Chapter Seventeen
For a quick heartbeat, Brooke wasn’t sure what happened.
Douglas Weber was there, sitting on a rock with his hands raised, and all of a sudden, there was a rapid-fire ping-ping-ping. Roman jerked the wheel of the car, and they were spinning.
Her seatbelt locked up, glass broke, Roman swore. The landscape became a blur as the car did a 180.
“Get down!” Roman yelled and the pelting noise continued, reminding her of that night at the bar, the sound of rain on the metal roof like pebbles being dropped by a giant.
But this wasn’t rain.
Gunfire.
A strong hand caught her by the back of the head and shoved her down so she couldn’t see. Her window exploded, raining glass down on her and she heard a scream.
It was her own voice. Her vocal chords continued to cut loose but she slammed her eyes shut as the world spun. Only the sensation of Roman’s hand holding her head anchored her.
The car stopped its merry-go-round spin and Brooke heard more gunfire, saw the headlights of the other cars lighting up the interior of the Jeep. Roman hit the gas and they jetted forward, the pressure of his reassuring hand leaving her as he used it to shift.
Brooke felt something warm on her neck. She touched the spot and her fingers came away bloody.
She felt no pain. Shaking tiny shards of glass off her arms, she scanned her body and saw no other blood.
She peeked out the hole that had been her window. The cars that had been behind them were now passing on either side. The state troopers had once again hit their sirens and lights, screaming by in a wash of red, blue, and blaring noise.
Brooke dared a look back over her shoulder. There, on the boulders stood at least ten men, one apiece. Each held a semiautomatic rifle and peppered the cars with bullets.
As the police cruisers skidded to a stop, forming a roadblock, Detective Clyffe added his car to it. Win and Polly went off-roading, driving in behind one of the lean-to structures. Return gunfire from the state troopers sent the men on the boulders scrambling for cover.
Roman steered the Jeep behind an outcropping of trees. He killed the ignition and tossed her the keys with one hand as he simultaneously unhooked his seatbelt with the other. “Stay here and stay hidden. Backup’s on the way but I need you to contact Thomas and let him know what he and the others are driving into. Can you do that?”
She nodded. Before he’d turned off the car, killing the dashboard lights, she’d seen a dark spot on his right shoulder.
The blood on her neck hadn’t been hers. It was Roman’s. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.” He yanked on his car door handle and started to jump out.
Brooke grabbed his forearm. “You’re shot!”
“Not the first time.” He gave her a quick grin, leaned over, and kissed the end of her nose. “I’m fine, Brooke. The bullet skimmed me, that’s all. Get your gun out and shoot anyone who comes this way if you don’t recognize them. If it looks like we’re losing, get the hell out of here. Get back to the freeway and call Shane. He’ll know what to do.”
“I’m listening, you know,” Shane’s voice said over her comm. “I’ve already alerted Thomas and Mitch, by the way. And for the record, this is a bad idea, Walsh.”
He kissed Brooke again, this time on the lips, and bailed out, completely ignoring his computer tech. The sound of gunfire tapered off. Brooke watched as Roman retrieved something from the rear.
He closed the door quietly and scooted around the vehicle wearing a vest and carrying a large, black weapon. He didn’t look back at her as he disappeared into the shadows.
Brooke climbed into the driver’s seat and flipped the locks on the doors, even though the other window was busted out. Her purse was in the passenger footwell and she snatched it up, shaking off more glass pellets before pulling the Glock out. She checked the chamber to make sure a round was loaded and ready to fire.
She couldn’t hear anything coming through her earbud—everyone had their comms muted. She laid the Glock in her lap, her free hand on the steering wheel, drumming over and over.
Silence now met her ears.
“In pursuit,” Win’s voice broke the silence. He was breathing heavy, like he was running. “Male, medium build, wearing a cap, jacket, jeans, boots. Carrying a pistol.”
The sound of a scuffle ensued. A gun went off, the bang so loud in her ear, Brooke flinched. She strained her eyes, searching the area, seeing nothing but the scrubby trees blowing in the breeze.
“Suspect down and incapacitated,” Win said a moment later, and Brooke released the breath she’d been holding.
A fresh shot rang out, echoing in the distance. “Gotcha,” Polly said, and then, “Target acquired, but we’re going to need an ambulance.”
Brooke fumbled for her phone to dial 911, but of course, Shane was already on it. His voice came over the comm. “Two ambulances en route. ETA ten minutes. Thomas, Ronni, and Mitch are five minutes out.”
Where was Roman? Why hadn’t he checked in? Had Clyffe and the troopers caught any of the other men? Was Weber still alive?
Sitting there in the dark was a nightmare. Roman was out there with his team and the others, and here she sat, a hundred yards away from the action, useless.
