Taking Care of the Target

by Cindi Madsen

“Far away from you.”

  “Yes, from me. From my family. Safe from everything.” He stopped so abruptly she nearly crashed into him. Finally, they’d reached the ground floor.

  Vince kept his back against the wall and eased the door open a crack. He scanned the ground, and then his gaze moved upward. “I don’t see him, but since we’re talking about a sniper, it’s not like he’ll be sitting in the open.”

  Cassie pressed a fist to her side, hoping it’d help with the stich there. “That’s comforting.”

  “He set up on the other side of the building, and it’d take him time to move. We should be okay.” Vince let the door close and spun to face her. He put his hand on the side of her neck and peered into her eyes as if he were trying to silently convey something he didn’t know how to say with words. A tornado of emotions rose up, and she didn’t know which one to grab on to, or if she even could hold on to one for more than a couple of seconds before the rest swept her away.

  “This might get rough. Stick close as we move around cars, no stopping, no straight line.” He ran his fingers down her arm and gave her hand a quick squeeze before turning back to the door.

  She tried to remain plastered to his back without pushing him over. He drew his gun. “Ready?”

  No. “Yes.”

  They burst out of the door and ran, footsteps slapping the pavement. Cassie’s vision tunneled in on the Jeep. Just a few more feet. The headlights flashed as Vince unlocked it with his key fob.

  The glow from the nearby streetlight spilled over them, and while she wanted to hide from the illumination, it also highlighted the dark stain of blood on Vince’s side.

  “I should drive so you can stop the bleeding,” she said.

  “I’m fi—”

  “Just don’t argue for once and let me drive.”

  “I guess that’ll be better if I need to shoot, too,” he said, handing over the keys.

  Way to take it to the scarier level, she thought as she climbed in. Vince grunted as he tossed the duffel into the backseat and climbed into the passenger side.

  The engine growled to life, and Cassie slammed the pedal so hard it threw her back against the seat. They lurched out of the parking lot, and she took a hard right.

  Vince wadded the bottom of his shirt and used his forearm to press it to his wound. “Are you going to drive me to the police station and tell them to arrest me?” he asked, but he didn’t sound very concerned.

  She eyed the sign that guided them to Route 1. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” At least with her memories back, she knew the city again, as well as the freeways and which states they led to. Driving also gave her a sense of control she desperately needed right now.

  Vince pulled out his phone, and she tensed as he made a call. Yes, he’d saved her tonight. No, that didn’t mean she automatically trusted him.

  “Bobby? You do what I asked you to?” Vince let out a relieved sigh. “Just stay gone. Dump your phone. Remember what I told you.” He glanced at Cassie. “Yeah. Pissed as hell and I’m pretty sure I can consider my ass dumped, but she’s okay, which is all that really matters…You, too.” He lowered the phone, broke it apart, and dug out the battery.

  “How much does Bobby know?”

  “Obviously he knows about our uncle’s business, but I was scared to tell him much about the whole situation with you. He just knows I think you’re in danger, that I was going to do something crazy and risky to keep you safe, and that I needed him to get as far away from New Jersey as fast as possible.” Vince rolled down his window and tossed his phone out of the Jeep. He waited several seconds before throwing the battery. “You don’t have your phone on you, do you?”

  “If I had my phone, I’d have called the police already.” She bit her lip. “You sure that’s not the right move?”

  “Carlo’s got too many contacts. I don’t trust them.”

  “I trust Tom. I can call him and—”

  “Please, Cassie. Just trust me.” He reached for her thigh and then seemed to remember he didn’t get to touch her like that anymore and rested his hand on the console instead. “The farther you get from New Jersey, the better.”

  “Trust you?” she asked, unable to help herself.

  “I suppose I deserve that.” Vince ran a hand through his hair. “Does it matter that I lied to keep you safe? I hoped you’d never remember that shooting. I wish I didn’t.”

  Cassie shuddered as the image of that man dying in the back alley of Rossi’s hit her again.

