Hunting (29 page)

“
Hey, my job is pretty much centered on the star of this show.
Don’t you mean you’ll be by
my
side?” She shoved her bag
behind her seat. She had a driver assigned to her van, and she
usually rode in the passenger seat. He knew that from observing her
on scene in the past.

“
You’ll ride with me. I’ll
send T.J. to ride with Mia.”

He waved Royal to the back
seat, and Julia took the passenger. Malachi drove. “Royal, what do
we know so far?”

“
African American male.
Early twenties. GSR. Chess piece in his mouth. His fingers were
removed, as well.” Royal leaned up between the seats. “East St.
Louis.” He rattled off the address, and Julia punched it into the
GPS.

Royal knew the details of
the case; Malachi had made sure that his second-in-command knew
everything
he
knew. Just in case something happened and
Malachi was killed or injured. Someone needed to stop this
bastard.

He parked alongside the
street where the crime scene was located. Flashing lights and
several Bureau vehicles already waited. This was the
place.

“
Royal, you’re in charge
of the rest of the team. I’m sticking with Dr. Bellows. He’s
already indicated she’s a target. Have Knight meet me beside the
victim.”

She appreciated his
protection, but did he have to be so obvious about how he felt?
Every time he looked at her she was reminded of the hurt on his
face when he’d walked into the kitchen that morning and found that
little blue box in the center of the table.

When she looked at him,
gone was the professional superman team leader Malachi Brockman and
in his place was a passionate, protective lover who was a bit
sexist and a lot overprotective. A man who in any other reality, in
any other lifetime would be hers. How was she supposed to deal with
that?

By ignoring the
relationship she’d never wanted in the first place and getting back
to work, that was how. She took charge of the scene, and had Mia
photographing as she started her initial inspection.

Malachi stayed at her
side.

She listened to his
conversation with Agent Knight with half an ear. Did he realize his
words were stilted? He was friends with Agent Knight; she’d even
seen Knight dancing with Alessandra at the Thanksgiving
party.

Or was that the problem?
Did Malachi suspect his friend? How could he not? How could he
trust anyone ever again? Or was he just trying to close himself off
in case
it was Knight?

That hurt her. One of
Malachi’s charms was his openness, his loyalty, and enjoyment of
his friends. That someone had taken that away from him, even
briefly, hurt her more than she’d have thought. She hated seeing
him hurting.

She stood. There was
nothing significant about
where
this body was found; if she
had to hazard a guess she’d call it an ordinary body dump. She’d be
able to find out more helpful information once she had the man on
the autopsy table. “Let’s get him back to PAVAD.”

She turned toward the man
at her side. Malachi was using his much bigger body to block hers
from the crowd that had gathered. A rough, curious crowd that would
make her nervous at any time, not just now with the threat to them.
He was big and solid between her and the onlookers. His protection
was natural. Instinctive. Because he cared about her. Oh,
God.

When had she started to
expect
that caring?

Someone shouted, and Jules
turned. The shouting, screaming increased. People were
running.

A hard body tackled her,
taking her straight down. Her knee hit the concrete, and she kicked
the corpse.

Her cheek bounced off the
pavement, gravel digging into her skin. Malachi’s body was crushing
hers, his arm over her head. He rolled to one side, but didn’t
stand.

Jules looked at him and bit
back a scream.

Blood was spreading over
his white shirt. Spreading rapidly.
Too
rapidly. She yelled,
his name, something, she didn’t know. It might have been pleading
to God, to the Fates, anyone or anything that was
listening.

Jules pulled the shirt free
from his pants, ripping the buttons in her haste. She didn’t give a
damn. His blood coated her hands, but she persisted, finding the
entrance wound and applying pressure.

“
Dammit, why did you do
that?” She was furious, so damned
mad
at him for taking such
a foolish risk. Why did it always have to be
him
right in
the middle of things? Didn’t he have more self-preservation than
that?

His blood stained the snow,
just like Rick’s had stained the sunbaked pavement so long
ago.

Jules froze, as the image
of another man she loved dying before her flashed into her
mind.

She closed her eyes, trying
to erase Rick’s face, to replace it with Malachi’s. The
dunderhead’s. Why had he been so
stupid
?

He
was still
breathing. Which meant there was a chance for him. She wouldn’t let
him die, she wouldn’t. She snapped out of her damned fog, and
barked orders at the nearest agents surrounding them.

She’d get him to the
hospital, but in the meantime she’d do whatever she had to in order
to stop the bleeding.

And then she’d clobber him
herself.

He opened his eyes while
she was barking out orders, and she knew she’d never forget the
look he shot her. “Guess I should have jumped instead of
ducked.”

“
You should have gotten
out of the way entirely. Not everyone needs a damned superhero. The
body is already dead, he wasn’t going anywhere. And an extra bullet
or two wouldn’t have hurt
him.
What were you
thinking?”

His hand wrapped around her
forearm and he tried to sit up. She snapped a
no!
at him and
he laid back down. He brushed at her hair, where it had fallen
loose from her knit cap when he’d pushed her to the ground. “I was
thinking that you were too damned close to the shooter for my
comfort. And that I was wearing a vest, and you
weren’t.”

“
I was fine. You were just
playing hero again. And news flash, it missed your vest.” She
pulled the strap from the Kevlar open. The bullet
had
missed
the edge of the Kevlar by less than a quarter of an inch, slicing
right through the leather belt holding up his pants. A lucky shot
for the shooter? Or just a really good shooter? “I didn’t need you
to save me! Don’t need you to save me all the time.”

