Under the Gun
Mercier came in, a gurney and security guard in tow. “Let’s move!” He quickly lowered the side rail of the bed and the guard brought the gurney alongside. In seconds, the two of them had Will loaded on it and were wheeling him down the hall.
Holly took point, on full alert for surprises at each room they passed on the way to the elevator. When it dinged and the door slid open, she crouched and swept the interior, even thought about putting two or three rounds through the roof in case someone was up top. Doubtful there had been time for that, she aimed her weapon at the overhead panel instead, prepared to riddle it.
Slow motion took on a whole new meaning as the elevator rose to the top floor. When they exited into the night air, they still had to wait for the chopper. Holly remained by Will’s side, as vigilant as she had ever been, while Mercier quickly swept the roof area.
He returned, declared it clear and dismissed the beefy guard who had come up with them. “Thanks, Charlie. I owe you for volunteering. I won’t forget it.”
“No problem. Safe trip,” the big man said with a toothy grin. “Ma’am. Take care.” He turned at the doorway to the roof. “I’ll just wait here till the chopper comes and you lift off. Ain’t nothin’ getting past me.” He stationed himself against the heavy metal door and crossed his arms.
Mercier had that effect, Holly knew. He inspired dedication. That’s why he was the boss. Apparently even incidental helpers weren’t immune to his charm.
Will groaned, drawing her attention.
“Damn it! I should have thought to get him some pain meds.” She slapped the heel of her hand against her forehead.
“Here you go,” Mercier said. He fished in his pocket and handed her a plastic pill bottle. “Morphine. I’ll have to shoulder him into the chopper.” There would be no room for the gurney or even a stretcher.
Holly opened the bottle, scooped out a capsule and held it to Will’s mouth. “Swallow this.”
“No,” he said, his voice sounding stronger. “Later.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Take the pill.” She poked it between his lips.
The instant she moved her fingers away, he popped it out. “No.”
Holly shook her head with frustration. “Those nurses don’t know how lucky they are to get rid of you now that you’re awake. Don’t make me hold your nose.”
His eyes closed, probably against the bright lights now descending. “Later,” he mouthed, his murmur drowned out by the whump whump of the chopper overhead.
She leaned over Will to shield him from the wash of the blades as the helicopter set down.
Mercier lifted Will to a sitting position, then did a shoulder carry to the open door of the helicopter. Joe Corda, fellow agent and man of many talents who was piloting, gave them a thumbs-up.
Dr. Solange Mercier, Jack’s wife, was crouched in the small bay waiting for the patient. She beckoned, and Holly hurriedly climbed in, helping to arrange Will while Jack scrambled aboard.
The instant he pulled the door shut, the slick Bell 206 Longranger rose and curved swiftly away from the tower, shifting the passengers sideways.
“Airborne. Safe,” Holly said, knowing no one could hear her over the noise.
Glass on the canopy cracked. “Ground fire!” Joe shouted.
God, this guy didn’t give up. Someone was firing at the helicopter—probably with a sniper rifle, given their distance from the ground. Joe zoomed out of range, zigzagging as sharply as the chopper would allow while Jack radioed local authorities below. At least the shooter wasn’t using one of those heat-seekers, Holly thought with relief, or they’d be done for.
Stay with me.
Holly jerked her gaze from the holes in the canopy to the patient. Had Will said that, told her to stay? How had she heard him over all this racket?
His eyes were still closed, his mouth pinched. He looked as if he might have returned to the sanctuary of silence that had sheltered him these past six days. But somehow Holly knew he hadn’t.
She placed her hand over both of his, now resting on his chest. She’d be right by his side for as long as he needed her, she vowed. This was the mission assigned to her, but that was incidental.
Immediately, it seemed she could feel his inner turmoil decrease, but it probably had nothing to do with her reassuring touch. Solange Mercier had raked away the gown from Will’s shoulder and injected him with something.
The chopper droned on, whisking them away from the bright city lights to the sparsely lit suburbs surrounding Dover, then out into the chasm of night to a destination known only to Mercier and Joe Corda.
Holly hadn’t even thought to ask Jack where they were going. Where would Will be safe?
