Читать книгу The Fugitive's Secret Child - Geri Krotow - Страница 14
ОглавлениеRob had done it. He’d convinced Vasin that he was worth keeping alive. For a bit longer, anyhow.
It was enough time to get hold of the tear gas that was on the shelf. If that was what was in the box marked US ARMY TEAR GAS, that is. He’d also spotted several box cutters scattered around the shelves.
“I have to piss.” He spoke to the ROC member through swollen lips, dried blood tasting foul from where his teeth had cut through his cheeks with each blow from Vasin earlier. He played along with Vasin’s order to let him use the bathroom.
“No funny business, or phwwwt.” One of Vasin’s men swiped his finger across his neck while his smug smirk dared Rob to challenge him. Rob had no doubt that the finger would become a switchblade with little provocation. He also knew he’d take this little jerk down.
“I can’t go without my hands, man.”
“Let him go, Aleksey.” Vasin’s voice slurred from the vodka, but the thug listened to him nonetheless. Vasin’s word was law, drunk or sober, superseded only by Ivanov’s.
Two clicks of the very knife Rob feared freed his wrists. Painful jolts of pins and needles hit his arms, hands, as his blood flow returned full force. He fought to flex his fingers and roll his shoulders.
“I give you both but you only need one for your small dick.” The man with the smirk laughed at his poor humor. Rob remained silent and waited for the feeling to return to his hands and fingers.
“The bathroom?” He spoke through clenched teeth.
“The bathroom for you is over there.” Aleksey took him past the ammo and to a small latrine, which was little more than a hole in the ground. Nothing Rob hadn’t experienced before.
Aleksey left him alone so that he could walk over to the table where Vasin sat. He shot down a glass of vodka that Vasin had poured for him, his ura an underscore to the laughter and leers at Rob from the other men. That was the Russian military response to a toast, or more historically, a battle cry similar to the U.S. Marine Corps’ oorah. Aleskey, and the others, were trying to intimidate him.
Have your fun now, suckers.
As they mocked him, he mapped out his route and plan of attack. It might be his last. But he’d have accomplished his mission—take out Vasin and in the process, Ivanov. Rob wouldn’t be the one to actually kill Ivanov, but he’d make damned sure the other LEAs knew where to find him with little effort.
Trina.
He couldn’t risk not surviving this mission, after all.
Because Rob knew Ivanov was in this building, or somewhere very nearby. Most likely in a basement. The type of underground, clandestine, over-the-top living structure that ROC was famous for. Ingenious locations with even more clever hideaways.
Rob forced himself to urinate, finding that indeed, he’d had to go. Funny how pain distracted one from basic needs.
“Can’t find it, you capitalist pig?” Vasin laughed and slammed down another empty shot glass. Rob bided his time, acting as if he were fumbling with his zipper.
Truth was, he’d be hard-pressed to re-zip his pants right now with his fingers still so stiff and swollen. But he had enough range of motion to open a box with a box cutter, grab a tear gas canister and launch it. He’d use his teeth to get to it if he had to.
Another boisterous toast. The men clinked glasses and Robert ran.
“The agent!” Slurred words from one of them.
“Don’t shoot him! We need his information!” Vasin unwittingly gave Rob the precious seconds he needed by making the men halt in their tracks.
He grabbed the box off the shelf and heard the yells, the sounds of vodka-hindered feet. The carton opened with little effort, spilling dozens of canisters at his feet. He kicked them toward his attackers as he clutched one, armed it and threw. It landed in the center of the group of four men. Then he shoved against the shelf in front of them as hard as his battered body allowed him to. A loud squeaking rent the air as the metal contraption yielded. He looked at his captors as the canister fell toward them. The men wore various expressions of shock, fear and dread. They reflexively reached for their weapons, despite their boss’s order, as if bullets would stop hundreds of pounds of metal and ammunition aimed at them. It was too late. The shelves came down, and he didn’t stick around to see how many were trapped. The loud crack of the detonator was immediately followed by the appearance of a misty cloud of tear gas. Rob held his breath and ran for the exit.
* * *
Trina texted her boss again with the minimal vital details of her plan and what she expected but still hoped she wouldn’t find in the warehouse. Before she added a third text, he called her.
“Get out, Trina. Don’t go in there alone. One explosion leads to more. Mike is on the east side of the clearing if you need him, but I want you both out of there now.”
She heard her boss’s voice over the Bluetooth connection in her earbuds and let out a sigh of relief. “I was thinking the same thing,” she whispered as she looked at the puppy and decided not to tell Corey that she was taking one thing from this mission—a new family member. She and Jake had the space now, so why not?
