Buch lesen: «Marked For Revenge»

ONE

Fog filled the valley in the Ozarks. Icy morning air chilled off-duty police officer Daniel Ryan to the bone. He’d been sent to the remote, deserted homestead for his own safety, or so his chief had claimed, but he knew there would be no true escape for him. Ever. Too much had happened.

He tensed. Real threats could lurk out there in the fog. Assassins. Armed and deadly. He could almost see them, sneaking through the misty, overgrown fields to ambush him and collect the bounty on his head.

“I am certifiable,” he muttered, shaking off the disturbing visions. If he hadn’t been forced into isolation, maybe his partner, Levi Allen, would still be alive and his former fiancée, Letty Montoya, wouldn’t be blaming him for Levi’s murder. Not that she hadn’t played a part in the mistaken-identity killing by inviting Levi to move in with her as soon as she’d had the opportunity.

Daniel made a face and set his shoulders. All he could do at the moment was continue to lie low and let his coworkers in the St. Louis Police Department sort out the facts, no matter how frustrated he became. Chief Broderhaven already believed that Daniel was suffering from PTSD after being the victim of a near-fatal kidnapping. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d been put on leave and ordered into hiding after Levi’s murder. Okay. So maybe his reasoning wasn’t totally logical these days. That didn’t mean he’d make an easy target for assassins. Besides, the whole situation might be nothing more than a series of unfortunate coincidences.

“Yeah,” Daniel huffed. “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that somebody isn’t really out to get you.”

He glanced at his dwindling stack of firewood, decided to add to it and stepped off the porch. Complete silence suddenly enveloped him. No birds called. No insects chirped.

His pace slowed, his senses keen. His right palm reached for the grip of his sidearm. The holster was empty! He’d been cleaning the .38 when he’d decided to get some fresh Ozark mountain air. Stupid move. Careless. Foolish. The best defense available to him was, at that moment, lying in pieces on the kitchen table. A lot of good it would do him there.

But he did have a long-handled ax on the splitting block. Common sense insisted he did not need to be armed every second he spent in such a peaceful, pristine place. His overburdened mind argued otherwise and easily won, just as something tightened around his ankle and stopped his forward momentum.

He dropped like a rock. Caught himself with outstretched arms. Hit the ground rolling and came up next to the slab of log he’d been using as a chopping block. Heart pounding, he grabbed the ax handle.

Daniel peered into the fog. “If you’re out there, come on.” Shadowy oaks, sycamores and cedars near the old homestead still provided plenty of cover for would-be assailants, as did the fallow, brushy fields. Soon, when some of the trees had shed more leaves, he’d be able to spot interlopers better.

Breathing raggedly, he remained hunched behind the chunk of oak, waiting. Time slowed. He finally grimaced and accepted reality. “Get a grip, man. There’s no threat out there. Not even a hungry mosquito.” His cramped shoulders began to relax, his heart following. It was a good thing he was still in his early thirties, fit and healthy, because an older man might have had a coronary on the spot.

“The chief was right. I do need a shrink.” Only he couldn’t go back to the city for treatment. Not yet. Not until his cop buddies figured out who had killed his former partner and if that attack had been due to error, the way Letty had insisted.

Daniel stood and brushed off his jeans. Something glistened near the ground. A wire? That’s what had tripped him?

Astounded, he peered at it. If his enemies had gotten close enough to string that wire, why hadn’t they attached a bomb to it or kept coming and killed him while he slept?

Brandishing the ax, he braced himself. The air seemed choked with unseen threats, imagined dangers. In his mind he was once again tied hand and foot, lying helpless on a dirty concrete floor, gagged so tightly he could barely breathe, and waiting for his own death at the hands of the criminal gang he’d infiltrated.

He recalled breaking loose and running blindly through the old warehouse on the outskirts of Springfield, finally emerging onto Battlefield Blvd.

Every nerve in his body was screaming, Run again! He made a dash for the farmhouse, boots pounding up the porch steps.

Just as he jerked the dilapidated screen door toward himself he heard a bang and a whine. A bullet slammed into his thigh, spinning him around. The force felt like he’d been hit with an armload of baseball bats.

Daniel clambered to his feet and dove through the doorway, scrambling toward the table. Toward the disassembled .38.

All he had to do was stay conscious long enough to put it back together. Judging by the blood pulsing from his wound, that might not be easy.

* * *

“How much farther?” EMT Kaitlin North called to the ambulance driver and paramedic, Vince Babcock. He switched off the siren. “It’s just up ahead.”

