Seized (Hostage Rescue Team Series, #7) (5 page)

You blew that all to hell when you put your mouth on hers.

Sawyer stayed close to her as they exited the pub and stepped out into the cool night air. The sun had set so it had a damp, chilly edge to it, and he could smell the briny scent of the water close by.

Carmela got as far as the sidewalk before stopping and looking back at him. She had her arms wrapped around her ribs, a purely defensive gesture that pierced him with sharp little needles of guilt. He didn’t ever want her feeling like she had to protect herself from him.

He had no intention of talking to her out here in plain view of anyone that cared to watch, and he didn’t want to take the chance that Ethan would come looking for either of them to see what was going on. Sawyer had told him on the way out that he was driving Carmela back to the hotel, but maybe his worries were unfounded because Ethan had barely been able to tear his attention off Marisol long enough to nod at him.

“Truck’s parked over that way,” he said, jerking his chin down the street behind her.

She threw him an are-you-kidding-me look. “You think I want to get into a vehicle with you right now?” Normally she gestured with her hands a lot while she spoke, especially when she got excited or worked up about something, and he missed that animated quirk now. Now she was reserved, hesitant around him, still had her arms wrapped around herself.

“I think you’d rather talk in private than out here in the open.”

She cast a glance around at the people walking on the sidewalk nearby, and relented with a muttered, “Fine.”

Sawyer walked past her and led the way toward the parking garage where they’d left one of the SUVs earlier, frantically thinking of what the hell to say to ease this tension between them. He’d gotten so used to Carm being open and friendly—okay, more than friendly—with him, this cool and aloof side of her drove him nuts. He’d allowed it because he kept telling himself that her distancing herself from him was for the best.

But now he realized he was at risk of losing her for good, and that was something he couldn’t handle.

Her heels clicked on the pavement as she walked a few steps behind him. He wanted her beside him where she belonged but didn’t say anything. He knew he had to apologize for his behavior, but didn’t know how much else he should tell her. The less she knew about his true feelings, the better. Talking about deep, emotional stuff wasn’t his strong suit at the best of times.

In all honesty, he was far more comfortable talking to a group of village elders in the most remote part of Afghanistan than he was trying to defuse a situation like this with a woman he cared about. Just one of the many reasons why he’d broken up with Trina; her constant complaints, criticism, and demands for him to become something he wasn’t had begun to make him resentful. And thankfully he’d been smart enough to realize that meant he needed to walk away, before it was too late.

He’d just never expected the fallout that came afterward.

He turned sideways to allow a couple to squeeze past him on the sidewalk and took a right down a side street toward the parking garage. When he reached it he opened the door for the stairwell and held it for her. Carmela studiously avoided looking at him as she stepped past, giving him a wide berth so he could lead the way up the stairs.

Halfway to the fourth floor, the metal door above suddenly banged open and angry male voices reached them.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

“Come back here, asshole,” another man growled in reply.

Carmela stopped dead and Sawyer turned back to her, automatically placing himself between her and the men above them. Grunts and the sounds of shuffling feet told him a scuffle had broken out.

Without a word he put a hand on the center of Carmela’s back and propelled her back the way they’d come. Before they’d taken three steps, a man tumbled down the concrete steps behind them. He hit the landing with a thud and quickly jumped to his feet, a pained grimace on his face.

His clothes were dirty and worn, and his hair and beard were unkempt. He froze when he saw Sawyer there, darted a glance between him and whoever had just thrown him down the steps.

And then that feral gaze locked on Sawyer and the desperate light he saw there put him on immediate alert.

“What are you looking at, asshole?” the man sneered. Blood seeped down his cheek from a cut near his right eyebrow, and his eyes were bloodshot, the pupils unnaturally dilated. Definitely high on something, and from the looks of the lesions on his face, Sawyer was betting crystal meth.

The man’s hand swept upward, the overhead light glinting off the switchblade he held in his fist.

Sawyer tensed and Carmela sucked in a breath behind him. He was armed but he would only draw his weapon as a last resort because if he drew it, it meant he intended to fire. And if he fired, it would be to kill. If things got ugly, he didn’t want Carmela to see any of that.

