Around-the-Clock Protector (3 page)

“I can’t run anymore.”

“Then I’ll carry you.”

Ava closed her eyes, letting the darkness cover her anxiety. She had to tell him.

Opening her eyes, she looked up into his chiseled face. It was a handsome face, the face of a warrior. She could see it in the hard set of his jaw, in the intensity of his stare, in the deep scar above his left eyebrow.

Something in the feel of his rough worn hand
against her cheek spoke of intimacy, of a crack in the rock-hard fortress training had built around him.

But could she trust him? Did she have a choice?

“I’ve got a problem,” she whispered.

A look of concern flashed across his face, breaking the mask of determination he wore.

“I should have done a medical assessment. Are you hit?”

“I know exactly what’s wrong with me, and a physical assessment won’t make any difference. The outcome will be the same.”

He stared at her, confusion in the narrow squint of his vivid blue eyes.

“It’s nothing five months won’t cure.” Men, she thought as she gazed up at Agent Carson Nash. So necessary, but clueless at times. “I’m pregnant, Agent. At least, that’s the diagnosis they gave me at the free clinic. Four months along.”

Carson felt his last gulp of air lodge in his lungs. He didn’t have to do the math to realize the impact of what she’d said.

He swallowed, trying to keep his head in the game. Could the child be his? The night they’d spent together four months ago flashed by in his mind and he knew the answer.

“We have to keep moving. I’ll carry you.” Carson pulled Ava to her feet, steadying her against him.

“I can walk.”

He put his arm around her waist and moved forward, spotting the end of the escape route. The exit door was still three hundred feet away and to the right, where it opened at the surface in an abandoned junkyard.

Worry bit into him. There was a vehicle at the other end, gassed and ready to go. He had to be prepared for the possibility of an onslaught from the enemy, and the chance that the rig had been compromised.

They hit the end of the corridor and took a hard right.

Carson stared at the exit. Protecting Ava and her baby had become paramount the instant she’d told him she was pregnant. The fact that the child could be his made it that much more critical.

He pulled up short next to the door and released her. “Once we get out, there’s a blue pickup a hundred feet straight ahead of the exit. The key is under the driver’s seat. The front gate will open automatically when you fire the engine. I want you to get out of here and take I-90 into Seattle. Get on the 5 South to Tacoma.”

Carson pulled a pen and paper out of his pack. “When you get there go to this address. I have a buddy, a doctor who can help you recover your memory.”

“What about you?” She stared at him.

Carson gritted his teeth. “Look. If we walk into a firefight and I don’t make it out, I want you to go.
Do you understand?” He pressed the name and address into her palm.

“Ava! Promise me you’ll go. You have a child to think about.”

Unshed tears brimmed in her eyes. “I promise.”

“Good, now put this on.” He pulled off his shirt, exposing the bulletproof vest he wore underneath.

“I can’t take it. You need it. You’re breaking protocol.”

“To hell with protocol! Listen to me. You can’t move as fast as I can. I’ll keep them busy. Get to the truck and head for the front gate. Don’t stop until you clear it. I’ll be there.”

Ava shook her head. “What if I pass out again?”

Carson put the vest over her head and fastened the buckles, pulling them tight. “You’re a good agent, Ross. You’re not going to pass out. You’re going to get the damn truck and we’re going to get the hell out of here. Do you understand?”

She stared up at him. Fear and uncertainty glimmered in her eyes.

“Do it for your child.” An odd sense of desperation spread over him as he focused on her face. Short of wrapping himself around her, he was dependent on her own grit, her own need to protect her baby and herself.

She squared her shoulders and shoved the paper into her pants pocket. “You’ll tell me more about our meeting when this is over?”

“Yeah.” Carson’s muscles cranked tight as he stared at the woman he was duty bound to protect.

The woman carrying his child.

“Use this if you have to.” Carson pulled the pistol out of his pack and handed it to her, fighting a degree of hesitation. He’d just turned over the same gun she’d trained on him moments ago, but he wouldn’t leave her defenseless to save his own skin.

She took it from him. “I’m ready.”

Drawing his 9 mm from its ankle holster, he pressed the exit code into the keypad.

The locking mechanism disengaged and the heavy metal door gaped open an inch.

He stared through the crack, watching for movement among the abandoned vehicles in the junkyard beyond the safety of the escape tunnel.

“Looks clear.”

Ava listened to Carson explain how they were going to get to the pickup. Somewhere in her mind she knew what he was saying even though the words and tactics were foreign to her. Her instincts and
muscle-imprinted training had surfaced more than once tonight. She just prayed it would all come out if she needed it again.

“Where’s the truck?”

Carson pointed out a Ford pickup parked between a Chevy Suburban and a large box truck with U-Haul painted above the cab.

“Indirect route?”

“Yeah,” Carson said.

She glanced at him, catching a twinkle of admiration in his blue eyes. A shiver of familiarity rippled through her. Frustrated, she shuffled the fragmented memories in her head, hoping she could draw the one that included him, but it was as elusive as a Las Vegas card trick.

