Hiding Jessica (30 page)

Then there was only darkness.

* * *

Mitch pulled himself back together slowly, each instinct kicking in one by one. He was sitting upright, his forehead flat against the wheel. He could feel the trickle of something warm and wet down his face, and when he tried to open his eyes, the world refused to come into focus. He heard the sound of running feet, the faint hiss of a broken radiator.

His door was thrown open, and for one clear moment he knew he should attack. But then he made out the shocked eyes of a truck driver staring down at him.

“Are you all right, mister?” the stranger asked.

Slowly Mitch tried to nod his head only to find out he couldn’t quite move.

“The girl,” he whispered. “How’s the girl?”

The stranger looked beyond him, and his eyes grew wider.

“You have to get out,” the man said. “We can’t open her door. Can you do that?”

Mitch thought that might be a silly question. If Jess needed him to jump out of an airplane at one thousand feet, he would do it. That was love, right? That’s what love was all about. He forced himself to sit up straight.

The world spun crazily, his face turning pale then green as he fought not to pass out. Slowly, ever so slowly, he managed this time to turn his head. Jess was slumped forward, her door caved in until that side of the truck didn’t exist anymore at all. Her legs looked pinned by the wreckage, and for a moment, Mitch could no longer breathe. He’d killed her, or at the very least paralyzed her. The helplessness and horror that flowed through him was as numbing as it was foreign. Huge, capable Mitch, the oldest brother, the man who was always there to help everyone, had finally failed.

“You’ll have to help me pull her out,” he heard a voice say. After a minute, he realized it was his own.

The stranger spoke up. “Mister, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re in no condition to do any such thing.”

“I mind,” Mitch heard the voice say again. “I have to help her, I have to.”

The truck driver opened his mouth as if to persist, then perhaps realized the futility of arguing with a man who had blood down his forehead and stubbornness in his jaw.

“Can you undo your seat belt?” the man said instead. Mitch managed that after a bit, and the truck driver helped him down from the vehicle.

“I’ll get her,” the driver said. “You just sit here for a minute.”

Mitch sat, much harder than necessary. He could still feel the warm wetness trickling down his forehead, and he had to squint his eyes against the abrupt glare of the day. Dimly he became aware of all the people milling around. He needed to look out for Les’s men, he found himself thinking. He had to protect Jess from Les’s men.

Two people were helping pull a woman from the Volvo and a jumpy-looking man was calling the whole thing in on his cellular phone, his hands waving in the air with his agitation.

He heard a soft moan, and turned to find the stranger laying Jess out on the hard asphalt.

“I think she’s just unconscious,” the man said, his voice concerned. “She hit her forehead on the dash, but at the least the seat belt kept her from going through the windshield. Her right leg’s cut up. It may be broken. But then, I don’t know much about these things.”

Mitch forced himself to focus on the man. He saw the pulled-down cowboy hat, the scuffed-up toes of working boots. He saw a sprinkle of freckles and dust, and earnest blue eyes. He looked like home, and the sunny, hardworking days of raising hell with his brothers in Maddensfield, North Carolina. Mitch didn’t question his instinct. He just knew he and Jess needed help, and this man was all he had to work with.

But before he could say anything, two dark shadows fell across the ground. The stranger’s gaze shifted up, and Mitch followed it to find the very thing he’d been dreading. Les’s men smiled down at him.

“FBI,” one of the men said crisply. “We’ve been chasing these two through five states. If you don’t mind, we’ll take it from here.”

The stranger looked uncertain, and Mitch opened his mouth to argue. But then a faint breeze rippled the first man’s jacket back, revealing a 9-millimeter gun.

They would shoot the man, Mitch realized in the last sane corner of his mind. They would shoot the truck driver and anyone else they had to if he pushed it. He clamped down abruptly, the movement making his head swim. Like a drunkard, his head swiveled back to Jess, lying pale and unconscious on the ground. She was still alive, according to the stranger. But from here, even he could see the blood staining her jeans. He had to do something.

Think Mitch, think.

But abruptly the stranger was gone, and the second man was leaning down.

Move, just move, damn it.

