Deadly Little Lies (33 page)

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Authors: Jeanne Adams

BOOK: Deadly Little Lies
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“You.” The barrel lifted away, to gesture at one of the armed men. “Todd, go see what that's about.”
“Yessir.”
Another of their guards left. Dav flicked the barest glance at Gates. His friend was frowning and resolutely not looking at any of his team. Dav managed to count them.
Not enough. As his gaze passed over Callahan, he smiled at the fiery woman. She looked mutinous, but was holding steady. He recognized the others as well, but couldn't find all their names in his bleary brain. He managed to catch each of their gazes, however, give them a tiny nod and a smile.
They were there for him. How sad. And how strong.
There was another sound outside, but they heard someone call out, “All clear.”
“About time,” Dav's uncle declared, twitching the barrel of the gun back under Dav's chin so that his head bobbed a bit with the forceful shift. “Now, to business, young Davros.”
His open hand cracked forcefully into Dav's cheek, rocking his head to the side and wrenching his neck. A fresh wave of sweat, pain and nausea exploded within him as every nerve registered the pain and echoed it in a thousand sensory shouts.
“Ms. McCray.” He distantly heard the hated voice addressing Carrie. He had to concentrate. He had to save Carrie. He loved Carrie, and that was very important for some reason. More important than anything. “I'm sorry, but you are being very uncooperative. It is a shame to kill you, but I'm afraid I must.” He turned the gun her way and Dav, as blackness threatened to overwhelm him, rose up, chair and all, to thrust his shoulder under the man's gun arm.
The room exploded in gunfire. Bodies spun and fell, and for Dav, everything blurred but the need to get between Carrie and the man with the gun.
Dav landed heavily on his uncle, but that wasn't enough to stop the spry, older man, who shifted under him, taking aim at Carrie once more.
When he fired, however, his howl of frustration blended with Dav's scream of denial.
“Nooooo!”
“Oheeeee!”
The Greek and the English slurred together, as Dav wrenched the arm of the chair out of its mooring, using the freed arm, with its wooden attachment, like a club.
Grappling with him, the other man took hold of his bandaged hand and squeezed with wrenching force.
Agony blinded Dav, and he retched in instinctive reaction. But he could not let Carrie die.
Would.
Not.
Hardly cognizant of his actions, he braced his legs, kicking upward as his uncle brought the gun to bear again. The shot went wide and hit one of the old man's henchmen square in the chest. The look of surprise on the other man's face was the last thing Dav saw before the fearsome darkness swallowed him up.
Chapter 21
“What the hell?”
Dav heard the voices swimming in his mind, but couldn't identify them as he faltered in and out of consiousness. That had been Gates. What was Gates doing here?
“McGuire?” Now Ana. Was she here too? Where were they?
“Cover those two.”
He didn't know that voice, he decided as he sagged into the arms of sleep again.
There was rustling and chaos in his mind even as he sank deeper into his agonized stupor, but he was jerked back to the moment when someone cut his bonds.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh,” he moaned, struggling to hold onto consciousness he'd so forcefully regained. Urgency filled him with sudden fear.
He had to know. Had to. “Carrie? Carrie?”
“Hang on, Dav. We're checking her.”
Who was checking her? Where was she? He couldn't clear the blurriness from his vision. He heard the sounds, but they made no sense. He tried to move, felt something within him tear anew, and pain engulfed him from head to toe like a blaze of fire.
His last thought was of Carrie.
“We have to get him out of here. He needs a hospital, now.”
“I'll handle this fuckup here. I can wait for the cavalry as well as anyone,” McGuire grunted.
“Hurry,” Ana urged.
The team improvised gurneys, and lifted the unconscious Carrie and the equally unconscious Dav into them for the short journey to the back of the waiting SUVs. Thank God they were now on smooth road.
“How'd you find us?” she asked McGuire as the injured pair were loaded up.
“Shot Hines, back up a ways,” he said casually, waving off in the distance. “Ran into this fella who said he knew where you were.” McGuire paused long enough to turn and spit a stream of tobacco juice from the chaw in his cheek. Ana tried not to wince. “Wasn't sure it was legit, but I checked it out and saw your mark.” He nodded at Ana.
“You left a mark?” Gates said as he lifted the end of their makeshift stretcher, settling it gently into the cargo area, where the seats had been flipped down. Gear and blankets were packed around their patients for stability.
“Habit,” Ana managed, trying not to think about the damage to both Carrie and Dav.
“So, I ran into this guy again up here, before I got to this locale,” McGuire drawled. “And he said you were in fat trouble. Since we both had our sniper gear”—he lifted the sleek, scoped weapon off his hip in salute to the unknown assistant—“we figured we'd help out.”
Ana gave McGuire a look. His khaki shorts and Hawaiian print shirt weren't exactly unobtrusive. “He took point,” McGuire said innocently, defending his see-it-a-mile-away attire.
“Ready, boss,” Holden said, jumping into the driver's seat.
Ana hugged McGuire. “The cavalry's already on its way, but we'll give them the exact coordinates.”
“Young Franklin and I can handle it,” he said cheerily. “You get going.”
She could see him waving in the side-view mirror as they pulled out, for all the world like a happy grandparent seeing “those kids” off on their way home.
“He's a piece of work,” Gates muttered, bracing himself against the sway and speed of the SUV as he started cataloging the injuries to his friend, and to Carrie.
“The best.”
He grinned, but it quickly faded as they looked back. They'd brought emergency medical supplies, of course, and Holden had hooked both Carrie and Dav up to IV fluids, but said he didn't dare do anything else without knowing the extent of their injuries.
“We're going to have to risk a local hospital.”
The phone rang, startling them both.
Ana answered it and all the others could hear was her, “Yes. Yes. Perfect. We'll be there. Yes.”
“That was enlightening,” Gates said, with heavy sarcasm.
“There's a helicopter waiting at Punta Gorda. There's a Coast Guard hospital ship just off shore, redirected from a stop in Mazatlán. They have full supplies now, thanks to Geddey, and are ready for Dav and Carrie.”
Gates turned to Holden. “Drive faster.”
“Yessir.” Their speed increased to a smooth ninety miles an hour, and Holden never wavered in his focus from the paved road.
It was forever before they saw the outskirts of the port. They saw flashing lights and Holden groaned, until the police vehicle whipped out in front of them, clearing the way to the docks. Along the path, other police blocked traffic.
“How'd he manage this?” Ana wondered aloud.
“Geddey knows his stuff,” Gates said.
Within minutes they were loaded into the helicopter and flying to meet the ship.
 
