Cavanaugh's Bodyguard (20 page)

“Hey, where’s the fire?” Kennedy called out, then protested, “I can’t run, Youngblood. My knees gave out five years ago.”

Coming to a stop beside Josh, Kennedy’s attention was focused on him. He noted that Josh was scowling. “What’s the matter?” Kennedy asked.

Josh gestured toward the backseat. “Notice anything missing?” he bit off, irritated.

The car was exactly where he’d left it. And it was empty, which was
not
exactly as he’d left it.

“Where’s Bridget?” Kennedy asked.

“That’s the question,” Josh verified, fuming as he looked around the immediate area. He didn’t see her—or anyone—around.

Kennedy was obviously not as disturbed about Bridget’s absence as he was. He shrugged his slightly bowed shoulders and guessed, “Maybe she had to take a break, you know, go looking for a ladies’ room or something.”

But Josh was shaking his head as he scanned the immediate area. “The woman’s a camel. We were on a stakeout once and I swear she didn’t go once in twenty-four hours, even though she had like four cups of coffee.” Josh looked around the backseat. There didn’t appear to have been a struggle. She’d left on her own, he thought. Still, he had a bad, uneasy feeling about this. “Where the hell did she get to?” he demanded.

“Why don’t you call her on her cell and ask her?” Kennedy suggested.

Annoyed that he hadn’t thought of that himself, Josh pressed the second programmed number on his keypad and listened to the phone on the other end ring.

Once.

It went straight to voicemail.

“Damn it,” he fumed. “When we find her and she’s all right, I’m going to kill her for taking off like that.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Kennedy quipped.

“‘Reasonable’ is wasted on that woman,” Josh complained. “She thinks she’s bulletproof.”

“Okay, let’s spread out and look for her,” Kennedy proposed. “She’s on foot so she couldn’t have gotten very far.”

“Yeah,” Josh responded with absolutely no conviction in his voice.

The problem was, he thought, that Bridget might not be on foot.

The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach grew to almost unmanageable proportions.

Chapter 15

T
he same pain that had engulfed her as she was knocked out now yanked her back into consciousness.

The back of her skull throbbed. The pain was almost overwhelming and all but swallowed her up.

A moan rose in her throat, but something—instincts—kept her from allowing the sound to escape her lips.

It took only a few seconds for the fact that she was in motion to register.

Was she in Josh’s car?

No, wait, there was something cold against her cheek. Metal, she was lying on some kind of metal floor. And she was being driven somewhere.

Very carefully she opened her eyelids just the tiniest bit, allowing only a hint of light in, not because her eyes were sensitive but because she didn’t want anyone to see that she was coming to.
Someone
had hit her in the head and that same person had to be the one who was transporting her somewhere.

Where?

Opening her eyes a little more, Bridget saw that she was in the back of a van, lying facedown on the platform of a hydraulic lift ordinarily used to raise and lower wheelchair-bound travelers.

She realized that she was on the floor of the transport van at the same time that the fact that her wrists were bound with duct tape registered.

Doing her best to rise above the pain pounding along her aching skull, Bridget tried to remember what had happened.

Green.

She’d seen Green pulling up in the van in the rear of the lot. He was driving his transport van. When he got out, he’d started walking toward the main office. But before she could give Josh a heads-up, she saw Green suddenly do a U-turn on his heel. The next moment he was heading straight for his van again.

Apparently whatever he saw—Josh and Kennedy?—had spooked him.

There was no time to wonder what it was. If the transport driver took off, God knew when they’d be able to find him again.

So she’d gotten out of the backseat of the unmarked car and approached him.

“Excuse me,” she’d called out just as he was about to get back into the van.

There was suspicion in his eyes when he looked in her direction. “Yeah?”

“My aunt’s in a wheelchair and she’s very fragile. I can’t get her in and out of my car anymore without risking having her fall. Problem is, she needs to go to a lot of doctors.” She nodded toward his van. “Would you know what the company charges for a round trip?”