“Carm, get outside,” he commanded in a low voice, never taking his eyes off the guy. He wanted her to get to safety so he could defuse this without having to reach for the weapon at the small of his back.

A second man suddenly stuck his head over the side of the railing to see what was going on. When he saw Sawyer blocking the other guy’s path, his smile was pure evil.

Carmela still hadn’t moved but Sawyer couldn’t risk taking his eyes off the man in front of him. A sheen of sweat beaded the guy’s upper lip and forehead and his eyes had a frantic light to them now. He was either going to try to shove past Sawyer and Carmela, or run the gauntlet of the man waiting for him above.

Sawyer slowly raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture and took a step back, not bothering to say anything. Words would only escalate the situation, since the guy was already freaked and obviously not operating with a full deck.

Carmela moved with him, one hand fisting the back of his leather jacket. He wished she’d run when he’d told her, but he wasn’t surprised that she was still there. Carmela wasn’t the type to bail if she thought someone needed her, no matter the danger. Part of him admired the hell out of that. The other part wanted her as far away from this unstable asshole as she could get.

The trapped man’s gaze darted between Sawyer and the threat waiting above, weighing his options. Sawyer knew the moment he made the decision to run at them.

Carmela had only taken a step when the guy suddenly whirled and lunged down the stairs toward them, blade held high in one dirty fist.

“Look out,” she cried, but Sawyer was already moving.

He twisted to push her out of the way with his body and turned to confront the threat, knocking his hat free so the brim wouldn’t impede his vision. This asshole wasn’t getting past him with Carmela standing unprotected a few feet away. The man snarled and swiped the blade at him. Sawyer jerked backward, narrowly avoiding the knife as it sliced past his chest in a wicked arc.

“No!” Carmela lunged for him, grabbed the back of his jacket again and pulled hard.

Sawyer bit back a curse but couldn’t risk taking his attention off the attacker to push her out of harm’s way. Rage exploded inside him when the man slashed the blade toward him again, this time managing to slice across his left shoulder.

He barely felt the burn, all his focus on taking this bastard down before he hurt Carmela. Before the guy could bring his hand back up for another try, Sawyer stepped in close to take away his leverage and grabbed his knife arm in a bruising grip. The man shouted in surprise and pain as Sawyer wrenched it up and back in a quick twist, at the same time pivoting to lock his free arm around the man’s neck and squeezing tight.

The knife hit the ground and bounced down the first couple of steps. Carmela finally let go of Sawyer’s jacket and ran down to kick it away from them, sending it clattering to the floor beside the door.

Locked in Sawyer’s grip, the man clawed at Sawyer’s arm with his free hand, his face turning bright red as the circulation to his brain was cut off. Sawyer held the blood choke, dividing his attention between Carmela, standing on the lower landing, her wide eyes locked on him, and the other man above him.

The man in his hold struggled for a few seconds longer but quickly grew weak. As soon as he sagged, Sawyer dropped him where he stood then whirled and headed for Carmela. She’d backed herself against the concrete wall, her eyes huge.

He reached down with his good arm to snag his hat. “Come on,” he told her, taking her by the forearm on his way to the door. No telling what that guy would do when he gained consciousness, and Sawyer had no interest in sticking around to see if the other guy came after them now.

She didn’t argue, jogging alongside him in her heels to keep up with his quick strides. He hurried around to the front entrance and took the ramp this time to the level the SUV was parked on.

Using the keyfob he remotely unlocked the doors and put her in the front passenger seat, still keeping an eye on their surroundings. No one was coming after them yet but that didn’t mean they were clear if that second guy had a gun and was hiding somewhere waiting to take a potshot at them.

He slid behind the wheel and shut the door, removing his pistol from the holster at the small of his back and placing it on the center console before starting the engine. He and the others always combat parked to save time in case they needed to make a hasty exit, and it came in handy in cases like this.

No other cars were waiting in line at the exit, but until he made it out onto the street safely the danger wasn’t over yet. He lowered his window partway to get the ticket in, his gaze darting toward the entrance to the stairwell. The automated arm began to lift just as the stairwell door pushed open and Sawyer recognized the second man. He was staring at them intently and there was something in his hand.

