Playing For Keeps (Montana Men) (11 page)

Chapter Seven

Force is all-conquering, but its victories
are short-lived.

~ Abraham Lincoln

McLean, Virginia

CIA Headquarters

February 16, Monday

Thirty-five minutes after the assassination…

The
gun clicked on an empty chamber. Jayla opened her mouth and belted out a shrill
scream.
“Ahhh!”
The sharp cry hurt
even her ears, but she had no time to waste, or consider her next defensive
move. From one blink to the next, she swung her big heavy bag with all her
might.
Crack!
It slammed against the
center of Kane’s forehead knocking him back several steps. He groaned and
dropped to the floor like the sack of shit she knew him to be.

“Hah!
I’m not in the women’s softball league for nothing,” she chortled. Jayla jabbed
the down button so hard she chipped a nail. “Lousy rotten scumbag!” She stabbed
the button several more times, until the doors finally closed. She was getting
darn tired of Kane and his freakin’ gun waiting outside elevator doors to pop her.
Jayla poked the button again. “Come on! Move, already!”

What
the hell was wrong with the elevators tonight? Were they all on some kind of
non-response mode? When they moved, were they programmed in slow motion? It
certainly seemed like it to her. Finally, the car’s brain kicked in and the
machine descended at a rate of speed she labeled granny-gear in her mind.

Her
brain felt scrambled. She didn’t know what to do now, where to turn to for
help. Her breasts chugged. Her lungs felt tortured by the rapid inhalations and
exhalations escaping her. “Calm down. Save your energy.” She wrinkled her nose
at the whiff of fine bourbon filling her nostrils from inside her bag.
“Oooh,
hell!” The fifth of
Rip Van Winkle
she’d filched from her
stepfather’s bar earlier in the day must have broken when she cracked Kane’s
skull with it. “Mother-humper!” She expressed her sorrow over the loss of good
bourbon with the two-part word. “Shit-shit-shit!” The three-word phrase
verbalized her indisputable rage over the fact her costly Chloe Paddington
handbag with the prominent golden padlock now smelled like a distillery.

She had a
thing
for expensive handbags and this one was her favorite. She couldn’t think of a
better way for the bottle of liquor to go than over Kane’s head, though, even
if her purse ended up ruined, which only proved there was a good reason for all
things.

Thank God she’d claimed the fifth and stuck it in her bag
before she left Hamilton’s house earlier today. From there, she’d carried it to
the Vintage Party and back to the Ambassador. She’d intended to share it with
Sam once they arrived in Hawaii.

It wasn’t that she was a bourbon fan, she wasn’t. She’d
taken it because it was the senator’s favorite booze. Someone had sent him a
new case while she was there at Hamilton’s home. It’d given her great pleasure
to pour the entire contents down the drain, except for the last remaining
bottle she’d swiped.

It was little enough revenge for all she owed him, but
just knowing Hamilton would be pissed over the loss made her day. One day she’d
find a way to make him really pay for the wrongs he’d done to her and her
mother.

She took a moment to savor the fact that she’d creamed
Kane, but good, another black mark against her. Jayla dumped the chunks of
glass in a trash receptacle and lamented the fact the bottom of her bag was wet
and smelly, but at least for the moment, she was safe. Yeah. She’d bought
herself some time, a few precious minutes she needed to reach her car and
escape.

The sound of Flayme’s frightened shriek as Kane aimed the
gun at
her
would haunt her for a long
time to come. She didn’t know which had frightened her more—Flayme’s panicked
screams or when Kane turned away from shooting at the secretary and suddenly
shot at
her.

Goose-bumps had plunged through her soul clear to her
toes. Like the icy fingers of death, they’d danced all over her, but nothing
had alarmed her as much as the ice-cold merciless look in Kane’s pale gray eyes
when he turned his attention on her.

And there she’d stood, cornered in an elevator for the
second time that night. From the gleam she’d seen in his hard gaze, she
wondered if he’d been considering screwing her one last time before he put a
slug between her eyes. It’d be just like him, the icy bastard. The challenge of
making her climax under such extreme circumstances would be an added bonus for
him. The man was seriously wired the wrong way.

