Читать книгу Protective Custody - Debra Webb - Страница 11

Blood…

Oh God.

Nauseated and feeling more than a little faint, Nicole stared down at her bloodstained hands. This was by no means her first time to exchange gunfire with a hostile, nor was it her first up-close encounter with spilled blood.

But this was Ian’s blood.

The hospital’s medicinal smell didn’t help. Nicole swiped her palms against the baggy gray sweatshirt she wore. She squeezed her hands into tight fists and dropped them to her sides. Moistening her dry lips and careful not to make eye contact, she slowly lifted her gaze to the man seated on the examining table. He sat on the very edge, poised, intent, as if anticipating the need to make a tactical move at any given moment. His torn and bloody shirt lay on the exam table behind him, the damaged suit jacket next to it. Nicole closed her eyes against the panic that still threatened to suffocate her each time she relived those few seconds between the sound of the gunshot and the moment she confirmed with her own eyes that Ian wasn’t mortally wounded.

The sound of Ian’s smoky voice as he answered some question the doctor asked dragged Nicole back to the here and now. Young and obviously nervous, the doctor pulled another suture through the nasty wound on Ian’s shoulder. He kept muttering something about the injury looking like a gunshot wound to him. Poor guy, Nicole thought to herself, he had to be an intern. Otherwise Martinez would never have had him even half believing that idiotic story about Ian’s falling into a window.

Ignoring the doctor’s concerns, Ian did nothing to lessen the thick tension. His dark, brooding presence would unnerve a war-zone veteran. He had refused the offer of pain medication, and, in that arrogant, dangerous tone of his, had ordered the doctor to do what he had to do as quickly as possible. The wound wasn’t so bad, Nicole told herself again. Just a nasty slash through skin and muscle. Had the angle been slightly different Ian might be in surgery now—or worse.

Shuddering with a chill that went bone-deep, Nicole wrapped her arms around her middle. Ian could have been killed. And it was her fault. She should never have gotten him mixed up in this. How could she drag him into her problems with no regard for his safety? Had she been so absorbed in saving her own skin that she hadn’t thought through the consequences of her actions? Nicole let go a heavy breath. She closed her eyes and willed the mixture of fear and frustration to retreat. Ian was going to be fine, she told herself again. He was safe.

And she was leaving.

She could do this alone. She was a highly trained federal agent. All she had to do was make sure she wasn’t followed when she made live contact with her witness. She didn’t need Ian. Denial rushed through her at that thought. She needed him all right, but not in the way she should.

Suddenly, more from some innate need than true courage, she met Ian’s gaze for the first time since their arrival at the ER. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they’d entered the examining room. It wasn’t necessary for her to look to confirm her suspicions, she could feel his gaze on her. Steady and relentless, those piercing gray eyes held hers even now, then reached past her defenses and touched her.

Nicole trembled with reaction. The only indication that Ian felt anything at all was the flexing of that muscle in his rigid jaw. He was probably just annoyed that her stupidity had got him shot. Whatever he was feeling, one thing was certain, Ian Michaels was planning his next move. Nicole knew his methods as well as she knew her own. No matter that he was surely in serious pain, Ian would develop a plan, and then a backup plan for that. Analyzing her current emotional state would be part of his strategy. He read her too easily. Nicole looked away. Why give him any more ammunition?

A cell phone chirped, startling Nicole. She took a slow, deep breath and ran a shaky hand through her hair. She was seriously rattled. Of course, dancing with death would do that, she reminded herself. Next to her, Martinez murmured responses to his caller.

“It’s for you,” he announced, offering Ian the compact phone. “It’s Victoria.”

Ian accepted the phone, then placed it on the examining table next to him. Nicole knew he was still watching her, so she kept her gaze purposely averted from his. He reached beneath his jacket lying on the table beside him and retrieved his weapon. He handed the Glock, butt first, to Martinez.

“Don’t take your eyes off her,” he warned. “If she makes a move for the door, use it.”

The doctor made an odd, choking sound of disbelief. “Did I see a badge? Are you gentlemen police officers? If this is a gunshot wound—”

Indignation exploded inside Nicole. “Screw you, Michaels,” she hissed, cutting off the doctor. Those tender emotions she had felt only moments ago evaporated instantly.

Ian held her gaze for one long beat. “I believe you’ve already taken care of that.”

“You bas—”

“Miss Reed,” Martinez interrupted firmly. “I’d like you to have a seat. Please,” he added quickly as he tucked the weapon into his waistband.

“I…I really need you to be still,” the doctor said hesitantly, his gaze darting to the weapon at Martinez’s waist, then back to Ian. “I can’t do this properly unless—”

Ian waved him off. “In a moment.” His formidable focus remained fixed on Nicole, watching, waiting for her reaction to Martinez’s request.

