Around-the-Clock Protector (14 page)

Carson’s heart twisted as he tried to imagine life without her, or his child.

“There are things you don’t know about me, about my upbringing.”

“So you’ve got childhood issues. Who doesn’t? It can’t be that bad.”

He’d never been one to spill his guts, and he hadn’t planned to start tonight, but somehow she’d managed to dig into his soul, and she deserved to know the truth.

“My father was military. A drill sergeant. Strict as hell. If he said jump, you jumped. But he didn’t only
behave this way toward his men—he brought it home at night.” Carson’s throat tightened. Reaching up, he rubbed the deep scar above his left eyebrow—a physical reminder of their last encounter.

She would hate him, mistrust him when he was finished. But he couldn’t let her believe he’d be an ideal father for their child, not when he didn’t trust his own genetics.

“When I was fourteen, he almost beat my mother to death. If I hadn’t stepped in, he would have killed her that night.”

“Is that where you got this?”

The feel of her fingertips rubbing the scar soothed his nerves and infused him with the courage to go on.

“Yeah. My mother divorced the SOB two years after. He died more than ten years ago, never having voiced regret for the things he did to us. My mom told me after his death that he’d grown up in a violent home. That his father had beaten him and his mother for years. So the pattern continues through generations—”

“Until someone with courage and strength comes forward to stop it.” Ava’s heart squeezed in her chest. “You’re not your father, or your grandfather. The cycle can be broken.”

He stared down at her. A muscle worked along his jawline, his features unreadable in the low light.

“Genetics can’t be altered.” Slowly he moved off her and rolled onto his side.

She turned to face him, trying to get a sense of where he was emotionally, but she couldn’t.

Did he really believe what he was saying? Had the tragedies of the past trapped the knowledge so deep in his psyche he’d never be able to root it out?

Worry skittered over her thoughts as she closed her eyes and reached out to touch him, hoping she could change his mind somehow.

S
LEEP ELUDED
C
ARSON
like the winning Powerball numbers.

Giving up, he crawled out of bed, leaving Ava snuggled under the covers, a slight smile on her mouth highlighted in the dim glow of the alarm clock on the bedside table.

It was 2:13 a.m.

Tension gripped his body as he pulled on his boxers and strode out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

What had happened to his mental guard? He’d spilled his guts to her like a double agent to his foreign handler once he’d crossed the border.

He went into the kitchen and got a glass of water. Leaning against the counter, he tried to get a handle on his emotions.

He couldn’t imagine not having her with him, in his life, in his bed, but it didn’t make him happy—it only added to the growing concern racing through his mind.

They were a long way from commitment. And he was further still from assimilating the fragments of tenderness that churned inside him. Tenderness could spell death in his line of work.

His cell phone went off in the darkness.

Carson picked his way around the furniture and snagged the phone off its charger.

“Hello.”

“You’ve got to get out!”

He recognized the sound of Gary Resnick’s voice on the other end of the line.

“You SOB. You sold us out.”

The airwaves fuzzed with white noise, sputtered and cleared again.

“Your location has been compromised!”

A shout rose over the line as another man’s voice interrupted Resnick’s warning.

“Resnick! Resnick!” Carson tried to reestablish the connection over the sound of a scuffle taking place three thousand miles away.

“
Kak tvoyo zdorovie sevodn’a!
” Resnick yelled.

Carson grasped the words of the phrase spoken in Russian.

“What does it mean!”

Pop! Pop!

Gunfire exploded on the other end of the connection.

The line went dead in Carson’s hand.

He closed the phone, his heart hammering in his eardrums.

Was Resnick really trying to warn them? Or was it a ruse to draw them out into the open so they could be picked off by Poltergeist and his rogues?

The sound of the bedroom door opening caught him off guard.

Ava stepped into the doorway, visible in the light from the street lamps that filtered through the covered windows of the apartment.

“Is everything okay? I heard shouting.”

He stared at her, caught up in indecision. Maybe he should heed Resnick’s warning and run like hell. But what if he was wrong?

“That was Dr. Resnick in Seattle. He claims this safe house has been compromised.”

Ava moved toward him. He could see worry on
her face. Her brows pulled together as he watched her. “We have to go. If they catch us here—”

“They’re not going to.” He grasped her by the upper arms. “He said something in Russian. Maybe you know what it means.”

“Tell me.”

Carson repeated the Russian phrase, hoping he’d said it correctly.

“How’s your health today?” Ava translated.

Carson felt her sway, but caught her before she collapsed. Moving her to the couch, he sat down next to her.

Worried, he stared into her face.

Ava’s mind was spinning. Something in the words he’d spoken were mining deep in her gray matter, burrowing past and under the walls that blocked her memories. She tried to speak, but her tongue wouldn’t respond.

She closed her eyes. Unfamiliar images flashed in her head, along with snippets of dialogue as memories of the past four months collided in her brain.

Her stomach churned.

She opened her eyes, sat forward and saw Carson for what seemed like the first time. Her heart rate cranked up. She stood. “My memory’s coming back.” She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes.