“Stop! Where are you now exactly, Trina?” Corey’s sharp query startled her.
“Next to the building. Heading out.” She read off the GPS coordinates, in case Corey had lost her signal. Keeping her voice in a whisper, she crouched down to grab the puppy.
Corey swore over the connection. “Damn it, change of plans. Trina, you’re closest. I need you to get someone who’s in there, from another op. Damn these mixed comms!” Corey was obviously taking a call from another LEA.
“Who, Corey?”
“Hang on.” She heard another loud bang inside the building and the puppy jumped, moving away from her. Damn it! “Robert Bristol. Don’t come back without him.”
“Got it.” And she’d get the man. There wasn’t time to ask Corey specifically who the man was, if he was wanted by the agents from another op, or was LEA himself. It’d all come out soon enough.
She shot one last look at the door she’d surveyed. Was she going to have to go in there, after all? This Robert Bristol dude had better know she was going to get him. Looking around the building and the surrounding forest, she saw no one. Disappointment weighed on her. As she turned back toward the building, the door burst open and a hunched over yet ambulatory man barreled out amid a cloud of white smoke. Coughing as if he had TB, he appeared a little dazed. Tear gas. Crap.
Trina drew her weapon and pointed it him. “Stop. Hands above your head.”
The man complied, albeit stiffly. She watched his arms rise and noted his hands. Why were her eyes drawn to his hands? They were so familiar. As if she’d seen them, seen him before. She stared at his face. Her insides froze. Was this how it felt to lose your mind? How crazy felt? Because she felt like she was looking at a ghost.
“Gotta go, boss.” She spoke into her mic, never taking her eyes off the man. The man who looked exactly like the man she’d given her heart to years ago. Justin Berger.
“Trina, wait—” She yanked her earbuds and Corey’s voice out. She left her phone on, though. Headquarters would at least have a recording of whatever was about to go down. Hopefully it wasn’t her sanity.
“Stay still. Identify yourself.”
The man looked stunned as he turned toward her voice, arms raised. Tears streamed down his cheeks thanks to tear gas. They fell from dark eyes. That is, one of them was a dark brown, the other swollen to a narrow slit. His body, at least the parts visible to her, was unbelievably bruised. He wore only a T-shirt that had once been greenish but was filthy and torn, and his cargo pants were unzipped, and God, she could see his briefs and what should be tucked away inside his briefs.
Acting on pure instinct born of years of training, she visually inspected him from head to toe, looking for weapons. Even if he had a weapon he appeared too battered to use it, but Trina knew no matter how much pain either a criminal trying to escape, or a trained agent was in, they’d figure out a way. She still wasn’t sure who this man was—friend or foe. Her orders were to get him but she’d rescued agents from tight spots before, under the guise of taking them into custody. She had to treat him as suspicious until either he proved he wasn’t, or Corey told her to trust him.
“Keep your hands up and turn around.”
He complied, and she swiftly approached him and patted him down. No weapons, but the way his pants fit him, the way his form was achingly familiar, had her wondering again if she was having some sort of psychotic break.
He had an air about him that distracted her, made her think she knew him. She shook her head, her weapon still on him. Focus. She needed focus.
“Turn around. Who the hell are you?” Her voice usually commanded response, but this man only stared after he turned around to face her. He lowered his arms.
“Keep them up.”
“You know I’m not armed. Look, our time is short—”
“Who are you?”
“Rob Bristol. Who the hell are you?” He was her last-minute target, after all. She forced out a breath.
“US Marshal Lopez. You’re coming with me.”
Gunfire erupted before he could reply, and “Rob” looked at her. Because she was beginning to feel that she wasn’t crazy. That this was Justin.
“Who were you here for, Marshal? Originally?”
She stared him down, refusing to answer. Was it hotter than she thought? Was she dehydrated? Because this man, this apparition in front of her, looked and sounded exactly like Justin.
The ghost spoke. “I’m with the government, too. There are too many of them for us to handle.”
Trina remained silent.
“Let’s go before they kill us both.” His voice was taut and he’d obviously had the crap knocked out of him, but the tone, the way he measured each word even under pressure, it was unique. She’d only ever known one other man to act like this in the midst of a firefight.
“I don’t suppose you have ID?” She’d never had to guess at whether she was taking in a good guy or not. They’d always been bad guys.
“You’re kidding me, right? Look at me. I’ve had the crap knocked out of me.” The harsh words softened with a tone she’d thought was only for her. It was the same method Justin had used to convince her his tactic was best.
