I Spy a Dark Obsession (23 page)

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Authors: Jo Davis

Tags: #Intelligence Service, #National Security, #General, #Romance, #Erotic Fiction, #Suspense Fiction, #Suspense, #Erotica, #Fiction

BOOK: I Spy a Dark Obsession
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Jumping back into the van, he slammed his fist on the dash. “Go!” he yelled at Ozzie. “That way!”
The van squealed through the parking lot, and as they came to the front of the building, he caught sight of a huge man ducking into an alley across the street. “Shit, I think that was Tio,” Ozzie said. “I’ll take the next street and try to intercept them.”
If Tio had Bastian on the run, the situation was dire. The Mexican was a stone-cold killer. Michael willed himself not to panic as Ozzie wheeled the van onto the next street—only to be blocked by white construction sawhorses and a big hole in the pavement where the city had made yet another mess to impede traffic. In front of them, a few businesses down, Tio was just disappearing into another alley.
“Goddammit! I’m going on foot.” Michael flung the passenger’s door open. “Call for backup and get McKay and his medical team here, fast.”
“Got it.”
Michael ran. Gaining the mouth of the alley seemed to take forever. When he got there, he entered cautiously, listening. Shuffling noises, maybe footsteps, drifted from the far end. He heard voices. Pulling his weapon from his holster, he moved forward as quietly as possible, sticking as close to the wall as he could. Wasn’t easy with all the boxes, crates, and rancid garbage strewn everywhere.
Drawing closer, he could make out the hit man standing. Kicking a form on the ground, over and over. And then his arm angled downward, the glint of metal in his outstretched hand.
“
Adios
, Chevalier.”
“Tio!” Michael shouted, bringing up his own gun. The man spun, and Michael did on pure, honed reflex what he was trained to do.
He blew the motherfucker’s brains out.
Lowering the weapon, he reholstered it and jogged to Bastian, avoiding the human feces that used to be Tio. He dropped to his knees. Even in the darkness, he knew his friend was in bad shape.
One leg of Bastian’s jeans was saturated with blood, as was his face. He wasn’t moving or making a sound. Reaching out, Michael placed two shaking fingers to his neck and found a weak pulse.
“Oh, my God.” He ran a trembling hand over his friend’s hair. “Bastian? It’s me. Christ, please don’t leave me. Hang on, help is coming.”
And it was taking too long. Fishing in his jeans, he retrieved his pocketknife, flipped it open, and used it to split the seam of Bastian’s bloody pant leg as far as he could without cutting flesh, then used his hands to rip the material all the way to his thigh. Peering at the wound, he saw a dark stream of blood pouring steadily from the hole. Not pumping in a full-fledged arterial spray, but losing too much all the same.
Working fast, he cut the torn denim into a long strip and cut it free. Then he wrapped it around Bastian’s thigh, tying it as tight as possible in a makeshift tourniquet. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all he could do.
A sound had him reaching for his gun, but it was just Ozzie sprinting toward him. “How bad is he?”
“Pretty bad,” he said, voice rough. His throat burned, but he had to keep it together in front of his men. “I think the bastard got an artery. What’s McKay’s ETA?”
“Seven.”
“That’s too long.”
“I know, but the nearest hospital is fifteen, even if we took him to the van and drove him in ourselves. And with the gunshot wound, there’s the mandatory reporting.”
“I don’t care about the red tape with the cops if it means Bastian survives,” he snapped.
