Miranda Vaughn Mystery 01.00 - Chasing the Dollar (22 page)

He looked back and nodded at me to join him. I hurried to the side of the Jeep as Jake opened the passenger door. I was half in the Jeep when I heard the crack of a shot. Jake
's body slammed me into the vehicle. I turned as best I could, pinned against the seat by Jake.

"
Stay down," he said.

Over his shoulder, I saw Dylan standing at the corner of the building, raising his arm to fire again.

"No!" I shouted, trying to push Jake down, get him out of the path of the bullet, and somehow get him to safety.

We hit the gravel and rolled under the Jeep, Jake
's arms tight around me.

"
Miranda!"

Dylan
's voice filtered through my damaged eardrums. Jake urged me away from that voice, and we crawled out on the other side of the Jeep, staying low.

"
You're going to have to drive," Jake hissed.

He held his hand over his left shoulder, and I could see the blood seeping through his fingers. I nodded, unable to speak.

"Keys are in the ignition," he said.

He grasped the door handle and tugged, opening the driver-side door. He crawled in, staying low, and I followed. The Jeep was riddled with bullets, but the engine started right up.

I looked to my right and saw Dylan break into a run toward us. I threw the Jeep into gear, spun the wheel, and accelerated forward, spraying gravel in Dylan's direction. The Jeep fishtailed through the parking lot, the passenger door flying open before Jake grabbed it and slammed it shut. When he released his injured shoulder, I could see the red stain spreading across his chest.

"
Oh my God," I managed to get out before I was forced to focus on aiming the Jeep at the only opening in the fence—a narrow gap in the chain-link fence that looked like it was blown out, the edges ragged and torn as if it were made of silk.

Our exit from the compound was greeted by a hail of bullets, but I pressed the accelerator into the floor and said a quick prayer as the Jeep sailed through the fence, over a shallow ditch and bounced sideways into the field. The car skidded across rutted ground, not staying on any road, and each contact with the ground jarred my body and pushed shards of glass into my skin. I corrected and aimed for the main road in the distance.

I looked away from the road to see how Jake was doing. His jaw was tight, and he was again holding his left shoulder with his right hand. The Jeep's tires hit the pavement, and the road smoothed out. I swerved to pass a slow-moving pickup truck and brushed my hair out of my face.

"
Are you okay?"

"
I'll be fine," Jake said, but winced when the Jeep hit a pothole. "Head to the airport."

The scenery sped by, none of it familiar.
"I don't know where the airport is. I don't know where we are!"

He pulled the map from the console and unfolded it awkwardly with his left hand, keeping his right hand over the wound in his shoulder.
"Stay on this road until we hit the highway, then head north."

I checked the rearview mirror, but didn
't see anyone behind us with guns blazing.

"
Is my phone still here?" Jake asked. His voice sounded fainter, and I rummaged in the center console until I found the device.

"
Look for recent numbers, Matt's office is on the list," he said.

I was still speeding through the outskirts of
Belize City, but traffic was lighter, so I glanced down and found the number, hitting the call button as soon as I saw Matt's name.

"
Tell him what happened. Tell him to get a plane to the airport now." Jake's voice was softer and his jaw was set. He closed his eyes and leaned back, still gripping his shoulder.

"
Jake!" I yelled, juggling the phone and the steering wheel.

He opened his eyes and gave me a slight grin.
"It's okay. Just get us to the airport."

Matt answered, and I just started unloading information on him.

"There was an explosion at the consulate. Dylan shot Jake. We need a plane now."

"
Jesus! Is Jake all right?"

"
No! He's been shot. He's bleeding. It's his shoulder."

"
Okay, okay. The plane's in the air. It will be at the airport in thirty minutes. Can you make that?"

"
I think so."

"
I can call my friend at the embassy for help—hell, I don't know if I can reach him if there was a blast there. Did you see if Chris Jenkins is alive?"

I nearly swerved off the road at the mention of Jenkins
's name. "He just tried to kill us, Matt!"

"
What?" Matt's voice betrayed his suspicions of me.

"
Chris Jenkins is working with Dylan Holland. They're moving the money for Patterson."

There was a long pause, and I exhaled. I didn
't know how to make him believe me.

"
Give me the phone," Jake said, raising his left hand. I put the phone in his hand and gauged the size of the bloodstain on his shirt. There was so much blood. So much more blood than when Dylan stabbed him in the leg yesterday.

"
Matt, it's Jake. Jenkins is dirty. He's working with Dylan Holland."

There was another pause.

"If Jenkins helped arrange the rendezvous at the airport, we can't go there."

He handed the phone back to me as I was negotiating a gentle turn in the road. I put the phone between my ear and shoulder and listened to Matt sputtering.
"—If you can't go to the airport, how are you going to get home? Just go to the airport!"

I grabbed the map from Jake
's lap and unfolded it, looking for the symbols I'd seen earlier.

"
Matt, who arranged for the plane?"

"
I did."

He said the words with emphasis, and I had to make a decision.

"Okay. We'll be there in thirty minutes."

I disconnected the phone before he could argue with me and gunned the Jeep, cutting off two other cars to take the exit north of the city, and speeding past the exit that led to the Belize City International Airport. I fumbled with Jake
's cell phone while trying to keep the Jeep on the road, managing to punch in the familiar number into the keypad.

"
Sarah Girard."

The breath left my lungs at the sound of her voice. If there was anyone in my small circle of friends who could pull off the impossible task I was requesting, it was Sarah. She also wouldn
't ask any unnecessary questions. For now.

