Fight For Me (17 page)

Her companion was small and pale, a
profusely bleeding wound across her arm matched by a huge gash
along her forehead and temple. Cassidy knew she had to stop the
bleeding, but first she had to wait until their prison was stable.
She wrapped her arms around the smaller woman, searching her brain
for what to do. It was so dark, faint light filtering through in
the very corners of the crate, and she barely knew more than
standard first aid. She could argue, she could check her oil, she
could even change a tire, but she left the doctoring to Caleb. By
the time their box had been settled, she was covered in the other
woman's blood and knew she had to do something, even if it was
wrong.

She scooted the two of them to the closest
corner so she could see the wounds she had to patch, and noticed
the woman wore a holster that was missing its gun. Her face was
obscured by blood, her hair a matted mess, but she knew then it was
Tiffany Morgan. God. Officer Morgan had come looking for her, and
now she was locked in this cage with her, unconscious and bleeding
everywhere. She swallowed the fear that infused her, the panic that
froze her fingers and chilled her blood, and thought back to the
the lessons Caleb had insisted she have, just in case she ever
found herself in dire situation. A small laugh escaped her lips.
This was most certainly a dire situation. She couldn't clean the
wound, and she couldn't see well enough to determine if it was a
bullet hole or cut, but she had to stop the bleeding or Tiffany
would die on her.

Thankful she'd worn a belt that morning and
uncaring it was one of her favorites, she pulled it from her jeans
and wound it around the officer's bicep. She knew the only way to
stop the other woman from bleeding out was to keep constant
pressure, and by cinching the leather around the gash, she could do
that. “Hope you don't mind, Tiff,” she muttered as she stripped off
her fitted t-shirt, leaving her in a pair of jeans and a white lacy
bra. She folded the shirt in a long strip, placing it between the
belt and the wound, and bore down as hard as she could, eliciting a
soft moan from her patient.

“
It's okay, Tiffany,”
Cassidy found herself assuring, and quite possibly
lying.

“
Shot me,” the officer
mumbled.

So it was a gunshot wound she had just
doctored with a belt and t-shirt. Great. “I think I've stopped the
bleeding, at least,” she answered quietly.

Her eyes fluttered open, and Cassidy wished
the light were better in their prison, allowing her to see
Tiffany's pupils. The gash across her head looked nasty, and she
guessed the officer suffered a concussion like she was sure she did
herself. Steve Archer must like clocking women across the face. She
couldn't wait to throw him in prison for a long, long, time.

“
Was looking for you.
Steve connected you to the Rossi and Stanza cases, and was
punishing you for something.” Tiffany's voice was rough, but
getting stronger as she spoke. “I don't know why, but I know it was
him.”

“
I know why,” she
whispered, unsure why she had lowered her voice. “There was a case
I couldn't try a couple years back that Archer decided was my
fault. I wanted to stop them from trafficking women and young
girls, but I couldn't. Not with the evidence I was given. He
threatened me then, but it's been two years. Why now?”

Tiffany shifted to sit up straighter against
the wall. “Rossi's old outfit is headed by Dwayne Irving now,
operating out of Sheridan.” She wiped a hand across her face. “I
found a house in Sheridan that Steve bought under an assumed name a
few years ago. I don't know the connection, but there has to be
one.” She rested her head against her knees. “I wish I had my
computer.”

This was not a time for research, no matter
how much she wanted to know what the hell was going on. “I wish for
a way to open the door, water, and fresh air.”

Tiffany rasped a gravely laugh. “We don't
have to worry about air. Very rarely are these things air tight,
and there's light from the corners. I won't argue with the need for
a way out, though.”

Unbelievably, she found herself laughing. Of
course the box wasn't air tight—there was light. She was supposed
to be intelligent, yet she'd freaked herself out thinking she'd use
all her air and die. At least she had a head injury to blame for
her idiocy. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked what she
was sure was a stupid question, “There's no chance he left your
phone, is there?”

