The Edge of Trust: Team Edge (14 page)

“Shh.”  Dillon tapped Craig’s face, then with merciful intent, pressed on his carotid artery until Craig passed out.   

The cardiac monitor went nuts. 

Dillon stepped away from the bed just as a nurse hit the door at a run.  “Passed out.  Guess he’ll take those meds now.”

Get Vega, my ass, Dillon thought as he headed for the door.  Kill Vega dead was more like it.

<><><>

Sara sat in a molded plastic chair, overwhelmed and exhausted.  The bright lights overhead made her eyes water, so she closed them and leaned her head back against the wall. 

She wondered what the two men were talking about and how much Craig was going to tell Dillon.  Knowing Craig, he’d say as little as possible, which for now, suited her just fine.  She needed to be the one to tell Dillon about Ellie.  And about Matt and Sanchez.  And the flash drive, which she had no idea what to do with at this point.  She couldn’t very well hand it over to Craig while he was in and out of consciousness.

At least he was alive.  She liked him, he'd always been kind to her, and he was like some kind of DEA Superman at his job.  He'd promised to keep her safe, and he had, until three days ago.  Even then, she didn’t think Sanchez finding her had been his fault. 

She wondered again what had gone wrong.  How had Sanchez found her? 

Maybe Craig would know.  According to the nurse in charge, he wouldn’t be out of commission long.  Maybe tomorrow or the next day, he’d feel well enough that Sara could see him, give him the flash-drive, and possibly, hopefully, get a few answers.  As soon as he was just a little bit better, Matt would show up with Ellie, and then maybe all this would be the beginning of the end. 

She was sick of hiding, tired of looking over her shoulder.  Hell, she was tired of being tired.  But what she hated most was the fear. 

She shot bolt upright as a terrifying thought hit.  Oh, God, Matt.  Had Sanchez made him?  Had Craig been shot because of
her
?  Did Sanchez know she was still alive?  Could he have found her?  Was it possible Sanchez had traced her through Craig?  Or Dillon?  Had Matt said something?  No.  No, never.  Matt would die first.  But somehow, Sanchez must have connected them.  Maybe Sanchez thought she’d given the map and flash-drive to Craig and had shot him to keep him quiet.

She slumped forward and rubbed her eyes.  None of this made sense.  She needed answers, but the only person who might know exactly what was going on was Matt.

But he was in so deep, into only God knew what--

Jesus, Matt had Ellie.

Didn’t he? 

The walls wavered and she closed her eyes.  Her head pounded.  With the pounding came an onslaught of nausea, and suddenly she needed some fresh air.  She turned to Stacy, excused herself, and got up to find an exit.

<><><>

Dillon walked out of Craig’s room looking for Sara only to find her gone.  Stacy too.  He waited about half a beat, then strode down the hall and checked the ladies room.  He knocked, waited, went in. 

The white, sterile room was completely empty and his heart started to pound.  He checked the nurses’ station but Sara wasn’t there either. 

Would she have just left?

He didn’t know.

What did she think he was going to do?  Roll over and let her just walk away, stroll off into the sunset and all that crap, with a drug cartel on her heels? 

Christ, what if something had happened to her? 

He fingered the ring in his pocket.  Then pushing through the swinging doors at the end of the hall, he scanned the corridor and picked up his pace.

<><><>

Sara blamed the fact that she’d taken a wrong turn and gotten herself lost on the reality that she was ready to drop.  Hopefully Dillon was done checking on Craig by now, and if she was lucky, he’d be waiting, probably madder than spit, but still waiting, just around the next corner of this colorless maze.

Tears of fatigue and frustration burned her eyes and she swiped at her cheeks, furious with herself for leaving the safety of Craig’s ICU, and Dillon.  Blindly, she turned down the next deserted hallway, looking for a nurse’s station.

“Are you lost, Mrs. Caldwell?”

Her head snapped up.  She whirled at the stranger’s voice behind her only to see the barrel of a silenced automatic pointed directly at her.  Her heart pitched, missed a beat, froze. 

She’d never seen the man who stood just a few feet away.  He had short brown hair, brown eyes, a matter-of-fact gaze and an easy stance.  Dressed in a navy blue suit, he looked like he’d just come from a business meeting.  Except for the gun.

