Cheyenne McCray - Point Blank (Lawmen Book 4) (33 page)

“Yep.” Trace studied the stacks of crates. “We’ve got him on the drugs. Now we just need proof of murder.”

“I think we need to take a closer look around the warehouse.” Brooks’s muscles were as tight as bowstrings. “Something here will tell us where he is.”

Brooks’s phone vibrated in its holster and he cursed beneath his breath. In the adrenaline-fueled raid, he’d forgotten about the call that had come in at an inopportune time.

When he checked the display his skin prickled. Maybe Jase had good news and had spoken to Natasha at the store.

“How is Natasha?” Brooks asked when he answered the phone.

As Jase spoke, Brooks’s skin went cold. “She didn’t answer when I knocked on the back door. I let myself in and searched the store.”

Brooks held back a dozen curses. “Find anything?”

“No.” Jase sounded like he was trying to remain calm. “I searched the parking lots up the hill, and the one on the other side of Main Street. No sign of a yellow Beetle.”

“Call Sofia and let her know.” Brooks clenched the phone. “She’ll take it from there. In the meantime, we’re at Okle’s warehouse. You might want to join us.”

“I’m headed back to my truck now.”

Heart pounding like it was going to explode, Brooks jammed his phone into its holster, unable to get out another word.

“Natasha’s missing?” Trace’s expression had gone livid.

Brooks clenched and unclenched his fists. “She might have gone after Okle herself. She has a gun.”

Trace looked like he was going to explode with rage, mirroring the way Brooks felt. “Where the hell did she get a gun?”

Brooks dragged his hand down his face. “I gave it to her.”

Trace wore an incredulous expression. “You gave her a goddamned gun?”

“Fuck.”
Brooks slammed his fist against one of the wood crates, barely noticing the pain radiating from his knuckles up his arm.

“Brooks. Trace.” Landon spoke in a calm but deadly tone. “Turn around slowly.”

Both men turned to see Selena with a gun to the head of one of their forensics experts, Jack. The man had come in with a team of experts after the agents had cleared the building.

Selena tipped her head to the side. “Well, isn’t this going to be quite the party?”

Ice formed in Brooks’s veins. His fingers itched to un-holster his Walther and kill the bitch.

Shit.
Dylan’s theory, that Selena might be a hired assassin for Okle, seemed to be right on the mark.

“Slowly raise your hands and lace your fingers on top of your head.” Her voice was firm and calm, no trace of fear.

She made a gesture with her head, nodding toward the center of the warehouse, where they were surrounded on one side by the crates.

Eight men with automatic weapons came from the opposite side of the crates. They walked into the area, each man holding a forensics expert or agent hostage in front of them.

“Have the agents kneel.” Selena nodded toward the center of the area. “Facing the four standing in front of us. Do not execute your hostage until I tell you.”

A chill rolled through Brooks.

The men, every one of them with a weapon, obeyed—each prepared to kill his hostage.

“Don’t do this, Selena,” Brooks said in a calm tone.

She ignored his words. When her men faced away from her, Selena kept a gun trained on Jack with one hand while reaching beneath the soft fabric of her flowing jacket with the other. She pulled something out that looked like a wallet. She held it up and let it fall open so that Brooks and the other three agents could see a badge glinting under the warehouse lights.

Stunned, Brooks started to unlace his fingers. Thoughts flew through his mind. Selena was a UCA? If that badge was real, what agency was she undercover for?

She tossed the credentials on the floor, turned her gun away from Jack’s head. She shoved him away and he scrambled across the concrete.

Selena raised the gun and aimed it at Okle’s men. “Put down your weapons and face me, boys.” She added in Spanish, “
Now
, Jaime, Rico, and Paul.
All
of you.”

Okle’s men look puzzled. They didn’t put down their guns. Instead they whipped around and saw her aiming her pistol at them. They started to swing their weapons up to fire at her.

Brooks and the other three agents with him had their weapons in their hands in seconds.

Three of Okle’s men dropped immediately from Selena’s bullets. Brooks, Landon, Trace, and Dylan finished off the five remaining men who went down before one of Okle’s men had a chance to get off a single shot.