“Office handles that kind of stuff. You’ve gotta call them.” He’d glanced around, then at her. “Where did you park?” he asked.

To avert any suspicion, she’d half turned to point toward a car across the street that she’d just noticed. That was when she felt as if her skull were being split open.

As the darkness claimed her, she thought that she was going to be the Lady Killer’s final victim even though her hair wasn’t red.

As she came to, she upbraided herself for turning her back, even slightly, on the man. Just because he was a serial killer didn’t mean that he was stupid. Actually, the opposite was probably true. Planning had to go into remaining at large for three years and still carrying out his vendetta against any red-haired female who had the misfortune of crossing his path.

She was a blonde. Was she supposed to be his swan song? Or had he broadened his parameters? Why was she now lying on the floor of the van, her wrists bound? How had she tipped him off?

Her mouth wasn’t taped shut. Why?

And then she had her answer. He wasn’t growing sloppy, he just hadn’t planned on another kill so soon. She saw an empty roll that had held duct tape discarded in the corner. He’d run out.

The van took a sharp turn to the right, then sped up. Glancing toward the door, she thought of the odds of pulling it open and jumping out before he saw she was awake and could stop her.

Not very good, she decided. Besides, they were going awfully fast and she could hear the sound of cars whizzing by.

Were they on the freeway? It sounded like it, but she wasn’t sure. If they were, she wouldn’t be able to jump clear of the van even if she did manage to open the door. Not with other cars moving so fast. She’d be run over.

Desperate to get her hands free, Bridget tried gnawing on the tape that bound her wrists. Several attempts got her nowhere. This would take too long, and who knew just how long she had?

Maybe she could pull him down from behind. Hoping that the music he was playing—music that made her head throb even more—would muffle any sound she made, Bridget began to inch her way over to him on the floor. She kept her eyes on the back of his head the entire time, praying he wouldn’t turn around before she managed to reach him.

She crept toward him, frustrated by her maddeningly slow pace. If she moved faster, he might hear her.

As she debated how to pick her time and not get them both killed, she felt the van stopping. He was pulling up to a light.

They weren’t on the freeway after all.

Now or never.

Pushing herself up to her knees, Bridget threw her bound arms forward around Green’s throat and pulled back as hard as she could, trying to yank the man out of his seat.

Catching him off guard, Green had toppled backward against her. Horns from the cars around them began blasting, protesting the suddenly immobile van.

Green screamed a curse at her as she unseated him.

“You bitch, you think this is going to save you? You’re a dead woman, you hear me? A dead woman.”

Because of the angle she’d used, Green had fallen on top of her, pinning her beneath him. She was still pulling against his throat as hard as she could, hoping to render him unconscious even after the air had whooshed out of her lungs.

She had to make him lose consciousness before he could do the same to her!

He was struggling, clawing at her, gasping for air.

And then she felt it. Felt something hard and sharp slash into her side. Felt something akin to fire burst out and engulfing her from the point of contact.

Suddenly, she wasn’t able to hold on to him anymore, wasn’t able to keep squeezing, robbing his lungs of his air supply. Her arms were just too weak. A darkness was returning for her.

He was free.

She could feel the driver’s weight shifting, could feel his body separating from hers.

And then Bridget heard him yell, “Your heart is mine, bitch!”

Fear assaulted her. She was going to die.

As the thought registered in her dimming brain, something that sounded like a crack of thunder exploded inside the van.

Had they been hit by another car?

Had he killed her?

Sheets of flames were closing in around her. And then, from somewhere in the distance, far, far away, she thought she heard Josh calling to her.

But that wasn’t possible. Josh didn’t know she was in here.

The next moment, the flames completely smothered her.

And then came oblivion.

* * *

“Call a bus, Kennedy. Damn it, call a bus!” Josh yelled, his voice cracking.

He was on his knees in the van, kneeling in Bridget’s blood, wanting desperately to hold her to him, afraid to raise her from the floor. There was no longer any doubt that the man they had come after was the serial killer they’d been hunting. Less than a minute before he and Kennedy reached the van and threw the door open, the serial killer had viciously stabbed Bridget.

