An hour later, he finally reached Simon on the phone.
“What the hell happened?” He spat out the words, while squeezing the phone with a white knuckled grip, imagining Simon’s neck.
“Eve’s alive and in surgery. The doctors here are used to trauma this severe. They’re doing everything—”
“They need to do more than that. I’ll be there as soon as my flight arrives, and if she isn’t resting comfortably in a hospital room with a view by then, watch your back.” Everything in him was numb. He needed to see her. Hold her. Shit. She damn well better not go anywhere.
Fight, Eve. Fight.
Would she fight to remain with him? Or would she fade away, alone and afraid?
He hung up the phone and traveled across the country in a haze.
…
After eight frustrating hours full of torturous roads and a small commuter plane, Dane pushed through security at the hospital and managed to convince them he needed to see his wife or he’d rip the place apart. An orderly escorted him to an intensive care unit. An armed security guard followed. Perhaps he’d been too hostile when he’d arrived, but he had to see her. He passed Simon, who stood by a chair in a waiting room. Simon didn’t approach him, and Dane didn’t beckon him forward. Instead Dane pushed open the swinging doors and entered a second set of doors into a white, sterile place, with blinking lights and lots of medical personnel.
When he caught sight of Eve in a bed on the far side of the room, most of the tension lifted from his body. She was breathing, she was alive, and she was within his reach. A tube stretched down her throat and lines pushed into her arms. Her face was marred by a bruise up her entire left side. Dane could just make out an imprint of something hard hitting the side of her head.
She was two steps from death, all white and motionless. Her shoulder was covered in bandages. The steady rhythm of her heart, however, beeped through the monitor. The pressure of not knowing if he’d make it to see her alive eased its grip on him. Air flowed back into his lungs and emptied his head of the blackest of thoughts. He still couldn’t take a deep breath, and he wouldn’t until she walked out this place.
He brushed his hand across her cheek. She was cold. She was expressionless. She seemed to be fading away. “I should have pulled your ass away from Simon. You had no idea the depths of violence and corruption that fill his life.”
There was no reaction from her. Her body remained corpselike except for the artificial breathing forced on her from a machine.
A nurse tapped him on the shoulder. “Mr. O’Brien?”
He placed his hand over the cold skin of Eve’s arm. An arm bandaged and filled with tubes. Anger swelled inside. He wanted the person who had shot her. He wanted his head on a stick. He wanted his family as well.
The petite woman in a set of blue green scrubs touched her hand to Dane’s shoulder again. She told him the doctor would be there shortly to answer questions. Her accent was heavy, but her fluency in English was solid.
“I’m Ofelia. I’ll be taking care of her tonight. She looks bad right now, but she has a decent shot to pull through. Dr. Huerta repaired her shoulder and the blood loss was minimized by the flight surgeon. She’s pretty lucky.”
Dane swung his head toward the nurse, yanked away from her, and growled, “Lucky? She’s lying in a hospital with a hole through her. She’s not lucky.”
He remained by her side for hours. Her condition never changed for the better or the worse. When a nurse arrived to change her dressings, he left the room to find coffee and Simon. A commotion down the hall caught his attention. Three armed police officers were cuffing Simon.
He stepped toward him to assist, but a subtle shake of Simon’s head told him not to bother, so he turned back to focus on Eve.
…
Fuck.
Simon sat in jail, unable to function while Eve was on life support, and Mitch, a strong, smart veteran he’d recruited three years ago, was in a morgue somewhere. Did Mitch have family who needed to be contacted? He had no idea. He could cite the man’s resume, and he knew his strengths and weaknesses, but nothing about his personal life. Cassie would know. She knew everyone he’d hired in the past year. Not one of them, however, knew about her.
He’d called her as soon as he arrived at the police station. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m at home. The doctor thinks I just need to rest a bit.” Thank God. If anything had happened to her or his daughter while he was stuck behind bars, he’d never be able to live with himself.
“You stay resting. No matter what. You need to take care of my family. Promise?”
She’d laughed as she always did when he ordered her about. “I promise. How is Eve?”
“She’s not out of danger yet. Can you check on her?”
“Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. And I lost Mitch and Gunther.”
“Simon, what happened?”
“Everything. You need to do one more thing for me.”
“Anything. What?”
“Contact Headquarters and see if they can get me out of jail.”
Before they’d hung up their phones, Cassie had gone into full analyst mode.
She’d inform their contact at MI6 about the situation. Perhaps they’d help him. He also wanted every connection between Juan Carlos and Federico Isler. Cassie sounded miserable when she learned about the incident. Chances were his enormously pregnant wife would try to be on the next plane across the pond to visit Eve, comfort Dane, and try to push for his release. He hoped she wouldn’t risk it. Not only did she need to minimize her involvement in order to protect her own cover, but she needed to rest.
He hated bothering her, and yet he relied on her. Maybe too much now. Eve could have been Cassie’s back up when she was with their daughter, but now Eve was in trouble and out of commission as well.
The prison in Quito wouldn’t let him contact anyone about Eve’s condition. He hoped to hell she was all right. She’d done everything by the book, and it still wasn’t enough. At least Derek had been smart enough to drop off Simon, Eve, and Mitch at the hospital and then take off to avoid questioning. Hopefully he, Jenny, and Ethan made it back to their base in Costa Rica without a problem.