“
Right. Like he'd manage
to make us all chase our tails for weeks, and would let me keep my
phone when he threw me into a storage container?”

“
No need to be snippy,
Officer.”

“
Sorry.” She was silent
for a moment. “Chris and your Dylan are out there.”

That got her attention and made her heart
beat faster. “Where? Here?”

“
Uh-huh. We were all split
up looking for you. Looks like I found you.”

“
That you did.”

Chapter Twelve

“
Tiffany isn't answering
her phone,” Chris shouted as soon as Dylan emerged from the trees.
“I'm afraid she's hurt, or captured, or...” he let the thought
trail off.

Now they had two women to rescue, and only
one place to look. “Get in the truck.” Chris didn't question him,
instead sprinting to the Bronco and vaulting into the passenger
seat. Thoughts of what they might discover when they finally found
both women bombarded him, but he shoved them away. He refused to
accept anything but a whole and alive Cassie, no matter that it had
been hours since she disappeared.

He tore ass across the field, not caring
about anything but getting where he now knew they needed to be,
chanting, “Hang on, Cassie, hang on,” under his breath. When they
made it to the edge of the property he turned the truck hard right
to parallel the train tracks, throwing dirt and grass in a wide
arc, peppering his windshield with gravel. As he sped down the
graveled path, he took solace in Chris's hushed Italian prayer from
the passenger seat. He hoped God was on their side, because time
sure wasn't.

He was looking down the tracks as they drove
until Chris's sharp yell drew his attention. “Look!”

He turned toward where his
friend was pointing to find a weathered blue steel storage
container angled across their path. When Dylan punched the brake,
Chris leaped from his seat before they'd even stopped, his
hollered, “Watch your six,
amico
,” trailing behind him as he
hit the ground.

He threw the truck in park and drew his
sidearm before sliding from his own seat. Cassie and Tiffany had to
be inside the container. Chris made it to the long metal box first,
but when he pulled the bars, they wouldn't move. God, they needed
those doors open. He ran to help Chris, “Cassie, are you in there?”
tearing from his throat. If she answered, he couldn't hear her, but
he had to believe she was inside. He shoved Chris out of the way to
work the bars himself, his tenacious friend latching onto the
section of bar beneath him. There was grunting and swearing until
together they managed to wrench the doors apart.

“
Dylan!” Cassidy screamed
as soon as he had door open. “Tiffany's been shot. We need an
ambulance.”

He turned to find his friend already calling
in for a bus. Tiffany was in bad shape, Cassie's poor excuse for
first aid curbing the bleeding, but not stopping it completely. The
small officer looked like she'd been through hell, and it boiled
Dylan's blood that it was at the hands of a cop. After situating
Tiffany with Chris, he carried Cassie out of the container, yanking
his shirt over his head to cover her near nakedness after he gently
kissed her sweet mouth. “Let's get you safe,” he whispered in her
ear. He'd just stepped out of the crate when the tell-tale ping of
a bullet against metal made him scan the horizon. Archer was out
there, and he was shooting.

He couldn't say if it was instinct or
training that made him safely set Cassie behind the blue box before
crawling toward his truck. He needed his rifle, and he needed it
now.

~*~

Dylan had hidden her behind the box that had
been her prison for Lord knew how long and now he was creeping
toward his truck on his belly, staying low but still scaring the
shit out of her. Her heart stopped when she saw the driver's side
window explode in a shower of glass, but Dylan seemed unfazed, a
man on a mission, and she held her breath when he yanked open the
passenger door. She felt her lips curve into a smile at the same
time her heart clutched in her chest. Dylan was a sniper, and now
he had his rifle. All he had to do now was find his way back to the
relative safety of their position and hunt Steve Archer down.

Dylan slid through the tall grass, his big
body moving in a way she'd never seen in person. Even with the
danger surrounding them, she was captivated by her Ranger, a man so
in his element she felt her fear melt away. She'd held onto the
hope, the knowledge he would find her, and now she knew he would
keep her safe.

