Lonely is the Night

by Stephanie Tyler

  Just then, a door farther down the alley slammed open and two of the bouncers came toward them. No one would hear her scream over the roar of the crowd. No one would hear gunshots either.

  She’d been too focused on the fight in front of her to think about the real danger to them both. Now Reid moved in front of her.

  “You don’t let them take you—that’s your only goddamned job,” he told her as the men ran toward them, pointing.

  She saw the flash of a gun and her stomach went sour. “Reid, I don’t want them to take me.”

  “They’re not going to.”

  From Reid, that was a promise. But Reid let them get close—close enough to make the mistake that many people who owned guns but didn’t know how to use them made. The man held the gun too close to Reid and he was able to grab it, twisting the man’s wrist and turning the muzzle toward his chest instead.

  And Reid pulled the trigger as the man’s face went slack with surprise. He sank down and Reid didn’t hesitate, made quick work of the other man with a couple of punches.

  “I didn’t hit anything critical,” Reid told her. “I know you’re law-abiding and all.”

  She deserved that. She deserved everything, especially because she was stupid enough to turn back and check on Benji.

  Reid sighed, but let her. Because, if, by some miracle, Benji pulled it out, won this fight …

  As if reading her mind, Benji stood and threw a punch that made the bigger man flail backward. He hit him twice more and seemed to be making a comeback. But the bigger man got in a single punch, not necessarily a hard one or even a good one, but it stopped Benji cold. His body crumpled and hit the mat and the big man put his hands in the air, as if he knew he’d won. For a few moments, the crowd joined him in the celebration. The ref held the winner’s arm in the air, declaring the fight over. And then he bent down to assess Benji. When he looked up, his face was panic-stricken.

  He was obviously not in on the fix. She read his lips—he began yelling for medics, telling someone to call 911. It was deadly quiet, despite all the people. And then it was sheer and utter madness when the crowd realized what was happening, especially when the ref yelled, “He’s got no pulse!”

  The crowd herded together to head for the exits, and Grier wanted to yell at all of them, tell them they were cowards for not staying to help. She surged toward the open door, trying to go against the crowd. Reid grabbed her, flattened her to the wall of the alley as the crowds stampeded around them. He held her in place by her biceps and spoke directly into her ear. “I will goddamned drag you out of here if I have to. You want an ugly shoot-out exit with innocents caught in the cross fire, you’ve got it.”

  “No one here’s innocent,” she told him, didn’t know if he heard her, but she ultimately complied. Because Reid was right—she was more useful when she was both free and alive. The things she’d seen tonight—they’d be burned into her brain forever.

  “This way.” He led her into the mass exodus. Sirens rang in the distance. Someone in the crowd had a guilty conscience, she’d bet. They’d dialed on the run because there was no way they’d let the ref call.

  Reid held her hand, his strides fast. Her ribs ached and her head throbbed, but she kept up. The sheer mass of people suffocated her. She’d never had even a hint of claustrophobia before, but she had a feeling it would be a problem from here on out.

  Reid seemed to sense she was having bigger problems than the pain. He slowed, put a protective arm around her back and pulled her tight to him. He half buried her face against his chest, trusted him to guide her forward as she moved one foot in front of the other by rote. She lost sense of time and place, tried to stop thinking about Benji’s death.

  You should’ve contacted his parents, whether he wanted you to or not.

  Another regret.

  “Almost there,” he promised. Seconds later, she felt the air change. They’d stepped inside someplace loud. There was music—and she stopped shielding her face and let her eyes adjust to the dark of the bar. It was packed, and she recognized a few faces from the crowd at the fight, looking to avoid the cop cars.

  “Back entrance?” she asked.

  “Side. Toward the lot. Two beers,” he called to the waitress.

  “We’re going to drink?”

  “No.” When the beer came, he poured one all over her and then told her to rinse her mouth with the other. “Now we’re ready.”