She thought about screaming, maybe running--

“You’ll be dead before you make a sound or take a single step.”

He stood just far enough away that even if she lunged she’d never reach him before he pulled the trigger. 

He held out his free hand.  “Toss me the map and the flash drive.”

“I don’t have them.”  This man might very well kill her for
not
having the flash drive, but that would be failure on his part, and not something Sanchez would tolerate.  “You can tell Sanchez to go screw himself.” 
Step closer, you bastard.

He kept his distance.  No way to disarm him without getting closer.   

“I’m going to enjoy killing you, you stupid bitch, but first we’re going for a walk.  Turn around.”

He discreetly jabbed the gun into her back and shoved her along in front of him as they moved further down the deserted hallway.  “Turn right at the next corridor.”

She dragged her feet, moving slowly in between shoves, and listened for voices. 

No one around that she could see or hear.  No innocent bystanders to get hit by a stray bullet.

The next hallway loomed just a few steps away.  She didn’t know where it led or what the man planned to do to her once they got there.

Didn’t matter.  She had a plan of her own.  The man was closer now, and if she spun, grabbed his gun hand, pushed up, threw a jab--

In the split second before she turned the corner, a movement caught her eye and she felt herself being yanked by the shirt face first around the corner toward the floor.

Everything blurred as she hit the ground and rolled.  She heard a soft spit, a thud, and the sound of something metal sliding across the floor. 

Someone grabbed her.  A man.

Sanchez.

Black panic closed in for a split second before instinct took over.

Harness the fear.

She jumped to her feet.

Neutralize the threat.  Counter-attack. 

Strike. 

Groin.  Throat.  Eyes.

Strong arms seized her around the middle, trapping her arms, holding her in the same body lock she’d been taught.  “
Sara
.  It’s okay.  You’re all right.”

Seconds felt like hours before the haze of adrenaline faded and she realized the roughly gentle voice belonged to Dillon. 

She sagged with relief.  His arms loosened. 

Safe.  She was safe now. 

Safe with Dillon.

<><><>

Dillon pressed Sara’s head against his chest and inch-by-inch felt her tension begin to subside. 

“I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s okay, it’s over.  You’re fine.” 

Her eyes were still big, round, not quite calm.  And again he wondered what the hell had happened to her. 

With a resigned sigh, he set her away and said, “We have to go.” 

She nodded and he let go of her to bend down and retrieve the weapon the gunman had dropped.

Sara glanced at the man laying face down at her feet.  Tried not to shudder.  “Dead?”

Dillon eased Sara aside, pointed the silenced gun at the back of the man’s head and pulled the trigger.  “Yes,” Dillon said grimly, and stuck the weapon in the waistband of his jeans.  Sara looked like she’d had about all she could take so he grabbed her hand and led her in a quick jog toward a side exit.

God almighty, when he thought about what could have happened to her--

“Should we go back and warn Craig
?
”

“Craig’s fine.  He’s got armed feds outside his door.”  Not to mention a U.S. Senator. 

“I need to see him.”  Sara tried digging in her heels.  Dillon didn’t stop.

“Not tonight.  Craig may be safe, we however, aren’t.”

“But--”

“Tomorrow, Sara.  Tomorrow’s soon enough.”  He pushed through the exit door, pulling Sara behind him.  They hadn’t taken more than five steps into the parking area when, from out of the darkness, a bullet zinged past his head.

Adrenaline propelled him sideways into Sara.  In less than a second he pushed her down behind a blue sedan, throwing his body over hers.  Another series of bullets ripped through the air shattering the windows of the car.  “Son of a
bitch
.”  Instinct had him checking the clip in the gun he’d taken, then firing toward the shooter. 

Sara lay unmoving beneath him.  An instant of panic hit.  “Are you okay?” 

She nodded and a muffled “yes” came out near the asphalt.  He shifted his weight, moving off her enough so she could get to her knees. 

Two more shots pinged into the car.  They were in a hot spot here, the bullets too close.  “When I tell you to, I want you to run like hell for my car.  Don’t look back, just go.  Okay?”

Sara nodded again, and even crouched in the shadows, he could see how shaky she was.  Exhaustion overload.  Well, if her legs wouldn’t hold, he’d carry her. 