Sawyer reached out to grab the back of Carmela’s head. “Get down,” he barked, stomping on the accelerator and raised the window just as a bullet hit the back window with a crack. Carmela cried out and bent lower in her seat.

He shifted his hand to her upper back and pushed downward as he tore out of the garage with a squeal of tires. Pedestrians jumped out of the way and yelled but Sawyer didn’t even glance at them.

As soon as they were partway up the street, he relaxed a little. A quick glance in the rearview showed their tail was clear so he let go of Carmela and pulled out his phone. She sat up, swiveling around to look at where the bullet had impacted the rear window.

“Glass is bullet resistant,” he said. And thank God for that. She turned her eyes on him and wrapped her arms around herself. “You okay?”

She nodded once, face pale, and raked her gaze over him as she dug out her cell phone. “We need to call the—” She gasped and reached across him for his left arm. He twitched. “You’re bleeding.”

He glanced down at his left shoulder. It stung, but the knife hadn’t done any serious damage. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” she argued, peeling his jacket off. He covered a wince as the wound burned. She leaned across him to get a better look, the position awkward. “Okay, that’s deep,” she murmured, sitting up to dig in her purse for something.

“I’ve got to report this to the cops.” When he stopped for the next red light he looked down. The wound was deeper than he’d realized, about seven inches long because of the way the blade had sliced along his skin, and bleeding enough that pressure wasn’t going to stop it completely.

Hell.

Carmela scooted beneath his right arm and leaned across him to press a wad of tissues to his shoulder. It was sweet of her to take care of him, but Kleenex wasn’t going to do the trick. Also, he had no intention of spending hours in an ER just to get a few sutures. Thankfully he had options. He’d talk to the cops, get stitched up, then call his commander.

Ignoring Carmela’s efforts to stop the bleeding, he picked up his cell and dialed 911. After reporting what had happened, giving his information and agreeing to meet with officers back at the hotel while he was receiving medical treatment, he called Schroder. “Hey, Doc, I need a favor,” he said when the former PJ answered.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I think I need a couple stitches.” Carmela’s gaze flashed upward, her expression one of consternation. Okay, maybe more than a couple stitches.

Silence for a moment. “What happened?”

“Got too close to a switchblade.”

“What? Who’d you piss off in the twenty minutes since I last saw you?”

“Some junkie in the parking lot stairwell.” Cops were en route now to hunt the assholes down. “Can you meet me in my hotel room? I don’t want the guys knowing about this yet.” They’d find out soon enough but he didn’t want any more drama than they’d already had tonight.

And he sure as hell wanted DeLuca to find out from him, not one of the guys. He didn’t think the knife wound would keep him sidelined, but until Doc verified that, he wanted to downplay the situation to their commander, just in case.

“Sure, man. Text me when you get here.”

“Roger that.” He ended the call and set the phone into the cup holder, then switched his grip so that his right hand was back on the wheel again.

Carmela grunted in annoyance, a fierce frown on her face as she tried to stem the bleeding. Her fingers were already stained red and he could feel the blood seeping down his arm, over his ribs. “Think you can stop using this arm for a few minutes now?” she said, her voice testy.

“Yeah.” He didn’t tell her to stop the pressure or not to worry about him. She was a caretaker and he knew that giving her the chance to do something to help was way more therapeutic than any words he could offer right now. “Well, there’s no way to hide that bullet hole in the window. I’m gonna have to make an official report to the Bureau as well.”

She nodded, her gaze still on where she was pressing tissues to the cut. “I know.”

He glanced down at her. “Not exactly how I wanted to spend our time together tonight.”

Her lips quirked in a small smile. “Well, tough. And why the hell did you confront him like that instead of just getting out the door? He could have stabbed you in the neck or the chest.” Her voice shook a little but the pressure of her fingers was steady. He knew she’d seen her fair share of blood in her work as a senior orthopedic specialist when she went into the operating room with the surgeons to show them how her company’s surgical implants worked.