Coming to Colorado (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

Roger answered the phone, his gaze staying on the two men in front of him. “Mike...Mike.” No one spoke, but he could hear the sound of a scuffle mixed in with sirens.

“Mike, fuck, answer me,” he hissed out, trying to stay quiet enough the men in front of him couldn’t hear him.

Mike said nothing.

Roger kept moving, following the man he thought was Davis, though all he wanted to do was turn around and find Mike. God, they shouldn’t have separated, but Davis was important to Duff, so the man was important to Roger.

“Fuck, Mike, talk.” Roger sped up, trying to get closer to the man he believed to be Davis.

A loud sound blasted through the phone. He pulled the device away from his ear as pain flashed from the loud noise. The shudder that ripped through him made his steps falter. He almost tripped, but righted himself quickly, forcing himself to focus on the pair of men in front of him. If Mike was shot, there wasn’t anything he could do now. Keeping Davis safe was his goal. Davis and his friend deserved to be free from the threat of Craig.

The phone went dead, and Roger steeled himself for the worst. Mike was a good man. The guys would be pissed and they’d never stop hunting Craig until they knew he was dead.

Roger picked up his pace, racing forward to catch up with Davis, at least he hoped the man was Davis. He needed the break, and Duff needed to make sure his son was safe. From what Duff said, Davis was an art dealer and wasn’t prepared for an attack like Craig would deliver. The man wasn’t used to the danger they all lived with.

More cars drove down the street but it wasn’t busy by any respect. They were getting closer to the Back Bay area, and he didn’t want to lose the pair. At least they hadn’t gone into the subway. No way would he be able to track them if they slipped onto a train he couldn’t catch.

He wondered who Davis’s friend was. Duff hadn’t said much about Davis’s personal life. Maybe the kid was gay. That would explain why Duff had so much tolerance for them. He didn’t know too many straight men who weren’t threatened by the gay thing.

Roger drew closer to the pair but was held up at the crosswalk by cars driving down the street. He wanted to call Mike again, but he wasn’t sure he could stand the pain if Mike didn’t answer. This mission had been fucked up from the moment they’d found out Craig had escaped. The man had to die, and Roger would make sure Craig didn’t live through the day if he actually killed Mike. His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket, seeing he had a new text from Mike. It was just one word,
Craig
. Now he had to wonder if the text was from Mike or if Craig had Mike’s phone and was taunting him.

*~*~*

They’d been walking for about ten minutes when Ryan pointed across the street near Boston Common park. “We’ll head to Back Bay. It’s easier to get lost. There’ll be tourists, businessmen, and other people there. It’s busy and we can blend in. Once we get to a place we can relax, and then we can figure out what we’re going to do.”

Davis was relieved that they were going to stop. The last eighteen hours had been a flash, and he needed to regroup. “Sounds good, I guess. I mean—hell, I’m just trying to survive right now. Really, you don’t have to stay with me. This could get ugly.”

“It’s already ugly, and I don’t have anything else to do today. I’m off work.”

He shook his head and slowed. “That’s a sorry excuse to get shot at. Really, I don’t—”

“Davis, I’m not abandoning you. We’re okay. We’ll stop, hang out, and get some coffee. Nothing is going to happen. The sun will be up, and whoever is after you won’t be able to find you. You’ll be safe.”

Davis huffed out a breath and shrugged. “I hope so. I really need answers.”

“We’ll get there.”

It took them another ten minutes to make it to Back Bay, where the world still hadn’t woken up and they stuck out like a sore thumb. They kept moving until he spied a church to the left.

“There, it’s dark. We can hide for a while,” Davis said.

Ryan reached down and grabbed his hand, guiding him across the street. He glanced at Ryan as they neared a streetlight. Their gazes met, and Ryan squeezed his hand, filling him with warmth. Why couldn’t he find a guy like this when someone wasn’t trying to kill him? Why couldn’t life be easy?

“We’ll figure this out,” Ryan said.

“I appreciate your help, but I can’t let you stay with me. You could end up dead, and I’d never forgive myself.”

Ryan led him to an alcove by the church that was bathed in shadows. They sat on a stone, both of them leaning up against each other. “I’m not going to leave you behind. A Marine never leaves a man behind.”

