come out. Easy there, Jim, I doubt they’d do that to an American. My guess is they just wanted to make her very hard for us to find. Extend the incarceration period. Because really, all she needs to get free is for her husband to come and pay a fine, sign a paper saying he’ll punish her properly.”

  Breathe. What Jimmy had to do was breathe.

  “And you’re certain . . . ?” Decker asked.

  Schroeder nodded his red head. “I’ve been paying people to watch the place. They definitely saw her taken inside.”

  Decker looked at Jimmy. “Go. I’ll send Khalid to get Miles.”

  Jimmy nodded. “If I have phone access, I’ll—”

  “Yeah. Go.”

  “I love you,” Jimmy told Schroeder and, grabbing his ugly face, kissed him—right on the mouth.

  “Jeezus! Why does he do things like that?” he heard the reporter complain as he ran toward the stairs.

  Murphy’s pho
ne rang.

  Yes! The number on the screen was Nash’s.

  Sophia answered. “Nash! I’ve been trying to—”

  “Do you trust Deck?” he asked, no greeting, just point-blank.

  It was a hell of a question.

  She stalled, unwilling to admit to a near stranger something that she’d only recently admitted to herself. “Decker asked me to call you to tell you—”

  “I’m up to speed,” Nash interrupted. “Can you hear me as well as I can hear you? This is one freaking great connection.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “I’m on my way to get Tess. I don’t have time to explain. If you trust Decker—and you should—get dressed. Fast. Full burka and robe. Get over to the Hospital Abdul-Rasheed. Run if you have to. Murphy’s on the fourth floor. If he’s not there, head for the roof. Decker’s with him, he’ll explain. Did you get all that?”

  “Yes—”

  “Do it,” he said, and hung up.

  Sophia ran down the stairs, out of the kitchen, dressing as she went.

  “Is everything all right?” Guldana called after her, but she didn’t stop to explain.

  She had to slow her pace when she hit the street—a burka-clad woman running would have drawn too much attention. But she walked swiftly—as swiftly as she dared—toward City Center.

  Toward Decker—whom she apparently trusted with her life.

  The American doctor stuck his head in the door. “Time,” he said to Deck. “Chopper’ll be here in thirty minutes. It’s going to take you that long to get upstairs.”

  “Thanks.” Decker nodded at Khalid, and together they began wheeling Murphy’s bed out the door.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. Will Schroeder had left twenty minutes ago, riding Khalid’s horse, broken wrist clutched to his chest. He’d volunteered to get Sophia, so Khalid could help carry Murphy to the roof. If Will could reach her in time, he could bring her back, so she could be smuggled out of the country aboard that helicopter, with Murphy.

  There were no guarantees—that Will would make it to Rivka’s without getting lost, that Sophia would trust Will and go with him, that they would get back here before that helo took off.

  But sometimes everything in the universe lined up just right.

  Sometimes it wasn’t necessary to do every goddamn thing the hard way.

  Maybe, just maybe, this was going to be one of those times.

  Wouldn’t that be nice?

  “Mrs. Nash, your husband has come for you.”

  Inside the cell, Tess closed her eyes, preparing for this to be another round in this relentless and frightening mind game.

  She’d stand up, heart pounding, ready to throw herself into Jimmy’s waiting arms when the door swung open. Only he wouldn’t be there. Her captors would laugh, telling her again that it was going to be days, maybe even weeks, before her husband tracked her down.

  Of course, they’d say, maybe he’d be so glad to be rid of such a troublesome wife, he wouldn’t even bother to look. He’d just go home without her.

  Tess knew Jimmy would never do that. But finding her was a different story. Even if she managed to connect with him again—her guards hadn’t searched her and didn’t know about her phone—she had no clue where she was.

  So she didn’t move. She just sat there, daring to hope, but not to hope so much that she would cry if Jimmy weren’t truly out there.

  But the door opened and, dear God, there he was. He’d found her. Tess leapt to her feet, opening her mouth to greet him, to thank him for coming so quickly, but he spoke first.

  “Not a word out of you.” His voice was sharp, stern.

  He met her eyes only briefly, and then he almost pointedly looked away, letting the police officer do all the talking.

  “Put this on.” Tess was handed a burka and robe.

  She looked at Jimmy as she fastened the front of the robe. But she read nothing—nothing—on his face.

  She knew she shouldn’t speak, not after his admonition, but she couldn’t keep from asking, “Is Murphy . . . ?”

  “Silence” came Jimmy’s terse reply, but he met her eyes and nodded once.

  Murph was alive. Thank God. She put on the burka, and Jimmy reached over and lowered the heaviest screen. Okay. Now it was really dark.

  He moved to her other side so he could take her by the elbow—the one that wasn’t badly scraped.

  “Watch your step,” the policeman told her.

  Yeah, no kidding. It wasn’t easy going up those stairs with a bag on her head. But Jimmy held on to her.

  “We hope never to see you back here again.”

