Found Wanting (17 page)

The glass in the storm door shattered.

Rachel dropped back with a shriek, and Mitch shoved Alaina into the house and slammed the door behind them.

"What the hell was that?" Rachel demanded.

"Gunshot," Mitch said. "We need to kill the lights."

But Alaina was already hitting the switch near the door. The room went only semi dark as light seeped from a room down the hall. "Get down, Ray," Alaina said.

Rachel, frozen in fear, gawked at her. "Someone shot at us?"

The bay window exploded inward, and Alaina dove for Rachel as glass rained over all three of them. As the women tumbled to the carpet out of harm's way, Mitch dropped to a squat, grabbing the gun from the holster under his arm. With the wall supporting his back, he kept an eye on the front door. "Is there a back way out?"

"Oh shit."

He turned his head to see Rachel leaning over Alaina, who was curled on her side, a hand clutched to her shoulder. Her head was back, the tendons in her neck taut, her lips white. His heart stuttered. "Is she hit?"

Rachel shook her head. "There's no blood."

Pocketing the gun, he crawled to them, keeping his head down. No more shots had been fired, which probably meant the gunman, or men, were trying to find a way into the house. "Is there a room without windows?"

"The bathroom," Rachel said. "Down the hall, second door on the right."

Seizing the gun strapped to his ankle, Mitch shoved it into her trembling hands. "Do you know how to use it?"

Rachel, her breathing labored, her face pale, nodded.

"Shoot anyone who comes through any of these doors," he said, sweeping the room with a hand to indicate the three passages into the living room. "I'm not kidding."

"Who's shooting at us?"

Ignoring the question, he bent and lifted Alaina into his arms. She released a ragged moan and stiffened. "Don't fight me," he growled. To Rachel, he said, "Come with me."

He carried Alaina down the hall and into the bathroom. After lowering her to the floor so that she could lean back against the tub, he faced Rachel. "Lock the door and don't open it for anyone but me. If anyone who isn't the police or the feds kicks in the door, shoot them. Got it?"

Rachel hesitated, her face glistening with perspiration.

Mitch grasped her shoulders. "Rachel, I swear to you, I'm the good guy."

With that, he slammed the door behind him and waited to hear the lock engage. Then, gun in hand, he eased down the hallway toward the living room, praying there was only one gunman.

* * *

Alaina couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The agony slicing through her shoulder told her it was dislocated again, and she had to force herself not to writhe from the pain.

Rachel knelt beside her. "What can I do?"

Alaina tried to school her breathing, tried to think beyond the pain and nausea. "Nothing."

"Who is he, Alex? Is he the good guy?"

Alaina couldn't answer as a dull roar filled her ears, and the bathroom started to gray.

Rachel grasped her cheeks. "Dammit, don't pass out on me. I don't know what the hell I'm dealing with."

The desperation and terror in her friend's voice snapped her back. And Alaina knew she had to tell her friend the truth. She deserved to know what was happening now that she might die because of it. "I kidnapped Jonah," she whispered, her voice ragged. "Fourteen years ago."

Rachel sat back on her heels as if she'd been slapped. "You what?"

A thump outside the bathroom door made them both jerk, and Rachel twisted around, holding the gun with both hands, her back braced against the tub beside Alaina. Running feet pounded down the hall away from the door, followed by silence.

"Jesus," Rachel breathed. "Oh, Jesus. There's more than one."

"I'm sorry," Alaina whispered. "I'm sorry I brought them here."

"Who are they?"

Alaina leaned her head against the porcelain rim behind her, unable to answer as she fought to keep her head above the waves of pain. Black spots did a merry dance in front of her eyes.

"Alex," Rachel said, her tone sharp.

Alaina blinked several times, trying to focus. "My name's not Alex."

Rachel was obviously struggling to absorb it all. "Who's the guy with you? A cop?"

"Detective." She swallowed around the lump in her throat, determined not to be sick. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you --"

A gunshot cut her off. Rachel yanked the gun toward the door.

A minute passed, and nothing outside the door moved. Rachel's hand began to shake. "I can't believe this," she said. "I can't believe people are shooting each other in my house." She pierced Alaina with a furious gaze. "I can't believe my best friend is a kidnapper. Where is Jonah now?"

"I did the best thing for him."

"Where is he? Did you hide him somewhere? Does he even know what you did?"

"I'm his mother," Alaina said, her voice faint.

Rachel didn't appear to hear her. "How could you?" she asked, and tears ran down her cheeks. "That poor kid. He has no idea. How could he love you like he does if he knew?"

