Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Canyon) (14 page)

He bent his head and kissed her long and deep, sending a message to the men that she was his possession, warning them not to bother her. It was part of the role they were playing, but the heat of his mouth over hers didn’t feel like acting. It didn’t keep her already-hammering heart from kicking up another notch.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, loud enough for the men to hear, and then he was gone, disappearing quietly into the cheering throng. She scanned her surroundings, her mission clear. Locate Sam and Bridger if they were in the barn.

The shouting continued, each roar marking a bloody victory she didn’t want to imagine. Instead, she kept searching the shadows, looking for Sam and Troy, praying Ben would return.

Claire stifled a gasp as she spotted them, Troy with a beer cup in his hand, his other hand resting on Sam’s small shoulder. They were headed toward the east-side door that led out to a row of portable toilets. She’d only caught a glimpse of Sam as he turned away, but his body language told her he wasn’t happy about being there.

Claire’s insides squeezed. Sam had always been softhearted when it came to animals. This had to be tearing him apart.

Frantically, she glanced around, looking for Ben, hoping to see him walking back inside. No sign of him. Terrified they would get away, Claire started for the door, determined to keep them in sight. Her heart was pounding, throbbing so hard it hurt. Lifting her head, hoping to project an air of confidence as she imagined a paid-for lady would, she walked toward the door.

She could feel two pairs of eyes on her as she stepped out into the night, the men who guarded the east exit, a burly Asian the size of a house and a man of mixed heritage with angular cheekbones and jet-black eyes.

She couldn’t see Troy. She had no idea where he’d gone, but she spotted Sam walking off toward the parking area.

Claire kicked off her heels and started after him, wishing to God Ben were there, afraid to call out to him. Afraid to call out to Sam for fear Bridger would hear her.

She stifled a scream as an arm locked around her neck and she was jerked backward against a man’s hard chest.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She knew the voice, knew Troy had found her. She trembled, tried to speak, but there wasn’t a drop of moisture in her mouth. His hold tightened, and he started dragging her back into the shadows along the side of the barn.

“I asked you a question, bitch.”

She swallowed, managed to force out the words. “I—I came after Sam.”

He spun her around to face him. “Who brought you?”

“I came...came by myself.”

“That’s a goddamn lie.” He cracked the back of his hand across her cheek, knocking her into the wall. Claire cried out when he dragged her up and hit her again. The world spun and for a moment she thought she was going to faint. She stared up at Troy, saw the hard look on his face and screamed as loud as she could.

Fourteen

W
here the hell is she?
Ben scanned the crowd in the area where Claire should have been waiting. No sign of her. Worry slid through him. He’d left Hutchins at the beer stand, afraid to leave Claire alone any longer, but when he got back, she was gone.

His chest felt tight. Unless someone forced her to leave, she had spotted Bridger and Sam and was following them.

Christ.

He’d come in through the west door. No sign of them there. The toilets were on the east side. Ben shouldered his way through the crowd, moving fast in that direction.

At Claire’s high-pitched scream, a shot of adrenaline hit him, jolting him into action, and he shot through the open east door. Her white blouse made her easy to spot in the moonlit shadows at the side of the barn, struggling with a man who pressed her against the wall.

“Let me go!” she demanded.

“Shut up, bitch! You brought this on yourself!”

Right height, right build. He turned and Ben recognized him as the man in the photo with Laura.
Troy Bridger.
Clamping his jaw against the anger pumping through him, Ben lunged toward Bridger, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, went into SEAL combat mode and pounded him with a left jab-right combination, smashed an elbow into Bridger’s face, splitting his cheek wide-open and drawing blood.

“Sam’s gone to the truck!” Claire shouted and started running toward the lot. “I’m going after him!”

He got a quick glimpse of her, saw that her cheek was bruised and her lip was bleeding, before Bridger swung a blow that Ben blocked. Thinking of Claire’s battered face, a shot of fury tore threw him. Ben took great pleasure in elbow-striking Bridger again, then bringing the bastard down with a fist to the back of his head and a knee to the belly.