  A gallant man taking his stumbling drunk girlfriend home was perfect, but … “Maybe we should have the cops help us, Reid.”

  “And maybe the cops are in on this too. I don’t trust anyone. Except you and me.”

  “And even I’m iffy in that equation.”

  “You said it, not me.” He tugged her along and she went with it, because now she was the witness, maybe the sole one and she wouldn’t let this case die. Not after what she’d seen. And as Reid nuzzled her and she pretended to stumble and giggle, they made it past several police officers and other crowds. Reid continued guiding her into a parking lot across the street and down another alley.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’re going into hiding. And I’m going to watch you until it’s time to testify.”

  “Who approved that?”

  “I did.”

  “Reid, you can’t just make up your own rules.”

  “Who says?” he asked. “Cause I just did.”

  “You’re still impossible.”

  “Ah, sugar, that’s one of the things you like best about me.” It was, but she wasn’t admitting that now. “Right now, you’re the only witness left alive. You’re wanted. I’ll talk to the necessary people. You just sit back and heal.”

  “I can’t do anything in this alley.”

  “Just waiting for our ride.” He winked at her like he might actually be enjoying this. “You’re not going to be happy, but …”

  “I’m already unhappy. Deeply.” Plus her entire body throbbed.

  The flatbed pulled up and he pointed as the man got out to deliver food to a nearby building. “No way.”

  “Just to get us out of town—the cops have a roadblock set up already,” Reid told her.

  In the next swift moments, Reid had her inside the flatbed and closed it over both of them. At least it was clean and padded, she thought as they stowed away.

  Clean. Padded. Coffin-like.

  “Just look at me,” Reid urged. Soon, it would be too late for them to talk. “It’ll rock you to sleep if you let it.”

  She wanted to protest, but already the steady sway worked its magic. Reid’s hand rested on her hip to keep her in place and she drifted. Woke when Reid murmured her name. Realized how sore she was when Reid helped her out of the flatbed and into the motel lot.

  “We’re not staying here. We need a place with room service,” he said. “Half-a-mile walk.”

  She nodded. Wouldn’t crap out in front of Reid.

  “I can steal a car, if it’s easier.”

  It would be. Her body begged for it but she wouldn’t ask.

  “Guess I’m stealing a car,” he said anyway. In seconds, they drove off in the late-model sedan left in front of the Marriott as they checked in as Mr. And Mrs. Dylan. They both looked like hell but the night clerk didn’t say a word.

  As they walked away from the desk, he told her, “We’re not staying in that room for long. Vivi will take care of it.”

  She guessed all of this was necessary to throw anyone off her trail. She should be grateful. Wanted to be. Instead, she headed to the nearest bathroom and vomited in the nearest stall.

  Reid was in there with her, obviously not caring that it was clearly labeled the ladies’ room, but at this time of night, it was empty. He gave her a cloth to wipe her face and carried her out of the bathroom and toward the elevator. She kept the cloth over her lips, trying to breathe in deeply, not to get sick on the elevator. And she succeeded, making it into the hotel room, sitting on the bed while Reid took a call from the
woman she supposed was Vivi.

  “You’re all set. Your couple will check out tonight. You’re registered as a triple—family with a kid. Room 204.”

  “Thanks, Viv.” He hung up and told Grier, “We’re almost there, honey. One more elevator ride.”

  She let him carry her again without protest.

  *

  Jack’s one and only phone call was to a man he’d never met. He figured Reid would be too busy and he told the agent interrogating him that he needed to call his lawyer.

  Dylan played his part well, as Jack expected. Seemed to not be surprised that Jack was calling.

  “Don’t say a goddamned word—just listen.” Dylan cursed several times, which seemed to be more to focus him than Jack. “I’m having someone check your bank accounts. It’s not good. Just refuse to speak until your lawyer shows. I’ll make sure you get released within forty-eight hours.”

  Jack wanted to ask, legally or not? And, as if Dylan read his mind, he said, “Do you care how?”