He came to his feet beside her. “The limo, Ava. Who was in the limo?”

Frustration rippled through her as she worked to force the answer out.

“Take your time. It’ll come.”

She did as he said, feeling calm settle over her agitated senses. “The car came to pick me up. I can see the driver climb out. He’s coming around to open the door for me. I looked up at the bedroom window.” Heat flashed through her as the vivid memory of the first night she’d spent in Carson’s arms blazed in her mind.

“He opened the door, and I climbed in. It’s hard to see…Jerome Hinshaw is there, on the seat next to Dr. Resnick.” Ava’s eyes flew open. She stared at Carson. “Resnick was there. I didn’t know who he was at the time.”

“Who else is in the car?”

Again she closed her eyes, moving through the events of that morning.

Terror, chilling and infinite, skittered along her spine as the identity of the last occupant of the car came into focus.

“Director Glendow…my boss. He killed Jerome Hinshaw when he refused to turn over the microchip without getting his money. He stabbed him to death in the backseat.”

Shocked, Carson digested Ava’s revelation.

Director Glendow was behind Hinshaw’s murder, and he was desperate to recover the lost chip.

Dr. Resnick had blocked the memory of the
murder and implantation from Ava’s mind, but he’d left a back door into her repressed recall, accessible with a Russian phrase known only to him.

“Don’t turn on the lights. Get dressed. Resnick didn’t trust Glendow. If he had he’d never have left a recall phrase in place.”

Carson’s nerves stretched tight as he dressed and gathered his survival gear.

Ava was right next to him as he pulled the curtain aside and stared out at the grounds below shrouded in shadow. It was a limited view, something that put a knot in his gut.

Entering the parking garage would be risky. There was no way to see the enemy coming.

He let the drape go and stepped back. “Put on my extra vest.”

“Okay.” She swallowed and went pale.

“Promise me you won’t take it off until this is over.”

“I promise.”

He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear with his hand and raised her chin, intent on alleviating the fear in her eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” she whispered, brushing her hand against his.

Carson fought an overwhelming desire to kiss her. “We’ve got to move. They’re probably watching, planning to take us the moment we step out of this apartment.” He pulled his pistol out of its holster and
checked his rounds. It would serve them better to elude than to stand and fight. He couldn’t risk running Ava through a hail of bullets.

He looked at his watch. It was almost 3:00 a.m.

“Sit tight.” He watched her slide into a dining-room chair.

Carson laid the gun down and fished in his pack, taking out his minicamera. He walked to the apartment door and went to his knees. Stretching out on the floor, he pulled loose the tiny flap of threshold rubber he’d altered months ago when he’d been given the high-tech gadget.

He turned on the switch at the base of the instrument and pushed the end, no bigger around than a pencil, into the gap in the rubber.

Carson lowered his head and gazed through the minilens connected to a 360-degree fish-eye camera that protruded into the hallway outside the apartment door, giving him a view of the entire area in both directions.

He looked into the viewfinder, scanning for movement outside in the corridor. It was clear, but he couldn’t calm his feeling of foreboding.

Could they risk a run for the car and escape? Or would Glendow’s rogue agents stop them before they could even start? He couldn’t risk their lives on it.

He pulled the instrument out of the hole and shut
it off. Standing, he moved to the table and picked up his pistol.

“Whatever happens, stay here. I’m going to check the stairwell.” He paused. “I’m serious, Ava. Stay here.”

Ava nodded, watching him move to the door. He opened it and poked his head out before disappearing into the hallway.

She stood up, unable to relax as she paced the apartment.

Drawing in a deep breath, she paused, sniffing the acrid scent in the air around her.

Panic seized her as she pulled in another breath laced with the smell of smoke.

The building was on fire.

Ava bolted for the window and pulled back the drape.

A veil of black smoke roiled past the window, coming from the apartment directly underneath Carson’s.

The sound of breaking glass put her on edge. It was followed by the scream of a fire alarm sending its warning to all corners of the complex.

Carson slipped back inside the door and closed it behind him.

“Get ready to run. They’ve torched the second floor.”

He moved to the table, snagged his backpack and put the camera device inside before he zipped it closed. He shoved his pistol into the back of his waistband.

“The hallway is filling up. Let’s go.”

He took her hand as they left the apartment, merging with other residents anxious to escape the smoke now wisping its way up to the third floor.

Over the tops of bobbing heads, Carson kept his eye on the end of the hallway where the stairwell door exited to the floors below.

The door opened, revealing a man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but his casual dress didn’t conceal his identity. Carson had seen him before—in Seattle, outside Resnick’s house, with a knife to Ava’s back.

Carson slowed his pace and allowed the others to filter past them until they were at the back of the mass exodus.

“One of Glendow’s men is guarding the exit. Stay behind me until I give the order to move.”

He released her hand and nudged her in behind him. Picking up his pace, he bellied up to the people in front of him, using them as cover.

He watched the agent glance up, scanning faces as they funneled into the stairwell.

Tension wound around his nerves. He’d have one chance to take the man out without raising the alarm.