Bridger hit the ground and didn’t get up.

Much as he wanted to finish the man where he lay, he started after Claire, who raced ahead of him toward the parking lot. He’d only made it a couple of steps when a gunshot cracked and pain tore into his side. The bullet spun him around and he went down, dropping onto a knee.

Heavy caliber, he figured. Enough to do some damage.

Pain ripped through him as he reached for the weapon at his back. Blood poured out of a wound below his ribs and his hand was slick with it, making it hard to hold the butt of the pistol. Through rapidly blurring vision, he saw Bridger stagger to his feet. Hutchins raced up beside him, shoving a big semi-auto into the back of his pants, and both men took off running, passing Claire, who had turned and was racing back in Ben’s direction.

She grabbed him as he swayed to his feet. “Oh, my God, Ben, he shot you! How...how bad are you hurt?”

Every instinct told him to go after his son, but he was losing a lot of blood. “Help me get to the car.” He should have figured on Hutchins showing up.
Stupid.
He’d been sidetracked by his fear for Claire. He’d lost his focus in a way he hadn’t since he was in BUDs, trying to suck it up and make the cut to become a SEAL. He didn’t want to think what might have happened to Claire if Hutchins had been a better shot.

A crowd had begun to gather. Aiming his .45 at the curious throng, he looped an arm over Claire’s shoulder and started backing away. Since knifings and gunfights were commonplace at events like these, the guards ignored them, and the sight of the weapon in his hand kept the crowd at bay as he and Claire vanished into the darkness.

No one came after them, since they were leaving the scene. The crowd just started fading away, wandering back to the betting and blood sport inside the barn.

As Claire helped him along the dusty path, he kept his hand pressed against his side to slow the bleeding, but wetness leaked through his fingers and soaked his black T-shirt. His side hurt nearly as bad as the time he’d been knifed in the Philippines.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Hutchins’s black Camaro peeling out of the lot. He didn’t see a white Chevy pickup, but his vision was blurry and shapes were distorted.

“We’re almost there,” Claire said, her voice shaky. “Just hang on a little longer.” He could feel her trembling as they stumbled together toward the car.

“We’ve got to stop the bleeding,” she said when they reached the SUV. Ben holstered his .45 and tossed it in the console as Claire helped him climb into the passenger seat.

“I’ll do what I can. You just drive.”

Her hands shook as she untied the tails of her blouse and tore open the last few buttons, jerked it off and shoved it into his bloody hands. “Use this.”

He watched her slide in behind the wheel in her white lace bra, had the crazy thought that she looked hot as hell, then he must have blacked out for a second. The wheels were spinning, dust flying when he opened his eyes again, Claire roaring out of the makeshift parking lot onto the narrow dirt road leading back to the highway.

“We’ve got to find a hospital,” she said, her voice shaking.

“GPS.” Tearing off a chunk of her blouse, he stuffed it into the hole in his side. “I’ll find one.”

The shot was a through-and-through, which was good news and bad, since it meant the bullet wasn’t inside but there were two holes to fill instead of one. He ripped off another section of fabric and stuffed it in the entry wound in his back. Lucky for him, the rotten bastard had piss-poor aim or he’d be dead instead of just bleeding.

As Claire neared the highway, he reached over and hit the POIs on the nav system, pulled up hospitals and punched in the one closest to their location. As soon as they left the dirt road, the faceless voice on the GPS began to give directions.

Ben leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, remembering those moments just after he’d walked outside the barn.

“I saw him, Claire. Just for a moment after you screamed. I saw my son.”

She glanced his way and a soft sob caught in her throat. “I didn’t...didn’t want to leave without him. Oh, God, Ben.”

“I’d be dead if you hadn’t come back for me.”

She turned to look at him, and he saw the tears on her cheeks. “I couldn’t just leave you.”

He closed his eyes, fighting not to lose consciousness. “I didn’t see his face. I didn’t realize it was Sam until I saw you with Bridger.”

“Don’t talk. You need to save your strength.”

