Nightfire (14 page)

“Call 911, medical emergency,” he said, his words barely comprehensible as he shouted around the boulder in his chest. “And call the cops.”

They stood there, staring at him, a phalanx of white faces.

“Now!” he shouted, and they scattered like birds at the sound of a shot.

A pressure on his arm, a shifting of the body he was holding so tightly. “Mike,” Chloe murmured.

She was alive!
Oh God!

Mike wiped at his eyes, which for some reason were wet.

“Chloe, honey. You’ve been hurt. Don’t move. Medics are on the way.”

Even as he said
Don’t move
she did, shifting slightly so she could sit up. She looked down at herself, then up at him, placing a small hand on the side of his face.

“Don’t look like that, Mike,” she said softly. “I just passed out. But I’m okay.” She frowned, touching her left forearm, discolored and slightly swollen. “I hope that’s not broken, just sprained. It’s been broken twice already.” She touched her head, a slight frown between ash eyebrows. “What—what happened? Two men—” She stiffened in his arms, alarm in her eyes. “Two men, Mike! They came in and—”

A shift of her gaze and she saw them. One unmistakably dead, the other slumped against the wall, face a red mess, wheezing to get breath, blood burbling around his smashed nose and mouth.

“Don’t worry about them, honey. They’re never going to hurt you again.” Mike’s head fell to her shoulder. “Oh God, Chloe. I thought you were—I thought you were . . .” He couldn’t even say the word. Couldn’t form the thought. Could only remember the cold emptiness when he thought she’d gone from this world, leaving him behind.

Her skin was the color of ice, pupils dilated, entire body shivering from the aftermath of shock. He held her close and kissed her forehead gently, a mere brush of his lips because she seemed like glass, ready to shatter at any moment.

“No.” Her voice was a whisper as she reached up a shaking hand to wipe wetness from under his eyes. “I’m still here. Thanks to you.” A hard shudder ran through her. “What did they want? Do you know? Besides, um, raping me?”

Jesus. It hadn’t even occurred to him to try to keep them alive to get intel. One of the fuckers was still alive only because he was distracted by Chloe. Because what if this wasn’t a random act of violence? What if it was directed specifically at Chloe? What if she was
still
in danger?

He couldn’t stand the thought, literally couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t go anywhere with it, was incapable of processing it. He shook with terror.

This wasn’t like him.

He kept his cool during combat, always had. He was a fucking
sniper,
one of the very best. Snipers don’t do terror. His heart rate had been tested at a cool, calm sixty beats per minute even under live-fire training. He knew how to use violence precisely, like a surgeon wields a scalpel. He knew how to measure his violence out into precise amounts, applied at specific times. He knew how to hold his fire, how to wait.

And yet he’d smashed into the room with no thought of strategy or tactics, none at all, just a wild bloodlust in his head drowning out all thought. And maybe his lack of control had endangered Chloe.

Still holding Chloe with one arm, Mike reached out to the guy slumped against the wall and bunched his shirt in his fist, lifting him up and away from the wall. “Hey, fuckhead. What are you doing here? What’s your mission?”

Because even through the bloodlust, the wild singing desire to hurt and kill, he recognized one thing. He was dealing with trained men. Soldiers. Their moves, their demeanor. These weren’t punks off the street who’d maybe seen a beautiful woman and followed her inside. No, they’d kept their cool even when he hadn’t. The combat moves had been expert.

In a normal situation, it wasn’t likely Mike could have prevailed over two highly trained men, but in this case, to defend Chloe, he’d have taken on a hundred men and won. He’d have taken on an entire fucking army.

But the inescapable fact was—these guys were pros. They’d been on some kind of a mission.

Mike shook the man, hard. His head lolled. Mike backhanded him, the sound of the slap loud and shocking in the room. “Hey!” he shouted, to get through to the semi-unconscious man. “What are you doing here?”

The man’s eyes opened to a slit, pale blue and aware. His mouth moved, but nothing came out but red bubbles and drool.

“Talk!” Mike shouted.

In the distance, sirens sounded, louder with each passing second. Good news and bad news. Good news because Chloe would get the medical attention she needed. Bad news because the cops wouldn’t let him beat the shit out of the live one to shake some intel out of him.

