No Ordinary Day | Book 2 | No Ordinary Getaway

by Tate, Harley

  “I guess you can be a baby about it. It’s not every day you get shot in the arm.”

  “I sure as hell hope not.” Emma took another swig of the tequila. “All right. I’m ready.” She stood and her whole body wobbled. It only took a moment for her to fall back into her seat. “And we’re doing it here.”

  Gloria smiled. “As good a place as any.” She reached for Emma’s arm, gingerly untying the jacket before loosening it enough to slide down Emma’s arm. Blood soaked the remains of her shirt, dried patches flaking off her skin underneath. No rush of fresh blood, no massive discoloration. Gloria exhaled in relief.

  She used a pair of scissors to cut away the tatters of Emma’s shirt before ripping open an alcohol wipe. “This will sting.”

  Emma braced herself on the table as Gloria dabbed at the skin surrounding the wound. “Don’t waste time being gentle. We need to find out what he knows.”

  Gloria gritted her teeth and pressed the wipe against the wound. Emma jerked, cursing worse than Raymond when he accidentally sliced his hand the summer before.

  “Sorry. Raymond will want to irrigate, so I’ll stop for now.” She wrapped the gauze around the wound and followed with the bandage all while Emma sat ghost-white in the chair. Two butterfly clips and a bit of pressure and the bandage held. It wasn’t hospital-grade dressing, but it would do until they could treat it properly.

  Emma glugged down another mouthful of liquor. “I’m thinking you’re going to be doing this in this interrogation.”

  “I know.” She stepped over to the man sprawled out in the chair and kicked his boot. He groaned. She tried again. No response. Gloria pinched the bridge of her nose as doubt crept in. “Tell me we aren’t being ridiculous.”

  “We aren’t being rid-rid-ridi—” Emma hiccupped. “We aren’t being silly.”

  Gloria sucked in a deep breath. “Fake it ‘til you make it, right?” She pulled the handgun she’d stolen from the man out from beneath her waistband and held it in her right hand as she reached for the tequila with her left. Emma frowned, but handed the bottle over.

  “Time to wake up!” Gloria splashed the liquor across the man’s face.

  He spluttered and gagged and his eyes shot open only to blink shut just as fast. He shook his head, ridding his face of the burning liquid as he tested his restraints, tugging his arms and legs and rocking back in the chair.

  Gloria took a swig of liquid courage before slamming the bottle on the table. “If you don’t tell me who you work for right now, so help me God, you’ll regret it.” She felt like a caricature of every spy thriller she watched as a teenager, only even more impotent.

  The man laughed, loud and unafraid. “You really think I’m going to tell a fluffy little research scientist and her sidekick what they want to know because a gun’s pointed at me?”

  Gloria took a step closer, aiming right between the man’s eyes. “We know you work with John. He’s on the way back any minute. I can’t imagine you want to face him instead of me.”

  He didn’t even flinch. “If he’s really helping you, then John must be further gone than any of us thought.”

  Emma shifted in her seat at the table. “Did Dane tell you the hit is still on? Even after the blackout?”

  The man’s eyes flicked up toward Emma. “You think I’m impressed because you know Dane’s name? I’m not. You’ll still be dead by morning.” He leaned back in the chair, pulling the front two legs off the ground like he didn’t have a care in the world. “You got lucky with Dominic. I’ll give you that. Even if you kill me, the next guy who comes won’t be such an easy mark.”

  Gloria believed him. From what Emma described of Zach’s murder, they hadn’t encountered the worst of John’s coworkers. She gritted her teeth and leaned forward, pressing the gun against the hitman’s temple until his skin puckered around the metal.

  “Last chance. Tell us who’s coming and when or I put a bullet in your brain.”

  He closed his eyes and smiled. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Going down at the hand of a hot Latina’s always been one of my fantasies.”

  Rage boiled up inside Gloria, her breath quickened, her pulse thundered, and the edges of her vision tinged red. She flipped the gun around in her hand and slammed the butt of the pistol hard enough into the man’s skull to knock him out. “We’re never going to get any information out of him.”

