Against the Cage (Worth the Fight #1) (26 page)

“I’ll knock on every door if that’s what it takes.” Jack was rubbing his head as if that would keep it from exploding. He was a nervous wreck.

“No. No. No!” Chrissy slammed her fists against the steering wheel. Déjà vu. Except worse, because this time it was raining.

She was still two hours away from Tarpon Springs. She dragged a jacket from the backseat, draped it over her head to shield her from the rain, and got out of her car. This time there was no flat tire; her car had just died. And she didn’t even have a working cell phone. It was already eleven-thirty at night, and it was dark. She was in the middle of nowhere. The Everglades were to the right of the two-lane highway, a sea of mangroves and sawgrass to the left. She had two options. One: she could start walking in the torrential rain. It would take her hours to find help. There were also alligators lurking by the mangroves. Imagine, getting eaten by an alligator—no one would ever find her body. She hated reptiles. She started envisioning herself being mauled by a creature of the night. Or she could get hit by a car walking at night by the side of the road. Not to mention the crazies who abducted helpless women.

Option two: wait it out. She’d start walking tomorrow at daylight. She didn’t have water or food and she was starved, but there really wasn’t much of a decision to make. First she locked the doors. Then she grabbed her oversized purse and flipped it upside down over the passenger seat, spilling its contents out, to see what goodies she could find in the mess. She was happy to see a chocolate bar and a small bag of peanuts hidden in the mess. See, a messy purse did have its perks! Luckily, she also had Jack Daniel’s. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the flesh-and-bones man she loved and craved, but at least she had the bitter amber liquid to keep her hydrated. Or that’s what she told herself, anyway. Why didn’t she have a bottle of water in her purse? She seemed to have everything else, for goodness sake! So she reclined her seat, cracked a window for ventilation, and took a bite of the dark chocolate and a swig of Jack.

And then bright lights flooded the inside of her car and the smell of tires rubbing against asphalt assaulted her, followed by pain and then darkness …

Jack lost count as to how many times he had called her while he drove. The messages he left her ranged from desperate to angry. He was still cringing over one particular sappy
message in which he’d professed his love. He hoped it wasn’t too much too soon, but he had to make sure she knew his feelings. But she didn’t call.

About two hours into the drive his heart stopped. Between flashes of lightning, he saw a car on the other side of the road on the opposite lane of the street. It was hard to see because there were no streetlights and the rain was now coming down hard. But he could tell it was Chrissy’s car. Her car was unmistakable. It was the shittiest car he’d ever seen.
Note to self: Buy Chrissy a new car with the money I won from the fight—ASAP!

Since the road was deserted, he made a quick U-turn, but as he got closer he realized that his worst nightmare had come to life. He barely got the car in park before he jumped out.
No, no, no—this can’t be happening!
The first thing he noticed was another car, a red pickup truck rolled on its side, half of it immersed among the mangroves and the other half sticking out on the slope of the ditch. He hadn’t spotted it from the other side of the road, partly because the rain was beating down so hard and partly because Chrissy’s car and the slight drop into the ditch hid it from view. He then saw that the entire backside of her car was completely smashed in—anyone who had been sitting in the backseat would be dead. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He walked toward the front of the car, forcing his feet to move. First right, then left, right, left … His knees almost gave out when he saw the front windshield of her car completely shattered and blood on the hood of the car, which was now a mess of dented metal. Never had he felt so scared or helpless. He looked around to see if there were signs of a tow truck or a police officer, but it seemed that whatever had happened had occurred hours earlier, because they had cleared the scene and taken the victims away. But where?

With shaky hands he pulled out his phone and called his office. Barely able to get the words out, he asked Officer O’Donald, the officer on duty, to check with all the nearby authorities and hospitals for a Christine Martin and to call him back immediately with any information. He stood next to the mangled car, water pounding down on him, lightning flashing intermittently, and thunder booming loudly around him. But he didn’t feel, see, or hear any of it. His senses had shut down, and he was functioning in some sort of haze. Not quite numbness, because had he been numb, he wouldn’t have felt the pain and fear that tore through his body. He took a deep breath and braced himself: the next call would be the hardest.

Slade picked up on the first ring. “You found her?”

“Hey,” Jack said, his voice somber.

“Speak up, man. I can barely hear you.”

“Sorry. It’s pouring real bad here. Slade … I … uh …” The lump in his throat wasn’t allowing for words. And even if he could speak, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“She wouldn’t take your sorry ass back, huh?” Slade teased.

“Slade …” His hands shook so violently he could barely keep a grip on the phone. “Uh, man … I found Chrissy’s car about two hours south by the side of the road.” Jack cleared his throat.

“What do you mean, you found her car? Where’s Chrissy?” Slade asked.

“Her car … it looks really bad, Slade.”

“What are you talking about? Where is she? Where’s my sister?” Slade’s voice grew louder.

“I’m going into the nearest town to try to find the local hospital. I have my office trying to locate her too. You need to head down here, man.”

“Wait, I don’t understand. She was fine. She was just mad. What are you saying, Jack? This isn’t funny, brother.”

“I’m sorry, Slade. I wish I didn’t have to call you to tell you this, but you need to get down here. You need to get down here
now
.”

“How bad?”

“Bad.” Jack was a wreck, but he didn’t want to tell Slade just how terrible the scene looked. It wouldn’t help anything, and he needed Slade to make the two-hour drive in one piece.

“Tell me, goddammit!”

“The windshield’s gone,” he blurted out.

“Shit! I’m on my way.” And the phone went dead.

Jack stood on the side of the deserted road, soaked, staring at the car. He just couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t wrap his head around it. One minute Chrissy had been safely enveloped in his arms in the ocean, basking in post-sex bliss; the next …

It was too painful to think about the worst-case scenario. As a cop, he’d seen his share of accidents, and he knew how they sometimes ended. This particular scene didn’t look like it had ended well.