What the hell had happened? How the hell was Federico involved with Juan Carlos? Federico’s company would be blackballed with all the biggest players in the international arms trade for trying to take down Simon. He’d make sure of it. No one wants to deal with someone they can’t trust.
He paced back and forth in his cell trying to come up with a get out of jail scheme. His cell mate watched his every move. The man, a Columbian who had crossed the border in the wrong place, carrying enough heroin to put him away for twenty years, had less clout here than Simon did.
Some attaché from the embassy arrived a few hours later. Dressed in an ill-fitting navy suit among beige uniforms, the lanky guy seemed like a caricature of an Englishman. They met in a conference room filled with “hidden” recording equipment and bookended with armed guards.
“Mr. Dunn, I’m Jarvis Tagler, I’m here to inform you of your rights as a U.K. citizen detained in Ecuador.”
“Nice to meet you. Let’s start with why I’m here.”
“Illegally flying an unregistered aircraft in Ecuador airspace.”
“I didn’t fly it.”
“Do you own it?”
“No. It’s held by a Costa Rican adventure company.”
“More important than those charges, the Columbian government wants you extradited for the sale of illegal weapons to a known drug cartel.”
“I can assure you there were no illegal arms sales in that area.”
“And yet witnesses claim they saw your helicopter in the area of San Stefano.”
“Not. My. Bird.”
“In addition, you were carrying the corpse of Mitch Hull, a U.S. Marine veteran. Mr. Dunn, this is not a joke. The British government needs to keep up appearances. And now you have the
American military looking into the matter.”
“Ever been to Madagascar, Mr. Tagler?”
The man’s face contorted into a confused ball of shit. He had no idea that Madagascar was the code to make his cover known. His ignorance said it all. MI6 was not going to help him. The thought of rotting away in prison while his daughter was growing up a continent away shredded his cool, but he bottled the anger up to use on some of the convicts who might try something overnight.
Tagler puckered his lips like a big fucking fish. “If you cannot afford an attorney, the U.K. government can assist in finding someone to represent you. We can also help advise him or her, but overall, the British government will not be involved in a private citizen’s case.”
“Mr. Tagler, I’m sure you have an impeccable record with the foreign service, but I have no need for you or the damn British government. My own lawyers are flying in to represent me. We’ll keep you notified of any progress made on the case.” His stomach ached not only for lack of food, but also for the fading chances of his being exonerated. Even the best barrister in the world would have a hard time cutting through this political bullshit.
…
Dreams and nightmares rotated through Trista’s mind. Her mother and father visited her and then left her alone in a dark void as they created their perfect families and then neglected their eldest child. Her half siblings turned their back on her as well. She didn’t matter. She didn’t count. She didn’t exist.
She waited for hours and days and maybe weeks to hear someone call her name. Nothing. No one wanted her. They all wanted Eve.
Stay with me, Eve. I need you. Please. Something touched her forehead, and a light shiver of pleasure threw sparkles and colors around her thoughts, like a fireworks display on a “cold beer and beach blanket” kind of a night. The image of the most handsome man she’d ever seen spilled into her thoughts. Dane. He called her Eve. He must love Eve to remain near her for so long. Day after day.
A brush over her hand, a caress over her cheek. His love radiated through her skin and warmed her spirit.
Hey, Beautiful. You’re looking better today. Too thin, but the color’s returning to your face. I’ve been thinking about where we should go after we leave here. What do you think about the Greek Isles? Maybe Santorini. It’s not far, but very peaceful. If you want someplace warmer for the rest of the winter, we can head to the Caribbean. I’m not returning to work. The job keeps me away from you too much. I’d rather simplify my life and remain at your side. No more taking off without you. Never again.
Beautiful? That was Eve.
Whispers flowed around the room in hushed tones as though someone was speaking over a coffin. More people came and then more people and they all wanted Eve. No one asked for Trista.
…
For two weeks, Dane watched as Eve came in and out of consciousness. Her arm and neck needed two surgeries to put them back in order. Dane, however, could do nothing for anyone. Simon was stuck in jail, Cassie was stuck on bed rest, and Eve was getting stronger, but slowly. He remained with her around the clock. The doctors assured him she’d make a full recovery. Give her time. Let her heal.
Jenny stayed close by, providing him companionship. It was time to fess up to her about his position, but instead of bringing in the CIA, he told her he’d joined up with Simon, an arms dealer. She wasn’t happy, but seemed too focused on Eve to complain about it.
The beeping from the machines droned on in a continuous pattern that assured him she was fine. She’d suffered a major injury and had severe blood loss. She was lucky. A millimeter farther and her artery would have been severed. She would have bled out in the helicopter and died before he ever saw her again. The loss of blood and the inability of the bullet to escape the Kevlar intensified the injury, but the presence of a flight surgeon to patch her within minutes made the difference. Dane owed Simon for being so responsible, and he hated Simon for not protecting her. Although his blame was misplaced. She was on the safe transport out and she’d been hurt. Dane, on the other hand, had raced into danger and found nothing but a single fighter who didn’t stand a chance against him and his team.
