Situation: Out of Control/Full Exposure

by Debra Webb

  "Good."

  As soon as she'd gotten in he pulled away from the parking slot and followed her instructions. She watched him closely as he walked to the hotel's rear entrance. His movements seemed steady but some thing was clearly wrong here. It wasn't until they were safely behind the locked door of their room that she knew just how wrong.

  He winced as he removed his jacket. The tear in his black shirt and the slight variation in fabric color in the surrounding area loudly telegraphed the problem.

  "You've been shot." She breathed the words.

  He staggered but regained his balance with the aid of the nearest table. "I think I'm going to need your assistance."

  "How bad is it?" She rushed to him and started to unbutton his shirt.

  He manacled her hands in his. "No matter what happens," he warned, his voice taut, "don't take me to a hospital. We have to stay out of sight."

  "But what if—"

  He fell against her, his weight dragging them both down to the floor.

  This time he didn't try to catch himself.

  This time he didn't speak.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Inside the Colby Agency, 11:45 a.m.

  22 hours, 30 minutes remaining…

  Lucas Camp sat down at the long conference table, alongside his wife. He didn't like the worry etched across her lovely face. He hadn't seen her this upset since before they'd discovered her son was alive.

  When would this end?

  "Still no word from Cole Danes?" she asked, her voice hollow from lack of sleep.

  Lucas shook his head. "Nothing. I haven't been able to contact him since he left the office yesterday."

  Victoria pressed her hands to her mouth.

  "I know this is difficult, Victoria, but I still believe he will pull this off. He's never failed before. He won't this time."

  She turned to him, anguish clouding her eyes. "How could this happen? Mildred…" She shook her head. "He may not be able to save Mildred and her niece. And, dear God, what about the child? Has any one figured out where the child is?"

  This hit far too close to home. Lucas hated to see her go through this kind of torment again. He'd sworn to protect her and he hadn't been able to. Leberman, the devil, still had his cronies. Lucas had a bad feeling that it wouldn't really be over until every last one of them was dead.

  "I've got people working on it," he assured her gently. Never one to take chances, Lucas had two of his Specialists working the case. Unfortunately, Cole Danes had proven every bit as capable as his Specialists. He'd given them the slip as if they were mere recruits fresh out of training. But they would pick up his trail again. For now, Victoria didn't need to be bothered with any of that. "Casey believes Angel hid the child. That's why they've taken Mildred. It was the only other way they knew to get at Angel."

  "What else does Casey have to say?"

  Thomas Casey was Lucas's boss. The director of Mission Recovery and a good friend. He'd gone through this nightmare with Lucas, had provided un relenting support. He had called this morning with an update he didn't want to discuss via the airwaves. His plane had arrived in Chicago thirty minutes ago. Lucas had sent a car to bring him to the office. Mean while, he and Victoria could only speculate as to what Casey had uncovered.

  The door opened and Thomas Casey stepped in side the conference room. Lucas stood to greet him. Though nearly twenty years Lucas's junior, Thomas Casey had amassed a wealth of experience in the world of covert operations. He was a top-notch director. But no one, not even Lucas, would ever know the man behind the job.

  Thomas Casey didn't let anyone close.

  "I apologize for being so vague when we spoke this morning," Casey said by way of greeting as he shook Lucas's outstretched hand. He nodded to Victoria. "Good to see you, Victoria."

  "Thank you for coming. I hope you have some news that can help us, Thomas."

  No one else in the world called Director Casey by his first name. Lucas suppressed a tiny smile. He doubted anyone other than Victoria would get away with it.

  "I believe I have some insight that might be of use," he allowed.

  "Why don't we sit." Lucas gestured to the chair directly across the table from where he and Victoria sat.

  "Coffee?"

  "None for me, thanks." Casey settled into his chair.

  Victoria shook her head when Lucas looked to her.

  "Well then, let's get this thing started."