  “John might be able to, if he ever comes back,” Emma offered.

  Gloria agreed. She didn’t trust John, but as long as Raymond was present, she felt a modicum of safety. He never let anyone hurt her, not John, not those two teenagers on the road, no one. As long as he was alive, they had a chance at making it through this new world order, regardless of how horrible it may become.

  “Holly?” Gloria called for the teenager. “I need your help.”

  The door to the bedroom opened so fast, Holly must have been poised on the other side, waiting. “Anything.”

  “We need to drag this jerk into the bedroom and find a way to secure him in there.”

  Holly nodded as she opened the door wider. An angry, yipping Pringles shoved his way through the opening, nose sniffing the air as he neared the stranger.

  Gloria reached down to pet the little dog behind the ear. “I’m sorry you were so excluded. I know you have more fight in you than any of us, but you can’t help that you’re so little.” She set the pistol on the table and reached for the man’s arm. “I’ll take his left; you take his right.”

  Holly did as instructed, digging her arm beneath the man’s slack muscles as Gloria turned back to Emma. “I think there’s some duct tape in the garage. Can you find it? I think we need all the help securing him we can get.”

  Emma rose on unsteady feet but managed to stay upright. “I’ll meet you back there.”

  Gloria turned back around and on the count of three, she and Holly hoisted the man and the chair toward the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Emma

  Emma dozed on the chair, head resting on the kitchen table. Between the pain radiating from her shoulder and the booze coursing through her system, she could barely think a coherent thought, let alone articulate one. She checked her watch.

  Over three hours since John and Raymond left for Walmart. Even with the drive from the cabin, they should have been back an hour ago at least. Emma cast a glance at the closed bedroom door where Gloria watched over the unconscious man, gun resting in her lap.

  The events of that morning played over and over in an endless loop in Emma’s mind. The conversation with the man on the drive, the first shot, the chase, the final bullet. She swallowed down a wave of nausea.

  I’m a killer. The visions of that stranger’s face as his eyes lost their humanity—as his very soul dimmed out—would haunt her for the rest of her life. How was she ever going to get over what she had done? How would she ever live with herself knowing she ended another person’s life?

  As a sobering realization emerged, Emma sat straighter in the chair. How many more lives would she need to take? Was this the beginning, or was this a temporary dose of insanity? A movie where the ship threatens to capsize itself, but survives at the last moment. Deep in her gut, she knew the answer.

  The door to the cabin swung open and Raymond stepped inside, arms laden with bags. One look at Emma and panic sharpened his focus. “Where’s Gloria? Is she alright?”

  Emma pointed toward the bedroom. “She’s in there with one of John’s coworkers.”

  Raymond dumped the bags on the floor and half-ran to the door.

  “She’s got it under control,” Emma offered.

  Raymond yanked the door to the bedroom so hard, the entire cabin shook. As Raymond ducked into the other room, John eased inside and set two handfuls of bags on the ground. Holly shot off the couch, wrapping her arms around John’s torso as she clutched him tight. John stood, arms out to his sides, unsure what to do.

  “I thought you might never come back.” She sniffed back a wave of tears.
“It was so scary. Just like my dad—” She broke down into a series of sobs and John gave her an awkward pat on the back.

  “I’m fine, but it looks like you all aren’t.” He turned to Emma. “Are you all right?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been better. At least I know how bad that bullet hole feels.” She motioned toward his midsection before holding up her bandaged arm.

  John swallowed. “How many?”

  “Two that we know of. One is dead in the woods and one’s in there.”

  John nodded. “I knew they would come, but I didn’t expect them so soon.” He pulled back from Holly, who still hugged him like a long-lost relative, and smiled down at her. “We bought a bunch of meat on sale. Help me put it away?”

