The torn flesh still bled, probably because of her mad dash away from the shooters. He looked at her face. She was so pale he could see the veins beneath her skin. When he focused on her now dull gray eyes, he could see she was at the end of her resources. For some reason that pissed him off.
“Do not lie to me about your health again. You’re in shock. You need rest, food, and liquids.”
Elana stiffened and shot a blazing glare at him so hot he swore his skin burned. His zaychik had a temper. Good to know.
“I know my capabilities. So deal with it.” At his angry snort, she huffed out a breath. “Listen to me, you alpha-male throwback—you couldn’t do anything while driving us away from danger…so I…” Her rebuke trailed off. She took several slow, deep breaths and then continued speaking through clenched teeth. “I did what I had to do. And we aren’t safe…yet.”
She was magnificent in her indignation. In that instant, Vanko recognized he’d do anything to protect her, to possess her fire. But he’d have to be patient. His Elana had demons, demons that caused her to be leery of “alpha-male throwbacks.” After he’d gained her full trust, he’d let her know how their future would proceed.
For now, he’d work on keeping her safe and making her feel better.
Before he could speak to calm her down, she touched his forearm for a split second before pulling her hand away. “Sorry, my words were uncalled for. None of this is your fault.” She looked over his shoulder and out into the parking lot. “What I meant to say was—can’t treating my wound wait until later? The pain is tolerable and I am not bleeding to death…and, um, those men could be hunting for us.”
She was afraid. That was understandable, but unacceptable. Vanko placed a finger under her chin only long enough to tilt her head so he could look directly into her weary eyes. He ignored the slight flinch at his touch. “Listen and believe…I’ll protect you no matter where we’re at or who finds us—do not doubt that.”
He held her wide-eyed gaze until she nodded, but fear still lingered in her eyes. Breathing deeply and slowly to keep his anger at bay—the violent emotion aimed at the situation, not her—he then spoke in a gentler tone, “Please, zaychik moy, do not hedge the truth again. Your health and safety are my biggest concerns.”
“I’m not your little bunny.”
Oh yes, she was; she just didn’t realize it yet.
Elana laid her head against the neck rest. “And I do trust you, because Keely and her husband sent you. We can’t trust anyone else in D.C. at the moment.”
He noted the “we.” She already thought of them as a team against the enemy. It was a beginning, but wasn’t enough. He wanted her full and unconditional trust, and not just because he was an SSI operative. Once he had that, he’d have the key to winning her heart and soul.
“Yes, we’re a team.” He pulled out a clean handkerchief and tore off a portion of her already ruined shirt. “I need to apply some pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding. Now, brace, dusha moya. I’m sorry. This will hurt.”
Vanko covered the gash with the scraps of cloth and then pressed—hard. He cringed as she arched away from the seat and groaned, a low and painful sound in the back of her throat.
“Easy, milaya moya.” My sweet—and she was sweet. Sweet, sassy, and very, very brave.
He released the pressure and eased her out of the raincoat, completely this time, then bundled the coat against her side and over the temporary pads he’d placed against the wound. He used the belt of the raincoat to hold the makeshift pressure bandage in place. After he was sure the bulky dressing would stay in place, he buckled her back into her seat.
“Do you want something for the pain? I can…” He moved to stroke some hairs off her face, and she edged away from his fingers.
Fuck, Petriv, control yourself. She isn’t ready for your casual touches.
But they weren’t casual, and he wasn’t sure he could avoid touching her.
Elana stared at his hand and then, to his amazement, traced a finger over her blood staining his skin. The light touch sent a frisson of awareness down his spine.
Or maybe it was her blood on your fingers she shied from?
Vanko held his breath. He liked her touch and didn’t want to scare her into removing it.
“No,” she said on a sigh, “no pain medications. Just get us out of here.” Then she covered his hand more fully with hers and gave it a quick squeeze before pulling it away and moving it to hold the padding over her wound. “I’ll be fine. Really.”
God, she was attempting to reassure him, when it was his duty to take care of her. Her actions—and the courage it had taken for her to touch him—humbled him.
