Shatter (38 page)

“What are you doing?” Her mind and body finally caught up with the situation and panic flashed through her. “You can’t give him everything. You
need
that. Get the hell back to that house,
right now
.”

Mitch pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms. The sheer perfection of it—his strength, his scent, his fit—shook her determination. She wanted . . . with everything she was, everything she would ever be . . . to stay with him.

Dammit, that
wasn’t
a lot to ask.

“You’ll never have to worry about Schaeffer catching up with you,” Mitch yelled. “And he will. You know he will.” Mitch slid a hand up to her head and pulled it against his chest. Halina let herself go and leaned into him. “I’ll give you everything. I only want to walk away from here with my family—including Beloi.”

Between them, a circular spiral of heat built until she felt as if her skin was burning. She pulled back and looked down at the bright red circle on Mitch’s chest. Lifted her hand to the area on her own chest that burned and felt the disk on the end of the leather cord beneath her fingers.

“Better tell me now, Abernathy,” Mitch continued, his gaze squinting into the light. “With this wind picking up, before long your sweet evidence is going to be blown into the Potom—”

A feral growl sounded in the distance followed by several ferocious barks.

“What the—?” Abernathy’s voice drifted to her ears, far less frightening without his loudspeaker, far less menacing with fear raising his pitch.

But the sound of the barks spiked the hair on the back of Halina’s neck, and she pushed away from Mitch, whipping her head in that direction. The light slammed her eyes and she recoiled with her arm up. “Dex?”

She turned on Mitch for a split second, but didn’t even need to ask the question when Abernathy’s screams crawled over her flesh and curdled her blood. “Oh my God.”

She took off running, straight into the light, dragging Mitch with her. “Dex!”

She passed the floodlight and everything went dark. Her vision took a moment to adjust, and in that moment, without her sight, all her other senses were heightened—the feral growl in Dex’s throat, every heavy breath, grunt, and scream of pain from Abernathy’s mouth, the rustle of brush as they struggled.

The burn against her chest grew so strong, she could barely keep her attention focused elsewhere and the disk glowed bright orange-white, creating its own light.

“There,” Mitch said beside her. He pointed to the rustle of bushes.

Dex was almost at her feet when his yelp pierced the air. The sound cut through Halina’s chest and she lunged into the brush.

“Don’t move or he’s dead.”

Abernathy’s voice was raspy, edgy, cut with pain. He lay on the ground with Dex in a chokehold, where he continued to writhe and growl and reach for Abernathy with his teeth.

“Call. Him. Off,” Abernathy ordered, low and fierce, “or I’ll shoot him right now.”

Halina opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Terror hazed her mind. Everything sharp as crystal just a second ago now melted into one big watercolor. She couldn’t think.

“
Tikhiy . . .
Dex.” Mitch spoke behind her, breathless.
“Tikhiy.”

Dex stilled and in the light shining from the disk, Halina could see him struggling to breathe. Could see his coat matted with something she was sure was blood. Rage ignited deep within her. A rage gathered from all the injustices and pain and loss. Emotions sizzled toward her center, channeled into the disk at her throat, and exited in one huge burst of energy, slamming Abernathy in the chest and throwing him to the ground.

The eruption blasted Halina backward several feet and into Mitch’s arms. Abernathy lay on the dirt, his screams shattering the night as jagged lines of current flashed the length of his body and lit him up from the inside out.

“Holy shit,” Mitch whispered. “Remind me not to make you mad while you’re wearing that thing.”

The whine at her feet drew her gaze. She crouched and wrapped her arms around Dex just as he collapsed against her.

“Oh, no. Mitch . . .”

“Right here.” His hands closed on her shoulders.

Relief washed in for barely a split second before the urgency flowed again. “Help me with—”

“I’ll help you.”

The new voice cut through the night. Deep, cool, very male. Halina gasped and froze, searching for the threat, but the newcomer was nothing more than another silhouette standing on the other side of Abernathy. The energy flashing through the major’s body had died out. He now rolled and groaned on the ground, emitting the horrid stench of burned human flesh.

“Or,” the stranger said, “I guess I’ll help him, which will be helping you too.”

Mitch grabbed Halina’s waist and pulled her back. A double pop rang out. The flashes from the muzzle of the stranger’s weapon lit up the night for those two partial seconds. Illuminating the aim of the weapon and the jerk of Abernathy’s body like a strobe.

Mitch hauled Halina around behind him. She could only sway like a lifeless doll, limp in shock.