“Holy shit.” Brooks spoke under his breath as he trained his Walther on Selena. He couldn’t accept that she was a law enforcement agent so easily. He had to make damned sure she was who she claimed to be and wasn’t playing them. Killing her men didn’t mean she was on the other side.

Trace also didn’t lower his weapon. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

Selena had set up her men. Okle’s men. She officially gave them a chance to drop their weapons. She hadn’t outright executed them, but she might as well have.

“I’m Special Agent Selena Athanas. DEA.” Selena nodded to Brooks and Trace, along with Landon and Dylan. “We don’t have time to waste. Okle has Natasha—”

A shot cracked the air.

Selena crumpled to the concrete.

Blood spread across the left side of her chest, turning her cream suit red.

~~*~~

Natasha chased Mark through the boiler room, amongst the maze of pipes and ancient equipment. Part of her couldn’t believe she had shot a man, and another part of her wished she had killed him with that one shot.

His groans and whimpers echoed, bouncing off of walls, making it hard to tell which way he had gone. Red spotted the floor in places where droplets of blood had splashed the concrete from his wound.

He sounded as though he was trying to stifle his cries through gritted teeth. She rounded a rusted black machine and saw him disappear through a door a good thirty feet away.

“No you don’t!” She doubled her speed.

The door had almost closed when she planted her hands on the surface and shoved at it. Mark shoved back from the other side. She strained with all she had and then stumbled forward through the open doorway as he stopped pushing and ran from the door. She regained her footing but couldn’t aim fast enough to shoot him again.

Thank God he hadn’t been able to lock her in. No doubt the gunshot and acid wounds had weakened him. She bolted into the warehouse.

Mark vanished around crates stacked two high. She rounded the crates in time to see him dodge to the opposite side of a forklift.

Her own acid wounds burned badly enough that tears flooded her eyes. However, it couldn’t be but a fraction of what Mark must be experiencing at this moment. The bastard deserved to have been splattered in the same acid he’d used to kill Francis. She didn’t feel one damned bit sorry for Mark.

She tried not to think about the other man who had died from being splashed by the acid. She didn’t know if his crimes were as horrible as Mark’s. Regardless, she couldn’t find it in her heart to feel any pleasure in his death.

Mark was a different story.

She gripped the Sig tighter. She was surprised how fast Mark could run with his injuries. He knew the place better than she did, though, and he moved around obstacles far quicker than she was able to.

She bolted past another stack of crates and came up behind Mark.

He stood straight and still, one arm extended, holding his gun.

She hesitated, not knowing what he was pointing at. She looked past him and saw he was aiming at Selena. The woman stood just in their line of sight, her voice loud enough to hear, but Natasha couldn’t see who she was talking to.

“I’m Special Agent Selena Athanas. DEA,” Selena was saying in a loud, clear voice and Natasha’s eyes widened. “We don’t have time to waste. Okle has Natasha—”

“You fucking bitch.” Mark squeezed the trigger and a shot rang out.

Selena collapsed to the floor.

Natasha’s heart nearly stopped beating and she wanted to scream. Instead, she aimed the Sig at Mark, who still faced away from her. Her hands trembled, her wrist on fire from the acid eating away her flesh.

She tried to pull the trigger, but no matter how hard she attempted to force herself, she couldn’t shoot him in the back.

She found a deadly calm deep within that replaced the hatred and violence inside her. “Put down your gun, you sonofabitch.”

Mark whirled, his weapon pointed at her.

Center mass.

She fired.

Pain exploded in her abdomen.

The gun slipped from her fingers and hit the concrete with a loud clatter as a wave of nausea caused bile to rise in her throat.

Slowly, she looked down and saw blood covering her right hand and more blood rapidly soaking her shirt and seeping into her jeans. She held her palm against her belly, the thought going through her mind that she must have pressed her hand to the wound instinctively after she dropped the gun.

Agonizing pain screamed through her and she couldn’t look away from the blood. So much blood.

And the pain. God, the pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life.

Dizzy, she was certain her mind would vacate her body. She stumbled to the side, trying to comprehend what had happened. Mark must have shot her at the same time she squeezed the Sig’s trigger.

