Chapter Thirty-Two
Garrett shook off Sam’s hand and picked up the grocery bag of miscellaneous items, determined to carry something…despite the fact his vision was blurry and he was barely able to stand. He was trained to do his job through pain and injury, and he would damn well do it now.
With his gun drawn, he went out the front door. He didn’t bother to lock up—he wouldn’t ever come back here. Too bad, he’d really liked this place.
“You won’t be able to come back because of me,” she said, walking by his side. Sometimes she was too observant.
“It’s no longer safe.”
“Are you going to blow it up?”
He managed a smile. “No. That only happens in the movies.” He started for the driver’s door but couldn’t even get his arm up to open it.
“Oh, hell no,” she said. “I’ll drive.”
“I’ll be fine.” He tried again, but his arm wasn’t moving right.
“You aren’t fine, Garrett. And I’m driving.”
He glanced down the narrow driveway, which was partially blocked by a black sedan in a very inconvenient spot. Couldn’t anything go right?
He opened the door of the sedan and slammed it shut again when he didn’t see the keys. They must be on one of the dead guys, and there wasn’t time to search all those pockets.
She smiled as he frowned. “I’m on it.” She reached behind the Jeep’s seat and pulled out her chain.
Fuck. He was never going to live this down.
Maybe strings weren’t a good thing, but he wouldn’t be able to argue against the necessity of a chain now and then. Her idea would be quicker and less disgusting than sorting through pockets.
With a sigh, he stepped back and leaned against a tree for support.
She backed the Jeep up to the car. He was impressed when she didn’t stall it. After she connected her chain to the tow loops under the car’s bumper, she hooked it to the hitch on the back of the Jeep, got in, and pulled forward across the parking area, just far enough that the car was no longer in the way.
After retrieving the chain, with a smirk on her face, she held open the Jeep’s passenger door for him. He gave in.
She slid behind the wheel and tore off down the lane, driving way too fast. Not that he blamed her for wanting to put as much distance between them and the chance of being caught. Garrett winced sharply when she hit a pothole hard enough to make him come out of his seat.
“I know your arm is bleeding,” she said with a glance at his hand holding his ribs, “but what about the rest of you? They were kicking you.”
“I’ll be fine. Stop worrying. You’re not even supposed to be here. You’re supposed to still be hiding like I told you. Don’t think for a second that I’m not pissed that you didn’t listen.” He huffed, then winced again.
He was being ridiculous. Obviously if she hadn’t come back, he’d be dead right now. But things could have gone terribly wrong. She might have been killed, too. And Howe would have gotten away with murder because Garrett had failed to protect her.
She looked like she wanted to shout back at him. And point out that he needed her as much as she needed him.
But she said nothing until they got to the end of the lane, except to ask, “Which way?”
He was already tapping a destination into the GPS. He turned it toward her so she could see. “Go right.” His voice was fading fast. “Follow this. I’m going to rest now.”
“What? No! You can’t rest, Garrett. You got kicked in the damn head. You could have a concussion. You need to stay awake.” She reached over and shook him between shifting gears. “Stay awake!”
“You’re getting on my nerves,” he mumbled. All he wanted to do was to give into the darkness that was pressing at his vision. At the moment, he didn’t even care if he ever woke up.
He should care. He knew that. But he couldn’t muster the will.
“Garrett, you cannot leave me high and dry. You told me I need to trust you, remember? Well, I do. I trust you to help me. So, stay awake and help me!”
Of all the things she chose to remember, naturally it would be the thing that was most inconvenient. “That was before I knew how much you were going to get on my nerves,” he muttered, but knew it would be useless to argue.
“The code on the hatch. What does it mean?” She was obviously trying to distract him and keep him talking.
Now that the road had evened out and he wasn’t being jostled into unconsciousness, he attempted to clear his brain of pain and cobwebs. “You mean the numbers?”
“Yeah.”
“March thirteenth.”
She glanced over at him. “Is that your birthday?”
“In a way, I guess. It’s the day I walked away from my old life and started this one.”
“Did they fake your death, too?”
“No. They didn’t need to. The only family I had left was my grandfather, who was at death’s door.” He peeked at the wound on his bicep and pulled the towel tighter. It was still bleeding.
