Читать книгу Operation: Midnight Escape - Linda Castillo - Страница 11

Jake didn’t think the bullet had hit anything vital, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. By late afternoon he’d accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to make it to his destination, a small town in Michigan. A place where he had friends and family and a safe place to stash Leigh until Rasmussen was caught.

So much for best-laid plans.

The wound throbbed with every beat of his heart. He could feel his clothes sticking to his skin where the blood had dried. The pain was making him sweat, making him cranky. He was going to have to find a place to pull over and check the damage. The question was where. They were in the middle of farm country, somewhere in eastern Kansas, surrounded by fields and prairie grasses.

“Jake, you’re still bleeding. We’re going to have to stop.”

He glanced at Leigh and even though he was hurting and annoyed, her beauty took him aback. He could see how a man could become obsessed with her. She was innocence and sin rolled into a single, stunning package. But his attraction to her went far deeper than her physical beauty. He’d been drawn to the goodness of her soul, to the kindness in her heart that had spoken to his on a level he couldn’t begin to explain.

“I know,” he said. “Not yet.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out, damn it.”

But now that she’d mentioned it, he knew she was right. Jake glanced down at the hole in his coat. His stomach fluttered uneasily at the sight of fresh blood. It had soaked his coat and was now dripping onto the seat. Damn. Damn. Damn!

“You don’t want to let a bullet wound go untreated,” she persisted. “Even if it’s minor.”

“I know what I need to do,” he snapped. “Get off my back.”

Just west of the Missouri State line, he turned onto a county road and pulled over. He couldn’t hide the wince of pain when he shifted to ease the cell phone from his belt.

Leigh looked at him, her expression worried. “Do you want me to drive?”

“I just need to make a call.”

He punched the only number he could think of. Mike Madrid was not only a highly trained MIDNIGHT agent but a good friend. Madrid answered on the second ring with a curt utterance of his name.

“This isn’t a secure line,” Jake said.

A pause. “I hope you know you screwed up when you walked out of there this morning.”

“Not the first time.”

“Could be your last if you don’t make nice with Cutter.”

“Look, I have the package, but I got sacked.”

Mike Madrid swore. Sacked was code for shot. “How bad?”

“Minor. But I need an Auntie Em.” A place to stay in Kansas.

“I’ll send you a card.” Code for a text message on Jake’s Blackberry.

“Roger.”

Jake disconnected.

“I didn’t get all of that,” Leigh said.

“Neither did anyone else.” He started to reach for the Blackberry in the back seat, but the movement caused a tearing sensation in the wound, wrenching a groan from him.

“Jake, we’ve got to get you to a doctor.”

“Hand me the Blackberry out of that leather bag, will you?”

Shaking her head, Leigh reached into the bag and withdrew the tiny wireless handheld computer. He tried to take it from her, but she stopped him. “Stop acting like a macho jerk and let me do it for you.”

Shoving back his annoyance, partly because she was right, Jake leaned against the seat. “Hit the power button. Wait for it to boot. Hit Receive.”

He watched her hit the tiny buttons, liking the way her brows knit, the way she bit her lip in concentration. They’d put three hundred miles between them and Rasmussen’s men. But Jake knew it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Rasmussen would never stop looking for her. Watching her, Jake vowed he would do whatever it took to keep Rasmussen from hurting her.

“It’s a map,” she said after a moment.

Jake reached for the Blackberry and squinted at the tiny screen. “There’s a place we can go to rest about fifty miles north of here.”

“Jake, I don’t think you can make it that far.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

THEY DROVE PAST a huge road sign welcoming them to the great state of Missouri. Quaint farmhouses with silos and big red barns dotted the countryside. The sky had been overcast throughout the day. But as the sun sank in the west, dark clouds began to roil on the northern horizon, and Jake knew it was too cold for rain.