“Our way is still quicker. McKay is bringing the helicopter and setting it down about a mile from here. One of our men is meeting him, driving him here. They’ll stabilize Bastian, take him back to the copter.”
Michael nodded. The helicopter would whisk his friend back to the compound, shaving off crucial minutes. Time Bastian didn’t have to spare.
He wanted to pull Bastian into his arms, but didn’t dare risk moving him. He longed to tell the other man just how much he meant to him, beg for forgiveness, and now it might be too late.
At last, a vehicle stopped at the mouth of the alley. Four men came into view; one was an agent, and the other three were McKay, a male nurse carrying a backboard, and another doctor named Rhodes.
“Come on,” Ozzie said, tugging Michael’s sleeve gently. “Let’s get out of their way.”
Reluctantly, he stood and moved back, half-frozen. Katrina was half of his heart . . . but the other half was pouring his life onto the filthy pavement, unaware that Michael’s soul was screaming in agony. That he’d give anything for Bastian to survive, smile at him again. Give him another chance.
Give the three of them a chance.
“I can’t do much for him here,” McKay said grimly. “We need to transport
now
.”
The doctors transferred him carefully to the backboard, strapped him down. They lifted their burden and headed back to their vehicle at a steady clip, the nurse holding the IV bag aloft. At the mouth of the alley, Michael started to climb into the van with them, but McKay shook his head.
“There’s no room for you in the helicopter. I’m sorry, Michael. Follow us, and I’ll let you know something as soon as I can.”
“I understand,” he murmured. “Take care of him, Taylor.”
“I will.”
And then the vehicle roared away, leaving him staring after it, a ragged hole in his chest where his heart should be. Was this how Bastian had felt after Michael had been shot? Like his whole world hung in the balance, as though he’d been plunged into hell?
“Michael,” Ozzie said softly. “Come on, man. He’ll be in surgery by the time we get there, and I’m sure we’ll know something soon after that. I’ll have someone from the cleanup crew give Willis a ride back from the motel.”
He shook himself. “Okay.”
On the interminable ride to the compound, Michael’s phone rang. It was Willis.
“Boss, we got that kid, Cory. Kelly picked him up and is taking him to the compound. We figured he wasn’t safe going home with Dietz still out there.”
“Good,” he said numbly. “You guys did exactly right. Take him to one of the empty living quarters and let him get some sleep. We’ll figure out tomorrow what the hell to do with him.”
Michael knew what he’d
like
to do to him, especially after listening to the little shit service Bastian—enthusiastically—for hours on end. And then the naive brat almost fell for Dietz’s trick. Even though the kid had wised up in time to redeem himself, he might have cost Bastian his life, anyway.
“Got it, boss.” Willis ended the call.
Immediately, Michael placed a call of his own. Katrina answered on the third ring.
“Hey, you! Is the stakeout over? This was the last night, right?”
“Yeah. Um, listen, baby. Bastian . . .” To his horror, his voice broke.
“What is it? What’s happened?” she demanded in alarm.
“One of Dietz’s men got to him. Can you meet me at the compound’s hospital?” His teeth chattered and he started to shiver. Delayed reaction.
“Oh, Michael,” she breathed. “I’m on my way. Hang in there, honey.”
“Yeah.”
Ending the call, he stared at the blur of lights whizzing past and prayed harder than he ever had. Which was saying something, because he’d never been a praying man.
Tonight, he was making an exception. On his knees, if necessary.
Please, God, don’t take him from me. From us.
 
