The Choice (23 page)

Drake chose economy and went for his eyes. The man cried out and hunched over. Drake got a chokehold on him and snapped his neck, then turned to go after Hafner.

A bullet slammed into him.

He went down hard.

I’m sorry, Jillian.

* * *

Jillian crept closer to the garage, weapon drawn, following the voices.

Then she heard the whine of a silenced shot. Heart pounding, she raced to get a look.

Oh, God. 

Three men on the ground, not moving. Hafner standing over the only one who mattered. Drake. She saw a dark, wet patch on his chest, but she checked the urge to race over to him.

Hafner crouched over Drake, setting the gun to the side. He flicked open the knife he was so fond of. “Goodbye, traitor.” It was so like him to toy with his victim.

“You...won’t get...far.” Drake’s voice, wheezing. Her knees went weak with relief, but she couldn’t tell how badly he was hurt. It didn’t sound good.

“Oh, they may pick me up, but do you honestly think a jail cell can hold me? With my connections?” Hafner clucked his tongue. “Surely you’ve learned better than that in your little sojourn with us, Agent?”

Agent.
Oh, no—he knew. And he would kill Drake.

“But now I fear I must leave you. Goodbye, watchdog.” The blade gleamed in the moonlight.

Jillian stepped forward. “Not just yet, Klaus.”

Hafner whirled and rose, chuckling. “My, my. The tigress returns. Are you ready to join me, or am I right that you and the estimable Cullinane have formed a bond?”

“I’d say that’s privileged information.” Jillian remarked, advancing on him. “Drop the knife.”

“You seem to have an unhealthy obsession with my knife.” He twirled it through his fingers. “Why is that?”

“Because you used it to murder my sister.” And she knew he could throw it with terrifying accuracy.

His eyebrows rose. “You don’t say. And who would your sister be?”

“Belinda. Your mistress.”

“Ah. Belinda. She was...useful for a time.” He sighed. “But then she became a problem.”

“So you killed her. Threw her to the alligators like so much garbage.”

He nodded. “Just so.”

“That easy.” Her vision hazed with fury. “And you walked away untouched.”

“The value of a good network cannot be underestimated.”

“Well, you smug bastard, that ends now. I’m here to avenge her.”

He stared at her, then laughed.
Laughed.
“That’s why you’re here? Why you broke in?” He glanced down at Drake. “He told me from the first that there was something off about you.” He shook his head. “Too bad. He was very good at what he did.”

He lowered to a crouch over Drake again. “There’s an astonishing amount of blood.” Leisurely, he flicked the blade over Drake’s throat.

“Step away from him.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I’ll shoot you like the vermin you are.” But her hands were trembling. Drake was right. She’d never killed anyone before. She was a good shot, but this was different from target practice.

Yet she could not let Hafner escape.

But the blade was so close to Drake’s carotid artery.

“No need for insults, now.” He arched one eyebrow as though completely unworried. “And you’ll pardon my skepticism, but your weapon is shaking.” Hafner studied her as if he could see the battle inside her. “So what’s your next move, Jillian? I won’t drop the knife, you see. Indeed, I’ll spill yet more of his blood. He’ll bleed out before you can get him help.”

“You’ll be dead in that same instant. Sooner.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But the end result is the same. He’ll be dead, and you’ll be alone.”

Stop talking to me,
she wanted to scream. “Put the knife down.”

“No, you put your weapon down. Then I might be persuaded to walk away.”

“You won’t get far. Help is coming.”

“You really think I won’t go free in the end? As I said, I have connections, my dear. Many of them.”

“I won’t let you escape, Klaus. I will shoot.”

His eyebrows rose. “A twitch of my finger, and he dies. You’re willing to risk that? Risk him?”

Would he do it? Of course he would. But if she let him get away, Belinda would never find justice. Loretta wouldn’t recover. 

The voices assaulted her.

Look what you’ve done. Why didn’t you help me when I needed you?

Don’t do this to us. This isn’t who you are.

Bury your vengeance. Let your sister’s soul rest.

“It’s your choice, Jillian. His survival is up to you. Give me your weapon, and I’ll drive off. You can get him help.”

