Shadow Games, page 4
Rowan pulled another woman up and then directed her feet out. “I can't do it,” the woman cried. “It's too far.”
“It's either jump or get a bullet in the head,” Rowan told her brutally.
The woman jumped. Rowan didn't hear anything else, so she assumed she was okay.
Three more women jumped out the window. Then it was her turn. Just as she put her feet out, the door crashed open. She needed no more motivation. With a wiggle, she let her body fall through the window. Hard hands caught her. And she thought for a minute it was the women. But no. When she looked up, it was into the pale, hard blue eyes of Wyatt Thorn.
Wyatt couldn't believe his luck. Echo had whined a few minutes ago, and he’d followed her down an alley. Halfway down the alley, she stopped and looked up at a window. There were women screaming inside the building, and there was a scrabbling at the glass inside. If there were people coming through that window, they were going to need a place to jump to. Running to the corner of the alley. He grabbed one of the rolling dumpsters and started pushing it back. They could at least land on the lid, then jump down to the ground. By the time he got back to the window, one woman had already jumped out. She was bolting down the alley as fast as she could, limping. The next woman landed on the dumpster. Then he helped her down to the ground. “What's going on?”
She shook her head. “There are men in there after us.”
Yeah, he figured. He helped three more women down to the ground. The last woman came out butt first, and he knew it was Rowan by the curve of her ass and the flash of red hair. He caught her as she hit the dumpster. She turned and braced her hands on his shoulders, and her face was stunned as he lowered her down.
“Wyatt?”
He couldn’t help but give her a quick grin. “Yeah, it’s me.” He ran a hand over his thick beard. He probably should have shaved. He still had the mountain man look going. “Are there more coming? What’s going on?”
“I think the cartel found me,” she breathed. “They’ve been after me for a couple of days.”
Wyatt nodded. He’d assumed as much. “Let’s get out of here.”
“But there are other women in there!”
Wyatt was torn. Her safety or go back in for the other women? Damn it. He was here for her, but he couldn’t leave them to die. He made a hand movement. “This is Echo. She’s going to guard you.”
He tugged Rowan into an alcove with a recessed door and pressed her back to the wall. Reaching into his rear waistband he pulled out the extra Sig and passed it to her. “If anyone other than me comes in, you shoot. Do you understand?”
She nodded and took the gun, her green eyes wide in her face. “My gun is locked in the intake office. Please be careful,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
“I will.” He looked down at the dog. “Guard.”
Echo went onto alert, her back to Rowan. Turning, he jogged down the alley, circling the old school. They’d gotten in somewhere… He spotted the car, first. It was a big, nondescript Crown Vic, a powerful gas guzzler. They must have felt confident going in, because there was no driver waiting to do a quick getaway. Pulling the little tracker case from the pocket of his jacket, he placed one under the driver’s side bumper.
Then, pulling his weapon from his shoulder holster, he entered through the door they’d broken through.
It had been a while since he’d been ‘on’, but the movements came back to him quite naturally. Weapon up, he crept down a hallway, his sense of direction telling him he needed to go right to get back to the gym. The screaming had stopped, but somehow that was more concerning.
Wyatt peered around the corner. There was a body sprawled on the floor about twenty feet away. Near her was an expanded ASP baton. Seriously. They'd set a guard to protect women with a baton. As he moved past her, he looked for breathing. She didn't move. He slipped through the doors. Several women had obviously gone to the locker room, but there were still a few out here. They were hiding behind cots, with no cover. He shook his head. The cots provided concealment, but they wouldn’t protect the women from bullets.
He caught one pregnant woman’s eye and made a hand motion. “Come on,” he hissed.
The woman ran awkwardly across the gym toward him, and through the door. Then a second woman ran toward him. He directed them out the way he came. Four women total ran out that way. Weapon at the ready, he moved toward the locker room.
Before he could make it across the gym, one of the men stepped out. He was laughing at something his companion behind him had said. Wyatt was out in the middle of the floor, so he had no choice but to raise his weapon and fire. The man's voice cut off mid laugh.
Seconds later, two more men came out of the locker room, weapons raised. Wyatt popped them as well. The fourth man would be the smart one, he knew. Seconds later, a fourth man emerged, his arm wrapped around a flailing woman’s neck. He had a gun to her head, and the woman was pleading with him to let her go, sobbing.
The Hispanic man saw his friends on the floor of the gym, and his eyes went wild. He started shooting at Wyatt, but he wasn’t aiming. Leaping for cover behind a big old oak desk in the corner, Wyatt took the millisecond to aim down the length of the barrel and put a round through the man’s shoulder of his dominant arm. The gun dropped to the floor and skidded away. He could have killed him, but he wanted the man to leave in the Crown Vic. That way he would have something to track.
The man, realizing he was outgunned, literally, shoved the woman forward, then turned and ran through the gym.
“And leave Rowan alone,” Wyatt called, though he knew they wouldn’t.
Standing, he headed into the locker room. Two women screamed when he entered gun first. He lowered the weapon and held up his hand. “You're okay now.”
The women collapsed into relieved sobs. They were bloody and roughed up, but they would live to fight another day.