Katrina grabbed her purse and keys and hit the door, uncaring that she wore only a pair of well-loved sweat pants, a T-shirt that stated YOU CALL ME “BITCH” LIKE IT’S A BAD THING, and running shoes. She’d gone for a walk earlier and was just about to take a long, hot bath when Michael phoned.
One of Dietz’s men got to him.
The heartbreak and terror in his voice got her moving, fast. She’d paused only long enough to make sure she had her ID badge for entry to the compound.
All the way there, she wished she’d asked for a few more details. Her mind was spinning with all of the possible scenarios, each one more horrible than the last. Three weeks, and not a single appearance from Dietz. The guys were ready to scrap this op. What the hell had gone wrong?
Okay, enough.
No use speculating. She had no choice but to be patient and get the story later. One thing was for sure: tonight effectively put an end to her argument with Michael over her moving to his estate. She’d claimed that such a move would clue in Dietz as to their relationship. He’d countered that the asshole might know already, and she’d be safer at his place. Now Michael would get his way.
She wasn’t so sure she minded. Hell, she was at his place more often than not. Which, if she was honest, was in no way a hardship.
At the compound, she found a close parking spot and rushed inside. Took the elevator to the fourth floor, vibrating with impatience. The second the doors slid open, she sprinted down the corridor to the hospital and pushed inside. As she approached the receptionist, she tried to be calm and polite though she felt anything but.
“Could you tell me where Mr. Ross is waiting? He’s expecting me.”
“Through those doors, dear. He’s in the private waiting room, second door on the right.”
“Thank you.”
She forced herself to slow her steps, to project calm strength despite her fear. If she barged in panicking, that wouldn’t do Michael any good. Pausing outside the door, she took a deep breath and pushed inside.
Michael was sitting in one of the padded vinyl chairs, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. As she approached, her serene facade evaporated.
Michael was crying.
Tears dripped off his chin and his shoulders shook. He was pulled into himself so tightly, as if afraid he’d fly apart. “Michael?”
His head jerked up and it took him a couple of seconds to process that it was her. His face was ravaged, eyes red. Dark stains were drying on his shirt, the knees of his jeans. Blood. He rose, visibly attempting to pull himself together, and then his face crumpled, his arms reaching out.
“Katrina . . .”
Launching herself into his arms, she enveloped him in her embrace, held on. He clung to her and she stroked his back, rubbing in soothing circles. “Shh, I’m here. Right here, with you.”
She kept talking, mostly nonsense. She’d never been good at this sort of thing—comforting another person in a terrible situation—but this felt right. Natural. Michael was hers, and she wanted more than anything for Bastian to be, as well.
“He was shot and beaten,” Michael said, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a sob. “The bullet hit his thigh and he was bleeding out. They’re in there trying to save him.”
God, no.
“They will. We have to believe that.”
“Rhodes came out a few minutes ago. They had to restart his heart, give him lots of blood to replace what he lost.”
“He’s strong. He’ll make it.”
Please.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Just let me hold you.”
“This must’ve been how he felt. When it was me, in there. And I didn’t understand what he went through until now.” He paused. “Do you think he knows?”
“That you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Deep down, he probably does. But you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”
“I swear I will.” Pulling back a bit, he gazed into her eyes, more serious than she’d ever seen him. Even for Michael. “I love you, too, baby. It’s newer, but it’s there. I want you to know that, because it seems time is so short. . . .”
“I do know,” she assured him, soul lightening some in spite of the agonizing wait. “I feel it, too.”
“Why have I been so stupid? So stubborn? I’ve wasted all this time, and now he might—”
“No. We’re not going to think the worst,” she said firmly. “Let’s sit down, and I want you to tell me what happened.” Maybe if she got him into agent mode he’d have something to grab onto, be able to pull it together. A scattered, devastated Michael frightened her more than she’d ever dreamed possible.
“That kid, Cory. The one Bastian has been seeing. Dietz got to the kid, fed him a story about how Dietz was FBI and Bastian was a criminal they were after.” Michael gave a bitter laugh. “Can you believe that shit? Our Bastian, a fugitive? But the whelp bought it and agreed to get Bastian to the hotel tonight so the FBI could collar him. Dietz had promised the kid five grand for his cooperation.”
“I’m sure Dietz made it sound legit. He likely even had authentic-looking FBI identification.”
“Probably. Anyway, we kept listening after Bastian said to call off the op. A gut feeling on my part, I guess. We heard Cory get suspicious of the story he’d been fed, and finally confess his role to Bastian. They got out of the motel room, but Dietz’s men arrived. Cory got away and called our private emergency number. Bastian killed one of the two men Dietz sent, but was shot in the thigh. He ran, and Dietz’s main henchman, Tio, pursued. He cornered Bastian, beat the hell out of him, and was about to shoot him in the head when I got there.”

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