by Kate Lowell
It didn’t take long. From the corner of his eye, he saw the bodyguard frown. “Boy, that’s not for you to say. Until I deliver you to your owner, you’re in my care, which makes me your master. So get over here and keep me in a good mood, or there’ll be a beating waiting for you when you get to your destination.”
“No. I’m not supposed to.” He was expecting the slap, but it still stung when it came.
“Last chance, boy. Next one will be my belt across your ass.”
Perfect. A real victim would be scared of that. “It would be better if I had more room,” he said, trying for that tone of voice where you were agreeing but still trying to wiggle out of something.
The bodyguard snorted. “Right. Get over here. We’ve only got a little while, and I don’t want to be shortchanged because you think you’re hot shit.”
This went beyond any swear words. That gun was looking better all the time.
Julian eased across the seat, alert for any sudden moves on the bodyguard’s part. The man nodded and leaned back to make it easier for Julian to get to his zipper.
The gun was right there.
He went to work on the fastenings of the man’s pants and spread the cloth away to lift his cock out into the open. The bodyguard was half-hard, and Julian stroked him with all the skill he could gather and waited for the man’s attention to be more on his cock and less on Julian. He rubbed his hand over the man’s thigh and up over belly and chest, hiding his efforts to get close to the gun in an appearance of compliance.
The bodyguard shifted on the seat and sighed heavily, eyes closed. “Get on with it, boy.”
“Yes, sir.” Julian rubbed his cheek along the side of the man’s cock while his right hand slid down his side, toward the hip with the holster.
Julian grabbed for the gun.
It didn’t come out easily; he had to fight it out of the holster. In the lost moments, the bodyguard had time to react. He caught Julian’s wrist in a bruising grip and wrenched his arm away from the gun.
But Julian had gotten a finger inside the trigger guard, and the gun came with him when the man pulled. It flew across the car, ricocheted off the window of Julian’s door, and disappeared into the footwell.
Julian threw himself across the seat. He scrabbled for the weapon with one hand while he tried to twist the other free and keep the bodyguard from getting the gun himself. The bodyguard threw himself on top of Julian, crushing him, forcing his face into the smothering leather of the seats.
The bodyguard’s breath was hot and repulsive against his ear. “You’re going to regret this, boy. We’ll break you so hard now, you’ll beg to suck me anywhere, anytime. And cry when I say no.”
“Like hell.” Julian stretched, his eyes closed, fingers creeping over the floor in search of cold steel. He was half off the seat now, reaching under the front passenger seat. His fingertips brushed against something solid, and he stretched and wrapped them around it. The bodyguard grabbed his arm and yanked it back, but when Julian’s hand came out from under the seat, the gun was in it.
Somewhere beyond the din of his heart’s pounding and the roar of blood in his ears, he heard the driver squawk, “What’s going on back there?” The car decelerated sharply, throwing both Julian and his attacker forward.
Julian pushed against the bodyguard and tumbled headfirst into the footwell. He landed on his side, his legs still trapped between his attacker and the seat.
But he had the gun.
Hands shaking, he fought off the bodyguard’s attempts to snatch it out of his hand, slapping and punching wildly at any part of the man’s body that he could reach. He even bit him, which bought Julian a few precious seconds to get a finger on the trigger. Then he pointed the gun as well as he could at the man on top of him. “Get off me!” His voice shook, but he was too scared and too wired to care. All he knew was he wanted this man on the other side of the car. Outside would be good too, but they were still moving down the highway. Although the possibility of this man tumbling down the road like a discarded rag doll was definitely on the table.
The bodyguard froze. Then the car shook again, and Julian’s aim wavered. The bodyguard lunged for the gun, and they grappled viciously over it. Julian used both hands, slowly turning it in the direction of the man’s chest. He hooked a leg under the man’s knee and tried to lever him off that way, but they were jammed between the two sets of seats, and the best he was able to manage was to gain a little more control over the gun.
The man’s face was right in Julian’s, teeth gritted in a feral grin. “You stupid slut.”