“I think I see it.” A third member of their crew, Josh Metcalf, was pointing. “The place looks deserted but don’t let that fool you. Like I said, Vince and I were sent out here once before. This guy is a real nut case.”

“Terrific.” Kaitlin kept bracing herself. The narrow, ungraded dirt roads that had brought them into the back country of the Ozarks were so rough her muscles already ached.

Vince parked the ambulance with its rear doors facing the ramshackle house, then reported their arrival to dispatch. Josh grabbed his jump bag and went for the gurney. Kaitlin was right on his heels, her blond ponytail swinging.

A sharp, loud noise stopped everything. Josh put on the brakes so fast Kaitlin crashed into him and almost took them both down. She keyed the mic clipped to her shoulder. “On scene. Shots fired. Repeat, shots fired.”

“Copy that,” Belinda replied from the station. “You all okay out there?”

“Affirmative.”

“Okay. Hold short. Deputies are on the way.”

Her partners seemed perfectly willing to wait. Kaitlin would have been, too, if she hadn’t spotted so much blood on the porch. Unfortunately, the front door was closed and plywood was nailed over the windows. “I’ll check around back,” she announced, racing for the side of the house.

Vince was adamant. “No way, rookie. You heard our orders.”

She had. But what good was loitering by their ambulance when somebody might be bleeding to death?

“All I’m gonna do is look,” she called back.

Rounding the second corner of the small, clapboard building, she was so startled to see someone coming toward her from the opposite side that she faltered, her blue eyes wide, her pulse racing. “Vince! You scared the daylights out of me.”

“That was the idea,” he said harshly. “What if I’d been a guy with a gun?”

Kaitlin flushed crimson. “Sorry. I never thought of that.”

“Yeah, well, I did.” He hooked a thumb. “I found a window with a gap at the top of the boards back there. It’s too high off the ground for me to see in. Come on. I’ll give you a boost.”

Following, she managed a wry smile. “How mad at me are you? We know the guy inside is armed. We heard him shoot.”

“I don’t mean for you to stick your head through the hole.” He clasped his hands together to make a step for her. “Just take a quick look then back off.”

Shaking from excitement as well as trepidation, Kaitlin put her boot in his hands, strained to grasp the top edge of the plywood and pulled herself up. The board creaked and groaned but held. A brief glance told her plenty.

“There’s only one person in the room,” she reported. “He’s down and it looks like he’s unconscious. Hold on a sec.” Making a fist she rapped on the glass. The victim didn’t stir. “Yup. He’s out cold. I can’t tell if he’s breathing.”

“You’re positive he’s alone?”

“In this room, yes. Can’t tell about the rest of the house.”

She felt herself being lowered and jumped clear. “Let’s go.”

Vince was saying, “I’ll check on the ETA of the police,” as Kaitlin powered around the building. She never slowed going up the porch steps. A screen door hung off to the side like the broken wing of a bird. One swift kick with her boot and the front door popped open.

She had enough good sense to fall back until she’d double-checked the scene. That took mere moments. The unconscious, injured man was as rugged-looking as her partners had reported but not a bit frightening or off-putting the way they’d said. Avoiding the red pool staining the bare floor, she dropped to her knees by the victim’s head, pushed back the collar of his plaid flannel shirt and felt for a carotid pulse.

Smiling and gulping in breaths, she looked up and proudly announced, “He’s alive! We’re in time.”

* * *

Daniel wanted to speak, to warn his erstwhile rescuers that the shooter might still be out there, watching and waiting. His will was strong. His capabilities were not.

Was that a woman’s voice? Letty? he wondered. No. This person sounded empathetic as well as professional. First responders must have understood his jumbled 911 call and found him. Given the remoteness of the homestead and the fact that he’d done his best to shun everyone since he’d arrived there, that was pretty amazing. Only once, after a passing hunter had reported an armed trespasser acting mentally unstable, had anybody from Paradise checked on him. After that mistaken diagnosis was corrected and the medics turned away, Daniel hadn’t been bothered again. Until today.

His eyelids refused to rise. Male voices were issuing orders. Somebody was sticking a needle in his arm and taping it down while someone else slit the leg of his jeans to expose the injury site. A stethoscope touched his chest. He felt the leads of a defibrillator being stuck to his skin to record his heartbeats. His mind kept shouting, “Get me out of here!” yet his lips never moved. This felt like the kind of nightmare where you want to scream a warning but are unable to speak, no matter how hard you try.

