by G. K. Parks
He looked at me through the rearview mirror. “My leg’s jammed. I can’t get free.”
“Okay, what’s your name, buddy?”
He laughed, a gurgling coming from his throat. “The last time I heard that line was when I was in Kandahar. Come to think of it, that’s also where I was the last time I hit an IED.”
“Someone needs to take away your driving privileges.” From what I could tell, there wasn’t an exit wound. “Apply pressure. It’ll hurt like hell, but I can’t see an exit wound, so you need to stay still and slow the bleeding.” I looked out the cracked windshield again, but I didn’t see anything. “Do you have a cuff key?”
“Tell me something, Agent Parker, did you kill a cop?”
“No, but I was there when it happened. I’ve been having trouble remembering it.” I looked at the three men and the state of the vehicle. “Now’s really not the time for twenty questions. You either trust me or you don’t.”
He took his hand away in an effort to gain access to his pockets, and the bleeding increased. “I can’t reach it.” Instead, he grabbed the radio, but it let out a burst of static.
“Forget it. Just focus on you. Are you sure we hit something?”
“I don’t know. I thought so. Shots were being fired, but I don’t know where they came from. If someone’s out there, we’re fucked.”
“Story of my life. Hang tight. If you see someone, shoot first. I’m gonna get help.”
I slid backward and tried to get out the side door, but the accident had jammed the locks. So I repositioned myself, and after a few strong kicks, I knocked out the rear windshield. Giving the downed officer next to me another look, I hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. Crawling out of the wreckage, I didn’t know what I’d find on the outside.
Twenty-one
Pulling myself out of the SUV, I took cover behind the police vehicle. Glancing in the direction we had been traveling, I didn’t spot anything amiss. The police vehicle was sideways on the pavement. It had skidded and blocked part of the shoulder and most of the lane. We had just gotten off an overpass and were on the exit ramp. We were far enough down the ramp to not be seen by vehicles on the main thoroughfare. A black sedan was parked behind us, and I fought to steady my breathing and my hands as I held the gun two-handed, hating how restrictive the cuffs were.
The shot had to have come from somewhere, and I looked upward, wondering if shooters or an assault team were above. How did anyone know where we’d be? Why were they shooting at us? A man stepped out from behind the sedan, and I aimed my gun at him. His weapon was trained on me, but he held up a hand.
“Parker, what the hell’s going on?” Lucca asked.
“We took fire.” That tingling feeling of impending doom was coursing through my body. “The radio’s out.”
“They’re using a jammer,” Lucca said. “Cell phones are down too.”
“How do you know they’re using a jammer?” My pulse was in my ears, and my hands were shaking.
“Common sense.” Lucca had yet to lower his weapon. “Alex, what’s wrong?”
“Where were you?”
“What?”
“You said you were following behind. You must have seen what happened, but you didn’t come to help. Instead, you were behind your car. What were you doing?”
“Following protocol and assessing the situation. Are you okay?”
“I remember what happened.”
“Now’s really not the time.” Lucca’s eyes kept glancing around. “Do you know who killed the cop?”
“I don’t understand how he knew Donaldson was a cop or that he’d be there. It felt like a setup. There were two men. I never got a look at one of them. He just shoved me back inside and held me at gunpoint. He never searched me. He never came into view. He didn’t speak.” My breathing was coming in shorter, more frantic spurts.
“We’ll figure it out. Maybe there’s a mole.” Lucca moved closer to me, sidestepping around the sedan so he was directly in front of me. “Are you okay? We need to get out of here. Are the cops okay?”
My mind was reeling. Nothing was making sense anymore, and from my body’s reaction, I wasn’t sure I could trust the man holding a gun on me. “How’d you get the bruise on your side?” I asked.
“What?”
“After our altercation when you woke me up, I saw a bruise.” My thoughts began replaying everything. “You found me that morning. You called me. You kept saying that I was imagining things. That this was some drunken mishap or PTSD. You said I fell down some stairs.”