Her words might have said one thing, but she didn’t look fine. She was a slender, fine-boned woman unused to the adrenaline cocktail flooding her body. When and if the epinephrine levels dropped, she could lose consciousness.
“Stop examining me as if I were an alien life form…I promise I’m fine. I’m running on no sleep, no food, and whatever fight-or-flight hormones my body is producing. Sleep and food will go a long way to seeing me back to my normal good health.”
Vanko gave her an abrupt nod. “But tell me if anything changes before we get to our hotel. I can always find an emergency room. Do you need me to go through a drive-through and get you something to drink and eat on the way out of D.C.?”
“That sounds good.” She gave him a small smile, and he spotted dimples on both cheeks which made him want to make her smile more often.
He checked to make sure she was fully tucked inside the car. “Now lie back and rest as much as you can.”
“So very bossy.” She relaxed into the seat, her left arm now clutching her right as she hugged the bulky padding against her body.
Vanko closed the door and then ran around the Hummer and got back into the driver’s seat. He quickly pulled out of the lot. Then he made a call to Sanctuary. As he waited for it to go through the automatic signal scrambling, his gaze constantly switched between traffic and Elana’s pale face. She had closed her eyes, but she wasn’t asleep. Her posture was too alert as if she needed to be ready to fight off the enemy—or the odd dangerous male.
“Vanko! Did you pick up Elana?” Ren’s voice boomed over the vehicle’s sound system.
“Yes. We need damage control with the D.C. cops, or I’ll get pulled over before I get out of town.” Someone had probably gotten his plates and vehicle description and given them to the responding officers. “The bastards shot Elana before I got to her.” His wrath leaked into his tone of voice.
“Goddamnfuckingsonofabitch.” Ren then added some special Russian curses aimed at the shooters’ ancestors.
Elana inhaled sharply and stiffened in her seat.
Note to self: angry male voices upset her also.
“Does she need a hospital? Can you treat the injuries?” Ren asked. “D.C. isn’t a good place for either of you right now. The shooting and your sidewalk driving maneuvers went viral as they happened.”
Elana gasped. “No! Vanko…”
The fear in her voice stabbed him in the gut. He shot a worried glance her way. Her eyes were wide open and her pupils so dilated he could only see a thin circle of silver around them.
“Everything will be okay, Elana.”
She shook her head wildly. She worried her quivering lower lip with her teeth. He hated seeing her fear, hated he couldn’t shield her from whatever had put the fear into her.
If he hadn’t been in crazy bad traffic, he would’ve pulled over and held her until she stopped shaking, except that probably would’ve scared her more. Instead, he answered Ren, “I can handle the injury—it’s a gouge on the fleshy part of her hip. She’s more exhausted and scared than anything else.”
“Fuck, just fuck,” Ren said.
“The situation is a cluster fuck, buddy.” However, the circumstances had brought him to Elana. Fate worked in strange ways, as his sister always said.
Elana grabbed Vanko’s
forearm. He looked away from the traffic. She’d lost what little color she’d had in her face and was more than merely afraid now, she was terrified.
“Elana? What is it?”
Her fingers fluttered on his arm. “Not safe…he’ll…recognize me. Could already be…on his way.” Her hand slipped away as she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.
Some sixth sense told him the “he” she feared the most wasn’t any of the ones chasing her now or the man who’d hired them.
Yeah, he really needed to find out more about her background. His gut screamed this mess was due to become a total goat rope, and soon, if he didn’t get a handle on it.
Left hand on the wheel, Vanko clasped her cold hand, needing the connection even if it scared her even more. Crazy as it sounded, he was afraid she’d slip away if he didn’t hold on to her. Plus, he wanted her to rely on him to buffer her fears. She needed to see him as her safe harbor in the coming hours and days.
“Vanko! What’s going on?” Ren’s grim voice came over the phone.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good, that’s good.” Ren coughed several times. “Um, Vanko, I have some bad news.”
