Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

  The van pulled out. “Where is she, Juan?” Connor barked out the question to his partner who was in the white van two houses down with another ICE officer monitoring everything.

  A black Malibu followed the blue van out of the garage. But the van went one way and the car went the other.

  “She’s in the blue van.” Juan’s answer echoed across the line.

  “Agent Hamilton, can you and your agent follow the car?” Mark’s voice echoed as Connor heard the words in person and through the line.

  “Yes,” Agent Hamilton answered.

  “Connor and I’ll take the van,” Mark said. “Billy and Stan”—he looked at the other cop—“you follow us in your car in case we get made. Juan, you and the men clear the house.” The cars across the street started up.

  Connor darted to the unmarked car parked at the curb and got behind the wheel. Mark had barely managed to get in when Connor pulled off. He wasn’t losing that van. No way in hell was he losing Brie.

  * * *

  “Still have her in the van?” Connor questioned not three minutes later.

  “Yes,” came Juan’s answer.

  Connor stayed about fifteen yards back from the van with another unmarked car following behind them. Suddenly, the van sped up. Had Connor and Mark been made? Probably, but it didn’t matter. Connor slammed his foot on the gas. The van took a sharp turn, too sharp, it hit the curve so hard the front tire exploded, and the van started fishtailing.

  “Fuck!” Connor watched, feeling helpless, as the van ran right into a light pole. The sound of crushing metal reverberated around them.

  “Get the medics here!” Mark spoke into his mic.

  Connor bolted out of his car and pulled out his weapon.

  Billy came up beside him. “Driver! Get out of the car!” he yelled.

  The passenger door of the van opened, and a bearded guy took off running. “I got him,” Mark said.

  Connor ran to the van. The unconscious driver lay slumped over the steering wheel, blood running down the side of his face. Billy started pulling him out.

  Connor opened the side door, breath held, fearing the worse.

  Two women were inside, gagged and bound. A brunette had blood oozing from her head. A blonde lay so still, Connor’s gut knotted. “Brie,” he called and gently turned her over. It wasn’t Brie. He spotted Brie’s purse and shoes on the floor.

  Connor, running on pure adrenaline, stormed back to the car. “Agent Hamilton, are you still behind the black Malibu?”

  “No. They must’ve spotted us. We lost them!”

  “Fuck!” Connor kicked the car tire.

  “Has anyone been in the house yet?” Connor yelled.

  “Yes,” Juan answered. “It’s empty.”

  “Armand’s in the car and he has Brie. Find that car, Hamilton! You fucking hear me!”

  Right then, a voice came through the earpiece he wore.

  “Purple.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Purple.” Brie felt her body slam against a wall of metal. She went to catch herself but realized her hands and feet were bound. Then she was thrown the other way and this time her head took the blow. The sound of her own skull cracking echoed in her ears. As if her head didn’t already hurt enough. The pain brought with it a spinning sensation and then a sense of nothingness.

  Jarred awake suddenly, she was unsure how long she’d been unconscious: A minute? An hour? Her mind raced to find reality. She recalled Armand hitting her head with his gun. She attempted to push away the blackness that wanted to suck her back in.

  Where was she?

  She inhaled. She started to sit up, but her head hit another barrier of metal. Suddenly, she realized the vibrations traveling through her body were from a car’s engine. Forcing her eyes open, she cut her eyes left then right. As her mind cleared, she remembered the wire. “I’m in the trunk of a car.”

  She blinked. What could she say to help them find her?

  She clawed at her mind to think, to fight the waves of dizziness. Something hot ran down her face. Blood. She closed her legs and realized her gun was gone. Frack! They must have found it. Had they found the wire, too? No, she didn’t think so, for she could feel it in her bra.

  The car’s brakes squealed and she slammed into the side of the trunk again. Her arm slid across a jagged edge that ripped into her skin.

