In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite), page 25
Someone was shaking her, throwing her off balance.
“Get it together, Abby. Walk!”
Brooks.
But her legs would not work. Blocking out the inky nightmare, she stumbled forward.
Trust me.
JP’s words, spoken with conviction.
Do what you have to do. Stay alive.
“Get in the vehicle,” Brooks said, his words coming from a dark tunnel.
I’ll get them back. I promise.
She staggered to the car, her entire body protesting what her mind couldn’t grasp.
Please, God, please.
“Move!” Brooks shouted. “You’re nothing more than insurance at this point. Move!”
Do what you have to do.
Stay alive.
She reached for the driver’s door handle. Brooks jerked her around to face him. She fell back against the car.
“Pull yourself together. You’ll get us killed driving in your condition!”
Trust me.
Somehow she got in, slammed the door, then drove through the night, tears blurring her vision, the car rocking back and forth as she careened off the dirt road onto the highway.
Time passed in blackness. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t face it.
The bright lights of the electrical substation came into view.
“Turn here,” Brooks said, pointing the little red light at her cheek. She was beyond caring.
She turned the SUV onto the long, winding drive. Brooks scooted closer, stuck his foot next to hers, and jammed on the brakes. The car lurched to a stop.
“Get out,” Brooks ordered.
Numb, clinging only to JP’s whispered words, she fumbled for the door handle. The little red beam of light flashed across her window as she tumbled out.
Then Brooks was there, grabbing her, jerking her forward, ahead of him. She stumbled on the uneven ground, then something hard jabbed into her ribs on her right side. Brooks’s gun.
Trust me.
Do what you have to do. Stay alive.
I’ll get them back. I promise.
She closed her mind to everything except getting one foot in front of the other. She wouldn’t think beyond that, beyond doing what JP wanted, trusting what he’d said.
The substation lights threw a bright white glow well past the clearing.
There was no one in sight. Alive or dead.
“Boyle!” Brooks shouted, his breath hot against Abby’s neck. “Blackmon didn’t have what you’re looking for. I do. It’s in a safe place. Come out. Let’s talk!”
Abby’s gaze darted from the metal and wires of the electrical station to the trees, to the shadows beyond.
Brooks jerked her around in a circle, always keeping her in front of him.
“Boyle!” he shouted again.
A shot rang out.
Brooks spun around, keeping a brutal grip on her shoulder. “If I don’t walk away alive, the proof gets mailed to Langley. Don’t be a fool! We can leave the country this time. Call your wife, tell her to catch that flight!”
Whatever glimmer of hope Abby had held was fading fast. There was no way—
Another shot pierced the night. She couldn’t tell where it came from, what the shot had hit. But it seemed close.
Cole. Steve. JP. She gave a muted cry.
Brooks pulled her closer, holding her tight around her stomach. He put his head next to hers. He was afraid Frank Boyle would kill him.
Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he killed him, and her, too?
“Don’t be stupid, Boyle. I don’t have it with me! This is our chance. This is what we’ve worked for!”
Brooks jammed his gun viciously into her lower ribs and squeezed her even tighter, his arm a viselike hold around her middle.
Then, in the distance, she thought she heard a sound. A siren?
Brooks was breathing hard. He pulled her back, spun in the opposite direction. Her feet slid on loose sand. She looked down. And gasped.
Blood!
Droplets gleamed in the bright substation lights. Trailing off into the woods to their right.
Cole. Steve. Oh, God.
Trust me.
“JP,” Abby whispered.
“Shut up!” Brooks hissed.
She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand there.
A sound came from their left. Brooks turned. She clawed at his hand, jammed her foot down on his instep.
For a single instant, she was free. It took her too long to realize it, to turn, to run.
Damn!
But immediately, she heard the shot, heard the impact.
She whirled and looked at Brooks, saw him reel backward. Crack! Another shot. The gun flew from his hand. One side of him was deep in shadow. On his visible shoulder, a black spot bloomed against the light color of his shirt.