  “No,” Jack said tightly. Because the longer he stayed here, the bigger the bull’s-eye on his back grew. When Dylan cut the line, he forced himself to remain calm.

  You’ve been through worse and you’ve made it through. You don’t need a goddamned lifeline.

  But, with Reid and his friends, he’d get one anyway.

  He finally let go of the receiver and the cop in front of him, who’d been watching him the entire time, took it and put it in its cradle. Moved it off to the side.

  Jack had been in a million of these rooms, on both sides of the interrogation. They were all the same, built to be sterile. Intimidating. Hopeless.

  “You gonna talk now?” the cop demanded.

  “I’d rather wait for my lawyer.”

  “You wait. We’ll talk.” He motioned for his partner and they sat across from him and slid a folder his way. He glanced down at it and schooled his expression so he didn’t give anything away, but his gut tightened.

  That was some pretty indisputable proof they had against him. He supposed they had a similar file to show to Grier, if they ever caught her.

  Jack knew it was only a matter of time before the FBI got involved and took him away. He figured they might already be on the other side of the glass. It would get very ugly before it got better.

  If it got better.

  Chapter Eight

  *

  Reid went through the supplies and clothing that was magically placed in their new room. Grier had to admit grudging respect for this team that lived and worked off the grid. They were organized as hell, and obviously, someone else was close enough to be able to help them.

  “Is anyone else coming here?” she asked.

  “Do you want them to?”

  “No.”

  “Then they won’t.” He’d laid out gauze and various other bottles of saline wash and peroxide. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can take your happy pills.”

  “I don’t want any narcotics.”

  “Why? You’ve got nowhere to go and nothing to do but heal.”

  “Got to stay alert.”

  “Grier, I’m in charge. Take the pain pill.”

  “No.”

  He sighed, muttered something about constantly being surrounded by stubborn women.

  “I don’t need to hear about your love life,” she snapped.

  “I’m talking about my life with the team. My team’s wives and girlfriends, specifically.”

  Why did her stomach uncurl with relief? He’d basically admitted he was still single. And they’d have to talk about it sometime.

  Not tonight, if she took those pills.

  She grabbed it, swallowed it down with the water. He grinned like he knew the reasoning. She let him take care of the contusions. He’d seen her naked, and at her worse.

  He’d seen her dying.

  She gave herself over to his care. He probed her cheekbone gently, declaring it not broken. Put some numbing cream on it that instantly gave her relief. He put something on her lower lip as well and then started cleaning a long cut on her upper arm she hadn’t even realized was there.

  She stared down at it as he cleaned it, murmured, “She used the knife. She cut me and I didn’t even feel it.”

  “That’s the good and bad of adrenaline. It’s not deep. But now that you know about it, it’ll start to hurt.”

  “Good thing I took the pills.”

  He shook his head at her transparency and proceeded to stitch up her arm with frightening efficiency. She wondered how often he’d had to do this and then decided she didn’t want to know.

  He taped gauze over the thin black line. “Shouldn’t leave much of a scar.”

  That was the least of their problems.

  “You should learn to do that yourself. Save you a lot of time,” he said. And he wasn’t kidding.

  “I’ll chance it.”

  “I won’t always be around.”

  He didn’t say it meanly but she felt it in her gut just the same. She swished things to say around in her mind, starting with Please always be around, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to want a response.

  Instead, he moved forward, rubbing her shoulders and back with a mix of alcohol and water, careful to avoid the places she was scratched and cut.

  “An old boxer’s trick,” she said.

  “Your family doesn’t seem like the boxing type.”

  “The man who trained me at the academy was,” she said.

  “He taught you how to fight like that?”

  “He taught me tricks. I always fought like that.”

  “Aren’t you an interesting one, Grier Catherine Grace.”

  “Don’t you middle-name me,” she protested, but she smiled anyway.