The first flakes of snow swirled as he turned the Hummer onto the gravel lane. In the distance, an old two-story farmhouse rose out of the flat ground like a jut of rock. As they drew nearer, he could see that the house was in rough shape. Paint that had once been white was weathered gray by years of neglect, and the harsh elements of the Midwestern seasons. Two ramshackle barns were just a gust of wind away from falling down. The house was surrounded by two hundred acres of vacant farmland.

The place was desolate and in the open. If anyone came for them, Jake would be able to see them coming. But he didn’t think anyone would find them here. For a few hours they would be safe. Once they rested and he got his wound cleaned up, he could decide what to do next.

“I hope you made reservations,” Leigh said.

All Jake could think was that he wished they were going to the kind of place that required reservations. The kind of place where they could sip champagne in front of a roaring fire. The kind of place with a king-size bed and linen sheets. A place where he could lay her down and peel away her clothes layer by layer until she was naked and trembling beneath him….

Jake parked the Hummer at the rear of the house and shut off the engine. The snow was coming down in earnest, the weatherman calling for several inches before morning. As long as it didn’t get any worse than that, he supposed they would be all right here.

A brutal north wind hit him like a bucket of ice water when he opened the door. Knowing he would be stiff, he cautiously slid from the truck. Without warning, his leg buckled. Grimacing, he dropped to his knees.

“Jake!”

Leigh rounded the front of the vehicle and knelt beside him. “My God! What happened?”

“I’m fine, damn it.” Embarrassment roughened his voice.

“Oh, I can see you’re fine.”

“My leg stiffened up on me, that’s all.” But for an uncomfortable moment he wasn’t sure if he could make it to his feet. And he began to wonder if the bullet wound was worse than he’d assumed. Whenever he put weight on the leg, the pain clamped down on him like a fanged beast.

“Let me help you.”

He was about to snap at her, but when he looked into her eyes and saw her concern, the words died in his throat. For the first time he noticed that her hands were on his shoulders. He knew it was stupid, considering the circumstances, but he liked having her touch him. It reminded him of the way it had felt when she’d touched him six years ago. It was the kind of touching a man never forgot.

“I can do it.” Shrugging off her hands, he used the door to pull himself to his feet.

“Are there any supplies inside? Running water? Blankets?”

He motioned toward the rear of the Hummer. “There’s a first-aid kit in the back. A blanket, too. Bring them in. I’m going to clear the house.”

Jake limped to the porch at the rear of the house and crossed to the door. He wasn’t surprised to find the door locked. Looking around, he spied a hand shovel and used it to break the pane of glass next to the knob. Reaching inside, he twisted the bolt lock and opened the door.

He noticed that the kitchen wasn’t much warmer than outside, aside from being protected from the wind. The counters were 1970s yellow Formica and covered with a thick later of dust. The white porcelain sink was chipped. The linoleum was badly scuffed and curling in the corners. He crossed to the sink, twisted the faucet, and water burst from the tap. At least they had water.

He limped to the living room. The tall windows were grimy and draped with gauzy curtains, letting in little light. But it didn’t take much light to see that the place had long since fallen to disrepair. Still, Jake was grateful to have a roof over his head.

The high ceilings were water stained. In some places the plaster had chipped away and fallen to the floor. A fireplace constructed of crumbling brick dominated the room. An antique potbellied stove sat in the corner. The only piece of furniture was a table that looked as if it had been used for a workbench.

Not the Ritz-Carlton, but it was going to have to do.

Moving to the front door, Jake opened it and looked out at the porch. Relief swept through him when he spotted the firewood stacked haphazardly. If they burned wood conservatively, it might get them through the night.

Not wanting to think of spending the night with Leigh in a cold farmhouse, he limped to the woodpile and gathered as much as he could carry into his arms. He locked the door behind him and went over to the hearth. A surge of light-headedness hit him when he saw Leigh standing in the kitchen doorway. He wasn’t sure if it was from the bullet wound or the effect she always had on him, but it was enough to make him break into a sweat.

“I’ll make a fire,” he said.