“Courtesy of Senator Schaeffer,” the man muttered.

He might have said more, but the sound of Mitch’s rough breathing, the rush of blood rising like a tide in her ears, drowned out everything else.

We’re next. We’re next.
It was all that filled her mind. That and her self-defense training.

She had no idea what propelled her forward. Didn’t remember the transition from leaning against Mitch to lunging toward the gunman, only registered the reality of what she was doing after it was too late to turn back. She was in midair, sailing toward him, arms outstretched and her mind fully engaged for a battle to the death.

She hit his chest and her body crumpled against the mass of muscle like an accordion. The ground came fast, faster than it did in the light, as if it had risen to slam into her. She was completely disoriented, turned around. Couldn’t see anything. Which meant he couldn’t see her either—she hoped.

She groped, found an ankle, then the other. She twisted and kicked up with all she had. Her heel connected at a skewed angle with his balls, not a direct hit, but he grunted and stumbled. She readjusted, kicked again. And again. And again.

Time seemed suspended, insignificant as she kicked, hit, punched beyond the burn, beyond the fear, beyond the hopelessness. Surrounded by the night, the stench of burning flesh and gunpowder, terror stretched time thin.

 

S
omeone was yelling her name. Maybe more than one. Maybe it was just an echo. There seemed to be a lot of echoes. And they bled into her consciousness as her energy waned.

“I said
freeze
.” The angry voice commanded from so close he could have been on top of her. Halina’s fist connected with some muscled part of the gunman and she let it drop away, went still, breathing hard, searching for bearings.

Lights floated in the dark like giant fireflies. And voices closed in.

“Mitch!” She yelled for him, turned her head to search for his shadow.

Arms closed around her and she stiffened, then his scent, his feel hit her and she sagged into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding on tight.

“Are you okay?” She fought to breathe. “Are . . . are you hurt?”

“She doesn’t listen very well.” A thick flashlight beam shone on the ground at their feet, illuminating dark boots and pants. Her gaze jumped to the speaker’s face, but fell back to the white lettering across his chest: FBI. “What part of
freeze
or
FBI
didn’t you understand?”

“Lay off,” Mitch rasped alongside her head, holding her so tight she had a hard time drawing air. “She was in the middle of doing your fucking job for you, asshole.”

She glanced around and the terror-filled haze faded to reveal a gaggle of what appeared to be law enforcement, some cuffing the gunman, others forming a semicircle, gazing down at Abernathy.

A wave of dizziness hit Halina hard. Her stomach pushed toward her throat. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the muscle of Mitch’s chest. Breathed him in.

It helped.

“What’s happening?” she asked against his skin. “What is this?”

“She okay?” another male voice asked behind her, this one far more concerned. Much warmer.

“What do you think?” Mitch snapped. “What about a fucking phone call, dude? For someone who’s supposed to be an Army stud, you suck at communication.”

“Can you answer my question, Foster? Does she need medical attention or not?”

Halina tried to lift her head, but it was too heavy. She rolled her head against his shoulder instead and peered out from behind crazy strands of hair, blowing in an icy wind. A familiar, handsome face reflected in the light.

“Owen,” she breathed.

The concern etching his face eased and he smiled. “Beloi,” he said in greeting. “Not a great way to meet up again.”

She let out the first real breath of relief. Another person clad in FBI gear walked up. “For a little thing, she causes a lot of trouble.”

The female voice startled Halina and she lifted her head. The woman was about Halina’s age, dark hair, dark eyes and beautiful.

Owen laughed. “Look who’s talking. I seem to remember you causing your share of trouble, Seville.”

Halina didn’t need to be in her right mind to see the look that passed between the two. She felt the same way about the man still holding her tight, stroking her hair.

She gasped and moved her head too fast. It spun and she pressed her hand to her forehead. “Dex. Where’s Dex?”

“He’s in the guest house with the others,” the woman said. “One of the medics grew up on a farm and is a pre-vet student. He’s looking after him. Says he’ll be okay.”

“The others?” She turned toward the house. “Is everyone okay?”

“Fine,” Mitch said, kissing her head. “Everyone’s fine.”

Halina deflated once again, her body going soft against Mitch’s.

“Let’s head that direction,” the female agent, Seville, Owen had called her, said. “We’ve got a lot of questions.”

“So do we,” Mitch countered. “You’ve got your share of explaining to do.”