The morphine or whatever Solange had administered had cut off Holly’s mental connection with Will, if indeed she had really had one. She hadn’t realized how strongly she had been feeling whatever it was until it suddenly ceased.
Or, more likely, it was only her imagination working overtime, stimulated by adrenaline that was now draining away.
She pressed her fingers to his wrist and felt the same slow, steady pulse that had blipped on the monitor for six straight days. Only now he had fallen asleep.
Chapter 2
“Where are we?” Holly demanded as soon as Joe set the chopper down and switched off the power. They had been airborne for a little over an hour and a half. In the moonlight, the landscape looked like the backside of nowhere. Coming in, she’d seen a flat field surrounded by trees on three sides, with a driveway that led to a two-lane road.
Now she looked at the ramshackle two-story structure about fifty yards away. It seemed pretty spooky with that lone light shining out the back window.
“Cedar Top Farm, Virginia,” Jack announced. “Population six if you count the animals.”
Holly glared at him. “This won’t do, Jack. Will needs the best medical care he can get. We should fly him to another hospital.”
“He’ll be safer here. The house is a confiscated property, very recently acquired and outfitted. Not even on official books yet as a safe house, and I’ll see that it stays that way. As soon as Will’s able to stay awake long enough, you debrief him and contact me with what he knows. There’s a secure land line here.”
“But Will needs—”
“Time to recover, Holly. Solange has kept up-to-date on his condition throughout his ordeal. His doctors have said all along that once he regained consciousness, he’d probably improve very rapidly. Put that psychology degree of yours to work and help him.”
“What if he falls into a coma again?”
“Roanoke’s only fifteen miles away. We can get an ambulance out here in less than a quarter hour if he needs it,” Jack promised. “He’s come out of it, Holly. The main thing we can do for him now is keep him safe and give him time to completely heal, both from his physical trauma and his grief. Protect him from this immediate threat to his life. That’s your mission.”
“Aren’t you staying?” Holly asked Solange. Jack’s wife was a physician, a general practitioner, when he might need a neurologist. Still, she was better than no doctor at all.
She shrugged and shook her head. “You can do everything for him that I could. Keep an eye on his vitals, relieve any pain he has with this—Hydrocodone. It might be better for him than the morphine.” She handed Holly another pill bottle. “Make certain that he eats enough to regain his strength. Bland food at first. Encourage him to exercise as soon as he begins to feel restless.”
“He mentioned his sight. It’s fuzzy, he says. He should see a specialist.”
“Let me know if that doesn’t clear up. We’ll fly in someone we can trust,” Jack promised. “Meanwhile, make him as comfortable as you can.”
Holly nodded, accepting the fact that Mercier had already decided on this course of action—or inaction—and it would be useless to argue.
She stared at the big old Victorian with its peeling paint and tangled shrubbery. A house straight out of a nightmare. She imagined cobwebs, bats and dust, maybe some drug paraphernalia left by former inhabitants.
“We should get him inside.” Jack cast a look at Will, who lay motionless. “But I’ll go in first, check it out and alert the caretaker.”
“Caretaker?” Holly asked as she tucked the blanket tightly around Will to ward off the chill of the night. All he wore was the hospital gown. He looked so vulnerable, Holly wished she could take him in her arms and hold him.
Jack was still speaking, Holly realized. She forced herself to focus.
“Our man here is retired Naval Intelligence. He’s been contracted to set the place up with a security system and outfit it as a safe house for DEA, so it’s sort of in transition right now. I asked for something off the records and appropriated the place through the highest channels, without offering any details about why we wanted it.”
With that pronouncement, he climbed out and went straight to the back door of the house.
Joe had taken off his headset and turned around. “Hey, Will, ol’ buddy?” he said softly, his Southern accent more pronounced than usual.
“He’s out, but he should be coming around soon,” Solange said, shining a penlight into Will’s eyes as she lifted his eyelids. She looked up at Holly. “You have some medical training, yes?”
“Worked as a paramedic for a couple of summers during college.” Holly shook her head. “But this…I don’t know, Solange. It’s out of my league.”