  She pulled at the bonds on her wrists, but they were too strong. Not metal cuffs, but a zip tie. The tie on her feet, however, wasn’t as secure. She shifted, using all her strength to try and wriggle her foot loose, not caring when she felt the plastic cut into her ankles. Finally, she slid one foot from the tie. Breathing hard, panic fizzing in her chest, she heard a familiar roar. A train.

  “The car just stopped for a train!” The burning from the cut on her arm gave her an idea. She turned until her hands were at the jagged edge that had cut her.

  She ran her wrist over it, trying to cut through the plastic tie. The sharp edge ripped into the tender skin of her wrist, but she kept at it. Running the plastic over the edge, again and again and again. Ignoring the pain. Ignoring the fear.

  A wave of dizziness hit again. She tasted blood running over her lips. Dizziness overtook her. Concussion? “I think…” Her own voice faded with the incoming blackness. In her mind, she saw her niece. That sweet face. Then Connor. He’d blame himself.

  Brie could not die.

  * * *

  “Where are the trains in this area!” Connor yelled into his mic.

  “Already on it!” Juan said.

  “They can’t be but a few miles out.” Connor could hear Juan’s fingers hitting the keyboard. His heart hit his ribs at the same frantic pace. His police lights flashed blue from the grille of the unmarked car.

  “I know.” Juan paused. “There’s a train traveling north down 290 right now.”

  “Every available car hit the railroad crossings,” Mark called out into his mic. “It has to be on the south side of the tracks. A black Malibu with…” Mark spouted out the license plate as Connor drove. Darting around cars and forgetting he was mad at God, he prayed. Let her live.

  Connor heard at least six cars report in that they were on the call. “Find her, dammit!” His chest felt so tight it might crack. Why hadn’t he told her he loved her? Why had he let her do this?

  “I got the car,” Hamilton’s voice rang over the line. “Stopped at the crossing on Brighten Lane and 290.”

  Connor slammed his foot on the gas. He was two minutes away. Be alive. Be alive.

  “They spotted us. Armand and one other passenger are exiting the car! Running east on 290.” Hamilton’s voice rang out. “Shots fired. Shots fired.” The sounds of gunfire sounded and punctuated the pain Connor felt.

  He turned on Brighten Lane, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, dodging cars, his lungs begging for air, but he needed Brie more than he needed air.

  He heard more gunfire, saw men running, then he spotted the black Malibu.

  “Both suspects are down.” Agent Hamilton’s voice rang out and Connor bolted out of the car and ran toward the Malibu. Please be alive.

  * * *

  Loud, sharp, cracking sounds jarred her back to consciousness. Pain. Lots of pain. Lots of noise. Disoriented, she couldn’t comprehend it. Then she heard the sound of the trunk opening.

  Fight!

  A bright light blinded her as the trunk lifted. Giving it everything she had, she threw her foot out. Her heel hit flesh. Hard flesh and bone and teeth.

  She screamed and struggled to get up, not knowing where she was. Only knowing she was in a fight for her life.

  “It’s me, Brie. Connor. I got you, babe! I got you.”

  Connor? His strong arms picked her up and pulled her against a wall of muscle.

  “Someone give me a knife to cut her ties!” he screamed. “Now! She’s bleeding bad. Where’s the damn medics?”

  The wave of dizziness hit again. This time she didn’t fight it. She welcomed it
.

  She felt safe. Safe in the arms of the man she…loved.

  * * *

  Connor saw Eliot limping fiercely into the ER. He felt certain Eliot was going to beat him to a pulp. And he’d let him. The last thing Eliot had said to him was, “Don’t let anything happen to her.”

  He’d let Eliot down. Let Brie down.

  Eliot stopped and looked down at him. “How is she?”

  “The doctor hasn’t come out yet. But the medic said it looked as if she was going to be okay.”

  Eliot plopped down in the chair beside Connor and dropped his face in his hands. After a second, he looked up. “Did you get Armand?”

  “Yeah. He and another guy shot at the ICE agents. ICE fired back, Marcus Armand took two bullets. He’s in surgery.”

  “What about the waitress from the club?”

