Into the Whirlwind (18 page)

Together they headed for the entrance to the hospital.

Chapter Twenty-One

Bellevue Medical Center hummed with activity as Dirk shoved through the revolving glass doors and waited for Meg to walk past him into the foyer. The acrid hospital smell of alcohol and cleaning products hit him as he urged her toward the front desk.

People shuffled out of their way, fanning out in different directions. Doctors and nurses in scrubs moved purposefully down the hall.

“We're looking for a patient named Michael Degan,” Dirk said. “He's just been released from the ICU.”

The plump, dark-haired receptionist behind the front desk shoved on a pair of reading glasses and checked her computer screen. “Mr. Degan has just been placed in a private room on the seventeenth floor.” She pulled off the glasses. “Elevators on your left. Check in at the nurses' station when you get out on your floor.”

“Thanks.”

They rode upstairs with a couple of older women, white hair, polyester pants, and flowered tops. The women got out on sixteen and the elevator rose again.

When the doors dinged open, Dirk spotted the nurses' desk across the hall and started toward it; Meg stayed close beside him. He had a hunch being there to see the man who had kidnapped her son sparked memories she would just as soon forget.

A little brunette in scrubs stood up from her chair behind the counter and gave him an inviting smile. He wished he were more interested.

“We're looking for Michael Degan,” he said. “Can you give me his room number?”

“You're family?”

“Oh, yeah. We're brothers. You couldn't tell?”

Next to him, Meg hid a smile.

The brunette seemed to believe him. He decided to overlook the insult.

“Mr. Degan is in room ten. You can see him for a few minutes, but he's still recovering from surgery so you can't stay long.”

Dirk turned to Meg. She looked paler than she had a minute ago. Maybe he shouldn't have brought her. “Why don't you wait for me here?” he gently suggested. “I'll talk to Degan, see if he knows anything. Okay?”

“I want to be there.”

He sighed. She'd always been stubborn. That hadn't changed. Taking her hand, he started down the hall, walked past a man in a hospital gown rolling an IV pole along beside him. As they passed room eight, a gray-haired doctor in scrubs came out of Degan's room, his attention fixed on the clipboard in his hand, half-glasses riding low on his nose.

Worried the doctor might try to keep him from talking to Degan, Dirk waited as the man strode off down the hall in the opposite direction and disappeared around the corner.

Dirk's attention swung back to Degan's room. No cop posted outside the door? It bothered him, but as Nolan had said, the city's budget was tight. Degan would be handcuffed to the bed and he wouldn't be in any shape to attempt an escape.

On the other hand, what if the man knew something about The Fixer? Something that could give the police his current location? It wasn't like Ron Nolan to leave a valuable asset at risk.

Dirk glanced toward the end of the hall, his instincts kicking in, his senses suddenly alert.

“Stay here till I make sure everything's okay,” he said to Meg.

“What's going on?”

“Just stay here.” Pulling his pistol, he shoved the door open with his boot and did a quick scan. Degan's eyes were open and staring. Blood everywhere, the sheets scarlet, pools of red all over the floor. Gun in a two-handed grip, he went in, spotted a uniformed police officer slumped in a chair, ran over, and checked the side of his neck. A pulse throbbed. Dirk bolted for the door.

“Officer down! Degan's dead! Call security! Tell them to seal off this floor!” He tossed his cell phone to Meg. “Call Nolan! I'm going after him!”

Turning, he raced down the hall after the gray-haired doctor who had just left Mickey Degan dead in his room.

Neville had less than a minute head start. He would be walking, blending in. Dirk pounded down the hall, slowed as he rounded the corner, caught a glimpse of a man in scrubs moving purposely toward the elevator at the end of the corridor.

He spotted Dirk, whirled and pulled off two shots. A group of nurses screamed and started running. “Get down!” Dirk fired two return shots as Neville stepped into the elevator and the doors rolled closed behind him.

Dirk raced for the stairs.

* * *

Meg's hands shook as she pressed Dirk's cell phone against her ear. “Agent Nolan—this . . . this is Megan O'Brien. I'm at the hospital with Dirk. Mickey Degan has been murdered. Dirk . . .” She swallowed. “Dirk went after the man who killed him.”

“I'm on my way.” Agent Nolan said something she couldn't hear. He was moving, she could tell, his footsteps pounding down the hall. “I've dispatched men to the scene. The cops will be there before we are. Are you somewhere safe?”

“I'm on the seventeenth floor, just down from Degan's room. I heard shots. I-I think Neville is shooting at Dirk.” Meg's heart raced with fear for Dirk. She couldn't believe it was happening again.

