Colorado Hitch (12 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Tucker felt like he’d been hit by a car. Standing had never hurt so much, and his head… what the heck was that? He stumbled around the car, pain filling his body as he moved. Mike was there, his brows bunched. Tucker grabbed Mike’s arm and he realized that even his hands hurt. “Where’s Davis?”

“Fuck, that fucking hurt.” Mike groaned.

Tucker squinted, wondering if Mike had actually answered him. His head still rang like a bell. “Where is Davis?”

Mike shook his head, his brows pulled together and his eyes narrowed. “Davis, um, he went—fuck, that hurt. He went around to the back.”

“We need him. The cops will be here soon. We have to find Davis.”

Mike closed his eyes then opened them, his gaze clouded with pain. “I’ll go get him.”

“Hey, Mike, do you think he’s… fuck, let’s just go grab him.” Tucker looked at the house, seeing flames lick out of the blown windows. If Davis was dead, it would kill Duff. Hell, it would hurt more than Duff; it would hurt them all.

He followed Mike around the side of the house, giving the flames and the heat that licked out of the huge gaping holes where the windows had been a wide berth. The damage was massive because the windows on this side had blown out, shredding the bushes. Davis wasn’t anywhere to be found amongst the mess of glass and limbs that mixed with chunks of the house. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad Davis wasn’t lying in a pool of blood after being eviscerated by the jagged shards littering the ground. He and Mike rounded the house and saw Davis hiding behind a brick wall separating the patio from the yard, not a scratch on him.

“Come on,” Tucker said.

Davis stood and shook his head, putting his finger in his ear then pulling it out. “Fuck, can’t hear.”

Tucker waved him over. The sirens were getting closer, and they had to get out of there. He and Mike helped Davis around the house and into the car. Tucker slid into the driver’s seat, ribs aching, body feeling abused as he moved to start the engine. When he turned to back out of the driveway, his side erupted in pain.

They were cutting their escape close. Luck was on their side. Few of the neighbors had come outside to see what had happened. Thankfully, no one stopped them or took their picture. They would need to change their look, their hair, everything. They were fucked. None of them had expected to be met with a bomb.

Just as he turned down a side street, he saw the first of the flashing lights behind them. Tucker glanced to Mike and saw red spreading down his shirt. They needed to find a place to stop for a few hours, so he could administer some first aid.

“How bad is it?” Tucker asked.

“What?” Davis yelled.

He rolled his eyes and tapped Mike on the arm. “Tell me.”

“Not bad. It’s—fuck, we need to stop.”

Tucker drew in a slow breath and nodded. He was lost but figured out quickly that he was driving towards the ocean instead of away. Down the street, he could make out a coral-covered building that looked like a motel. He needed a win, and that place looked like it fit the bill for run down enough for them to hide but not seedy enough to be dangerous.

He pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine. “Stay with Mike,” he yelled at Davis.

“Okay.” The word was delivered earnestly but way too loud.

Once they were inside the room, he would have to emphasize inside voice to Davis. The man working the front desk didn’t ask for much. The money handed over—twice the normal rate—was enough to get him a room at the back of the building without having to prove his name by showing a driver’s license. He drove the car around back and parked, scoping out the area before opening the door. He ran around the front of the car, and helped Mike out. Davis was there, gathering all of their things and bringing them inside.

Once the door was closed, Davis tapped him on the shoulder. “I’m headed out—”

“Shh,” Tucker lifted a finger to his mouth.

Davis’s eyes went wide. “Sorry, I’m going to wipe the car,” he said with a much quieter voice.

He nodded and turned his attention to Mike. “I’ve got to get a good look.”

“Go for it.” Mike tried to lift his arms but he gasped and froze.

Tucker lifted Mike’s shirt and shook his head. “There’s a bit of glass. You’re going to have to have this looked at later. I can get out most of it, but I’m going to need help. Let me get everything situated. Once Davis gets back in here, I’ll cut you out of this shirt and clean the wound.”

