Reckless (World of Danger Book 3) Page 5

  Then all of a sudden, the SUV slammed into the back of her car. Panic consumed her as she was propelled forward into traffic. Horns blared and breaks screeched, and still, she was thrust even further. In sheer terror, she tried to take control of the situation by hitting the gas instead of the break because that clearly wasn’t working. Somehow, she managed to miss being T-boned, but the SUV gunned after her as she took off, trying to outrun it. The next minute she was jolted as it slammed once more into the back. Fear blanketed her mind, and when the SUV hit her a third time, she miscalculated and turned the wheel. The big automobile rammed into her side and pushed her toward a concrete barrier.

  She screamed, knowing there wasn’t anything she could do except throw her hands up to shield her face. The sound of glass shattering and metal crunching was the last thing she heard as the impact propelled her into oblivion.

  Chapter Seven

  “Carrie?” Mason asked, peeking into her office, but not finding her. He headed toward his office, fully expecting her to be there. “Carrie?”

  Next he checked JD’s small office apartment, but didn’t find her. Perplexed he pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number.

  “Hello?” a man answered.

  Mason’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Who is this?”

  “This is Officer Matthews,” the man replied. “Do you know Carrie Fenway?”

  Mason’s mouth went dry and his knees threatened to buckle. He leaned against the wall for support. “She’s my girlfriend. What … what happened to her?”

  “Sir, she was in a bad accident. She’s been taken to Cedars.”

  ****

  Mason had no memory of getting to the hospital, even though somewhere in the fuzzy recess of his mind he realized he didn’t have his car. Carrie had borrowed it, and she’d crashed. He didn’t give a shit the car was totaled, he only cared about the woman who might be dying. He took one of the company cars, and he vaguely remembered going faster, faster, faster. As if him racing to her side would prevent her from slipping away.

  It was a miracle he didn’t get pulled over.

  Nothing came into focus until he stood at the ER check-in, trying to find out where Carrie was being seen. His one mission was reaching her side. Confirming for himself that she still breathed, that she was all right. Willing her to get well.

  “She’s in surgery,” the hospital administrator said.

  That knocked the wind from his sails. “How bad is it?”

  The kindly faced woman gave him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t know that type of information. But let me get some forms for you so you can find out as soon as she’s in recovery.”

  He clung to the word recovery like it was a buoy in a storm-tossed sea. Taking the papers the woman handed over to him, he marched into the waiting room and sat heavily in a chair far removed from other people. Right then he needed the isolation as he grappled with the animalistic instinct to break down doors that shielded Carrie from him, because some sane voice in his head reminded him that he couldn’t do jack-shit for her now. It was up to the surgeon’s hands.

  And maybe divine intervention.

  He wasn’t a religious man, even though his grandfather had tried to teach him the Apache ways of the Ancestors. Sitting there, however, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do to help Carrie, praying to the ancestral spirits didn’t seem like such a waste of time. Closing his eyes, the chants came flooding back to him. He conjured an image of his granddad and let the memory take him away from the reality of sitting in a hospital waiting room.

  “Mr. Lake?”

  Opening his eyes, he saw a policeman standing next to him.

  “I’m Officer Matthews,” the man said, introducing himself.

  “Yes,” Mason acknowledged, clearing his throat of the emotion that threatened to choke him.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need to question you about Ms. Fenway’s accident.”

  Mason wanted to scream it wasn’t an accident, but that wasn’t a secret he could reveal. At least, not yet.

  “Many witnesses have confirmed she was run off the road,” Officer Matthews said in a soft voice. “Do you know who would do this?”

  “No,” Mason replied.

  “Does she have any enemies? Someone who would want to do her harm? Any disagreements with anyone?”

  “No.”

  “From the severity of what happened, it’s hard to believe this was a simple road rage incident. Any information would be helpful to the investigation.”

  “I have just as much information as you do. I don’t even know why she went home during the day.”