“Parker, stop.”
“Lower the gun, Lucca.”
“You first,” he said, and I felt my heart break at the possibility that he had betrayed me. My hands shook. “You’re not gonna shoot me, Alex. Stand down. You’re reading this wrong.” Gunfire rang out behind me. Suddenly, without warning, he focused his aim and fired. The shot whizzed past me, and then Lucca tackled me to the ground. “Bogeys at twelve o’clock.” We took cover behind the police vehicle, and Lucca edged around, checking to see if they were advancing.
“Get these cuffs off of me,” I snapped. Blindly, he handed me the key, and I freed my wrists. “How many?”
“I don’t know. At least three.”
I cautioned a glance around the SUV. A Hummer was parked at the exit to the ramp, effectively boxing us in. Trembling and sweating, I leaned my head back, remembering the officers trapped inside the metal box that we were using as cover. I didn’t know who these shooters were or how they’d found us, but it didn’t matter.
“You have to get help,” I said, hoping that my instincts were wrong. At the moment, everything was telling me I was under attack from all sides. Unfortunately, I needed help, and Lucca was the only one in a position to provide it. “We’re low enough that you could probably go over the guardrail and make a run for it.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “You go. I’ll hold them off.”
“The hell you will. You have a family.”
“You’re faster.”
“I can’t.” I blinked a few times, trying to shake it off. “I won’t make it. Just go. I’ll distract them.”
He looked at the unsteady grip I had on the gun. “You better be here when I get back.”
“Where else would I go?” I asked, switching positions with him so I could provide a distraction while he ran for help. I hoped the angle of the police transport would obscure him from the attackers’ view, but I couldn’t be certain. “On three.”
He nodded, and we silently counted down. On three, I fired a few shots in their direction, and Lucca vaulted over the guardrail to the ground below. I wasn’t positive how high a drop he had to make, but it was our only shot. Return fire ensued, but I barely glimpsed the man who was firing back. We were disabled. Why weren’t they advancing on our position?
As if answering my question, I heard a sound that I’d only ever experienced during advanced weapons training. Oh, god. I ducked down, feeling the peripheral effects of the explosion. We didn’t hit an IED. We had been struck by the projectile from a grenade launcher. The grenade exploded too far to the left to cause severe damage, but I imagined their aim would improve.
Inhaling, I ran at a crouch along the side of the sideways police unit until I was near the front of the vehicle. Even from here, the curve of the ramp partially obscured the Hummer. The police officer that had been shot signaled to me and punched the barrel of his gun through the bullet hole in the windshield. He planned on providing assistance in the form of a distraction. Nodding my understanding, I darted to the far side of the ramp and waited for him to fire.
The first shot edged the assailants back, and I rushed forward at a crouch. When the man with the grenade launcher stepped to the side of the vehicle, believing he was in a cover position, I fired on him. I was a decent shot with my left, but I didn’t kill him. He went down, and one of the other men grabbed his collar and dragged him backward. They shifted their gunfire toward me, and I
bolted across the ramp again, unable to find a cover position.
Sliding next to the sideways police vehicle, I rested my head against the tire and checked the clip in the gun. I had nine shots left. For a moment, I thought I might be having a heart attack, but quite frankly, I didn’t have time for that luxury. Dizzy and unsteady, I gulped down some air and listened for sounds of the next barrage.
The officer inside the vehicle fired a few more times, and I thought I heard a faint shriek. Forcing myself away from the vehicle, I fired as well. I hated westerns and how the hero always went down in a blaze of glory. It was stupid. This was equally idiotic. Thankfully, their aim hadn’t improved either. We continued exchanging fire until my clip was empty.
The officer inside the vehicle fired a few more shots, but he’d be out pretty soon. While I was contemplating my options, a car slammed into the Hummer. Throwing caution to the wind, I stood up straight, seeing Lucca exiting from the driver’s side of a crashed minivan. He had his gun out and was barking orders to the men.
