Hard to Stop (22 page)

"My brother wouldn't do that." She sounded tentative.

"You saw that video the same as I did, didn't you?"

"He must have been forced to do something like this. I can break through to him if you give me a chance." Her eyes pleaded, even while her voice held a conviction he wouldn't have expected. But he needed her to believe her brother was the bad guy in this. It was the only way to make this work.

"Be cautious about approaching him." He winced even as he followed the script.

"I'm scared."

"Yeah, me too." He felt her fear clear down to his toes. He had no way of knowing what the kid would do. He hoped for the best, but that wasn't always enough.

"Mick," Max shouted, but the kid sped up. "Mick Collini."

Two people with Mick turned and fired at Max. He fired back in rapid succession. They hit the ground.

The kid glanced over his shoulder and ran harder. Max took off after him while unaccustomed nerves made him feel clumsy as he ran. With her bum ankle, Gianna was a half step behind him, which spoke to her ability to work through the pain. Or it spoke to the ferocity of love she had for her brother.

Mick hit his stride while Max fought to keep up. The kid stopped suddenly and pulled out a gun and shot. It nicked the board by Max's head.

"Stop, Mick." Gianna whimpered. "Please," she screamed.

In response, Mick turned, aimed, and shot at his sister. Max took his stance as scripted and took his shot, hitting the kid square in the chest.

*   *   *

Pain seared her chest, while a keening sound erupted from her throat. Her legs felt leaden as she half stumbled to her brother's prone form. "M…i…iii…ck." His name sputtered through her lips as pain enveloped her like a deep, dark fog that she couldn't find her way out of. She bent over Mick and held his hand as blood bloomed on his shirt.

Hands grabbed her arms, but she slapped them away. Someone—Max—grabbed her under her breasts, lifting her off her feet. She kicked, connecting with his shins.

"Let me go, you asshole." She tore at his arms and screamed at the top of her lungs, "You shot my brother." She reached for her gun as the pain became unbearable, but somebody—she didn't know who—yanked it from her hand.

"He tried to kill you, Gianna. I needed to stop him." He turned her to face him as an ambulance screeched to a halt in front of Mick. The paramedics tumbled out, immediately starting to work on him. "He was going to—" She didn't let him finish before she landed a punch to the gut.

 "Why?" she screamed as she stalked after him. "He wouldn't have hurt me. He loved me. He was a kid." Before he could respond, she hauled back and hit him with an uppercut. "You've wanted to do this from the start. But I didn't see it." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "How could I care for a man who killed my brother?"

"He's not dead."

"I know a kill shot when I see one, and that was definitely a kill shot, you bastard. Once an assassin, always an assassin," she grumbled as she got into the back of the ambulance.

Her entire body trembled. What had just happened? Her brother had gone crazy and aimed a gun at her, but he wouldn't have shot her. Would he? What the hell was the matter with Max?

Her knees bounced up and down without her having any control. She could barely see Mick with all the monitors they'd hooked him to. His brown eyes were closed, but she got some comfort in the rise and fall of his chest. Given the distance separating them, she had to be content with touching his fingertips and praying.

Why Max? Yes, Mick had raised his gun and pointed, but hell…the kid couldn't hit the side of a barn. And he'd proved that with his first shot. Why had Max performed a kill shot when he could have easily aimed for an arm or leg?

Why did he overreact, especially when he'd cautioned her to be patient? Or
did
he overreact? Had Mick gone to the dark side, like Max had said? Damn if she knew. All she knew right now was that Mick was fighting for his life and more than likely wouldn't survive.

How could she have misjudged Max so that he'd fooled her so completely? No one would ever call her naïve, especially after ten years on the force. But he'd taken down three people with the precision of a hired killer. Then again, why should that surprise her? Clearly that had been his life, maybe now as well as the past. She had no idea what happened to the other two people Max had shot—and didn't really care.

They screeched to a halt in the bay in front of the hospital. Pain radiated through her body until she thought for sure she would have a heart attack, or maybe it was her heart tearing apart inside her chest.

