No Place to Run (31 page)
Sam looked over at Donovan. “Time to show me your skills, tech guy. Get us the hell in that Hummer.”
Donovan raised a brow, walked around to the driver’s seat, opened the door and stuck his hand in. A second later, the jangle of keys sounded, and Donovan held them up with a smirk.
“Too easy, drill sergeant.”
SOPHIE bounced and pitched forward as they hit another rise. Tomas was single-mindedly focused on the path in front of them, and she watched closely while the gun inched lower as his attention became less focused on her.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t make a sound even when her head smacked the side of the window. The last thing she wanted was to draw his attention to her. As haphazardly as he was driving, it probably wouldn’t take much for that damn gun to go off, and right now it was still aimed at her.
Where were they going? What could he possibly hope to accomplish? He didn’t have the key. All his “protection” was back at the house, hopefully getting their asses handed to them by Sam and his men.
Which left her with Tomas. A suddenly scary thought given the fact that he’d just manned up for the first time in his life and stood up to his brother. The last thing she needed was for him to be high on adrenaline and confidence.
She glanced nervously at Tomas when he juggled the gun and tried to reach into his pocket, all the while holding his finger way too damn close to the trigger. She was going to die because this idiot was an inept fool.
He swerved, hit a rock, and his hand fell off the wheel. For a moment they careened dangerously to the right. He swore and yanked the wheel back to the left. Miraculously, the vehicle righted, and they continued on their haphazard trek across the rugged terrain.
Tomas yanked a cell phone out of his pocket and thrust it—and the gun—in her direction.
“You call him,” he demanded. “You call him and tell him I want that goddamn key or I’ll kill you and his brat.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. An hysterical bubble rose in her throat and escaped through lips that flapped like a fish gasping for air on dry land.
“I don’t know how to contact him, Tomas. I’ve never called him. Shouldn’t you know how to call him? You were holding his mother hostage for God’s sake.”
He swung at her with the stock of the pistol, but she dodged and his hand hit the headrest instead. The Hummer swerved again, and something snapped inside her. Sam wasn’t going to get her out of this. Neither was Garrett or the fourteen jillion other men KGI employed.
If she was going to survive this, if she was going to protect her child, she was going to have to do it herself.
When Tomas started to swing at her again, she reached up and grabbed his wrist with both hands and yanked as hard as she could.
Curses filled the air. The Hummer swerved, and he grasped the wheel desperately with his left hand to keep control. He punched his right hand back, trying to hit her in the face, but she dodged and then sank her teeth into his wrist.
She gagged as the taste of blood filled her mouth. He wrenched away and then swung at her with his left hand. As soon as his hand left the wheel, the Hummer hit a huge bump and the world went crazy around her.
Up became down and down became up. She had the vague sensation that she was in deep shit, and then she closed her eyes and prayed.
Her head cracked against something hard. Pain speared through her hand. And then suddenly everything went still.
Though her head throbbed, she cautiously cracked her eyes open. The Hummer had righted. She looked over at Tomas to see him slumped over the steering wheel. Blood splattered the windshield in front of him and she could see it dripping down the side of his head.
Her hand hurt.
Oh God, she was losing it. Was that all she could come up with? She’d just flipped a gazillion times with a man holding a gun, and the only thing that registered was that her fingers ached like a son of a bitch.
She looked down to see her pinkie and ring finger already swelling. The angle of her ring finger looked off, but her brain was so fuzzed all she could do was stare dumbly at her hand.
Out. Get out, Sophie
.
.
She reached across her body with her left hand to open the door. Let it open. Please. She didn’t want to have to crawl out the window.
It popped open a few inches and stuck stubbornly.
She bumped at it with her shoulder but only managed to move it a bit. Swearing in frustration, she rotated her body and leaned back toward Tomas, praying the whole time that the bastard was dead. She braced her feet against the door and pushed with all her strength.