“You need to call the police and the squads,” he told them. “There are injured out here to be taken care of. Is there an emergency number you guys can call to get a manager in?”
One of the women nodded. She had a rapidly-purpling eye. “We'll take care of it. Thank you.”
The woman that had spoken urged the second woman up. “Come on. We have work to do.”
Wyatt turned and left the locker room. The gymnasium was a mess, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Striding back out into the hall, he was surprised to see the guard sitting up. She was holding a bloody cloth to her head, but she seemed to be coherent. A blonde woman was helping her. He hoped the cartel guys were the only ones dead.
In the distance, he could hear sirens wailing. He sent off a message to Charlie telling her there was a mess to clean up, and he sent her a pin of his location. Heading down the hallway toward the front of the school and where he assumed the administrative offices were, he looked for more targets. The manager's office was locked, but he just kicked it open. Considering this was a shelter, the security sucked. Within moments, he found the keys to the corner safe in the desk and had retrieved Rowan’s semi-automatic Smith and Wesson. Then he was hustling back through the school and through the damaged door. Jogging around the side of the building, he made sure it was clear before he turned the corner.
The sirens were getting closer, and he wanted to be long gone before they got here.
Rowan squealed as he ducked into the alcove where she was hidden. She should have known he was coming, though, because Echo was wagging her tail.
“Release. Good girl!”
Taking Rowan’s hand into his own, he swung her backpack up onto his shoulder and tugged her into the alley. “Come on. We have to go.”
They jogged to the corner of 4th and Sinclair, where he could get his bearings. “This way.”
Dodging bar patrons and homeless, he led her back to his vehicle at the coffee shop. Echo covered their backs. At one point she growled a warning, and Wyatt dodged across the street. He wasn’t sure what she’d been alerting to, but he listened.
They were both puffing by the time they got to the Suburban. Wyatt handed her up into the passenger side, dropped her backpack in front of her, then opened up the back door for Echo to get in. Circling the vehicle, he looked for tampering. Nothing seemed amiss. He climbed into the driver’s side and immediately started the vehicle. Pulling out onto Superior Ave, he merged into traffic. Then he allowed himself to really look at Rowan, at least, as much as he could see by the streetlights.
The woman looked like she’d been through the wringer. There were dark circles beneath her eyes he could see even in shadow on her pale skin. Rowan was one of those red heads that had clear, creamy smooth skin, with just a few faint freckles across her nose. She wore oversized pajamas with sleepy cows on them, the legs rolled up in cuffs. If he had registered that she wasn't actually wearing clothes, he would have made an effort to get her belongings from the shelter. It was too late now, and they were definitely not going back. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, staring at him incredulously. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
Wyatt gave her a considering look. “I have a story to tell you.”
He checked the road signs and looked for an interstate heading South. They needed to get out of this town. And as much as he wanted to pull over and just talk to her, look at her, they needed to get moving.
“What's the quickest way out of here?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Uh,” she rubbed her pale fingers over her forehead. “90 to 10 eastbound. Then we’ll pick up 87 east.”
“Got it.”
Rowan turned in the seat to look at him. The interior had dimmed as they’d gotten on the interstate, but he could see the flash of her eyes. “Are you here to kill me?”
Wyatt looked at her incredulously. “Are you serious?”
She shrugged, looking cold and miserable. “I just don't know what to believe anymore.”
Wyatt reached behind the seat for the black sweatshirt he'd thrown there, earlier. He handed it to her. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to protect you and get you where you need to go.”
She gave a bark of laughter. “And if I don’t know where to go? What then?”
“Then we’ll figure it out,” he told her softly. He didn’t like to see her distressed. “Put the sweatshirt on and stay warm.”
Unfastening the seatbelt, she pulled the sweatshirt over her head, then refastened the seatbelt. She pulled her feet up on the seat and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her legs were probably cold. They needed to stop and get her some supplies.
“How many of the women died,” she asked, so softly he wasn’t sure if he heard her or not.
“None of them. Only the men died.”
She looked up, looking hopeful. “You’re not lying?”
“Nope. I thought the guard was dead at first, but she was sitting up and talking when I left. I got your piece, by the way.”
He reached behind his waistband and handed her the little .380. He made sure the safety was on before he handed it over.
Rowan took the weapon and put it into a pocket in her backpack. “Thank you for that. My dad gave me that when Ken started stalking me.”
“I wish I’d have known sooner. I would have been here to help.”
He thought she smiled, but she put her head down, propping it on her hand on the door. He could tell she was asleep with just a few seconds. He sighed, a little stymied that she’d gone to sleep. They needed to talk.
After a solid two hours of driving, Wyatt pulled over to a big box store. Rowan roused, blinking drowsily.
“Let's go get you some clothes and stuff. Or do you want to wait here?”
She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “I think I’ll stay in the truck, if you don’t mind.”
Wyatt got an idea of her sizes and went inside. He had no idea what was in style or anything, so he just grabbed some stuff. Then he headed to the personal care department, got her a brush and some hair clips. Then he got a bunch of snacks and a bag of dogfood for Echo. He doubted she would even touch the stuff, but she had to eat something.