“Oh, that’s right.” The woman’s voice dripped with sarcasm and she sighed, then glanced at Owen. “He’s a lawyer.”

“And you’ll never forget it,” Owen muttered. “I need a minute with this lawyer. Can I bring him to you in a bit?”

“Of course.”

When Seville started off toward the house, Owen faced Mitch with one of those looks, the kind that doctors give the family of someone just out of surgery when there’s bad news.

Halina’s stomach burned. She tightened her arms around Mitch.

“She just said everyone’s fine,” Mitch said, his voice tight, serious, obviously reading Owen’s expression the way Halina had. “Is everyone okay or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, this is about something else.”

“Well you look damn uncomfortable,” Mitch said. “Just spit it out.”

Owen took one giant step back. “I . . . don’t want to be within hitting range when I say this.”

He unwound his arm from Halina’s shoulders. “Well, shit, that makes me want to punch you now and I don’t even know why.”

Halina kept her arms wound tight around Mitch’s waist and repeated words he’d said to her earlier. “You’re not going to fight him.”

Owen grinned, an ironic, self-deprecating grin, and huffed a dry laugh. “Hold that thought, Halina.” He refocused on Mitch. Cleared his throat. “I’m responsible for Teague Creek’s escape from prison. For orchestrating his partner’s involvement and Alyssa’s positioning for kidnap.”

Halina was only half following what was going on, but Mitch’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Excuse me?”

“At that time, you were making a lot of trouble for Classified over an appeal for one of the Lejeune plaintiffs. It was evidently causing a rift between Schaeffer and Classified and Classified threatened to stop doing business with Schaeffer because
you
seemed to be a constant problem.

“Now,” Owen held up his hands and took another slow, casual step back. “I didn’t know this at the time. I was given an entirely different story and didn’t know how this related to the bigger picture until much later.”

Mitch tried to advance on Owen. Halina held him back.

“In his infinite stupidity,” Owen continued, “Schaeffer decided that if your sister—your twin—was in danger, you would have to take time away from your work, which would ease the appeal situation with Classified.”

“What the
fuck
?”

Owen held up his hands. “Evidently, none of the events that followed were supposed to happen. But, well, you have to admit, you do have a way of starting natural disasters, Foster.”

Mitch swore and lunged. Halina had to get in front of him and put her body weight into pushing him back. “Mitch, Mitch, it’s over. We have Schaeffer.” He looked down at her with fury turning his eyes bright green. “Let’s leave the past behind. Move forward.”

“I have set up a situation that will give you a memorable payback, though,” Owen said. “My small attempt to apologize and mend fences, so to speak. I think you’ll be pleased. But I’ve got to go finalize those with Seville now . . .” Owen started walking backward . . . “and give you some, you know, breathing room. I owe you, Halina.”

As Owen walked away, Halina wrapped her arms around Mitch’s lean torso and held him as tight as her shaking muscles could manage. “It’s over, baby. Alyssa’s happy. Teague’s happy. They’ve got everything they’ve always wanted. And Owen probably saved all our lives tonight. I know he could have shot you twice and didn’t.”

“Good thing,” Mitch grumbled, finally relaxing enough to wrap his arms around her. “I’d have kicked his ass.”

Halina burst out laughing.

“That’s a great sound,” Mitch murmured, the stress leaving his voice. “Let’s get you inside before you turn into a popsicle.”

“The papers,” she said. “We need to get—”

“That’s what FBI agents are for, sweetheart,” he rubbed her arms and back. “They’re experts at collecting garbage. All kinds of garbage.”

She puffed another laugh against his chest.

Gooseflesh rose across his skin under her hands. “Mmm.” He groaned. “Let’s get questions out of the way so we can find a hotel.” He leaned away, tipped her chin up with his fingers and smiled into her eyes. “Because I’m ready to put the past behind us, too. I’m ready to move on.”

 

Mitch glanced at his watch. Again. 10:36
A.M.
He rocked his shoulders to ease the electric tightness surrounding his chest.

“Thirty seconds later than the last time you checked,” Owen murmured beside him in the hospital elevator.

“Shut up.” Mitch shifted on his feet. Stared up at the numbers
tick, tick, tick
ing off as they traveled the floors. Sighed. Glanced at his watch. Damn thing didn’t move.

“Christ, you’re worse than an expectant father.”

Mitch shot a scowl at Owen, but inside, his stomach made a slow roll.

Owen’s gaze lowered from the numbers flashing through the floors, a grin on his face. “Where’s your suit?”