“You’ll need to do stitches.”

“I hate this,” Tucker said.

Mike grimaced and closed his eyes. “Have you called in?”

“No, not yet.” He needed to call in but he really had to stop the bleeding, and calling Wild Bluff could wait. The door opened, and he waved Davis over. “I need you to assist me.”

“Great, sounds good.” Davis locked the door, securing the chain latch before moving closer.

“Go wash your hands. I’m going to do the same after I get our medical pack out of the bag.”

Tucker found the pack while Davis was in the bathroom. He turned and stared at Mike. “I suck at stitches.”

“I suck worse at bleeding. Just fucking stitch me up,” Mike said.

“Let me wash.”

Davis came out of the bathroom and Tucker went in, finishing quickly at the sink. Once done, he moved into the bedroom and drew in a deep breath.

“You ready?” Mike asked.

Tucker nodded, a sick feeling turning his stomach. “Davis, I need you to turn on the light on your phone and shine it on the gash. I have to remove all of the debris in his side.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Davis said.

After Tucker cut Mike out of his shirt, he picked up the tweezers and used them to remove a huge shard of glass. There were a few smaller pieces and some of Mike’s shirt threads in the wound. He thought he was done until Davis moved the light, illuminating a small shard of glass.

“Fuck, Mike, you sure as hell caught that glass.” He removed another piece then moved his head, squinting as he looked around. “I think I have it all. Like I said, we might need to open you up once we get home.”

“Hell, I won’t let you do it. I’ll get Zander or maybe Grant to do it before I let you back inside me.” Mike chuckled but his voice sounded hollow, lacking the fun nature that was all Mike.

“I don’t see any more,” Davis said.

“Time for some alcohol.” Tucker uncapped the small bottle from their pack and poured it over the wound.

“Fucking shit,” Mike howled.

Tucker searched the wound for more glass. Not seeing any, he poured the rest of the bottle of alcohol on Mike’s side, wincing as Mike flinched.

“You fucking bastard. If I didn’t think of you as a brother, I’d fucking kill you right now,” Mike growled.

“You’ll live.”

Tucker used the needle to run the first thread through Mike’s skin. He hated doing this, but a butterfly Band-Aid wouldn’t hold the skin together. The stitches he made were small and evenly spaced as he tried to leave as little of a pucker in the skin as possible yet stitch it well. It took another five minutes to finish closing the wound. Mike cursed and threatened revenge. When he was done, Tucker stepped back, and Mike closed his eyes. Davis grabbed the blood-soaked rags and dumped them in a plastic bag. They would dispose of them somewhere else.

“Get some sleep.” Tucker hoped Mike would eventually pass out from the pain or exhaustion. They needed time to regroup and figure this shit out. He caught Davis’s gaze and nodded his head toward the bathroom. Davis followed him in, shutting the door behind them.

“Hey, what’s your plan?” Davis was all business, like he dealt with this stuff on a daily basis, and Tucker guessed he had as a CIA operative.

“We need to get a new vehicle. I don’t want to boost it—that would cause too much trouble.” Tucker brought his thumb up to his lips and started chewing on a hangnail.

“I’ve got an idea,” Davis said.

“Go ahead.” Tucker hoped it was something they could act on soon. Mike probably needed antibiotics. Fuck, this Craig shit, it was too much. The man had caused them so many problems. Hell, Marshal had lost so much. His life had forever changed because of that fucker. Grant had been taken advantage of and literally screwed over. Davis had almost been killed because of Craig. The bastard had affected everyone at Wild Bluff, hell, he’d run James off. Tucker wouldn’t let Mike suffer more because Craig had hated them.

“Let’s take a boat, head south, then we’ll dock somewhere off the beaten path and head to an airport. They won’t expect us to go by water.”

Tucker shook his head. “Mike needs antibiotics soon. A boat could take too long. We can’t leave a trail, and if we rent, they’ll want documentation.”

“There are always boats that are abandoned. I’ll go get antibiotics for Mike,” Davis said.