The metal shrieked in protest, but she managed to pry it open enough that she could get out. Eagerly she scooted forward until her legs stuck through the opening. When she automatically reached for the door frame to brace herself, she hissed in pain and yanked her injured hand back.
She shook it to try and assuage the horrible ache, and finally opted to rest it firmly against her chest.
“Let’s try this again,” she murmured.
Realizing the vest was in the way and that she had a better chance of squeezing through the opening without it, she fumbled with one hand on the fastenings until she loosened the vest enough to shrug out of it. Then she sucked in all her breath and eased her way between the door and the truck frame.
As soon as she was clear, she sagged against the beat-up Hummer and blew her breath out in a long exhale.
Somehow she’d come out of this alive. She took it as a sign that someone was looking out for her. The thought bolstered her flagging spirits, and she stared out over the rocky terrain. They’d driven several miles from the house, and the logical thing to do would be to retrace that path.
As she pushed away from the truck, she heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance. She put her uninjured hand to her forehead and scanned the horizon.
A chill went up her spine when she spotted the other Hummer tearing across the rock and sand. She’d seen her father go down. Half the side of his head was gone. He was dead. This wasn’t him.
Her heart started thumping fiercely. She took one step forward. Her knees shook, and her mouth went dry. She took one more step when the truck hurled over a rise about fifty yards away. It fishtailed, then came to a grinding halt. The doors flew open, and she heard her name shouted.
Relief poured over her soul like a waterfall.
Sam.
She wanted to run to him, but she was rooted to the spot where she stood like some statue. Sam and Garrett piled out and Donovan and Ethan jumped out behind them. Suddenly their expression changed from concern and relief to horror.
She frowned.
“Sophie!” Sam yelled.
Sam and Garrett broke into a run, and Sam yanked his gun from his belt and aimed at a point beyond her.
Stunned, she turned to see what they were seeing. She recoiled when she saw Tomas stumble from the wreckage. He looked like hell, blood covering most of his face and head. But he took jerky steps toward her, and worse, he had the gun in his hand, and it was pointed directly at her. And she was no longer wearing her vest.
There was a hollow-eyed, vacant expression hovering over him like gloom. Sophie wasn’t sure he had a clue who he was, where he was or what the hell he was doing, but he had that gun pointed at her, and he seemed determined to shoot.
She saw his finger tighten and she hunched in on herself, covering her belly as she tried to drop to safety. The shot exploded across the space just as a blur of movement caught her eye and Garrett exploded past her.
He flew, literally flew, through the air, arms outstretched as he threw himself in front of her body.
The sound of the bullet smacking his flesh was a sound she’d remember for the rest of her life.
“No!” she cried.
She dropped over his body just as a second shot exploded through the air. And a third. She didn’t look up.
“Garrett. Garrett!”
She raged at him, beating against his Kevlar vest in an attempt to get him to answer her.
He groaned and rolled to his back, holding up his arms to fend her off.
“God, woman, are you trying to finish me off?”
Tears filled her eyes. Rage suffused her face until her cheeks burned with heat.
“Why did you do that? Are you an idiot?” she yelled. “You don’t even like me, Garrett. How could you throw yourself in front of me? What if you die?”
She broke down as sobs tore painfully from her throat. She lowered her head and gathered his large body as close to her as she could, while she wept on his neck.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why would you do something so stupid?”
His hand traced gently through her hair, and then he gathered the strands in his fingers and pulled carefully until her head came away from his chest and he could look her in the eye.
“Because that’s what family does,” he said in a soft, pain-filled voice.
CHAPTER 31
SOPHIE stared down into Garrett’s eyes—eyes that were glazed with pain and beginning to fade. Warmth spread under her hand, and she looked down to see her palm pressed to his shoulder. Blood seeped through her fingers and over his shirt.
No. No, no, no. The bullet had struck him where he wasn’t protected.
She shook her head in denial as tears coursed down her face.
“Sophie, honey, stop looking at me like that,” Garrett said gruffly. “You’ll have me convinced I’m going to die.”