Another bullet whizzed by Dylan's left side,
hitting the ground with an explosion of dirt and grass. Her heart
beat double-time, her gasp involuntary and painful. Her fear for
herself may be gone, but he'd almost been hit by the last shot. She
scanned the landscape. Where exactly were they? She turned to ask
Chris, finding the detective with Tiffany in his lap, giving her
more proper first aid. The shirt she had used as a bandage was
nearly soaked through, and he had moved the belt above the gunshot
wound. Now she remembered what Caleb had said. She gave herself a
mental smack. Hopefully what she had done had helped a small
measure, even if it was completely wrong. This was why she was a
lawyer, not a doctor.

The box at her back shook with the impact of
yet another bullet, and she swung her focus back to Dylan. She was
wearing his t-shirt, leaving the muscles of his back and chest
exposed, the glorious eagle on his right pectoral seeming to fly
with his movements as he crept along the grass. She licked her dry
lips and braced herself more tightly against the metal behind her,
the decision she'd made in the box coming to the forefront.

When he settled next to her, his right side
flush against her left, she blurted, “I love you.”

He turned slightly, those amazing eyes of
his widening a fraction, his mouth turning into a full, gleaming
smile. “Your timin' is a bit off darlin', but I'll take it.” He
leaned over to softly kiss her lips. “You know I love you.”

She did, but that didn't make the rest of
what she had to say any easier. “I think I might have been...” she
started, unable to finish the sentence. It wasn't important now,
and when they made it out of this mess, they could have children
when they planned them.

He tilted his head, and she wondered if he
knew what she had kept herself from saying. “How badly did he hurt
you?” he asked. “There was a lot of blood.”

“
He likes knocking women
across the face.” His eyes flamed at the declaration, and she
forced herself to go on, “He kicked me in the stomach and ribs—I
think he cracked a few.”

The muscle in his jaw was tense when he
prompted, “And Morgan?”

“
She was shot in the arm,
and hit across the forehead with something. Her gun,
maybe.”

“
Pistol-whipped,” he
supplied, his tone fierce. “He's not getting out of here
alive.”

She took a deep breath, wincing at the pain
in her ribs. “Don't kill him if you don't have to. I want J.D. to
nail him for this and everything else I'm sure he's done. I want to
throw him in prison with men who just love cops.” Whoa. She sounded
downright bloodthirsty.

“
I'll do what is
necessary,” he sidestepped, the fingers around is rifle tightening.
He kissed her gently before arranging himself so he could see the
other side of the field, the majority of his body hidden by the
container. Several minutes later, she heard him rasp,
“Dammit!”

“
Can't see
him?”

“
No. After those few
shots, he's in the wind. He wanted to force us to safety so he
could run.”

“
Shit.”

“
Yep.”

~*~

Dylan thanked the good Lord when the
ambulance finally arrived. He knew Chris was taking care of the
officer as best as he could, but gunshot wounds and head injuries
were serious things. He glanced at Cassie, the look of
determination on her face raising his hackles. “You're goin' too.
No arguments.”

“
Tiffany is more hurt,”
she said, jerking her chin high.

“
Yes, but I know for a
fact you were beat to hell, too.” He gritted his teeth against the
roil of nausea that came every time he thought about that bloody
bathroom. “You're goin'.”

“
Back to the same hospital
I was kidnapped from?” Her voice wavered with the question, and he
swallowed back the roar that wanted to make its way out of his
mouth. How dare Archer make her brother's hospital a place Cassie
couldn't feel safe?

“
I hate it, but yes. Caleb
is there waitin' on you.”

She sighed and he didn't miss the tightening
around her mouth and eyes with the pain it caused. “Don't leave
me.”

She was asking him to give up the search for
Archer to stand by her side as she was checked out and probably
admitted. Instead of arguing the point, he told her the truth. He
would never leave her side, not for the rest of his life.
“Never.”

Her dry lips curved into a small smile. “You
mean that?”