  Vince reached over and took her hand, apparently deciding it was safer territory than the thigh. She thought about jerking it away and trying to stay mad, but it felt so damn good and provided the comfort she craved right now. So she slipped her fingers between his and held on tight.

  A passing truck’s headlights lit up the Jeep’s interior for a moment, and Cassie noticed how pale Vince was. “The next town, we’ll get you to a hospital and they can stitch up the knife wound,” she said.

  “It’s nothing. Much easier to live through than a bullet wound.”

  “Still, I feel horrible. You just dove right on me, even though you had to know it’d get you.”

  He curled his fingers tighter around her hand. “It was that or watch you die, and that wasn’t an option.”

  A lump rose in her throat. “I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back.”

  “It didn’t go that deep, and if it’ll soften you up to the point that you might eventually forgive me one day, I’ll call it a win.”

  She gave a half-laugh, half-cry and then clenched her jaw, because if she allowed any crying, she might never stop.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Vince checked the rearview and side mirrors. In the dark, it was nearly impossible to tell one set of headlights from another, but they hadn’t been followed out of Jersey. He had Cassie take a few random freeways, skimming north of Philadelphia and heading that way for a while before turning south and ending up in the Appalachians.

  The strain showed in Cassie’s posture, and she kept shaking herself and readjusting in her seat, stress and fatigue taking their toll. He’d take a turn at the wheel, but he was exhausted as well and figured they could both use time to catch their breaths.

  “Let’s get off at this exit,” he said. “We’ll find a little town, check into a motel, and catch a few hours of sleep.”

  A couple of miles down the road, a small strip motel came into view. “There. Pull over and we’ll get a room.”

  When Cassie raised an eyebrow at him, he added a “please,” and she turned into the parking lot and eased the Jeep into a space near the office. After hours of non-stop driving, just being in one place was a welcome relief.

  A sharp pain shot through his side as he reached for his duffel, but he ignored it and hefted the bag onto his lap. Then he pulled on his jacket, zipped it all the way up so it’d cover his bloody T-shirt, and climbed out of the Jeep.

  He shouldered his bag and reached for Cassie’s hand, but she was focused on trying to tug her skirt closed. The seam had ripped all the way up, exposing most of her thigh. “As if I needed to show any more leg in this dress.”

  “Personally, I like it.”

  She looked up at him. He wanted to see in her eyes that they were okay, but he’d settle for her being okay. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t get a read on her. She had to be close to breaking—he figured it’d come out as either anger or yelling or tears—but her face was blank, only a hint of exhaustion in her pretty features.

  They walked to the office, and Vince held the door open. Cassie pushed past him, her bare shoulder brushing his chest. The room was tiny and warm with a pamphlet-filled stand on nearby activities. As luck would have it, the motel clerk at the desk was female—that’d make this a lot easier.

  The brunette’s gaze remained fixed on the phone in her hand, but when Vince cleared his throat, she looked up. Her eyes went wide, and then a smile spread across her face.

  “We ne
ed a room for the night,” he said.

  The clerk glanced at Cassie, seeming to notice her presence for the first time. Cassie ran a hand down her hair. After being shot at, fleeing for her life, and a long drive, she was still the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. His gaze moved to that slit and the creamy exposed skin of her thigh, and then he got distracted, thinking about running his hand up her leg.

  “Name?”

  Vince jerked his attention back to the girl behind the desk. “Mark Jones,” he said, producing a driver’s license with that alias. They only had two vacant rooms, both with king beds.

  He told her he’d take one without checking to see how unhappy Cassie looked about the news. If he had to, he could sleep on the floor. When the clerk asked for a credit card, he handed her cash instead.

  “I’m sorry, but we need a credit card for incidentals,” she said.

  “I’ll pay a cash deposit if I need to. I don’t have a credit card.”

  The girl glanced around nervously, as if someone would appear out of thin air and tell her whether or not that was okay. Then she looked at Cassie, and understanding lit her eyes—the wrong understanding. Vince flinched, hoping Cassie wouldn’t notice.