  The feeling was definitely mutual.

  She felt the warm blast of air as the door to the police station was opened. Freedom!

  Jimmy kept his hold on her elbow going down the front stairs of the narrow little building and out into the street.

  The wind was really starting to kick up—a storm was brewing—and it tugged at her burka, making it even harder to see.

  And still Jimmy didn’t say a word to her. He just led her down the street, walking much too quickly. He didn’t slow until they turned first one corner and then another.

  And then he stopped.

  Tess peeked out from under the edge of the burka. They were in an alleyway, well off the main street, so she pulled it off entirely. It was hard to believe that just minutes ago she’d been cold.

  Jimmy had his phone out and was dialing. He glanced at her, but still didn’t speak, and then slightly turned away.

  “Dave,” he said into his phone. “Nash. Wow, another good connection. Yeah, I’m over near Rue de Palms, South. I’m not sure why, but my phone works over here.” He paused. “No, I can’t reach Decker either. If you talk to him, tell him I’ve got Tess—it’s a long story, I’m not going into it now.” Another pause. “Shit, you don’t know about this, do you? Murph’s been injured. Deck is with him—he’s going to be all right, Deck’s making sure of it. Just, if you talk to him, tell him Tess is safe.” He glanced up at the sky as another ovenlike burst of wind tugged at Tess’s robe. “I know he’s going to be anxious to hear that, and I doubt he’ll get back to Rivka’s before this storm hits. We’re going to be hard-pressed to make it ourselves.” Another pause, then, “Yeah, thanks.”

  Jimmy flipped his phone shut, turning his full attention to Tess, taking in her sweat-matted hair and the collection of scrapes and bruises on her soot-smeared face.

  He could probably tell from the tracks of clean on her cheeks just how much time she’d spent crying, just how frightened she’d been.

  And still he showed no sign of emotion at all.

  Until he spoke.

  “I’m fine?” he said, throwing her words from their phone conversation back at her. “I’m fine?”

  He actually shouted it, and Tess could now see on his face and in his eyes that he was furious—with her, at her, because of her. And he was finally letting it show.

  She reminded herself that this was a good thing—far better than his keeping it all inside. She bumped the bricks of a building—a two-story house—with her back, but he still kept coming.

  “You don’t think it might be a good idea to mention that—oh, yeah—you’re in a freaking prison cell in a country where civil rights means they only whip you within an inch of your life instead of killing you outright?” he asked her.

  Tess was trapped against the building, penned in on one side by a stack of crates and on the other by a set of stairs leading down to what looked like a basement door. She lifted her chin. “I was fine. I am fine. They didn’t hurt me.”

  He touched her jaw, no doubt checking to see if the darkness there was dirt or— She flinched. She was bruised from being hit when she wouldn’t leave Murphy’s side.

  “They didn’t hurt me much,” she amended.

  “God damn it, Tess.” His voice broke and he pulled her into his arms and held her so tightly, she almost couldn’t breathe. “I walked past this room,
” he told her, his voice muffled, his face buried against her, “an interrogation room. And I almost . . . Jesus Christ, I almost killed the motherfucker. He was lecturing me on how I should punish you. Fifteen lashes and four days of bread and water and God damn it! All I could think was if he’d hurt you, if he’d taken you in there and . . . Please tell me I got there in time.”

  Oh, Jimmy . . . “You did,” Tess told him, holding him just as tightly. “You did. They just asked me questions and bullied me—they tried to scare me. They said you wouldn’t find me—”

  “You knew that was a lie, right?” he pulled back to ask, to gaze searchingly at her. “That I’d do whatever it took to find you?”

  She nodded, her heart in her throat. “Yeah,” she said. “I knew.”

  She also knew that he didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It wasn’t meant to be romantic—he’d do whatever it took to find Decker or Dave or Murphy, if they were missing, too.

  Although look at her. She couldn’t even manage a friendly thank-you-for-saving-me embrace without playing with the man’s hair with one hand and running the other down the broad expanse of his back. What was it about Jimmy Nash that made it so hard for her to keep her hands off him? She’d cried on Decker’s shoulder last night and hadn’t thought once of grabbing his ass.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I—”

  But she couldn’t apologize, because he kissed her.

  He kissed her, hard, and—oh, God, she couldn’t help it—she kissed him back.

  Sophia hurried toward the hospital.

  There was a storm coming, the wind kicking up whirling devils of dust—which was a good thing. It meant that she wasn’t the only woman moving swiftly along the streets, as if trying to get home before the air got too thick with sand and dirt to see.

  She heard what had to be a horse, hooves drumming, and she pulled back the heavy screen of her burka. Sure enough, a horse was charging down the middle of the street.

  It looked a lot like Khalid’s horse—it was the same shade of dirty white, and indeed, the rider was bareback. But that wasn’t Decker up there playing cowboy. This man was taller, broader. He rode awkwardly, as if he’d never been on a horse before in his life.