“In the car.”

“The ring?”

“Teague has it.” He ran a hand through his hair, wiping his palm across his forehead to catch the sweat. “Or I’ll choke him with my bare hands.”

“Everyone’s blessings?” Owen asked.

“More like threats if I don’t.”

“Who did you get to preside?”

“Chief Justice McMillan.”

“On such short notice?” Owen’s brows shot up and he whistled softly through his teeth. “You do have friends in high places, Foster.”

“He’s a closet romantic,” Mitch said just as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “All it took was a two-minute rendition of our story and he adjusted his schedule to fit ours.”

“Where?”

Mitch cleared his throat as he stepped off the elevator, his nerves mounting as he pulled up the frantic details he’d thrown together just hours ago. “Superior Court, main library. They’re closing it for an hour.”

“Apropos.”

Mitch and Owen paused and turned toward the nurse’s station down the hall, where four cops were staged along the corridor alongside two FBI agents, including Special Agent Seville. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Owen zero in on Seville. Saw the way he grinned.

“Are
you
planning on entering this institution again anytime soon?” he asked.

Owen started. Turned to Mitch with a frown. Then, caught staring at Seville, laughed wryly. “I’m not opposed to marriage. I just didn’t have the right match first time around.”

“Should have been matched to her all this time?” Mitch asked.

Owen lifted a shoulder. “You’re getting a little intrusive, counselor. And we need to focus elsewhere right now. I’ve never seen you so distracted at such a critical moment.”

Mitch smiled, straightened his blazer, and started forward alongside Owen. “I’ve never had the right match waiting for me at the altar, changing all my priorities. So let’s just get this over with.”

“Foster,” Owen said, his voice lowered, “hold your tongue, will you? We don’t need to give this guy any loophole—”

“Believe me, he won’t get any. Anything I say will either be legally binding or inconsequential in a court of law. You’ll know which is which. Relax, Colonel. I know the law the way you know a battlefield.”

Agent Seville stepped forward, gave both of them a professional smile, then met Mitch’s gaze. “Ready to slay your demon, counselor?”

“Born ready,” Mitch said. “And I’d like to slay quickly.”

“Understood.”

She turned to a man dressed in a black suit, black tie, and white dress shirt. The earbud tucked into his ear and the line hugging his neck nailed him as Secret Service. He met Agent Seville’s gaze, nodded and murmured into his microphone. Three of the four police officers and the other FBI agent set their stances wide, shoulders back. The second FBI agent pulled out a small camera and pushed buttons. The fourth officer pulled cuffs from his duty belt and stepped toward the still-closed hospital room door with Agent Seville. All the nurses vanished but for one who stood off to the side.

“I want to go straight home.” Schaeffer’s grouchy order penetrated the door and made Mitch smile. “And I don’t want to be bothered. There will be reporters and FBI and others calling. You’re to tell them my doctor ordered me on bed rest and I can’t be disturbed. Do you understand?”

The door opened and another Secret Service agent stepped out first. He glanced at the man Mitch assumed was his boss, who nodded; then the first agent moved forward and stood beside the other.

Schaeffer waddled through the door, still looking back at the agent behind him. “Has anyone called my chef to tell him I’ll be back at home? I don’t want any delay in my meals.”

He turned, then took one more step into the hallway and stopped short with a startled look and a gasp. Widened eyes made one sweep of the people in the hallway, his gaze lingering an extra second on Mitch. Blackness fell over his gaze, pure vivid fury lit the mud beneath his eyes, and he exploded.

“What the hell is this?”

Seville spoke first. “Senator Schaeffer, I’m Senior Special Agent Seville of the FBI—”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are.” He approached her as if he planned on mowing her down. Owen stepped forward, but the police officer was closer and stopped Schaeffer first with a hand flat against his chest. Schaeffer pushed against it as he yelled at Seville, jabbing a pointed finger at her as he barked. “This is an invasion of privacy. I’ll have your ass up on harassment charges. I’ll have your badge. You’ll never work in law enforcement again. If Foster put you up to this, you’ll be sorry you ever met the man—”

“Senator,” Seville said, her voice remaining congenial, but authoritative, “stop now or I will add threatening a government agent to the long list of charges I’m here to arrest you for committing.”

“You little bitch.” That’s when the spittle started to fly. When his face turned red and the veins on his temples bulged. When the whites of his eyes pinked up. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t have the authority to—”