  The girl snuffed back a wave of snot as she nodded and together they unloaded the bags from Walmart, shoving package after package of meat into the fridge until the thing barely closed. As Holly set the handful of non-refrigerated food on the counter, heavy footsteps signaled Raymond’s return.

  Emma sat quiet and still as Raymond stopped a foot away from John. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. One look at the man and Emma knew what was coming. She half-stood before a wave of nausea overcame her and she fell back down. “We need him, Raymond. He’s the only one who can help us deal with these people.”

  Gloria stepped out of the bedroom and joined the others. “Emma’s right. We need John, not only to help us prepare, but to get any information out of that guy. I tried but he won’t talk to me.”

  Raymond ground his palm into his fist, cursing beneath his breath.

  “I can get him to talk,” John offered, “one way or another.”

  Emma shuddered, forcing her imagination to the back of her mind. She tried to smile at Raymond. “Any chance you could lend me your skills and dig this bullet out of my arm?”

  Raymond glanced at his wife. “Only if someone tells me what happened.”

  “Of course.” Gloria closed the distance between them, sliding her arm around Raymond’s sculpted waist. He stiffened, but his wife persisted until his shoulders eased and his arm slipped around her. “Don’t be angry at us, honey. Be angry at CropForward or the government or whoever sent these guys after us.”

  Raymond’s head swiveled in John’s direction. “You’re sure you have no idea who hired you?”

  John shook his head. “Dane never volunteered and I never asked.” He hesitated for a beat. “Doesn’t mean one of the other guys doesn’t know, though. Dane treated everyone differently. Some needed more hand-holding than others.”

  “I’m telling you guys, it was the government.” Holly repeated her conclusion from earlier. “I believed the man who killed my father and you should, too.”

  Raymond began to disagree, offering other theories, and Emma struggled to stay part of the conversation, pain and tequila dulling her ability to focus. She spoke up in the first lull. “About that bullet.”

  “How deep is it?” Raymond disengaged from his wife and strode to the kitchen, pulling open a narrow drawer.

  “I haven’t looked.” Just the thought of poking around in the meat of her shoulder turned Emma’s stomach. The combination of liquor, adrenaline and fear soured the contents. “One glimpse at that blood and tissue and I’d have puked all over your floor.”

  He smiled as he held up a pair of tweezers. “Let’s hope these are big enough, then.”

  Emma’s lips parted and her spit turned to grit. She glanced at Gloria. “Can you catch me if I pass out?”

  Her friend pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. She took Emma’s good hand in her own and gave it a squeeze. “You can do this.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  John stood a few steps inside the door, watching the three of them. As Emma flicked her eyes toward his face, he turned to her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

  She managed a tight smile. “It’s okay.”

  His brow knit and he opened his mouth but stopped short. “I’ll be keeping watch. See if the guy in there wakes up.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Raymond cautioned. “We still have all the weapons.”

  John shot the back of Raymond’s head a withering look and headed toward the bedroom without another word. As he shut the door behind him, Emma twisted in the seat until her wound faced Raymond head-on. “You should stop assuming the worst of John.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “I know him more than you do.”

  Holly spoke up from her perch on the edge of the coffee table. “Emma’s right. He saved us more than once. He even went back for Tank and almost got himself killed for it. He’s not the same as these other guys, not even close.”

  Raymond didn’t respond, opting instead to dip the tweezers in rubbing alcohol and set them on a paper towel. He pulled out a pair of nitrile gloves and tugged them on. “Ready?”

  “Nope. But let’s do it anyway.” Emma squeezed Gloria’s hand as Raymond leaned forward and unclasped the bandage.

  He unwound the bandage slowly and with deliberate movement, careful not to bump the wound. As the gauze peeled away, he leaned in for a closer look. “I’ve got a topical numbing agent.” He picked up a bottle and pulled off the cap. “It won’t eliminate the pain, but it might lessen it a bit.”

  Emma nodded and watched as Raymond sprayed it liberally over the wounded area. “Give it a few minutes to take effect.”

