Blind Rage: Team Red, Book 4 (16 page)

“Bas is coming through the garage side-door which he suspects is only a few feet away from the camera. The door won’t hit you, but it will be loud. Russ and his men will neutralize the kidnappers in the main area of the house. The drones show all three are together in the living room, so you need to move fast. Now, Teresa!”

Without warning, I lost the visual connection, which helped me concentrate on what I had to do. I rolled frantically toward, what I hoped, was right area. In my haste, I accidentally knocked over the chair. Shit! I scurried beside the bench, scraping my elbows. Ignoring the chair, I curled myself into a tight ball, making myself as small a target as possible.

“Stay there. One of the kidnappers is on his way to the garage,”
Red warned. A shuffling gait indicated Adamson drew the short straw to check on the noise. As I heard the deadbolt turn, the exterior door beside me imploded with a crash. Without warning, Red reestablished mind-sight and dashed past Bas to stand guard in front of me, straddling my huddled form. His coarse fur, familiar scent, and warmth were a comfort at odds with watching through Red’s eyes as Adamson slowly raised a pistol in our direction.

“Down, Babe!” Bas shouted as I heard an ear-shattering blast from a large handgun. There was a look of surprise on Adamson’s unmasked face as a red dot appeared on his forehead. I would have expected more blood from a head wound, I thought through some weird fugue of emotion. I watched the man’s knees buckle, exposing a large splatter of blood against the pristine white of the garage wall. Oh, there it was.

Red swiveled his gaze to Bastian, who depressed a button on a small microphone on his collar. “Rock, here. Mole secure. Asshole down and out.” The intense, angry look on his face morphed immediately to relief, as his eyes dropped down to me. Red crouched tighter, practically laying on top of me, at a disturbance near the open interior doorway to the house. Bas pivoted, raising his gun hand up immediately, but Red’s view showed Frost and Russ spilling through the opening at a run. Their eyes immediately swept the room before their shoulders relaxed and Frost assumed a guard position, his back to the blood stained wall, not saying a word and, I noted, careful to avert his eyes from my scantily clad form. Although, now I felt practically modest, attired in very relieved German shepherd.

“Banner and Grainger secured. No shots fired, although Jazz and Dex took the liberty of exorcizing a few of their anger issues. It may be a few hours before Banner awakens,” Russ smirked.

“Not sure that’s what you meant, boss, when you said ‘secure’ the prisoner,” Frost snickered, the corner of his mouth tilted up in a reluctant smile.

Russ chuckled, evilly, “It works for me. I’ll be more specific next time. My bad.”

Dexter’s face appeared over his shoulder. And there it was, the pleased, peaceful look that creeped me out before. I watched as he absentmindedly wiped blood from the blade of a K-bar knife on a rag he pulled out of his pocket.

Once again, Red swung his head toward Bas, who was now hunkered down beside me, smoothing hair away from my face. I think he’d been saying my name softly, but I hadn’t registered his voice, or his touch, until now. “I knew you’d find me,” I told him, solemnly, leaning my face into the caress of his hand.

“Always, Babe. I would never have stopped looking for you. I love you,” he replied, simply. “There was no other option.”

“Lights out, Red. Too much stimulation for now,” I explained.

My mind went blessedly black, but the image of the bloody wall was indelibly embossed against the back of my thoughts. Red nuzzled his head under my neck, taking comfort and comforting me as we leaned against each other.

“I missed you, Beautiful. Let’s not do this again, okay?”
Red whimpered against my throat.

“I’ll do my best, Red. Thanks for helping find me, they couldn’t have done it without you.”

Bas leaned over us, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’m going to carry you out to the vehicle, Babe. Are you okay with me touching you? Picking you up?”

The question puzzled me. “Of course you can pick me up, Bas.” Sensing his hesitancy, despite my assurance, my mind spun. I realized he saw everything through the camera and was likely worried I was touch-traumatized from the kidnapping and subsequent abuse. I clarified, “I trust you Bastian. I will never shy away from your hand, and always feel comforted and loved by your touch.”

I heard movement in the open doorway behind Bastian’s crouched form. “I grabbed her clothes from the vehicle,” Fritz said. “We need to get Teresa dressed and into a hot bath to warm her up. A helicopter is on its way from Fairchild to transport the prisoners. Gil, and other appropriate law enforcement personnel have been notified. Let me have your gun, Bas. You were behind the camera when you fired; I watched it on the camera feed and all that showed on video was the barrel of the pistol.” His tone changed to one of conspiratorial glee. “Must have been the blast, but strangely the feed went dead immediately after Adamson dropped, so we don’t have any visuals as you moved forward. I’ll take credit for the awesome kill shot, so you can get Teresa out of here. You won’t be bogged down in paperwork for the next two days, and I’ll be the hero.”