"You don't know --"

"You're right. I don't." Rachel pushed to her feet, awkward with the gun in her hand. "I don't know you at all."

At a knock on the door, Rachel whirled, jerking the gun up.

"It's Mitch."

The relief that surged through her surprised Alaina. Battling to stay conscious, she watched Rachel let him in and scanned him up and down for any sign of blood. He appeared unharmed, but his face seemed whiter than usual as he knelt before her, placing a gentle hand on her ankle.

The way he touched her, the way he looked at her seemed different. But the pain apparently had warped her sense of reality.

"How're you doing?" he asked. His voice, his gaze ... both gentle, concerned.

"Think I dislocated my shoulder. Oops." She smiled but didn't know why. She was just very glad to see him in one piece. He was, after all, her only link to Layton, and therefore Jonah.

Mitch pressed two fingers to the inside of her wrist. "Think you can stand up?"

"I'd rather just stay here like this for a minute," she said, and wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. The fuzzy gray around the edges of her vision was encroaching on wider territory.

Rachel eased toward the door. "I heard something. Is someone still here?"

"Feds," Mitch said. "They're securing the area."

"Feds were shooting at us?" Rachel asked, astonished.

"No, the feds were watching the house. The gunman got away."

"Feds were watching my house?"

He didn't respond as he slid his palm, warm and slightly damp, against Alaina's cheek. "Dammit," he said softly, pulling out his cellphone. "Rachel, can you get me a blanket?"

She stepped up behind him, his gun still dangling from her hand. "What is it?"

"She's going into shock."

Turning on her heel, Rachel dashed from the room.

"No, I'm not," Alaina said, and grasped his sleeve when the bathroom started to whirl.

Mitch gave her a tolerant smile. "Yes, you are." He pressed 9-1-1 with his thumb.

"Who are you calling?"

"Ambulance."

She stiffened, and instantly regretted it as fresh pain sliced through her. In spite of it, she swiped at his phone hand. "No, we'll miss our flight."

Mitch edged back. "You're not getting on a plane with a dislocated shoulder."

"You can fix it."

"Like hell. You need a doctor."

She grabbed at his arm as he raised the phone to his ear. "No, dammit."

He gently disengaged her grip as the floor tilted under her. She braced a hand on it, the gray sliding smoothly toward black. She only dimly heard Mitch saying Rachel's address as she clung desperately to consciousness.

No! She screamed it inside her head. I need to go to Jonah now.

That was her last thought.

* * *

When she slumped over, Mitch's heart started to jackhammer. He fumbled for the pulse in her wrist and couldn't find it. He located it in her throat -- fast and erratic -- just as Rachel appeared in the doorway. "Oh my God," Rachel said. "Is she --"

"She fainted," he said, getting up. Pocketing his phone, he swung Alaina up in his arms, careful of her shoulder. She was dead weight, her head lolling back over his arm. "Bedroom?"

Rachel pointed down the hall, then followed him. "What can I do?" she asked.

He put Alaina on the bed, then took the blanket from Rachel and spread it over her. "Let the paramedics in," he said.

Sirens sounded in the distance as Rachel hurried away and Mitch slid pillows under Alaina's feet to elevate them. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he grasped her limp hand in his. It was cold, and he pressed it between his palms, trying to warm it. Unconscious, she looked achingly vulnerable, and his stomach gave an ominous flutter.

"You keep surprising me," he whispered.

Chapter 15

In the ER waiting room, Rachel paced while Mitch sat stiffly in a chair, checking his watch every three seconds. An hour had passed since the ambulance had brought Alaina in. The nurse at the front desk had said someone would come talk to them as soon as she had been stabilized. How long could it take to fix a dislocated shoulder, for God's sake?

In the meantime, he puzzled over why the feds had yet to grill him or Rachel about what had happened at her home. Two federal agents, he'd nicknamed them Itchy and Scratchy, hovered around the ER exit, apparently keeping watch on him and Rachel, lest they decide to make a run for it. They were obvious rookies, young and inexperienced, assigned merely to observe, then call in the big guns when something actually needed to be done.

Mitch got the sense they were waiting for someone, a supervisor probably.

Rachel stopped in front of him, hands on her hips. "I didn't catch your name earlier."

He looked up at her. She was more beautiful up close than she'd been from a distance, even with no makeup, messy blond hair and blue eyes dark with fury. He couldn't blame her for being angry. Her home had been invaded, her personal space and sense of security violated. "Mitch Kane," he said. "I'm a private detective."

"Do you know why feds were watching my house?"