Reckless Endangerment (39 page)

“Everyone,” she answered with a grin, her voice sounding like a wheeze.  “I have a posse...coming for me.”

“Is she lying?”  The man asked McGee who backed toward the door, gun pointed directly at Michael’s head. 

“Probably.  She’s a lone wolf, reckless to a fault,” McGee answered.  “We’ll go back to her loft, I’ve got a key and the feds won’t think anything about me showing up there.  Let her go.  She’ll be dead before anyone knows she’s even missing.”

“Knew...I should have...hit you.”  Her breath came at odd spurts as she slid down the wall opposite him, her gaze locked on McGee.  “Rot...in hell...Captain Scott...McGee.” 

He squinted at her, remembering the wire she wore and wondering if it was still working.  She was making sure she named names while she had the chance. 

“Let’s go.” McGee motioned for the other men to leave the room before making eye contact with him one last time.  Without saying a word, he gave him a mock salute with his gun before backing out of the room. 

“I’m not gonna...make it...my Marine,” she said, voice so quiet he could barely hear her. 

No one was dying today, not here in a dusty room in the Rocky Mountains, not now that they’d finally made it home.  He fought against the spasms beginning in his lower back, regretting not taking those pain pills before he’d left the house, and resenting his condition for the thousandth time.  No.  No one was dying today.

They’d shown no mercy in hauling him from the jeep and into this building, knowing full well he’d cooperate as long as Hope’s life hung in the balance. 

He shifted onto his back and, using his elbows and right leg, inched toward her through the contents of her bag.  The room smelled like gasoline, something he hadn’t noticed earlier.  He tilted his head back and noticed the other door at the far end of the room.  Bars covered the high windows.  He heard dogs barking in the distance, probably German Shepherds. 

He reached her side and collapsed for a minute, eyes blinking at the metal ceiling.

“Angel,” he heard her saying softly, over and over.  She gave the code word on her wire, something McGee had failed to search her for. 

“Hope, I’m going to get you out of here.”  He fought off the spasm that seized his back. 

“You’re gonna be...okay.  Wulf will...come.” 

He squeezed his eyes closed as another spasm ripped up his spine.  Now was not the time for helplessness. 

Gritting his teeth together, he glanced to his right over the contents of her bag and noticed the flashlight.  He twisted with all of his strength until he held it in his hands behind his back.  Unable to see, he unscrewed the top and shook it.  Sure enough, a knife fell into his fingertips.

“That’s my girl,” he said with a grin. 

“Wulf will...come,” she said again.

Ignoring her, he sliced open the plastic bonds on his wrists before shoving himself to a sitting position.  He crawled to her side. 

“Okay, babe, let’s see what’s up with you.  Look at me.”  He framed her face with his hands until she opened her eyes again.  “Stay with me.  Focus.”

“You moved...across the room.”  A familiar taunting light flashed in her eyes.  “Faker. Knew...you could...do more.”

“Who knew I needed a life or death situation to push me?  Keep that ballsy attitude.  We need it right now.”

“Not always?”

“Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass.  Keep your eyes on my face, okay?  Don’t look down.”  He grinned to reassure her as he slowly unzipped her leather jacket.

Her blouse was soaked with blood.  He used his fingers to find where the bullet had entered the right side of her chest.  Sliding his hand behind her shoulder, he couldn’t feel an exit wound.  From the looks of the wound, she had a punctured lung.  She needed surgery.  Fast. 

Still grinning, he met her gaze.  “You’re gonna be okay, babe.  Just a little blood.  You’re gonna be fine.”

He grabbed the yellow scarf from around her neck, shoved it into a ball, pressed it against the wound and zipped up her jacket to hold it in place. 

“I’m sorry.  You should have...stayed home, shouldn’t be...here.”

“Liar.  You’re glad I’m here.”  He smiled and slid his thumb across her lips.  “Admit it.”

“My Marine...stubborn...ass...sneaking along.”

He reached into his waistband and produced the gun she’d given him at the institute.  “I came prepared, I’ll give you that.”

She leaned heavily against his shoulder, her arms sliding over his hips.  “I smell...gas.”

So did he.  He looked over his shoulder toward the door at the back of the room. 

“You’re gonna need to be my left leg, babe.  We need to move. Let’s go that way.”

“I’m not doing so well.” When she looked at him, the fire in her eyes had dimmed to a slow burn.  “I don’t know...if the wire works.”

He gripped her chin with his fingers and held her gaze. “You’ve always been the optimist.  C’mon, Shane.  I need you now.  We can do this, hear me?  Remember how you dragged me from a burning humvee and got me to safety?  Don’t give up now.”

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his for a minute.  Without saying anything, she stumbled to standing before reaching down for him. 

He pushed with his right leg, demanding more of himself and those muscles than he had in months, while she pulled him as hard as she could.  Wrapping her right arm around his back while his left moved around her shoulders, she grinned up at him once they had their precarious positions stated. 

“Deja vu, babe,” he said looking down at her.  “We can do this.”

“Sorry...I got you into this,” she said, eyes half-closed, words slurred. 

“McGee and Gannon got me into this, not you.”  He clenched his teeth together.  “C’mon.  I know we’re gonna be slow, but we need to move.”

They shuffled toward the door, him leaning on her as much as she leaned against him.  Both paused for breath once they reached that back door.  He supported himself with a flat hand against the wall while she dropped her head against his chest.  Nothing about this situation looked hopeful, but he knew he didn’t need to tell her that. 

He glanced over his shoulder toward the locked door, noticed the dragging imprint his lifeless left leg had created through the dirt.  They had a long way to go.