One second lapsed to five before Nicole gave in and plopped onto the molded-plastic, institutional-orange chair. Knowing Ian, he would have sat there and bled to death before relenting. Still stinging from his remark, she mentally recited every vile word in her vocabulary and Ian’s connection to each. Martinez stationed himself between her and the door. Did Ian really believe he could prevent her from leaving whenever she got good and ready to go? Nicole smiled to herself. She would just see about that.

Obviously satisfied that he had won, he picked up the cell phone and turned his attention to Victoria. “Yes.” He paused, listening. “No, I’m fine. There’s no need for you to rush back. I have everything under control.” Another brief pause. “Yes, I’ll do that.” He flipped the mouthpiece closed and tossed the phone back to Martinez.

“I do have other patients, Mr. Michaels,” the doctor said pointedly, obviously finally finding his courage. Or perhaps just anxious to rid himself of present company.

“Of course.” Ian leveled one final warning glare on Nicole.

She produced an exaggerated smile, then, while he watched so intently, she silently mouthed a most descriptive adjective—one that fit Ian perfectly in her opinion. The promise of a smile tilted one side of his usually grim mouth, making her pulse react. Nicole released a weary sigh and for the first time today had the presence of mind to thank God that they were both safe.

But how long would either of them stay that way?

The door suddenly swung open and Ian’s attention jerked toward the intruder.

“We’ve got another bleeder, Doctor,” an efficient-looking nurse called from the doorway. Her gaze immediately flew to Martinez, and then the weapon at his waist before he could turn away. “A seventeen-year-old with a knife wound to the right forearm,” she added slowly, her eyes widening with fear.

The doctor spared her a brief glance. “Prep him, I’ll be right there. Almost finished here,” he said distractedly. The nurse managed a smile in Ian’s direction before she disappeared into the hall. The wide door closed soundlessly behind her.

Ian gave Martinez a discreet nod, then angled his head toward the door in silent instruction. No doubt, Ian reasoned, that nurse was at the desk calling the police at this very moment. When the police arrived, there would be confusion, distraction. Too much opportunity for Nicole to give them the slip. Not to mention he didn’t want her position with the bureau brought to the attention of the locals.

“Let’s take a walk, Miss Reed,” Martinez suggested.

Nicole looked him up and down as if he’d just suggested something lewd. “I don’t think so, Martinez.”

“Do as he says, Nicole,” Ian ordered quietly. She shot him a drop-dead look, then heaved an impatient sigh before pushing to her feet. Reluctantly she followed Martinez out the door.

“Hold still just a little longer, Mr. Michaels.” The doctor paused, surveying Ian with a look of concern. “Now that we’re alone, are you sure you don’t want something for the pain? That local can’t be doing much for you.”

“I’m fine.”

The doctor shrugged and returned to the business at hand. Ian needed his head clear. He would have to deal with the police, which wouldn’t be that difficult. Victoria had a great many influential connections. Known for following the rules and cooperating, Colby Agency investigators rarely got any flack from the local authorities. Maybe this time Ian was stretching the rules, but that couldn’t be helped. He set his jaw hard against a particularly fierce stab of pain.

Nicole was anything but simple. Dealing with her required Ian’s full command of all his senses. His strategy was as straightforward as you could get. First he planned to get the truth out of her—one way or another. She knew a lot more about the threat to her life than she was telling, of that Ian felt certain. Secondly, he intended to stash her away someplace safe while he handled the situation.

Then, he would walk away and never look back. Ian refused to acknowledge the protest that twisted inside him. He couldn’t deny what he felt for Nicole. The emotions were fierce, overpowering. But he couldn’t trust her. She had betrayed him before, what was to prevent her from doing it again? Ian almost smiled at the memory of her reaction to his comment earlier. He closed his eyes and allowed Nicole’s image to envelop him. All attitude and sass on the outside, but soft and vulnerable on the inside, Nicole was the one woman who could make him lose control. She held a power over him that defied all else. Ian blinked away the vision. But he wasn’t a masochist at heart, nor was he without pride. He had allowed that mistake once.

Nicole cared only about her career. She was attracted to Ian he knew, but that was all. Her complete allegiance lay with the cloak-and-dagger stuff that epitomized shadow operations. Ian bit back a laugh at the thought of Nicole as someone’s wife. But the rush of jealousy that surged through him was no laughing matter. Ian frowned and quickly reined in his wayward thoughts. No more, he determined. From this point forward his every connection with Nicole would be strictly business.