But she would not be one of those too-stupid-to-live heroines in some of the books she’d read. Even though she’d had a decent amount of self-defense training and gun range practice in the past few days, this entire situation was way out of her wheelhouse.
Everything about Roman from the moment he’d walked—or shot—his way into her life that night at the bar had turned her world upside down. She’d become as close to an actual agent as she ever would, had an affair with her boss—which she’d never do in the “real” world—and he just happened to be the sexiest man she’d ever met.
Talk about being out of my wheelhouse.
Her reluctance to get involved with him in the first place had been spot on. He had major secrets, and even though she’d played the part of the romance heroine to a T, pretending to be bold and carefree about sex, in the end, she just might be too stupid to live in her own life after all. She’d fallen for the hero, all right. Lock, stock, and boxing ring.
But she could never trust him with her heart. Just like Conrad Flynn in Operation Sheba, Roman thought he was invincible. That his reasons for doing what he did, no matter who got hurt, were for the greater good. Maybe they were, but lies and secrets had already caused her so much pain. Ruined her family. Possibly got people killed.
All she’d ever wanted was the truth.
Could Roman ever give her that?
A few feet away, a shadow moved. Her heart beat frantically. Was it a man? An animal? She fingered the gun, her hand sweaty. Could she do it? Kill someone?
I’ll aim for his knee.
She always wondered in cop shows when they were pursuing a subject on foot, running around with their guns drawn and the perp in shooting range, why didn’t they actually shoot the subject? If they didn’t want to kill him because they needed him to talk, why didn’t they simply incapacitate him? Shoot him in the arm, leg, or foot? It drove her nuts.
But fiction wasn’t real life. Cop shows had to be full of action and excitement, chases on foot, the bad guys getting the upper hand until the last climactic scene.
She had to admit that so far, real life had been pretty close to that. She’d been in two firefights now, a car chase, and was at this moment holding her breath in the dark, wondering if Roman was ever coming back to her.
The shadow didn’t reappear, but she kept the Glock ready. Her eyes scanned the front, sides, rear. An owl hooted.
And then she heard another scuffle off to the right.
“Roman!” Polly’s voice cut through the night. “Behind you!”
Brooke sat forward even more, scanning the area, gun raised. Where is he?
Shots echoed off to her right. She heard a man cry out.
“Roman!” she yelled, not caring if she was breaking some comm rule. “Are you okay?”
Her hand was on the door handle, her gun up and ready to fire, when his voice stopped her from jumping out of the vehicle and running blindly into the night.
“Suspect down and in custody.” His breathing was ragged. “How many does that make total?”
He sounded funny, his voice tight. Was he hurt?
Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She flung the door open and hopped out as Polly responded. “Six. The troopers and Clyffe caught three and so did we.”
Six.
Out of ten.
“And Weber?” Brooke asked, holding onto the doorframe. Every cell in her body cried out for her to move, to find Roman, but she had no idea where he was. “Did anyone get him?”
“No,” Polly said. “He and the others disappeared into the desert.”
From the trees, the shadow appeared again. Definitely a man and he seemed to be dragging something.
Eep!
“Hold it right there,” Brooke yelled.
At least she tried to. Her voice was a little too high-pitched and came out more like a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Come any closer and I’ll shoot!”
The man emerged from the shadows into a stripe of moonlight. He was limping, dragging something large and heavy into the road.
A body.
Brooke’s fingers shook so badly, it took her three tries to cock the hammer. “I said stop or I’ll shoot!”
“Don’t do that,” Roman said. “I’ve got one slug in me already.”
He raised his weapon above his head with one hand and dropped the man he was dragging with the other. She saw a flash of white teeth in the moonlight as he grinned at her in mock surrender.
“Roman!”
She released the hammer, tossed the gun into the car, and ran to him.
He caught her with one arm, scooping her up in a hug as she threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I thought you were Weber or one of the other men who got away.”
“I know.” His voice was filled with humor. “You had me shaking in my boots, though. You’ve got the cop speak down perfectly.”
“Liar,” she laughed, releasing him. Her arm was coated with his blood. “And now I’m too stupid to live because I forgot about your gunshot wound!”
“Too stupid to live?”
Flashing blue lights bounced off the far hills and sirens sounded in the distance. The cavalry had arrived. “I’ll explain later. How bad are you injured?”
Polly and Detective Clyffe came running up the road from the car blockade. Clyffe went to work on cuffing the guy Roman had bagged who moaned now and grabbed his knee. “He’s worse off than me,” Roman said. “I shot him in both knees.”
Yes! Brooke smiled. “You are so damn perfect.”