“Call me if you need anything or have any questions,” she said, handing Holly a card from her doctor’s bag. “My cellphone number. Or call Jack and he’ll find me immediately.”
Holly nodded, still wondering if they weren’t trusting her entirely too much with Will’s recovery. She was so afraid for him.
Jack had returned to the chopper, bringing their host with him.
“Donald Grayson,” he said by way of introduction. “This is Agent Holly Amberson.”
“Mr. Grayson,” she acknowledged.
“Call me Doc.”
“Thank God. You’re a doctor.”
“Nope. Got that tag when I was a medic. First job after I joined up at age eighteen. Even after I went to spook school, it just stuck.”
Great, Holly thought. Anything he had learned would be dated by at least thirty years.
Jack interrupted. “The rest of you stay put on the chopper. We’re taking off in about ten. Okay, ready to transport?”
Holly helped roll Will far enough out of the chopper for Jack to get a grip on the upper half of his body while Grayson took his legs. Together they carried him the short distance to the house. Holly opened the door and stepped aside, cautioning them to be careful not to bump him around so much.
Will woke up with a start, his head nearly exploding. The dryness in his throat reduced his cry to a groaning curse and he struggled with whoever was holding him.
“Steady now. We’ll have you settled in a minute,” Mercier said.
Will vaguely recalled there’d been trouble in the hospital. “Put me down. I want…to stand.” He had to know if his legs worked. He had to know. “Please,” he grunted.
“Not a good idea,” he heard Holly say, but they stood him upright, bracing him so he wouldn’t fall.
With effort, he straightened his legs and felt his bare feet resting solidly on the floor. It was everything between his feet and his head that gave him problems. His bones seemed to have melted, his muscles reduced to mush. Tingling mush, as if they had all gone to sleep. Damn!
“Here’s your bed, sir, right behind you. Go ahead and sit down,” said an unfamiliar voice filled with concern. It was deeper than Mercier’s, not as clipped and forceful, but with the same speech patterns. Will thought he should ask who the man was…tomorrow, maybe. He felt his mind slipping, seeking rest.
A softness caught him, pillowed his aching head. Someone lifted his legs and covered him with a blanket. No, a quilt, he realized as he closed his fingers around the puffy upper edge and felt the stitching.
He drifted back into boyhood. Cool summer nights. Grandmother tucking him in, brushing his hair off his forehead, tapping his nose with her finger. “Morning’s waiting on you,” he mumbled right along with her, smiling back.
Her soft laugh sounded younger. “So it is. Go back to sleep, Will.”
“What did he say?” Jack asked. They had settled Will in and Grayson had left them alone.
Holly busily adjusted the covers again, even though they didn’t need it. “He said ‘morning’s waiting,’ and he’s right about that. You’d better take off if you want to make McLean by sunrise.” She knew Jack needed to get back to the office, coordinate the team and locate Odin.
“We need to talk first. Come out in the hall.”
Holly followed him from the room. She could smell coffee brewing. Boy, could she use some of that. Exhaustion was setting in big time. She followed her nose down the hallway.
Jack held back, his hand on her arm. “You can explain the details to Grayson after we’re gone. Just so we’re clear, in addition to guarding Will, your orders are to find out if he can add anything to what we know about the op at the airfield, and report to me as soon as possible.”
She nodded.
“While he’s asleep, you can work up your detailed description and a sketch of the guy in the hospital and get that to us, too. Joe and Clay will have to take over the other cases we’ve got going, which fortunately are in early stages and not critical. Eric and I will be concentrating on this Odin character. However, if things start popping on this, we’ll all be on it.”
Holly faced him, hands on her hips. “You think it was Odin himself in the hospital?”
“I believe it was. I’m counting on his coming after me, thinking I got a glimpse of him, too. And I’ll be a whole lot easier to find than you and Will.”
She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.
He grasped her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “Do your job, Holly. Let Eric and me do ours. With the SAMs missing and Matt’s death and Will’s being shot on a multiforce investigation like that, every agency will be solidly behind us all the way. They’ll pull out all the stops.”
She nodded. “Any communications gear other than the phone line in this firetrap?”
“Everything necessary and then some. I’ll be waiting on that sketch.”