 
The narrow corridors of the hospital ship made a terrible waiting room as the medics worked on both Dav and Carrie.
“I know they're doing everything they can,” Gates said tersely. Ana could see he wanted to pace, but the confined space made it a futile desire. “I just wish I knew something, anything, we could do.”
“Me too, love, me too,” Ana said, moving into his arms, striving to reassure both herself and him with the connection.
“We need to check in,” he said, after a moment. Listening to his pounding heartbeat, she agreed. Maybe that would settle him, give them both something constructive to do.
“Yes, but should we—” She hesitated, raising her head to meet his gaze, then blurted it out. “Shouldn't we be here, in case?”
Gates understood. “They know where to find us. Let's go make some calls.”
Their first call was to McGuire, who let them know his “buddy” in camouflage was nowhere to be found. Not that they had expected anything different, but Ana felt a wave of disappointment.
“That figures,” Gates said, remembering how easily the man had slipped away, lost himself in the jungle.
McGuire regaled him with the arrival of the locals and how much fun they'd had getting Franklin's dogs to stop growling at the old man's bound guards. According to McGuire, Franklin had let the more menacing shepherd walk up and down behind the seated men, growling like he was going to attack at any moment. McGuire had heartily approved.
“Did he make it?” Gates asked, sure that McGuire would understand. Ana watched him, waiting for the response.
“Nah,” McGuire said, unrepentant. “That blow to the head, along with the shot Callahan got off with the other guard's gun, did him in. Can't say I'm sorry, if he's the cause of all this.”
“He is, and I'm not sorry either.” Gates heard Ana's sigh of relief.
Ana's phone rang, and she flipped it open. “It's Bax,” she mouthed.
“Okay, McGuire, we'll see you back in San Francisco, you hear?” Gates made that firm; he wanted to be sure McGuire filled them all in. “You've got a debrief to give.”
“Pronto,” McGuire drawled. “You give that fireball wife of yours a hug for me. Didn't get to say good-bye.”
“I will.” Gates smiled as Ana grabbed a pen from where she'd stuck it in her ponytail.
“Righty-o,” and with that he was gone. Gates moved behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her as she talked to the San Francisco detective.
“Got it,” she said into the phone, noting down a series of numbers, circling one that held four digits. Her call with Baxter was brief, and her notes singularly frustrating in their lack of readable information. “They found Cal,” she relayed, leaning back into his embrace with a burdened sigh. “He'd been beaten and was in the hospital, that's why we couldn't find him. His friend, the one he went to New York for, is dead. Break-in, they say.”
“Break-in,” Gates snapped sarcastically. “Is that what they're calling it these days?”
“Of course.” She smiled at his tone, adding wearily, “Violence on the rise, everywhere, you know?”
“Geddey found evidence of Niko all over Inez's apartment, so he could have proved Niko did it, if we'd needed to,” Gates said, relating the other bit of news that had come in via text from Geddey.
“Helpful, if he wasn't already dead and we wanted to keep him alive and rotting in jail somewhere. But at least her parents can know for sure,” Ana said on a sigh. “It won't help, but...”
Gates rubbed a hand down her back. “I know. What is the word, closure?”
“Yeah. Maybe all this insanity will give some of that closure to Dav. What else?”
“Geddey found enough to link Queller to Niko and the uncle both.” Anger tugged at him, but he quashed it. Nothing to be done now but track back and plug whatever leaks Queller had caused. “He was feeding everyone information.”
“But why?” Ana wondered, and he heard the plaint of betrayal in her voice.
Since he was still stinging over Queller's betrayal himself, with no more clue, he just cursed. “Geddey doesn't know that yet, but he's working on it.”
This time is was her soothing him, but he could tell she was equally injured by the young man's murky allegiance. “Whatever the reasons, he didn't profit from it,” she finally managed. “And I can quit looking over my shoulder too.”
“Hines?”
Ana smiled now, on surer footing. “According to McGuire's briefing to me, Hines is toast. What did McGuire tell you?”
“That our mystery couple was instrumental in our rescue once again. He didn't seem to be shocked that sniper guy was gone.” And here Gates put on McGuires's New Orleans drawl. “Hell, when the dust cleared and the shootin' stopped, ol' McGuire couldn't find that feller anywhere,
cher
.”
“Big surprise,” she muttered. “Who was that masked man?”
“I have no idea, but I'm glad he and his girlfriend were on our side.”
“Me too.”
They continued to talk, and more calls came in updating them on Damon—he was conscious and would recover— and on Declan. To everyone's relief, Declan's memory had returned, up to and including the offer of singing lessons.
As they finished their respective news, a young ensign arrived in the office they were using, and they were shown to quarters with the reassurance that Dav and Carrie were still in the hands of the doctors.
After a shower and a meal, they put on scrubs the Coast Guard provided while their clothes were washed. They talked. They sent texts and asked questions.
But mostly, they waited.
 