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll fake a prescription. I’ve done it before. It’s not hard. No one is going to think twice about a little prescription for antibiotics. I just need a printer.”

“Okay, just… let me call in and see what’s going on.”

Davis nodded and opened the bathroom door. “I’m going to work on getting a script for medicine for Mike. Even if the boat angle is a bust, we’ll have medicine for him to take.”

“Okay, you do that. I’ll be talking to Marshal and Grant. Once I have a better picture of what’s going on, we’ll decide on a method of transportation. One thing is for sure, we drew too much attention to us at Daphne’s house. Thank God we have these disguises.”

“Exactly. You work on your angle, and I’ll do mine. And Tucker, I’m glad I’m doing this mission with you and Mike. This woman set me up and tried to kill me, this is a huge dose of closure for me.”

Tucker nodded, his mind spinning back to how many problems Craig had caused. He was glad the man was dead. He only wished his reach didn’t extend beyond the grave.

*~*~*

Ryan’s heart stilled at the mention of Davis. What the fuck had happened that they couldn’t find Davis? He waited a few seconds but Marshal didn’t say anything else.

With his heart racing, he stood and got Marshal’s attention. “What? What did he say?”

“We need to listen to the scanners and find out if there is any mention of them. Also, you need to delete any traffic videos of them coming to or leaving the area near Daphne’s house.”

Ryan closed his eyes and counted to five before he sat down and began working. Davis was missing, and the house had blown. He could see the smoke on the traffic cameras in the area and it was getting worse.

He listened to the police scanners from Florida, hearing talk about the fire, but nothing about the guys or what had happened. A police car had arrived on the scene but hadn’t found anyone nearby. Ryan breathed out a sigh of relief and began scanning the traffic cameras in earnest. As he was looking around at the batch of recordings, he saw a video of the car the men had been driving entering the area where Daphne lived. Ryan erased it without a second thought. He backtracked through the traffic camera recordings, following the path the team would have taken as he listened to the scanner, hoping he didn’t hear mention of their men but wishing he would, just so he knew Davis was alive.

After five minutes, he’d deleted all of the videos of the guys driving into the area. He then moved to looking at videos of them leaving. After another two minutes of searching, he caught sight of the back of the car on a traffic camera. He deleted the video. Following where he thought the car would show up next, he pulled up another stream of video, holding his breath as he watched, waiting to see Davis.

Five seconds passed, then ten, then a full minute. He must have misjudged where they would head. Ryan pulled up another traffic camera feed and watched, praying that he’d see their car. The seconds ticked by slowly. He was going to strike out again. Anger began growing as desperation ticked higher. That’s when he saw the car come on screen. Tucker and Mike were in the front seat. He blinked at the screen, hoping that the thing he saw in the backseat wasn’t just bags. He couldn’t make out Davis from the angle of the camera and the position of the car.

“Fuck,” he growled, his anger spiking.

Grant came close, interrupting him. “Ryan, I need you to search for traffic camera feeds of the team in Maryland. The cops are looking for their van in association with an explosion.”

“Crap, I’ve been going through the feeds in Florida. So far, I’ve deleted any sightings of the guys leading up to Daphne’s house. I’ve started on them leaving and found two. I’m deleting them, but I can’t catch sight of Davis.” He stared at the computer, searching for another sighting because he really needed to know if Davis was alive.

“Ryan, look at me.” Grant’s voice was even but full of power.

He glanced up, worry filling him. “Yes, sir.”

“Look for the team in Maryland first. That’s priority number one. I’ll get Marshal to search from where you dropped off on the Florida cameras.”

Ryan turned and looked at the floor, trying to refocus. He knew getting emotional would cause him to make mistakes. After he drew in a calming breath, he nodded then turned his focus to the traffic cameras in the Maryland area. It didn’t take him long to find the recordings of their guys and where they’d traveled. Deleting the files was easy, and he didn’t have issues tracking them like he'd had with the Florida crew.