Moving down the ramp, I found two of the shooters facedown. The one I shot had three wounds and was on the ground. The other one, that I assumed the officer shot, had his hands in the air while blood trickled from a hole in his shoulder down his back. The other man, Lucca had already slapped cuffs on.
“They have a grenade launcher,” I said.
“Yeah, I noticed.” Lucca didn’t take his eyes off the men. “Cover him.”
I moved closer. “I need your spare clip.”
“Fine, but don’t shoot me.”
He kept his gun trained on the men but opened his stance so I could take the extra magazine he had stowed in his jacket pocket. I reloaded my appropriated weapon and pointed it at the cuffed man while Lucca put a spare set of cuffs on the one with the shoulder wound.
Sirens sounded, and I relaxed slightly. Two police cars arrived on scene first, followed by Jablonsky and Agent Cooper. An ambulance and fire truck arrived a few minutes later, and the Hummer was rammed out of the way so the injured officers could be pried out of the vehicle by the fire department.
“Give me that,” Lucca said, taking the gun from my hand. “You’re technically still in police custody, so you don’t need to get hit by friendly fire.”
Jablonsky joined us as the shooters were loaded into a second ambulance and accompanied by Agent Cooper and a few police officers to the hospital. This was serious shit. No one could declare war on a police vehicle, shoot at officers, and expect to walk away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.
“Sir,” I said, teetering, “I remember what happened. It came back. All of it.”
“Parker, go sit in the car and wait for me,” Mark ordered. “And don’t say a word to anyone about this.” Media vans were circling the scene like vultures. Some had already gotten out and had begun live broadcasts. “Go.” He pointed to the nearest government-issued SUV.
Obeying, I climbed into the car. I was used to adrenaline surges, but whatever was going on with me was a hundred times worse. It was getting harder to focus, and I was nauseous, hot, and dizzy. Something was seriously wrong. I rolled down the window, hoping that the air would help, but things were getting hazier. Opening the door, I barely managed to loop my arm through the open window before crumpling to the ground.
“Parker,” Mark yelled, running to me with Lucca at his heels. He grabbed me before I landed face first on the asphalt. “We need a paramedic. Now.” He felt for my pulse. “Hurry.” I looked up at him, wanting to articulate whatever was wrong but not knowing how. “You’ll be okay.” I blinked out for a few seconds. “Alex, I’m right here. Stay with me.”
Twenty-two
I couldn’t remember much of what happened after that, but I didn’t care. Jablonsky was there. He could go into specific details if I wanted to hear them, but I didn’t. Frankly, I was happy it was a blur. That was over now. All of it was over now. The only thing to do was move on. The world would keep spinning, regardless of anything else. Life was a cold, heartless bitch sometimes. It was my job to make it suck a little less, and thus far, I’d failed miserably. It was time for a change.
Waking up, I looked around the room, taking comfort in the familiar surroundings. Martin was speaking, but I couldn’t comprehend his words. Shifting my focus, I stared at him, waiting for the world to make sense again. He smiled and concluded his phone call.
“Hey, beautiful.” He crossed the room and climbed into bed.
“Were you speaking German?”
“Ja,” he replied.
“Did I know that you speak German?” I asked, and he shrugged. “How many languages do you speak?”
“Five.”
“That explains it. For a second, I thought something short-circuited in my brain.”
“I take it you’re still feeling wonky.” His features contorted into sadness.
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want your pity. I’m okay. You’ve been lingering nearby for almost a week. It’s creepy. Obsessed stalker creepy. How long will it take before you get it through your thick skull that I’m gonna live?”
“You better.” He leaned back and put his arm around me. “But given your recent track record, I think it’s wise to make sure you adhere to the strict bed rest guidelines. Emergency surgery because of internal bleeding isn’t something that needs repeating.” His grasp tightened.
“Well, you don’t need to work from the bedroom.” I glared at the desk that he’d moved into the corner of the room. “Just because I’m stuck in this room doesn’t mean you have to be too.”
