Lethal Lies

by Lara Lacombe

  His eyes narrowed briefly before he returned his focus to the road. “You know that’s a morphine derivative. It’ll help calm him down so you can dig the bullet out.”

  How the hell did he know that? Did he have some kind of medical background? But if that was the case, why did he need her? She glanced over at his friend, who was leaning against the door, his body limp. The sound of his labored breathing let her know he hadn’t died, but neither was he unconscious, as evidenced by the faint moans he released every time they hit a rough patch of road.

  “Where were you shot?” She scanned his body, searching for blood, but it was too dark to see anything. No way was she going to touch him without gloves—she was a doctor, but she had her limits.

  The man didn’t respond, but his eyes flickered open in response to her question. He stared at her for a beat, then leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes again.

  “The chest,” the driver responded. “I think he punctured a lung.”

  Jillian clenched her jaw, frustration mounting. “If that’s the case, then we really need to get to a hospital. He’ll need a chest tube, scans and quite possibly surgery to remove the bullet.”

  “No.”

  “He could die!”

  The driver spared her a glance. “Make sure he doesn’t.”

  Jillian leaned back against the seat, her heart kicking into high gear. Great. Not only had she been kidnapped, but she was expected to treat a man with serious injuries, without the benefit of a hospital. It belatedly dawned on her that if this man died, her kidnapper would have no further use for her, and he didn’t seem the type to drop her off on the corner with a wave goodbye.

  Fear trailed a cold finger down her spine and she shivered, her stomach roiling. “Can we at least stop moving?” she asked, knowing she couldn’t do much for the injured man in a moving car. “And you can’t expect me to treat him in the dark. I’ll need light. Lots of it.”

  “We’re almost there.” His voice was grim, determination underlying every word.

  Jillian took another look at her patient. His condition hadn’t obviously changed, so she decided not to risk examining him until they had arrived at their destination, wherever it was. He seemed stable enough, and she didn’t want to make things worse. She returned her focus to the bag in her lap. There were several suture kits, additional vials of drugs and antibiotics, and at the bottom, a chest tube kit. Her kidnapper had come prepared.

  But who was he, and why was he so insistent they stay out of a hospital?

  Was it the nature of his friend’s injury? The law stated doctors had to report gunshot wounds to the police. Maybe he was on the run and didn’t want to reveal his whereabouts. Still, she knew there were back-alley clinics that would stitch up bullet holes for a price. He could have easily taken his friend there, gotten the job done without having to resort to kidnapping. Or theft, she thought, glancing down at the bag of medical supplies in her lap. It was clear the hospital hadn’t been their first stop tonight, and she was willing to bet all the toilet paper in the city that her kidnapper had broken into a vet clinic to steal supplies before grabbing her.

  He took a corner hard, the car sliding a bit as the tires fought for purchase on the slick street. The snow was coming down in earnest now, a thin layer of flakes dusting the sidewalk white, as if someone had spilled a bag of powdered sugar over the city. She didn’t know where he was taking them, but if the weather continued in this fashion, it was likely they’d be stuck, at least for the foreseeable future. If his friend took a turn for the worse, or she was unable to treat him, that meant they’d be cut off from help. While the driver didn’t appear to be too concerned about her lack of resources, she shivered at the thought of his reaction if his friend didn’t make it.

  They pulled into a small parking lot riddled with potholes and puddles. A squat, plain building that may have once been white sat at one end of the lot, looking like a deflated soufflé. She caught sight of a red-neon Vacancy sign as they circled to the back of the building, but she didn’t see a name for the place. She cursed herself for not paying attention to street signs and landmarks along the way—the kidnapper hadn’t bothered to conceal their route, so if she’d had half a brain, she could have easily called for help and led rescuers to them, or run away herself.

  Jillian stared at the back of his head, considering. He didn’t seem to be a very good kidnapper. He’d let her see his face, which, according to all the movies she’d seen, was a big no-no. Either he didn’t care about being caught or...

  She swallowed hard, her stomach cramping in warning. It was possible he wasn’t going to let her live long enough to be caught. Why else would he let her see his face or see the route they’d taken to his hideaway? Was he going to have her treat his friend, then kill her?

  He parked next to a stained blue Dumpster and turned around to face her. “Are you going to give me any trouble?”

  She shook her head, her mind desperately churning. She had to come up with something—she couldn’t just let him lead her like a lamb to slaughter.

  Her fingers curled around the bag in her lap and she felt the faint stirrings of an idea. The man had given her several vials of sedatives—enough to fell an elephant, if her hasty calculations were correct. Maybe she could use them to incapacitate him, giving her enough of a chance to run.

  “I can see the wheels turning in your head,” he said, frowning at her. He glanced down, understanding dawning on his face as he saw the way she clutched the supplies. “Oh, no,” he said softly, reaching out to take the bag. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  She forced her fingers to relax their hold, knowing that if she put up a fight he’d be even more suspicious. Besides, she’d get it back eventually. She had to have access to the supplies if he wanted her to help his friend.

