Eye of the Storm (6 page)

She'd have preferred taking Martin to the hospital in Aransas Pass instead of the cottage, but just at the moment, she couldn't risk the questions and attention his arrival at the medical center would generate. Fortunately, the wound seemed to have stabilized.

She needed to remove the bullet, but to do that she needed the proper supplies.

The clinic should have everything she required.

Checking once more for last-minute returnees, she skirted the left side of the building, moving around to the back. The lock took only a few seconds to pick, and with a last furtive look behind her, she was in.

It didn't take much longer to secure the items she needed. Suturing thread, disposable scalpel, tweezers, needle, antibiotics, pain pills and bandages. She'd have Martin as good as new in no time, and hopefully on his way back to Reece. She shuddered to think what her ex's reaction to all of this would be. But hopefully, she'd be long gone before there was hell to pay.

Not that she was a chicken exactly. In fact, truth be told, she was probably just the opposite. Or had been anyway. But assassinations were nothing compared with facing Reece. She'd rather brave the Nicaraguan jungle any day of the week if the alternative was squaring off with her soon-to-be ex-husband.

So much for people skills.

Simone slipped out the back door, stopping to make certain that there were no prying eyes. Walking with practiced nonchalance, she fronted the highway and was across as soon as the traffic allowed.

Half a block more, and she was safely on Sheridan property. Rose Cottage, named after one of Reece's mother's favorite books, had endured fifty-odd years of sand and salt. Faded seagull-gray, its weathered planks were bowed and warped but still standing strong.

Reece and Martin's parents had bought the cottage for their retirement, but of course had never made it, leaving the boys with an inheritance that was short on cash but long on love. They'd occasionally come up here for the weekend, once when Reece's friends from college had been in town, and another time to celebrate Martin's high school graduation.  But the place had never really called to them the way it had to Reece's parents.

Just at the moment, however, it was a godsend, and Simone was grateful that Reece had decided not to rent it out for the season.

She let herself on to the screened-in porch, and allowed a moment to survey the situation. Though the neighborhood was residential, the cottage sat back from the road at an angle, its back bordered by the sand dunes fronting the beach. Not exactly isolation, but good enough for what she needed. Approach was limited to the front of the house, as the only access from the back was a narrow boardwalk with a locked gate. The dunes themselves were full of goatheads, the stickers enough to slow down even the most determined of assailants.

Satisfied that nothing looked out of place, she opened the front door and headed for the master bedroom. "Master" was probably a bit enthusiastic, as the room wasn't particularly big, and with its beat-up maple bedstead, definitely not commanding.

Martin lay in the middle of the mattress, his eyes closed, the even breathing signaling that he was asleep.

Simone dumped her supplies on the nightstand and reached out to wake him. Her brother-in-law sighed and then opened his eyes, pain shadowing his gaze.

"How long have I been out?" He squinted, reaching up to touch the bandage.

"About an hour, maybe a little less." Simone sat beside him on the bed, holding out a glass of water and a pain pill. "I've got to get that bullet out."

"What about the hospital. Wouldn't I be better off there?"

She felt her face tighten with regret. What the hell had she gotten him into? "Too risky, I'm afraid. Since it's a gunshot, it'd have to be reported to the police."

"And I take it that's not a good thing." It was more of a statement than a question, and Simone suppressed a smile. Martin was still young enough to take life in stride. Age changed all that. Age and responsibility.

"No." She shook her head to emphasize her point, then began removing the strips of cotton.

"Shit." The whispered word was probably an understatement, and certainly there was worse to come, but Simone still felt a lurch in her stomach.

"I'm sorry. It's stuck where the blood has dried." She bit her lower lip and ripped off the last bit. "That's all of it."

"Maybe the bandage, but I've got a feeling there's a lot more pain to come." He wrinkled his nose, the gesture almost comical. Almost. "I'm assuming you've done this before?" She nodded, concentrating on the wound. It had stopped bleeding for the most part, the slight ooze the result of the bandage being removed. It was a clean entry, the edges slightly blackened from impact.

Gently, she lifted him up, verifying again that there was no exit wound.

"Still in there, huh?"

Simone recognized Martin's need to talk. Anything to distract himself from the reality at hand. Hell, she'd been there herself more times than she cared to count.

"Yeah, but it ought to be a clean removal. It's not lodged against the shoulder, and I'm guessing it passed through the muscle without causing too much damage."

"But I was knocked out?" Martin frowned.

"Probably hit your head on something when you fell." As gently as possible, she ran her fingers over the back of his skull, stopping when she hit a small hematoma. "Right here."

Martin felt the bump gingerly. "Leave it to me to do the bulk of the damage after the fact."

"Your falling probably saved your life. This is going to sting." She soaked some cotton in alcohol and washed off the wound.

"So what happened back there?" he asked, his voice tight as he fought the pain. "Who the hell was shooting at us?"

Simone finished cleaning the injury, considering how much to tell him. In all honesty, the less he knew, the better. "I'm not sure, Martin." It was the truth, at least as much as she was willing to share.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"You mean beyond someone gunning for me?" It was a flip remark, but she needed time to think, to figure out the best course of action.

"Simone, you're scaring me." Martin waited, but Simone shook her head.

"Look, I'm sorry." She squeezed his hand. "I understand that this is frightening. And I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of it. But until I do, the fewer questions you ask the better. All right?" She picked up the scalpel.