He fell back, the oddest look on his face. Peering down at the gun that lay a few feet from him, he leaned forward, as if to reach for it, but didn’t move either arm.
That was when she saw blood on the other side, too. He’d been shot in both shoulders.
She dove for the gun, grabbed it, and ran into the woods.
Her back against a tree, her entire body shaking, she hid as best she could.
Ron. It had to be. But why hadn’t he shot her, too?
The sirens drew closer.
She heard something move behind her. No! She froze, her heart stalling. Should she run…or shoot? She turned, aiming the gun into the black void beyond the reach of the substation lights, knowing she had little chance of hitting Ron.
“Abby. Sweetheart, it’s me,” came a voice from the darkness.
JP’s voice. She’d recognize it anywhere. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“I’m going to walk up beside you. Cole and your brother are safe. Boyle’s down. Wounded. He can’t get to us.”
Did she dare believe him? What if Ron was holding a gun on him? What if—?
“Steve and Cole called the highway patrol. Hear the sirens?”
Oh, thank God! They really were all alive! She started to leave the protection of the tree, but stopped herself.
“Trust me.”
An assassin. A killer. How could she trust him?
But no. Those ugly words had nothing to do with either JP or Wade. She dredged up the little she knew about the Rangers, about Delta Force. Special operations.
Not an assassin. He was a sniper. He and Wade had been snipers. There was a big difference.
Someone had to do it. That was who he was, what he did. The man who did what had to be done, for his country, for freedom.
She did trust him. He wouldn’t have told her Ron was no longer a threat unless it was true. JP would always protect her, even if it meant Ron would kill him. Because he was an honorable man. Just as Wade had been.
She looked around and saw him in the shifting patches of light from the substation that filtered through the long shadows of the trees.
“JP?” She moved toward him, the gun lowered.
He smiled. A wonderful, welcoming smile. “You okay?”
She finally reached him, touched his face with her free hand, and nodded, trying to say something. Anything. But all she managed was, “JP,” before she wrapped him in her arms.
He hugged her back. One-armed. And sucked in a short breath.
Backing up slightly, she looked at his left arm, which he held at his side. Blood covered the whole upper part, his denim shirt shiny and black.
“You’re hurt!”
“It’s not that bad. I can still get away.”
She didn’t hear that right. “The highway patrol can call an ambulance—”
“Sweetheart, I have to go before they get here, before they begin searching for me.”
“Wait. You can’t go now. It’s over! You—”
“Abby, it’ll be my word against Brooks’s and Ron’s, if he lives. Wade’s original note is gone.”
“But the photos—”
“I’m sure Brooks checked the phone and destroyed the pictures. I never had a chance to send them to Ethridge. And besides, they won’t be admissible in any kind of trial. No chain of evidence linking the note to Wade. Anyone could have written them, including me. There’s no way I can clear myself.”
“But—”
“Brooks’s standing order to all operatives is to shoot me on sight. Until the case is cleared and the order rescinded, that’s what’s going to happen. I have to go.” He pulled out of her arms. “Get hold of Ethridge. Tell him everything. He may be able to clear Wade so you can tell Cole his father was a hero.”
“I have no doubt Wade was a hero. But what about—”
“Tell Cole he did a good job taking care of his uncle in the woods. Don’t worry, he’ll be okay, Abby. Steve told him it was all just a game we were playing. He has no idea it was real.”
“Good.” Relief poured through her. Steve always was so smart about their boys. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t trusted him completely to take care of Cole. She would from now on. “That’s good, but JP—”
“Abby, I’ve got to go now.” He started to turn away.
“Wait! Listen to me,” she said, holding his good arm, desperate to stop him. “We have the receipt Wade sent to the Picketts. Surely the CIA can decipher it.” Was he even listening? “Steve and Cole can explain what happened. They’ll believe them. I’ll tell them, too.”