  “Time to go inside.”

  He got out of the car and opened her door, letting in a blast of cold air and snow. She instinctively shrank away when he reached for her, but he grabbed her easily enough, pulling her from the car and pressing her against the trunk as he slammed the door. The cold metal bit through her coat and she ground her teeth together to keep from crying out.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked as he hauled her up to a door. She stared at the faded black numbers, which grew blurry as tears pooled in her eyes. She blinked them away and shook her head. Crying wasn’t going to help her. Not now.

  If her captor noticed her emotion, he didn’t show it, ignoring her question as he gently but firmly pushed her inside. It was warm compared to the car, and she had a moment to register that the room was surprisingly clean, if rather spartan. He marched her past two beds and guided her into the bathroom, closing the lid of the toilet and gesturing for her to sit. She did, and he reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a length of plastic. She recognized the temporary cuffs, having seen them used before when the police needed to restrain a patient.

  Jillian pulled her hands away, but her captor merely stared at her, his hand extended patiently as he waited for her to accept the fact that she was well and truly at his mercy. She glanced up at him, expecting to see anger at her defiance, but he regarded her with a flat, bored expression. Slowly, she returned her hands to her lap and he slipped the plastic loops around her wrists, taking care not to tighten them to the point of pain. Another length of plastic was used to secure her to the plumbing of the sink, effectively trapping her in the bathroom. Then he turned on his heel and walked out, shutting the door behind him with a click that echoed off the tiles in the small room.

  Now that she was alone, Jillian didn’t try to stop the tears.

  * * *

  Special Agent Alexander Malcom was having a bad day.

  Deep undercover ops were not all they were cracked up to be. It had been hard enough infiltrating the 3 Star Killers, as the gang was inherently
distrustful of outsiders. Still, he’d managed to worm his way into the organization, starting as a low-level runner and working up the chain until he’d become part of the trusted inner circle. It helped that gangbangers had a short life expectancy, which meant a vacancy had opened up at just the right time.

  He’d been feeding his Bureau case manager a steady stream of information for the past two years, which had further strengthened their case against the group. The gang specialized in drug trafficking, serving as the main meth distributors for the mid-Atlantic region. They weren’t above a little human trafficking and gun running, though, and so the FBI, ATF and DEA had worked together to establish a plan to take them down. It was a shining example of inter-agency cooperation, and the higher-ups couldn’t stop patting themselves on the back for a job well done.

  Except it had all gone to hell.

  Tonight was supposed to have been a smooth take-down. Alex had been told a shipment of drugs was arriving at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was a commonly used location for the gang; an ideal site for an operation since there was only one road leading to the building, which made it easy to control traffic in and out. He knew that such a big load would include guns as well, along with a few of the unfortunate women the gang moved from state to state, prostituting out to the highest bidder as a way to augment their earnings.

  The alphabet soup had decided tonight’s shipment would be a perfect cherry on top of their case, and that bringing it down would not only cripple the 3 Star Killers, but send a message to the other groups who might think to take their place. It was a decent plan, and it should have worked.

  But it hadn’t.

  He ran a hand through his hair, cursing at the memories. The semitrailer, opening to reveal not the expected shipment of drugs, but a veritable army of gang members who jumped out, guns blazing... The government operatives, firing back but being forced to retreat in the face of the gang’s overwhelming force... The screams of the wounded, as they lay bleeding out in the crossfire...

  And the horrible realization that his cover had been blown.

  Tony had turned to him with a sneer. “Not what you expected was it?”

  Alex had swallowed hard, not wanting to believe the carnage in front of him. “How did you know?”

  Tony lifted one shoulder in an eloquent shrug. “You have your sources. I have mine.”

  The realization that there was a double agent at work filled Alex with a potent rage. Not only had the bastard outted him, but whoever it was, they were also responsible for the deaths of the agents tonight. Without stopping to think, he grabbed Tony, intending to arrest the man and haul him in for questioning. Tony wasn’t about to go quietly, though, and in the ensuing scuffle, managed to shoot himself in the chest.

  “Damn moron,” Alex muttered.

  He wanted nothing more than to let the man die, but he needed Tony to reveal the name of his mole. So he had shoved him into the back seat of his POS car and set off, intending to get him patched up.

  And that’s when the evening had gone from bad to worse.

  Now he stepped out into the cold night air, his case manager’s words ringing in his ears. “Why’d you do it, man? Why did you betray us?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Alex pulled open the door to the backseat, eliciting a moan from Tony as the movement jostled him. Too bad. Any pity he might have felt for the man was gone, washed away in the blood of the operatives who had died tonight, all because of his actions.

  He stooped and got an arm around the injured man. “Let’s go. Time to move.”

  “No, please. No more. Leave me alone.”

  Alex ignored his request, pulling with a steady pressure until Tony slid from the car. He was a skinny guy and Alex had no trouble carrying him to the door of the motel room. He deposited Tony on one of the beds and stepped back, staring down at the man. His shirt was saturated with blood, and Alex could feel the sticky wetness on his own hands. Repulsed, he wiped his palms on his pants, needing to remove the stain of Tony’s blood from his skin. God, would he ever be clean again?

