Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense (10 page)

“See them. Listen to me. When I say ‘now,’ go completely relaxed,” I shout at her.

“What? Are you crazy?”

“Yes and yes. Five seconds, Mia. Completely limp. Wait for it…”

Three. Mia squeals, a sound that starts low and ends up close to a howl.

Two. I jump the curb, heading toward their back quarters.

“Now!”

From the corner of my eye, I see her flop down into the seat like a rag doll, her eyes tightly shut.

One. I see the driver react, yanking the steering wheel a hard right.

It’s too late, the collision is brutal and Mia is back up, screaming again, but I’d timed it exactly right and caught them at their back bumper, causing them to spin into the path of the oncoming SUV.

Even as the two vehicles are still slowing to a stop, I hit the gas, accessing the damage to the front. Crumpled, but not nearly as bad as I’d feared. Engine doesn’t seem impaired any more than it originally was, maybe a little louder when I punch the pedal.

The biggest problem I see, or hear rather, is the screech of the bumper being dragged underneath, sparks flying out behind us.

“Hold on!”

I smile as she goes all rag doll on me again. Not exactly what I was requesting, but it will work. I jump a curb and feel the bumper break loose. A quick look in the rearview confirms that I lost it.

“All clear,” I say and she raises up, looking around.

“Did we lose them?” she asks.

“For the moment, but we’ve got to hide. They’ll be after us again. We only have a few seconds head start.”

“What are we going to do?” Her voice is shaky, but she’s holding it together pretty well. Damn. I still don’t know if she’s playing me. Is she truly an innocent woman trying to be brave? Or a well-trained spy acting being scared? It pisses me off that I can’t be certain.

“We’ve got to get off the road, then I need to make a call.”

Taking a left, I head toward another industrial section I’m familiar with. Lots of places to get lost, hide the truck for a while. I take another left and see the empty warehouses up ahead. Checking my rearview, I don’t see anyone even in the farthest distance. I turn behind the closest building, needing to get off the road before that changes anytime soon. Jumping two more curbs, I’m out of sight but keep heading deeper, weaving between the enormous buildings until I find one near the rear that seems as good as any.

Throwing the truck in park, I open my door, then think better of it. Tossing Mia a little glare, I turn off the engine and pocket the keys before pushing open a cargo door that is already open a couple feet.

Back in the truck, I start it again, and pull into the cavernous building. Parking in the shadows, I turn it off and run back to the large door, closing it completely this time.

Inside, it’s dark and completely silent except for the clicking of the truck’s engine as it cools. I pull out my phone to make the call I was going to make before Mia snuck the fuck off and almost got us killed. I glare at her again, but she doesn’t see me this time. She’s going through a tiny first aid kit she found somewhere in the truck.

Pressing the speed dial to my boss’s direct line, I take several steps away, but keep an eye on the woman inside. The call goes straight to voice mail. I punch the number again. Voice mail. Strange.

Going to contacts, I pull up his assistant’s number, but nothing but voice mail as well. Frowning now, I tap back to contacts and find the main number of our division. I tap “call” and wait.

“State your purpose.”

Whoa. I’m momentarily taken off guard by the abruptness of the operator but have no time to process the directive before it’s issued again. “State your purpose.”

“Agent Jaxson Hawthorne seeking John Stephens.”

“One moment.”

Before I can say anything else, I’m placed on hold. I watch Mia unwrap the sock, grimace, and begin smearing antibiotic ointment into her foot.

“Your phone’s secure, Agent Hawthorne. Transferring you to E.D. Haun.”

The hair prickles the back of my neck. What the hell is going on?

“E.D. Haun speaking, report current location and status,” the brusk voice practically shouts over the line.

“Currently in a Sacramento warehouse, sir, hiding from unknowns. Request extraction immediately.”

“Wish I could do that, son. You haven’t heard?”

My balls tighten. “Heard what, sir?”

“Car bomb took out John Stephens, Michelle Harmon, J.C. Dyer, and Rich Edwards. North California division is in rubble. Sending reinforcements, but for the moment, you’re on your own.”

