Lyn Stone - Under The Gun

Holly grabbed her wrist and shook it. “Help me get him unhooked. And close your mouth, girl, you look like a fish. Do what I say.”

“But you can’t—”

Holly shot her a warning look. The nurse got busy.

“There. All done. You can go now.” Holly watched the nurse scurry out. “Little wimp,” she muttered.

Mercier came in, a gurney and security guard in tow. “Let’s move!” He quickly lowered the side rail of the bed and the guard brought the gurney alongside. In seconds, the two of them had Will loaded on it and were wheeling him down the hall.

Holly took point, on full alert for surprises at each room they passed on the way to the elevator. When it dinged and the door slid open, she crouched and swept the interior, even thought about putting two or three rounds through the roof in case someone was up top. Doubtful there had been time for that, she aimed her weapon at the overhead panel instead, prepared to riddle it.

Slow motion took on a whole new meaning as the elevator rose to the top floor. When they exited into the night air, they still had to wait for the chopper. Holly remained by Will’s side, as vigilant as she had ever been, while Mercier quickly swept the roof area.

He returned, declared it clear and dismissed the beefy guard who had come up with them. “Thanks, Charlie. I owe you for volunteering. I won’t forget it.”

“No problem. Safe trip,” the big man said with a toothy grin. “Ma’am. Take care.” He turned at the doorway to the roof. “I’ll just wait here till the chopper comes and you lift off. Ain’t nothin’ getting past me.” He stationed himself against the heavy metal door and crossed his arms.

Mercier had that effect, Holly knew. He inspired dedication. That’s why he was the boss. Apparently even incidental helpers weren’t immune to his charm.

Will groaned, drawing her attention.

“Damn it! I should have thought to get him some pain meds.” She slapped the heel of her hand against her forehead.

“Here you go,” Mercier said. He fished in his pocket and handed her a plastic pill bottle. “Morphine. I’ll have to shoulder him into the chopper.” There would be no room for the gurney or even a stretcher.

Holly opened the bottle, scooped out a capsule and held it to Will’s mouth. “Swallow this.”

“No,” he said, his voice sounding stronger. “Later.”

“Don’t be an idiot. Take the pill.” She poked it between his lips.

The instant she moved her fingers away, he popped it out. “No.”

Holly shook her head with frustration. “Those nurses don’t know how lucky they are to get rid of you now that you’re awake. Don’t make me hold your nose.”

His eyes closed, probably against the bright lights now descending. “Later,” he mouthed, his murmur drowned out by the whump whump of the chopper overhead.

She leaned over Will to shield him from the wash of the blades as the helicopter set down.

Mercier lifted Will to a sitting position, then did a shoulder carry to the open door of the helicopter. Joe Corda, fellow agent and man of many talents who was piloting, gave them a thumbs-up.

Dr. Solange Mercier, Jack’s wife, was crouched in the small bay waiting for the patient. She beckoned, and Holly hurriedly climbed in, helping to arrange Will while Jack scrambled aboard.

The instant he pulled the door shut, the slick Bell 206 Longranger rose and curved swiftly away from the tower, shifting the passengers sideways.

“Airborne. Safe,” Holly said, knowing no one could hear her over the noise.

Glass on the canopy cracked. “Ground fire!” Joe shouted.

God, this guy didn’t give up. Someone was firing at the helicopter—probably with a sniper rifle, given their distance from the ground. Joe zoomed out of range, zigzagging as sharply as the chopper would allow while Jack radioed local authorities below. At least the shooter wasn’t using one of those heat-seekers, Holly thought with relief, or they’d be done for.

Stay with me.

Holly jerked her gaze from the holes in the canopy to the patient. Had Will said that, told her to stay? How had she heard him over all this racket?

His eyes were still closed, his mouth pinched. He looked as if he might have returned to the sanctuary of silence that had sheltered him these past six days. But somehow Holly knew he hadn’t.

She placed her hand over both of his, now resting on his chest. She’d be right by his side for as long as he needed her, she vowed. This was the mission assigned to her, but that was incidental.

Immediately, it seemed she could feel his inner turmoil decrease, but it probably had nothing to do with her reassuring touch. Solange Mercier had raked away the gown from Will’s shoulder and injected him with something.

The chopper droned on, whisking them away from the bright city lights to the sparsely lit suburbs surrounding Dover, then out into the chasm of night to a destination known only to Mercier and Joe Corda.

Holly hadn’t even thought to ask Jack where they were going. Where would Will be safe?

The morphine or whatever Solange had administered had cut off Holly’s mental connection with Will, if indeed she had really had one. She hadn’t realized how strongly she had been feeling whatever it was until it suddenly ceased.

Or, more likely, it was only her imagination working overtime, stimulated by adrenaline that was now draining away.

She pressed her fingers to his wrist and felt the same slow, steady pulse that had blipped on the monitor for six straight days. Only now he had fallen asleep.

“Where are we?” Holly demanded as soon as Joe set the chopper down and switched off the power. They had been airborne for a little over an hour and a half. In the moonlight, the landscape looked like the backside of nowhere. Coming in, she’d seen a flat field surrounded by trees on three sides, with a driveway that led to a two-lane road.

Now she looked at the ramshackle two-story structure about fifty yards away. It seemed pretty spooky with that lone light shining out the back window.

“Cedar Top Farm, Virginia,” Jack announced. “Population six if you count the animals.”

Holly glared at him. “This won’t do, Jack. Will needs the best medical care he can get. We should fly him to another hospital.”

“He’ll be safer here. The house is a confiscated property, very recently acquired and outfitted. Not even on official books yet as a safe house, and I’ll see that it stays that way. As soon as Will’s able to stay awake long enough, you debrief him and contact me with what he knows. There’s a secure land line here.”

“But Will needs—”

“Time to recover, Holly. Solange has kept up-to-date on his condition throughout his ordeal. His doctors have said all along that once he regained consciousness, he’d probably improve very rapidly. Put that psychology degree of yours to work and help him.”

“What if he falls into a coma again?”

“Roanoke’s only fifteen miles away. We can get an ambulance out here in less than a quarter hour if he needs it,” Jack promised. “He’s come out of it, Holly. The main thing we can do for him now is keep him safe and give him time to completely heal, both from his physical trauma and his grief. Protect him from this immediate threat to his life. That’s your mission.”

“Aren’t you staying?” Holly asked Solange. Jack’s wife was a physician, a general practitioner, when he might need a neurologist. Still, she was better than no doctor at all.

She shrugged and shook her head. “You can do everything for him that I could. Keep an eye on his vitals, relieve any pain he has with this—Hydrocodone. It might be better for him than the morphine.” She handed Holly another pill bottle. “Make certain that he eats enough to regain his strength. Bland food at first. Encourage him to exercise as soon as he begins to feel restless.”