“Thanks man,” Bas sighed. “Take the gloves too, for forensic evidence; they’ll have gunshot residue. Gun’s registered to me, so don’t wipe it down, but make sure your handprints are all over it. We can admit I loaded it and gave you a full clip, to explain my prints over the bullets.”

“Not my first rodeo, Bas. I can handle the questions. You work on getting Teresa bundled up, then home so Doc can look her over.”

There was a shuffle of footsteps, as men split off to opposite directions to prepare for law enforcement’s arrival to the scene.

Adrenaline still strong, and with a little help from Bastian, I quickly pulled on the sweat suit and thick socks provided, not even considering lack of privacy as I dressed in front of the Mustangs. Crap, I’d been on camera, in my underwear, so there wasn’t really any mystery remaining. Bas swung me high up in his arms, carefully maneuvering us through the splintered door frame.

Footfalls crunched in the snow behind us. My head tilt probably signaled my confusion as I wondered who followed.

“Got your back,” Frost informed me, from his position to our right. Comforted, I closed my eyes and leaned my head against Bastian’s shoulder. For the first time in two days, I felt safe.

Chapter Sixteen

Bastian’s hands were shaking as he stroked them
over my hair. The familiar action more to soothe himself than me, I think. For all the intensity and fear running through him, his touch was gentle, aware of my assorted injuries, yet unable to release me. Red collapsed into sleep a few minutes after laying in the cargo area behind my seat. Bas told me he’d worked tirelessly to help find me.

“God, Babe, I never want to go through anything like that again. My heart stopped a million times over the last few days. It will be at least a month before I can let you out of my sight for more than a few minutes. I’ll go ahead and apologize in advance for my asshole-ish behavior. I’m, no doubt, going to smother you in the coming weeks. I’m sorry. Please just remember this moment, right now, and know I’m so in love with you.”

The preemptive apology was unexpected, but even more surprising was Bas made no effort to downplay his fear and emotions in front of Frost and Eddie, who was driving, since Fritz, Jaspar, and Dex stayed behind to answer questions about the shooting, and slightly damaged kidnappers. I would have expected macho stoicism from Bas, not this soft-centered persona.

“I’ll apologize in advance, too,” Frost stated.

“Yeah,” Eddie echoed from the front seat, “Me too. You’ll probably feel like you’re suffocating for a while, Teresa. We all had a huge scare. You were snatched right off the property. Broad daylight. Twenty trained security specialists not a half mile from your location. Not only are we kicking ourselves for dropping the ball, we genuinely like you. You’re one of us, so we took it personally. We all lost a little piece of ourselves when you were taken.”

“My fault. I left the property.” I turned my face up to Bastian’s. “My last thought before they plopped me over a snowmobile was how mad you’d be. Lured away by a dead deer. Geez, I felt like an idiot.”

“There were three dead deer around the property. They’d covered their bases, familiar enough with your daily routine to place the carcasses where you’d be sure to stumble across at least one of them. Quentin and Jose were watching the monitors. They were ready to sound the alarm when you didn’t reappear right away on the other side of the gully. We were already suited up as soon as your first boot came flying into camera range. Fast thinking, Babe.”

“Russ was pissed we didn’t have snowmobiles. Couldn’t follow over the terrain.” Eddie divulged.

I smiled against Bas’ neck as I settled back under his jaw. “Bet you have a few now.”

“Shipment arrives Tuesday. Leased six ‘til then,” Frost informed me.

I inhaled the clean cinnamon scent that clung to the man in my arms. “I’m sorry, too, Bas. You killed a man because of me.”

“I’m a solider, Babe. Not the first time I’ve killed, but probably the first time I’ve felt satisfaction. Adamson was a dead man walking; he committed suicide the first time he laid a violent hand on you, I simply provided the bullet.” He sounded calm and resolute. He believed it was a righteous kill, and would probably feel no remorse. That was both sad and relief.

“What happened to Grainger and Banner? And how did you guys know who was who?”