For one fierce moment, he bit down hard on his own tongue. The shock of pain racked his overloaded system, clearing his head for one mind-splitting moment even as the taste of warm blood filled his mouth. He came up like an animal.

Two hundred raw pounds of anger and desperation surged to its feet. And the air filled with the low, savage cry of battle as Mitch’s first fist flailed out. He felt the solid satisfaction of connection and watched the man collapse at his feet as the world around him suddenly exploded into screams of fear and shock. He didn’t notice the yells, his fist merely balling at his side as his eyes narrowed. He had to fight, he had to kill.

He had to protect Jess. He had to protect...

The world suddenly spun, the warm wetness on his face trickling into his eyes. He lashed out again, as if he could conquer even the dizziness. But the momentum of the motion spun him slightly around, skewing the world even more.

He was going to pass out; he could see the black mist just beyond his sight. He howled, low and dark, the frustrated groan of an animal that sees its own trap.

One last time he tried to come around. One last time he fought for his life and the woman still unconscious at his feet. One last time his massive fists reared back.

And the second FBI impostor stepped forward with the deft agility of a healthy man, and slammed Mitch Guiness in the jaw.

Dotti and Henry’s son crumpled to the hard asphalt, and knew no more.

* * *

Jess came awake to the persistent throbbing in her head. She groaned, the sound rousing her further. She hurt, she thought dimly. She hurt in every known muscle and then some she hadn’t known about before.

She tried to open her eyes and bring the world into focus.

It took a while—much longer than it should have. And then she became aware of the fact she was in the back of a car, her face pressed down against the seat. She remembered the car crash, and with it came the horror.

In a sudden, swift movement, she tried to find Mitch. The pain rocketed through her like a knife, and she thought she might pass out again. But then she caught sight of his hair, to her left, and her muscles sagged with the relief.

He was here with her. He was here.

Dimly she heard the voices of two men talking. They were low and forward, muffled by the barrier of plush seats. She tried to move again, this time the motion subtle and slow. She didn’t appear to be tied up, but her back hurt, and a low, consistent pain throbbed in her right leg. Face down on the seat, there was little she could do that wouldn’t arouse immediate attention.

She tried to simply shift her head to see Mitch better. He appeared to be folded over somewhat, his body curled like a lifeless rag doll. The first pangs of dread clutched her chest.

“Mitch?” she whispered.

He didn’t move.

“Mitch?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, his head bobbed. She waited a minute more, then whispered his name again. This time the movement was even more pronounced. As she watched, he pulled himself back from the unconsciousness.

“Jess?” he muttered at last, the word more a groan than a whisper.

“I’m here, Mitch,” she managed to whisper, the string of three coherent words sending a needle of pain through her forehead.

“Give me a moment,” he said at last. She waited, her dark eyes worried and tight as he propelled himself back into the land of the living.

They were in a car, his senses said. In a car. Which meant, of course, his muddled mind concluded, that they weren’t dead. Why weren’t they dead? His head protested the thinking, but he got the thought through. Witnesses. If Les’s men had shot them in front of all those people, there would be too many witnesses.

And why risk the attention when Les’s mistrial presented him with an opportunity to walk away altogether?

Especially when they could drive him and Jess to the middle of nowhere and kill them there. Nice and neat and no attachments. Maybe cement shoes and big-city bridge?

How sublimely cliché.

“Mitch?” Jess’s whisper penetrated again. And for the first time that he could recall, he heard fear in the Ice Angel’s voice.

It rallied him, giving him the focus he needed to clear the last of the pain and grogginess from his mind. The human body could withstand an amazing amount, as long as you didn’t think about it.

“How bad?” he replied, keeping his voice low so not to attract attention to them.

She hesitated. “My back hurts,” she said at last, the fear still there but controlled. “And my leg. You?” she said in a rush, the words more urgent than she’d intended. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” he told her, his voice so arrogant, she knew that if she could see his face, he would be grinning at her. “I’m the magician.”

She smiled, recognizing his false bravado, but welcoming it nonetheless. Leave it to Mitch Guiness to try and make her feel better even when they were tossed like corn sacks in the back of a Cadillac, headed most likely for certain death.