Jayla shuddered at the thought of Kane ever touching her
again.

How had he known where she was going when she left the
Ambassador?

How had he got in without setting off alarms?

Had Sam’s secretary let him in? Somehow, she didn’t think
so, and that worried her even more, but nothing had been as scary as looking
down the barrel of that gun and Kane pulling the trigger, but apparently he’d
used all his shots shooting at Sam’s secretary.

Jayla beat it out of the building and hurried across the
slippery pavement toward her car. A few steps away from it, she clicked the key
and heaved a sigh of relief at the mild chirp. The fact that Kane hadn’t taken
the time to disable her means of escape was a big relief. He’d probably never
contemplated she might get away from him a second time or maybe she’d arrived
after he was already inside the building.

The Mustang’s lights flashed a friendly welcome. Not too
much farther. Minutes. Seconds now. Seconds
—

Too late! That damn spooky sound
—
the muffled
cough-cough
now terrifyingly imprinted on her brain, filled the
darkness
.
The impact of the bullet
hit her hard in the upper shoulder just below her left collar bone. Jayla
grunted and half-spun from the force of the bullet striking her. White-hot pain
slammed into her shoulder and arm, paralyzing her ability to think.

“Ahhh,
God!”
Abruptly her legs turned wooden. Her left arm dangled uselessly at her side and
felt like an iron bar, too weighty to lift. Crimson slashes speared the pure
white snow as blood ran in warm rivulets, downhill, to drip off the tips of her
fingers. Trying to ignore the fierce pain, she stumbled against the left rear
fender of her car and nearly fell.
Don’t
fall!
If she went down, she knew she’d never get up again. But Lord have
mercy, she hurt. Fiery pain speared from her shoulder, down her arm, and
blasted across her chest like shock waves. Panting, and favoring her injured
arm, she moved from the rear of the car and edged closer to the driver’s door,
regaining the ground she’d lost.

Jayla pressed her good hand against the side of the car
and took a few more unsteady steps alongside the little Mustang. Oh, God. The
ache in her shoulder throbbed. She felt like her shoulder had been jabbed with
a red-hot poker. Every step jarred it, sending fresh waves of excruciating pain
jittering clear to her fingertips.

Determined to make her escape, she clenched her teeth. But
damn, she hadn’t known one little bullet had the ability to make one’s entire
body feel as if it’d been ripped in half. Her vision wavered. She blinked
several times to get her bearings. Where the hell was her car? Oh, yeah, she
was propped against it for heaven’s sake. It hadn’t moved after all.

Leaning against the side of the vehicle for a desperate
moment, her lungs ached, not only from the terror ripping her insides apart,
but from the sharp bite of the freezing air. She had to get her chaotic
thoughts in some kind of order or else…

Her mind refused to go past the
or else
.

Steadying herself, she drew a sharp breath to clear her
mind.
Think. Clear your
head and think about what’s happened
.
Okay. If Kane was behind her, and the shot came from in front of her, then the
big question was
—
who
the hell shot her?

Was she running a gauntlet here? Well, not running
exactly, staggering and stumbling like a drunk, definitely not running. She
might as well have been shot in the leg for all the momentum she’d gained.

How long did it take to walk the length of one tiny car?
Forever
if one’s
 
body suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. More
importantly, how many freakin’ assassins did she have to avoid from rear to
driver’s door? How many bullets? Oh, yeah, scratch that one. First time a
loaded gun was actually fired at her she got hit. No contest there.

Who did Kane have on his payroll willing to kill her?

Most likely, the real question was who
didn’t
he have on his payroll?

Was her stepfather involved or was this strictly something
Kane had gotten mixed up in on his own?

Who was out there in the shadows
—
in front of her, prepared to murder
her?

Jayla blinked, narrowed her eyes, and searched the
darkness, but the falling snow blinded her. Attempting to see her surroundings
clearly was like swimming through a river of feathers. She moaned and tried to
wiggle her fingers, but their movements were slow and awkward.
Crap.
Her left arm was losing all
feeling.