I can’t believe it. John. Michelle. Two other friends. Gone. It’s a knife to the gut.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck is right, Agent Hawthorne. Coordinating car bombs also went off in numerous American Embassies around the world. One also went off outside the gates of the White House and at Langley. No fatalities at Langley. Seven tourists killed in D.C., International flights are cancelled. Hell, son, the world has officially closed.”

The hair raises on my arms. “When did it happen, sir?” I ask him and press the heel of my hand to my temple, then pick up a brick and hurl it as far as I can.

“One hour and fifty-one minutes ago.”

I look at my watch. Almost the exact time I received my orders.

“Suggestions for rendezvous, sir.”

There’s a long pause, then, “Will make contact with coordinates as soon as we can.”

Damn.

“Will be on standby, sir.”

Silence. The call had disconnected. Seems the Central Intelligence Agency has more important issues to handle than me.

Mia yelps when I yank her door open. “We’ve got to go.”

“Where?”

Awesome question. Too bad I don’t have an answer for her right now. “Anywhere but here. How’s the foot?”

She lifts a shoulder. “Could be worse.”

Helping her out, I reach into the club cab of the old ’72. Damn, she’s a beauty. I hate like hell I screwed her up. I haul out the bag, then double check that I didn’t miss anything.

“Your prints on file?” I ask her and she looks at me blankly. “Your fingerprints. Are they on file? Have you ever been fingerprinted for anything?”

“I-I was a substitute teacher and I had to be printed then. Is that what you mean?”

I fucking hate that I believe her.

“Any alcohol wipes in the kit?” I ask and take the few she gives me. I swab down the dash and handle, anything she might have touched. My prints aren’t on file. At least not where most people can access them.

When I’ve done all I can with my available tools, I grab her hand and the bag. “Let’s go.” I slow my stride when I notice her limping, much more noticeably than before.

“Go where?”

“I have an ex-army buddy who used to live in this area. If I’m not mistaken, we’re less than a mile or so from his place.”

“Can we call him? Have him pick us up?” she asks, a perfectly reasonable question given her foot.

I shake my head and open a side door of the warehouse, looking and listening closely for any traffic. “Don’t want to cause him any trouble, no electronic trail to his place.”

“Oh.”

She looks disappointed and I don’t blame her. “Just a mile, then I’ll clean your foot properly and you can get some rest.”

Pulling her behind me, we cross the road and climb an embankment, heading for the cover of some trees. In the distance, tires squeal, then another set. Damn. Mia turns frightened eyes to me.

“Hang on.”

I haul her up and over my shoulder. She doesn’t make a sound, just holds on, her face pressed to my lower back. I climb the hill and race toward the nearest tree, getting behind it just as the first black SUV appears a few streets away.

They tracked us, I realize as I put Mia on her feet. They aren’t searching randomly. They’ve pinned our location and are heading directly toward us.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Give me your phone.”

Even as she digs in the bag, I throw mine as far as I can. Seconds later, I’m throwing hers, watching it clang on top of the warehouse, skittering even farther than mine.

Damn. There went my communication and signal for pickup.

“Let’s go.”

Taking her hand again, I run, pulling her as fast as her limp will allow. I don’t look back. There’s no use. We’re on our own.

Chapter 12 – Mia

From top to toe, my body is screaming at me to slow down, but I know I can’t. I’m already slowing us down too much and I can tell from Jax’s expression that he’s worried. Very worried.

“How much more?” I ask, panting the words.

His fingers tighten on mine and he stops, looking around. “I remember that blue house with all the pink flamingos in the yard. If I’m not mistaken, he’s the next street over and four, maybe five houses down.”

He takes off again and I limp-run behind him, turning down the next street.

“There it is.” There’s excitement in his voice now. “Hope like hell he still lives here.”

“What? Hope?” I don’t have the breath to utter anything more.

Walking up to the door of a tiny saltbox of a house, Jax knocks while I stand at the bottom of the steps. There’s a small garage on the side and through the glass window, I see what looks like a Jeep. Jax knocks again, harder this time and the door opens.

“What the hell do you…” comes a booming voice, then, “Jax! Holy shit, man. Last person I expected at my front door.”

There’s a round of man hugs and back slapping, before the man catches sight of me. He frowns as he eyes me down to my bare toes and back up again. He turns back to Jax. “You in trouble, man?”