The sirens grew to a wailing crescendo, then cut off. A couple of seconds later, boots pounded down hallways. “In here!” he shouted. Two EMTs came running into the room, followed by two cops in uniform.

The women at the door separated for them, then gathered again, wide-eyed, frightened, silent.

One of the EMTs approached him. Mike hated to do it, hated it, but he let go of Chloe.

“She blacked out for a minute or two.” His heart pounded as one of the medics shone a light in Chloe’s eyes. Had she sustained major trauma? Was she going to be all right? She’d been slammed across the room by a big, strong man. His heart had stopped as he watched her flying, bouncing off the wall.

Chloe’s eyes opened wide at the light and she coughed at the medic’s request. Her head turned to him, face paper white. “Mike?”

“It’s okay, honey,” Mike said, but he knew it wasn’t.

She looked at him and shuddered. God only knew what his expression was. Deadly and enraged, probably, though there wasn’t anything he could do to contain or hide it, not with the two fuckers who’d attacked Chloe in the same room. She pointed at her mouth and he didn’t understand what she was trying to say until he caught on and wiped his own mouth. It came away bloody. “It’s okay,” he repeated helplessly.

“Okay, Ms.—” the medic treating her said, pulling back a little after examining her pupils and taking her pulse and BP.

“Mason.” Second by second, Chloe was looking better.

“Okay, Ms. Mason. How many fingers?” He held up two fingers, palm out.

Chloe looked at the shocked, pale women gathered in the doorway and smiled at them. It was shaky and it broke Mike’s heart. She was trying to make light of what had happened, to reassure the women in the doorway.

“I’m all right, Cassie. Ann. It’s all okay.” She turned to the medic. “Turn your hand around, and in England it would mean
up yours
. Two fingers. To answer your question—you’re holding up two fingers.” A choked laugh came from the doorway.

Her voice was weak, but she was making a valiant attempt to defuse the situation. She knew that every woman in that doorway had been violently attacked. She knew how scared they were and that they all looked to her for strength. Chloe was rising above her own fear and pain to reassure them.

At that moment Mike was struck by a wave of love so strong it would have brought him to his knees if he hadn’t already been kneeling.

The other medic bent down to the dead guy, putting two gloved fingers to the side of his neck. “This one’s gone.” He crouched down beside the other one, who was breathing erratically, bubbles of blood coming out of his mouth.

“These fuckers were beating her up, one ready to rape her.” Mike barely recognized his voice, raspy and low and deadly.

The attempted rape was clear. The dead fuck’s pants were unzipped, dick lying limp on one thigh. Seeing that, knowing what the man had wanted to do to Chloe, knowing what he’d
done
to Chloe, made Mike shake with rage. Jesus, he wished he could kill the fuck all over again.

The medic stood up. “Ma’am? What are you feeling? Do you feel dizzy or faint?”

“No.” Chloe’s voice was stronger. She sat up straighter and winced. Mike put his hand on her back, providing support. Chloe held her slightly swollen arm out. “Except for this. I don’t know if the bone is broken. It might be just a sprain.”

“We’ll x-ray it when we get to the hospital.” The tech who’d shone the light in her eyes nodded. He had a badge with his name on his uniform. Steve. “Do you want the gurney, ma’am?”

Chloe waited a second. “No,” she said finally. “I’d rather walk.” She braced her good hand on the floor to try to get up. Mike scrambled up, took her by her good hand and lifted her up.

Was this a good idea? Maybe she was concussed. Maybe she’d do permanent damage to herself if she walked. Jesus, what the fuck did he know?

Mike turned to the medic, Steve, and was about to protest when Chloe put a finger across his lips. “I’m okay, Mike. Let me walk out under my own steam. It’s important.” She looked across at the women in the doorway, then back at him. Expecting him to get it.

Damn.

He got it. He did.

But letting her walk out under her own steam, because it was important to her to be strong for the poor broken women of the shelter, clashed violently with his desire to either carry her out or have her taken out on a gurney, on the off chance that there might be some internal damage.

Chloe watched him as he worked it out, jaws gnashing. She trusted him to understand and he did, oh yeah.

But . . .
fuck!

“Okay.” It was a wonder the word came out at all, his jaws were clenched so tightly against saying
no way.