"Or what? You'll hurt me?" He'd meant to be funny, but she could see his fear.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just going to get this bullet out." She turned her attention to the entry wound. "I'm going to cut now. You ready?"

"Shouldn't I be biting on a bullet or swigging whiskey or something?"

Simone frowned, halting just short of cutting. "You've already had a Vicodin. It's better than whiskey. Do you want something else?"

"No. I was just kidding. I can take it. Just get it done." He closed his eyes, the muscles in his cheek tightening as he prepared for the pain.

She made a quick cross cut, and replaced scalpel with tweezers. Fortunately, the bullet hadn't gone far, the back edge in plain sight. In just a few seconds she had it out. "You okay?"

"Working on it." His voice shook, belying his words.

"You're doing great. All I need to do now is suture it closed."

"Oh God, I've seen your sewing."

She'd tried to make curtains for his apartment, the result more dimestore rummage sale than Martha Stewart. "I'm better at this. I promise." She quickly took three stitches and tied it off.

Martin was frowning again. "You have done this before."

"Let's just say I was a Girl Scout"

His eyes met hers, the expression in them full of doubt. She hated the fact that she'd put it there. But there simply wasn't a choice. "Almost done," she said with a forced smile. "All that's left is to clean it and fix you up with a new bandage. Got a pressure one right here."

"Where did you get all the props?" He nodded at the tray holding the bullet and the full array of surgical prep.

"I borrowed them."

"Resourceful..." His voice trailed off as he fell asleep, the Vicodin finally kicking in.

There'd be more questions later. But with any luck, by then the cavalry would have arrived, and she'd be long gone.

*****

SIMONE PACED back and forth across the cottage's front room, trying to figure out what to do. The way she saw it, there were three options. One, she could leave Martin on his own, knowing that once he was feeling better he'd contact Reece and be all right. Two, she could take him to a hospital and leave him there. And three, she could call Reece and alert him to the fact that Martin was here.

All three options had risks.

Martin might take a turn for the worse, and leaving him alone could complicate the fact. At any kind of hospital or clinic she risked someone seeing her. In and of itself not a major problem, but certainly something that could impede her progress. And calling Reece meant explanations that she just wasn't ready to give.

She hated the idea of lying to him—again. It had become too much of a habit. But some things he was better off not knowing. In the beginning he'd been so caught up in the idea of her and of falling in love that he hadn't asked for anything more than what little she had told him.

She'd known that it wouldn't last, but she'd convinced herself that when he started to question her, she'd be able to handle it. And at first she'd managed to do exactly that. Handing him vague answers that meant nothing and were impossible to trace.

But all that had changed the night she'd fabricated an entire past. In truth she'd had one too many glasses of wine, and everyone was having so much fun. At the time it had seemed like a good idea. In retrospect, of course, she recognized just how stupid she'd been.

It hadn't taken him long to work out that she'd lied. And after the initial confrontation, she'd managed damage control. But the blow to her marriage had been irreparable.

And whose fault was that,
a little voice nagged.

Maybe it had been her fault.

But surely he was to blame, too. He'd accepted her "as is" and then changed the game—wanting more. The truth was, it was just too damn hard to sort it all out. And there wasn't any point anyway. The marriage had broken, and there was no way to put it back together again.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, looking out at the dark night.

Stars twinkled overhead, the soft murmur of the surf giving a false sense of serenity.

Somewhere out there in the dark was a hunter. Coming for her. Rising like a shadow from her past, reaching out with deadly intent. And if she didn't get the hell out of here soon, Martin was going to be the one to suffer.

In the old days there would have been no indecision. Standard operating procedure would have dictated all. But then in the old days there hadn't been anyone to worry about. The people in her life had been as capable as she of taking care of themselves.

Self-sufficient to the core. But at least part of her had moved past that. Learned that it was possible to let someone else into her life.

She'd let Reece in. And in doing so she'd let Martin in, as well. He was her brother as surely as if there were common blood, and she wasn't about to just leave him here on his own.

She'd have to call Reece.

And she'd just have to find the right words. Explanations had never come easily for her. But she didn't have to tell him anything except that Martin needed him. She'd be sure that he was coming. And then she'd hot-wire a car and hit the road. By the time he arrived, she'd be halfway to Austin.

It wasn't the perfect plan, but it was the best she could do on the spur of the moment.

She walked over to the table and pulled the new cell phone from her purse. It was a satellite phone. Secure and untraceable. She remembered taking it from Maurice, certain that she'd never have cause to use it, her pain over all that had transpired tempered by the fact that for the first time in her life she was going to be free.

Freedom
. It was one hell of a seductive word. And at least in her case, it was an illusion. A cruel joke whose punch line had always been to destroy any semblance of happiness she'd managed to acquire.

She pushed aside her thoughts, forcing herself to concentrate. The sooner she got Martin out of this mess the better. He needed his brother. And they were both better off without her.

Simple truth.

But God, it hurt.

She dialed and was about to hit connect when a sound outside the door had her hitting the floor on a roll. The gun was just above her on the table, and in one quick motion she reached up and grabbed it, crouching again beneath the table, already sighting the door.

The handle turned once slowly and then again with more force. Whoever was out there wasn't afraid of being seen or heard. Imperceptibly Simone relaxed, but she still kept the gun trained on the door.

There was a muffled curse and then a key slid home, the lock disengaging and the door swinging open.