“You’re my partner’s widow.” He said it as if there were nothing more between them. “Of course you’d say that.”
“No, damn it!” she said, gripping his arm tighter. “You’re much more than my husband’s partner. You’re the man I love.”
He stilled. Didn’t move for a long moment.
“Oh, Abby,” he said at length, so quietly she barely heard it. He raised her hand to his mouth and brushed the gentlest of kisses on her fingers. “I wish…I so wanted a lifetime for us.”
Behind her, she heard the final blast of the siren as a cruiser turned onto the road to the substation, then the crunching of the tires. She looked over her shoulder. The cruiser came to a jerky halt and a patrolman got out. She knew him, Eddy Pilcher. They’d gone to high school together. Gun raised, he ran toward Brooks, still prone on the ground.
“Abby? Where are you?” Eddy called out.
“Go on,” JP whispered. “Tell them everything. And trust Ethridge.”
“Abby!” Eddy called again. “I have Cole and Steve in the cruiser, they’re fine!”
“JP, I know him—” She turned back around.
JP wasn’t behind her. She searched, her eyes darting among the shadows, the trees.
A second cruiser screeched to a halt, two troopers rushing out. One ran behind the substation. “Ron’s back here,” he called out. “Hurt bad, just like Steve said!”
Someone opened the passenger side door of Eddy’s cruiser. Her brother and Cole climbed out, looking around for her.
She peered once again into the trees, but JP was truly gone. And she knew in her heart he would not be coming back to her. She bowed her head for an instant, swiped her tears away, then straightened and called out, “Eddy! I’m coming out!”
She ran out of the trees and down the hill. Cole was talking animatedly to Eddy, his hand in Steve’s.
She ran to him, lifted and hugged him, holding on tight, kissing his hair, his cheeks, never, ever wanting to let him go. As she did, Steve quietly told her what had happened, cloaking it in terms of their game. With only one bullet, JP had drawn Boyle out by running into the open, taking a hit from one of the two shots Boyle had fired. JP had then shot Boyle once, wounding him seriously enough that he could do nothing when JP took his gun from him. That was what he’d used on Brooks.
Cole hugged her, squirmed, and asked to be put down.
“It was a fun game, Mommy,” he said with a grin. “Mr. John said I could be a cowboy, like my daddy. He knew my daddy.” Cole’s excitement was palpable. “He told me to take care of Unca Steve. I did, didn’t I, Unca Steve?”
“You did, Cole. You were a great cowboy.”
Abby couldn’t stop the tears. She lifted Cole into her arms again and held him close. “I’m sure you were, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
It was a happy ending. She should be crying for joy. And she was. Truly.
But a part of her heart, deep inside, was aching with sadness.
And crying for the man who’d saved them all, then disappeared into the night.
…
You won’t feel the bullet that kills you.
Wade Price had said that once. JP hoped to hell Wade was right. If the searing pain in his arm was anything to go by, this wasn’t that bullet. JP had stopped the bleeding by ripping off the sleeve of his shirt and tying it around his upper arm.
He’d get out of there long before they brought out the dogs. But first, he wanted one last look at Abby.
He didn’t examine his motivation, just put it off as being a fool. He wanted to punish himself. Or maybe get himself killed. The thought of living the rest of his life without her held zero appeal.
Two more cruisers converged on the substation—an ambulance making its way carefully over the rough drive. JP carefully looked through the trees at the clutch of people standing there.
Abby was holding Cole in her arms, his head on her shoulder. Her brother had his arm around them both. The boy was smart and strong, a boy his father would have been proud of. A boy JP was proud of.
Steve had called the police using Boyle’s cell phone, told them what had happened, then contacted local cops close to the cabin where he’d been so his own son and his friend could be found, JP had called Jonathan Ethridge and made the man promise to take care of Abby. Ethridge had sworn blue streaks trying to make JP trust him enough to turn himself in.