He gritted his teeth against the searing pain and his failure to save his son. “We didn’t even get a fucking license number.”

He felt Claire’s gentle touch against his beard-stubbled cheek. “Oh, yes, we did, Ben. I memorized the number as Troy pulled out of the lot.”

Ben’s mouth edged up. “Good girl. Call it in.” He caught the worry and triumph in her pretty green eyes the instant before he passed out cold in the seat.

Fifteen

C
laire paced the floor of the waiting room outside the surgical ward of Desert Hills Hospital. Ben had just gone into surgery. She had no idea what was happening behind the closed double doors at the end of the hall. All she knew was that Ben had been covered in blood and unconscious when she had roared up to the door of the emergency entrance and slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car and burst through the doors, shouting for help.

On the way to the hospital, she’d hit her cell number for Detective Fred Owens of the LAPD, and though he was off duty this late at night, he had answered on the second ring.

“I saw Bridger, Detective,” she’d said. “Sam was with him. I got the license number of his truck.” She had rattled off the plate number, told him about the cockfight, and that she was on the way to the hospital with Sam’s father, Ben Slocum, who had been shot trying to rescue his son.

“I’m on it,” Owens had said. “Good luck with Slocum. I’ll be in touch.” She had called the LAPD detective instead of 911, certain Owens would have a far better chance of getting the cooperation of the El Paso police department than she would. She prayed the local authorities would find the pickup Troy was driving before he could escape with Sam.

The waiting room was a little chilly. A heavyset black woman and her daughter were the only other occupants. They sat quietly at the other end of the room, talking in whispers.

Now that there was nothing more she could do for Ben except wait, she dug out Ben’s iPhone, retrieved from his pockets along with his insurance information. The only person she knew to call was his friend Sol Greenway, whose name was in his contacts.

His voice sounded groggy when he answered. “Greenway.”

“Hello, Sol. My name is Claire Chastain. I’m calling for Ben Slocum. There’s...there’s been a shooting.”

“Jesus. Is Ben all right?”

“He’s in surgery. I’m at the hospital in El Paso.” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry to...sorry to bother you so late. But I didn’t know who else to call.”

“It’s all right...it’s not a bother. Ben’s a friend. Just tell me what’s going on.”

She told him about Sam and the cockfight and the shooting and that Ben was in surgery. She told him she didn’t know much more than that. Then she started crying. “I’m so worried. I just want Ben to be okay.”

“Take it easy, Claire,” Sol said gently. “I know who you are. I know you and Ben have been working together to find his son. Ben doesn’t have any family but he has lots of friends. We’re all here for both of you.”

She took a deep breath and forced herself under control. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart.”

“It’s okay. Sounds like it’s been a hard night.”

“Yes...”

“They’re going to call you, Claire. Once they know Ben’s been hurt, there’s no way I can stop them. Odds are some of them are going to show up in El Paso. All you have to do is hold on till they get there.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “The name of the hospital is Desert Hills. As soon as he’s out of surgery, I’ll call you.”

“That’s good. I’ll tell the others. Take care of yourself, Claire. I know that’s what Ben would want.”

She cried for a couple of minutes after she hung up and was glad the waiting room was as large as it was and that the woman and her daughter were far enough away to give her some privacy.

During the next thirty minutes, she heard from the owner of the company Ben worked for, Trace Rawlins, a friend named Jake Cantrell and another named Alex Justice, both investigators in his office. Justice was on his honeymoon in Costa Rica. He offered to cut the trip short if Ben needed him. She’d told him the same thing she had told the others, that there was nothing he could do until Ben was out of surgery and she had spoken to the doctors about his condition.

A woman named Annie Mayberry was the last to call. “Don’t you worry, honey,” she said. “Ben’s too tough to let a little thing like a bullet take him out. Besides, all of us here’ll be prayin’ for him.”

“Thank you, Annie.”

“Ben’s family. Family sticks together. You just let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.” She didn’t know why, but she felt better after she talked to Annie.