“My artistic talent leaves a lot to be desired, but I think I can get a fair likeness.”
“We’ll try to match it with ID photos and get you some to compare. Don’t use your personal credit cards while you’re here. You have your cover ID with you?
“Always,” she told him.
“Good. You can use that. If Odin’s working from the inside, he could have resources to pick up an obvious paper trail.”
“You think he’s an agent who’s flipped?”
“Entirely possible. He found out where Will was.” Jack pulled out his wallet and handed her a stack of bills. “Mad money. That’s all I have on me, but I’ll wire more to Roanoke in Grayson’s name tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she said as he turned to go. “See you, Jack.”
“Soon,” he replied.
None of them ever said goodbye. It seemed too final or something, as if they didn’t expect to meet again. Funny how they all adhered to that without ever having discussed it.
She followed him to the door and locked it, checked on Will and found him still sleeping peacefully, then went to find the kitchen and that coffee she had smelled.
Grayson offered her a mug as soon as she walked in. “Welcome to paradise,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Hungry?”
Holly nodded and he gestured to a plate of sandwiches on the table. She grabbed one and began to munch, realizing she hadn’t eaten anything other than a package of peanut butter crackers since breakfast.
“Got any soup for our patient?” she asked.
“Sure, but he looked like he was down for the count. Want to give me a rundown on what we’re dealing with?”
Between bites, Holly outlined what had gone down and why they were here. Then she added, “Chances are there’s nothing to worry about. I know you’ve had training, but I’d like to know if you have any field experience.”
Grayson smiled. “Yeah, I do. Anything happens, I’ve got your back.”
He looked capable, Holly thought, as she observed him more closely. She guessed he was around sixty, maybe even older, but seemed in pretty good shape. Not a large man, hardly taller than her own five-five, Grayson moved with the tensile grace of a man trained to strike.
His graying hair was buzzed short in the old military style, the line of it receding just above his temples. His broad features resembled carved mahogany. He wore a dark, close-fitting knit shirt and camouflage pants. His wide feet were bare and heavily callused.
“The way you were looking at that boy in there. He means something to you besides an assignment, right?”
Holly delayed her answer as she drained her mug of coffee and set it down. Then she looked the old soldier square in the eye. “Right. We’re on the same team. And we’re best friends. Got a problem with that?”
He shook his head. “Don’t let’s get off on the wrong foot now,” he said, holding up one hand as if warding off an argument. “I just hope you won’t let personal stuff cloud your judgment if worse comes to worst.”
She met his frowning gaze with one of challenge. “My professional and personal objectives are one and the same here—to keep that man alive at all costs. He’s very important to me, yes. But he’s also vital to the success of future missions.”
Grayson pursed his lips and nodded. “I see. You’ll keep your head.”
“I always keep my head,” she replied. But Holly felt a little angry with Grayson for planting the seed of doubt in her mind. Nonsense, of course. Hadn’t she remained perfectly detached when Will was threatened in the hospital? Hers had been a textbook response when the shooter appeared.
Will surfaced with a raging thirst. His skin felt like shrink-wrap. “Water,” he said, hating the croak that emerged.
A few seconds later, a cool cloth bathed his face. Crushed ice chilled his lips. He opened his mouth, dying to drink something. Anything.
He felt a straw and grabbed it with his lips. The delicious trickle of cold streamed down his parched throat and pooled in his stomach. He seemed aware of every cell in his body soaking it up.
“Easy now,” crooned a voice near his ear. Holly.
He reached out to the voice and his palm met her face. He slid his fingers over her cheek, touched her ear, threaded them through her hair.
Holly’s was clipped almost as short as his own, lying in little black satin wavelets close to her head. Neat, efficient and sexy as hell. He wasn’t supposed to think sexy, not about her, his muzzy brain reminded him.
“Where are we?” he demanded.
“At a safe house not far from Roanoke,” she explained, taking his hand in both of hers as she leaned close. “You remember what happened?”
He recalled bits and pieces. There had been trouble. “Some of it,” he admitted. “The hospital. A helicopter.”
“I’ll fill you in on the details later. Just so you know, Solange sedated you. You aren’t permanently addled.”