He handed his weapon to Polly who removed the cartridge and flipped on the safety as he headed toward the Jeep. “So you keep telling me.”
He leaned on her a little as she walked him over to his vehicle. “Where are you shot?”
“My thigh.” He leaned on the side of the car and Brooke looked down to see a dark stain running down the length of his leg. “Polly, I need a tourniquet.”
“Yes, boss.” She stuck Roman’s weapon inside the Jeep and brought out a first aid kit. “How bad is it?”
“No exit wound,” he ground out as Polly took a strip of cloth and tied it around his upper thigh. “Bastard might have nicked my artery.”
And shit, Brooke’s surreal world spun 180 again. “You need surgery. Now.”
A Bronco came flying in and Thomas and Mitch jumped out of the front seat. Ronni emerged from the back.
“Damn it, we’re too late,” Thomas said as they walked up to Roman. “You couldn’t wait to play hero until we got here, Walsh?”
They did the guy handshake-backslap thing and Roman chuckled but Brooke could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “Couldn’t wait on your lazy ass forever.”
Mitch cocked his chin at Roman’s leg and arm. “Looks like you took a couple for the team.”
The ambulances drove into the valley, picking their way through the cars and trucks. One stopped next to the man beside the road where Clyffe stood guard over him. The detective pointed to Roman. “Take him. We’ll load this guy in the other.”
“I’m going with you,” Brooke said.
“I’ll get your car back,” Polly said.
As the EMTs loaded Roman onto a gurney, Brooke grabbed her stuff from the car and gave Polly the keys. “Is he going to be okay?” she asked under her breath.
Polly looked washed out under the moonlight, but didn’t they all? “He’ll be okay. Nothing ever keeps him down.”
Brooke prayed she was right.
Roman wasn’t sure what hurt worse—the gunshot wounds or Brooke’s crushing grip on his hand.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of our earlier discussion just because you need surgery,” she said around the EMT who was hooking him up to an IV. “You’re going to tell me the truth about Percy.”
He was, too, but it was fun to see her acting all bossy. “Is that so?”
She pinched his leg and he yelped. “Yeah, that’s so, tough guy. I told you from the start, I don’t do secrets. As soon as you’re better, we’re having a talk.”
The EMT was an older Hispanic gal named Clarice. She raised an eyebrow at Roman as she inserted the IV needle into his arm. “Sounds like she means business. I wouldn’t mess with her.”
He chuckled. “She’s a hardass, but a cute one.”
“Cute?” Brooke scoffed. “I’m a hardass, all right. A brilliant, talented one who isn’t about to let you off the hook just because you ran into the line of fire and got yourself shot. You scared the crap out of me back there with your hero act.”
“I was doing my job, Brooke.”
She went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “Since you barged into my life the other night, I’ve been shot at, fired from my job, forced to learn how to use a gun, and stalked by a serial killer. You owe me.”
She cared. That’s what this was all about. He had scared her, but only because she cared about him.
Not that he was surprised—he’d seen it on her face repeatedly since that first night when he’d promised to hunt down the man who’d broken into her rental car and stolen her stuff. Not many people had ever stood up for her in her lifetime. She didn’t depend on anyone or let herself care for people because they always disappointed her.
As the drugs pumped into his veins and Clarice slowed the bleeding from his leg, he felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the pain killers. “Weber is still on the loose. You need to be careful.”
“Are you trying to change the subject on me?”
Clarice smirked. “She has your number. You better play it straight with her.”
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said to Brooke. “And I’m not trying to change the subject so much as make sure you keep your guard up while I’m at the hospital. Also, I want you to know I will find that SOB and prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law.”
Detective Clyffe had assured him that a full search party would assist Roman’s team in scouring the countryside, hunting for Weber and his friends. It would be tough until daylight, but they would do their best.
Meanwhile, the men who’d been arrested would have their injuries treated and Clyffe would question each and every man. With any luck, one of them would break and turn on the others. All they needed was that one solid lead and this case would be wrapped up in short order.
The Reverend and his gang were going down.
Brooke gave his hand another hard squeeze. “Do you think The Reverend was there tonight?”
“No telling. They were all wearing gold crosses, but there were only ten by my count.”
Her face lost its tough expression and turned anxious. “It all happened so fast, I didn’t get a good look at anyone but Douglas Weber.”
“Do you have your comm still?” He’d lost his in the scuffle with the man he’d taken down.
She nodded, touching her ear. “Do you need it?”
“Raise Nadia and tell her to meet us at the hospital. I want you under guard 24/7.”
A small smile split her lips. “Shane says he already sent Nadia to the medical center.”
Sudden exhaustion washed over him. Or maybe it was the pain killers. His vision was fuzzy and he felt light and floaty. “Tell him…thanks.”
