a Touch of the Past (An Everly Gray Adventure) (24 page)

A trickle of blood oozed from Annie’s wound. Hardly a reason for her to be unconscious. I watched her breathe. Too shallow. "It’s the toxin, isn’t it?"

I shifted my gaze, pinned it on Sean. "That’s why you pulled the arrow out so quickly. She moved in front of me. Took the hit that was meant for me."
 

Sean held my gaze, steady, confident. "Yes, I think the arrow was laced with poison. As far as protecting you—that’s who Annie J. is. She wouldn’t have it any other way. You know that, right?"
 

Tears pooled in my eyes.

"Yeah." I eased up, balancing my upper body weight on my forearm. Pain stopped my inhalation, telling me that I must have bruised something when I fell. "But that doesn’t stop the guilt. She’s going to be okay, isn’t she? You’re a paramedic, so you know—"

"I don’t know. I have nothing. No oxygen. No way to start an IV…" His breath caught as he traced his index finger along the side of Annie’s face.

Her body was so still, but her breathing was steady. I jumped to my feet, grabbing at my side. Damn. I needed to stop with the sudden moves. I ignored the pain, needing to find the bastard who’d done this to Annie. "Where is he?"

"Hey, Hunt." Pierce’s voice was coarse with demand.
 

That answered my question, and I zeroed in on a scene fifty feet to my left. A body rested at Pierce’s feet.

Mitch responded, leaping up and sprinting toward Pierce.
 

Adrenaline pounded in my veins, and I followed, only I couldn’t keep up, kept gasping for breath. Broken rib? I pressed my hand tight to the pain and kept moving.

I skidded to a stop, taking in the scene. Pierce had the guy pinned face down, cuffs circling his wrists. The ground was wet and dark beneath his shoulder. "You shot him?"

"Wanted answers. Didn’t kill him." He focused on Mitch. "There’s rope in the boot compartment of the Jeep. Bring it, would you?"
 

 
Mitch gave him a curt nod and took off.
 

"Who is it? You recognize him?" I bent to touch the body, but my fingers were shaking, so I stood, shook my hands, clenched and flexed my fingers until I got the shaking under control.
 

Irish blue eyes, bright with anger, met my gaze. "Brody Williams." Two words, both strung tight as steel.

Cold crept over my skin. "Williams tried to kill me?"

Pierce lifted a shoulder, the movement stiff. "You stood between him and Annie."

Mitch secured Williams’ ankles with the rope. Fast. Professional. Questions surfaced, but I shrugged them to the back of my mind. He could explain later where he learned that particular skill. Calf roping, maybe? Right now I had a job to do.

Pierce rolled Williams over, pressed a folded handkerchief to his shoulder wound, and applied pressure.
 

Super spy apparently had an endless source of old fashioned white handkerchiefs. The smile disappeared as I stared at the man who had just shot Annie full of poison. And, yeah. It was the same guy who’d been stalking me on the beach—my fake client and Annie’s ex—Brody Williams.

His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be unconscious. Probably due to the bloody gash on his temple or maybe it was shock from the gunshot wound, but still… "He’s not going to wake up if I touch him, right?" I asked, squatting next to Williams.

"Nope. Hit his head when he fell." Pierce angled his chin toward a large rock on the far side of the bloodied body.

Sirens echoed in the distance, their grating whine urging me to hurry.
 

Mitch hunkered beside me. "You want to lean on me, or go it alone?"

"Stay in touching distance, okay?"
 

He nodded, and I reached my hand toward Williams, wincing at the pain in my side. "Anything you want me to focus on before I touch him? See if I can influence the images."

"Where the toxin is. Who he’s working with." Pierce—clipped, precise, every inch the super spy.

I rested my fingers against Brody’s arm and images sprang to life on my internal monitor. "He was after me to punish Annie. It’s definitely the same guy I saw on the beach—my supposed client."

Guilt slashed through me. I’d led him to her by taking him on, agreeing to work with him. "He’s never accepted their divorce. Looks like he tracked the poison through my emails with Mitch, Jayne, and Parker Steele. You weren’t around for the séance-gone-wrong, but it was definitely the catalyst for this. And my emails." Another blast of guilt pierced my heart. "My fault for trusting cyberspace."
 

I backed away as law enforcement types scattered over the area. It was gonna be a long day, and we needed to get help for Annie. I tossed words at Pierce as I backpedaled. "He worked in South America, learning about, and cultivating the toxin, and then he spent time here testing different fertilizers, plant food, whatever. I didn’t get an image of any place local."

I was more familiar
with Tripler Army Medical Center than I ever wanted to be. Annie was locked behind closed doors in the intensive care unit, her condition critical. Brody Williams was in custody, his wounds treated—unfortunately, they weren’t life threatening. And I had a cracked rib.

Mitch and I had taken turns pacing the ICU waiting room for the past three hours, hoping for news about Annie. They let Sean stay with her, and he’d been out a few times to update us, but...
 

Sean stalked into the waiting room. "They kicked me out."

Paralyzing numbness had taken over my body, but seeing the slump of Sean’s shoulders, and the dark circles dulling his pale blue eyes—his pain jolted me from shut-down mode. "She’s still cr-critical?" I couldn’t stop the emotion swelling in my throat. Didn’t want to. I loved Annie, and I owed her.

"Yes. No sign of renal failure yet, but the longer they can’t find an antitoxin…" He scrubbed at his face.

"I tried to call Parker Steele, and texted him when he didn’t answer. He pulled through when he was infected with a similar poison, so there must be some way they can create an antitoxin from his cells, or whatever it is they do."

