Double Impact: Never Say Die\No Way Back (24 page)

Debra Webb

 

 

First, I would like to thank Harlequin Books and my editor, Denise O'Sullivan, for affording me the opportunity to bring my stories to life. I would also like to convey a very special thanks to you the reader. Thank you for reading my stories…for taking this journey with me. Finally, this book is dedicated to the one and only Fran Woodard, a lovely lady, a compassionate human being, a true champion of the written word and one heck of a secret agent—the latter, of course, is only in my very vivid imagination.

P
ARIS
…it never changed.

He watched from the third-story window of the shop he had seized in the middle of the day along boulevard Saint-Michel. Outside, pigeons fluttered and squawked. Nearby, a waiter moved between the tables of a crowded open-air café. Natives and tourists alike chatted over drinks, never suspecting or caring what nasty business was taking place only a few meters away. He studied each face before moving on. To this day he could not stop himself from looking for
her.

He shook his head. It had been two long years. She was gone. And even if she were here, her fate would be like that of the traitors bound and gagged downstairs. He turned his attention back to the sidewalk below and the pedestrians strolling along completely oblivious to anything other than the beauty of the day…of the place.

But here, where he was, there was no beauty…no good. Only the evil that men could do.

He closed his eyes and blocked the images that haunted him day and night. When would this nightmare end?

“Pardon,”
came from the door behind him.
“Nous sommes prêts.”

He opened his eyes. His men were ready, but he needed another moment.
“Dans un moment.”
A vague smile tugged at his lips. He had trained them well. Without thought, they spoke the language of those around them. In
Paris they were Parisians, speaking the language as well as the natives.

As the messenger returned downstairs to those waiting patiently, their leader braced himself for the inevitable. It was time. He could not wait any longer. There would be no last-minute salvation. His orders stood.

Mentally preparing himself for the next step, he left the room. His footfalls echoed in the expectant silence as he descended the three flights of stairs. Supplications for forgiveness would be pointless. So he didn't bother. Whatever awaited him at the end of this existence would not be pleasant. His crimes were far too great. But, unfortunately, necessary.

“What do we do with them?” One of his men, Carlos, gestured to the four bound men lying on the floor in the middle of the
boulangerie.
The scent of freshly baked bread did little to mask the smell of fear, of death looming.

As he, their respected leader, the one who must show no weakness, moved down the final step, he glanced at the frightened faces of those anxiously awaiting his decree. He turned his attention back to Carlos. There was no room for hesitation or remorse. “Kill them.”

“B
LOOD PRESSURE
?”
Dr. Roland yelled above the organized chaos of the trauma room.

“One hundred over sixty-five,” Ami Donovan, R.N., reported. “Pulse is seventy and thready.”

“Where the hell is Mason?” Roland demanded.

“Dr. Mason's on his way,” Jane, another R.N. on duty, told him as she shoved the X rays onto the viewing box.

Frowning, Roland took a moment to scan the views. “Let's get this guy typed and crossed,” he barked, his attention refocusing on the patient and the two leaking wounds where the bullets had entered the upper left area of his chest.

“Doing that as we speak,” Lonnie, the lab tech, advised as warm, red blood filled the tube in his hand.

“Seventy over fifty,” Ami cut in, her own blood pressure rising with a new surge of anxiety. Internal bleeding was taking its toll on their patient.

“Get that second IV in now! Sixteen-gauge,” Roland ordered. “Let's get this guy's pressure back up.”

Ami dabbed Betadine on the inside of the patient's arm and positioned the needle for insertion. The patient, Natan Olment, was a foreign VIP of some sort. Whoever he was, they'd had a hell of a time clearing his security detail from the trauma room. Only one of the bodyguards had spoken some English. From what she'd discerned of the broken
conversation as they'd wheeled Mr. Olment into the ER, he'd apparently been a victim of an assassination attempt.

The patient jerked at the needle prick. Ami quickly taped the second intravenous catheter into place, then adjusted the flow of the tube. Mr. Olment stared up at her now, his eyes wide above the hissing oxygen mask, his breath coming in short, desperate puffs.

“It's all right, sir,” she felt compelled to assure him. “We're going to take very good care of you.”

The doors suddenly burst open behind her and Dr. Mason, the thoracic surgeon on call, breezed into the room. “Bring me up to speed!” he snapped.

“Two gunshot wounds to the chest. The X rays indicate—”

Roland's assessment was abruptly halted by the patient's sudden scramble to get up and off the gurney. He grabbed at Ami, his left hand waving frantically for purchase.

Startled into action, she restrained his flailing arm, preventing him from reaching his target. He screamed something at her, his words muffled behind the oxygen mask. He elbowed Ami away with his right arm, almost tearing loose the IV tubes. Jane, Lonnie and Dr. Roland forced the man back down onto the gurney.

Olment tugged free of Lonnie's hold, his desperate, muffled shouts clearly directed at Ami, his horrified gaze fixated on her. The whole team looked at her then, confusion claiming their faces. Rattled, she pulled back a step, her presence obviously somehow threatening to the man.