Another hour slid past. Claire shoved to her feet as the surgeon, Dr. Garcia, a silver-haired man in a set of green scrubs, older, with a kind face and weary expression, shoved open the waiting room door.

“Doctor...how is he? Is Ben going to be all right?”

Garcia smiled, a good sign. “He’s in amazing physical condition. He came through the surgery extremely well. There was no artery or nerve involvement, and the damage to his spleen was minor. The path the bullet traveled missed any vital organs and bones.”

Her legs went weak. She sat back down in the chair. “Thank God.”

“Your husband is a very lucky man.”

The doctor had assumed Ben was her husband. It was easier than trying to explain their complicated situation. And being his wife allowed her visitation. It bothered her that the sound of it felt somehow right.

“Ben’s lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said, “but aside from that, he’s doing fine. Assuming there’s no infection, he’ll be out of here in a couple of days.”

A second shot of relief slid through her. He was going to be all right, and he would be getting out very soon. Still, it was a gunshot wound, which by law had to be reported to the authorities. She had told the doctor the truth of what had occurred, but she would have to go over the details again when the police arrived. She was hoping Detective Owens’s phone call would help smooth the way.

Feeling somewhat better, she rose on legs a little less shaky. “May I see him?”

“At the moment, he’s in recovery. You can see him in a couple of hours. I’d suggest you go back to your motel room and get some sleep.”

Of course she didn’t have a motel room. And she wanted to see Ben, make sure he was all right and let him know she was there. “I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind.”

Garcia nodded. “The cafeteria’s down the hall. Why don’t you at least get something to eat?”

She wasn’t hungry. But it had been hours since she’d put anything in her stomach and she was beginning to feel light-headed. “All right. I have a call to make first. Thank you, Doctor. For everything.”

“I’ll let you know when you can go in.” The doctor left the waiting room.

As soon as the door closed, Claire dug Ben’s phone back out and phoned Sol with the news that Ben had come through surgery very well. That, if all went well, he would be released in a couple of days.

“That’s great news. I’ll call the others. Let me know if either of you needs anything.”

“I will. Thank you, Sol.” Ending the call, she dropped the phone back into her purse.

Ignoring the way her stomach rebelled at the thought of food, Claire left the waiting room and made her way down to the cafeteria. The smell of fish and fried chicken made the bile rise in her throat, but she had to eat something. She forced down a bowl of soup and drank a glass of milk, then purchased a cup of coffee to go and went back upstairs to the waiting room.

She had just stepped inside when a towering man in a T-shirt and jeans pushed through the door. He was at least six-five, with an even more muscular build than Ben, and a beautiful dark-haired woman on his arm.

“Are you Claire?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Jake Cantrell, and this is my wife, Sage. We thought you might need some company.”

Her eyes welled. Sol had said Ben had friends. Apparently very good ones. “Thank you so much for coming.”

Sage stepped forward and gave her a hug, and Claire gratefully returned it.

Jake led her over to the sofa, gently urged her to sit down. “Sol just called. He said it looks like Ben’s going to be okay.”

Claire nodded, a lump lodged in her throat. “Yes...”

“How about you?” Sage asked gently, her eyes on Claire’s bruised cheek and swollen lip. “Are you all right?”

Claire swallowed. “I’m okay. It’s just... It’s been a really hard night.”

Sage sat down next to her, and Jake took a seat in the chair across from them. “Why don’t you tell me what happened,” he said.

“It’s a long story.”

Sage reached over and took hold of her cold hand. “I gather you’re waiting to see Ben.”

“That’s right.”

“Then we have plenty of time,” Jake said.

Claire looked up at him. He was amazingly handsome, the perfect match to his lovely, sophisticated wife. “You came all the way from Houston. How did... How did you get here so fast?”

“Company jet,” Sage answered with a smile. “It’s one of the perks of being the granddaughter of the CEO.”

“Don’t let her kid you,” Jake said with a hint of pride. “Sage just got promoted to president of the company. She’s Marine Drilling’s top dog. She earned the right to use that jet.”