While he was working it out in his head Chloe called out to the group of women on the threshold. “It’s all right. I’m fine. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

By chance, Mike was looking around the room while she spoke to “her” women, trying to figure out the best way to usher her out without her bumping into anything. He happened to be looking at the wounded man when Chloe spoke and the man’s eyes flickered. Pale blue, ice cold. There was intelligence there and a reaction to the news that Chloe would be here tomorrow.

He left Chloe’s side for a moment and bent down to pull the fucker back up with his fist bunched in his shirt.

The man was badly wounded. He’d lost teeth, his nose was shattered, almost flat against his face, he had to breathe through his bleeding mouth. He was in excruciating pain. And yet, his expression didn’t change when Mike brought him up face-to-face.

Oh yeah. This was a soldier. A well-trained one. He knew how to maintain discipline, knew how to work through pain. Knew how to give nothing away.

Mike leaned into him, nose an inch from his. Or where the fuck’s nose had been. Crazily, through his serious injuries, the man started laughing, a grotesque wheezing sound.

“What?” Mike growled, his voice so low only the wounded man could hear him. The man was badly wounded, defeated. Cops were coming to take him away. What the fuck did he have to laugh about?

Garbled sounds came out of the wounded mouth, almost indistinguishable. But Mike had been in battle. He could follow what a wounded man was trying to say.

And what the man said chilled Mike to the bone.

“We’ll be back,” he said through torn lips.

Chapter 11

“D
oes it hurt?” the kindly but exhausted-looking emergency room doctor said as he finished wrapping an Ace bandage around her forearm. Which was sprained, thank God, not broken. The doctors had warned her against a third fracture.

“No,” she replied, which was a lie. Of course it hurt. But Chloe didn’t dare say anything because Mike looked so wild-eyed she was afraid he’d attack the doctor at the slightest provocation.

Mike stood by her side, every muscle tense, on the balls of his feet as if ready to spring to action any second. He looked like a force of nature.

He’d saved her life. In the ambulance, she’d tried to thank him but he’d waved it off, hovering over her with his wide shoulders as if space aliens might claw their way through to her from the roof of the ambulance van. And if they did, by God he’d be ready.

The doctor hadn’t even tried to throw him out. He looked as if he’d welcome a fight.

It was, in a strange way, reassuring. He was so vigilant, she didn’t have to be. Back in the shelter, with Cassie and Ann and Joanne and Emily and one young girl so traumatized they hadn’t yet learned her name looking on, she’d had to be strong. Chloe didn’t dare let her fear and pain show. Her shock at the near-rape and the brutal assault. The women looked to her for reassurance and hope and Chloe would rather die than let them down.

So she’d squeezed Cassie’s hand as she walked past them under her own steam, down the hall and into the waiting ambulance, leaning heavily on Mike without showing it, because Cassie was just starting to recover from a husband who’d taken a knife to her. The shelter was putting these women back together again and Chloe didn’t want to do anything at all to jeopardize that.

But later, knowing that no one who was vulnerable was looking, she leaned on Mike, who was a rock.

“Maybe we should keep you overnight for observation,” the doctor mused, writing down a prescription for painkillers.

As soon as he spoke the words, Chloe rapped out a loud “No!” so sharp the doctor raised bushy blond eyebrows and looked at her over his glasses.

She’d had panic in her voice. Chloe tried to swallow, throat dry. “No.” She tried to make her voice sound normal when a scream was rising from her gut. Tried to keep the shaking out of her voice. “I don’t need to stay overnight. I feel fine. No problem. I’d rather go home. Please.”

God, she sounded like a madwoman, and she probably was. The very idea of spending a night in a hospital, when she’d been held like a prisoner in hospitals for most of her childhood and adolescence, was terrifying. She’d have a heart attack. At the very least a panic attack, of the kind she hadn’t had in fifteen years.

She looked over at her new family, a plea in her eyes. They were all there. Of course they were. The hospital staff hadn’t even tried to keep them out of the treatment room, either. It helped that RBK had donated half a million dollars toward the establishment of a Women’s Wellness Center.

Harry, Ellen, Sam, Nicole. If there was one thing Chloe had learned over the past six months, it was that they were loyal. They acted as a unit with unquestioning love and support, starting from her wonderful brother Harry.

“Honey,” he began, opening his hands in a cajoling gesture, “maybe the doctor is right. Maybe you should stay just for one night.”