"What if he doesn’t get here in time? What if it doesn’t work?" Sean's shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Respecting his privacy, I laid the back of my hand on his shoulder. "It’ll work. It has to. Annie is strong, you know that. Parker, Jayne, and Adam are already on their way for the…" I didn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t push
wedding
out of my throat. I
had
to fix this. If I could only go back and stop her from moving in front of me.

A nurse poked her head around the door. "You can go back in, Mr. Martin. Same rules apply."

The oxygen in the room seemed to disappear with Sean as he hurried back to Annie's side.

Nothing had changed.

Adam was on a plane and was expected to arrive within a few hours.
 

And I needed to talk to Pierce. I’d tried texting and leaving voicemail—no response.

Mitch caught my hand when I made a turn to pace in the other direction. "Much as I don’t like the way he looks at you, Pierce is okay. He’ll get back to you."

He must have been reading my mind. He’d been getting good at that, and it sparked an inkling of the intrusion he probably felt when I picked up images from touching him.
 

No secrets.
 

And I finally got it. People in relationships needed privacy, and it was even more important to honor that need when they wanted the relationship to last.

"I know, Mitch. It’s just that I’m sure they’ll learn something to help Annie if they study Parker. He has antibodies to whatever was in the toxic substance that almost killed him, and we need to get him here. Now."

Pierce chose that moment to stroll into the waiting room, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression grim. "A.J.?"

"Holding her own. But we need an antitoxin. Parker—"

"On his way. Should be here—" Pierce glanced at his watch— "in two hours."

Relief tumbled through my veins. Okay, then. I had to move on and let the doctors take care of Annie. Nothing I could do about that. "Brody Williams?" I asked. I could be cryptic, too.

Pierce’s jaw tightened. "He’s being transported to a secure facility for questioning. "

His words punched my guilt up a notch. "I want to be there. No, I need to be there. My mother started this, my parents gave their lives to protect the world from this stuff, and Williams was my client. I have a right—"

"It’s arranged, Belisama. You and Hunt can follow me." Pierce did an abrupt about face and strode from the waiting room.
 

Mitch and I followed, tight on his heels.
 

I stopped at the nurses’ station to leave a message for Sean, then threaded my fingers with Mitch’s. "What’s wrong?"

He shrugged, the movement ragged with irritation. "Bastard wants you and I don’t like it."

My belly clenched. I had to fix this. "But—"

"There are no
buts
. I respect the guy, even liked him before he started eyeing you like designer ammo. Pisses me off that he calls you Belisama."
 

"It doesn’t mean anything, not like an endearment. It’s his way of giving me grief. Refers to my red hair. Belisama means summer bright."
 

A sharp voice in the back of my mind cut me off.
 

Shut up, Everly. You’re probably making it worse.

I had to bite my cheek to stop the stupid, rambling words.
 

"Yeah. Well." He ran his hand over my knotted, messy curls. "Mine. I hope."

"Definitely yours."
 

What I didn’t say: There would always be a small part of me that belonged to Tynan Pierce. Not the forever, permanent part, but Pierce kicked my butt—gave me the strength to face the crazies in the world.

Like right now.

Twenty-two

The containment area smelled musty
. I expected it to be modern, built strong with the latest gadgets, to contain the criminal element, but it was filled with the scent of mildew and stale body odor. Not awful, but a long way from my room at the Ma Kai. Made me lust for a shower with the delightfully scented plumeria body wash the hotel so kindly supplied. These days I was relying on the mundane to keep me sane.

Pierce led us down a wide, brightly lit hallway. It jarred me, the old mixed with modern. And the strong artificial lighting did nothing to dispel the dankness fostered by many years of tropical weather. Mold and mildew had long since won the battle for supremacy over the concrete structure. It should have been narrow and dark—sinister to match the smell and my mood.

Stop it, Everly. Your imagination is making a hash of this, and you need to focus.

We stopped in front of a plain door. Pierce pushed it open and pointed into a dimly lit space. I blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden switch in brightness. As the room came into focus, I understood the reason for the low light—a large panel of one-way glass. Apparently, bright light would make the observers visible. Not a comforting thought. There was a row of chairs in front of the glass panel, just like they have on cop shows. But this was real. The man on the other side of the glass had tried to kill me, was once married to Annie, and had shot her with a possibly lethal arrow.
 

We gravitated toward the chairs, Mitch sat to my right, his attention on me, and Pierce sat on my left, his attention on the expanse of glass in front of us. Why did they always flank me? It was getting irritating, this male protective instinct. Not that I wanted to face Williams by myself, but still.
 

Brody sprawled in a metal chair, his cuffed hands resting on the table in front of him. Two law enforcement types faced him from the other side of the table. The interrogators
.
It had an ominous feel to it.

Looking at Brody Williams, at his placid expression, my emotions surfaced. Grief welled in my chest, twisting into a hard knot that took my breath.
Annie!
She had to be okay.

I pushed the pain down, accepting the sharp edge as a fitting punishment for my guilt. What kind of personal coach was I not to recognize Brody for a seriously deranged individual? And what kind of person was I that I didn’t try to push Annie out of the way before the arrow hit her? And then there was my mom, who was somehow the catalyst for everything.

Pierce’s hand came down, heavy on my shoulder. "Need you to focus here. You might catch something I don’t."
 

They read Williams his rights, did the date, time, and those-present announcements, then asked him to state his name.

"Brody John Williams." Gravel and steel.
 

Chill bumps popped out along my arms. "It’s him! He was under the tree on Sand Island."
 

Pierce nodded. Once. "Thought so."

But Brody didn’t stop with his name. His lips twisted into a smirk and he kept talking. "Women go for my blond hair, hazel eyes, and toned abs. I’m six feet even, weigh one-eighty, and can lift two-fifty. No woman ever leaves me. Don’t know why Anne thought she’d get away with it."