“How do you know I’m a good guy, not a criminal or something else?”

“Are you?”

Davis shook his head, “No.”

“So, what’s your deal?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Secretive. Interesting.”

They sat in silence, Ryan rubbing his thumb over the back of Davis’s hand. They were comfortable together, something he’d never experienced with another guy. It was odd having someone he connected with.

“Let me guess, you’re in Boston on assignment. That would make you CIA or something like that. If you were FBI, you’d have backup.”

Davis said nothing. He’d tossed his phone before he’d called in to his handler. The stress was piling up, and he needed an exit strategy. Getting close to Ryan was a mistake, but he’d been between a rock and a hard place and he’d felt off. He should walk away, but he didn’t have the strength. He’d come in to this mission unprepared for this level of fuckery. This was supposed to be an in and out, but now he was having a hard time deciding exactly where he should go.

Ryan wrapped his arm around Davis’s back and pulled him close. “Tell me what happened.”

Davis sighed, realizing that he needed to talk this one out. Ryan might just be able to help him. “I was sitting outside a building, watching, nothing more, when someone shot at me. I got this tingling in my neck so I dove. I was lucky I did. Bullet slammed into the pavement behind me. I haven’t stopped since. Weird thing, I’ve been feeling off, you know, like maybe someone drugged me to make me feel sluggish.”

“Do you know who shot at you?”

Davis shook his head then turned to stare at Ryan. What if he was the one who was after him? He knew nothing, and had trusted Ryan without any reason.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ryan asked.

“Fuck, I don’t know who to trust. The shooter could have easily been you.”

Ryan shook his head. “At the restaurant, I didn’t shoot then. I was inside with you. And last night, I could have easily killed you.”

“True, but this is fucked.”

“It wasn’t me. Plus, I wouldn’t have missed if it had been me. I was a sharpshooter in the Marines. I did some crazy stuff, sniped people at long distances. I hated it. When I left the military, the CIA approached me. I turned them down. Maybe I should have said yes, but I didn’t. I couldn’t keep killing people just because the government said to kill them. I needed a better reason, but I didn’t have a say. I couldn’t go back to that.”

Davis sighed and rolled his shoulders. “I need to get it together. I feel really off. This entire mission has been a total clusterfuck.”

“I’ll help you figure—”

Davis stiffened, and Ryan stilled as a man stepped into the shadows and headed right for them. He couldn’t make out the guy’s face, but the way the man stalked closer didn’t make him feel any better.

“Davis Whittaker?” The stranger’s voice cut through the silence.

He stilled and opened his mouth to spin a lie. “Sorry, but—”

“Duff wants to talk to you.”

Davis’s heart stopped beating. “What?”

“Do you know who Duff is?” The strange man’s voice was calm but had a hard edge to it.

“Fuck. How did you track me down?” Davis wondered if this guy was the one who’d shot at him. But the man knew his dad’s name. His hands shook and his head swam.

“Listen, we don’t have much time. You’re in danger.”

“Tell me about it,” Davis said as he stood. Ryan was on his feet, his hand on Davis’s back, giving him comfort and courage.

The new guy came closer. “Here’s my phone. Duff has been asleep. I woke him with this call.”

Davis took the phone and held it to his head, unsure if he was making a huge mistake or if salvation had come. “Dad?” He held his breath, waiting to hear Duff’s voice. He was half ready to sprint away when his father spoke.

“Thank God you’re safe. You are safe, right?”

“Yes, sir, but some stuff has happened. I’m not sure how to solve it.”

“Son, please go with Roger and Mike, do whatever they tell you to do.”

“But this is dangerous. I—”

“Please, Davis, trust me. I can’t tell you more, but I need you to do what Roger and Mike say. Right now, Mike is in a different part of the city. Roger will get you to safety where you’ll meet up with Mike.”

“Ryan needs to come with me. I need to know he’s safe.”

“Give me Ryan’s information,” Duff said.

“Ryan Pruitt. He was—”

“Marine. He lives in Boston. I’ll check him out on this end. We’ll keep him safe for now. But you have to know that your safety is too important to me. I don’t want you getting hurt because of this Ryan guy.”