Wyatt was back at the truck within twenty minutes. Rowan jumped when he opened the door, and he felt bad for scaring her. “I think I got everything you needed. And if not, we can stop again.”
She took the bags from him. “Thank you. I'm not sure when I'll be able to repay you.”
“I'm not worried about that. I just want you to feel safe and comfortable.”
She snorted. “I don't know if I'll ever feel like that again.”
“Well, we can at least try.”
Rowan nodded, pulling out the brush gratefully. She pulled off the tags, then ran it through her shoulder-length hair.
They needed to talk. With that in mind, Wyatt pulled into a 24-hour restaurant. “Let's get something to eat.”
Rowan nodded, looking way too pale. “If you give me a minute, I'll change my clothes.”
Wyatt stepped out of the truck and called Echo out. She could go potty while they waited for Rowan to change. Wyatt leaned his back against the front of the vehicle, feeling the heat from the cooling engine. Echo wandered their corner of the lot, doing a lot of sniffing.
Within a few minutes, Rowan stepped out. The clothes didn't fit her perfect, but it was better than the pajamas she'd been wearing. She still had his oversized sweatshirt on, which hung almost to mid-thigh. In spite of the fear in her eyes, she looked damned cute.
“Now that you have clothes, we can go in and pick you out stuff. Although you would have fit in fine at Wally-World in your jammies.”
She nodded, and there was a glimmer of humor in her expression, but she didn't say anything. Wyatt put Echo back into the truck, with the soft order to ‘guard’. Then they headed into the restaurant, seating themselves at a table in the corner. They were only one of two couples.
“So, how did you find me?” Rowan asked. “How did you even know I was in trouble?”
Wyatt surveyed her carefully. “A woman contacted me and told me that Blade had been murdered. And that you were having some issues?”
Rowan snorted. “Yeah, issues.”
“She said you had something that you were trying to keep from the cartels.”
Rowan's eyes went wide and she swallowed heavily, then nodded. “I have documentation of all the shady shit Ken was into before he died. I dropped a copy of what I had off to my lawyer.”
Wyatt winced. Did she even know that the man was dead? “Carmichael?” he asked.
“Yes, why?” she asked carefully.
“They took him out,” he said simply.
Tears filled her eyes. “I know. They're fucking assholes.”
He agreed completely. “Well, I took out three of them in the school, if that makes you feel better.”
She nodded. But she didn't lift her head. “Can you excuse me?” she said, slipping out of the booth.
4
Rowan felt sick to her stomach. The man who had helped her over the past year, fighting for her divorce, was dead. Carmichael had been a decent man. Now he left a little girl fatherless and a woman a widow.
The cartels were assholes. And the Navy were assholes. The DEA were assholes. They all wanted to be on top, no matter who it hurt.
She slipped into the bathroom stall and did her business, then came out to wash her hands. The mirror above the sink was unforgiving. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. Her hair was a mop, even though she’d brushed it. But she just didn't care. So much had happened in the past week.
When she had first seen Wyatt, she'd thought he was there to kill her. Ken had told her that Wyatt had gone private, taking jobs only for money. When she'd asked what that meant, he'd given her a lazy smile. Killing people for money, baby. She could still remember the abhorrence she'd felt for the words. Wyatt wasn't like that. Yes, it had been a while since she’d seen him, but she knew what kind of moral standard he had.
That first moment when she'd seen him, though, the doubts had gotten the best of her. She had no idea what Navy SEALs could do after they were washed out of the Navy. Maybe he had taken a job doing what he knew…
It took her a moment to even recognize him. Last time she’d seen him, he’d had shorter dark brown, almost black hair, and a short scruff of beard. Now his hair was down over his collar, and it was a lighter, nut brown, like he’d been in the sun a lot, and his beard was at least three inches long. However, the intense, penetrating blue stare was the same. It made her feel like he saw everything. His hands, long-fingered and sure, seemed stronger now, his palms square with muscle. Everything else seemed to be the same. He towered over her, like most men did, but the way he did it made her feel protected. Maybe it was the way he bent his head to her or something. She wasn’t sure.
Rowan washed her hands, then used some of the cold water to splash her face. She was so tired of this sick feeling in her stomach. She'd given Carmichael a thumbdrive of recordings of Ken. Rambling and drunken rages. The man had been a super soldier, but his weakness had been his ego. Get a little liquor into him and he would tell her anything. The recordings were to be used as leverage to get him to sign the divorce papers. If he'd sign the papers and let her go without a fuss, she never would have brought them to light.
Actually, she probably would have, just not at that moment.
She’d also given her attorney pictures of Ken’s logbook. It was the book he’d made notes in about who he was doing business with, who he’d paid off, who he’d cut ties with… All listed in his nearly illegible scrawl on the pages of the book. She’d only gotten pictures of the first part of the book before she’d been interrupted and had to scramble to put it back on the nightstand where she’d found it one day.
A chill raced over her. Someone had made him pay for all those misdeeds. She assumed it had been the cartels, but it was hard to tell with Ken. He tended to piss lot of people off.