  “Got her and another woman. They were banged up in the accident but are okay. My partners are interviewing the other perps now. If there are more women, they’ll find out.”

  Eliot looked at his face. “Who got you?”

  “Brie. She was in the trunk of a car. When I opened it, she kicked me. Only half-conscious, but she came out kicking and screaming.”

  Eliot smiled. “My girl’s a fighter.”

  “I know.” Connor decided now was as good a time as ever. “You may hate me, but I’m going to try to steal her from you. I love her.”

  Eliot’s eyes locked on him for one, two, three seconds before answering. “I won’t hate you. But if you hurt her, I’ll shoot you.”

  Connor smiled. “I’m okay with that. And I hear you make good on that promise.”

  * * *

  “I need to talk to someone,” Brie argued, when the nurse told her she couldn’t get out of bed. She’d been patient long enough. She had to know what happened.

  “You’ll do what the nurse says.” Eliot walked into the ER room.

  The nurse looked at Eliot. “We’re pretty sure she’s got a concussion and probably strep throat. She shouldn’t be up walking.”

  “I agree.”

  “Me too,” said another male voice.

  Connor stood in the doorway.

  “Candy?” Brie asked, holding her breath.

  “She’s banged up. But she’ll be okay.”

  Brie noticed his face. A swollen nose and lips, and blackened eyes. She almost asked what happened when she got a flash of kicking the person who opened the trunk. “Did I do that?”

  “Yeah.” Connor grinned.

  “I’m sorry.” She frowned, then remembered to ask. “Armand?”

  “In surgery,” Connor answered. “He tried to run, fired at ICE agents, and was shot twice.”

  Brie dropped back against the bed. “And the other men? We got them, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  The nurse looked at Brie. “The doctor will be in shortly to stitch up your head and arm. And we’ll do a strep test on you as well.” She looked from Connor to Eliot. “Can you two make her behave?”

  “Sure.” Connor touched his face. “I’m only a little bit afraid of her.”

  The nurse laughed.

  “I didn’t know it was you.” Brie frowned when she spotted all the blood on his shirt. “You look worse than me.”

  The nurse handed Brie a clean cloth. “Hold this to your head. You’re bleeding again.” The nurse walked out.

  Brie pressed the rag to her head. Then she grinned at Connor. “We did it.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “We did.”

  * * *

  Brie had begged the doctor to let her go home, but he’d insisted she stay the night. It was after ten before she found herself alone in the hospital room. Connor and Eliot had left two hours ago. But then Tory had wheeled Carlos over, and they’d visited for over an hour.

  As she leaned back on the bed, her heart jolted with the memory of being in the trunk. Her phone dinged with a text. Connor’s number flashed. Opening it, she laughed. It was a close-up of his face. His eyes had gotten blacker, and at this angle his nose looked huge.

  Connor: Handsome, aren’t I?

  She laughed and texted: Too bad a girl beat you up.

  A new message and photograph flashed on the screen: Your cat loves me now.

  The photograph was of Connor, on her sofa, with Psycho resting on his chest. Before Connor left, he’d offered to go feed her cat. Again proving he could be a nice guy. A nice guy she was in love with but had to leave.

  Her eyes stung. She typed: He just misses me.

  Connor: No. He loves me better. He told me.

  Brie: Did I say thank you for saving my life?

  Connor: I guess you owe me.

  Brie: I guess I do.

  * * *

  “Hi, Casey,” Connor said to the little girl crawling toward him. He’d been afraid his black eyes might scare her, but that didn’t appear to be the case.

  “You know her name?” Melissa, her foster mom, asked.

  “Yeah, my partner just called. He found the birth records. Her mom named her Casey Brieanna Ronan.” Connor had almost called Brie to tell her the news but decided to see the baby first.

  Casey latched on to Connor’s pant leg, pulled herself up, and held one arm up to him, as if asking to be picked up. “She’s not walking yet?”

  “Not yet, but she will be any day now.”