Julian pulled the trigger, hoping to wing him, but nothing happened. What the fuck? Then he realized—safety.
The bodyguard grinned above him. He shifted his weight and raised his other arm for what Julian was sure would be a knockout punch.
Julian ducked his head and scrabbled at the side of the gun, searching for the tiny switch that would turn the damn thing from a paperweight into a real threat.
His fingers found the switch at the exact moment that the man’s fist hit him just over his ear, smashing his face into the floorboards and leaving his vision full of stars. Julian thought he cried out, but his brain was sloshing around in his head, and the only thing he had attention for was getting a shot off before the guy had time to hit him again. He aimed blindly over his shoulder and pulled the trigger.
This time the gun went off.
The man stiffened above him, then fell with a gasping moan, crushing Julian beneath him. Something hot spread across Julian’s hip and stomach. He pried himself out from underneath the limp body and scrambled up off the floor. The smell of blood filled the air.
“Maxwell, you all right?” the driver said. In the rearview mirror, Julian caught a glimpse of the driver’s anxious eyes. “Oh, shit!” The man swerved hard, and Julian toppled off the seat and on top of the bodyguard.
He clawed his way back up and braced the hand with the gun against the back of the seat, its muzzle pointed directly at the side of the driver’s face. “Pull the car over.”
The man blanched and did as he was told. “Don’t shoot. I just drive!”
“Hmph.” Julian waited for the car to come to a complete stop. “Turn it off, and drop the keys into the back. And by the way—FBI, you ass.”
He didn’t think the man could go any whiter, but he was wrong. For a moment he thought the guy would pass out. Then again, adrenaline is a great wake-up drug—Julian had learned that in person on this operation.
He could see the man’s pulse beating in his temple, fast and frightened. Good. It meant less screwing around to get his answers. “Where were we headed?” he asked in as intimidating a voice as he could manage. The blood on the bottom half of his shirt was already cold, and the smell both nauseated and excited him. His heart felt like it was going to jump right out of his chest. And he had a gun. Holy shit.
His hand was steady now, and when he met the driver’s eyes in the mirror, the man took a short, sharp breath and stammered, “Lida Junction.”
“And where to after that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I swear! I was just taking you to the airport; he knew the rest of it.”
Useless. “Where’s your phone?” The man gaped at him, and Julian shook the gun, then stopped, afraid he might accidentally make it go off. “Your phone! Give it to me!”
The driver fumbled the phone twice, reached down to pick it up, then twisted in his seat. He threw the phone at Julian and grabbed for the gun. Julian jerked it away, and it went off again, the bullet making a bloody splatter of the man’s left eye.
“Shit!” Julian searched around his feet for the phone. He found it facedown beneath his feet. “Oh, God, no.” The face was cracked, the phone unusable and covered in the bodyguard’s blood. He threw it on the floor in disgust and moved to rub his hands over his face, until he noticed the blood on them. It was already reddish-brown on the edges, a deep, shining scarlet elsewhere. The sight of it made breat
hing difficult, like his body was afraid to suck it in.
The blood smeared when he tried to wipe himself clean on the bodyguard’s suit jacket, leaving him tinted rust red and smelling of sweet iron. Desperation made it even harder to suck air in through the tightness in his throat.
Julian scrubbed harder, but the smell wouldn’t go. He felt around the edge of the console that filled the space between the front seats until the latch gave beneath his fingers. Inside he found a decanter filled with a golden-brown liquid, and two bottles of water. Shaking, he poured one of the bottles of water over his hands, rubbed them against the clean parts of the bodyguard’s clothing, then repeated the process until he had scrubbed most of the blood off.
What did he do now? He was stuck in the middle of nowhere, covered in blood, with two dead bodies. It occurred to him that he’d seen the bodyguard on a cell phone before the whole thing went to hell. One frantic search later turned up an iPhone peeking out from beneath the dead man’s thigh. “Yes!” He swiped at it, only to be faced with lock screen. “Goddammit! Fuck!” He leaned his forehead against the seat back and wept, or tried to. Too much had happened; his well was dry.