“The ‘who’ was easy,” Eddie laughed, “after all, our Mole practically handed us the info we needed to make an identification. Ted Adamson’s size, and the length of his rap sheet, made him the first guy we figured out. Erik Grainger could have been a problem, but he used his real name on the snowmobile rental paperwork. A rookie move.”

Frost seamlessly picked up the explanation. “Cory Bannerman was hardest. Didn’t have full name. Rose, from SD, performed computer magic. Pinned down three likely profiles. Knowing the guy was ‘nto knives narrowed it to Bannerman. Saw the skinny body on camera, even wit’ balaclavas, couldn’t disguise who he was.”

I felt Bas shaking his head in disbelief, mumbling, “Amateurs,” under his breath.

“The guy’s five-foot-four, but he only weighs about ninety-five pounds. Has a lethal reputation with those knives, though,” Eddie imparted. “Well, he did anyway. Not only did Dexter slice and dice the major tendons in both his hands, he pinned Bannerman’s dominant wrist, a la crucifixion, to the floor. That dude will be lucky if he has the strength to use a butter knife in the future.”

I flinched at the mental image… until I remembered he’d wanted to skin Red. Suddenly, I got the joke. When Russ instructed the guys to ‘secure the prisoners,’ I’m sure he hadn’t meant to the floor. Dex was still on track as my second-favorite guard.

“Grainger is sporting a couple black eyes, and a few cracked ribs. Jazz went easy on him, because he stepped up and prevented Adamson from hurting you more than he did,” Eddie continued, gleefully cataloging their revenge on my behalf.

Bastian found his voice. “Frost was in charge of taking down Adamson. It was a fluke he was the one who came to check on you in the garage. My breathing all but stopped when the chair tipped over and Brain informed us one of the kidnappers was heading your way.”

“Fritz is in heaven with bragging rights. He’ll embellish the hell out of the story about how he single-handedly, with a carefully aimed bullet, brought down the asshole. You should never have handed over your gun, Bastian. That’s a story which will grow more incredulous with the telling,” Eddie moaned.

“He’s seriously going to invent stories about a shooting he didn’t do?” I couldn’t help it, I was chuckling over the absurdity.

“If he’s gonna take the blame, least we can do is let him invent a great story to share,” Eddie reasoned.

“Military’ll handle ‘em now. Tried to steal government secrets. Colonel Spencer’s talkin’ treason and terrorism. Incarcerated for life,” Frost pointed out. “Good day’s work.”

Bas was nodding in agreement. He hugged me a little closer, still wary of hurting me further. “We’re almost at the house, we’ll have Russ’ medic, Doc Pettifer, look you over. You’ll probably need an IV to replace fluids, he’ll draw blood, and make sure you don’t have any broken bones or other concerns. He’s also a shrink, so he will offer to listen if you need to talk. Doc is a good man, and anything you say will be between you two, okay?”

A shrink? Am I acting crazy? Let’s see how they do being frozen and no coffee for days. There was a moment of shame, as I realized these ex-soldiers had probably endured worse. “I just want to sleep, Bas,” I protested. Okay, whined. Sheesh, where’d my pride go?

“We’ll be able to rest afterward, Babe, but the physical exam is important. We will want to debrief you before the military does. There may be a few helpful suggestions on what to disclose, and what to not volunteer, to the official record. The colonel will send a team to get your statement, but we’ll have our people present also. You won’t be alone, I promise.”

Bas wrapped his arms protectively around my body, as I let the rolling vibration of the vehicle lull me to sleep.

****************

“Hello, Miss March. I’m Jim, Doctor James Pettifer. I double as the medic and psychologist for the Wild Horse crew. I would like to do a physical exam to document your injuries and assess the possible need to take you to a hospital; which is my recommendation, by the way. You really should have your kidnapping properly recorded with the police. Not to mention there are a full range of tests I’d like done, and I would prefer to get an MRI of your spine. After watching the tapes, and seeing the stress on your body from some of the kicks you received, I’d feel better knowing there is no internal damage or broken bones.”

Jim Pettifer has a mellow, calming, grandfatherly voice. I placed him in his sixties, although, without Red’s vision sharing or outright asking him, I couldn’t be sure. “Are you actually on Russ’ payroll? I hadn’t realized he had a doctor or psychiatrist on staff,” I said, trying to divert his attention from talk of hospitals and tests.

“I’m a psychologist.” he clarified, or maybe not—I thought they were the same thing.

“Psychiatrist. Psychologist. What’s the difference?” I asked.