He hadn’t had a chance to tell her he loved her. Had she already been in the accident when he’d left the message? Had she heard it?

“Damn it, Chrissy!” He banged his fists on the top of the car. How could this have happened?

Then he noticed something on the floor near the driver’s seat. He stuck his head through the broken window, careful not to cut himself, and pulled it out. When he saw what it was, he had to put his hand on his chest to stop the pain—his heart physically hurt. What he held might as well have been a carefully written love letter. It was a small, half-consumed bottle of Jack Daniel’s. It was like he had been there with her. And the
bottle had survived the crash intact. Surely this had to mean something. As fast as he could, he ran to his car, got in, and took off.

As he searched for a gas station or someplace he could get directions to the nearest hospital, his phone rang. It was Officer O’Donald. She had located Chrissy’s whereabouts, and gave him the address of the hospital. She explained that all she had been able to find out was that the accident had occurred about two hours ago and the officers and ambulances had reported that Chrissy was alive on arrival but unconscious. Jack quickly inputted the address into his GPS, thanking God that he was only about fifteen minutes away. He called Slade, gave him the information, said a quick prayer, and hauled ass to find his woman.

Jack ran into the emergency room of St. Richard’s Hospital, soaked and slightly hysterical. “I’m looking for Christine Martin.” His foot tapped restlessly against the white linoleum floor as the young man at the reception area, whose name tag said Jonah Andrews, typed something into the computer while talking on a cell phone that he held between his ear and shoulder. Jack wanted to reach over the counter, break the cell phone in two, and shake the computer and Jonah into hurrying up. Instead he just drummed his fingers on the counter anxiously.

“Christine Martin,” Jack repeated, but slowly this time. Perhaps Jonah hadn’t heard him. “That’s C-H-R-I—”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” Jonah said to Jack, all the while continuing to have a conversation with whoever was on the other line.

Jack stopped drumming his fingers and flattened his palms on the counter. He leaned in, his face mere inches from Jonah’s. “Kid, I’ve had a fucking terrible night. Unless you want that phone and that computer shoved up your ass, I suggest you stop pissing around and tell me where I can find Christine Martin.”

Immediately Jonah hung up and fumbled nervously on the computer. “Found her. You are …?”

“I’m her …” What the fuck was he? Friend? Boyfriend? Lover?

Fuck that! After tonight, he was going to be her boyfriend. It was a fact. She’d never leave him again; this running-away bullshit stopped today! He closed his eyes and said a brief prayer:
Please God, let her be alive so that I can shake her until she understands …

“Sir?” Jonah asked again.

“I’m …” He cleared his throat. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Sorry, sir. I can’t give you any information. Only immediate family. Is there anyone we can call?” Even though he was probably just doing his job, the kid looked
smug. Jonah had just landed a sucker punch, and Jack felt it right in the gut. Perhaps if he had been a little more patient thirty seconds ago, the jerk would have given him some news.

Jack’s shoulders slumped. He felt defeated. “She doesn’t have family. I’m it. Please, is she okay? Is she in a room? Where is she, goddammit?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I really wish I could help you, but I cannot give you any information.”

“Please, just go inside and let her know I’m here. I assure you, she’ll tell you it’s all right.”

Jonah looked at his screen and didn’t respond. “I can’t …”

The thought of Chrissy alone in a hospital room, hurt and scared, sent him over the edge. Jack reached out and pulled the lapel of Jonah’s shirt forward with such force that half of the guy’s body was now over the counter. “If you don’t fucking tell me where she is, so help me—”

Two strong hands grabbed Jack’s shoulders and yanked him back and away from Jonah, but the haze he’d been in for the last forty-five minutes or so prevented him from acknowledging what was truly going on. “Where is she?” Jack yelled.

“Calm down, sir,” a deep voice said from behind him, as the man brought both of Jack’s hands high behind his back. In this position, Jack couldn’t turn around to see who held him, but by the strength of the man, he assumed he was one muscular guard, because Jack was not easy to strong-arm. And as unreasonable and relentless as Jack was, the grip was even harder.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he spat. His chest moved up and down as he heaved in breath after breath. The man pulled him into a nearby room.

“Calm down, sir,” he repeated sternly.

Jack sucked in ragged breaths. One, two, three …

“I’m going to let go now. If you even so much as think of moving, I’ll call the police and they will arrest you and then you’ll have no chance of seeing whomever it is you’re looking for,” the man said, still gripping Jack from behind.

Jack nodded. The man slowly released his hold. Jack rubbed his wrists and spun around to look at the guard. He was much older than Jack, but still a brick house—what the fighting world referred to as “old man strength.” He stood by the door like a bouncer in his dark blue guard uniform, legs spread and arms crossed. Neither said anything for a few minutes.

“Now that you’re a bit calmer, will you be assaulting anyone else tonight?”

Jack shook his head and said, “No, and I didn’t actually assault him, just got in his
face a little.”

“Okay. Well, if you’ve calmed yourself, I’ll go see what I can find out for you, and while I’m doing this you are going to go sit in the waiting area and wait. Quietly, okay?” The man’s voice and demeanor were firm.

Jack followed him out of the room. The guard said something to Jonah, who looked over at Jack warily. Then he led Jack to the empty waiting area. “What Jonah was trying to tell you before you tried to wring his neck was that he couldn’t ask the patient if you were welcome because she’s unconscious.” Jack opened his mouth to speak, but the man held up two fingers and placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Before you say anything else, I don’t know anything further. Jonah doesn’t know anything further either. No one is going to give you any more information, son. With all the privacy laws, you need to be a blood relative. Is there anyone you can call?”