* * * *

Every breath felt like it was being torn from her lungs by fishhooks.  Coldness sunk into her bones.  She felt the blood sticking her blouse to her skin like glue.  She looked up at Michael before turning the knob.  It wasn’t locked, surprisingly.  And that could be bad, very bad. 

She opened the door without loosening the hold on Michael, knowing full well that he’d fall without her.  A long corridor stretched in front of them with doors leading off in every direction.  They were obviously in some type of warehouse, something she hadn’t noticed the other day.  They slid along the wall, both needing it for support. 

His left leg dragged lifelessly between them.  She focused solely on putting one foot in front of the other.  Inches at a time. Where she got her strength, she didn’t know.  She hoped against hope that her wire worked and that the feds were outside. 

Crying from behind one of the closed doors stopped them in motion.  This was it.  This is where Gannon had kept the girls.  She looked up at Michael. 

“I hear it, too.  Go.  Take your knife, it’s in my pocket.  Free them.  Isn’t that the point of all this?”  He grinned and nodded toward the door. 

“If I let you go, you’ll fall.”

“Then you’ll pick me up again.  Go on.”  He held the gun in his right hand as he braced his back against the wall. Slowly, he let her go and slid down the wall. 

Dizzy, she weaved toward the door.  A deadbolt on the outside of the door proved the girls were locked in, but at least it was an easy obstacle to handle.  She slid it free and slung the door wide. 

Inside were two mattresses and two women, beaten, half-naked, and dirty.  A toilet and sink occupied the middle of the windowless room.  They stared at her in shock, obviously not expecting a rescue.

Not that she felt much like a hero in her current condition.  She motioned for them to follow, not trusting her Spanish at the moment when she could barely construct a sentence.  She looked over her shoulder toward the door they had come from before putting a finger over her lips to caution the women into silence.  As a unit they moved from one door to the next.  More women, some barely in their teens.  All abused, filthy and terrified. 

The last room is where she discovered Marshall and Devon, still with their hands tied and mouths gagged, but eyes wide open.  They squirmed on their mattresses at the sight of her looming in the doorway.  She looked back down the hall to where Michael sat against the wall, his gaze focused on the door with his gun in his hand. 

She hated the wheezing sound coming out of her mouth and the dizziness wracking her brain.   

Unsteady, she cut her friends loose. Gratitude flooded her that they lived.  She’d experienced too much loss in too short of at time and wouldn’t have been able to handle anymore.  

“I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life,” Marshall said. 

She couldn’t respond, it took too much energy to speak. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Devon pushed her hands against the side of Hope’s face when she refused to speak.  “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

“Later,” she managed to say as she stumbled to stand and look at the mass of abused women staring at her from the dark, dusty room.  “No time.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely hurt.” Devon glanced toward Michael once they were in the hall.  “Well, I see this time we have the backing of a Colonel in the Marine Corps.  Good to know.”

Fire.  She smelled it even though she couldn’t see any smoke. 

“Burning us alive,” Marshall said before locking his gaze on hers.  “We need to move.  Fast.”

She stumbled her way back to Michael’s side, wrapped her arm around his waist and looked into his face.  Fast wasn’t an option. 

“What’s with these assholes and burning people up?” Devon muttered as she motioned for the women to line up and not panic. 

“Any way out the back?” Michael asked Marshall.

“Not that I saw. Only one way out.” 

“They’ll be waiting, probably, to shoot anyone who goes out that door,” he said.  “C’mon, Hope.  We need to take the lead.”

She blinked away the lightheadedness that battled for control.  She didn’t have much left to give and knew it.  But for him, she’d give it all she had until the bitter end.  With a nod, she turned with him, working as his left leg, knowing that he knew best in this situation. 

“Devon,” she managed to say, “camera in my jacket.  Get it.”

Devon paused only for a second, her gaze meeting hers as she unzipped the leather jacket and undid the hidden camera that she’d placed inside the other night.  “You’re gonna be okay, Hope.”

“Take it.”  She looked away from her friend’s gaze. 

No matter how this played out, she wasn’t going to let these bastards win.  She’d document what she had...even if she didn’t live to see it. 

Chapter Twenty-Six

Every inch of his body screamed in protest.  He leaned heavily on Hope, needing her support even though he knew adrenaline alone kept her upright. 

“I’m here, too, Colonel.  Tell me what you need.”  Marshall stood at his right side, using his T-shirt to shield the bottom half of his face from the smoke. 

“Me, too.  Whatever you need, Colonel.”  Devon looped Hope’s forgotten bag around her torso and pressed a hand over her mouth. 

He nodded, aware that he’d been thrust into the role of leader of this disjointed group of walking wounded.  “I know McGee.  He doesn’t underestimate me, I know that.  I saw it in his face.  Force open the door, I’ll drop down and keep them busy while you rush the women to safety.  Move fast, don’t look back for us.”

Devon’s gaze flicked toward Hope, but she nodded in acceptance that they’d stay together.  “You sure you can handle this?”

“Do I have a choice?”  He glanced toward the top of Hope’s head, heard the horrible wheezing sound and gritted his teeth.  “You know the plan, not too complicated, let’s go.”

He and Hope moved as one to the door.  Marshall pushed it open.

Flames licked their feet and smoke rolled over them, but Hope didn’t falter.  She held onto him with both arms around his waist, taking his weight without question, her face buried against his side. 

He held the gun firm, eyes squinting through the smoke as bullets began flying in their direction.  He heard rather than saw Marshall and Devon pushing the women out the door.  He fired the gun with innate accuracy; hitting the man who’d smacked his wife around before training his gaze on McGee who’d darted behind a tree. 

“Hope.”  Devon hesitated.

“Stick to the plan,” he said without looking in her direction.  “Run.  Now.”