A quick rap on the door drew Ian’s gaze in that direction. Two uniformed Chicago police officers entered the room. Both looked entirely too young to own a weapon, much less use it.

“Ian Michaels?”

“Yes,” Ian replied.

The doctor looked up; a frown knitted his brow. “Sorry, guys, you’re going to have to wait until I’m finished here,” he warned as he placed a bandage over the newly sutured wound. “My patient’s health comes first.”

“No problem, sir,” the taller of the two replied. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” The look he shot Ian was arrogantly challenging.

Ian answered that bold gaze with bored amusement. This was going to be a piece of cake.

The door suddenly flew inward again. The two officers whirled toward it in a flash of dark blue. Martinez stumbled in holding his nose with both hands, blood gushing between his fingers and down his shirt front. Ian bounded off the exam table amid the doctor’s protests.

“Where’s Nicole?”

“She’s gone.” Martinez used one hand to swipe the blood from his mouth. “Hell, man, I think she broke my nose.”

Ian’s heart shifted into warp speed. “How much head start does she have?” he demanded curtly.

Martinez shook his head defeatedly. “Five minutes maybe.”

Suddenly everyone was talking at once. The doctor shouting for a nurse. The policemen demanding to know what was going on. And Martinez trying to explain how a female he outweighed by nearly a hundred pounds and towered over by at least a half-dozen inches had managed to beat the hell out of him, leave him stunned on the floor and get away.

The voices and faces around Ian faded into insignificance as his mind raced forward. Where would she go? She was breaking every rule of survival in the book. In Ian’s experience, when an agent broke code there was compelling motivation. Something worth the risk.

What was Nicole hiding?

“I’VE GOT IT,” Martinez announced in a distinctly nasal voice as he rushed into Ian’s office. The white tape stretched tautly across the bridge of his nose looked stark against his dark skin. “The car the shooter used was stolen. And Nicole had a room at the Sheraton downtown. She checked out just over an hour ago.”

Ian glanced at his watch, one-fifteen. “Did she call for a cab?”

“The doorman said she got into a Ford Explorer parked on the opposite side of the street.” Martinez swore. “My brother is going to enjoy killing me.”

“It’ll show up at the airport,” Ian said distractedly. He needed to know where Nicole was headed and from which airport. And he needed to know now.

“I’m sorry I lost her, man,” Martinez offered again.

Ian met the other man’s concerned gaze. Though inexperienced, Martinez was a good investigator. In time he would be a force to be reckoned with, and there was no time like the present to gain valuable experience. Ian knew he could trust Martinez completely. Besides, Nicole was a formidable opponent. Ian didn’t know anyone, not even himself, he mused, that she couldn’t best if she put her mind to it. Martinez might as well learn the hard way.

“It’s okay, Martinez. Nicole is not your typical vulnerable female client.” At least not on the surface, Ian amended silently.

Martinez huffed. “You got that right.”

“Mr. Michaels, I have that information you requested.”

Ian motioned for Mildred, Victoria’s secretary, to come in. He accepted the documents she offered.

“Miss Reed has a reservation on every flight on all airlines headed to D.C. and New York that are scheduled to leave O’Hare and Midway between three o’clock and eight o’clock today.”

Ian scanned the list of flights. Eight different flights arriving at five different airports. He shook his head. Nicole had no intention of making this easy.

“And here’s the report on Miss Reed’s car. I asked Murray at city’s lab to put a rush on the preliminary and fax me a copy ASAP.” Mildred smiled with satisfaction. “He came through, as usual.”

Ian returned her smile. Mildred had been with the agency since the beginning, when Victoria’s husband had been in charge. The vivacious middle-aged woman knew the Chicago PD like the back of her hand, and had something on anyone who was anybody employed there.

“Thank you, Mildred.” A frown creased Ian’s brow as he scanned the relatively brief preliminary report. No timer. No evidence of an internal detonation device. Remote-detonated. The bomb had been remote-detonated by someone watching Nicole’s car, Ian concluded. But why had they not waited until she was in the car?

“Call Kruger,” he instructed Mildred. “I need a ride to D.C.”

“Yes sir.” Mildred turned back at the door. “I’ll ask him to be ready within the hour.”

“Good,” Ian agreed.

“You think she’d go back to D.C.?” Martinez gingerly fingered the tightly taped bridge of his nose.

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll drop you at the airport,” Martinez offered. “That is if you don’t mind me driving your car, mine’s still in the shop.”

“That’s fine.” Ian estimated that Victoria’s private jet could have him in D.C. a good half hour before the earliest commercial flight on Nicole’s schedule. He stood, mentally ticking off the items he would need to take with him. He would need to stop by his place and pick up another weapon and a change of clothes. Nicole probably left his Glock in the Explorer, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. He glanced at Martinez. “Let’s go. I’ll confirm the itinerary with Kruger en route.”