  Mason knew Officer Matthews wanted to interview him more, but the truth of the matter was, he didn’t have knowledge he could share. He didn’t know what had really happened. Those responses he didn’t have to lie about. Eventually, Officer Matthews got the hint, giving him a card in case he had anything further to share. Truthfully, he wouldn’t, nor could he, since the sensitive material revolved around the black ops investigation from the past. Yet none of that mattered to him at that moment. He was just grateful that no one else was hurt, not even a single car scratched from the deadly collision.

  He couldn’t concentrate as he stared at the doors that led to the triage area, his imagination picturing a team of medical personnel working on her. The world became a big blur. People moved at breakneck speeds around him, but he existed in a solitary place where time stood still. He moved from the chair to the window and then back to the chair, not knowing what to do. Helplessness warred with his control, because all he wanted to do was roar with anger and frustration. To smash things. Punch walls. Yet he could do none of that, so he waited.

  “Mason Lake?”

  He blinked and looked at the doorway where a young female doctor stood waiting to talk to him. She wore a white coat over blue scrubs, with her name tag hanging on a lanyard around her neck. Leslie Shannon, MD. Mason rose and hurried over to her.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Dr. Shannon,” she greeted. “You’re listed as Carrie Fenway’s next-of-kin?”

  He nodded. “She’s my fiancé. She has no one else.”

  “Ah,” she said. “I wish I had better news to tell you, but truth is, we’re having a difficult time stabilizing her blood pressure.”

  His heart stuttered with dread. Part of him didn’t want to hear what she was going to say. He took a deep, steadying breath. “What are her injuries?”

  “There’s two things we’re mainly concerned about,” the doctor said. “From what the police have said, the car impacted against a concrete barrier. This caused a few cascade injuries. She has swelling on the brain so we had to relieve that pressure. The neurosurgeon we called in gave her two burr holes in her skull to help ease that stress. That in turn led to her blood pressure crashing, as well as her experiencing cardiac arrest.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. He went numb as shock settled in. He didn’t know what to think, to feel. He existed outside himself in that moment.

  “There are minor lacerations to her face and arms,” the doctor continued. “Amazingly, no broken bones. What I’m most concerned about for the trajectory of her healing is her blood pressure. We’ve stabilized it with medication, but every time we try weaning it down, it falls again, and the last thing we want is another cardiac event. So right now, we’re still keeping her in a medically induced coma to help ease the shock to her system.”

  He flinched at the word. “Can I see her?”

  “In a little bit,” Dr. Shannon said, looking like she was really sorry she couldn’t say yes. “We’ll let you know when it’s okay to go in.”

  He wanted to argue with her, to push his way in and find her, but the logical side of his mind reminded him the hospital was helping her, so he bit his tongue. Day turned to night and back into day, although the passage of time was an infinitesimal thought in small confines of his world. He lived for a doctor or nurse to approach him, like they did with other patients, for an
y update. They hadn’t yet given him permission to sit by her side, citing she was still in intensive care. Not out of the woods yet, they said. Families joined him in the waiting room, bringing blankets and pillows, food and drinks as they waited for the inevitable of their loved ones as well. To live, to die, the limbo became reality. Their gathering became a club, one he didn’t want to be a part of, but couldn’t deny.

  When the time came for the families to visit their loved ones again, he watched them form a line, but this time the nurse made a bee-line for him. He stood up, hoping beyond hope that she came for him.

  “Hello, Doctor Shannon said you can have visits with Miss Fenway. We allow ten minutes three times a day.”

  He nodded. “Yes, please. This waiting is … excruciating.”

  “I understand. Visiting time is in a few minutes.” She hesitated for a moment. “Just remember, she’s been through a lot of trauma. She has extensive bruising and … we had to shave her head.”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I understand. Thank you.”