“No,” Chloe said, and closed her mouth because her throat was too tight for another word.

“No,” Mike echoed, putting his arm around her shoulder. Oh God, did that feel good, to have his heavy arm around her, strong and sure. “Hospitals scare her. And anyway the doctor said it would be a precaution, right, doc?” He swiveled to direct his fierce scary gaze at the doctor, who looked startled.

“Ah, yes. I saw no signs of concussion, but to be certain, it would be best if she were not left alone.”

“Oh, of course!” Ellen cried. “She’ll be staying with—”

“Me. With me.” Mike dropped the little bomb in the room and scanned everyone in it—Harry, Ellen, Sam, Nicole, the doctor—narrow-eyed and defiant. “She’s staying with me.”

Utter silence. Deep, uncomfortable silence.

“Now listen here—” Harry began.

The doctor cleared his throat. “I think, ah, I have other patients. Yes. Um.” He left in a hurry, white coat fluttering behind him.

“What the fuck—” Harry began again.

“Listen to me.” Mike directed his gaze between Harry and her. Each time he looked her way, she had the feeling he was somehow reassuring himself that she was okay. “Those two guys came looking for
Chloe
. It wasn’t some random rape attempt. And one of them told me that they’d be back.”

Chloe jolted under his arm, mind racing to understand the implications of this. It had been bad enough thinking she’d been the victim of a random attack by two violent men. Horrible, but unfortunately something that happened in this violent and unstable world.

But they’d been after
her
specifically? It was almost impossible to process. There was no way she could grasp this.

“Why me?” she whispered, dry-mouthed. Chloe tried to be brave, but the truth was she was terrified. Those two men had been unstoppable. Only Mike had saved her from rape and a violent beating. “What could they possibly want from me?”

“I don’t know, honey. And until we do, you’re staying with me.” Mike’s big arm tightened around her shoulder. He turned to stare at Harry. “Those two guys were ex-military, I’d swear to it. I guess we’re lucky they weren’t armed. I wasn’t, either, out of respect for the shelter, but that’s not gonna happen again. No, sir. Next time I’ll be carrying, count on it.”

A shudder went through her. Next time . . .

Soldiers, Mike had said.

“They had foreign accents. I don’t know if that helps,” Chloe offered.

The three men focused their attention on her.

“What kind of accents, honey?” Harry’s voice was gentle.

Chloe closed her eyes, eliminated her emotions. She’d been so shocked, it was hard to remember even what they’d said. But there was something . . .

We need for you to listen to us,
the tall guy had said. What about that sentence resonated?

Like many introverts, Chloe really listened to people. She listened to their words, she observed their body language, she watched their eyes.

She liked to play a game and guess where people came from. She often failed with Americans since she’d had few contacts with people in what she called the Hospital Years and had spent so many years in England after that. But she was pretty good with foreign accents since there were so many foreign girls at Sacred Heart. Her best friend there, Lydia . . .

Why was she thinking of this? Because Lydia had a catchphrase—
You need to listen,
with a swooping sound in
listen
. Lydia’s family had come from Moscow.

“Russian,” she said decisively. She turned to Mike. “They had Russian accents. Or maybe East European.”

“Okay.” He nodded sharply. “That makes sense. They used SAMBO moves. One of the guys got me to the ground immediately. And I think the knife he threatened Chloe with”—he gave her a look so fierce she almost expected to see beams coming out of his eyes—“that knife looked like a Kizlyar. We’ll have to ask Kelly. So, we’ve got Russians after Chloe, for some reason. We’ll get to the bottom of this, but until we do, she’s in danger, every minute of every day.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Harry growled. “She’s my sister.” Harry’s face was tight and pale with tension. “I’m not going to let anything else happen to her. She’s my responsibility.”

Ellen looked up at her husband and then at Chloe, face sad. She’d told Chloe how losing his baby sister had tormented him all his life.

“Look at you,” Mike said. “You’ve got a wife and a child. And you—Sam.” Sam had his arm around a hugely pregnant Nicole, due any day now. “You’re going to become a father again in a few days. You guys have divided responsibilities. Your attention’s going to be split at all times between caring for your wives and children and protecting Chloe. I don’t have that. My full attention will be on Chloe. I don’t have divided loyalties. Right now there is nothing more important in my world than keeping Chloe safe and she’ll have one hundred percent of my attention until we figure out what’s going on and we can be sure the danger is gone. However long it takes, whatever it takes, I’m on it. 24/7.” He tightened his arm even more and kissed the top of her head.