Vanko cursed. Murphy’s Law was in play big time. “What now?”
“We can’t get your backup there tonight. We’re socked in. A front blew in. We’re under blizzard conditions until at least Wednesday or Thursday.”
Knowing how unpredictable the weather was in Northern Idaho, Vanko wouldn’t hold his breath for Wednesday.
“Dermo. Shit.” Vanko swerved into the left lane to avoid a slow-moving mini-van. He muttered even more foul curses, calling into question the bimbo-driver-on-her-cell-phone’s lineage.
Elana muttered, “Potty mouth.”
There was that valor he’d come to expect in the short time he’d known Elana. He gave her a naughty grin and winked. Her lips twisted into a slight smile before thinning again. A pinched look about her eyes indicated she was in more pain than she wanted to admit.
Ren half-choked, half-laughed. “Uh, bad traffic?”
“Yeah. I have no patience with these idiots.” Vanko took the ramp onto I-66 which would take him into Virginia and temporary refuge. “Elana, milaya, do you have something in that big bag—maybe some ibuprofen to take off the edge?”
She nodded and pulled her left hand from his in order to rummage in her purse. She pulled out a bottle.
“Give me the bottle.” He took and opened it, then handed several tablets to her. Angling his head, he indicated the cup holder. “Use my water.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. She popped the tablets in her mouth and took several long draws from his water bottle. She put the bottle back and attempted to smile at him, but failed miserably.
“Poor zaychik. Rest.” He resisted the urge to touch her again. He didn’t want to spook her now that she had her emotions under control once more. “I’ll have you some place safe soon where I can take better care of you.”
“Vanko…” Ren’s voice boomed over the speakers, startling them out of the cocooned world of the Hummer. “…Tweeter booked you a room under your go-to alias, Jake Smithson, at the Springhill Suites in Centreville, Virginia, right off I-66. Keep in touch. I’ll also have Tweeter locate some safe doctors near the hotel, just in case you need medical backup.”
Elana spoke up, “I won’t need anyone other than Vanko. Some food. A nice bandage. Some primo pain killers. A good night’s sleep. That’s all I need.”
She closed her eyes as if all of a sudden the lids were too heavy to remain open. Her dark lashes were a sharp contrast and looked like feathers against her alabaster skin.
She had a subtle beauty, one that would age well. Yeah, she more than did it for him on every level.
“I only plan to stay at the hotel long enough to care for Elana’s wound. In light of your weather news, I’ll make arrangements for a long-term stay at a more secure location,” Vanko told Ren. “So…don’t take any risks on our account. I’ll call when I know where we’ll be. I’ll also be picking up some throw-away phones.”
“Roger that, buddy. Tweeter and Keely will work on a way to use your cell phone to get the suspect dossiers to you. They’re big, but we’ll find a way.”
“I have a laptop with better than average security, Ren,” Elana said. “It also has a lot of RAM and hard drive memory.”
“That’s good. It’ll be way faster than Vanko’s cell,” Ren said. “Vanko can use our NSA satellite hookup and connect your laptop.”
“See? Teamwork.” Vanko smiled at Elana who allowed a slight twist to her lips before sighing and closing her eyes once more.
Ren cleared his throat. “Call me when you get to the hotel. Normally you’d have a half hour drive, but with D.C. area traffic I’ll give you an hour. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll take the risk and call out the local Feds to come find you.”
“Make it one and a half hours. I-66 is stop-and-go.” Vanko moved into the passing lane to get by a line of semis going less than the speed limit.
Ren snorted with disgust. “One point five hours it is. Stay safe.”
“Roger that.” Vanko scanned Elana’s emotionless face, but saw her underlying tension in the stiffness of her posture. “I’ll take good care of Elana.”
“I know you will, buddy,” Ren said. “Elana, Vanko’s one of our best personal security agents, you’re in good hands.”
“I can see that already, Ren,” Elana said. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you, Elana,” Ren’s voice broke. “You’re our first chance at taking out a man who’s made it his life’s goal to kill me, my wife, my child, and everyone I hold dear. Anything I can do for you, just ask. I’m out.”