“Take cover and stay out of sight until we can get there.” Agent Nolan's phone went dead.

Meg ran behind the counter that enclosed the nurses' station and ducked down with two other women. She could hear pounding feet and people yelling. She caught a glimpse of a group of security guards scrambling past, heading in the direction of the gunfire. A couple of doctors ran into Mickey Degan's room to take care of the downed policeman.

Meg had no idea where Dirk was. Dear God, she prayed he was safe.

“Police!” someone shouted. “Stay down and keep out of the way!” A group of uniformed police officers ran past her down the hall. Meg stayed hidden behind the counter and so did the two nurses. Two more joined them, all of them crouching down in case more shots were fired.

It seemed like forever before she spotted Dirk's familiar tall frame striding back down the hall in her direction. Relief hit her so hard she felt dizzy. She shot up from behind the counter and ran toward him, colliding with his chest. “Thank God you're okay.”

Hard arms closed around her. “I'm all right. It's over. Everybody's okay.”

“Everybody but Mickey Degan.”

“Yeah.” He tipped his head toward Mickey's room. “How's the cop?”

“I don't know. The doctors are in with him now.” She hadn't looked in Degan's room. She didn't want another ugly memory lodged in her brain. “You didn't catch Neville.”

He shook his head. “We traded shots up here. He went down in the elevator. I took the stairs down a couple of floors, then caught another elevator to the bottom. He fired a couple of rounds at me as he left the building; then he ducked around a corner and just disappeared.”

“It was him, though, right?”

“Had to be. He went to medical school. He knew how to use a needle, gave the cop a shot in the neck with a syringe full of something, then dragged him inside. Disconnected the machines hooked up to Degan so the alarms wouldn't sound, then slit the guy's throat.”

Meg swayed against him.

“Sorry. I shouldn't have told you.”

She drew in a calming breath. “I'm in this. I can handle it. I don't need to be protected from everything that happens.”

He looked down at her, must have read something in her face. “Maybe not.”

Meg waited while Dirk spent the next half hour talking to the police; then Agent Nolan arrived and they told their stories again.

“How's the uniform doing?” Dirk asked.

“Had a nice little nap, thanks to Neville. Looks like he's gonna be okay.”

Just as they were ready to leave, a policeman walked up to the FBI agent with a paper bag in his hand. “We found this in a trash can down the alley. Bloody scrubs the guy was wearing were in there, too.”

Nolan looked into the bag. “Man's gray wig. Figures.” He turned to Dirk. “Why don't you two go on home? There's nothing more you can do here.”

Dirk just nodded.

Meg felt his big hand span her waist as he urged her toward the elevator. They rode down in silence, then walked out to the Viper, parked in the lot.

Dirk held the car door while Meg slid into the passenger seat. He leaned down, and for the first time that day, Dirk smiled. “I never knew you were such a trouble magnet, Ms. O'Brien.”

Meg managed a faint smile in return. “There's a lot you don't know about me, Dirk. That's the reason I want us to talk.”

He reached down and gently cupped her cheek. “All right. After what you've been through, I guess you deserve a chance to speak your mind.” He slammed the door, walked around, and climbed in behind the wheel.

The engine roared to life and they headed back to her house. The sun was out, but the afternoon was waning. It was a warm, beautiful day, and tomorrow was supposed to be even better. A good day for what she had in mind.

“You don't think Neville will come after us the way he did Mickey Degan?” she asked as the car rolled along.

Dirk cast her a sideways glance. “Not likely. Neither of us can identify him. All the people involved are dead except for Pamela, and she never talked to him, didn't even know he existed until that day at the lake.”

“So none of us are a threat to him.”

“No. Odds are, now that he's eliminated the only possible connection, he'll leave the country.”

She turned to look at him, appreciating his handsome profile, the capable way he handled the powerful car. “Odds are?” she repeated.

“We can't be a hundred percent certain he won't come up with another scheme to get his hands on your dad's ten mil. Which is why I'm going ahead with that surveillance we talked about. And we need to beef up your home security. I'm going to suggest your dad make arrangements at his house, too.”

She sighed. “An upgrade to my alarm system is a good idea, but I hate the notion of having to be guarded all the time. I had enough of that while we were on the fashion show tour.”

“Until we figure things out, you don't have much choice.”

True, but instead of some nameless man sitting in a car out front, she couldn't help wishing Dirk would be the man watching out for her and little Charlie.

At least he had agreed to hear what she had to say. With any luck, no one would be abducted or murdered before she got the chance. After that, she'd know better where she stood.