“Take the left side. If we draw fire it’ll be from the gate entrance.”

Her nerves bunched. “Let’s go.”

“Nice and slow.” Carson eased the door open and took her hand. Together they stepped outside into the darkness.

The only light in the junkyard rained down from a mercury vapor lamp next to the front gate.

Carson pushed the door shut, cutting off their retreat. There was only one way out now.

“Stay behind the line of cars next to the fence. It’s your best cover if they start shooting.”

She nodded, dropped down into a crouching position and moved away from him.

Carson watched her disappear into the shadows. He broke right, working his way to the string of cars closest to the gate. The spooks on their trail seemed to have inside information.

If they knew about the warehouse there was a chance they knew about the escape hatch. They’d probably penetrated the security curtain by now and were scouring the office.

He paused next to a rusted-out truck, searching for signs of movement among the junk cars next to the fence.

His eyes locked on Ava and he followed her progression toward the pickup. She was a smart woman. Stealthy and capable.

A brief instant of admiration zipped through him, but it was short-lived, killed off by the sound of the exit-door lock mechanism.

He turned toward the sound, his pulse thumping in his ears.

The door eased open, revealing five men dressed in black. One by one they scattered like spiders and blended with the surrounding darkness.

The hair at his nape bristled. He tried to pinpoint their individual locations, getting a fix on four of them, but number five had moved out of his field of vision.

Foreboding hammered his nerves. Refocusing, he searched for Ava in the darkness.

She had a head start and the brains to keep it.

Staying low, he moved forward, working his way closer to the front gate.

In the distance the distinctive creak of a vehicle door in need of oil put hope in his gut.

The seconds ticked by as he waited for the sound of the truck engine. Without it, the front gate wasn’t going to budge.

To his left, the murmur of voices set his nerves on edge. He listened intently. English. No accent. They had to be CIA or NSA.

Moving cautiously, he edged closer to the voices, trying to make out what they were saying, but the night went still as he peered out from behind a wreck.

Ping!
A bullet ground into the car a fraction of an inch above his head.

Carson dropped back and scrambled to the rear of the vehicle for cover.

He’d been spotted. They were minutes away from an all-out assault.

Rising a fraction, he pulled the trigger, raining a hail of bullets in the direction the shot had come from.

The thugs returned fire, giving up their locations.

In his peripheral vision on the left he saw movement.

Turning, he pumped two rounds into one of the thugs and watched him drop.

Lunging forward, he hit the ground and rolled several times, coming to his knees at the rear of two cars.

A streak of black charged forward between the vehicles.

Carson double tapped him, and pulled forward to a position twenty-five feet closer to the pickup.

Where the hell was Ava? She’d had plenty of time to fire up the rig.

Worried, he tried to spot her location, but the lighting was blocked by the box truck.

Was she okay? Had man number five gotten through his defenses somehow?

Concern turned to determination as he crept closer. Staring into the darkness, he saw her head bob up from below the pickup’s dashboard.

One of the thugs had managed to work his way around the nose of the U-Haul.

Dammit
. Carson laid down a blaze of gunfire and charged forward, zigzagging back and forth, bent on reaching the pickup before the spook did.

But he was too late.

Ava’s muffled screams ground over his nerves as he rushed the last fifteen feet, oblivious to the gunfire coming in from behind.

Bolting to the passenger side of the pickup, he reached inside and grabbed the man.

Carson yanked hard, pulling the attacker into his
arms. Fueled by instinct and training, he locked his head in a death grip and snapped his neck.

Ava’s blood turned cold in her veins. She stared at Carson, afraid to breathe. He’d just killed a man without a moment’s hesitation.

She felt a slice of fear as he shoved the man aside and jumped into the pickup.

“Get out of here! There are two more where he came from.”

“I can’t find the key!” Panic consumed her.

“Try the visor!” he shouted.

An onslaught of bullets pinged into the pickup.

Carson hung out the side window and returned fire.

Ava’s hand shook as she pulled the visor down.

The key ring fell into her lap like a gift from heaven.

She felt for the ignition. Finding the keyhole, she shoved the key in and turned it over.

The starter ground.

Backing off the key, she turned it again, pumping the gas pedal in a frantic effort to get the pickup to start.

“Take it easy—you’ll flood it.”

She gritted her teeth and turned it again.

The engine roared to life.

“Go-go-go!” Carson ordered.

Ava popped the truck into gear and stomped on the gas pedal.

The pickup shot out of the parking spot spewing dirt and gravel into the air.

Cranking the wheel hard to the left, she aimed for the gate, now only a quarter of the way open.

“Don’t stop! Ram it!” Carson shouted from the seat next to her as a bullet entered the cab and exited the driver’s window in front of her face.

Shooting for the narrow opening, she pushed the pedal to the floor.

The sickening grind of metal on metal penetrated her hyped-up senses as they squeezed through the opening in a shower of sparks.

Slamming on the brake, she turned the steering wheel hard to the right, skidded out onto the highway and floored it.

She reached down and pulled on the headlights less than a quarter of a mile from the junkyard.