“Can you make us disappear with a puff of smoke?” she whispered back. She found herself biting back the ridiculous desire to giggle, and one corner of her mind recognized the beginnings of hysteria. Funny, she thought. She’d never been hysterical before.

“Follow my lead, Jess,” Mitch suddenly replied, his voice low and intense. He doubted she’d recognized it yet, but the car was slowing down. No doubt they were about to reach their destination. “No matter what happens,” he told her, “just do as I say.”

She tried to nod, and almost fell unconscious again for her efforts. The pain in her leg intensified, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from groaning. Her hands were clammy, and she suddenly trembled with the cold. Shock. She was going into shock.

The passenger door was thrown open.

Mitch had to blink against the sudden infusion of bright light. He squinted and made out the face of the man he’d decked earlier. Upon seeing that Mitch was conscious, the man’s face drew into an ugly scowl.

“Move, and I’ll kill you,” the man said without preamble.

Mitch acknowledged the statement with the slightest motion of his head. “Where are we?” he asked, the words thick and rough in his dry throat.

“Nowhere,” the man replied. He smiled suddenly, the smile of a man who knew what he was about to do and was delighted by the opportunity.

“I need to speak to Les.” Mitch worked to get the words out. His mouth was so dry, he thought he might kill for a glass of water. “I have information for him.”

“Too late. Out of the car, Guiness. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“Sure. But when the D.A. calls up the surprise witness at Les’s new trial, and the witness reveals I knew all about him, even helped him, Les is going to have a conversation with you. A very short conversation.”

“You’re bluffing,” the man said, his face not taken in at all. But then Mitch became aware of a second voice.

“Wait a second, Charley. He may be bluffing, but he may not. And I know better than you what Les will do to us if we’re wrong.”

Charley’s face scowled even deeper, and he turned away to address his companion. Mitch let out the breath he’d been holding. Seeds of dissension had been planted—now it was just a matter of watering the field. He risked a glance back over to Jess. Her eyes were closed once more, her face dangerously pale. His chest tightened, and for a long moment he thought she might be dead. But then he made out the slow motion of her rising chest. She was still alive, but she needed medical help, and fast.

“She’s dying,” he said out loud. Charley’s gaze swiveled immediately back, his suspicious gaze focused on Mitch and Jess. “She’s dying,” Mitch repeated again. He didn’t have to force the dread into his voice. “And if she does, I guarantee you Les will see you both to hell and back.”

For the first time, Charley began to look uneasy. “It just saves us the bullet,” Charley said, puffing out his chest in a display of false bravado.

“When Les hears who the witness is, he’ll want her again,” Mitch said. “He’ll need her for bargaining power. But if she’s already dead...”

“You’re making this all up,” Charley repeated again.

“It doesn’t matter,” the second voice said abruptly. “Look, Charley, it’s our hides we’re talking about. Why take the risk? Look at them. She’s half-dead, and he’s so banged up, he’ll pass out again if you breathe too hard. Let’s take ‘em to Les, and let him decide. If he’s lying, we’ll shoot them there. If he’s telling the truth, Les will be pleased with us. Don’t be stupid, Charley.”

Charley’s face grew dark, but his eyes were uncertain. Finally he gave in with an ungraceful shrug. “But we tie up Guiness,” Charley insisted, his hand unconsciously coming up to his sore jaw.

After further discussion, they did more than just tie Mitch up. They also split up him and Jess. She was moved to the front seat, while Charley joined Mitch in the back. The situation made it impossible for Mitch to communicate with Jess, but at least it bought them some time. And when the second man finally saw how bad Jess’s leg was, it also earned her some medical attention. After all, they wouldn’t gain anything by delivering her corpse to Capruccio.

The second man brought out a first-aid kit, and allowed Mitch to treat her the best he could. He had to cut off the leg of her jeans, the mangled mess of her thigh almost making him sick. He’d never sewed up a woman before, and every time he had to pass the needle through the rubbery texture of her smooth skin, another bead of sweat popped onto his brow. He hated himself for having hurt her, and he hated Capruccio even more. The first chance he got, Mitch would show Les Capruccio just what a Guiness could do.