  “Room seven.” She slid a key card across. “Have a nice…stay.”

  He and Cassie exited the office and walked down the sidewalk, checking the numbers on the doors as they passed them.

  “Too bad she didn’t ask for my name,” Cassie said. “Because then I could’ve told her it was Bambi and confirmed her assumption that I was a by-the-hour-type date.”

  Vince stopped in front of their room and shot Cassie a smile. “Don’t worry, Bambi. I just wanna talk.”

  She shoved him in the chest, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile.

  The room wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Outdated but clean, with a sturdy second lock. Careful to not move too much, he shook off his jacket and rested it on the tiny circular table in the corner.

  Cassie lifted his shirt, grimacing when it stuck before slowly peeling free.

  “It’s really not that bad,” he said.

  “I saw a grocery store across the street. You get in the shower and clean it out. I’m going to get some bandages and supplies.”

  “Whatever you say, Bambi.”

  Cassie shook her head. “I think I preferred Rambo.”

  “I’m comfortable with my masculinity and all, but I’m afraid that crosses a line for me.”

  He got the smile he was hoping for. As long as he could keep her joking and happy, maybe he could stop the reality of the situation from crushing her. Now to break the news that he couldn’t actually follow her demands. “It’s not safe for you to go anywhere alone. I’ll come with you.”

  An involuntary grunt came out as he reached for his jacket, his hand automatically going to his injury.

  Cassie nudged him toward the bed, and his knees buckled ridiculously easy once they hit the edge of the mattress. “We’re miles away from anywhere and that wound needs taking care of.” She gave him her hard stare. “Don’t make me stab you again.”

  He wanted to fight her, but lightheadedness set in.

  “Small problem…” She twisted a pale strand of hair around her finger. “I don’t exactly have any money.”

  He considered saying Good, then I win, and we both stay put. But she was right about his wound needing cleaning, and he’d made sure they weren’t followed. “Your purse is in my duffel bag. I hope you don’t mind I took your stash of cash from your drawers and shoved it all in there, but I knew you’d need it. We can’t use credit cards from here on out, okay? Nothing they can use to trace us.”

  “Okay.” She opened the duffel bag, dug around, and came up with her purse and the framed picture from her night table. Hugging it to her chest she spun to him. “You…” Her voice cracked, and tears bordered her eyes.

  “I would’ve brought the quilt and your hot pink couch if I could, but that was the only thing I could fit in with our clothes and other supplies I thought we’d need.”

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  ***

  Tony “the Trigger” Castellano wasn’t talking. The local boys in blue caught him running out of the building across the street from Cassandra Dalton’s place. Jim and Mancini had burst into Cassandra’s complex and rushed to her floor, planning on taking her into protective custody.

  Only when they arrived, the door had a hole instead of a doorknob, there were bullet holes in the fridge as well as the counter and wall, and blood was on the floor of the kitchen. Cassandra’s car sat in the parking lot, but she was nowhere to be found. They put in calls to the local hospitals and talked to her neighbors, who hadn’t heard anything. Not all that surprising, considering the blaring TV and the fact that sniper rifles were quiet, unless the thing they shot was right next to you. None of her neighbors seemed to know much about Miss Dalton in general.

  He and Mancini also questioned the people at her work to see if she was with any of them or had contacted them, but no dice. One of her co-workers told him about Vince DaMarco and how he and Cassie had been seeing each other.

  There was no sign of Vince DaMarco, either.

  Trigger Castellano’s lawyer showed up, and big surprise, he had the same lawyer as the rest of Rossi’s boys. They couldn’t charge him for murder without a body, but until they found out if there was one, they could hold him on smaller charges. They should probably apply for a judge’s approval to hold him for longer so they’d have more time to investigate Cassandra’s disappearance.

  Mancini slammed down the phone with enough force for Jim to know whatever lead he’d been pursuing hadn’t worked out. He sat back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. “If Vince killed her,” he said, “why’d Tony shoot?”