She was going to put in for two weeks’ leave the minute she was back at headquarters. Mental health preventive. Because she had to be losing it. Right here, in the middle of what was supposed to be a routine apprehension.
More gunfire and a cloud of what she assumed was tear gas poured from the crack under the door. Once again she tried to stare him down, make him flinch. “Can you run?”
Rob nodded once, his hands still high.
“Follow me.”
She ran not away from the building, but toward it, and she sensed his hesitation, his desire to run in the opposite direction. When she held up the key she’d hid in her pocket and pointed at the ATV she was headed for, he followed.
As they ran, the puppy loped alongside her. “Buddy, there’s no room at the inn. Go home!” She spoke under her breath as she ran, shooing away the too-cute creature. Robert Bristol needed a quick ride out of here, and she intended to keep them both alive while doing it.
This was the craziest apprehension she’d ever had, especially since she wasn’t leaving with her target but a stranger her mind thought was Justin. And now a puppy was trying to join them. As if it were all some kind of fun escapade and not life-and-death circumstances. They came up to the first ATV and she faced the gaunt man, her Justin-come-to-life, ready to put her weapon on him again if she had to.
“Raise your hands again.” She looked him in the eyes and faltered. Blinked. What the hell was wrong with her? Justin was dead. This man who looked like the one man she would have ever been willing to sacrifice everything for had to be a genetic anomaly. He couldn’t be Justin. Justin was dead. Killed—in action in a war-torn Middle Eastern country during a civil war—five years ago tomorrow. A date etched in her mind but seared on her heart. The part that had never healed.
The eye that wasn’t swollen widened, and she ignored the screaming of her subconscious. So the doppelgänger had the same eye color.
“Who are you?”
He didn’t say anything. With no fanfare she patted him down more intensely this time, noting again that he was clean of any weapons. He’d sustained several bruises and a possible fracture on his ulna. Yet he still held his arm up. His muscles were tight under his dirty olive T-shirt and cargo pants, but that wasn’t her problem. Or advantage. His ass, at once familiar and strange, could solve her obvious mental stress. Justin had had a tattoo on his butt. Certainly this man did not.
She forced herself to not try to find said tattoo and straightened. She looked him in his good eye. “Mess with me and I’ll kill you. Got it?”
“Roger.”
Gunshots erupted again, and this time they were followed by the sounds of footsteps outside the building. Three men had emerged from the structure, but Trina didn’t wait to ID them. She had her man and she had wheels. Time to make their escape.
The puppy’s whimper tugged at the part of her that had nothing to do with being a hardened US marshal. Huge, liquid-chocolate-brown eyes pleaded for her mercy as he sat at her feet.
“Damn it.” Trina reached down and grabbed the pup and handed him to the man named Rob. “Here. Keep him between us. Use your good arm to hang on to me. Get on.”
The puppy seemed to sense this was for the best as he settled without fanfare between Trina and her captive. Rob Bristol reached his good arm loosely around her middle, keeping the puppy safe on the seat. The tiny sparks she imagined dancing on her skin weren’t any kind of awareness; she simply noticed that his fingers brushed her waist. He’s probably a criminal anyway, not a government agent or LEA.
And he wasn’t, couldn’t possibly be, Justin, no matter how many times she’d fantasized that Justin had somehow survived that secret mission all those years ago. They’d never recovered his body, though. That had always haunted her.
“Hang on.” It was her only warning before she gunned the engine, zigzagging over the road she’d memorized, and aimed for the main highway. One thing she knew about bad guys, they usually didn’t like to travel during the day on a major thoroughfare. Too risky. If she could get herself and this unknown-government-agency-dude there, they’d be in the clear.
He kept his arm around her waist, holding more tightly on the bumpy patches, remaining silent save for an occasional unintelligible murmur. Groans of pain, she guessed.
All she had to do was get them to the car, move the branches out of the way, and drive out of here. If she was taking him to Harrisburg, she’d make the most of the few hours’ drive. Trina had a lot of questions for this man once they were free of their pursuers.
* * *
“Ma’am, the US marshal from the Harrisburg office is on line one.” The Trail Hikers receptionist’s voice came over Claudia’s computer speaker.
“Thanks, Jessica.” Trail Hikers agency Director Claudia Michele pressed the key that put the secure, encrypted call through. A retired US Marine Corps two-star general, Claudia thrived on live ops and knew her agents were the best in the world. She trusted that Corey from the US Marshals had followed through and one of his team had managed to get Rob out of the ROC op gone wrong.