  Emma closed her eyes as Raymond enlisted Holly to gather towels and another suture kit from the medical bag. After a few minutes, he tapped her on the hand. “I’m going to get started.”

  She nodded, eyes still closed. The first nudge of the tweezers caused no pain, only a dissociated pressure like a dentist’s drill after Novocain. But the second they slipped inside the wound, a white-hot poker lanced Emma to the chair. She gripped Gloria’s hand so hard, she heard her friend gasp.

  “Please be quick if you can.” The words squeezed out between clenched teeth, barely audible in the quiet cabin.

  “I’m trying.”

  Spots flew across Emma’s closed eyes in shades of red as she groaned against the pain. Something scraped what must have been bone. She cried out.

  “Got it!” Raymond eased the tweezers back as Emma struggled to stay conscious. “Little bugger had wedged itself almost in your humerus. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

  A splash of liquid filled the wound and Emma risked opening her eyes.

  Raymond pressed a towel to her arm, soaking up the bloodied alcohol. “I’ll close it, but only because we have antibiotics to treat it. Bullet looks intact, no splintering, so you should heal without any issues.”

  Relief coursed through Emma and she relaxed her grip on Gloria’s hand.

  Her friend shook it out, a shaky smile on her face. “You should take up arm wrestling. With a grip like that, watch out.”

  Emma managed to smile, the heady combination of no pain and tequila practically liquefying her entire body. She teetered on the edge of passing out.

  Raymond finished closing the wound, using the same method that worked for John—a bandage of sorts with tape on each side and plastic sutures to pull the wound closed. “Had I known we’d be in a series of gunfights, I’d have bought more of these. At this rate, we’ll run out next week.”

  Emma reached for Raymond’s hand. “Thank you. Not just for fixing me up, but for taking us all in, even John. You didn’t have to and I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

  Raymond glanced at his wife. “Don’t thank me yet on John’s behalf. Jury’s still out on him.” He stood, busying himself with cleaning the mess as an angry voice carried through the bedroom door.

  Everyone turned.

  “Guess the prisoner’s awake.” Raymond wasted no time as he headed straight for the door.

  Chapter Eight

  John

  John stared at the unconscious, slumped over body of a man he’d known for years. Nick wasn’t the type to clean up another guy’s mess
, nor did he enjoy working on a team. But Dane called the shots and whatever he said, Nick did, no questions asked. It was that way on base, deployed, and back home.

  Never in a million years did he think he’d be on the opposite side of a member of his own unit. Not once. John ran a hand down his face and turned to stare out at the mountain skyline in the distance. The gravity of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders.

  “When Dane told me you’d gone rogue and abandoned your assignment, I didn’t believe him.” Nick coughed as John turned back to face him. “Guess I owe him an apology.”

  “I think we’ve repaid Dane everything we owed and then some, don’t you?”

  Nick adjusted himself in the chair, grunting as the tape pulled his skin. “He saved our lives, or don’t you remember?”

  “I remember. I also remember how many I’ve taken repaying that obligation.” John spoke in fits and starts, barely spitting the words out. It was one thing to doubt the path he’d been on all these years, another to voice the words out loud, especially to someone who’d lived it, too. “Emma opened my eyes to the truth.”

  Nick snorted. “Your mark? That bimbo out there who flinches at the sight of blood?”

  John stepped forward.

  Nick laughed. “Oh, I get it. She’s done a bit more than open your eyes, huh?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Then she’s fair game?”

  John threw a brutal right hook, smashing into Nick’s jaw and sending the man and the chair crashing to the floor. Blood welled in the corner of Nick’s mouth.

  The door to the bedroom flew back on its hinges and Raymond filled the opening. “What’s going on?”

  John shook out his hand. “We’re just getting reacquainted.”

  “What he said.” Nick twisted around on the floor to size up the newest arrival. “Ooh, look at you, Mr. Tough Guy. He find you at some club, offer you twenty bucks to be his muscle?”

  Raymond stormed forward, but John held out his arm. “I’ve got this.”