  The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded before heading back onto the medical ward. Needing to compose himself, Mason walked toward the men’s bathroom to splash water on his face. His reflection stared solemnly back at him, dark shadows staining the area under his eyes. The sunken appearance made him look older, and a few grey strands had sprouted over her ears. Not that he gave a shit. If Carrie didn’t pull through, life really didn’t mean much anymore.

  Once in the intensive care unit, they scattered to see their loved ones. Mason walked over to Carrie’s room, first looking in the window in an effort to prepare himself. The numerous tubes and sensors dwarfed her petite frame, almost obscuring her from sight. Swaths of bandages encircled her head. He couldn’t even hold her hand since the IV was connected. Dark shadows filled the sunken areas under her closed eyes.

  Death hovered nearby. He could feel it, and it terrified him that she could slip away any moment. Mason didn’t know how he could—would—deal with losing the other half of his soul. The ache in his heart was so acute it brought tears to his eyes. He cleared his throat.

  “They finally let me in to see you,” he said. “I’ve been sitting in the waiting room. Waiting…”

  He trailed off, not knowing what else to say. Grabbing the chair that waited in the corner, he brought it as close to her as he could.

  “They won’t let me stay too long. And then it’s back to waiting. The God damn waiting is tearing me apart, Carrie. I feel like if I’m here you won’t leave me. But if I turn my back … you’ll disappear.”

  Helplessness washed over him, but it quickly disappeared under the weight of the rising anger and frustration directed at Latorre. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that his old adversary was behind this. Latorre had almost ruined his life once, and now he might do so again, because if Carrie succumbed to her wounds, there wasn’t much left that Mason valued.

  “Without you, I don’t have a tether.” He brushed a stray piece of lint from Carrie’s cheek before leaning in to talk gently into her ear. “I want you to stay because I can’t imagine a world without you in it, by my side. I’m selfish that way. So if you can fight, fight, Carrie. Come back to me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring he’d planned to give her and slipped it on her finger. He kissed the one area that didn’t have tape or tubes coming out. “But I want you to know … that if you have to go … don’t worry about me. Okay? Because whatever world you travel to, I’ll follow. Hear me? I’ll find you, because I love you too damn much not to.”

  He leaned over and kissed the one area on her brow that was clear. “I’ll love you until I die, and if there’s a life after this, I’ll love you then, too. But I can’t watch you leave me, so I’m going to finish him, Carrie. Mostly because of what he did to you, but also because I can’t let him hurt anyone else.”

  He rose and leaned over her, kissing her on her forehead.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered.

  Chapter Eight

  Logic fought for dominance in his head, but Mason pushed it aside. The time for cool, calm and collected was over. For weeks everything had continued spiraling downward, and now he knew it had come to a boiling head. His entire life he’d played by the book, walking the straight and narrow path, trying to atone for the fact he was only half Apache. Something dark rose inside him, and he recognized the anger that he’d pushed down as a kid. That same feeling he’d suppressed after his arrest. He let it rise up.

  Mason embraced the rage.

  Going back to his house, he went right to his bedroom and into the closet. He punched in a code next to a door and opened it when the access light turned green. He walked into a small area he had specifically built to house his weapons, monetary assets, and various other things he and Carrie had wanted to protect. He opened a drawer and took out two nine millimeters, one a modified protype that was capable of stunning someone.

  He also grabbed a plastic container that held his grandfather’s belongings. Years had passed since he last opened it, and a strong leather scent drifted from inside. The material inside had hardened, become brittle, but that wasn’t what he searched for. At the bottom was his grandfather’s ceremonial dress, and from the headdress, he took one eagle feather.

  A calling card.

  Resealing the container, he put it back and left the safe. In the kitchen, he took a pen and a piece of paper, wrote out a quick note. Grabbing some tape from the junk drawer, he wrapped the note around the quill of the feather before leaving. He taped the feather on the front door, got in his car, and drove away.