Harry looked at Sam, then Ellen and Nicole.

“He’s right, Harry,” Ellen said. “I know you like to think you can do it all, but I think he’s right.”

Harry’s mouth worked. “Chloe?”

Everyone turned to her. She looked up into Mike’s face. He wasn’t trying in any way to convince her with gentle words. His features were drawn tightly in harsh lines.

There was only one possible answer. “I’ll be with Mike,” she said softly, “until this mess is cleared up.”

N
ikitin sat in the very comfortable armchair in the very elegant room Sands had given him to operate in. It was almost too lush, this place. Made men weak, dependent. He’d spent years living in an unheated tent outside Grozny trying to crush the rebels, who were living under better conditions than he was.

He sat back and waited, watching his satphone on the coffee table in front of him, programmed to vibrate, not ring. Ivan was supposed to check in at 1600 hours. Ivan was utterly reliable. He’d been sent with Lyov to rough up one woman. How hard could that be? It wasn’t the kind of mission Ivan could possibly fail.

Ivan had been his
serzhant
—his sergeant—in many battles. He was tough and efficient and dependable. And when this first shipment came in, he was promised a $50,000 bonus.

So why the hell wasn’t he reporting in?

At 1800 hours, Nikitin picked up his satphone and dialed Ivan’s number, on the off chance Ivan had lost his cell phone or—impossible!—had it taken from him. He listened, impotent, to the endless ringing. Nikitin’s thumb pressed the
OFF
button as his jaw clenched.
Chert!
Ivan had
failed
?

This was beyond bad news. His masters, the
vory,
expected everything to run smoothly. They were investing a lot of money, and looking to invest even more in the future. They had big plans and were unforgiving when it came to messes.

Having two of his enforcers unaccounted for was an example of gross mismanagement. Or so the
vory
would think. Somehow, Nikitin had stuck his hand inside a wasp’s nest, when he’d only wanted to take care of minor insubordination, before it ballooned out of control.

And here it was, out of control.

This wouldn’t do. This mess had to be taken care of immediately.

At least he could be sure of one thing. His satphone ran on Thuraya, making his phone untraceable. The police could have no idea where he was or who he was. For all they could tell, he could be on the moon. His men had gone in clean, with nothing traceable. Ivan wouldn’t talk. Neither would Lyov. Whatever happened, they would keep their mouths shut.

Maybe this disaster could be contained, he thought. If not, heads would roll. Starting with his own.

“L
et’s run through it again, Chloe,” Lieutenant Bill Kelly said gently. When Mike tensed by her side, Chloe put a hand on his forearm. Normally hard as steel anyway, he was so tense she could see the individual muscles in his arm.

“It’s okay, Mike.” His jaw muscles were so clenched it was surprising enamel wasn’t shooting out his ears. He almost quivered with stress under her hand.

She’d been pampered, been plied with endless cups of tea, had received hugs and kisses from Merry and Gracie, who had only been told that Aunt Chloe had a headache. Ellen and Nicole had all but rubbed her feet for her.

No one had thought to comfort Mike, who’d been in battle, had killed a man for her.

“She’s freaked. She’s scared. She’s been through hell,” Mike told the lieutenant, biting off each word. “She’s gone over this a thousand times.”

“I understand that. But we need for Chloe to remember everything, because the guy we’ve got in custody isn’t talking. I think he’s considering himself some kind of political prisoner. So our only clue is Chloe.”

Mike’s jaw muscles jumped. “Did you do what I said?”

Lieutenant Kelly must have the patience of a saint because he didn’t roll his eyes or bristle at Mike’s tone. “Yes. The body in the morgue is under a different name and the guy in the hospital isn’t registered at all. We took out the footage at the shelter. If those guys were sent by someone, the guy running the op won’t have a clue what happened to them. He won’t even know if they made it to the shelter.”

“The vehicle they came in?”

The lieutenant sighed. “Rental. Paid for by corporate credit card made out to Joseph Merck. Who doesn’t exist. The corporation is a shell. We’re still investigating. Now can I continue talking to Chloe?”

Mike nodded jerkily.