What if Kane was right behind her? She didn’t know how far
away he was or even if he’d regained consciousness. If he had, then he was
surely still several feet behind her, nowhere near the front of her
—
unless he’d circled the buil
ding?

Right this moment she didn’t care. She had to escape, and
that was all she needed to concentrate on. She felt like laughing in triumph
when her fingers closed around the door handle. At last! Jayla tore open the
door and dropped inside. Damn if she didn’t feel like she’d raced a marathon
and won.

Her hand shook as she fumbled with the key.
Damn it.
Why wouldn’t it fit the switch?
She blinked. Her vision wavered, a soft, watery blur. Tears slid down her face.
Oh—was that why everything was distorted?
Because
she was crying? Don’t cry! Chin up, girl, you’re tougher than you think. You’ve
always had inner strength and a tough hide when you needed it. This is one of
those times you need it.

Why the hell was she shedding even one damn tear over
Kane? He’d just callously tried to kill her. No. The ties, the emotions—the
loss,
was much more complicated than
anyone could ever imagine. She wasn’t crying over him, but because of the
terrible things he’d done—to her—to others, and continued to do.

And she was just as guilty. Her role in the wrongs she’d
committed could never be justified by any explanation or made right. She’d hurt
so many innocent people—hurt…
him.
Would
she ever get the memory of that day out of her head, the utter contempt on
his
face when she lied? Oh, God, she’d
sent an innoc
ent man to prison
—

Jayla flinched as the memories crashed down upon her head.
The wall she’d always used to hold them back crumbled away brick-by-brick. The
awful things that had happened in her past burned vivid and harsh in her mind.
In spite of the physical pain it caused her, those ugly memories would always
be a part of her life, past and present, but by God, she could change the
future. She’d done such horrible, unforgivable things.

Death seemed like a fair price to pay, but not before she
made things right with the man she’d wronged.

She swiped at the tears and blinked. Why was she even
thinking about something that happened seven years ago? Jayla dashed the
foolish tears away again. Yes! Thank God. She could see better now. She wasn’t
losing her vision or something crazy because she’d been shot.

Oh, but
—
was
that a man walking toward her car from the edge of the woods? Kane? No, she
didn’t think so. Kane was big and muscular. She couldn’t tell for sure through
the dark or the blinding snow,
but the slender figure coming toward her
was vaguely familiar. She knew the assassin, but she couldn’t think how she
knew him.
Where the hell was the switch?
There! It was there!

She rammed the key home with unsteady fingers and started
the powerful engine. Shoving the gear into the reverse slot, Jayla fishtailed
backward, threw the stick shift into drive and tore away from the CIA parking
lot.

The honey of a car roared like a powerful lion on the
prowl. Her tears returned, blinding her. Damn it! She had to stop this useless
crying. Jayla wiped the futile tears from her face with the back of her sleeve.
Control. She had to get some measure of control. She really did. Crying
wouldn’t save her life. Only she could do that. She’d learned that harsh lesson
a long time ago.

Tears certainly weren’t going to solve this mess she’d
stumbled off into. They wouldn’t slow Kane down or stop him from following her
and doing what he’d now set out to do.

She glanced at her coat sleeve and laughed—a watery sound
that shocked her. Her trench coat now matched her nice vintage Jackie suit and,
like it, was ruined, but not with Molly’s blood.
Her
blood seeped from the wound in her shoulder like a freakin’
river, and of course, there was the nice bullet hole in the material. It sort
of made her coat look a bit ratty now.

“Tissues! I need tissues,” she screamed, then giggled
tearfully. Near the verge of hysteria, she reminded herself of an anxious
surgeon in the operating room yelling,
Forceps,
scalpel, clamps, gauze!
Now she knew why they were so excitable and shouted
for the instruments.

Jayla grabbed several tissues, wadded them together and plugged
them in the unnatural hole in her body. She pressed tightly, praying the
pressure controlled the bleeding or at least slowed it down.
“Ouch-ouch-ouch!”
Crap, it hurt worse
than a frickin’ bleedin’ ulcer. She’d had one once, so she knew how it felt.