“It’s only temporary,” Sage said. “I’ve decided I want more time with my husband. But it’s an exciting challenge right now.”

Claire studied the woman sitting next to her, impressed, but not really surprised. Sage Cantrell had the poise and confidence of a woman who could succeed at whatever she wanted. And apparently, she was also a great friend to Ben. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Me, too,” Sage said. “We heard about Ben’s son and that the two of you have been trying to find him. Tell us what happened.”

For the next half hour, Claire told Ben’s friends about searching for Sam, about the cockfight and that the boy had been there with Troy Bridger, who had taken him from his foster home in L.A. She told them how a friend of Bridger’s called Duke Hutchins had shot Ben, and how Bridger had gotten away with Sam.

By the time she had finished, she felt drained, and the guilt she felt in failing Sam had resurfaced. Claire shoved the emotion away.

“I talked to Detective Owens,” she said. “He’s in charge of the case in L.A. He got in touch with the local police here in El Paso.”

“That’s good,” Jake said. “They’ll want to talk to you. Maybe I can help with that.”

“Jake specializes in private security,” Sage explained, squeezing Claire’s hand. “He knows how to handle situations like this. You aren’t alone now, Claire. We’re here to help.”

They had come for Ben, but they were here to help her, too. For the first time since all of this happened, Claire thought maybe everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Ben woke up feeling groggy, barely able to open his eyes. His side ached like hell, but the pain was numbed by the drugs dripping through the tube going into his arm. It took a moment to sort out what had happened and where he was. For an instant, he thought he was back in the jungle, in a makeshift triage tent being treated for the knife wound he’d received on a mission gone bad.

“Ben, it’s Claire.”

The soft sound of her voice floated over him. The feel of her hand gently holding on to his brought the night’s events rushing back.

“You’re out of surgery, Ben. The doctor says you came through really well. The bullet missed any vital organs or bones. You’re going to be okay.”

His eyes slid closed.
Good news. Damned good news.
He hadn’t been sure how bad he’d been hit, but he knew one thing for sure. He wouldn’t be in the hospital. He’d be lying dead in some ditch if it hadn’t been for Claire.

“That’s...good,” he managed to say.

“They’re hoping to release you in a couple of days.”

He nodded, relieved by the words. He moistened his lips, which felt dry and chafed, and his words came out rusty. “Did the cops...get Bridger?”

Claire shook her head and he caught the glint of tears. “No.”

“We’ll find him...Claire. I...promise.”

She managed a smile, but it looked tired and strained. “Your friends are here, Jake and Sage. They flew down from Houston.”

He nodded, wasn’t surprised. He was glad they were here to help Claire. He thought of how close she had come to being hurt or even killed. He couldn’t remember a time he’d worried so much about a woman.

He heard the door open. Saw Jake walk in. Sage, the classy brunette Jake had fallen head over heels in love with, was beside him. Both of them looked worried, but they were smiling.

“The doctor says you’re going to be okay,” Sage said, leaning over to brush a kiss on his cheek.

“That’s what...Claire...tells me.”

“She’s been really worried about you.”

He’d been downright terrified for her when the shooting had started, but he didn’t say that.

“I guess you didn’t see this one coming, hey, Ice?” Jake said.

“Should have. Stupid...mistake.”

Jake shook his head. “According to Claire, you were busy trying to save her from Bridger. She said it was a good thing you showed up when you did.”

“Should have been...watching for...Hutchins. Tell me they’ve...got him in...custody.”

“Sorry. I talked to one of the El Paso P.D. detectives half an hour ago. Hutchins is in the wind, just like Bridger.”

Ben’s hand fisted where it lay on top of the sheet. He wanted Bridger. Wanted Hutchins. More than that, he wanted his son.

“You’ll find them, Ben,” Jake said, reading his mind. “And when you do, you’ll find your boy.”

Ben’s jaw felt tight. “Count on...it,” he said before his eyes slid closed and he gave in to the pull of the drugs flowing through his veins.