“After I drop you off, I’ll look for the Explorer,” Martinez grumbled as they headed toward the elevators. “I can’t believe she stole my brother’s truck.” Martinez shook his head disgustedly. “And, man, I’ve never had my butt kicked so badly. By a female at that.” He flashed Ian a look of dismay. “I hope you’re not going to tell anybody about that.”

Ian stabbed the elevator call button, then shot the man next to him an amused look. “Don’t worry, Martinez, your secret is safe with me.”

“Mr. Michaels, wait!”

Ian paused before getting onto the elevator. Amy Wells, the newest member of the agency’s clerical staff, hurried toward him, those long, coppery curls bouncing around her shoulders.

“Miss Wells,” he greeted patiently, though impatience pounded through his veins. He had to get to D.C. before Nicole did.

“Mildred needs your signature before you leave since Mrs. Colby won’t be back for another week.” Amy indicated the report she held and offered him a pen. She blushed, clearly intimidated at having to speak to him much less request anything of him.

Ian produced a smile. “No problem.” He quickly penned his official signature.

“Gosh, Martinez, what happened to you?” Amy asked abruptly, all wide-eyed innocence.

Before Martinez could come up with a suitable explanation, Ian leaned toward her and whispered, “It’s a secret.” He touched his lips with one finger in a gesture of silence and stepped inside the elevator. The doors closed, leaving Miss Wells staring in dismay after them. Martinez wasn’t going to live this down anytime soon.

NICOLE PARKED her car down the street from her apartment building. Darkness shrouded the old neighborhood she had called home for five years now. Only forty minutes from her office, the small Virginia community boasted quiet living with all the conveniences of the city. Nicole sighed, then closed her eyes for a long moment. She was tired. Her trip to Chicago had been a fiasco, and a colossal waste of precious time. Nicole glanced at the digital clock on her dash. Only two hours until her flight to Atlanta. She had to get a move on. She had wasted enough time stopping to purchase something to wear besides Ian’s sweats.

“Suck it up, Reed,” she scolded herself as she scanned the deserted street once more. Walking into that building and then her dark apartment was not something she looked forward to—especially since the only other tenant was probably out of town as usual. But what choice did she have? She needed clothes and cash, and new ID. She had left her purse at Ian’s. No way would she have chanced going back to get it. Her next flight was reserved under an alias. She certainly couldn’t go anywhere broke and without clean ID. It would take lots of hard cash to do what she had to do. Replanting a witness wasn’t cheap. Or easy. Not to mention the fact that she was doing this on her own. She knew better than to risk anyone at the agency finding out. And she definitely couldn’t hang around D.C. long. It wouldn’t take the man—or woman, she amended—long to track her back here. Ian wouldn’t be far behind her. And he would be royally ticked off. Nicole decided she had better be gone when he arrived.

Her gaze sweeping left to right, then back, Nicole emerged from the car. She adjusted the baseball cap she had crammed her hair into, then rolled her head to loosen up her neck. God she was tense. Her right hand slid instinctively to her weapon she had retrieved from an airport locker. She tucked it more firmly into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back. The denim jacket she wore concealed it well. She could have taken it to Chicago with her, but hadn’t wanted to go through the hassle with airport authorities. So she had left the weapon and her bureau ID in a locker. She had left Ian’s Glock in the Explorer back at O’Hare. He wouldn’t be happy, but he would get over it. Martinez would find it when he picked up his brother’s vehicle. Losing a weapon wasn’t conducive to sleeping at night.

Nicole breathed a sigh of relief when she entered the well-lit courtyard that flanked the right side of her building. Only three stories, each floor of the old building housed just two apartments. The place was definitely small compared to the others in this neighborhood, but it was clean and well kept. And quiet. How could it be anything else? she mused. In the five years since she’d moved in, more than half the other apartments had always been vacant. Like now.

The sound of a dog barking on the next block reminded Nicole that she was wasting time. She glanced up at her unadorned, second-story balcony. On the first floor, the only other tenant’s terrace contained an assortment of flowering and green plants. Nicole was never home long enough to care for plants or pets. She shrugged listlessly. People like her didn’t have time for such distractions.

The pool shimmered like a tranquil lagoon in the full-moonlight as she hurried past it and around to the front entrance. A slight breeze whispered through the leaves of the surrounding trees. This lovely courtyard had been the main selling point for the place in Nicole’s opinion. With one more look to either side of her, she slid the key into the lock and entered the deserted stairwell.