They pulled up in front of the house and he walked her to the door. There was a package sitting on the porch. Meg grinned when she saw it and scooped the package up in her arms.

One of Dirk's dark eyebrows arched in silent question.

“Research,” she said. “Something I bought on the Internet and had shipped to the house overnight.”

She glanced over his broad shoulder to see a plain brown Buick pull up to the curb on the opposite side of the street.

“That's a guy named Diego Montoya,” he said. “Good at surveillance. Got a sharp eye, and he's tough enough to deal with a problem if one comes up. He'll be rotating in with a couple of other guys so you'll be covered twenty-four /seven.”

She sighed.

“It won't be for long. A guy like Neville's not about to just sit around doing nothing. Sooner or later something will break.”

“I hope so.”

“Listen, I've got a couple of things to do. We can talk first if you want.”

But he looked like he'd rather make a run for it, get as far away as he could—not a good start.

“Why don't we talk tomorrow? It's supposed to be a beautiful day. Maybe you could ... umm . . . take me for a ride on your Harley.”

Disbelief widened his eyes. “You're kidding, right? Since when do you like motorcycles?”

She shrugged. “Since I was in high school. It's been a while since I've been on one, I admit. I think it would be fun.”

He frowned. “You're a mother. You've got a little boy to think of.”

“So don't take me on the freeway. We live in a beautiful place. We've got parks and streams and mountains. There has to be a dozen places you could take me.”

Interest flickered in his hazel eyes, which looked greener now than brown. “You sure?”

“I'll bring lunch. We'll have a picnic.”

He nodded. “Okay. If you're sure.”

Meg smiled. “Late morning sound okay?”

“Fine. Say eleven?”

“Sounds good. I'll see you then.”

As Dirk headed for his car, Meg walked into the house and closed the door, her package clutched against her chest. It was Vika, sold by MotoSport. Dirk was going to be very surprised when he saw it.

Worry filtered through her. Before the abduction, she hadn't seen him in months. She hadn't been in his life and he hadn't been in hers. He'd told her more than once he wasn't interested in going backward.

Meg closed her eyes and leaned against the door. She wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. Dirk was worth fighting for.

If there was one thing she'd learned about herself since the kidnapping, it was that she was a fighter.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dirk roared up in front of Meg's Madison Park house on his custom Dyna Low Rider. He figured it was rare for the people in the expensive neighborhood to see a bike like his parked on the street.

He had purposely worn his leathers: black leather chaps over his black jeans, a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut out, and heavy motorcycle boots. Might as well let Meg see the man he really was, not the hero version she had made up in her head.

Let her see how right she'd been when she'd told him how totally unsuited they were and sent his ass packing.

Unzipping his studded leather jacket, he strode up the path to the porch and knocked on her door. She wanted to go for a ride. She had no idea how badly he wanted to give her one. Only not on the back of his bike.

He steeled himself as the ornate door swung open. Rose Wills stood grinning in the entry. “Dirk!” The heavyset woman launched herself, knocking him a few steps backward as she enveloped him in a hug.

“You brought our baby home safe! You'll never know how grateful we all are for what you did.” She gave him another warm hug. Dirk smiled down at her, and Rose let him go.

Thank-you hugs could really feel good sometimes. “I was just doing my job, Rose. We're all grateful it worked out the way it did.”

“Come on in. Meg's upstairs. She'll be down in a minute.”

He nodded, followed the heavyset woman into the house. As they reached the entrance to the family room, he spotted little Charlie playing on the floor in front of the coffee table with what looked like a computer tablet.

“He got a Kindle Fire Kid's Edition for Christmas,” Rose said. “He can already do more stuff on it than I can.”

Dirk smiled. “I don't doubt it. Seems like these days, they're born with the knack.” The kid looked up and saw him, and his face went from intense concentration to uncertainty.

Damn, Dirk hadn't thought about scaring the boy when he'd put on the leathers. He was gearing up for the kid to burst into another crying jag when Charlie stood up from the coffee table and started walking toward him.

With his red hair and freckles, tall for his age like his mom and the rest of the O'Brien family, Charlie was a really cute kid when he wasn't upset. The little boy walked right up to Dirk and just stood there staring. It made him kind of uneasy.

“Mama said you was a policeman. Is that your uniform?”

He chuckled. “I'm not exactly a policeman, but sometimes I do the kind of work a policeman does.” He thought of the way he must look to a not-quite three-year-old, in his snug black leather chaps, jacket, and boots. “This is what I wear when I ride my motorcycle.”

Charlie's blue eyes rounded. “You got a modor . . . cicle. Can I see it? Can I?”