“Where to?” she asked, backing off the accelerator and bringing the truck speed down to 75 mph.

“We’re five miles from the freeway on-ramp. Pull over when you see the first I-90 sign. I’ll take the wheel.”

“Okay.” She glanced over at Carson as they passed under a streetlight.

Her heart froze in her chest.

“You’ve been hit!”

“It’s a scratch. I’ll live.”

Panic made her nerves feel perforated as she gauged the amount of blood soaking the right side of his shirt. “You need an E.R.”

“It’s a flesh wound. I’ll patch it up. It’s more important we stay ahead of the spooks who just tried to kill us.”

Her nerves calmed a bit, but blood was bad, spooks or no spooks. She’d met the macho, ain’t-nothing-but-a-scratch type before…hadn’t she?

Glancing into the rearview mirror, she searched the highway behind them for headlights.

It was clear. They weren’t being followed, so far anyway.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and tried to relax.

The miles ticked by and before she knew it she spotted the I-90 sign Carson had said would be there. “This is it,” he said.

Slowing, she pulled the truck off into a turnout next to the highway and stopped.

Carson climbed out the passenger side and came around the front of the pickup, pausing next to the driver’s door. Pain sizzled along his rib cage, stinging like an SOB.

It was a flesh wound, but the bullet had probably bruised his ribs. Gritting his teeth, he pulled open the door as Ava slid across the bench seat onto the passenger side.

He climbed in and put the truck in gear, pulling back out onto the highway. “Nice piece of driving.”

“Thanks. At least I remember how to drive.” The
hopeless note in her voice sliced through the barriers he’d erected to survive. He’d felt hopelessness in his life, and it wasn’t a good vibe.

“The doctor in Tacoma can help. He’s the best.”

“Who are you…really?”

Carson glanced at her in the back glare of the headlights. There was no disguise for the leery gleam of mistrust in her eyes.

“IAops. I’m supposed to bring you into the fold in one piece.”

For a brief second her features softened. “You did give me your vest. It was a stupid move. It would have saved you from that bullet.”

The air between them felt charged as he focused on the road ahead and the freeway entrance sign.

“Why did you give me your vest? You broke protocol.”

“I like to bring my packages in alive.” The answer was honest. As honest as he could afford to be with her.

“Is that what I am? Your package? How do I know you’re not taking me in for more of the same thing I’ve just survived?”

“You don’t.” Carson stared straight ahead, feeling a torrent of tension move in waves around them, sucking the conversation into deeper water.

If she became uncooperative he’d have his hands full. Moving a combative individual cross-country
would make his job more complicated. Then there was the baby inside her. His baby, most likely.

Carson swallowed, determined to take control of the situation before it turned ugly.

He needed her cooperation. Needed to know what had happened to her and where she’d been for the past four months. He needed to know what she knew about the child she was carrying.

“Your baby. Who’s the father?” He gave her a sideways glance.

Her profile was unreadable as she stared straight ahead. “I don’t know. I’ve tried to remember who was in my life at that time, but I can’t.” The desperation in her voice tugged on his moral code, leaving him torn.

Was it possible the information could bring to light her memory of the night they’d spent together before her disappearance? Maybe that one detail would spark more memories. Memories of where she’d been, who’d taken her and why.

He worked the scenario over in his head, dancing around the one revelation that could strengthen or weaken his position with her.

“I gave you my vest to protect you…and your child.”

“To protect your mission, you mean? God forbid you don’t complete your mission. I’ve heard about you Black Ops types. Admit it, Agent Nash, you don’t care about the collateral damage.”

He felt guilty. It was true. The mission took priority.
Without its completion, he’d failed, mentally…physically.

“I want out,” she said.

Carson glanced sideways, catching a glint of light on the barrel of the stainless steel .32 he’d given her in the junkyard.

His nerves stretched tight as he fought the instantaneous violent response that had been trained into him.

“I want you to drop me at the police station when we get to Seattle.” Her voice wavered, belying the certainty in her request.

Carson let up on the gas pedal. The pickup slowed.

“What are you doing? Don’t stop. I’ll shoot you.”

“You’ll have to, because I’m not going to take you to the cops. You belong at McLean.”

“I can’t go there!”

He pulled the truck onto the shoulder, stopped and turned toward her.

“You have to trust me, Ava.”

Tears welled in her eyes and glistened in the glare of the dash lights. He watched a myriad of emotions flow across her face, but she didn’t lower the gun.

He couldn’t risk hurting her—he’d have to talk her down.

“You were with someone the night before you got on that plane.”

She stared at him, a muddled look of disbelief and relief on her tear-streaked face.

“You were with me. There was no one else in your bed. You told me yourself.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“I’ve got proof.” Slowly he reached toward his pants pocket.

“Stop! Don’t try anything.”

“Relax.” He dug in to his pocket, keeping his eyes on her. Finding the crumpled business card he’d almost thrown out a hundred times, he pulled it out and opened it.

“We spent the night together. You gave this to me the morning after we—”

“Are you saying…”

“The child you’re carrying is mine.”