  “I don’t know,” Jim said, shaking his head. The connection between Cassandra and Vince had never made much sense to him. “But I do know I want to get my hands on him and ask him.”

  “I just hope…I hope he’s not on his way to dispose of the body. The more time he has…” Mancini didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

  Cassandra Dalton was either dead or injured, and they needed to find her soon, for her sake and for their case’s sake. Please let her just be injured.

  He wanted her to be okay, he did, because he didn’t want innocent people to die. Did it make him a bad person to also want her alive because she could be the key to their entire case against Carlo Rossi? They’d be able to make a decent case against conspiracy to murder. Of course, the slippery bastard had Sal give the order to keep himself clear.

  Jim turned and punched the wall until his knuckles throbbed and stung.

  Mancini simply watched, not attempting to stop him or tell him to calm down. He liked that about the kid, even though his knuckles could’ve used an intervention. “Feel better?”

  “No.” Right now the case felt so damned impossible.

  Mancini leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the other. He gave off a good fake everything’s-gonna-be-okay-vibe, but tension tightened his jaw, and his fists were clenched. “Once forensics is done with what they found at the scene, they promised to send us the information ASAP. And we sent out an APB on Cassandra and Vince.”

  “We got double the manpower for surveillance now, too, so we’ll push hard while they’re trying to cover their tracks.”

  Mancini nodded and sighed. “So, now we just gotta wait and see.”

  Jim studied his red, scraped knuckles. “Problem is, I’ve never been much for ‘wait and see.’”

  ***

  Cassie frowned at the many types of bandages, not sure what she needed. They always seemed to magically know in the movies. That or they had the luck to have a doctor stashed somewhere. Hospitals, cancer treatments, waking up from massive head injuries… she could tell you loads about that. But flesh wounds confounded her, and she certainly didn’t have a doctor stashed somewhere.

  She tossed supp
lies into her basket at random. Gauze, tape, butterfly bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and Neosporin. That should cover most of the bases, just short of actually going to the hospital to get Vince stitched up like she’d prefer. He kept insisting he was fine, but she saw the way he winced whenever he moved. Not to mention the amount of blood staining his T-shirt.

  Trying to focus on happier thoughts, despite the fact that they were in short supply at the moment, she moved to the next aisle. The sleeves of Vince’s green jacket fell over her hands as she grabbed Ibuprofen. She opened her purse, pushed aside the wads of cash she’d need to organize when she got a chance, and saw she still had a few pain pills left over from her accident. That should get us by. And food. We never got to eat dinner, and I’m starving.

  After loading up with snack-type foods and tucking a case of water bottles under her arm, she took her items to the check stand. The older woman in front of her glanced back, her eyebrows arching slightly, and Cassie prepared herself for being silently accused of being a hooker for the second time today. Vince’s jacket at least covered her skimpy, torn dress, but it also kind of made her look like she was wearing only the jacket, with a mere few inches of hot pink showing at the bottom. Then there were the heels she couldn’t wait to abandon.

  The woman gave her a compassionate smile. “Are you okay, honey?”

  Cassie blinked back unexpected tears at the concern from a stranger and assured the woman she was, in spite of doubting she’d ever be totally okay again.

  Balancing everything was a bit tricky, and as she exited the store, she suddenly remembered every movie she’d watched where the bad guy was outside waiting for the unsuspecting girl who’d been dumb enough to go somewhere alone.

  She glanced around, telling herself that no one could’ve possibly followed them or guessed that they’d picked Whateversburg, Pennsylvania to stay the night. Still, she rushed to the Jeep, shoved the supplies into the back, and released an exhale once she was safely locked inside.

  When she reentered the motel room, Vince had clearly just gotten out of the shower. His hair was wet, drops of water clung to his gloriously bare torso, and he had on a pair of black boxer briefs that left little to the imagination. Cassie’s heart stuttered as her eyes traced the smattering of hair that covered his toned chest, ripped abs, and disappeared into the waistband of his boxers.