He stilled, listening for sounds, footsteps or rustling, anything that might give the shooter’s position away.  When he heard nothing, he methodically shot out the lamps in the security floodlights, hoping the cover of darkness would hide them.

Hearing no movement, he grabbed Sara’s hand.  “Now!” 

In a silent rush, they ran.

<><><>

By the time Sara slammed the car door closed, fatigue and frustration were burning her eyes.  How, with everything that had happened, was still happening, was she going to get her child?  Would Matt show tomorrow?  The next day?  How would he get a hold of Craig? 

She needed to go back.  “Stop!  I need…we need to make sure Craig is all right.  Go to the front entrance, there’s more light, more people--” 

As the Corvette’s engine roared to life, another series of bullets ripped into the rear quarterpanel and Dillon pushed her face down across the console between the seats. 

“Dammit, Sara, stay down!”  Thrusting the gear into reverse, he floored it.  The tires spun backward and he cut the wheel as they swerved on the blacktop.  “I told you, Craig’s fine.  What the hell’s gotten into you?” 

More shots fired out of the darkness.  Sara covered her head with her hands, waiting for a bullet to shear through the fiberglass and slam into her body or Dillon’s. 

Tires screaming, Dillon spun the car in the opposite direction, shoved it into drive, and shot out of the parking lot onto the street.  He flipped the headlights on.  “Are you okay?”

She raised her head and looked down the street behind them.  “Yeah.” 
No, not even.
  “Is he following us?” 

“I don’t think so.  Not yet anyway.  But whoever they are, these boys won’t quit.”

No, they won’t quit.  Not until we’re dead.

CHAPTER TEN

Journal Entry

Adoña’s lovely, but still, there must be something off there since she did, after all, marry Rafe.  Although, to be fair, I think maybe she married him hoping to get away from this life.  The violence of it.  Or maybe she wants out for Dreena’s sake.  Not sure, but I see a hard edge in her eyes when business is discussed.  Maybe someday she’ll tell me.  Better yet, maybe she’ll figure out how to get herself and her child away from Sanchez before they’re all killed in this unholy drug war.   

Marco’s a talker.  Bumping coke makes him a wildcard, removes the censor, and his mouth spews out shit better left unsaid.  He’s reckless and twitchy and stupidly dangerous. 

Xavier is shrewd, smart, but weak.  A dreamer.  His attention to detail is impressive yet he lacks the guerilla instincts of his brothers.  At this rate, I put his life expectancy at less than five years.

Dreena’s innocent, just a child, and it makes me sick when I think of her with this family as an influence.  Her innocence can’t last, and that’s just a tragic reality.  ~~ D.C.

<><><>

Midnight had come and gone by the time they were settled in a safe house in a quiet residential neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. 

Sara was in the shower, and Dillon was making--he didn’t know what to call it.  Dinner?  Breakfast?  A midnight snack?

Whatever.  He pulled eggs out of the fridge, a pan out of the cupboard, and set about making ham and cheese omelets with toast and coffee. 

Over the years, how many omelets had he made for Sara?  Fifty?  A hundred?  And how many of those omelets had grown cold because one of Sara’s favorite things to do had been to sneak up behind him and blow in his ear while he was cooking?  Or wrap her arms around him and sneak her hand down the front of his pants?

He glanced at the solid oak table sitting in the middle of the kitchen.  It wasn’t much different from the one he and Sara had bought four years ago.  The one they’d shared more than just meals on.

Sweet kisses.  Laughter.  Sex so hot his balls practically jumped up and danced.  

For an eerie moment, he felt the months vanish, like time going into fast rewind.  Like they’d never been apart, and this was one of those regular days in the neighborhood.  She’d stroll in from her shower, all damp and girly smelling, wrap her arms around his waist, nuzzle his neck.  And he’d kiss her.  Maybe dance her around the kitchen a little.  Then he’d make love to her, maybe twice if he was lucky, and let yet another meal go down the tubes. 

He still couldn't believe she was here.  In this house.  Just down the hall.  Alive. 

The egg he held crushed in his palm.  Why had she let him believe she was dead?  How could she have let him live
with his gut twisted with grief for all those months?  Dammit, how
could
she?