Carson closed his right hand into a fist, visualizing his tactical move as the last of the residents filtered into the stairwell in front of him.

The agent looked up.

They made eye contact for an instant.

Carson lunged forward, jammed his left forearm against the agent’s throat and pinned him to the stairwell door.

He shoved the man to the left.

The door he’d been holding open slammed shut.

“Move, Ava!”

In his peripheral vision he saw her lunge for the stairwell door.

The elevator chime sounded. The doors ground open.

Carson glanced up, a guttural yell lodged in his throat.

An agent rushed out of the carriage and grabbed Ava. He locked his arm around her waist and dragged her across the threshold and into the elevator.

Carson raised his fist and punched his captive right between the eyes, dropping him like a rock.

He pulled the gun out of his waistband and rushed forward, leveling the sights on the man’s forehead, but he hesitated.

Ava was too close.

Rage fired inside him.

The elevator doors began to close.

Charging forward, he ignored the man’s raised gun, barely flinching as a silenced double tap slammed into his chest.

In a desperate attempt to save her, he squeezed
through the narrow gap in the doors and crashed into the pair.

The impact sent Ava sprawling, knocking the wind out of her as she clawed her way into the corner of the cubicle.

Carson landed blow after blow on the agent, but he wouldn’t surrender.

Terror coated her insides. She looked down, spotting Carson’s gun on the floor at the same time as she saw the gleam of a knife blade in the opposing agent’s hand.

She rocked forward and grabbed the pistol.

Taking aim, she pulled the trigger once.

A cry of pain pierced her ears.

The agent stumbled back, a gaping wound in his thigh.

Carson punched him, completing the knockdown. Reaching down, he pulled the agent’s gun out of his hand and straightened.

He stared at Ava, sitting in the corner. Stepping over the man, he pulled her to her feet just as the carriage stopped on the garage level.

“I’ve never had to shoot anyone before.” She stared at him, concern in her eyes.

A measure of sympathy moved through him. He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “With any luck you’ll never have to do it again, but you have to remember, it’s kill or be killed by these guys. They
want one thing—you and the chip you’re carrying. They made their choice. Don’t hesitate to make yours if your life is threatened. Trade you. Take this one—you might need it.”

She gave him a resigned nod as he handed her the agent’s pistol and she gave him the 9 mm.

Carson held the doors with his hand, moving Ava in next to him.

He leaned forward, surveying the garage from the safety of the carriage.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the car keys. “You drive. I’ll take shotgun.” She took the keys from him, brushing his skin in the handoff. A jolt of heat sizzled up his arm, but he extinguished it, perplexed by his body’s reaction to even the smallest of her touches.

Determination flooded his body as he refocused his thoughts on the car and escape.

“Stay low. Follow me.”

“Got it.”

Hunched down, Carson bolted out of the elevator, with Ava right behind him.

The parking structure echoed with sirens that covered any other sounds going on around them.

Carson ducked in behind a pickup truck.

In commando fashion, he picked out their next cover and skittered to it.

Ava followed right behind him, her nerves on edge. Cover was great, but they could be picked off any time.
Staring around the back quarter panel of the truck, she spotted the car and squeezed the key in her hand.

Somewhere behind her she heard the sound of footsteps pounding the concrete.

Wheeling toward the sound, she watched as a man took cover behind a car less than fifty feet away. “They’re behind us, Carson!”

Panic filled her, and she clutched the pistol in her hand.

“We’re almost there. I’ll provide cover—you get the car.”

She had to trust him. Had to allow his expertise to dominate the mission. “What about the guy behind us?”

“Leave him to me.” Carson maneuvered Ava in front of him.

“Go-go-go!”

He whirled around just as the agent behind them stepped out from his cover and charged forward.

Taking aim, Carson squeezed off a shot, nailing him in the chest, but the man kept coming.

Firing again, he caught him in the leg. He went down.

Carson bolted for the car right behind Ava.

She jumped in and fired up the engine.

“Let’s get out of here!”

She popped the car into Reverse and zipped backward, braked and put the car into Drive.

A bullet hit the back windshield, shattering the tempered glass into a million pieces. “Drive!” he ordered.

Carson turned in the seat and returned fire as Ava sped through the parking garage and out the exit.

She zigzagged through a smattering of arriving fire trucks and EMS vehicles, and pulled out onto the main drag.

A dark sedan pulled away from the curb shortly after they passed and fell in behind them, keeping its distance.

“We’ve got company. We need to take him out before he can call in reinforcements.”

Ava stepped down on the gas pedal and glanced into the rearview mirror at the headlights less than an eighth of a mile back. Her nerves were in shreds. “You know I got my driver’s licence out of a cereal box.” She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat.

“Can’t take the heat?”

She glared at him for an instant before refocusing on the road in front of her.

“Tell you what. I’ll drive if you want to shoot.”

She hated the sound of that even more. “Where to?”

“The nearest stoplight. Reel him in so I can take him out.”

Fear laced through her as she stared down the road at the intersection coming up. The light was green.

Shifting the transmission into Low, she felt the car jolt before the engine’s rpms came down and the speedometer needle dropped.