For what felt like the hundredth time during the short ride, she thought about Max. If her brother died, she would hunt him down and kill him like the dog he was. No doubt about it. And she would make it painful.

And why did her gun jam? Somebody must have messed with it. And that left one person—Max Shaw. He'd set her up from the beginning. He wanted her help in finding Mick, and then when she did, he shot the poor kid. She glanced over again at her unmoving brother. They said denial was the first phase of grief, but she'd passed that and had moved on to anger. Which made her feel comfortable. That was a very good place for her to be. She did anger very well.

There were a lot of things in life to be angry for. But right now Max Shaw was on the top of that pyramid of hate and anger.

*   *   *

Max figured the kid had orchestrated an Oscar-winning performance. The top-quality Alliance blood bag had burst a few seconds off, considering the timing of his shot, but Gianna hadn't noticed. In fact, if he hadn't disabled her gun, she probably would have shot Max on the spot. The only thing that didn't make Max feel like an ass for orchestrating this was the two guys known to be associates of Treno waiting along the periphery in the getaway car to watch the show. They'd seen the whole thing. Exactly what he was banking on. Now if she'd ever forgive him for how he did it, they might get through this after all.

It took some doing to escape the hotel room without a tail, but at 3:00 a.m., Max parked his bike and slunk along the side of her building. He only had to hope she didn't sleep with her gun close. No doubt she'd figured he'd tampered with it and had fixed it by now. That might mean he wouldn't make it out of this alive. Instead of getting killed by any number of assassins, Gianna would exact her revenge against him. He could live with that.

If she gave him a chance, he had to explain. That would be the tricky part. Would she ever understand his logic or motivation?

It didn't take much to break in. Then again, when they threw her out of the hospital last night, saying there was nothing more to do and she needed to go home, it was with specific instructions. Jennings had been hard at work. And so had Max. The Alliance had worked overtime to get everything set up on that wing of the hospital. Every staff member was working for them and had, more importantly, managed to fool her.

He pulled the skullcap lower on his forehead and straightened his worn-through jeans and biker jacket. In terms of disguises, it would pass at least a superficial inspection. Her neighborhood was deserted, and the lights weren't on inside. Despite his newly acquired steel-toed biker boots, he trailed lightly through the house and upstairs into her bedroom.

He was surprised to find her sleeping, even if it didn't appear to be a restful sleep. As inappropriate as it was right now, he couldn't help but think how stunningly beautiful she was, even in her fit of unrest, a box of Kleenex lying next to her on the mattress. He drew in a deep breath and tried to filter through the guilt and remorse of what he'd done. But her reaction to the kill shot aimed at her brother had to be real so that what she'd do next would seem plausible.

Thinking about the damage she might inflict on him made him go about this cautiously. He got as far as one knee on the side of her hip, when she startled awake, her hands grabbing the bedside lamp and swinging. The lamp missed his head by inches, falling into pieces onto the floor. She charged up, nearly head-butting him.

"Gianna, it's me, Max."

"I figured that out." To punctuate her words, she hit him with a right hook, bringing pain down his jaw.

And she didn't stop. A left kidney punch, a blocked hit to his eardrum, a strike that narrowly missed his trachea, several other slightly less painful jabs and an almost-bite when his face got a little too close to her mouth, but she finally stilled. Her breath huffed. Hair covered her face, and she glistened with sweat as anger took a temporary respite.

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"Your brother is okay."

"Bull," she spat.

"This is from this morning." He hit play and Mick appeared on the screen. "Hi, sis. I'm at some safe house two people from a place called The Alliance brought me to. As you can see, Max didn't shoot me with real bullets. Sorry to scare you, but in order to get this done, Max said your reaction had to be real. As you can see, this is a great place, and this is Angie and Lucien. They were, like, embedded in Treno's organization or something, so they told me how to play it with Max. They had this fancy stuff that made blood spurt out even though I wasn't hurt. It was really cool. And now they're taking care of me. This place has concrete walls that are fifteen feet thick. There's no way anybody can get to me." He held up his hand. "I'll be here safe and sound when you take down the bad guys. No need to worry about that."