“If you look out the window, you can see it parked in front of the house.”

Charlie took off running, his small legs moving like pistons across the floor, making Dirk grin. Hearing light female footsteps, he turned to see Meg coming down the stairs.

For a second, he forgot to breathe.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” She was a biker's wet dream, decked out in tight black leather pants and a fitted black leather jacket that nipped in and stopped at her waist. Black leather boots with a slender heel came up to her knees, shoving her up a couple more inches.

He clamped down on a vicious shot of lust. “You look ... wow, you look great.”

“The outfit was in the box on the porch. The clothes are research for the boutique I want to open, all but the boots, which I already had. I've decided I want to specialize in high-end women's sports clothes. Snow skiing outfits, motorcycle leathers, tennis clothes, stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I remember you mentioned opening a boutique.” He relaxed. Maybe she didn't want to talk about the two of them at all. That was good. Right?

He felt something tugging on his chaps, looked down to see Charlie staring up at him. “Can I go for a wide on your modo-cicle?”

“I don't think your mom would like that very much, Charlie.” He turned to Meg. “I guess he . . . umm . . . likes my bike.”

“He likes trucks, cars, anything with an engine.” Meg crouched down beside her son. “Not today, sweetheart. When you get bigger you can go for a ride.”

Dirk wondered if she was thinking he'd be around when the kid got older. It made him feel funny inside.

“We'd better get going,” she said as Rose Wills walked up and handed them a bag that apparently held their lunch. “We'll be back this afternoon.”

“I wanna go for a wide,” Charlie whined, his face scrunching up. He was seconds from a good loud cry.

“Let's go play with your Kindle.” Rose picked him up, propped him on her generous hip, and started for the family room. “We'll read
Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel
. You like that one.”

Charlie continued to whine and struggle in her arms.

“Hey, bud!” Dirk strode over to where Mrs. Wills set the boy down on the sofa. “You aren't big enough to go for a ride on my bike yet, but someday you will be. You can't cry about it. That just won't work. But when the day comes that you're old enough, I promise I'll take you, okay?”

Charlie sniffed.

“Okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Now tell your mama good-bye.”

He waved toward where Meg stood next to the door. “Bye, Mama.”

“Good boy.” As Dirk strode out of the family room, Meg and Rose both just stood staring.

Dirk's gaze fixed on her face. “What? I was a kid once.”

Meg started grinning. “Let's get out of here before he catches his breath and starts all over again. Charlie's very persistent when he wants something.”

“Kind of like his mother,” Dirk mumbled. They headed out to his motorcycle, black with an orange dragon winding around the tank; it had an extended front wheel, a Sundowner seat, and 103 cubic inches of go power. The dragon on his helmet matched.

Meg paused next to the bike. “Impressive.” She smiled. “I can't wait to take a ride.”

“I've had it a while. I had it customized when I bought it.” He stuffed their lunch into a saddlebag, grabbed the spare helmet off the seat, and tossed it to Meg, who pulled it on over her fiery hair. She'd clipped it back at the nape of her neck, but a few wispy strands fluttered next to her cheeks.

His groin tightened. He wanted to unfasten the clip and slide his fingers into the silky strands, wrap a fist around them, and drag her mouth up to his for a deep, burning kiss. He wanted a lot more than that.

Pulling his own helmet on, he swung aboard the bike, and Meg swung on behind him. He could feel the heat of her body, those long legs snug against his thighs, her soft breasts pressing into his back. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a woman aboard. Damn, it felt good.

He told himself it wasn't because the woman was Meg.

“You ready?”

“All set.” She took a firm hold on his waist and he dragged in a calming breath.

“You've ridden before, right? You know to lean with me, not in the opposite direction.”

“It was way back, but yes, I remember.”

“Good girl.” Dirk kicked up the stand, fired the engine, gunned it, and they were off.

He knew where he wanted to take her. It was the warmest day they'd had so far this year and it hadn't rained, so it was nice and dry.

On the way over to Meg's he'd stopped by the lake house, checked in with the construction crew, still hard at work though he hadn't been there to help as much as he usually did. They were making good progress, finishing the framing, getting ready to start on the roof.

The Harley hummed along the road. He was in no hurry. He loved being out in the sunshine, loved the feel of the fresh air rushing past, the feel of the heavy machine throbbing between his legs.

He wondered if Meg felt it, too, wiped the next thought out of his head.

Winding his way up into the hills, he turned down a dirt road and continued to a favorite spot next to a stream. It was completely private, perfectly hidden away.

The ground was dry. Taking an old blanket out of the other saddlebag, he spread it open on the grass, set the lunch bag down on top of it, and took out a couple of Cokes.