“Neither of us can afford a repeat of that night we spent on the bathroom floor,” he pointed out. “I don’t want to replace the carpet again. And you aren’t supposed to lift anything over five pounds, so I’m pretty sure that means taking a frantic tumble out of bed is also frowned upon.”
“Stop talking to me like there’s something wrong with me.”
“Sweetheart, there is something wrong with you,” he said, and I lifted my newly casted arm and punched him in the stomach. Frankly, with his ridiculously toned abdomen, I probably hurt my arm more than him. “Do I need to point out that you had numerous internal injuries and were bleeding into your adrenals? You could have bled out. You could have arrested. You could have suffered a clot or permanent organ damage. Alex, you nearly died.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” This wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, but this was the first time that my stubbornness was the root cause. Based on the bruises and the extensive internal damage, the doctors suspected that my initial injuries had gotten progressively worse with the numerous beatings I’d taken. Unfortunately, my body waited until I was under heavy fire to send my already overloaded system into overdrive. “Those moments before I passed out were the most terrifying seconds of my life.” I swallowed. “Honestly, I can’t think about that now. I just can’t.” A dark understanding had settled over me within the last few days, but it was too unnerving to verbalize just yet.
“Hey, you’ll be okay. I will do everything in my power to make sure of it. I’d move heaven and earth for you.” He nuzzled against my hair, hoping to lighten the mood. “See, I’ve already moved the desk. How hard could the rest be?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t Mark help you move the TV in here?”
He clutched his chest. “You wound my masculinity.”
“It’s been a while, but from what I remember, that’s not where you keep your masculinity.”
“Apparently, you’re confusing it with my manhood.” He smirked. “I understand your confusion since they are both massive.”
I laughed. “Just like your ego.”
“That’s why I’m a triple threat.”
“A triple threat who needed help moving the TV. Didn’t Mark hold the mount while you screwed it in?”
“Obviously, your memory isn’t quite up to snuff since I’ve never needed any help screwing anything in,” Martin said, causing me to laugh harder. “I’m glad yo
u’re entertained, even if it appears to be at my expense.” I snorted and wheezed, choking on my own laughter. “Okay, enough of that or I’m taking you to get another MRI to make sure you didn’t pop a stitch or blow an artery or blood vessel.” My laughter turned into quiet chuckles. “For the record, once you’re back in fighting shape, I’ll make sure you have no reason to laugh at me in bed.”
“There’s that ego again,” I teased. “You and that swelled head of yours.”
“Two, but who’s counting?”
I rolled my eyes. Normally, I’d blame him, but I was the one who started in on the juvenile jokes this time. Perhaps it was a side effect of the medication I was on. At least, that was the rationale I kept using for why I’d been sleeping so much. Truthfully, I felt like I was at the end of my rope, and I needed to either hang myself or step away from the ledge.
“Did the lawyer call?” I asked, forcing myself to return to practical things. This was about putting one foot in front of the other.
“Yours or mine?”
“Either.” I sighed. “Which is worse, jail time or a six-figure settlement?”
“Money’s just money, but I already told you I won’t let anything happen to you. There hasn’t been any word yet from your lawyer, but Mark said the DA didn’t believe the cops had a case against you. They were planning on dropping the charges, but after those shitheads tried to blow you to kingdom come, the police opened a new investigation to determine if you orchestrated the attack. It’s bullshit. The officer driving made it extremely clear to everyone that you’re the only reason he’s alive today.”
“I could say the same thing.” My mind went back to Lucca and the mistrust I’d felt toward him. One thing stuck out in my mind clear as day: you’re reading this wrong. What the hell did that mean? “When’s Mark getting here?”
“He’ll be by around lunchtime. He tends to show up when he smells food.”
“It’s because he’s trying to catch a glimpse of you wearing the apron.” I smiled. “It’s a crowd-pleaser.”
