Rollie looked from the FBI agent in front of her to Day on the other side of the car. His door was open, and he was leaning one arm on the roof as he silently watched the interplay. She wished she could see his eyes, see what he was thinking, but the glasses hid them.
Looking back at Agent Morrow, Rollie nodded, trying to hide her reluctance. She had a nagging feeling something was wrong, which was bizarre. These people were FBI, for heaven’s sake. They were talking safe houses and close protection; she would be safe with them. But all she wanted to do was get back in the car and beg Day to take her back to the motel where they’d spent the night. Go back to the safe cocoon of his arms.
“What about Day?” she asked him.
“Him?” Morrow frowned as he looked at the lone figure standing next to the Charger. “Sorry, Doctor, but our orders were to prioritize your safety. We really have to go now.”
Despite her unease, she walked toward the lone van at the back of the convoy. It was just an ordinary van; her company had several of them, and she had ridden in them before. But why was she suddenly feeling adamant about not getting inside?
Her footsteps got slower and slower as she approached, and she was about to turn and look back when Day’s voice broke the silence in the lot.
“Rollie, they’re not FBI.”
As if that was the signal, all hell broke loose. Morrow’s men drew their weapons, and bullet holes peppered the hood and door of the Charger where Day had been just a moment before. Screaming, she turned to run, but Morrow grabbed her hard around the waist before she could escape.
“Oh, no, you little bitch,” he snarled as he dragged her toward the van. “You’re coming with us. Mr. Blackwell’s paid good money to get hold of you, and we wouldn’t want him to be disappointed, would we?”
If Morrow had been expecting Rollie to act like most women and start to struggle and scream hysterically, then he was going to be disappointed. Instead, she let loose with a powerful elbow to his gut, followed by the back of her fist slamming against his nose. She was tired of getting dragged around, and she was through letting the bad guys get their way. As Morrow staggered back, his nose bleeding, she started to go for the gun he’d dropped.
The sound of a hammer clicking above her stopped her cold. She looked up and saw a murderous Morrow holding a snub-nosed revolver trained at her head; a backup weapon she hadn’t counted on. He took a moment to press his thumb against his nose to straighten it with a muffled crack. “You’ll regret doing that. I’ll make sure you do.”
He swung, and the next thing Rollie felt was incredible pain along her jaw as she landed on her ass. Morrow grabbed her by the hair and yanked her toward the van.
“Kill the merc and move out.”
Rollie watched the scene unfold as though it were a DVD on slow replay. Day fired back, yelling something at her. At least, she assumed he was yelling. His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear anything over the sound of gunfire and the roaring of her heart in her ears.
Morrow yanked on her hair again, bringing tears of pain to her eyes. She kept her gaze riveted on Day as he fought to get to her. He returned fire from behind the Charger, lethal shots that had Morrow cursing foully beside her.
Then it happened. Day leaned out of cover for just a second too long, and a bullet found its mark. His big body jerked as he was hit, vivid scarlet splashing across his shirt and spreading.
“Day!”
The scream of anguish came from the depths of her soul. Apparently, Morrow had had enough of her noise and swung yet again. This time her pain was quickly overwhelmed with blackness and then…nothing.
Chapter Eight
He hurt. Day lay in the dusty pavement where the fake FBI agents had left him, one kick to his prone body convincing them he was dead or dying, and listened as the engines faded into the distance. He’d get up in a moment, he told himself. He just needed a second to get his breath back, and then he’d deal with his arm.
Consciousness faded in and out. Each time he became aware, pain greeted him…and something else. Something important he needed to do. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sun, which beat down on his weary body, wincing as it blinded him. Groaning, he tried to roll to his side to get away, but agony sliced through him and blackness claimed him again.
“Dayton Vann, you idle son of a bitch, wake up.”
Day flinched at the slap on the side of his face. A shadow of a figure stood over him, blotting out the sun. Something pushed him over to his back.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, boy,” said a gruff voice. “Ain’t in the mood to get annoyed.” Everything swam back as he recognized the voice. Hayden Edge. Who else would treat a gunshot victim like a sack of potatoes?
“I just got shot, man,” he croaked. “Cut me a little slack.”
“Stop moving, goddammit, and let me look.” Edge reached over and checked the injury. “You can stop whining now, you pansy. It’s just a flesh wound.” He produced a field kit and a roll of bandages.
Day blinked as he looked up, trying to clear the dust from his eyes. “A flesh wound?” he asked in disbelief. “I was hit at least three...arrrgh.” He broke off as Edge decided that it was an appropriate moment to dig into one of his wounds after a bullet. “Fucking hell, Edge, give a guy some warning, would you?” he asked when he got his breath back.