  Casey set his briefcase on the table and opened it. He removed a manila folder marked classified and passed it to Lucas.

  "I've looked a little more deeply into Cole Danes's past."

  That news surprised Lucas. "His record is outstanding."

  "That's true. Not a single failure." Casey leaned back in his chair. "Graduated from Yale with a law degree, went on to achieve his doctorate in foreign affairs. The man speaks a dozen different languages, even trained with Special Forces just to get the physical logistics right in case he needed them. He has negotiation and intimidation tactics down to a science. I'd like nothing better than to recruit him for my unit."

  "So what else is new?" Lucas already knew all that. That's why he'd selected Danes for this assignment.

  "Professionally he's something of a superhero," Casey agreed. "It's his personal life where things get complicated."

  Lucas shrugged. "His father was an ambassador to an African country. He and his wife have since re tired to Florida. One brother, six years older, who also worked for the State Department."

  "Died in a car bombing in Libya fifteen years ago," Casey interjected.

  "Not surprising," Lucas countered. "Libya's not exactly the place to be if you're American, not then, not now." Even with the new, so-called cooperation the Libyan government had shown lately, the country was still an unstable environment for Americans.

  "One would think," Casey said mysteriously. "But when I considered Danes's handling of the Howard Stephens case and then this latest turn of events, I took a closer look at his activities in the past ten or so years."

  Lucas leaned forward to flip through the pages of the file Casey had brought.

  "We know Errol Leberman and Howard Stephens formed an alliance. With a team of six men they carried out death warrants all over the world."

  Again Lucas wondered what was new with that. "Go on," he prompted knowing Casey would not have come all this way without good reason which would include new information.

  "I formulated a number of simulations," Casey explained. "I considered the deceased Danes son's work in international terrorism and the time frame. The man had quite a handle on the homeland terrorist situation even then. He made statements that our own worst enemies might come from within.

  "If Cole Danes's beloved brother, his only sibling, had been murdered by homeland terrorists rather than foreigners that would make for excellent motivation for Danes to go after the culprits."

  Lucas narrowed his gaze. "You're saying someone commissioned Leberman and Stephens to do the job and make it look 'work' related, as if his visit to Libya had been the reason he'd died."

  "Right."

  "But that's only speculation." Lucas flared his hands skeptically. "I'll admit that after what's happened I considered the possibility that Danes had a personal stake in this, but there's no evidence to back it up."

  "Maybe there is." Casey pointed to the file. "Check the dates. Until today, four of the six men Leberman and Stephens had recruited have been executed. We know this from what Victoria's son has related during the past few months."

  Victoria shifted in her chair. "He hasn't remembered everything," she reminded. "There are a lot of holes in his memory."

  "I understand that. But in each instance when one of Leberman's team was executed, there is documentation that Cole Danes was traveling in the area."

  That got Lucas's attention. He shuffled through the pages. "You're certain." He didn't know why he asked. He knew Casey wouldn't introduce the scenario if he hadn't done his homework.


  "Even when Leberman was here in Chicago, Danes was in the area. There's no evidence, of course, that he was involved in any way or made any sort of contact, but he was here."

  Lucas sat back in his chair, a cold hard knot of apprehension forming in his gut. "So you think Danes is avenging his brother's death."

  Casey nodded. "Not just his brother, his brother's wife and children, as well. Vengeance is the most likely scenario. Especially considering this morning's shoot-out. Another of the original six went down."

  Lucas knew all about this morning's escapade. Chicago PD had related the story to Victoria when she called to inquire. One officer insisted that the EMTs had stated that Danes had questioned the shooting victim extensively before allowing him to be transported. The man had been DOA. Both EMTs had admitted that he would likely have died anyway. He'd lost a massive amount of blood, had serious internal injuries.

  "That leaves only one," Victoria said, the worst-case scenario obviously taking shape for her, as well. She turned to Lucas. "My God," she murmured. "Surely he won't put his need for revenge ahead of Mildred's life."