“Hi, Corey. I hope you have good news.”
“Absolutely. My marshal reports that she’s got a man who says his name is Rob Bristol, but won’t say who he works for. That sound about right, General?” Corey and the US Marshals as a whole weren’t privy to what Trail Hikers was all about, but like other LEAs in the area he had been told enough to be able to help out Claudia when one of her agents was at risk. She’d gone straight to Corey when she’d found out he had two marshals already in the area.
Claudia sat up straight. “Yes, that’s him. Where did she run into him?”
She listened as Corey related the details of his marshal’s situation, and as he spoke she worked on her computer, finding the affirmation she needed. There’d been no word from Rob since earlier today, and it wasn’t because he’d lost comms due to weather or gear failure. He’d been taken by the notorious ROC member Yuri Vasin, if what Corey relayed was correct.
Claudia started to tell Corey to have his marshal go to a location where another TH agent would get Rob. Then she stopped, remembering the reason Rob had moved to Silver Valley, temporarily.
“Corey, do you mind telling me the name of your marshal?”
“Lopez. Trina Lopez.”
Claudia had to stifle a long whistle, an old Marine Corps habit. She knew all there was to know about her agents—it was part and parcel of hiring someone to be a Trail Hiker. As much as she wanted to see Rob put his old demons to rest, she would have never picked a live firefight as the time to do so.
“Tell you what, Corey. As long as Rob is good to go for now, without medical attention, have her bring him back to Harrisburg. We’ll arrange for a pickup from your office. If he needs medical assistance, have them either call in or go to the Lehigh Valley medical center in Allentown. We have a special team there for this type of circumstance.”
“Will do. I have another marshal in the area but I’ve called him off. In light of your man’s appearance, the fewer eyes on him the better, I figure.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Claudia finished working out details with Corey and then disconnected the call. Rob wasn’t going to be happy he’d run into Trina in this manner, but sometimes fate nudged things along. She knew that firsthand from her working relationship with Silver Valley PD’s chief, Colt Todd. What had started as a business connection turned into much more as they spent time together. She fingered her wedding band, which Colt had slid on not too long ago. Claudia wasn’t one to stick her nose in her agents’ personal lives, but if she helped any of them come to resolution over a private matter, it was better for their entire Trail Hikers team. TH work was fast-paced, intense and often deadly. The more emotionally stable her agents were, the better.
Of course, the US marshal Rob was interested in was married, at least she had been three years ago, from what he’d said. It pained her whenever one of her agents was hurting, physically or otherwise. But if this was the “ripping off the bandage” work that Rob needed to do to move on with his life, she was all for it.
She shifted in her executive chair and moved her mouse over the satellite image of where Rob and Trina had reunited. Reports were coming in that Vasin had been taken into custody, but there was no sign of the big ROC boss, Ivanov. Vasin had better talk, because Ivanov was still at large.
* * *
Rob couldn’t believe it. He’d taken the temporary Trail Hikers position to be closer to where he knew Trina had settled down. She’d returned to her family’s native city of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Since he’d finally realized he needed to see her again, gain closure from the intense affair they’d had, and admit to her that she’d been the one thought that got him through it, that is. His counselor as well as his boss at Trail Hikers both confirmed what he knew but hadn’t wanted to follow through on. He had to face Trina one last time, no matter if she was happily married and settled down with another. It was crucial to keep the PTSD from flaring up again and messing up a mission. Not that it ever had, but he didn’t want it hanging over his head forever.
When he’d first met the counselor and decided to gain closure with Trina, he thought he’d drive up to Silver Valley for a day, face her, then drive back to the condo he owned in Arlington, Virginia. Then the Trail Hikers opportunity had opened up six months ago when he’d turned in his CIA resignation. He was done with the hard stuff. But his CIA handler knew that a man like Rob never retired from clandestine ops. He’d connected Rob with Trail Hikers and the rest was history.
At least, the last six months of his life’s history. He’d told himself he’d approach Trina soon. He knew she was a US marshal; Claudia said she could help him make contact.
But it was supposed to be on his time schedule, when he was ready. Not in the middle of an op gone wrong.
He’d thrown himself out of the building, not sure he’d survive. He was too hurt to outrun the ROC on his own. Trina had appeared: a savior with the face of an angel and a killer body. He’d tried to figure out how quickly he could disappear into the fields and forest surrounding Vasin’s hideout even as Trina patted him down. He’d entertained hot-wiring one of the ATVs, whether or not she came with him. Fifteen seconds was his record. But with swollen hands and fingers, he didn’t stand a chance.