“Dad, he’s good. He kept me safe all night.”

“Okay, but we have to be careful. Once you get here, you’ll understand.”

Davis paused, the information sinking in. “You mean I’m coming to the ranch?”

“I don’t see any way around it. I hope you can step away from your antique business.”

“Yeah, about that...Never mind, I’ll tell you later, once I arrive.”

Davis hung up the phone and handed it back to the guy he assumed was Roger. “Where’s Mike?”

“Good question. He was on the trail of the guy who shot at you earlier. You’re lucky to still be alive.”

“What’s the plan, then?” Davis asked.

“Why were you at the restaurant in the middle of the night?”

Davis glanced away, wondering just how much he could tell this man. Everything was messed up, and it really didn’t seem like his father was who he said he was. There was no way his dad was just some common rancher.

“Let me guess,” Roger said. “You don’t really run an antique business.”

“No, I do, it’s just...”

Roger nodded then pulled out his phone, staring at it intently. “We need to move. I have a car back by the restaurant you two came out of. We should try to catch a cab.”

“So where is this Mike guy?” Davis asked.

Roger shook his head. “I don’t know—I really don’t know.”

Chapter Thirteen

Mike threw another punch, his power diminished from the wound. He should have shot Craig, but with the cops right on them, he didn’t have time. Four police cars had raced to their location, surrounding them. Craig took off running and Mike followed. If he’d had a clear shot at Craig, he would have sacrificed himself and pulled the trigger in front of the cops, but the angle was wrong.

The pain in his arm was starting to make him dizzy. He’d lost enough blood to leave him weak. Mike lost sight of Craig and turned down an alley. He heard the sound of feet pounding behind him. As he turned, he saw Craig chasing after him. The bastard must have hidden or doubled back.

He had to kill Craig. They’d run far enough, twisted down enough alleys, so that the cops were nowhere to be found. Maybe he and Craig taking off had surprised them and they hadn’t been able to get out of their cars in time to follow. Now, he half wished they had. Craig would kill him if he didn’t find a place to hide.

Mike turned down another alley and rushed forward, seeing a door swing open then closed. He moved towards it, and opened the door, slipping inside and getting his bearings. A closet was right there, the door propped open. He stepped into the closet, leaving the door open a crack. The back door to the restaurant opened and he saw Craig in the light. Mike fired, hoping he hit his mark. He heard yelling and saw Craig rush out the door.

Mike couldn’t leave this to chance. He had to follow and see if Craig lived or died. They’d run down so many side streets and taken so many turns that he had no idea where they were in the city.

Mike chased after Craig but he was too late. The guy hopped on a bus just before the doors closed, and the bus took off. Mike was too slow to catch up and had to watch Craig get away once again.

“Fuck,” Mike whispered before turning back the way he’d come. He’d texted Roger earlier, just one word, and hadn’t heard back from him. He pulled out his phone and placed a call.

Roger answered on the first ring. “Mike?”

“Yeah, I lost him, but not before I shot him. I’ve been hit, losing some blood, but I’m okay.”

“Fuck. Mike, where are you?”

“No clue. Let me see.” He walked to a cross street and looked up, finding the sign. “Thatcher and Margin.”

“I’ll be there soon. Don’t leave.”

“I’m going to keep walking. People are starting to stare. I’m afraid that if I stay in one spot too long the blood will pool around me.”

“Dammit, don’t bleed to death.”

Roger hung up, and Mike glanced down. A spot of blood had spread, and was now a dollop, or maybe a smudge. It was growing which was worrisome. The damn bastard had shot him. It wasn’t bad, probably just a scrape, but fuck, he hated getting shot at. They had some medical supplies, but not nearly enough to perform surgery. Roger could patch him up for now, and he could wait until they returned to Colorado if he needed more medical attention.

After the excitement started to fade, the pain hit. He drew in a slow breath and let it go, hoping he could recover enough to keep moving. Sitting alone with blood pooling beside him would draw too much attention. He’d stumbled his way past a few businesses and traveled about one block, maybe two before his phone rang again.

“Hello.” His breath was coming fast and his head had gone from aching and spinning to pounding.

“We’re at the car. I’m coming to get you. Don’t fucking move.”

“I walked about a block.”