Hiding in Plain Sight (33 page)

"How many?" I asked, trying to count but with all the movement in the forecourt, it was hard.

"Fifteen, I think.  Although Silo, Dice, Patch and Mile took the SUV with the trailer.  They already left," Jilly was holding a hand to her eyes as shade against the brilliant morning sun.  I heard her sigh before she turned towards me.  "Now comes the hard part."

"The hard part?"

"Yeah," she mumbled going back towards the clubhouse.  "The waiting."

Chapter Thirty Two

It should've gone off without a hitch.

Everything had been carefully planned by all the players involved:  the Hellions, the ATF and the Milosevics.  Brand, being aware of two of the three preparations in place, took the Glock 18 he'd been given and went to stand on the far right, next to the large U-Haul the Milosevics had hired to bring the guns.

It was to be a simple transfer, but the Hellions were leaving nothing to chance.  Brand knew the ATF would wait until the motorcycle club's trailer was half filled before they'd make their move. 

Easy and smooth was the order of the day.

But the transfer was taking much longer than either side had anticipated mainly because Trey had demanded that each crate of guns be opened and inspected before it was approved and loaded into the Hellion's trailer.  And with the delay, people began getting antsy.

"I don't like this.  We're too exposed and they have too much firepower," he heard one of the Milosevic's men say in the old language from their position next to the truck.

"This is our first direct dealing with them.  Be patient, Yuri," came the terse reply.

Brand knew they had cause to worry.  If any of the crates were found to be short, or if they contained anything other than what the club had ordered, the Milosevic's hirelings would be held accountable.  He kept his eyes roaming over the trees and his ears open.  His biggest fear was that the hirelings would become so nervous, they'd initiate a move and everything would all go wrong in a heartbeat.

All the players were in place but as he picked up on a movement in the trees, he felt his heart drop.  The ATF team were not in a normal formation.  Harvey Becker, rather than take a place at the back, per procedures so as to keep an eye on the action and make adjustments to the team as necessary, had decided to act as point. 

Brand didn't know whether to laugh or to get pissed at such a stupid, vainglorious move.

He waited to hear the ATF announcement, advising of their presence and asking for weapons down.  But it never came although the team kept moving forward stepping carefully over the uneven ground.

What the fuck?

He glanced back at Harvey and read the tension in his face and body. 

Too much tension for a simple bust
, Brand's mind warned and he felt worry and apprehension zing through him straight to his balls. 

This was wrong on too many levels.  The men behind Harvey were picking up on their leader's excited nervousness, which was evident by the eyes that darted, the ever shifting weapons and not so sure-footing in the undergrowth of the forest.

When he'd passed along the Hellion's plans, the meticulous tactics they'd struggled with for months, he'd been working under the assumption that ATF policies and procedures would be followed to the letter.  He'd counted on it to prevent unnecessary loss of life on either side. 

What he hadn't counted on was Harvey Becker's zeal in his first mission as well as his inexperience in leading men. 

"Give it up, motherfuckers!" Harvey bleated in a parody of a battle cry and raised his weapon, pointing the barrel directly at Brand's chest.  He heard the first retort of the handgun and raced to take the seemingly crazed ATF supervisor to the ground as he yelled for the others to hold their fire.

The first bullet took Brand through the side of his waist, the impact moving him back a half-step before he surged forward again, determined to take Harvey out of the mix.  He could hear several rounds being fired that had commenced after Harvey's first round hit Brand. 

All of the sounds of gunfire though seem to be coming from the trees, from the agents.

Brand was determined to put a stop to the craziness.

Another slug hit Brand as he was only six feet from Harvey, close enough to see the terrified glee in the pudgy man's eyes. 
He's enjoying this, the stupid shit!
Brand's thought before the searing heat hit his hipbone, causing his left leg to immediately become useless. 

Brand's only directive, only mission at that moment, was to stop Harvey.

As his leg collapsed, he didn't even feel the bullet hit him over the top of his right ear.  What he did feel was the satisfying scream of the little dumb-fuck when Brand pulled him to ground, ripping the handgun from the chubby fingers.  He managed to toss it away before the black spots hovering on the edge of his vision all moved together to drag him down into waiting darkness.

Even in later recounts, no one doubted the first shot came from the ATF agents, done at the command of their leader and against all written mandates of the agency. 

And ballistics performed later confirmed all three bullets that hit Brand were from Harvey Becker's weapon.

*.*.*.*.*

Dee was sitting with Big Duke when the call came in.  I saw the middle aged man's face go to granite as he reached for Dee's hand and said some words too low for me to hear. 

"Which one?"  I heard his rough voice bark loudly into the phone.  She was up and moving behind the bar, grabbing things from underneath as she raced back to his table.

I had no idea what was going on, but the air practically sizzled from whatever it was.

Big Duke pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and handed them to her as he disconnected.  "St. Pat's, babe."

"Go get Lily, pretty girl and meet me on the forecourt."  Dee shoved by me and I saw one of the handbags she was holding was mine.

"Why?" I called to her back.