“So, that’s why you didn’t change your name?”
“Right. No one cared.”
“Would you have done it all again if you could go back?”
He nodded and rested his head back against the seat.
“Garrett, please don’t fall asleep. I’m worried about you. I need you with me.”
He nodded again, and reached out with his good hand to pat hers where it was clenching the gear shift. She released the knob and laced her fingers though his.
The chill of her skin made him come alert. Was she going into shock? She wasn’t trained for this kind of thing. Although she had dealt with things fairly well so far, it had to be taking its toll. She had kept her shit together while she witnessed a murder, got chased by killers, had her team turn on her. And now this. She was made of some pretty tough stuff, but killing five men would make anyone go into shock.
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand to reassure her, hoping she could draw strength from what little he had left to offer.
As they drove on and she chattered and asked him question after question about nothing and everything, he did his best to stay awake. Every time he stopped talking, or started to drift off, she would squeeze his hand and ask another question to keep him talking.
Night fell and he was feeling a little better, so he finally asked her about the shootout. He wanted to know exactly what had happened. How many of them there were. How many shots she had fired.
He was extremely impressed by her clear-headedness during the attack. He had only lasted long enough for her to return because of his reinforced doors and bulletproof windows. It had taken them a while to infiltrate his stronghold. Still, he wouldn’t have lasted much longer without her.
“You did a good job,” he mumbled.
Other than the whole disobeying-his-orders part.
After another hour, they came to a small gas station and convenience store. They needed to fill up. “Pull around the back and stay away from the lights,” he instructed, peering around for a security camera. Thankfully, he didn’t spot one. “Stay here.”
He used his left hand to open his door and get out. The sunny yellow towel was now completely soaked with blood as he went to the edge of the parking lot and threw up.
“Oh my God.” She jumped out of the Jeep and went to help, back to not listening.
He braced himself up against a sign that said no parking at any time while he wiped his mouth. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in the Jeep?”
“Yes, but—”
“There are way too many buts with you, Sam.”
This had gone on long enough. Being nice to her was going to get her killed. He hadn’t been firm enough with her. He’d made a huge mistake. Several huge mistakes. He’d allowed her to get under his skin.
He remembered the way she’d looked at him and asked him not to ruin their moment. He hadn’t felt guilt then—still didn’t—but he did feel angry.
Angry at himself because he’d let his emotions get in the way of his job.
“Why are you allowed to take care of me, but I’m not allowed to take care of you?” she asked defiantly.
“Because it’s my fucking job, Sam! Not yours!” Yelling made the sparkly stars appear in his vision again.
“My job is to sell papers and serve people pizza, but I can’t do that anymore because I’m dead!” she screamed back at him. And then, to his horror, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
Dammit! He’d known she was hanging on by a thread, and he’d gone and cut it.
He pulled her to him and hugged her with his good arm. He couldn’t be cruel to this woman, even if it was for her own good.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just—” He pressed his lips together and decided to go for honesty. Maybe if she knew how much he cared, she would start to care more about her own safety. “If anything had happened to you…”
He shook his head, unable to think about that in detail. To his surprise, he was no longer concerned about the reaming out he would inevitably get from his boss. If she’d been injured, or worse, had died, the loss would have crushed Garrett completely.
“They can’t fire you if it was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t follow your orders, so you can’t be held accountable.”
She still didn’t understand.
His anger flashed anew. “Do you think I give a damn about being fired?” He was yelling again, so he took a breath and reined it in. He took a mental step backward and nodded toward the store. “Pull back around front to the pumps. Take some money out of my wallet, put your hat on, and go inside to buy some orange juice. Pay cash for the gas, too. Keep your head down. Don’t look at any cameras.”
“Okay.” She stopped after a few steps. “You’ll be here when I get back, right? You’re not going to ditch me, are you?”
His heart squeezed. “No, I’m not going to ditch you.”
It was a silly question. He’d never leave her. Although, truthfully, he was all over the map emotionally. Hell, maybe he did have a concussion.
One thing was for sure, if he didn’t get this cut to stop bleeding, he wasn’t going to be much use to her. He pulled the towel tighter and went back to the Jeep to fill up…and to make a phone call.