5
“Let me go,” Tate ground out between her teeth. She’d had a semi-rigid splint put on her leg and a bandage over her shoulder and was now being held hostage in her secured room by the meanest nurse she’d ever met until her leg surgery at the end of the day. It had been six hours, and she hadn’t been allowed to leave the room yet.
“You are recovering and getting ready for surgery tonight. You cannot get out of that bed.”
“The shoulder is nothing. I am going to see the president, or so help me, I will get out of this bed and strangle you. It’s been hours, and no one will tell me anything.”
The nurse looked at her as if she were a child. “First, you’re one of the nicer patients I’ve dealt with. Second, I don’t have information on the status of the president. It’s classified.”
“Is he alive?” Tate asked softly, her voice fading as it was replaced with heart-stopping fear.
The nurse’s look turned to pity. “I’m sorry. No one knows. The entire wing is closed off, and no information is coming out of it.” The nurse gave her a sad look and then left the private room, closing the door after her.
Tate grabbed a pillow and covered her face. She let the tears come. Great big sobs as she cried for those who had died last night at the restaurant, all because of her. She’d taken out Mollia Domini’s propaganda machine, embarrassing them, and innocents had died because of it. It was now clear their enemies were prepared to destroy anything they could not control.
Other federal agents had arrested the young officer who had shot the supposed CIA agent. When the agent had reached for her with his gun drawn, the officer shot. But she’d make sure he’d get out of jail by the end of the day. Crew had swooped in, picked Tate up, and had her inside the helicopter while everyone was distracted by the shooting. Tate was sure the agent was either a Mollia Domini plant in the CIA, or he wasn’t an agent at all. Either way, the young officer had saved her, and she’d make sure he was hailed a hero.
Crew had followed the medical evacuation helicopter to Walter Reed Hospital. The military base was in complete lockdown as well as the hospital. Tate had heard the people talking as she was rushed from the helicopter pad and into a secure room. Crew had not been admitted. Instead, he was detained and was being held somewhere on the base.
“Get out of my way!”
Tate pulled the pillow from her face at the raised voice in the hall. She heard her guardian nurse calling for MPs as her door was thrown open. Standing in all of his five-foot-five-inch shining-head glory was Humphrey. He shoved the wire-rimmed glasses up his nose aggressively as he sent her a wink.
MPs ran up the hall, but Humphrey spun on them. “You better back off, or I’ll have you dishonorably discharged. Do you know who I am? I’m the fucking chief of staff, and you will listen to me. I am taking this woman, on the direct orders of President Stratton, to his bedside. Anyone who impedes me will face court martial under UCMJ Article 92.”
Tate sat up and watched in awe as the men stepped back. “Sorry, sir.”
“Nurse, help me get Miss Carlisle into a wheelchair,” Humphrey ordered, his voice strong and sure as he directed the MPs to help the nurse.
The nurse hurried inside with a wheelchair, and the men helped pick Tate up and set her in the chair. The nurse tried to push her, but Humphrey waved her off. “I will let you know when you’re needed. Thank you for your excellent care.”
The nursed thanked Humphrey, and they stared after them as Humphrey walked off, pushing Tate down the hall.
“Is Birch alive?” Tate finally asked.
“I don’t know. They haven’t let me in yet. But they will.”
By the steely determination in Humphrey’s voice, she felt sorry for the wall of guards waiting in the secure ward. Tate looked back with tears in her eyes as she grabbed for his hand. “Thank you.”
Humphrey patted her hand as he wound his way through the maze of corridors. “Get ready,” he said, dropping her hand as they came around a corner and faced the wall of guards.
Lizzy and Dalton followed the course on the map that the military had best figured the bodies had traveled. So far, there were nothing but small houses and a few small hotels along the coast as they moved from Romania into Bulgaria.
“It shouldn’t be too much farther. The medic was pretty sure about time of death and how long they’d been in the water,” Lizzy said of George Stanworth and his now identified daughter, Helena.
Lizzy scanned the coast with her binoculars from her spot on the boat. “Let’s go around that small bend.”
Dalton revved the engine and steered around a small jetty. He slowed when he saw the coastline around the bend. A massive house sat maybe fifty yards from the shore. “I don’t see anyone,” Lizzy said, scanning the area.
“Let’s try it. It’s the first real possibility we’ve seen.” Dalton steered the boat toward the shore. He stopped ten feet from shore and tossed the anchor into the shallow water. He hopped out of the boat, the water came up to his chest. Lizzy handed him two guns and then jumped in after him.
They walked through the water and onto the beach. Dalton held out his hand and Lizzy stopped. He pointed to the ground next to a table. Blood coated the sand. He’d seen it enough to know that dark stain anywhere. “I’ll take the back. You go around front,” he ordered.