Quickly she set the first-aid kit and blanket on the table and came to him. “Let me help you.”

He didn’t want her help. He didn’t like the way he was reacting to her. But the pain was wearing down his bravado. He let her take some of the firewood from his arms.

“Are you sure we weren’t followed?” she asked.

“I’m sure.”

“How long will we stay?”

“Long enough to get my wound cleaned up and grab a couple of hours of sleep.”

“Then what?”

He put a match to the newspaper he’d set under the wood and watched it burst into flames. “Hopefully Rasmussen will be in custody by then.”

“And if he isn’t?”

He looked at her and felt another surge of light-headedness. “We cross that path when we come to it.”

Jake rose and carried some wood to the potbellied stove. When both the fireplace and stove were blazing, he walked to the kitchen where Leigh had set out the first-aid kit.

“Nice kit,” she said.

“Courtesy of the MIDNIGHT Agency,” he said.

She opened the lid and picked up a wrapped syringe. “Looks like they thought of everything.”

“Yeah, I think Cutter used to be a Boy Scout.”

Her smile was short-lived. “I’m sorry you left the agency on bad terms. I know how much your career means to you.”

Jake said nothing.

“Was it because of me?”

“It was because of a difference of opinion between Sean Cutter and me. It’s not the first time.”

“Will you be able to go back?”

Jake sighed, the gravity of what he had done this morning weighing him down. “I don’t think he’ll ask me to come back.”

Not wanting to deal with that at the moment, he looked down to where the blood was still seeping through his coat. “Are you up to handling this bullet wound?”

“I was ready hours ago.” But he didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She motioned toward the table. “Why don’t you take off your coat and have a seat?”

Jake worked the coat off his shoulders. He tugged his shirt from the waistband and was dismayed to see so much blood. The bullet had gone though his coat, through his blue jeans and grazed his right hip, close to the muscular part of the buttock. Terrific. He pondered the dilemma, but there was no way around it. He was going to have to remove his pants.

“I hate to do this to you, Leigh, but I’m going to have to lose the pants.”

She looked more horrified by the idea of seeing his bare butt than she did at the prospect of treating a potentially serious bullet wound. But she quickly regained her composure. “It won’t be the first time I’ve seen you without them.”

Her cheeks were flushed. Jake could feel that same heat creeping up his own cheeks. And other parts of his body he didn’t want to think about.

Without looking at her, he unsnapped his jeans, tugged them down and stepped out of them. He wore plain white boxer briefs. He glanced at the blood-soaked material. “Going to need a new wardrobe after this,” he muttered. “Bullet put a hole in everything but my shoes.”

Leigh was looking everywhere but into his eyes. Jake wasn’t shy, but he didn’t like the idea of dropping his pants in front of a woman he’d spent the past six years trying to get out of his system. One stray thought, and his body might just react in a way he didn’t want it to. Something like that was hard to hide when you were half naked.

Because he needed something to do, he reached into the first-aid kit and picked up the syringe. “Think you can get some antibiotics into me?”

“I have a feeling you’re not talking about a pill.”

He smiled as he tore the wrapper from the syringe. “Penicillin. Intramuscular injection. Needs to go in the hip.” He patted his left hip. “Alcohol swabs are in the kit.”

“Jake, I’ve never given a shot before.”

“You’ll do fine. Find the muscle. Jab the needle straight in.” He demonstrated. “Depress the plunger. Out quickly.” He handed her the syringe.

“What if I hurt you?”

“It won’t be the first time.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. In the last hours he hadn’t meant for a lot of things to happen.

She started to turn away, but he reached out and touched her arm. A small thrill raced through him when her gaze met his. “I’m a big guy,” he said. “That’s a small needle. You’re not going to hurt me.” When she hesitated, he frowned. “What will hurt me is if I pick up an infection from that damn bullet.” Bracing himself against the table with one hand, he used the other to pull down one side of his boxers. “Ready?”