 
Finally, hours later, as night fell and dinner was being cleared, one of the doctors came to find them.
They both jumped to their feet. “Dav? Carrie?” They called the names with one voice.
The doctor smiled, but he didn't look like everything was peachy-keen, Gates thought.
“Holding their own, both of them,” he said wearily, sitting down at the table and motioning them to do the same. “They were both severely dehydrated, and hadn't eaten for several days. Ms. McCray's injuries are less serious, of course, but she has a concussion and is reacting oddly to some of the medications. We're going to monitor her closely, run some tests.” He pulled off the cap that matched his scrubs to wearily run his hands over his bald pate.
“And Dav?” Gates asked softly.
“I need some coffee,” the doctor procrastinated, rising to get a cup from a pot nearby. “Do you want any?”
Ana and Gates exchanged glances. Not good. They demurred.
“Just spit it out, Doctor,” Ana urged. “Please.”
“Mr. Gianikopolis isn't in good shape. He's got two broken ribs, and two others are cracked. One of them punctured his lung. We've got that situation under control and have reinflated the lung, dealt with the ribs. Being dehydrated is a severe handicap here because he's not going to fight infection as easily and he's got a whopper of an infection from the injury to his hand. He's running an extremely high fever.” The doctor looked solemn. “It's a miracle he was even coherent over the last twenty-four hours, much less doing what you claim he did to save his friend.”

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