  ****

  Latorre watched Soldier Boy drive away before getting out of his SUV to see what was left for him. A few steps closer he saw the feather on the door. He reached for it and opened the note.

  I’m coming for you.

  Latorre crumpled up the note and brought the feather up to his nose. Must and decay clung to it, a reminder of ancient traditions. Satisfaction oozed through him. Time to end Soldier Boy once and for all.

  ****

  Mason staked out the parking lot of the Starbucks, waiting for a familiar face to show. That evening, just as Carrie had told him, he saw Del exit a car, go inside, and come out a few minutes later with two large coffees. He got back in the passenger side of the car and they drove off. Mason followed at a discreet distance, through the streets of Los Angeles, until they parked at an office complex that had a for rent sign attached to the building.

  He waited until Jim and Del walked inside before following them. Mason kept to the shadows, staying hidden to maintain a level of surprise. Expecting that the place would be wired up, he was surprised when a back door opened easily after breaking the lock. Walking silently, he checked out every room, making sure there would be no surprises, before coming to what he thought had to be some type of command center. Computers, monitors, and junk food scattered over several desks. Jim sat in a chair, staring at the feed and sipping coffee while Del fiddled with his phone. Bringing up both guns, he mentally ran through his objective and took a deep breath before throwing open the door. He raised his gun and shot Jim without a second thought. The bullet tore through his head, ending him immediately, as the coffee slipped out of his hand and crashed to the floor. Del jumped to his feet, but he was far too slow as Mason used the other gun and stunned him to a paralyzing drop.

  Mason walked over to him and rolled him with a shove of his foot. “I know you can hear me. The stun works on the voluntary muscles, not the involuntary. Although talking may be difficult.”

  Del stared at him with wide eyes.

  “You picked the wrong fucking man to back, you know,” Mason said. “If you don’t want to die, you’ll show me what you’ve been up to first.”

  He pocketed his weapons before reaching down to haul Del’s stiff body back into his chair. He rolled it over to the bank of monitors, pushing away the chair that held Jim’s body. It rolled to the corner where it came to a stop, and Jim
slumped over.

  On the screens were images of his house, inside and out, and with a sick feeling Mason realized he and Carrie had been bugged. It didn’t matter how they’d managed it. Hell, even he knew there were ways to tap into the wiring and internet. Their every move tracked. Although he wasn’t the level hacker that Carrie was, he wasn’t a slouch when it came to finding information. He scrolled through various folders, finding dossiers on him, JD, and Lee. Personal information that Renee Hammond must have provided.

  Beside him, Del twitched. Mason left the computers to grab the phone the other man had dropped. Seeing it was operated by facial recognition, he grabbed Del by the hair and held the phone up. It unlocked. Scrolling through the sent messages, he saw a thread from Latorre.

  Be alert. Soldier Boy is loose.

  “Is he coming here tonight?” he asked Del, looking at the still incapacitated man. “Blink if yes.”

  Del blinked.

  Mason held the gun up to his forehead. “Are you fucking lying to me?”

  Del did not blink. Desperation and fear evident as a tear leaked from the corner of his eye.

  Mason smiled. “Good. I lied, you know. You are going to fucking die.”

  He shot Del in the head, killing him instantly. Mason felt nothing. Not remorse, or shame, or sorrow for killing two people. The moment they had targeted Carrie was the moment they signed their death warrants.

  He rose and shot each computer. Sparks erupted from the hard drive consoles as each screen turned black. Then he lined Del’s dead body up with Jim’s and took a picture with Del’s phone before sending it to Latorre.

  Then he prepared.

  Chapter Nine

  Mason watched Latorre approach, the overhead lights spotlighted him in muted shadows as he walked through the deserted parking lot. Anger tried to consume him, but he pushed it aside. A life or death fight wasn’t the time to let emotions rule. Easing from his hiding spot, he began to trail after Latorre, and it only took a moment for the man to stop, half turning to lock gazes with him.