“You’re not?” she asked in a quivery voice.
“I hurt like a son of a bitch, but I’m pretty sure nothing vital was hit. That’s what the vest is for.”
She lifted her hand and swallowed in horror at the sticky blood that covered her palm. Then she looked back at Garrett in panic. Was he lying to her?
“Sophie, move away, let me look at him.”
She turned to see Donovan tugging at her arm, his face grim with worry. She allowed him to pick her up, and then she stumbled away as Donovan bent over Garrett.
Immediately she was enfolded in a fierce hug. Sam. She went weak with relief.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt? Talk to me, Sophie. Are you and the baby okay?”
He ran his hands urgently over her body, pushing, pulling, tugging at her clothing as he searched for evidence of injury.
Then he reached out and touched her temple, his fingers coming away covered in blood. She stared stupidly at the blood—her blood. She remembered her hand hurting. Not her head. She hadn’t registered that she was bleeding. She stared down at her hand. Garrett’s blood. Not hers.
“Son of a bitch,” Sam swore. “Ethan, get me something to clean this off so I can see how bad it is.”
He all but carried her to the Hummer he’d driven up in. He was exceedingly gentle with her as he set her down on the edge of the seat. Her legs dangled over the edge, and she just sat there. Numb. Suddenly exhausted. Worried out of her mind.
“Garrett shouldn’t have done that,” she murmured.
She stared over to where Donovan was taking care of Garrett and talking into his receiver in urgent tones.
It bewildered her. Garrett had said it was what family did, but she wasn’t family. Certainly not his family. Was she?
Garrett didn’t even like her. He had to think she’d betrayed Sam—betrayed them all.
Sam’s hands shook as they slid up her arms to grasp her shoulders. For a moment he held her there, his fingers firm against her skin. Then he lowered his arms once more and gathered her hands in his.
She yelped and yanked her right hand from his grasp and cradled it protectively against her chest. She kept her gaze purposely from his. She glanced over at Garrett again and rocked back and forth, cupping her fingers against her.
They throbbed. Pain streaked up her arm. Her head had started to ache too, and she could feel the warm blood slide slowly over her ear.
Sam watched and worried as Sophie blanked out the world around her. Ethan appeared with a med kit, and Sam grabbed a bottle of saline and some bandages when Ethan opened it
“Go help Van with Garrett. Does he have a chopper coming?”
“Yeah, Resnick is landing now.”
Sam nodded and motioned Ethan away. He hadn’t even heard the helicopter. He’d been too focused on Sophie.
He carefully wiped at the blood that seeped down her temple and ear. She didn’t seem to register what he was doing. Her gaze was fixed on Garrett in the distance.
When he finally got the area cleaned, Sam thumbed the gash and the knot on her head. It needed stitches. He hoped to hell that was all and that she didn’t have a serious head injury. She needed transport too.
He tried to pull her wrist away from her chest so he could look at her hand, but she resisted, holding it tense.
“Honey, let me look at your hand. I need to see how badly you’ve hurt it.”
He purposely kept his voice low-pitched and soothing. Her gaze was still focused on Garrett, and another tear rolled down her cheek.
His heart turned over in his chest. God almighty but he loved her. His skin itched and crawled with the need to hold her and comfort her.
“Soph, let me have your hand, sweetheart.”
She looked at him finally, and then she glanced down at her hand, confusion clouding her blue eyes. Slowly she extended it, but held it gingerly in her other hand.
He winced when he saw the two swollen and obviously broken fingers. He gently prodded at her wrist and moved her other fingers. Only the two were injured. It probably hurt like hell, but he couldn’t discern any other injuries. He prayed she didn’t have anything internal.
He touched a finger to her neck to find her pulse. It was a little erratic, but it beat strongly against his fingertips. Her color wasn’t too bad considering. She was pale, yes, but not deathly so. It was her mental state that was bothering him at the moment.
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