He'd rather have a beer, but Meg was a mom and he wasn't taking any chances.

“This is wonderful.” Meg wandered over to look at the stream. Frothy water churned and bubbled, ran over the rocks in the middle and along the banks.

“Eat first or talk first?” he asked.

“Talk—unless you're starving.”

“I had breakfast; I'm okay.”

She moistened her lips and he realized she was nervous. “I'll take one of those Cokes,” she said.

He fished one out and handed it over. Both of them sat down on the blanket. “It's Diet,” he said. “I remember that's what you like.”

She ran a finger around the rim of the unopened can. “I remember everything about you, Dirk.”

His chest went tight. Then, suddenly, he was angry. “You remember everything? Then you remember that you're the one who ended things between us. You're the one who said it would never work. Nothing's changed, Meg. I'm the same man I was before and you're the same woman.”

“I'm not the same. I'm different. I understand things I didn't understand before.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like what a good man you are. I understand that I shouldn't have made assumptions about you. I shouldn't have assumed you would never fit in with my family, never be able to handle being a dad to my son.”

He stared at her, his eyes hot with rage and the feelings of betrayal he'd thought he'd overcome. “You meant everything to me, Meg, and I meant nothing to you.”

“That's not true!”

“It is true! You threw me away, Meg! Like I was a piece of trash. You threw me away!”

She looked stricken. “No!”

He shot up off the ground and strode over to the stream, stared into the water, fisted his hands on his hips. Dragging in deep breaths of air, he fought for control.

He felt Meg's arms slide around his waist, felt her cheek against his back. His eyes slid closed. He had loved her so much.

“Have you ever made a mistake so big it just consumed you?” she asked softly. “Have you ever made a wrong choice you wished you could undo more than anything in the world?”

He could feel her trembling. He turned, saw fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

“What are you saying, Meg?”

“I made that kind of mistake when I sent you away. I tried to get over you. I told myself giving you up was the best thing for both of us, but it wasn't. I've thought of you day and night since the moment you walked away.”

“Meg, don't.”

“Now I'm begging you to let me back in. I'm asking you to forgive me for being a fool, to say you'll try again.”

His throat ached. He hadn't expected their talk to go this far. Hadn't expected to see the depth of her regret in those beautiful blue eyes.

“Give me another chance, Dirk. Give us another chance.”

He started shaking his head. “I can't, Meg. The feelings I had for you ran deep. I thought you felt that way, too. You didn't give me any warning, just cut me out as if I never existed. I can't deal with those kinds of feelings again.”

Instead of arguing, she reached up and slid her hands into his hair, cupped the back of his head, and brought his mouth down to hers for a very tender kiss. She trailed kisses along his jaw, pressed her lips to the side of his neck, kissed the head of the dragon that crawled up from his shoulder.

“Meg . . .” Yearning burned through him. Need. And fierce, deep desire. His body tightened and he went rock hard. He wanted this woman, had always wanted her.

Meg kissed him again, deeper this time, her tongue in his mouth, her breath coming fast, her thundering heartbeat matching the speed of his own.

“I want you,” she said, sliding her arms up around his neck. “I need you, Dirk. Please forgive me.” She kissed him again, her leather pants rubbing erotically against the hard ridge beneath his fly surrounded by the leather chaps.

Her hand went there, cupped him, squeezed very gently, made him groan.

Meg slid the leather jacket off his shoulders, let it fall to the ground. She shoved up his black sleeveless T-shirt, silently insisting he pull it off over his head. Reaching behind his neck, he tugged it off and tossed it away.

Slender hands roamed over his bare chest, tracing the muscles, outlining the sinews, the ladder of muscle down his stomach; then she pressed her mouth over his heart.

He didn't move. It took every ounce of his will. He knew what he would be risking, knew the power he would be giving her.

She caught sight of the small tattoo on his upper left chest, reached out, and touched it. It was the tattoo of a heart cracked in two.

“This wasn't there before,” she said, drawing the shape with the tip of her finger, her eyes moist and so incredibly blue.

He thought of the hurtful way they'd parted and some of his anger returned. “No, it wasn't. It's a reminder never to love a woman again. But if you think I put it there because of you, you're wrong. There was someone else, another woman.”

She didn't buy it. Meg wasn't a fool. “What was her name?”

“Stella,” he ground out. “Her name was Stella.” He was a lousy liar. It was Luke who was the master.

He caught Meg's shoulders. “You think I didn't have other women after you were gone? I had women. Plenty of them. I would have done anything to forget you, Meg. Anything.”