When Olment was fully restrained in a four-point hold, they all took a breath, including Ami.

“Get that blood to the lab,” Roland ordered, his tone weary. “This guy must be on something,” he added under his breath.

Ami carefully moved back into position and checked the
IV connections, then the man's blood pressure. One-ten over eighty. Well, at least, his numbers were up. His dark gaze, wild with unreadable emotion, never left her, trekked her every move. She resisted the urge to look directly into those accusing depths. Whatever this guy's problem, it had nothing to do with her. And right now she had a job to do…helping to save his life.

“Let's get him to the OR,” Dr. Mason announced, sending the team into another practiced routine of organized chaos.

 

A
MI PULLED
her navy sweater and purse from her locker and slammed the door. God, she was glad her shift was over. The ER had stayed unusually busy this afternoon, forcing a hectic pace for every staff member on duty. There must be something in the air today, she mused. Then again, tonight there would be a full moon. All the weirdos were likely warming up. Some sort of subconscious urging prompting them to drive recklessly, take nosedives out of buildings, and shoot at people they would at any other time consider friends.

She pulled the scrunchie from her hair, allowing the forever-unruly locks to fall around her shoulders. Just one more day of duty and she'd have a full four days off. Ami smiled. Four days with her little boy. And maybe some quality time with Robert. She felt as if she had drifted further from him the past few months. It was time she did something about it. He was too good to her and her son for her to continue to neglect him this way. It was time she got her act together and put the past behind her once and for all.

“That was some wild shit in the ER today, huh, Ami?”

She glanced up at Lonnie, the lab tech who'd been on
duty with her. “Yeah,” she agreed. “A little too wild for my liking.”

He pulled his gym bag from his locker and dropped it onto the bench that flanked the row of gray metal storage units. Lonnie worked out every single day and it showed in his lean, athletic physique. She should start working out again. She'd really let herself go since becoming a member of the mommy brigade. But there was just never enough time.

“Tonight's a full moon, you know,” he said almost as an afterthought. “The crazies must've decided to come out early.”

Ami nodded. “I'm glad I'm not on duty tonight.”

“That makes two of us.” Lonnie suddenly stalled, one hand on his locker door, the other on the handle of his gym bag. “That sheikh guy was a trip, wasn't he?”

Despite her exhaustion, she had to laugh. “He's not a sheikh. According to Jane, he's some sort of aide to the Israeli prime minister.”

Lonnie closed his locker door and shrugged. “Whatever. He damn sure freaked out.” A grin slid across the tech's freckled face.

When he smiled like that, he reminded Ami of Opie from the old
Andy Griffith Show.
Though she couldn't imagine Opie spouting the kind of language Lonnie was known to use.

“What'd you do to him, anyway?” he teased.

Ami rolled her eyes and heaved an impatient sigh. She'd been asked that question at least a dozen times today. “I didn't do anything to him. He probably forgot his lithium this morning.” She pulled on her sweater. “Or maybe he had too much of something else.”

“Actually,” Lonnie began, his face suddenly serious. “He was clean.” He shook his head from side to side as
if he couldn't believe it himself. “No scripts, no street candy. Nothing.”

A chill sank clear to her bones. “Oh.” It was all she could think to say. The patient had been drug-free…no reason why he hadn't been lucid. No reasonable explanation for him to go postal. No reason for him to look at Ami the way he had. The uneasiness she'd barely kept at bay all day reared its ugly head. She told herself it was the combination of pain and fear, but why turn it all against her in particular? There had been several others present. Why her?

“See ya tomorrow.” Lonnie hefted his gym bag and gave her a little salute. “We've got the same shift again.”

Doing her level best to ignore the uneasiness, she waved him off. She liked Lonnie. He was good at his job and he could always be counted on for a laugh. She was glad he would be here tomorrow. If it turned out anything like today, they would need some comic relief.

Ami left the locker room and headed back to the ER. That was the most direct route to the parking garage. She was too tired to take the long way around. “Have fun,” she offered to Jane as she passed her in the corridor.

“I will when I get my paycheck,” her friend returned smugly.

Jane was working half a shift over since another nurse had called in sick. Ami was enormously thankful Dr. Roland hadn't asked her to stay. She just wanted to go home. But Jane had her reasons for putting her mind and body through twelve hours of ER abuse. As a single parent, extra money was always handy.

Ami's footsteps echoed in the deserted stairwell as she descended to the basement level. She trudged across the quiet parking garage, trying without success to not think about Mr. Olment and his strange reaction to her. Her busy
shift had kept the disturbing thoughts away, but now, as silence closed in around her, the incident nagged at her again. It didn't mean anything, she reminded herself. She would talk to Robert tonight. He was a psychiatrist, a damn good one at that. He would be able to explain away the episode. He always had an explanation for everything.