Did she hit him? She hoped to God she had.

Faintly, she heard more shots before shouted orders.

Voices. They mixed together and she didn’t understand any of it.

She finally tore her gaze from her blood-soaked black shirt and her hand that was now stained red.

Her gaze rested on Mark. He lay flat on his back. Sightless eyes, wide with shock, bulged from his face that was horribly disfigured by the acid. He stared up at the warehouse rafters, as if he couldn’t believe Natasha had shot him.

Did I kill him?

She’d heard shots. Had someone else’s bullet done what hers hadn’t?

The corner of her mouth turned up, and she felt almost giddy. It didn’t matter. Her family and friends wouldn’t be harmed in any way. Christie, Trace, Jessica, Grandma and Grandpa… And Brooks. Dear God, Brooks wouldn’t be a target because of her.

Almost everyone in her life that she cared for—Mark could never hurt anyone again. But Gary. Tears squeezed from her eyes and her heart ached for him. It was her fault. If she had just made Brooks stay away, it would never have happened, because Mark would not have overheard the conversations in her home.

Funny, but all the pain she’d been feeling slipped away. She no longer felt the bullet wound in her midsection. She didn’t feel the acid burns. Instead, her body had turned icy and numb.

She shivered, now violently cold.

Her knees gave out as a blur rushed toward her.

“Natasha.”
The voice was distant, as if a man shouted at her through a roomful of wool.

“You’re going to be okay, baby,” the voice said as a man caught her and wrapped his large arms around her.
Brooks.
It was Brooks. “Stay with me,” he said, his tone urgent.

“I love you.” She smiled and faded away.

Natasha slept, looking sweet and peaceful, as if everything was good and right in the world. Brooks gripped her cool hand and his chest ached as he studied her. He’d been sitting in the hardback chair at her hospital bedside since she had come out of surgery last night. He hadn’t slept—he didn’t want her to wake alone.

Okle had shot her in the right side of her abdomen. She had been lucky, damned lucky, that none of her internal organs had been hit and the bullet had gone straight through. If it hadn’t exited, it could have caused enough damage to kill her.

The thought of losing her would have driven him to his knees if he hadn’t been sitting.

She had lost a lot of blood, but the ambulance had made it to the warehouse in time.

He looked at her small hand in his larger one. A bandage around her wrist covered a two-inch wide by three-inch long area, like a thick bracelet, where sulfuric acid had eaten away her skin. Her wrist had gotten the worst of it. Other places on her body were bandaged as well, where the acid would cause significant scarring. But it could have been worse, much worse.

Would the scars from her ordeal be worse on the outside or the inside? Would she be able to live with the fact that she had been the one to kill Okle?

The scars would be worse on the inside, no question.

Natasha had been through hell and back, but she was a strong woman with a positive outlook on life. If he knew her as well as he was certain he did, she would bounce back and move on. No doubt she would be more cautious of choosing those she wanted to work with, but she wouldn’t let her experiences with Okle dictate how she spent the rest of her life.

Being the one to kill him, though, might be a little harder to get past. Not to mention Gary’s murder.

Morphine blocked the pain of her gunshot and acid wounds, and she had drifted in and out of consciousness since she’d been transported to the hospital yesterday.

He glanced at the window, the early morning sun peeking through the blinds. He wanted her to wake so that he could say everything he hadn’t been able to, but right now rest was what she needed more than anything.

When he looked away from the window and back to Natasha, a small jolt went through him. Her eyes were open and she was watching him.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Hi, Agent Allen.”

“Hey, precious.” He squeezed her fingers. Warmth filled him as she squeezed back. “I think your Grandfather was wrong and you
should
play the lottery.”

Amusement lit her features. “And why is that?”

“I think you’ve had your share of ‘educational experiences,’ as you called them.” He rubbed his thumb over hers. “You’re due for a hell of a lot of good luck.”

“I have all the good luck I need.” She looked happy, as if nothing bad had ever happened to her. “I have you.”

He raised her hand and brushed his lips over the back. “You have every bit of me.”