  Feeling old beyond his years, Alex walked to the bathroom door and paused. He hated himself for having kidnapped this woman, this doctor who held his life in her hands. Hated terrorizing her, threatening her, hurting her. He’d tried to be careful with her, but given the ferocity of her struggles in the parking lot, he’d had to use more force than he’d intended to subdue her. He hoped she wasn’t too bruised from their encounter, but did it really matter? He’d kidnapped her, and he was going to force her to treat Tony’s injuries in a bid to keep the scum alive. In the grand scheme of things, a few bruises were the least of his worries right now.

  He opened the door and she jerked, shrinking back from him as he entered the tiny bathroom. Her eyes were huge brown pools in her pale face and he had to look away, unable to stand her hunted expression as she studied him warily.

  Alex stepped forward, pulling out his knife so he could cut through the plastic cuffs. She gasped and shoved away, her feet scrabbling wildly as she kicked at him in self-defense. He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath through his nose.

  Idiot. What did you think she would do?

  “Please,” she whimpered.

  Her pitiful plea hit him like a punch to the gut. He was driven to find the mole to protect innocent people, but at what cost? The woman in front of him was completely blameless; her hands were clean of any wrongdoing. Her only mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now her life was forever changed. It pained him to admit it, but she was one more casualty in this war. One more life, irrevocably altered, by the actions of a few bad men.

  And one more mark added to his personal tally of destruction.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. She stopped kicking and stared up at him with a look of profound distrust. Not that he could blame her.

  He gestured to her wrists with his free hand. “I want to cut the restraints off. I won’t cut you, I promise.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment. He remained still, waiting for her to give him permission to approach. It wouldn’t change things, but he wanted her to understand, even if only on an instinctual level, that he truly wouldn’t hurt her.

  Finally she nodded once. He knelt and reached for her wrists, trying not to notice how fragile the bones felt in his hands. Like a bird’s wing, he thought. All graceful lines, perfectly formed.

  The skin of her inner wrist was so pale as to be almost translucent, and he could see the dark blue lines of the veins that snaked from hand to forearm. He caught her shudder as he brought the blade close to that vulnerable skin, and was struck by the sudden urge to gather her in his arms, press her to his chest and rock her, to convince her with his body, if not his words, that he would keep her safe.

  The knife sliced cleanly through the thin plastic. Once free, she snatched her hands away from him and wriggled to put more space between them. He felt an odd hollowness in his chest at the loss of contact, but quickly shoved it aside as he stood and returned the knife to his pocket. Time to check on Tony.

  “My—” he almost choked on the word “—friend is on the bed. I need you to fix him.”

  She stared up at him, her light brown eyes narrowing as he towered over her. “What if I can’t?” She thrust her chin out in defiance, but he caught the flicker of fear that danced across her face.

  “You can.”

  He’d meant the words to be reassuring, but her face blanched, losing the little color she had. Not wanting to scare her further, he elected to keep his mouth shut. He gestured with his arm and she slowly rose.

  “He’s on the bed.”

  She kept her eyes on him as she moved, reminding him of a watchful cat. She inched around him, pressing her back to the wall, careful to keep space between them. He caught a wh
iff of vanilla as she passed, and resisted the temptation to haul her close so he could bury his nose in her hair. The warm scent reminded him of home, but he knew she wouldn’t welcome his touch. Not now.

  Not ever, he told himself firmly. In another life, she would have been his type. With her dark blond hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, soft brown eyes and gently curving mouth, she was just the kind of girl-next-door he preferred. Pretty but not intimidatingly so. A woman who could hang out with the guys in the afternoon then put on a ball gown and knock his socks off at night. And since she was a doctor, he knew she was smart, to boot. In other words, she was the perfect woman, the embodiment of all his fantasies.

  And totally off-limits.

  With a soft sigh he followed her into the main room. While he didn’t think she’d try to run before treating Tony, he couldn’t give her a chance to call for help. With the 3 Star Killers and the FBI after him, his life depended on staying off the grid. The last thing he needed was a 9-1-1 call revealing their location. His case handler already thought he was a traitor—if he discovered Alex had kidnapped a woman, he would never believe the truth, and Alex would be dead before the next sunrise.

  I just need a few hours.

  That’s all. Just a little bit of time to make sure Tony was going to survive. Once he was sure the bastard wasn’t going to die on him, he’d make his move and clear his name.

  Chapter 2

  Jillian kept her eyes on the man lying on the bed as she shrugged off her black coat. She’d entertained a brief but vivid fantasy of kicking her kidnapper in the face and bolting from the room, but logic told her she wouldn’t get far. Besides, she couldn’t leave this man alone to die. It wasn’t in her nature to ignore a person in pain, not if she could do something to help.

  She dropped the coat in the chair and scooped the bag of medical supplies off the chipped table. Fishing out a pair of gloves, she pulled them on as she walked over to her patient.