  He reached down and picked the baby up. She put her hand on his sore nose. “Owie. Owie.”

  Melissa grinned. “Susie fell earlier and I said she had an owie and we all kissed her knee.”

  Right then, Casey pressed her lips to his face.

  The woman laughed. “And now she’s kissing you. She’s a smart baby.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She knows you, right?” Melissa asked.

  “We met once.” Connor stared at the child’s sweet face.

  “Well, you made an impression on her. She’s not this affectionate with everyone.”

  The woman’s words had his chest swelling.

  “I was just going to give her a bottle. You want to feed her?”

  Connor almost said no but remembered feeding her the night he’d found her crying in her crib. “Sure.”

  “Sit down.” The woman gestured to a chair and disappeared into the adjoining kitchen.

  Casey settled in his lap and stared at his face.

  “Hey there.” He smiled. “You do remember me, don’t you?”

  She grinned, showing her two little teeth peeking out of her bottom gums.

  “You think I can do this?”

  She touched his nose again. “Owie.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, your namesake did that to me. She’s a special person. You’re a lucky little girl.”

  Connor pulled out his phone to take a selfie of the two of them.

  Melissa walked back in and handed him a bottle. The little girl squealed. She took the bottle from him and rested back on his chest and started drinking. Her big blue eyes stayed on him the whole time.

  “Have you taken her in for the DNA test yet?” Connor asked.

  “I’m doing it this afternoon.” She dropped down on the edge of her sofa.

  “Will they still need it, now that we’ve found the birth record?”

  “Good question. I’ll call the caseworker before I take her. Ms. Ryan dropped off some clothes for her and some toys for all the kids yesterday, but I wasn’t here. Can you tell her I said thank you?”

  “Yeah.” Connor glanced at the baby. She stopped sucking long enough to smile at him. His heart lurched, and he just knew.

  “I can do this.” He looked at Melissa. “I can do this.”

  “Feed her?” she asked.

  “No. Love her. Be a father to her.”

  * * *

  The hospital room door swung open, and Brie and Eliot turned at the same time. If home was where the heart was, she felt instantly homesick seeing Connor standing there.

  He walked in with a shopping bag, flowers, and a smile. He’d texted her another p
icture of his face this morning, confessing that he’d stayed at her place last night and even slept in her bed. Then his next picture was of an envelope, with a message that read, Pablo’s phone came. I’m handing it over to Juan.

  “You look even worse.” Eliot laughed. “Are you telling anyone a girl did that?”

  “Of course not.” The two men laughed. The sound filled her chest with warmth.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” Connor moved to the other side of the bed from where Eliot sat.

  “Good enough that I’m pissed the doctor hasn’t released me yet.”

  He set the wrapped flowers down on her bedside table. “For you. Not that you needed them.” He looked at the other three bouquets. “Who sent you flowers?”

  “You think you don’t have competition?” Eliot asked.

  Brie was shocked at Eliot’s words. “Eliot brought those. That bunch is from Tory and Carlos. And that one is from the APD.”

  “Well, mine are nicer.” Connor leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  “I’m gonna do a coffee run.” Eliot stood. When he got to the door, he looked back. “Watch her. She has a great right hook, too.”

  Connor laughed.

  Brie watched Eliot leave. “You two seem to be getting along.”

  “I’m a likable guy.” He set the store bag down and pulled out his phone. “But if you don’t believe me, check this out. Casey loves me as well.”

  “Casey?”

  “Casey Brieanna Ronan. Juan found her birth records.”

  “What?” Brie asked.

  He handed her his phone with a photo of her niece displayed on the screen. Tears filled her eyes. “Alma named her after me?”

  “Yeah.”

  Brie looked at the picture. “You saw her today?”

  “Yeah. She touched my face, said ‘owie,’ and then kissed me.”

  “She did not.” Brie brushed off a tear that accidentally snuck past.

  “I swear.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Scoot over.”

  “I’m contagious.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He climbed into bed beside her and took his phone. “So here’s my case.” He swiped his cell’s screen.