“I think we should stabilize and transport ASAP,” one of the men said. “He’s lost a lot of blood in spite of the tourniquet he made with his belt.”

Yes! Do it! Take me away from here!

“I don’t know. What’s the sheriff’s ETA?” another asked.

What had happened to the woman? Daniel wondered. She hadn’t said a thing since confirming he was alive.

“Finish packing that wound and let’s roll. Doctor’s orders,” the first man said. “The cops are lost somewhere out here and we can’t wait for them to find us.”

Daniel wished he could cheer. Tired. So tired. It was getting hard to make out the conversation going on around him. He felt his body being rolled, moved, lifted. Someone reached into his pocket and tugged on his wallet.

Finally he heard the woman’s voice again. “Back off. You’re making the bleeding worse.”

“Okay,” one of the men replied. “We’ll let the docs in ER confirm identity.”

“From the looks of him he was probably using an alias, anyway,” the other man said. “Rookie, get the gurney and let’s go.”

* * *

Kaitlin and the other two worked as a team, securing and loading their patient flawlessly. She followed the gurney and supported the IV bag, then hung it and grabbed a seat as Josh climbed in with her and Vince slammed the doors. The engine revved. Tires spun, then caught. The man on the gurney moaned.

Kaitlin touched his forehead, noted that he was clammy and covered him with a blanket, leaving his leg exposed so she and her partner could monitor the injury.

“You’re going to be okay, sir,” she said. Her fingers brushed back his thick, dark hair. His lips trembled and parted as if he were trying to talk.

Kaitlin shushed him. “Take it easy. Save your strength. You can tell the doctors everything after we get you to the hospital.”

His “No” was faint but unmistakable.

Astonished, she leaned closer and spoke softly. “It will be all right. I promise. My name is Kaitlin. And this is Josh. We’ll take good care of you.”

Josh tapped her shoulder. “Knock it off.”

“Why?”

“Because his pulse is spiking. What you said was apparently not what he wanted to hear.”

“I just told him my name.”

“No. Before that. I get the feeling our hermit is not fond of hospitals.”

“Ah, I see.” She gently patted the patient’s shoulder. He seemed to be unconscious again but she explained, anyway. “If we don’t get you to a medical facility that’s equipped to take proper care of you, you’ll be in far worse trouble than you already are. So chill, okay? We’ve given you a little something for the pain and you should feel better soon. You need to trust us. We’re the good guys. It says so on our uniforms.”

Again his lips parted. Kaitlin leaned as close as possible, allowing for the pitching of the vehicle. Whatever he was trying to say didn’t come through.

“Vitals are starting to normalize,” Josh reported.

Kaitlin was more than glad; she was thankful. Every shift, every call, began with a fervent prayer for support and wisdom from God. That she’d survived her wild youth was a wonder she didn’t take for granted. Making the most of the life that had come after was her deepest desire. It didn’t matter that her parents thought she was a failure because she hadn’t finished school to become a doctor. She knew she didn’t need an MD degree to help people. This job was just as important. Just as fulfilling.

Laying a cool cloth on the patient’s forehead she silently prayed for him and blessed him. His arm twitched beneath the blanket. Kaitlin uncovered his hand to check the IV and saw his fingers moving.

She took his hand. He grasped hers as if she were an old friend. If the contact gave him comfort she was fine with it. Truth to tell, something about this patient seemed familiar enough that she, too, was comforted. Losing a patient was the worst part of her profession, by far, and it looked as if this one was going to make it. That alone was such a relief it brought unshed tears.

She averted her gaze to keep Josh from teasing her about being such a softy. Her reputation on the job was pretty good, if you didn’t count the scoldings Vince had given her for being too impulsive. The fact that he was right didn’t help. She knew she had to get a better grip on her enthusiasm and do things more by the book if she intended to survive her probationary period and be hired as a paramedic when she was fully certified.

The only thing she could not do—would not do—was step back when a life was truly in jeopardy. She might not be a superhero but she was smart enough to know how to act in an emergency. That was a special gift denied to most. When civilians screamed and fell apart, she and those extraordinary people like her kept their cool and did what was necessary. Even as a child she’d been that way. Now that she possessed the right training she felt totally confident and whispered, “Thank You, Jesus.”

The hand she was holding tightened on hers. Once again the patient’s lips moved. She leaned closer to listen. He wasn’t whispering an amen to her prayer. He was saying, “Danger!”