"
Thank God. I need your help."

"
Miranda?"

"
I need a plane from San Pedro airport, Belize. To the nearest U.S. city with a hospital."

"
What?"

It appeared I had stunned even the unflappable Sarah with this request.

"It's a long story. I promise to explain later. Can you do it?"

"
You know I can."

"
Use this credit card," I said, fumbling with my small purse, then read her the numbers. "We'll be there as soon as we can. Call me back on this number if there are problems."

"
Who's flying?"

"
Me and Jake Barnes."

"
FBI Special Agent Jake Barnes?"

"
It's a long story."

I heard faint clicking on a keyboard as Sarah got to work.
"And you'll be telling me every detail," she muttered.

I said a quick goodbye, disconnected the call, yanked the wheel to the right and pulled into a familiar gravel driveway—the marina where Dylan had chased us yesterday. I drove as close to the docks as I could get, driving onto the lawn to park the Jeep in the shade beneath a small copse of trees.

"Are you going to be okay if I leave you for five minutes?" I asked Jake. He nodded and exhaled. His face was pale, and his skin looked clammy.

"
I'm fine," he said, but his eyes were closed, and his breathing was labored. "What's the plan?"

He turned his head and opened his eyes, and my chest constricted at the pain etched on his face.

"We can't trust Matt. I know he's a friend of yours, but he knew what happened at the marina before we talked to him this morning. I think he's connected to all this."

Jake closed he eyes and exhaled slowly.
"Okay."

My heart hammered in my chest.
Was I making the right decision? What if I was wrong, and Matt was our best hope of getting Jake to a hospital quickly?

"
You going to sit there, or are you going to get us a boat?" he asked.

His faith in me spurred me on, but his voice, fainter and slower, alarmed me.
"I'll be right back."

I jumped out of the Jeep and looked in both directions, my eyes settling on a target—a fishing boat with two men standing on the deck. I ran toward them, my heart pounding.

"¡
Ayúdame
!"

Their heads snapped, and one man, the younger of the two, took a step forward as I approached.

"San Pedro? The airport? Can you get me there?"

The two men looked at each other, confusion crossing their faces.

"I can pay you." I reached into the purse at my hip and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills that I'd withdrawn at the bank. "I have to get to the airport at San Pedro. Can you do it?"

They looked at me, at the money in my hands, then at each other. The older man nodded, and the younger one turned to me.

"How long will it take?"

"
About ninety minutes," he said, a faint trace of an accent in his voice.

"
Can you make it faster?"

"
Maybe a little more than an hour," he said.

"
Great, I'll be right back." I stuffed the bills into my purse and ran back up the pier to the parking lot.

Jake was pale, his breathing shallow, and his skin damp when I returned. I started the Jeep and drove a dozen yards, parking it behind a large hedge that shielded the parking lot from the marina. I left the keys in the center console, making a mental note to square up with Klaus and Gerta once I was back in the
U.S.

I helped Jake out of the Jeep and grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat. He leaned heavily on me as we made our way back to the boat.

"Miranda," he said, his voice in my ear. He was practically draped over me as we negotiated the ramp.

"
Don't try to talk—it's okay. We're going to get out of Belize City, get home. We just have to get to the San Pedro airport."

"
When I said…" His voice trailed, and my heart stopped as he took a breath, then continued. "When I said that I thought you were up to something…"

My eyes stung.
"Jake, please, don't."

"
No, I want you to know…"

"
Jake, don't talk, please."

The drone of a helicopter overhead drew my attention overhead, and I saw the aircraft heading south, following the highway we
'd just been on. I pulled Jake into the shadow of a large yacht tied off on the dock. It wasn't much cover, but I hoped that it was enough for the helicopter to continue searching the roads and not the water.

Jake
's grip around my body tightened. "Miranda, I don't think that anymore. I trust you."

The air left my lungs in a rush. I wasn
't sure I deserved that trust. "Oh."

We walked forward, and the two men waiting at the end of the pier at the fishing boat leapt forward to help me get Jake onto the boat. They looked around in each direction and then pulled me onto the boat quickly.

"Get down," the young man said. "Over here."

He helped me get Jake to the front of the boat and lower him to the deck.

"What kind of trouble are you in?" he asked.

I gave him a shake of my head.
"Better you not know."

He nodded.
"Raphael," he said, extending his hand.

I shook it.
"Miranda."

"
My father and I, we'll get you to the airport in San Pedro. Just stay out of sight here."

I tried to give him a smile. He handed me a bottle of water, ran back, and cast off the ropes fastening the boat to the dock.

I knelt next to Jake, running a hand along his face. In the mid-day temperatures, he was cold. I sat next to him, and he moaned, falling over into my lap. I pulled the duffel bag closer and unzipped it, finding the first-aid kit and a clean T-shirt.

The boat pulled away from the dock, and the warm breeze caressed my face and ruffled Jake
's hair. As we motored out of the harbor, I tore his blood-soaked T-shirt away from his body and splashed some water on his flesh to see how much damage the bullet had done. It was impossible to clean away all the blood, so I pressed a clean shirt to his wound and hoped that he could hold out until we reached the airport.

I looked back toward the harbor and saw two helicopters now hovering over the coast. I swallowed hard and tightened my grip on Jake. As long as the helicopters kept searching the roads, we
'd be okay. I kept them in my sights as long as I could, until the boat shifted course and headed for open water.