Under the Gun

by Lyn Stone

  “Jack? What’s the matter?” she asked, still holding tightly to Will’s hand. She watched a doctor and two attendants trying to revive the nurse. “Was it a heart attack?” Holly knew better even as she asked.

  Jack left the hubbub and stepped closer to the bed, shot Will a worried look, then frowned. Still he didn’t respond to her question. The noisy crew had called a code blue and were loading the woman onto a gurney they had wheeled in.

  Only one nurse stayed behind. She began shooing Holly aside, ordering both her and Jack out of the room. Like hell, Holly thought, gritting her teeth, standing her ground gripping Will’s hand.

  His fingers still clutched hers, stronger now. When he squeezed briefly, the feeling that shot through her promised more than any verbal assurance he might have given.

  Something clicked between them in that second, a mental connection. She could clearly feel his determination to pull out of this, his fury and grief over Matt’s death, his gratitude for her friendship. His thoughts came through as clearly as if he shouted them out loud.

  Despite her constant jabs at the guys about psychic connections, visions, premonitions and such, she was a believer, for sure. But she’d never imagined herself capable of reception. Or of Will being able to project.

  A fluke, surely. Comforting and scary at the same time. Even as she thought that, Will relaxed his fingers.

  Maybe she had imagined it. That must be it. Despite the fact that her mother was West Indian, Holly knew all her own powers came straight out of books and the excellent training she’d had, certainly not from any in-born woo-woo genes.

  Reluctantly she let go of Will’s hand and moved away to let the nurse do whatever needed doing.

  Holly took Jack’s arm and they went to stand in the doorway the others had just vacated. “Will’s back with us. He’ll stay.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead to ease the tingling feeling there.

  “Thank God for that,” he said vehemently. But he kept his voice low, probably so Will wouldn’t hear. “The nurse is dead, Holly.”

  “Dead? I didn’t even hear the pop. That must have been some silencer.”

  “Didn’t use one. Judging by the projectile, I’m sure he was packing spring-loaded plastic. He would never have gotten past security downstairs with anything metal unless he had credentials and a good reason to carry.”

  “It’s a good thing we do,” Holly whispered. “Can you imagine what would have happened if we’d been caught unarmed?”

  He nodded. “The broken ampule was still in the back of her neck.” He patted his jacket pocket. “That’s what I wanted to show you earlier. They won’t guess cause of death until they do the autopsy. Probably not even then, if he used Nicopruss to kill her. It’s virtually undetectable. He obviously wasn’t expecting Will to have company in here, but you can bet our guy has more than one shot in his pocket.”

  “Who the heck was he?” Holly asked, but they could both guess the answer to that. A hit man. A professional with the right tools.

  “Would Odin risk hiring a pro to do this?” she asked. “It makes sense it’s Odin himself, Jack. No one has been able to identify him, and Will probably saw him that night.” According to the only survivor of the botched raid, Odin had been there in the thick of it, had planned to fly the plane out.

  “Whether it’s him or not, we’re still dealing with a trained assassin.”

  “I saw his face,” she told Jack.

  He snapped to attention at that. “I was in a crouch to fire, and the nurse blocked my view. By the time she fell, he was gone. You made eye contact? He knows you saw him?”

  Holly nodded again. They stared at each other then, he with concern, she with confirmation of what they both knew. They were definitely dealing with a professional killer, and Holly had just made his list. Will was already at the top of it. Even Jack was at risk. He hadn’t seen the man’s face, but how could the killer be certain of that?

  “We’ve got to get you out of here,” Jack said.

  “Correction,” she said with a shake of her head and a worried glance at Will, who was either sleeping peacefully or had lapsed back into his coma. “We’ve all got to get out of here. Now. We’re sitting ducks. This guy could have reinforcements stationed out there, just waiting for us to exit.”

  Jack already had out his cellphone. He punched in a number and held the device to his ear. “Option three, Corda. Asap. And bring Solange,” he snapped, then disconnected. It spoke of how secure this escape was to be that Jack planned to involve his wife, Solange, who was a physician.