I won’t die, Jillian.

But he would die. Hafner would kill him without a thought.

Backing off meant she would never get vengeance for her sister. How would she live the rest of her life, knowing she’d failed Belinda not once, but twice?

But Drake would have a chance to live.

It’s your choice.

* * *

Drake wished to hell he wasn’t so lightheaded. He blinked hard to focus.

And wondered what her choice would be.

After a very long moment, Jillian lowered her weapon and took a step toward Hafner.  Hafner rose carefully. Drake wondered if she had registered that the direction his body was turned meant he would aim for Jillian, not Drake.

He wanted to shout at her to stay back, to pay attention, but he couldn’t afford to distract her. He was relieved when she stopped and threw her weapon at Hafner’s feet instead.

“Pick it up, Jillian,” Hafner said, moving toward her. “Don’t be petulant.”

Now that Hafner’s back was to him, Drake managed to edge closer to the dead man’s only inches away, biting back a groan. His chest hurt like a sonofabitch.

Again. Now. Move it.
He gathered himself for another try, watching as Jillian approached Hafner slowly, her head bent as if defeated.

“I don’t have all day, Jillian.”

She reached him and bent to retrieve the weapon.

Then whirled and aimed a roundhouse kick at Hafner’s head.

Yes.

But her balance faltered. Hafner’s head snapped back, but he was on her instantly. They struggled, but though Hafner was soft, he was brutal by nature and an experienced killer.

Drake summoned a last effort and grabbed the weapon next to him. As Jillian fought Hafner, Drake rose to his knees, weaving, black spots dancing before his eyes. He blinked to clear them.

“I wouldn’t,” Hafner said. His knife was at her throat. “You know she’ll be dead first. Drop the gun. Then you might want to sit down before you fall down.”

Drake fought to remain conscious and struggled to hold the weapon steady.

A trickle of blood rolled down Jillian’s throat. She didn’t make a sound.

He met her gaze, wishing to hell and back that his chest didn’t feel like a torpedo had slammed him, that he could get to his damn feet.

Then he realized she was casting her eyes to the ground repeatedly.

Was he seeing things or...?

Abruptly, she went limp.

As she fell, Drake took the shot.

Hafner dropped like a stone, the back of his head gone.

“Jillian!” Drake tried to gain his feet, to get to her, to be sure she was alive—

But before he could, darkness claimed him.

* * *

Jillian moaned and crawled rapidly across the grass between them. “Drake!”
Oh God, oh God...please please please...

When she reached him, she frantically checked for a pulse, her fingers slippery with his blood. She squeezed her eyes shut, terrified that he was gone, that he’d saved her only to leave her more alone than she’d ever been.

When at last his pulse registered, she could barely count the rhythm for the chaos in her head.

Not quite steady, it was, but still there. Still there.

Relief of staggering proportions swept over her, and she cradled his head in her arms, rocking him slightly.
Thank you, oh thank you.

Then one of the men moved, and she snapped alert, abruptly recalling that they were still in enemy territory. She had to get Drake out of here. Now. Before they were discovered. First step, immobilize the man who was still alive. She grabbed her weapon and scrabbled over to him. She should kill him, she knew.

Just as she knew she couldn’t. And her heart sank.

She’d told herself she was tough enough for all of this, but even a hard life on the streets hadn’t prepared her.
This isn’t who you are, Jillian,
Drake had said.

Yeah, well, we’ll laugh about that later. For now, what the devil do I do?

The man tried for his own weapon, but one arm hung unnaturally at his side, and when he attempted to use his legs, he went pale and fell back on the ground.

He didn’t know she couldn’t kill him, she reminded herself. She rose, gun pointed straight at him. “Don’t move a muscle. Got it?”

“Fuck you.” He tried again to rise, but rolled weakly and emptied his stomach on the ground.

“Look, I don’t have time for this. I don’t think you’re going to tolerate it very well if I tie your hands together behind your back, do you? So here’s what we’ll do. You use your good hand to throw me your cell and any other weapons. Oh, and your wallet.”  When he only glared, she stepped on his bad side and kicked his leg right above the damaged knee.