Josh had shouted out his warning at the same moment he’d discharged his weapon.

The threat was over.

Blood was now flowing from Bridget’s side at a frightening rate. Fighting back his panic, Josh pressed the palms of his hands down hard against her side, trying to stop the blood from leaving her body.

Trying to keep her alive.

Terror kept surging through him. “You stay with me, Bridget, you hear me?” he demanded. “You stay with me! I won’t let you die. You’re not allowed to die. Damn you, anyway, why didn’t you wait for us?”

Even in his addled state, Josh knew the answer to that. She hadn’t waited because she probably saw the killer taking off. It wasn’t in her nature to hang back and wait.

“Stay with me,” he repeated, then pleaded again, “Stay with me.”

“They’re coming,” Kennedy told him as he ended his call into the precinct.

She didn’t have much time. He could see that. Even with his hands pressed against the wound, she was still losing blood.

“Tell them to come faster!” Josh roared. He tossed his head back, trying to get the tears in his eyes to clear. “I don’t know how much longer she’s going to be able to hang on.”

“You kidding?” Kennedy countered, his own voice throbbing with emotion. Doing his best not to let his thoughts go toward a darker path. “This is Bridget. She’s a fighter. She always has been. It’ll take more than a stab wound to get her.”

“Yeah,” Josh agreed.

The word felt like dried straw inside his mouth.

* * *

They’d taken her from him.

He had refused to leave her side and had traveled inside the ambulance to the hospital, but once the paramedics reached the hospital, the emergency room surgeons came running out to the gurney and they had taken Bridget from him.

Leaving him to pace and haunt the corridor, feeling helpless and inadequate.

Leaving him to vacillate between beating himself up for keeping Bridget in the car when he knew what she was like and being furious with her for going after the killer herself.

And all the while, Josh kept staring at the operating room doors, afraid to let himself think what was going on beyond the double doors.

Kennedy had followed the ambulance and arrived just behind it. After that, Josh had lost track of the older detective.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except Bridget living.

Leaning against the wall, Josh closed his eyes and prayed for a minute, vaguely remembering a fragment of a prayer from childhood.

He felt ancient.

And scared.

When Josh opened his eyes again a couple of minutes later, a tall, white-haired man with a kindly face was walking toward the O.R. The man was dressed all in black and he was wearing a clerical collar.

A priest.

No!
Josh thought frantically.
No!

As if to deny the man’s very presence, to deny the
need
for the man’s presence, Josh shifted, placing himself in front of the approaching priest.

As he stood there, a defiant human wall, Josh growled out, “She doesn’t need a priest.” But if someone inside the O.R. had sent for the man, if she was dying, then he had no right to deny this man access to Bridget.

He felt as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

“I’d like to think that everyone needs a priest once in a while,” the man answered, his resonant voice sounding oddly comforting. “Bridget’s father called me. I live less than a mile away from the hospital, so he knew I could get here before he did,” the priest explained. He nodded toward the O.R. “Is Bridget in there?”

The priest’s deep blue eyes were kind as they looked at him, Josh thought. He tried to make sense of what he was being told. If no one in the O.R. had called the man, then maybe she would be all right after all.

But then why was he here? And why would Bridget’s father have called him?

Feeling lost and confused, it took Josh a moment to realize that the priest was extending his hand to him.

“I’m Bridget’s Uncle Adam,” he said, introducing himself.

Belatedly, Josh took the hand that was being offered and shook it. The words swam in his head. Her uncle? Oh, yeah, right. Bridget had an uncle who was part of the clergy. He knew that. Or had known that.

Right now, nothing was making sense in his head. All his thoughts were jumbled, as if a force field were keeping the absolutely unthinkable from finding him.

Seeing the confusion on the younger man’s face, Adam said kindly, “I’m Sean’s older brother. At least that was what we all thought before the hospital mix-up came to light,” he said, amused. “For the record, I still consider myself Bridget’s uncle. Takes more than blood to make family,” he added with a wink.