Nicole paused to listen for sound. The answering silence soothed her frazzled nerves. Okay, she assured herself, everything is going to be fine. She had done this plenty of times before. But no matter how she fought it, the memory of her car exploding right before her eyes kept replaying in her head. The connection could no longer be denied, she realized as more images reeled through her tired mind. The director’s telephone exploding while he sat at his desk. The death-dealing explosion at Agent Daniels’s house. The letter bomb that had exploded in her mail carrier’s bag just before he reached her apartment building’s mail station. The single shot she knew deep in her gut had been meant for her in that shopping-mall parking lot. Then her rental car. Nicole shook off the lingering images before her next memory could take form. She had to focus. Even without the warning letter she had received from Daniels two days after his unsolved murder, things were all too clear now.

Someone knew their secret.

Slowly, silently, Nicole climbed the two flights of stairs that seemed to go on forever. The white walls and absolute quiet allowed other images and voices she didn’t want to hear or see to creep into her thoughts. Ian’s cold, hard look when he had come face-to-face with her in Victoria Colby’s office. The soft, sensual whispering of his voice as he made love to her. Nicole forced away the vivid memories. Fear gripped her heart when her errant mind replayed the scene outside Ian’s town house when he had been shot. She thanked God again that he hadn’t been hurt worse.

What a fool she was for seeking him out and dragging him into this mess. She would do this alone. She had thought it through. She could do it. And Ian would be safe. Last night had opened her eyes to the truth she had wanted to deny for three years now. No matter what happened to her, Nicole could not bear to take a chance on Ian getting hurt again—physically or emotionally.

Distraction was a dangerous risk. One neither of them could afford to take. Nicole would do her job to the best of her ability…alone. And Ian could live his life the way he deserved without her interference. He had a posh job, a great house. And probably lots of women, a little voice added. Nicole clenched her teeth and refused to consider Ian’s social life. She was an even bigger fool for not stopping to think that he might even be seriously involved with someone. He was, after all, incredibly good-looking, and that voice…

Just thinking about the sound of his voice made her insides quiver. Nicole paused as she reached the landing outside her apartment. Get a grip, Reed, she chastised silently. That line of thinking is hazardous to your health.

She listened outside her nondescript gray door for what felt like half an eternity before she inserted her key into the lock. The only sound was her heart thudding in her chest. Willing herself to calm, she reached beneath her jacket for her weapon. Nicole pushed the door inward, spilling light into the dark foyer. She stepped inside, hit the switch for the overhead light, and with one foot eased the door closed behind her.

She scanned the darkness beyond the foyer for any movement, while listening intently past the hush of the central unit. Nothing. Relieved, she reached behind her and locked the door, then stepped soundlessly toward the living room. Every nerve ending on alert, she eased quietly into the room. Holding her breath, she leaned down and turned on the table lamp. A soft, golden glow lit the center of the room. The far edges remained in shadow. Years of training not allowing her to relax her guard until she had checked every nook and cranny, Nicole moved cautiously around the perimeter of the room.

After giving her bedroom and bathroom the all clear, Nicole finally took a deep breath. She silently retraced her steps down the hall and slipped into the kitchen, caution still restraining her. The light from the hall glinted against the array of stainless-steel pots and pans hanging from the rack over the island bar. White cabinets and countertops reflected the minimal light reaching out to them.

Paranoia could be a good thing, she told that lingering sensation that made the hair on the back of her neck continue to stand on end. But enough was enough. There was no one here. The place was as quiet as a tomb.

“Poor choice in words, Reed,” she muttered as she lowered her weapon. She was starved. Beyond starved. She frowned—she was so hungry she could actually smell food. Nicole closed her eyes and inhaled deeply of the scent her imagination had conjured. Chinese. Wouldn’t it be nice if she could take time to drop by Won’s on her way back to the airport? Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

“God, I’m starved,” she said aloud then flipped on the overhead fluorescent.

“Eating is essential to survival, Nicole.”

Nicole’s pulse jumped, her heart rocketed into her throat. She whirled toward the sound of Ian’s voice in the far corner of the kitchen, her weapon instinctively leveled on the target. She blinked twice to adjust to the bright light. Drinks and containers of Chinese takeout—Won’s no less—sat in the middle of her kitchen table.

He’d remembered.

Nicole almost smiled as she lowered her weapon, and relaxed her fire-ready stance. Her attention shifted to Ian’s left hand as he pushed one container forward, then to his right where he held a weapon trained expertly on her. Uhoh. Slowly, she lifted her reluctant gaze to his ever-unreadable one.

“I want answers, Nicole.” He leaned back in his chair. “And I want them now.”