Brooke relayed the message to Shane, her face becoming three as he tried to keep his eyes open.
“You need to rest now,” Clarice said, patting his arm. “We’ll have you at the hospital in no time.”
“It’s okay, Roman.” Brooke’s face looked like it was smiling at him. He couldn’t feel her hand anymore. “Don’t worry about me. Close your eyes and relax.”
He didn’t want to. He wanted to keep staring at her, make sure she didn’t disappear on him. For the first time in a long while, he wanted a woman in his life. Not just for a weekend or a short-term fling. He wanted someone who understood what drove him, who didn’t flinch at his lifestyle. “I promise to tell you…everything,” he said as his lids fluttered shut.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
He heard her say something else, but she sounded far away. He floated on the darkness for a long minute before coming back hard as Brooke’s voice broke through.
He heard Shane’s name, felt the low buzz of anxiety under his skin as Brooke’s voice spiked again. Something about the sigils. What was that? What was she saying? An ancient alphabet?
The drugs took him under once more, away from her and whatever had upset her. Darkness enveloped him, the pain slipping away…
Sirens jarred him…bambambam…the dream pounded against his skull. Screams. A loud, reverberating boom like thunder. His body went sailing through the air, floating, gone…
Lights and sounds assaulted him, lifting his too-light body from the shadowy dream. He tumbled over, hit something hard. Pain exploded in his temple right before something heavy hit him in the back. He tried to raise his arms, found them too heavy. Pushing against the thing at his back, he half rolled over, forcing his heavy lids to crack open.
One obeyed, the other didn’t. Lights flickered, he heard a moan. His one good eye saw the inside of the ambulance, but nothing looked right.
It wasn’t a dream. The ambulance lay on its side, the gurney and IV pole tangled around him. Clarice was knocked out, lying pinned under the gurney.
A whisper. “Romaaan.”
Brooke! He searched for her and saw her at the end of the ambulance by the back door. She reached for him, her slim hand floating in the air. He struggled to grab it, his vision from the single eye blurring. He blinked, got both to slit open this time.
There! Contact. The ends of their fingers brushed and they clawed at each other. Brooke tried to crawl toward him to get a better grasp.
He shoved at the mess of paraphernalia that covered his body, trying to shift toward her, but his limbs didn’t want to cooperate. Something heavy weighed down his right thigh.
God, he was so tired.
“My ankle is trapped,” she said. As he blinked again, he noticed blood coming from her lip. “I think it’s broken.”
He had to pause to get his breath and realign his body around the weight holding him down. He fought through the sedative and pain killers, feeling like he was drunk.
What the hell had happened? Had someone T-boned them, flipping the ambulance on its side?
The echo of gunfire from his dream surfaced and he shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Through the confusion in his brain, a spike of primal fear hit his solar plexus. “Brooke…” His lips didn’t want to form words. “Where’s…the gun?”
She stopped trying to kick at what had pinned her ankle and looked around. “I…I don’t know. I can’t see my purse.”
“Find…it. Now. Get a…weapon. Any…thing.”
Her gaze met his and he saw the fear written there. Just as she started to shove at the blanket near her head to find the purse, the rear door opened.
Fuck.
Whatever had fallen on Brooke’s ankle went careening to the ground. She gasped and a man in the doorway, silhouetted by the moon, smiled at Roman.
“No!” Roman yelled, but it was too late.
The man grabbed Brooke by the ankles and jerked.
“Roman!” she screamed, her hand still reaching for him as she was hauled out of the ambulance.
The man threw her over his shoulder, her screaming and kicking, as Roman surged upright, knocking the gurney away and jerking the IV from his arm.
He crawled over Clarice and shoved debris from his path, but his balance sucked and he fell sideways. “Brooke!”
Shoving himself forward, he slid out of the ambulance to the ground. The vehicle was in a ditch and he used his arms to pull himself up the embankment.
He had no leverage, no balance. His right leg was worthless. He listed sideways, still calling for Brooke as the man who’d taken her set her down next to a jacked up truck with a brush guard on the front. Brooke, God bless her, rammed an elbow into the man’s side, making him grunt.
Good girl.
She started to stomp on the top of the man’s foot, but he slapped her and knocked her into the side of the pickup. She sagged, then rallied and took a swing at him. She was no match for him with her injured ankle, and the man grabbed her by the back of the neck and slammed her head into the truck’s door handle.
Goddamn it. Roman pulled himself up to the road.
Her body went limp and the man picked her up and tossed her into the truck as if she were a doll.
Roman forced himself to his feet and started dragging his injured leg behind him when another man appeared in his peripheral vision. The last thing he saw was the butt of a rifle coming at his head.