  Lucas wanted to reassure her…but he couldn't.

  Considering this latest data, there was no way to know what Cole Danes would do.

  "I will say this," Casey offered, dragging Lucas's attention back to him. "Cole Danes has a reputation for being fair as well as ruthless. Despite the scenario I've presented, we have every reason to believe he'll do the right thing. He always has."

  Lucas hoped like hell he would do the right thing this time. He set his jaw hard. If Cole Danes allowed Mildred or Angel Parker to be hurt, Lucas would have no one to blame but himself for bringing the man into this situation. There was nothing he could do to change that glaring fact, but he would make it right on one level. It would be Cole Danes's first and final mistake.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Renaissance Hotel, East Side of Chicago,

  12:20 p.m.

  21 hours, 55 minutes remaining…

  There was no exit wound.

  The bleeding had stopped but from what she could see Danes had already lost more blood than he should have. Too much for her comfort.

  He lay on the bed now, a feat she would never have been able to accomplish alone. He'd roused enough to help, though she'd hated that his exerting any additional effort had been necessary.

  "What're you waiting for?" His voice sounded sterner than it should for a man in his condition, but she didn't miss the thin quality. In the past twelve hours or so she'd come to know quite well the strong, rich sound.

  She ordered her hands not to fidget and kept her gaze carefully away from his. "There's no exit wound."

  "You'll find tweezers in the supplies I purchased. Dig it out."

  Disregarding his suggestion, she looked around for any kind of distraction. "Have some ice chips." She'd called room service and ordered bottled water, crushed ice and coffee. She'd needed the caffeine, the rest had been for him. She'd cleansed the wound and surrounding area with bottled water and the peroxide he'd purchased. She'd also gone into the bath room and made one other call…he wouldn't like it.

  As hard as she tried her fingers still shook as she held a few chips of ice to his lips. He sucked them from her fingertips, the feel of his lips even under present circumstances sent an unexpected tingle through her.

  She bit down on her lower lip and studied the small wound in his side as if considering his suggestion. There could be internal hemorrhaging. Experience told her that if the internal injuries were massive he'd be in shock by this point, suffering from extreme blood loss. But she couldn't be certain. Each individual's tolerance for pain and ability to function beyond normal limits was always different. He could be hanging by a thread, but his vitals were damn good if that turned out to be the case. His pulse was still strong, his heart rate very good considering.

  "What have you done?"

  Her head came up. "What do you mean?"

  A knock at the door confirmed his suspicions. Why was it her luck never held out?

  The weapon was in his hand before she realized his hand had moved. "That better be room service again."

  She stood quickly and backed away from the bed. "I had to call a friend."

  He pushed up into a sitting position. The grim line of his mouth exposed plainly how much the move cost him but he didn't make a sound in protest. "Don't answer it," he ordered, fury flashing in those eyes. "I don't want to have to kill anyone else this morning."

  His words shook her but she refused to be intimidated on the issue. He needed more help than she could give. She was only a nurse, not a surgeon. "You don't have a choice." She strode to the door and reached for the knob. The sound of him chambering a round gave her only a second's pause; she twisted the knob and opened the door.

  Keith Anderson smiled at her. "I was beginning to think you'd played some kind of joke on me," he said good-naturedly.

  She pulled him into the room and quickly closed and locked the door. "Thanks for coming, Keith."

  "Whoa! Who's the guy with the gun?"

  Angel rolled her eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh. "Put the gun down, Danes. He's here to help."

  Keith Anderson looked at her a little skeptically. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

  He'd asked that on the phone but she'd insisted that there was no time to explain. She'd only known Keith a few months. He was friendly and flirtatious and currently in his surgical rotation. She'd warded off his friendly advances from day one. As nice as he was, as cute as he was, she'd learned the hard way not to date the doctors, med students or interns.

  She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer to the bed. His hesitation was understandable since Danes refused to put his gun away.