She wiped at the tears that had dribbled down her cheeks before sucking in a shaky breath. "How do I know this is real? I need to call him and talk to him directly."

"It's two in the morning. Hopefully the kid is buttoned up tight. Besides, it wouldn't be safe. We don't know that your phone isn't bugged or being tracked by Treno's gang."

"Do you trust these people? This Angie and Lucien?" She sniffed before blowing her nose into a fresh Kleenex.

"They work for The Alliance. That means they're top notch. I talked with them and know they are doing right by your brother. When this all went down with the fake shooting, they rehearsed with Mick what would happen, and he pulled it off to perfection. Two people from Treno's gang were watching the scene go down. Your reaction had to be authentic. You had to believe he'd gone bad. And more importantly, you had to believe I was to blame." He kissed her cheek. "I'm so sorry I had to put you through that, but I hope you can understand why."

She sat up in the bed and leaned against the headboard. Her arms rested on her knees. "I can't decide if I should slug you or kiss you."

"I have a preference, but I'll take whatever makes you feel better."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "That was more hell than I ever want to encounter again in my lifetime. If you had told me, I could have pulled it off."

"It wasn't until the last minute I found out my crazy idea was a go. You have to understand, there were a lot of moving parts. First the fake video sent to you so both you and Treno's guys would think your brother had turned. Lucien and Angie volunteered to work with Mick on the robbery when his current handlers got violently ill at the last minute."

"Positively diabolical."

"I know. Isn't it cool?" He smoothed the hair away from her face. "Besides, I wasn't convinced you'd be able to play it well enough to fool the guys watching."

Her throat worked as she swallowed. "So now the hospital is reporting him as critical condition?"

"As of about an hour ago, he's been reported dead. We needed to find a body that physically resembled him in order to pull it off. Now it's done, and the media has been informed." He sucked in a breath. "I needed you to be genuine in your grief."

She smiled. "I gave you a bit of a shiner, so I guess you achieved your goal." Then she started to giggle. The giggle fit turned into peals of laughter, and she had trouble catching her breath. "What…
…are…
…you wearing?"

He still had the skullcap on with a long black braid down the back, and he yanked it off, ruffling his hair back in place as he did. He outstretched his arms, revealing the hanging sleeve fringe. "Don't worry—I've got a matching one for you. Incognito, remember?" To hear her laugh made his chest expand as he sat on his haunches. "And wait until you see the back. Our very own motorcycle club emblem. We are such badasses, you and I." He got off the bed then turned around.

She whistled and pulled up his shirt to touch the label in back of his pants. "Let me see the label on the jeans. I think they're of the common-folk variety, Mr. Fancy Pants."

"Yep, Levi's, the genuine article. And check out the boots."

"Be still my heart. They're not custom made. Probably even off the shelf at the local Walmart." She shook her head. "How can you show your face around town having visited that store?" A smirk lit up her face.

"The Alliance has people who do that kind of mundane stuff so I don't have to mingle with the peasants." If she only knew about his past, she wouldn't be so quick to assume he'd always led a privileged life.

"I imagine those boots cost about seventy dollars. The shame of it all. No one will ever figure out it's you."

"That's the plan. Now why don't you get dressed and pack a few things so we can get out of here. I've got some pretty big saddlebags on my hog." He chuckled. "And you can put on this hot motorcycle-mama jacket."

"Are we planning on going somewhere?"

"Yes, you and I need to orchestrate a plan. And set things right for me."

"And I suppose you have a plan for that?"

"You betcha. I always have a plan."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

*   *   *

Gia closed her eyes and held on tight. Despite what she'd thought of him earlier, he seemed to know how to ride a bike with an expertise she hadn't quite expected. Mr. Fancy Pants had a whole other side to him. And he'd somehow orchestrated a plan she could only dream about. Clearly The Alliance was a good organization to have on your side. They fact that they had people embedded in Treno's gang was a major coup. They also had fake EMTs and hospital personnel to pull off the scam of the century. She had no idea the place had such a depth of connections.