He still had the car, though.
Julian crawled out the door, careful not to look at the destruction he’d wrought. He pulled open the driver’s door and stared at the body wedged under the steering wheel. In the distance, he heard the sound of an engine and hesitated. It could be some innocent passerby, which could mean help or panic. It could be law enforcement, which could mean better help or arrest for murder. Given the state of his shirt, it could go either way.
He looked in the direction of the noise, shading his eyes against the sun beating down on him. And in that instant, he realized he didn’t care. He just wanted someone to come fix this. He looked up dully as the car passed and braked hard. The driver pulled off the road, and the next thing he knew, an anxious-looking woman was peering into his face.
“Are you all right?” She had her cell phone up to her ear already, talking to 911.
He waved his hand at her. “It’s not my blood. Can I make a call on that?”
“It’s okay, honey. You sit down. I’ve called the ambulance.”
Julian shook his head. “Not an ambulance. FBI.” He took a deep breath, and his legs gave out beneath him. He slumped to the ground, his back against the side of the car. “I need to call my handler, let him know I’m all right.” He squinted up at her. “Can I borrow your phone?” Oh, God, he felt weird. Disconnected. Something touched his hand. The phone. Julian smiled up at the woman. “Thank you.”
As quick as he could, he dialed the number that Harrow had made him memorize.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation, Agent Mazin speaking,” a smooth male voice answered.
Julian took a breath and said, “It’s Julian Fitzroy. I’m working with ASAC Harrow and Leo Gale. I’m not sure where I am, somewhere on the road to an airport in Lida Junction.”
The woman interrupted. “Route Ninety-Five.”
“Route Ninety-Five,” Julian repeated, then added, “I shot two men.” He heard the woman gasp.
“Are you injured, Agent Fitzroy?”
“No, not really. A few bruises. I have the keys to the car—do you want me to drive it back?” Oh, God, he needed someone to come. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. At the same time, a tiny voice at the back of his head told him that being an analyst would be pretty dull after this.
“No, we’ll dispatch someone else to pick it up and bring you in. It’s evidence; we’ll have the forensics guys haul it back in with a tow truck. For now, I need you to maintain chain of custody. How far out from Lida are you?”
“Don’t know. A couple of hours from the warehouse anyway.”
“We’ll send a helicopter; that’ll be fastest. Wait there and maintain the scene. The woman I heard, please have her remain there until we can take her statement. Can you repeat your orders back to me, Agent Fitzroy?”
“Yes. Stay here. Maintain custody. Keep the witness with me.” He should have corrected the man—Julian wasn’t an agent—but fuck it.
The agent on the other end of the phone line said, “Good. I have orders to transfer you to ASAC Harrow if you called. Hold, please.” The phone line clicked, then a pause and another click, and a familiar voice came over the speaker. “Julian?”
“That’s me.” A rush of anger made Julian less respectful than he usually was.
“What happened?”
“Come get me, and I’ll give you all the details.” Yeah, fuck respect. He wanted to go home and get clean and sleep for a month.
“Where are you?” A radio crackled in the background, and Julian heard orders being given, though he couldn’t make out what they were. Fuck, Harrow was on a raid.
“Like I said to the other fellow, Route Ninety-Five, heading for Lida Junction.” Oh shit, maybe he should get a rein on the sarcasm. “I don’t know how far away we are, couple of hours anyway. Maybe. How’s Leo?”
“The Hostage Rescue Team is just finishing up. Leo’s on his way to Vegas.”
The world spun around Julian for a moment. “Thank God.” He took a deep breath. “Did you get the laptop?”
“Yes. The cyber guys will be on it any minute now.”
“Good.” There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. “How long before they get here?”
“Forty-five minutes? If I could, I’d get someone there faster, but—”
“It’s fine. Just get here. I want to go home.”
“You did well, Julian. Don’t think I’ll forget that.”