Then Trina had shown up as if his mind had willed her to.
When she’d jangled that key in midair he’d wanted to whoop. Until he caught the glimmer of her eyes, the slant of her cheekbones. Until he’d looked, really seen her body. Same curves but fuller. Somehow stronger than before, which was incredible since she’d always been able to keep up with him on training runs around the airfield. And then she’d spoken. Her voice was unforgettable. Tragedy and fate might have put several lifetimes between them, but he’d recognize her voice anywhere.
Trina was a US marshal. And just as memories of her and what they’d shared in the godforsaken desert saved him in the depths of POW torture, she’d plucked him from certain death today.
Bullets strafed the dirt on either side of the ATV as they sped away. He had to fight from telling her what to do. If she was a US marshal, she knew what she was doing. Judging from how quickly they put Vasin’s men behind them, she was for real. Did she even have a clue who he was? Had he imagined the flicker of recognition that crossed her face, the initial look of shock?
She buried you a long time ago.
“You okay back there?”
“Fine.” He leaned his torso against her back. The hell with it. Aches and repeat injuries to his rib cage and jaw weren’t as easy to ignore as they’d been five years ago. His thirty-year-old body had the aches of a seventy-year-old at the moment, thanks to Vasin’s attention to detail. Rob realized he’d been lucky to transition to the CIA after his SEAL time, and then into Trail Hikers. However, maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew by signing up for this particular Trail Hikers op. There were other, less lethal ops to take on.
No. Not a thought he’d entertain while escaping certain death, while Ivanov remained out there. Trina took the ATV through a rough field, and the jostling made stars stab at his closed lids. Oh yeah. He’d taken a decent beating this time.
“Hang tight. It’s going to get a little rough, but we’ll be in a regular car soon.” The commanding tone reflected her years of training. First as a Navy combat pilot and now as a marshal. He’d have pegged her as a shoo-in for the commercial airlines, but her will of steel no doubt made her an excellent marshal. The best.
He leaned against a woman who’d changed as much as he had in five years. Yet her body felt as if it still belonged to him. He cursed himself for paying attention to anything but their getting out of range of the ROC’s bullets. She was married, most likely to the man he’d seen her with. And she had a kid. There was no future with Trina, only this present space as he leaned against her. But no matter what he tried to think of to keep his heart from pounding with exultation that he’d found her again, it was pointless.
It was as if no time had passed.
Wrong, buddy. Five years have passed. Five years in which she never tried to find him. Assumed he’d died. Would he have believed she’d died if presented with the same circumstances?
Anger washed over him. She had no idea that her threat to kill him if he tried to escape meant nothing, no clue that he could kill her with his bare hands. Speeding ATV and multiple injuries be damned.
Sure you’re not overestimating your capabilities?
More like underestimating his injuries. Rob groaned, and for the umpteenth time refused to acknowledge his mortality. At least the pain kept him grounded, which he needed. Trina wasn’t his angel or savior. She wasn’t his anything. The ATV hit a large bump, throwing them airborne for a solid second. He held on to the woman and let himself enjoy the physical contact with her, no matter how brief. Even though he’d crushed her chances of happily ever after with him. Or rather, the war and extenuating circumstances had. He would sure as rain jump off this vehicle if he had to. No matter if it killed him. At least it would be on his terms and not Vasin’s. And Trina need never know it was him.
You’d never leave her to face them alone.
No amount of bouncing on an ATV with his most certainly bruised if not broken ribs could cause enough pain to keep him from facing the cold truth. It mocked him with each jarring movement.
He’d never stopped loving Trina.
* * *
Trina changed her focus, from the trail as she swerved off it onto avoiding tree trunks in the dense forest. It was the perfect spot to keep them out of sight and more importantly, out of bullet range of Vasin’s men. The intensity of the wooded route allowed her to hang on to what felt like the last remnants of her sanity.
It was as if her fantasies had materialized in the form of a man who said he worked for the same team she did, and who looked, sounded and walked exactly as Justin had.
His breathing was shallow as he kept his arms around her waist, and she winced with him at each outcropping, each shale rock that the wheels hit. As if it really were Justin. As if maybe, somehow, he’d survived that explosion, crawled out of the detonation crater and lived.
His loud groan of pain tensed her muscles. Now she was feeling his pain. This wasn’t how to work an apprehension.
“Hang on and I’ll get us off this as soon as I can. It sounds like we may have lost them.” Not that the loud roar of the ATV was any way to elude detection. She only had to get them near her vehicle and they’d have the upper hand.
If her mind would stop playing tricks on her.