“Yeah, yeah.” Edge checked the bullet. “Full metal jacket. You’re lucky these aren’t hollow point.” The flow of blood from the most serious of the three hits stopped as Edge finished his basic treatment. “Not gonna qualify me for a fancy M.D., but it’ll hold till we get you to the safe house and get the rest of them bullets out of you.” Edge shifted the cheroot on his mouth to the other side before reaching down to help Day up. “Okay, up you go, boy.”
Day grunted as Edge hauled him to his feet, where he swayed as his body adjusted to the change in position. His head swam. Blackness threatened to claim him again.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Edge shoved a solid shoulder into Day’s uninjured side and held him upright as Day struggled to stay conscious. “You stay awake and tell me about this little problem and why people been trying to kill you. Not that they need a reason. People been trying to kill you for years. Me included.”
Day grabbed hold of the other man’s shoulder and hung on. He needed to stay on his feet. If he hit the deck again like this, he wasn’t going anywhere, and Rollie needed him.
“One word. Gavilan.”
“Fuck.”
Day managed a short bark of a laugh, then winced as pain lanced through his injured shoulder and the ribcage on that side. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”
Edge eased back a little, obviously assessing whether Day was okay standing on his own. It was an assessment Day was fairly interested in the result of, too. Finally, Edge nodded and stepped back, apparently convinced Day wasn’t going to face-plant in the dirt yet. Day didn’t put too much faith in his unsteady legs and half-walked, half-staggered the few steps to lean against the hood of the battered Charger.
Edge followed him, leaning one hip against the hood as he offered him a smoke. Day shook his head, sliding his companion a sidelong look. Rollie might have thought Day was dangerous, but Hayden Edge was a cut above, and then some. He was a tall man, with a lean, wiry build from years in the field, both in service and after it, running his own outfit. Whiskers covered his upper lip and chin, too short to be called a beard and too thick to be called stubble. Striking ice-blue eyes watched Day with interest.
“Done eyeing me up, or you want me to pirouette as well?” he asked in amusement. “Now, you were about to tell me about this clusterfuck you got yourself into. Because we’re way past a SNAFU with this one and edging toward pooch-screw territory. So, out with it.”
Day snorted. “Eloquent as ever, I see.” Amusement filled him, but not enough to make him laugh. He didn’t think that was a good idea, thanks to his current condition. Why Edge talked the way he did, Day had never figured out. Unlike Day, Edge could and had pulled the full-on James Bond routine in the past. His English accent was cut-glass if he chose to exert himself, yet he spoke like the ex-commando he was.
“Spit it out, boy. Told you I ain’t in the mood to get annoyed.”
“All right. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I took a job—”
“You took the Gavilan job. What are you, f**king nuts?” Edge looked at him as though he’d grown another head.
Day sighed. In hindsight, it had been a bad move. But the deal had looked good, too good to be true if he looked back on it, and it was. “Yeah, it was a good deal. One last job, and I can buy my cabin and retire.”
“Yeah, and I dream of having a mansion filled with bikini-clad supermodels with soccer ball implants and the sex drive of rabbits in heat. But too bad, dreams don’t really come true. Not the good ones, anyway.” The sarcasm dripped from Edge’s tone.
“What did I tell you about jobs that were too easy to be true? You really thought a simple snatch and grab would be worth that much? Heck, a rookie fresh out of the farm could have done that job cheaper, and then he would have gotten his stupid head blown off.” Edge’s tone was a toss-up between amused, incredulous, and plain old frustrated as he looked at Day as though contemplating boxing his ears for being such an idiot. “So what do you plan on doin’? With two dings and a bleeder, you ain’t gonna be prancing about anywhere.”
“You don’t like false tits. Said that often enough.” Day couldn’t help it. The response was automatic as he recovered from Edge’s verbal assault.
Edge moved, and Day responded on instinct, rolling his good shoulder and bringing his arm up to cover his head as the older man clipped him around the ear like the rookie he had been when they’d first met.
“Okay, okay. I need some help. I got to get her out of there. They aren’t going to let her walk. Not after something like this.” His voice held an edge of pleading, which surprised him.
Day recognized the look Edge gave him, and it was the same one he gave the rookies when he was sizing them up. Edge only had two categories for rookies: good enough, and civilians. And right now, the ex-commando was trying to see where Day fell.
“Shit, boy. Don’t tell me you’re in love with the doc. ‘Cause I got a fresh one right here if you say yes.” He pulled his hand back for emphasis.
Day’s lip curled, ready for a contemptuous of course not, but then he paused. Did he love Rollie? His face obviously mirrored his indecision, because Edge snorted. Day looked up, schooling his expression. “Then go for it, because the answer’s yes.” Quite how it had happened, he didn’t know. Somewhere between their desperate flight from the cabin and her hesitant seduction routine in the shower, he’d fallen head over heels for her.
“I said it years ago, and I’ll say it again. Vann, you’re a moron.” Edge shook his head, then was silent for a moment as he contemplated. “I don’t want to risk following them right now. We could, but they’ve got heavier firepower, and there’s more of them.”