  "You brought what we need?" She glanced at the large shopping bag in his hand. She'd warned him not to look like a doctor, hence the casual attire and big brown paper bag.

  A mixture of confusion and apprehension had claimed his face. "I brought what you asked for."

  "Who the hell is this guy?" Danes demanded. His hair was loose now, hanging around his shoulders, the silver earring glinting in his earlobe. His black shirt ripped open, the leather shoulder holster still in place. She could well imagine what Keith thought.

  "Keith Anderson. He's an intern at the hospital. He's going to help."

  She looked away from Keith's questioning expression. He would want to know later, assuming either of them survived to see a later, why she'd lied. She saw him most every day at the hospital rightly enough, but he was only a fourth-year medical student. Still, he had three things going for him, he was in the final weeks of his surgery rotation, he was friendly and Angel knew she could trust him.

  Danes's furious gaze locked onto hers. "Did you warn him that I'd have to kill him when he's through?"

  "Put the gun away. We're wasting time," she ordered in the sternest tone she could marshal.

  "Look, Angel." Keith backed away a step. "This is a little intense."

  She seized his arm with both hands and waited until he'd looked at her before she spoke. "Please, Keith, this is important. I won't let him hurt you. Just do this for me, would you?"

  He looked from her to the gun still aimed in his direction and back. "All right, but it's going to cost you." A wicked grin slid across his handsome face, outshining any of the other emotions still lingering there. "I won't let you forget it, either."

  "Whatever you want," she promised.

  Keith passed the bag to her and sat down on the edge of the bed, ignoring Danes's glare as well as his weapon. That was another thing she'd known about Keith. He would risk his standing at the hospital as well as the university to bring the necessary items. She doubted anyone else would have done that for her.

  "Let me have a pair of those gloves," he mumbled to Angel, already distracted by the injury. He pulled a stethoscope from his jacket pocket.

  Relief chased away the last of Angel's uncertainty. She handed him a pair of the gloves he'd
brought and hurried to set up so she could assist him. She dragged the chair and table closer, then arranged the surgical equipment and medical supplies from the bag atop it.

  "Let's get that IV going," Keith told her. His eyes told her he wasn't completely happy with the circum stances. She understood.

  Angel donned a pair of gloves, took the necessary implements and moved to the other side of the bed. She draped the IV bag on the headboard and repeated, "Put the gun down, Danes."

  He lowered the weapon to the mattress but didn't release it. When she pressed him with her gaze he said, "That's as good as it's going to get."

  "Fine." She surveyed his forearm and decided on the best spot for the introduction of the IV catheter.

  "What's in that?" He glanced toward the IV bag.

  "Nothing to worry about," she assured, annoyed. The man needed help and all he could do was ask questions and complain. "You need the fluids, you've lost a lot of blood."

  "No drugs?"

  "No drugs yet, sir," Keith answered for her. "But you'll need something for this. It's going to be quite painful."

  "No drugs." This time Danes directed his no-arguments order at Keith. "If I feel the first glimmer of an anesthetic you'll regret it."

  Keith looked from Danes to Angel. "No way am I doing this without anesthesia."

  Damn. "Did you bring a local?"

  He shrugged. "Yeah, but—"

  "Give him that."

  "Angel, you—"

  "Do it," Danes commanded. He repositioned the weapon on his right side, well within Keith's line of vision.

  "Whatever."

  Angel would not soon forget the next few minutes. The local helped somewhat, but not nearly enough. It was insane to do it this way, but Danes refused to allow any additional numbing drugs. To his credit, he didn't make a peep as Keith increased the size of the wound, then prodded with a pair of surgical retrieval forceps until he found the bullet lodged against a rib and removed it.

  "Man, you were damn lucky," Keith said as he explored the area as best he could for any other dam age. "A millimeter to the right and that sucker would have gone through your lung. As it is, you've got a fractured rib, but not a lot of other damage."