"Just do it, Reese," Big Duke called in a voice that sounded weak.  He had a hand over his eyes, and I ran towards the kitchen where the women who hadn't cooked with us were cleaning up. 

"Lily!  We've got to go," I yelled from the doorway and saw her immediately turn around, wiping her hands on a paper towel as she ran towards me.

Dee sitting in a bright, yellow baby Hum-Vee with both the passenger and one of the back seat doors open.  I crawled into the back and found my hands were shaking as I did up my seatbelt.  Lily had started to silently cry, her head turned towards the window.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked, scared to death but not understanding why.

*.*.*.*.*

"Come on!  Stay with me," Dr. Steve Malcolm yelled from his place atop the body on the gurney, doing chest compressions while a nurse worked the BVM.  He was unaware of the blood that was soaking his scrubs as he watched the monitors.  He knew he had to keep the compressions at least two inches deep and twelve to fifteen per minute to do any good, but the man fighting for his life was a big fuck.  Two inches meant Dr. Malcolm was pushing very hard, hard enough that his arms and hands grew very tired, very quickly.

The lines on the monitor remained flat though.

"Crash cart!" he yelled, directing the emergency room team who moved swiftly to anticipate and obey his commands.

"Sir, it's been twelve minutes," one of the nurses murmured from behind her mask.

Shit!  He should've called for the cart five to seven minutes ago.  No wonder his hands and arms were hurting.  He pulled himself up to sit on his heels and closed his eyes.  "Cancel crash cart," he said finally, scrubbing a forearm down his face.

"Call it, 11.58," he said, climbing off the gurney.  He ripped off the gloves and tried to pull the sticky scrubs away from him.  "Where's the other guy?" he asked as he prepared to leave the emergency room cubicle.

"Surgery," called another nurse. 

"Anyone know if the family is waiting?" He asked backing out of the curtains.  They would remain closed until the space had been cleaned.

"Yeah, a wife, I think," came the reply.

Shit!  He hated that part of his job.  The part where he had to tell of a loved one passing.  Holding an emotional distance when  just moments before you'd been using all your knowledge, instincts and skill to keep the person alive.

Still, it had to be done. 

And it was his responsibility to do it. 

But he was gonna take the time to change first. 

*.*.*.*.*

I saw a man come out of the emergency room wearing blue scrubs with the crease marks still in them and still wearing one of those weird hats that told you they were a medical professional who worked in the hospital.

"Mrs. Peyton?  Mrs. Tyrone Peyton?" he asked to those of us in the emergency room.

Lily stood but clung to Dee who had tucked the smaller woman underneath her arm, holding her tight.  "That's me.  I'm Mrs. Peyton."

I thought he would have called them to where he stood, but instead he joined us.  I stood too and took up the other side of Lily's trembling body.  I didn't know her like I knew Dee, but I was gonna offer whatever support I had.  My heartbeat was so loud in my ears, I couldn't hear his exact words, whatever it was that he said to Lily, but she lost it. 

Lost it.

Knees loosened and feet slid out as Lily crumbled, Dee's arms preventing her from hitting the floor.  Crying so hard she couldn't draw a breath.

And my heart broke for her, shattered for her.

Zip was gone.  Her man was never coming back and while I had hated him because of the beat down he'd ordered on my husband, I could tell she'd loved him.  And, for the moment that was all that mattered.

But while I could put myself in her shoes— and almost had at how scared I was that the doctor was gonna call Brand's name instead of Zip's— my attention was solely on what was happening with my husband.  They hadn't told me much or allowed me back to the emergency room bay where he'd been taken.  And that lack of information was driving me crazy.

I pressed up against the reception desk, my hands wrapped around my waist feeling even more alone than I had on that Kansas highway.  I turned away from all the others and leaned my elbows on the counter as I covered my eyes as I asked again, "any news?"

"Your husband was taken to surgery, Mrs. Jovan…erm, Mrs. Javon…"

I wiped my eyes and looked at the girl behind the desk.  "It's Jovanovic, but you can call me Reese.  Do I wait down here or is there another place?"

"Second floor," she said.  "You filled out the paperwork, right?"

"Yeah."  All three hundred pages with me not knowing 80% of the answers they needed to treat my precious Brand. 

"Cell phones aren't allowed upstairs, so if you've got calls to make, you might want to make them now.  Beforehand," the girl said, handing me a hand full of tissues.

"Thanks," I think I mumbled, reaching for my back pocket.

Atin needed to be informed.

*.*.*.*.*

I awoke to soft voices and gentle murmurings in the small room allowed for the families of surgical patients.  I was stiff and sore from being curled up in a corner of a large chair but as I straightened I saw Vana straight away.  Next to her, Atin was holding her tenderly as she cried into his chest. 

My mother was rubbing her back.

"Mama?" I called, sitting up.  It almost felt like a dream.  We'd been apart probably only three months But to me, it had been a lifetime.

"Reese Ann," her soft murmur was almost over-ridden by the poof of air given by the vinyl couch where she sat next to Vana and Atin as she shot up.  But the feel of her in my arms was like coming home.  There is nothing on earth like the scent of your mother and when hers hit my nose, it brought everything back to me.