  “Come on, let me run a bath for you to soak away some of the aches,” he told her. She assessed herself in the mirror as he ran the water. Her right cheekbone was a mess of bruises, but he’d told her it wasn’t broken. Her lip was split but her ribs took the worst of the hit.

  You were damned lucky.

  She ran her hands through her short auburn hair. The haircut made her eyes look huge.

  “Ready, Grier.”

  She’d been holding a towel around her to ward off the chill and she dropped it now. He helped her into the tub that he’d loaded up with healing Epsom salts, lowering her and she groaned as the warm water surrounded her. He’d put some bubbles in there too, but Reid had still looked and hadn’t made any secret about it.

  She was grateful. She’d wanted him to. And she settled in, letting the warmth soothe her, put her head back and closed her eyes. The drugs hadn’t fully kicked in yet, but when they did, she’d be feeling really good.

  “You’re beautiful,” he told her.

  She opened her eyes and touched her hair self-consciously. “I don’t think I’m meant to be a redhead.”

  “Actually, you’ll have to go blond at this point.” He leaned forward and smoothed the wet hair off her cheeks. “I’ve got the hair color for you to use.”

  “Thanks.” She paused. “For everything.”

  He gave a brief nod, was as terrible at accepting thanks as she was at giving it. “I’d like to give you privacy but …”

  “Yeah, the drugs.” She was already a little drowsy. At least there was no concussion, which would necessitate her being woken every half hour or so. She couldn’t wait to dry off, tuck into a real bed and deal with everything tomorrow.

  *

  Reid put the box of hair color on the counter. It would keep till morning. Right now, getting out of the bath before she passed out would be the bigger challenge. Thankfully, she seemed to want to talk and he didn’t fight it.

  Mainly, it was mumbling about Jack and how she really wanted to talk to him.

  “We’ll call him later.” He didn’t want to bring up all the trouble—not now.

  “Can I have some more water?” she asked. He reached for the bottle and bit back a wince as he turned back the wrong way.
r />   “You’re hurt.”

  “Not really. Not from this fight,” he amended.

  “Did I pull you off a job?”

  “It was over. I was just resting.”

  “You, resting?” She shook her head and then said seriously, “Don’t you want some drugs?”

  “One of us around here needs to be able to work a weapon,” he said.

  “Reid, seriously. I saw the kick you took.”

  “Just ribs. They’ll heal.”

  “And kidneys.”

  “I’ll piss blood for a few days.”

  She blinked. “How do you shrug this stuff off?”

  “Because I’ve got something way more important to worry about.” He pointed at her and decided he didn’t want to talk anymore. Or hear her try to mother him. Instead, while he kept one eye on her, he bandaged his ribs. Cleaned the scrapes. Checked out the purple bruise on his lower back. Fucker. His cheek hurt like a bitch, but it didn’t feel broken. Between the two of them, they looked like the walking wounded and there was no way to get them on a plane without attracting attention.

  Beyond that, Grier was a very wanted woman. A wanted woman whose eyes he felt on him the whole time.

  *

  After a half-hour soak in which Reid just let her doze, he got her up and dried off, slid a long T-shirt over her head.

  He pointed to her ribs, said, “I’d like to wrap them. It’ll make them hurt less.”

  Grier agreed, lifted the shirt and held it around her breasts as he did so with an Ace bandage that made things feel a little more secure.

  “Ever had bruised ribs before?” he asked.

  “I thought I had, but this is pretty bad,” she admitted.

  “You’re really lucky they’re not fractured. Go ahead, lean back. You’re going to want to sleep sitting up as much as possible though.”

  “At this point, I think I could sleep standing,” she murmured. He handed her a warm cup of tea and she sipped it, curled her feet under the blankets. “Thanks. I still can’t believe … poor Benji.”

  “Before you sleep, I just want to give you more intel on the situation.” It was like she was a soldier in his army suddenly and he was briefing her. “Dylan called the DA’s office and told them what was happening to you.”