Each time Eve woke up, she stayed awake and aware a little longer. She’d smiled at him the last time, and began to speak. She didn’t say much, but it was a start. Give her time.
Dane remained by Eve’s side and as the week passed, she woke from her injury with more and more cognition. Dane’s phone rang late one night. He grabbed it from the bedside table, twisting in pain. His entire back ached from his position in the recliner.
“Hello?” He shook the remnants of sleep from his body so he could understand the caller.
“Mr. O’Brien?”
“Who wants to know?” He spoke softly so he wouldn’t disturb Eve.
“This is the Greenfield Trust and Deposit Company.”
They asked him to verify his identity. He refused. Instead, he jumped on his computer and saw a string of email notices related to many of his accounts. The accounts had been frozen, something to do with tax evasion. More likely something to do with the CIA and their incentive plan for returning to work. He’d neglected to check in with them after receiving several flaming emails and a few hostile voicemails.
Someone in Langley was probably laughing his ass off at reducing Dane’s net worth to under a mere ten thousand, and the name was probably Greg. It had been incredibly easy for the U.S. government to wipe out Dane’s carefree retirement. His only question was whether his foreign assets had been taken. Within thirty minutes, he discovered the loss of his English account, his account in Jamaica, and one in Switzerland. Someone was fucking with him. And they’d pay.
At least they hadn’t discovered his assets in Hong Kong. With a few keystrokes, he moved all the money there to a bank on Jersey in the Channel Islands, under Eve’s name.
A nurse arrived to check on Eve and give her medication. Ofelia. “Good morning Mr. O’Brien. How’s your wife today?”
“Sleeping peacefully, thanks to you and your team.” He’d more than apologized for his poor behavior in his first few hours at the hospital.
“A lot has to do with you, the way you rallied behind her.”
She lifted the bandage off Eve’s shoulder. The wound didn’t look as raw as it had a few days before. Her body was healing.
“I just wish I could do more.”
“I’m sure your wife appreciates your presence.” She fiddled with a few things and then left. She’d kept Dane from going crazy with her calm pep talks and easy-going manner.
He sat on the edge of Eve’s bed and stretched out next to her, careful to not pull anything out of her arms. He rested his head on the pillow next to hers and slowed his breathing to match the pace of her inhalations. She smelled as though someone had tried to sterilize her clothes, her skin, her hair. An alcohol and vinegar smell, not pleasant, but he’d take Eve smothered in sour milk if he had to. Her hair, twisted in a million directions, might feel better with a good washing. He’d ask the nurse to help bathe Eve when she woke up.
Eve’s beeping and blinking machines reminded him of the cost of Simon’s world. The danger was always there—and then there was the matter of Dane’s temper. He’d kill someone someday, someone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone who didn’t deserve to die. Desk jobs were preferable, and yet that didn’t seem like an option anymore. And deep down, he’d enjoyed working side by side with Simon. Besides, even if he wanted to go back into the corporate world, he had no ability to get a new position after the U.S. government screwed with his employment and credit history.
Perhaps he could convince Cassie to use her magic to fix his financial problems. The woman was a weapon on the computer. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, thinking about the resources he now had at his fingertips.
And he had more resources than any number of small countries.
He ran to the cafeteria to grab scrambled eggs and coffee. Gross food, but he never wanted t
o be that far from Eve, the woman tethered to him by only a falsified legal connection and some wishful thinking. He’d find something more substantive for lunch. He sat in the recliner they’d moved into the room for him and drank the warm coffee down in a few gulps.
She coughed, and Dane practically leaped over to her side to make sure she wasn’t choking. She no longer had a tube down her throat, but her throat was raw all the same.
“You okay?”
Her breathing steadied, and her eyes blinked open. A hint of a smile greeted him. The focus of her eyes seemed to fix on his face, and then a genuine smile, deep and rich and beautiful, appeared. He couldn’t help sending her one back. She was going to be fine, and he was with her. They’d figure everything else out later.
His fingers slid through her hair until they rested behind her head. He placed one soft kiss on her lips. Then he kissed her again. She kissed him back, her lips sliding over his, like a dream, but it wasn’t his imagination. Man, she tasted sweet. Her lips moved, encouraging him more. He pressed his mouth intimately to hers, and she responded. The kiss wasn’t aggressive on either end, more like a timid dance. Her mouth was dry, and her actions weak, but they were real and forward.
When he finally pulled back, he needed to release the breath he’d been holding. She shut her beautiful eyes, leaving the smile in place, and then she blinked them open again. He stayed close, looking at her and thanking God she was whole and alive.
“Hey beautiful,” he said in soft sigh.
And she smiled. Not her old lame smile that had been crafted with attitude and a lack of confidence. No, this was real and happy and pure.
“Need water?”
She nodded and tried to shift herself up, but she wasn’t moving. Her body hadn’t awoken yet.
“Wait.” He propped a pillow behind her back for more support, placed a hand on her good arm to shift her to a sitting position, and then poured her a glass of water.
“Thanks.” She drank it down with some assistance.
True Peril Page 24