Jax slaps him on the back again, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, and hate like hell to bring it to your door, but we need a hideout for a few hours.”

“Shit, man. Come in. Whatever you need, just tell me.”

Jax waves me inside and introduces me to Dave Dryer. “One of my Ranger buddies from way back. Dave, this is Mia Hewitt, she’s under my … protection.”

The last word comes out almost as a question, making me wonder what he almost said instead.

“This have anything to do with all the car bombs that are taking over the channels?” Dave asks and Jax nods as I gape at them both. Car bombs? With an “s?” As in more than one? What are they talking about?

Before I can ask, Jax says, “Just learned about the basics myself. Can’t get an extraction until things settle. Any suspects yet?”

Dave shakes his head and guides us toward the kitchen. “Nada. Nothing they’re releasing anyway. Police scanners not giving any details either.” He points toward some chairs. “Have a seat. You both look thirsty as hell. Beer, water, soda. What do you want?”

We both ask for water and I gulp mine down. Dave says nothing to me, just hands me another bottle. I sip more slowly this time.

“Dave was a medic back in the day,” Jax tells me and looks up at his friend. “She stepped on glass, has some bruised up ribs, a few other injuries. Do you have some supplies I can use?”

“Hell, yeah. Old habits die hard. I practically have a pharmacy in the bathroom. Whatever else you need, I’ll run out and grab it.” He looks at me, his eyes flicking down to my feet. “Looks like shoes are on top of the list.”

I smile at him gratefully. “Yes, shoes would be wonderful. May I use your bathroom?”

Dave jumps up. “This way.”

Shutting myself inside, I lean on the door, almost too tired now to go the extra few feet to the toilet. When my bladder protests, I limp over and take a seat. After I pee, I wash my hands, then my face, inspecting the cuts there and dig a small piece of concrete from my cheek. I let the cold water run over the scrapes on my hands, wishing I could do the same for my knees. I look down at my trousers and grimace at the holes there.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I follow the murmur of voices back to the kitchen. “Anything about Sacramento Bank and Trust?” I hear Jax ask, then an answer from Dave I can’t quite hear. “What about the murder of a woman, last name Hewitt?”

My heart squeezes in my chest; the words are like a physical blow. For the past hour or so, I haven’t even thought about my mom. Terrible. She died today and I’m crying over a cut more than crying over her. And there is no time to mourn now, I’ll have to do that later. Much later.

Dave is speaking. “Nothing but the attacks on the news right now. I’ll put ears on the scanner for the other.”

“Be listening for two fugitives too.”

“Shit, man. Those two fugitives being you and the girl? What are you in to?”

“Not sure, but it’s bad and I don’t think the explosion at home office is a coincidence.”

There’s a scrape of a chair and I step closer to the door, listening intently. “How’s the girl connected?” Dave asks.

“Don’t know, man. Can’t pin her. Not sure what to believe. Not sure which side she’s playing.”

I take another step and the wood groans beneath my foot. “I hear you, Mia,” Jax says, and I exhale, scowling at the open door. “Come let me check your cut.”

Chin raised, I walk into the kitchen with as much dignity as I can muster and plop back down in a chair. Dave is running water in a large bowl, pouring Epson salts in, swirling them around. When he’s finished, he sets it in front of me. Lifting my foot, he removes the bandage and inspects the wound.

“Needs stitches, but I better not close it up completely in case of infection. We’ll soak it and use butterflies and a bandage. While it soaks, I’ll run to the store and get you some clothes, shoes, whatever else you two need.” He grabs a pen. “What are your sizes?”

I sink both of my feet into the warm water and take the pen and paper from him, writing everything down. “Thank you,” I say when I hand it back.

“No problem. Jax is my man here, saved my ass more than once.”

I smile up at him. “Well, thank you for saving mine. The salt water is already making a difference.”

Jax steps over to my bag and pulls out the box. I open my mouth to protest, then think better of it. He digs to the bottom and pulls out several hundred dollar bills. “Use this,” he tells Dave, even while Dave tries to protest. He shoves it into his hand. “Use it. Clothes. Shoes. Toothbrushes. Shit like that. Then I’ll hit up Craig’s List, see if I can find some wheels for cash. Might need your help later making the trade. Going to head to a safe house for the night.”