  The team had worked out plans to cover all contingencies. Holly knew that the third option involved a helicopter on the roof of wing three, four floors up from where they were now.

  He put the phone in his pocket. “I’ll get hospital security to help transport Will.” They would both need to provide cover in case the perp had gone upstairs instead of down. “You get him unhooked.”

  Jack hurried out into the hallway while Holly returned to the bed. Will, eyes still closed, was already fumbling with the tape holding his IV in place. She took over and slid the shunt out of his vein, pressing the area with a tissue to halt the bleeding.

  Ice? Had he said the word or had she imagined it? She snatched the top off the plastic pitcher on his bedside table and dipped her hand inside. Tepid water.

  She punched the call button. “Get me some ice in here. Hurry!”

  “In a moment, ma’am. We have an emer—”

  “Don’t you make me come out there with my gun!” Holly shouted.

  Will’s lips curved and his body shook slightly.

  “You laughing at me, possum? Open those baby grays and look at me.”

  “Can’t see,” he grumbled, trying to clear his throat.

  “Course you can. You looked straight at me and Jack, too,” she argued. “You want sympathy, dude, you’re fresh out of luck.”

  But one look at the pained expression on his face stole her breath. “What do you mean, you can’t see?”

  “Fuzzy,” he said, exhaling a rattle of air. “Damn near blind.”

  “You’ll be okay,” she assured him, pressing even harder on the tissue. “Now quit bleeding all over the place, will you? I need both hands.”

  A nurse rushed in carrying another small disposable pitcher. “Here’s your ice. Wait! What are you doing? You can’t do that!” She attempted to stop Holly’s efforts to peel the machine sensors off Will’s body.

  Holly grabbed her wrist and shook it. “Help me get him unhooked. And close your mouth, girl, you look like a fish. Do what I say.”

  “But you can’t—”

  Holly shot her a warning look. The nurse got busy.

  “There. All done. You can go now.” Holly watched the nurse scurry out. “Little wimp,” she muttered.

  Mercier came in, a gurney and security guard in tow. “Let’s move!” He quickly lowered the side rail of the bed and the guard brought the gurney alongside. In seconds, the two of them had Will loaded on it and were wheeling him down the hall.

  Holly took point, on full alert for surprises at each room they passed on the way to the elevator. When it dinged and the door slid open, she crouched and swept the interior, even thought about putting two or three rounds through the roof in case someone was up top. Doubtful there had been time for that, she aimed her weapon at the overhead panel instead, prepared to riddle it.

  Slow motion took on a whole new meaning as the elevator rose to the top floor. When they exited into the night air, they still had to wait for the chopper. Holly remained by Will’s side, as vigilant as she had ever been, while Mercier quickly swept the roof area.

  He returned, declared it clear and dismissed the beefy guard who had come up with them. “Thanks, Charlie. I owe you for volunteering. I won’t forget it.”

  “No problem. Safe trip,” the big man said with a toothy grin. “Ma’am. Take care.” He turned at the doorway to the roof. “I’ll just wait here till the chopper comes and you l
ift off. Ain’t nothin’ getting past me.” He stationed himself against the heavy metal door and crossed his arms.

  Mercier had that effect, Holly knew. He inspired dedication. That’s why he was the boss. Apparently even incidental helpers weren’t immune to his charm.

  Will groaned, drawing her attention.

  “Damn it! I should have thought to get him some pain meds.” She slapped the heel of her hand against her forehead.

  “Here you go,” Mercier said. He fished in his pocket and handed her a plastic pill bottle. “Morphine. I’ll have to shoulder him into the chopper.” There would be no room for the gurney or even a stretcher.

  Holly opened the bottle, scooped out a capsule and held it to Will’s mouth. “Swallow this.”

  “No,” he said, his voice sounding stronger. “Later.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Take the pill.” She poked it between his lips.

  The instant she moved her fingers away, he popped it out. “No.”

  Holly shook her head with frustration. “Those nurses don’t know how lucky they are to get rid of you now that you’re awake. Don’t make me hold your nose.”