He howled in pain.

“I can do worse, you know it and so do I. Now you can cooperate and live, or I can just take the easy way out and shoot you where you lie. Either way, we’re leaving. Your call.”

He was too miserable to argue. Slowly and painfully, he complied. She got close enough to kick those items out of his reach, then bent to retrieve the gun and a sidepiece, his wallet and his cell. Then she backed away.

And wondered how on earth she’d move Drake with one hand and hold the weapon on this man with the other. Or move Drake with two hands, for that matter.

“Not...bad...ace,” she heard behind her. Faintly, oh so faintly.

But alive.

She couldn’t break down now. Later, yes, she’d cry buckets, but not now. Slowly she backed toward him until he was in view. She glanced down and wished she could stare for hours.

Bloody and battered, Drake Cullinane had never looked better to her. “I need to get you up. Can you help me at all?”

“Of...course.” Painstakingly he rolled over. She heard his breath catch and took leave to doubt. He was nothing if not single-minded, however, didn’t she know that about him? Somehow he pushed himself up to all fours, then faltered with a muffled grunt.

She kept one eye on the man while going to a knee beside Drake. The clock in her head ticked loudly. If she’d heard right, at some point, Ron would be checking on them. “Put one arm over my shoulders if you can, and let me use my legs to help lever you up.”

He gathered himself, then lifted one arm high enough to get it over her back, where it fell heavily.

“Good, that’s good. Now I’m going to straighten my back, and you see if you can get to one knee first.” 

His face was white with strain, but he nodded. She could tell that every move cost him, but he couldn’t afford for her to be soft about this. “Okay, here goes.” She pushed up with both legs, holding one arm around his waist, her thumb in his belt loop. She felt every ounce of his two hundred pounds, and she blessed every last leg press she’d ever done.

Going slowly was unbalancing her, but going fast would hurt him, maybe too much.

Getting killed by the men who would show up soon would be worse, though. She steeled herself and as soon as he began to straighten one leg, she shoved herself to standing.

He wavered and nearly took them both down, but she felt the strength of his will as he clenched his jaw and forced himself the rest of the way, though he remained hunched over and what little color he had, he lost. “Good,” he managed. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to get to the Jeep. Can you walk?”

“Got...to.”

“I’m sorry. I know I’m hurting you.”

A sharp shake. “Not sorry. I’m...alive.” He looked at her then, and his eyes blazed. “I...love you.”

She closed her eyes and forced back the tears that threatened. Then she put into her expression everything there wasn’t time to say. “I love you, too, you—you...oh, God—I can’t cry now, but when we get out of here...” She cleared her throat. “No more talking. Walk.”

She thought she saw a faint curve to his lips, then he stared ahead and took a halting breath, visibly steeling himself for a distance of ten feet or so that probably looked as far as Antarctica to him.

And they began to walk, her heart pounding in fear every second. Just as they reached the Jeep, she heard footsteps behind them. “You said the keys would be in it, right?”

Weaving on his feet, he nodded.

She jerked open the back seat door and all but shoved him inside, then slammed the door. She fired several shots toward the sound of voices, then leaped into the driver’s seat, turned the key.

And gunned the engine, praying every second.

Then they shot into the night.

Not far down the road, she encountered a fleet of black SUVs.

And for the first time in her misspent life, she was happy to land in the arms of the law. Agents surrounded them, and she found herself assuming the position at the side of the Jeep.

Until, that is, they caught sight of Drake, and he haltingly explained. Things moved quickly after that, medics examining him, agents peppering her with questions—then they tried to take him away and leave her behind.

Not happening. 

“You can’t go with him. Hey!”

She used elbows and feet and teeth and slithered past the last barrier, then leaped inside the ambulance and grabbed the first sharp object she saw. “Don’t even think about separating us.”

Still, it was Drake who had to intervene before they’d relent.

At last the agents returned to their initial objective, Hafner’s men and his network.

Jillian slumped to the floor by the gurney, making herself as small as possible so as not to impede the care Drake needed.