“Short answer? A psychiatrist is a guy who goes to medical school, then probably does a residency in a mental health field. Psychiatrists are more likely to go into research, or focus on treating symptoms. I’m doctor, my specialty is internal medicine. When I was a military physician, I found myself interested in the emotional problems soldiers were experiencing with wartime trauma, so I went back to school and added a few more letters to the end of my name. Generally, psychologists are more focused on the behavior and mindset of patients.”

“I suppose I never really thought about the differences. I knew that one could prescribe medications, and the other couldn’t, but I never considered the reasons.”

“Technically, since I’m also an MD, I could prescribe, but I defer my psychology patients who need meds to psychiatrists, as they are in a better position to fine-tune the dosages. Now, back to the original issue. Hospital. Tests. Highly recommended.”

Obviously, the man was not easily distracted. I knew my grin was probably rueful, “I’d rather not. Gil and another officer are coming by to take a police statement. The military is sending someone to get a statement for Uncle Sam. I’m okay with you checking me over, but I don’t want to go through a barrage of tests unless I have to. Right now, I want a hot bath and then sleep, and I’m so friggin thirsty, but Bas won’t let me drink anything yet.”

“Bastian, and your friend Janey, are outside your bedroom, in the hallway. They want to be present when I do the exam. I told them it would be up to you. Parts of the examination may be somewhat intimate, but we can kick them out when you get to a point it’s uncomfortable to have them here.”

“I love Janey like a sister, Jim. She has a great head in a crisis, but in the aftermath, like now, she’ll fall apart if the bruising looks as bad as it feels. Maybe we can distract her with a trip to the store for Epsom salts or something? To answer an unasked question, I wasn’t sexually assaulted, so a rape kit won’t be necessary. There shouldn’t be any part of the exam Bas can’t sit in on.” I knew he’d be anxious. Bas wouldn’t be mollified until he saw for himself I was going to be fine. “I’d like my dog, Red, and Bastian with me.”

“Yeah, about the dog. Russ gave me some crazy story about this bond you have with your pet, but I’d prefer not to have him present when I’m wielding needles. I don’t want him jumping up on you at a critical moment when I’m trying to insert an IV,” Jim hedged. Ah, a disbeliever. Because he was here in the capacity of psychologist, as well as medical doctor, Bas explained in the car, he’d been given full disclosure regarding my mental link with Red.

Boy was the doctor in for a surprise. “I hear the disbelief in your voice. Bas told me one of the guys explained the mind-speak and mind-sight to you already, so the only way you’ll believe is if you see us together. I want to see what’s going on during the exam, which can only be accomplished through Red. Suck it up Jim, I’m standing firm on this.”

The tension in the room spoke eloquently of the reluctance practically oozing from his pores. I had to smile. Oh, ye of little faith.

Predictably, it about five minutes before Red and I convinced the good doctor we weren’t a novelty act. Show and tell finally over, Red sat on a chair Bas pulled closer to the bed, so I could observe the proceedings.

Through Red’s sight, I abstractedly watched the doctor detail and photograph a hodge-podge of colorful bruises—two cracked ribs appeared to be the worst, and most painful, damage. My face was swollen from Adamson’s fists, but it was a dull throbbing on top of overall body aches. I refused a pelvic exam, insisting once again, I’d not been raped. Bas’ assurances regarding my honesty appeased the doctor, somewhat. I didn’t take his doubt personally; pretty certain it was his scientific nature to seek physical confirmation. His white-grey brows were beetled into worried furrows as he alternately spoke into a mini-recorder, positioned me for a picture, and made notations in a file laid on my nightstand. As his voice suggested, the doctor was in his mid-sixties. Reed-thin, with papery skin and stooped shoulders, Dr. Jim Pettifer looked like a strong wind could pick him up and carry him away.

After Jim finished poking and prodding (no, Jim, that spot didn’t hurt until you jabbed it with your index finger), he allowed me to change into my fleece pajamas. Unreasonably exhausted from the exam, I decided to forego a bath in favor of snuggling under a mound of blankets. A testament to my pain and heavy fatigue, I didn’t protest when Bastian insisted on helping me change. His touch was so tender as he guided my arm through a sleeve. Red’s view included his eyes, pain-filled with empathy, as I struggled to lift my knee high enough for the pant leg. More than my own upset, it broke my heart to see how these past two days had worn him down to shadowed eyes, and somber features.