  His eyes closed, probably against the bright lights now descending. “Later,” he mouthed, his murmur drowned out by the whump whump of the chopper overhead.

  She leaned over Will to shield him from the wash of the blades as the helicopter set down.

  Mercier lifted Will to a sitting position, then did a shoulder carry to the open door of the helicopter. Joe Corda, fellow agent and man of many talents who was piloting, gave them a thumbs-up.

  Dr. Solange Mercier, Jack’s wife, was crouched in the small bay waiting for the patient. She beckoned, and Holly hurriedly climbed in, helping to arrange Will while Jack scrambled aboard.

  The instant he pulled the door shut, the slick Bell 206 Longranger rose and curved swiftly away from the tower, shifting the passengers sideways.

  “Airborne. Safe,” Holly said, knowing no one could hear her over the noise.

  Glass on the canopy cracked. “Ground fire!” Joe shouted.

  God, this guy didn’t give up. Someone was firing at the helicopter—probably with a sniper rifle, given their distance from the ground. Joe zoomed out of range, zigzagging as sharply as the chopper would allow while Jack radioed local authorities below. At least the shooter wasn’t using one of those heat-seekers, Holly thought with relief, or they’d be done for.

  Stay with me.

  Holly jerked her gaze from the holes in the canopy to the patient. Had Will said that, told her to stay? How had she heard him over all this racket?

  His eyes were still closed, his mouth pinched. He looked as if he might have returned to the sanctuary of silence that had sheltered him these past six days. But somehow Holly knew he hadn’t.

  She placed her hand over both of his, now resting on his chest. She’d be right by his side for as long as he needed her, she vowed. This was the mission assigned to her, but that was incidental.

  Immediately, it seemed she could feel his inner turmoil decrease, but it probably had nothing to do with her reassuring touch. Solange Mercier had raked away the gown from Will’s shoulder and injected him with something.

  The chopper droned on, whisking them away from the bright city lights to the sparsely lit suburbs surrounding Dover, then out into the chasm of night to a destination known only to Mercier and Joe Corda.

  Holly hadn’t even thought to ask Jack where they were going. Where would Will be safe?

  The morphine or whatever Solange had administered had cut off Holly’s mental connection with Will, if indeed she had really had one. She hadn’t realized how strongly she had been feeling whatever it was until it suddenly ceased.

  Or, more likely, it was only her imagination working overtime, stimulated by adrenaline that was now draining away.

  She pressed her fingers to his wrist and felt the same slow, steady pulse that had blipped on the monitor for six straight days. Only now he had fallen asleep.

  Chapter 2

  “Where are we?” Holly demanded as soon as Joe set the chopper down and switched off the power. They had been airborne for a little over an hour and a half. In the moonlight, the landscape looked like the backside of nowhere. Coming in, she’d seen a flat field surrounded by trees on three sides, with a driveway that led to a two-lane road.

  Now she looked at the ramshackle two-story structure about fifty yards away. It seemed pretty spooky with that lone light shining out the back window.

  “Cedar Top Farm, Virginia,” Jack announced. “Population six if you count the animals.”

  Holly glared at him. “This won’t do, Jack. Will needs the best medical care he can get. We should fly him to another hospital.”

  “He’ll be safer here. The house is a confiscated property, very recently acquired and outfitted. Not even on official books yet as a safe house, and I’ll see that it stays that way. As soon as Will’s able to stay awake long enough, you debrief him and contact me with what he knows. There’s a secure land line here.”

  “But Will needs—”

  “Time to recover, Holly. Solange has kept up-to-date on his condition throughout his ordeal. His doctors have said all along that once he regained consciousness, he’d probably improve very rapidly. Put that psychology degree of yours to work and help him.”

  “What if he falls into a coma again?”

  “Roanoke’s only fifteen miles away. We can get an ambulance out here in less than a quarter hour if he needs it,” Jack promised. “He’s come out of it, Holly. The main thing we can do for him now is keep him safe and give him time to completely heal, both from his physical trauma and his grief. Protect him from this immediate threat to his life. That’s your mission.”