Not gonna happen.
Both Abby and Steve were now talking to one of the troopers. The cop nodded several times, looked back toward Brooks, who was being lifted onto a gurney, then opened his cruiser door and reached inside. Scanning the woods around him, the trooper spoke into his radio.
It was over. Abby and her family were safe. That was all that mattered. JP really needed to leave, before more cops showed up. He turned, orienting himself quickly. He had to maneuver around the substation, up, then downhill to a creek. If they brought in dogs, the creek would give him a few minutes head start.
He’d reached the ridge above the creek when he heard her.
“JP!”
Why the hell was she shouting like that, tromping through the dark woods? She was going to get hurt.
“JP!” she yelled. “Ethridge says to come in. He knows what Brooks and Ron did!”
JP stopped. Turned. She was behind him, alone, but couldn’t see him.
“He believes you! They aren’t coming after you!”
Right. He had to get away. She couldn’t find him or he’d never have the strength to leave again.
“Give yourself a chance, JP,” she called again, as if she knew he could hear her. “Give us a chance.”
He turned away again, away from the overwhelming temptation. It would take time before they investigated and believed him, if they ever did, even if Ethridge backed him. The Agency wouldn’t want the adverse publicity of a public scandal, and there would be many in power who would refuse to believe that Brooks, with his twenty plus years of service, had anything to do with treason and murder. Even if they could get the pictures off the phone, what if they were no good? Blurry or unreadable? They were inadmissible, anyway. It was his word against Brooks’s.
He took a step. A voice in his head—no, in his heart—made him halt.
The Agency might believe Abby and Steve, the voice argued, despite their bias concerning Wade. Forensic evidence should back up their story. If JP gave himself up now, with their help, the Agency might actually listen to his explanation of how Brooks and Boyle had orchestrated the botched jobs, the Jordanian hit. And every other sabotaged job on Wade’s list was burned into JP’s memory.
There was a chance it could go his way, the voice urged.
A chance. Versus the emptiness of a future without Abby.
A chance was all he needed.
A twig snapped behind him. He spun, rifle up.
“Are you coming back or trying to get away?” Abby’s question startled him. She stood at the peak of the ridge.
“Damn, Abby!” he said, his heart thundering, and lowered the rifle. “I could have shot you!”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, walking toward him. “Not even by mistake.”
“Honey, you heard what Brooks said. What he called me.”
“Brooks is a murderer, a traitor, and a liar,” she snapped, then her voice softened again. “You are a sniper. Like Wade. I know the difference. You rid the world of evil, but only as a last resort.”
“We were good at it, Abby, the best.”
She’d reached him now, and he realized she needed to know all of it. She had to understand.
So he told her. About the last op—the hit on the terrorist leader and the diplomat hostage who was killed—by someone else. “The shooter had to be Frank Boyle. He was the only one other than Wade or me who could do it.” JP took a breath. And told her how Wade had made his flight but he had missed his, had tried to call to warn Wade but it had been too late.
“By the time I got to a place I could call again, he was probably already dead, taken out by Boyle or one of Brooks’s hired thugs—those men in Ocean Springs.”
“But Wade knew something was wrong. Why didn’t he tell you?”
JP pushed out a breath. If only he had. “That was Wade. He always played things really close. When it involved a colleague, he would need hard evidence before he’d say anything damning. He knew the dates Boyle was gone, and that they coincided with the dates of the sabotaged ops. That’s all he had until the end.”
He couldn’t see her clearly, wasn’t sure he wanted to. He never wanted to see fear or disgust on her face. “Do you understand? We were snipers, Abby. I am a sniper. I kill people. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at.”
“You could have killed Brooks and Ron, but you didn’t. I saw what they did to Wade. And both of them were willing to hurt a child,” she said, outraged. “That’s what you stopped. Evil. You and Wade used what you knew because you had to. Someone has to stop the evil.”