“Thank you, sir.” He hung up and handed the phone back to the woman. “I appreciate the loan. It feels like poor repayment, but they want you to stick around to give a statement.” He let his hand fall in his lap. “I’m sorry to involve you. I hope this won’t ruin your day. There’s booze in the car if you want it.” He closed his eyes and let the sun and the sounds wash over him, keeping his mind purposely blank.
He wondered what Shiro was doing and how soon they could free him.
Clean Up
Just before Leo’s patrol car pulled away from the warehouse, Harrow came running over. The driver rolled down his window.
Harrow stuck his head in. “Just heard from Julian. He’s out on the Ninety-Five, close to Lida Junction. They’ve sent a helicopter to bring him in.”
“Is he okay?”
“He seems to be. You’re both going to the hospital, so you’ll probably see him there. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Thanks.” Leo leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. His car started moving again, and he spent the trip in a closed loop of worry and relief. Julian hadn’t been gone long enough to be hurt, but whether he’d be able to forgive Leo for failing him was another issue entirely.
They pulled into the hospital driveway and stopped just outside the portico that protected the emergency entrance. He fidgeted anxiously until the officer playing chauffeur for him opened the back door and cut the zip-tie off his wrists. With a hurried word of thanks, Leo shoved past him and ran in through the ambulance entrance.
The first person he saw was a nurse. Even knowing there was no way Julian had arrived before him, he grabbed her and asked, “Julian Fitzroy, is he here yet?”
The nurse gently removed her arm from his grip. “I’ll check. You can have a seat in the waiting room.”
His hand went automatically to his inside pocket, searching for his badge and ID. “Dammit.” He looked up at her. “I’m FBI. My partner is being brought in by helicopter.”
“You can still take a seat. We’re too busy in here to have random officers blocking the aisles.” She shooed him out of the department proper, through a set of glass doors, and into a room filled with vinyl-covered chairs in soothing pastel colors. He threw up his hands in frustration and sat in the chair closest to the glass doors.
After a few minutes, the inactivity got to him. He ended up pacing back and forth in front of t
he windows overlooking the parking lot, waiting. Just waiting. He strained his ears for the sound of helicopter blades cutting the air, but all he could hear was the chatter of the other people waiting, occasionally broken by the wail of sirens.
The doors whooshed behind him. He turned and saw Harrow walking in his direction. “Leo. What are you doing here?”
“Nurse put me out. Where’s Julian?”
“Should be here any minute. Come on. We’ll put you in a room.”
Leo followed him to the back of the department, to a small room with only two beds. Harrow gave him a pen and a pad of paper. “While you’re waiting, you can start organizing your thoughts.”
Right. Well, it would pass the time. “Did you find Kittridge?”
“No. That may not be a bad thing where you’re concerned. We can plant some information about him being our informant and maybe use Leon again.”
Leo grimaced. He wasn’t sure he wanted to revisit Leon.
Ten minutes later, the pad was still empty. He couldn’t find the will to focus on anything except Julian.
As if the thought had conjured him, Leo heard voices outside his door. Before he could do anything more than stand, the door opened, revealing a nurse in purple scrubs. And Julian—covered in blood and with a blank look on his face that frightened Leo.
He rushed forward without thinking. Julian looked up, wide-eyed, and started back. It brought Leo to a screeching, guilty halt. What did they do to you?
The nurse wrapped her arm around Julian. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t know there was someone in the room. We’ll find you someplace else.” She threw Leo a suspicious look. “Someplace that’ll make you feel safe.”
Julian gazed at her, blank-faced like a perfectly posed doll, for so long that Leo became concerned. Then emotion flooded back into his face, and all his usual animation returned. He jerked and wiggled out of her grasp. “No, I’m fine. That’s my partner.”
She glanced back and forth between the two of them, obviously confused. Her hand closed around Julian’s bicep, and she tried to maneuver him away from the doorway. “Honey, this is normal. You don’t have to cater to him anymore. Come with me. Maybe you’ll be more comfortable with the girls. There’s an extra bed in their room.”