Ami climbed into her Volvo wagon and drove across town more or less on autopilot. She turned right onto Piedmont Street and slowed at the gate to allow the security guard to identify her. He motioned for her to continue and she entered the quiet neighborhood she'd called home for the past year. A sense of relief and contentment instantly started to melt away the day's tension.

The first time Robert had brought her here and showed her the new, exclusive, high-security housing development she'd fallen in love. The homes and their small yards were stunningly picturesque. The well-planned, gated community had all the amenities one would expect in a ritzy neighborhood that catered to Chicago's young professionals. But it was the security she'd loved most. With a new baby, safety was number one on her priority list, as well as Robert's.

She parked in her drive, next to Mrs. Perry's Taurus, powered the window down and just sat for a while, absorbing the feeling of home. Leaves, tinged with the first hues of fall, danced across the well-manicured lawn. It was only September, but most yards, including her own, were decorated for Halloween. Pumpkins, scarecrows and the usual cornstalks and hay bales embellished the small plots of dormant grass. A few painted wood ghosts, witches and black cats were scattered around, some bordered by freshly planted mums and pansies.

Warmth welled inside her, chasing away the lingering coldness of an ER shift. This was a wonderful neighbor
hood. They were so lucky to live here. Nicholas would have lots of friends to play with when he was older. Next door, the Petreys' little boy, who'd had his first birthday last month, would go to preschool with Nicholas. Ami was glad for that. The Petreys were nice people; the father, a doctor like Robert, the mother, a schoolteacher. The perfect family. Ami surveyed the houses on her right, then her left for as far as she could see. They were all perfect families, living in a perfect neighborhood.

That reality sent a new chill racing up her spine, where it camped at the base of her skull, a precursor to the dread now filling her. Everything was perfect…except her. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be. Her past was a big black hole that left her permanently flawed. The image of Natan Olment imposed itself amid her depressing thoughts.

“Stop obsessing, Ami,” she scolded as she got out of the car and started up the walk. “This day is over, you're home, put it behind you.”

She slipped her key into the door, unlocked it and stepped inside. “Hello,” she called. “I'm home.”
At last,
she thought with a sigh.

Ami could hear Nicholas squealing with delight even before Mrs. Perry rounded the corner into the entry hall, sixteen-month-old Nicholas toddling along beside her, his arms outstretched for his mommy. Ami didn't feel whole until he was in her arms. She hugged him as tightly as she dared and inhaled the sweet baby scents of lotion and powder.

“He's had his dinner and his bath,” Mrs. Perry reported as she did every day she cared for Nicholas. “I hope you had a nice day, Miss Donovan.”

Ami kept her pleasant smile in place in spite of a jab of irritation. She preferred to give Nicholas his bath. She'd
told Mrs. Perry that time and again, to no avail. “It was fine, Mrs. Perry. And how were things here?”

“Oh, we had a marvelous day.”

The woman literally beamed, the sincerity of it banishing Ami's irritation. How could she be angry with a woman who took such joy in caring for Nicholas? She and Robert were very fortunate to have found her. Most of the children on this street went to day-care centers—good ones, but centers nonetheless. Nicholas received one-on-one care from the grandmotherly type. A friend of Robert's whose child had just entered elementary school had highly recommended her. Her other references had been impeccable, as well. She was
perfect.

“We took a stroll in the park,” Mrs. Perry continued. “We watched
Sesame Street,
then read Dr. Seuss until nap time.”

Ami adopted a wowed expression for her son. “My, my, young man.” She kissed his chubby cheek. “It sounds like you've had a full day. Do you have any fun left in you for Mommy?” His answering gurgle and chorus of
da-da
warmed her heart.

“I'll see you tomorrow then.” Mrs. Perry gathered her purse and all-weather jacket from the hall closet. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Donovan.”

“You, too. Thank you, Mrs. Perry.”

Ami waited until the older woman had settled into her car before she closed the door. She smiled at Nicholas who was engrossed with the ID badge pinned to her nurse's smock. “How about another bath?”

Nicholas's dark eyes brightened at the prospect. He grinned, a wide, gap-toothed gesture, then babbled
da-da
again.

“Want to play in the water?” His eager bounce in her arms was all the encouragement she needed. “We just
won't tell, Mrs. Perry,” Ami whispered. “It'll be our secret. And while we're at it, let's practice
ma-ma.
”

 

L
ATER
, Ami stood next to Nicholas's crib and watched him sleep. She glanced at the Winnie the Pooh clock. Seven already and Robert still wasn't home. He'd probably had a last-minute consultation that ran longer than he expected, or maybe an emergency at the hospital. Psychiatric patients were even more prone to full moon dementia, she supposed.

Her attention refocused on her sleeping child. She trailed a finger over one silky, rose-colored cheek. Her heart squeezed. She loved him so much. He was the only part of the real her. The one she couldn't remember. Ami studied his features for a time. The thick, dark hair. The long, almost feminine lashes splayed against his olive skin. Those equally dark eyes, which were almost black.