They sprinted off in different directions. Lizzy hugged the side of the house as she made her way around front. She heard glass breaking in the back and used the butt of her M16 to break out the glass door.
“Clear!” she heard Dalton call as she made her way through the rooms.
“Clear!” she called back as they met in the large living room looking over the sea. “They’re gone now.”
Alex buzzed her, and she looked at her phone. “Alex says Sally, the fake name Sandra is using, just boarded a plane in Bucharest.”
“Dammit,” Dalton cursed. “We were so close.”
“Let’s collect as much evidence as we can,” Lizzy told him as she found the kitchen and pulled out some plastic bags.
“We’ll collect the blood in the sand when we leave. Let’s get some items that likely would have been touched by the people here.”
Three hours later Lizzy and Dalton leaned against a crate as the plane took off. They were alone in the cargo hold with a bunch of large pallets of supplies, and it was perfect. They had a duffle bag of potential evidence, a secretary of state to talk to, and the rest of an organization to bring down. But for a couple hours, they’d have peace.
“Lizzy,” Dalton said against her head resting on his chest over the engine noise.
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Lizzy turned her head and looked up at Dalton’s face. They hadn’t slept in days, his face was scruffy, and he was still the sexiest man she’d ever seen.
“I love you, too.”
Humphrey would never fool Tate again. He was a fierce warrior. He’d not only bullied his way into the secure ward, but also into Birch’s room. He was alive—barely. Tate gasped as Humphrey pushed her to Birch’s bed. He’d undergone three hours of surgery to repair a collapsed lung and internal bleeding.
As he lay on the white sheets, Tate wouldn’t have known he was alive if it weren’t for the beeping of the machines showing a steady pulse. “Birch,” she whispered as emotion overwhelmed her. Again Humphrey was there.
He rested his hand on her shoulder. “He’ll pull through. He should be waking from the anesthesia soon. And when he does we’ll be right here.”
Tate nodded as Humphrey parked her wheelchair next to the bed. “I’ll check with the doctors,” Humphrey told her, walking over to the ICU’s main station that overlooked the beds.
Tate reached out and clasped her hand in his. “Birch. We’re safe. We made it. Please come back to me.”
Tate hoped his eyes would open, but they didn’t. Instead, she rested their clasped hands against her cheek and talked. She talked about their future, about places she wanted to travel with him and things she wanted do together. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours.
Tate’s voice had gone hoarse, but that didn’t stop her. “I always wanted to spend time at a small lake in the middle of the woods. It would be just you and me there. No outside world and no responsibilities, at least for a few days. Can you imagine sitting wrapped in each other’s arms on a dock overlooking the sunset?”
“I can.”
Tate’s eyes shot up to Birch’s face at the sound of his hoarse voice. He was so pale, but his eyes were opened, and there was a slight smile on his face.
“Birch!” Tate cried, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing him as doctors and nurses rushed into the room. Humphrey fought them off long enough for Tate to whisper that she loved him, and then a nurse yanked her wheelchair out of the room.
“Stop!”
Tate’s heart clenched as she heard the pain and energy it took Birch to call out. Everyone froze. “Since I am very much alive, I want you to bring my girlfriend back to my side immediately. We are not to be separated until our release. Is that understood?”
Tate was rushed back as a doctor looked down at Birch. “You’re doing well. You’ll be in the hospital five days or so. You lost a lot of blood. You had some internal bleeding when your rib punctured your lung. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take Miss Carlisle away in about three hours. She needs surgery to set her broken leg. After that, I will return her to your side so long as you both rest. Do we have a deal?”
Birch nodded and grabbed her hand. The room cleared, and he looked at her with such love that Tate felt her heart fill. “I want you by my side forever,” Birch said, never taking his eyes from hers.
“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Tate smiled at him as he kissed her hand.
No matter what the next day brought, they’d all face it together. They would find Valeria, and the team would be back together. Humphrey, Lizzy, Dalton, Alex, Valeria, Crew . . . they were more than a team. They were family. Mollia Domini may have struck a direct hit that day, but her family would be together again soon. Mollia Domini would feel the full force of what they were capable of. The cracks had been made. It was time to blow them apart.
He sat looking at the videoconference screen. There were two black squares, and he felt the rage all over again. Fucking Stanworths and their mess. Sandra and the man looked worried. And they definitely should be. He would kill them faster than he killed the Stanworths if they didn’t get their jobs done.
“He survived,” Sandra said with a hint of fear lacing her voice. “The vice president has already turned power back over to Stratton.”
Rage erupted. He threw his glass against the wall, sending shards exploding into the air. His secretary knew better than to come in when he was like that, but he almost dared her. He wanted to lash out, but instead he took a calming breath.
“We have to move up phase three,” his other partner said. “How soon can it be done?”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at the list of locations he’d stolen bombs from. “It’s already begun.”