“Out, Ren.” Vanko punched off. “He meant every word. You need anything, just ask. You’re part of the SSI family now.”
He sensed her gaze on him. “I haven’t done anything yet,” she said, confusion in her tone. “There’s no guarantee the man I saw is the same man you’re after.”
“He is. I had a chance on the flight to D.C. to read the statement you made to the D.C. cops. It’s our traitor.” He checked out the mirrors and the traffic on each side and ahead of them.
“Are there local cops on our butts? Is there a tail?” she whispered.
Elana was very observant and more alert than he’d thought. What in her past had molded Elana to be hyper-aware of her surroundings?
“Ren’s handling the local cops. No tail at the moment. No worries. Okay?”
“I’ll try—but you need to know I’m a world-class worrier.” Her lashes lowered again. A little whimper followed by a sigh, and just that quickly Elana had shut out the world for the time being.
But he was darn sure she wasn’t fully asleep. She still didn’t trust him enough…yet. Did she ever feel safe enough to fall completely asleep while a man was close?
He bet not. She would with him.
Chapter 5
Saturday, December 3rd, 2:00 P.M. (EST), a bar in the Benning Heights area of D.C.
“Are you nuts? I told you to never call me on this line.”
The big-ass-wig in the Defense Intelligence Agency sounded pissed. Crocker could care less.
The sound of a car’s motor was in the background along with traffic noise. Son of a bitch was in his car. Good, it would make the call harder to isolate.
“Your men fucked up a simple job…on the National Mall no less. I’m driving in to attend an emergency meeting about this shit.” Crocker’s employer spat out the words like bullets. “The bitch can identify me—and if I go down, you go down. Kill her…or kiss life as you know it goodbye.”
God, Crocker hated this fucker’s guts.
“The guy who picked her up was driving a Hummer,” Crocker barked into the land line located in a seedy bar in an even seedier D.C. neighborhood, a guaranteed NSA-less zone. “It had plates from one of those rental agencies catering to the diplomatic crowd.” He related the company’s name and plate num
ber. “I need the GPS code to track them.” He’d been lucky to catch the plates on the Hummer in the online videos.
He glanced toward the bar where his two men sat watching a basketball game as if they had no cares in the world. The moronic peckerheads had lost the fucking librarian. And they’d lost her publicly. Their grainy images and more than a few fucking videos were plastered all over the fucking Internet. The two had become expendable. Crocker had already called up his other team after seeing the You Tube videos.
The DIA asshole cursed under his breath. Crocker had heard and said worse.
“I’ll work on getting you the code and anything I can get on her rescuer,” his employer said, “but you take care of her…soon.”
The unspoken “or else” rang loudly in Crocker’s head.
“Understood,” you stupid mother-fucker candy ass, “I’ll handle it personally,” Crocker snarled. Since my ass is on the line as much as yours.
“That’s what I thought I’d paid for…your personal service.” His employer paused, then added, “I’ll send the intel to the Internet mailbox.” The sound of the car motor ceased. “I have to go. Don’t call me on this line again. Use the mailbox.”
Hell no. “I’ll contact you however I damn please.” Crocker always used throw-aways and the odd landline—and NSA could chase electrons all the damn day trying to find him. Using an e-mail box wasn’t quick enough turnaround when decisions needed to be made ASAP. And this situation was damned fast and fluid at the moment.
Crocker hung up on his employer’s creative use of the f-word. He returned to the two losers and sat down. His back to the bar, he stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles.
Taking a sip of his beer, he pinned the bozos with a glare. “Bad shit is happening at DIA. We need to find the bitch and her rescuer, eliminate them, and try and salvage this goat rope. If we don’t…” He left the rest of the sentence unsaid. Let them fill in the blanks however they wanted.
Crocker was already going over his emergency exit strategy in his head. He didn’t trust his employer, Captain Syd-fucking-MacLean, not to throw him under the bus even if he succeeded in killing the nosy librarian.
Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) Page 6