Addled didn’t begin to describe how he felt. Will turned his head from side to side, struggling to take in his surroundings, but the room was dark. Or he was blind. He remembered the blurriness he had experienced before. “It’s night,” he said.
“Yes.”
“What night?”
“Friday,” she told him. “Well, Saturday morning early. About four o’clock. Be daylight soon.”
“Holly?”
“Yes, Will?”
“I can’t see.” He forced the words from between clenched teeth. The thought scared the absolute hell out of him, but he was trained to conceal his emotions. He did so now. No point getting panicked, he told himself. It wouldn’t help and might even hurt.
“I know, you told me in the hospital, but your eyes will be fine. It’s temporary.” A hopeful lie. If she had any basis for it, Will knew she would have explained in detail.
Her voice held a note of desperation. Or maybe not her voice. That sounded calm enough, now that he thought about it, but he strongly sensed her overwhelming concern. It scared him more that she tried to conceal it than if she’d stated her worry openly.
He forced his lips to stretch into a semblance of a smile. “Thanks for sticking around.”
“Now where else would I be, you doofus?” He heard her sigh, a slight breath of sound. She patted his hand.
“Well, I guess you might have to be my eyes for a while. Sorry.”
She was talking, but Will stopped listening. All he could think about was getting out of bed and back on his feet. How he would manage that, feeling the way he did, he didn’t know how yet, but he would find a way.
There was something he needed to remember, something that haunted him, but his train of thought kept breaking. He hoped to God it was the medication causing the terrible sense of foreboding.
Morning arrived, just as his grandmother had promised when he fell asleep. That had been a dream, he realized now. Grandmother was gone, died when he was sixteen.
So his mind was refusing to function fully at the moment. At least he was aware that it wouldn’t, and things seemed to be coming back to him bit by bit.
Sunlight flooded the room, but the shape of objects in it remained nebulous as hell. Colors were fugitive, fragmented.
He rubbed his eyes. Blinking didn’t help, either. It was like looking at things through the patterned glass wall tiles that encircled his shower at home.
He fought panic. Before it took hold completely, he sensed he was no longer alone. Holly. She was back.
“Hey, you’re awake! Good morning. How’s the noggin?”
“A little confused,” he said.
“That’ll pass. Ready for breakfast? You must be starving.”
Her voice sounded too bright, too chipper. She should be ragging him the way she usually did, ordering him around and poking fun, trying her damnedest to make him laugh. That meant he must be even nearer death than he felt, and God knew that was near enough.
He could make out her shape standing just to the left of the foot of his bed. “You look good…in red.”
The silence lasted a beat too long. “Thanks.”
“You are wearing red, right?” he asked, the question tentative.
“Well, no, not right now. I’m wearing green, but I am holding a red robe. I brought it for you.”
“Oh.” He swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat much more noticeable. “Thanks.”
He felt her settle on the bed beside him. Her arms slid around him and she rested her forehead lightly on his shoulder. “This trouble with your eyes will pass, Will. I know it. I promise….”
“You mentioned breakfast?” he said, gently pushing her away, unwilling to accept what felt too much like pity. That, he could do without.
She moved quickly. He heard her inhale a shaky breath. “Yeah. How about some broth? When you can tolerate that, maybe some Jell-O later. How’s that sound?”
He made a face. His appetite was nonexistent at the moment, but he knew he needed to eat to get his strength back. “How long was I out?”
“Six days,” she said, sounding reluctant to discuss it.
He coughed in disbelief. “Six?”
“You were in the hospital. In a coma,” she told him.
He remembered the tubes. It was coming back to him now. He shook his head, carefully, because it was pounding so hard he could scarcely think. “A coma?”
She touched his arm, wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed. “You were shot, Will. In the head.”
He raised his hand and ran it over his hair, found and felt the tender scar just above his right temple. The memory came flooding back all at once. “Matt,” he whispered.
She was holding her breath. Then she expelled it. “I’m so sorry, Will. Matt didn’t make it.”
He had known already, before he asked, but he hadn’t wanted it to be real. “You told me before, didn’t you?” Why did the randomness of death still surprise him?