  “Aren’t you staying?” Holly asked Solange. Jack’s wife was a physician, a general practitioner, when he might need a neurologist. Still, she was better than no doctor at all.

  She shrugged and shook her head. “You can do everything for him that I could. Keep an eye on his vitals, relieve any pain he has with this—Hydrocodone. It might be better for him than the morphine.” She handed Holly another pill bottle. “Make certain that he eats enough to regain his strength. Bland food at first. Encourage him to exercise as soon as he begins to feel restless.”

  “He mentioned his sight. It’s fuzzy, he says. He should see a specialist.”

  “Let me know if that doesn’t clear up. We’ll fly in someone we can trust,” Jack promised. “Meanwhile, make him as comfortable as you can.”

  Holly nodded, accepting the fact that Mercier had already decided on this course of action—or inaction—and it would be useless to argue.

  She stared at the big old Victorian with its peeling paint and tangled shrubbery. A house straight out of a nightmare. She imagined cobwebs, bats and dust, maybe some drug paraphernalia left by former inhabitants.

  “We should get him inside.” Jack cast a look at Will, who lay motionless. “But I’ll go in first, check it out and alert the caretaker.”

  “Caretaker?” Holly asked as she tucked the blanket tightly around Will to ward off the chill of the night. All he wore was the hospital gown. He looked so vulnerable, Holly wished she could take him in her arms and hold him.

  Jack was still speaking, Holly realized. She forced herself to focus.

  “Our man here is retired Naval Intelligence. He’s been contracted to set the place up with a security system and outfit it as a safe house for DEA, so it’s sort of in transition right now. I asked for something off the records and appropriated the place through the highest channels, without offering any details about why we wanted it.”

  With that pronouncement, he climbed out and went straight to the back door of the house.

  Joe had taken off his headset and turned around. “Hey, Will, ol’ buddy?” he said softly, his Southern accent more pronounced than usual.

  “He’s out, but he should be coming around soon,” Solange said, shining a penlight into Will’s
eyes as she lifted his eyelids. She looked up at Holly. “You have some medical training, yes?”

  “Worked as a paramedic for a couple of summers during college.” Holly shook her head. “But this…I don’t know, Solange. It’s out of my league.”

  “Call me if you need anything or have any questions,” she said, handing Holly a card from her doctor’s bag. “My cellphone number. Or call Jack and he’ll find me immediately.”

  Holly nodded, still wondering if they weren’t trusting her entirely too much with Will’s recovery. She was so afraid for him.

  Jack had returned to the chopper, bringing their host with him.

  “Donald Grayson,” he said by way of introduction. “This is Agent Holly Amberson.”

  “Mr. Grayson,” she acknowledged.

  “Call me Doc.”

  “Thank God. You’re a doctor.”

  “Nope. Got that tag when I was a medic. First job after I joined up at age eighteen. Even after I went to spook school, it just stuck.”

  Great, Holly thought. Anything he had learned would be dated by at least thirty years.

  Jack interrupted. “The rest of you stay put on the chopper. We’re taking off in about ten. Okay, ready to transport?”

  Holly helped roll Will far enough out of the chopper for Jack to get a grip on the upper half of his body while Grayson took his legs. Together they carried him the short distance to the house. Holly opened the door and stepped aside, cautioning them to be careful not to bump him around so much.

  Will woke up with a start, his head nearly exploding. The dryness in his throat reduced his cry to a groaning curse and he struggled with whoever was holding him.

  “Steady now. We’ll have you settled in a minute,” Mercier said.

  Will vaguely recalled there’d been trouble in the hospital. “Put me down. I want…to stand.” He had to know if his legs worked. He had to know. “Please,” he grunted.

  “Not a good idea,” he heard Holly say, but they stood him upright, bracing him so he wouldn’t fall.

  With effort, he straightened his legs and felt his bare feet resting solidly on the floor. It was everything between his feet and his head that gave him problems. His bones seemed to have melted, his muscles reduced to mush. Tingling mush, as if they had all gone to sleep. Damn!