“
But maybe
I
need
to save you. Or maybe I just need you.” He coughed and the blood in
her
veins turned to ice.

“
You
need
to lay
still. I’ve got to keep pressure on this. We’re going to have to
sew you back together again.”

“
Like Humpty, huh?” He
gave her a weak grin and Jules fought the tears pooling behind her
eyes. She would
not
cry over him. Not now, not when she was
so damned mad. “It’s not that bad.”

“
How do you
know
?
I’m the doctor here.” And she’d seen so many deaths by bullets to
the abdomen. It was too damned dark out here for her to see the
damage completely. Too dark, too far from the hospital, and too
much blood for her to see. The broken street lights made it nearly
impossible. They’d need to get him to the hospital before she would
know for certain. “I’ll tell you when it’s bad or not.”

“
Bus will be here in less
than two minutes; I can hear the sirens. How are you doin’, boss?”
Chalmers asked, kneeling beside Jules. “What can I do to
help?”

“
Simple.
You
don’t
leave Dr. Bellows’ side, for anything. And send Djorn and Jones to
my parents’ house. Dr. Bellows’ daughter is there now. They are to
stay with my parents and Ruthie—
without
mentioning this
little scrape—until you or I tell them differently.” He coughed
again, then leaned back. But he remained conscious, and that was a
good sign.

The bullet could have
injured him in so many different ways, different patterns. Anything
could be going on inside him at that moment, and without decent
light and better equipment—equipment meant for working on
living
patients, rather than dead specimens—she felt as
helpless as a child.

But she would not let
him
see that. She couldn’t. “I want you to keep talking to
me as long as you can. If you start to feel faint, let me know.”
How much blood had he lost? The wet snow and low light made it
difficult to tell.

“
Begin to? I’m feeling a
bit lightheaded, my love. But this is just a little scratch.
Nothing to concern yourself with.” His faint British accent,
similar to his English-born mother’s came out when he was tired,
weak—she’d noticed before.

“
Of course you’re
lightheaded! You’re bleeding…you’re bleeding, you
idiot!”

“
Do you really think it’s
appropriate to call me an idiot when I’m injured?” His hand covered
hers where she applied pressure. “Julia, look at me,
please?”

Jules did.

“
I’ll be fine. The
ambulance is here. I’m talking, breathing, and in full possession
of my faculties. I’m not going to die like
he
did. I can
promise you that.”

“
You can’t
promise
that. No one can. And someone in your line of work, with
your
particular Galahad tendencies—you’re at a higher risk
than most. And you know that.”

“
Yes. I am. But that
doesn’t mean it
will
happen. Just that it could. But
everyone faces risks, Julia. Everyone. You just have to decide what
is stronger—love or fear. It’s up to you.”

He said nothing else. The
paramedics surrounded them and Jules was shouldered aside. She gave
a few orders as he was loaded into the ambulance, and then jumped
in beside him as soon as she could. The paramedics had better
equipment and from the competent way they moved around him, they
were skilled at what they did.

And he was still awake and
talking.
Laughing
with the attendants.

But he never let go of her
hand.

And she never pulled
away.

He hurt like the blazes of
hell but he’d never tell her that. Did she know what she was
revealing to him by sitting over there staring at him with those
big worried eyes of hers? Did she know that every fear and feeling
she had was running over her face? She was pale—probably paler than
he was, despite the blood he’d lost—and he had no difficulty seeing
how she shook.

She wasn’t a trained
federal agent
or
a seasoned medical professional right now.
Now she was just a worried lover. Worried for him.

Did she understand how
he
had felt, knowing the sound of bullets, knowing
she
was in the path? How could he
not
have done what
he had?

And he’d been right to.
He’d covered her, and the bullet had struck
him.
What if it
had been her hit? How would he have handled it? How would Ruthie?
Did she realize just how much she meant to the two of them
now?

If she’d been the one hit,
there was no fucking way he’d be able to hold it together, even
half as well as she had. But he didn’t want her to be so
scared…

“
Julia, love…” He squeezed
her hand until she looked directly at him and he knew she saw
him
and not long-ago memories. “This has happened before, or
stuff like it. I promise you, I will always be as careful as I can.
That’s the only guarantee I can give.”

“
I’m not sure I can accept
that. You could have died tonight. And you’ll put yourself in that
same position over and over again. I’d be crazy to even contemplate
agreeing to what you’re asking. No, I was right to begin with—you
and I, so not ever going to happen.”

Dammit, he was afraid she’d
say that.

He didn’t get a chance to
plead his case—the arrival at the hospital prevented
that.

His last sight of her as
they wheeled him away was her pulling out her cell phone. It
wouldn’t surprise him if she was calling Edward Dennis to request a
transfer out of PAVAD. It would be like her, to run from what she
couldn’t face. She always ran—especially from the
big
things. Always. Why should this be any different?

But dammit—once he was back
on his feet, he’d not give her any more
opportunity
to run
from him—either physically or metaphorically. Malachi had
discovered something in that split second between him realizing she
was in the line of fire and him throwing himself over
her.

He loved her, completely.
And probably always would.

Once Al and Mick arrived,
Jules went back to Malachi’s home—courtesy of Agent
Chalmers—and…did the dishes. By hand, bypassing the dishwasher. She
needed to think, to wash the sight of his blood from her hands. She
did that first, then ran fresh water and scrubbed the plates and
bowls. She needed the simple chore. To forget for a little while
that he could have died.