Suspicious Activities (10 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Jackson wished for many things.

First, he wished he’d had the sense to run back into his apartment and grab his cell phone—or, better yet, the handgun in his room—before racing to the lobby to try to save the day. In hindsight, the few seconds wouldn’t have made a difference. Then again, hindsight was always twenty-twenty, right?

Second, he wished he’d not fled and instead stood his ground and shot more than just Charles’s arm, stopping the chase once and for all. But then Jackson knew he’d only decided to run because Nikki had been drugged. With what? He still didn’t know.

The third wish he had was that he would have driven a completely different route on the way to the hospital. One that strayed far from whatever
Twilight Zone
episode they’d managed to get stranded in where, still, he’d seen or heard no one other than the crazed Charles declaring his lust for their deaths. If they made it out of this alive, Jackson promised himself he’d complain to
someone
about the Dallas block devoid of everything.

The fourth wish wasn’t as strong as the rest, but after carrying Nikki deep into the metal playground of the mostly exposed construction site—which he thought might be an old attempt at an office complex—Jackson wished the sun would hurry up and set. The afternoon heat wasn’t making anything easier. He could feel sweat pouring off him at each new step, though he also realized some of what he felt could have been blood, too. The farther from the car they went, the more pronounced the various pains from the earlier fight and then crash became. In the back of his mind he noted that he probably had a concussion and that a rib or two might be bruised. Or broken. Not to mention all the little stings where glass had bit into his skin.

Again, the heat wasn’t helping.

But out of all these wishes, plus the few he had about wanting to randomly find a gun, phone or car, none compared to the loudest want of all that had been yelling through his mind clear as a bell.

Nikki still hadn’t woken up and he wished she would.

Charles hadn’t been hot on his heels, but as soon as Jackson had found a small niche between a steel girder and a partially constructed wall to hide them, he’d heard the mercenary swearing. The construction site was large and filled with nooks and crannies that two people could easily fold themselves into. Jackson hadn’t been able to see Charles, but his voice hadn’t been loud when he called out. He was farther away from them, Jackson decided. Slowly combing the area with his gun and murderous intent.

Ten minutes later, Charles was still working on finding them. If Jackson hadn’t gone the farthest away from the abandoned building next door, they would have been seen already. He’d peeked around the girder and caught a glimpse of the man, bloody and clutching the arm that had been shot but
not
dropping his gun. It was only a matter of time until he found them.

Once again, Jackson looked down at Nikki, tucked into his side. He held her up against him with one arm while his other held her knees to her chest to keep her feet from sticking out. It was uncomfortable to keep the two of them boxed up, but at the same time, he realized part of it felt right in a way. Holding her, worrying about her, protecting her.

Good job you’ve done there
, he thought ruefully.

Nikki visibly appeared to be okay. He’d examined her as tenderly as he could given the situation, looking mainly for any obvious signs of trauma. Glass had cut up her right side at various stretches, including two gashes against her cheek, and an angry red line where the seat belt had pushed against her lit up the skin across her chest. However, nothing appeared to be broken. At least, not that he could tell.

Jackson exhaled, suddenly angry.

Who was he kidding? He no more knew what was in that syringe she’d been injected with than whether she had internal bleeding or something equally dangerous. For all he knew, keeping her hidden from the madman wanting to kill her
was
killing her.

“I know you’re here,” Charles yelled, louder than Jackson would have liked. “You aren’t that fast, bodyguard.”

He was right. The nearest structure to the construction site was the strip mall across the road. There was a run-down gas station—also boarded up—Jackson had seen in the distance, but to get to either destination with Nikki unable to move would have been impossible without being seen.

Leaving her to venture out and try for help was an option, but not one he wanted to entertain. Charles had obviously destroyed Andrew’s original plan of getting in the final blow. At this point Jackson doubted Charles would even care to chase him if Jackson left when Charles knew Nikki was somewhere around still. At the same token, Jackson’s current plan of waiting for the cops to show up didn’t feel that solid, either.

Slowly he released Nikki’s knees, letting her legs slide out of their nook. Jackson brought his hand up to her cheek. He brushed his knuckle against her skin and marveled at its softness. He ran his hand up her cheek and pushed her hair behind her ear. Although it was dark red, not the color of flames, it was still vibrant enough to brighten the darkness that tinged each of his thoughts.

He’d known her only a week and in that time she’d shown him anger, fear, happiness, humor, loyalty, determination and absolute strength. None of those trumped the one part of Nikki Waters that he realized had changed how he felt about the woman pressed against him.

Her compassion.

It exceeded her loyalty and strengthened her determination. It didn’t bend because of her failures and it didn’t leave because of her accomplishments. In just a short span of time, Jackson had seen firsthand what Nikki’s compassion had built.

And because of that, he knew how important it was for her to be able to build more.

As gently as he could, Jackson moved away from Nikki, turning to lean her against the girder. Again, she didn’t stir.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered. “Try to stay out of trouble until then.” Jackson leaned in closer, keeping himself low in a crouch just in case. “Thank you for believing in me,” he said, turning away. But then he stopped and said something he hadn’t planned to ever say to the redhead when he first met her. “And thank you for giving me somewhere to belong. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that.”

Once more, he felt compelled to touch her—to feel the softness of her skin—but knew it was time to refocus.

He needed to get Nikki help.

He needed to eliminate the threat keeping her from that.

He needed to stop Charles once and for all.

* * *

T
HE
CONSTRUCTION
SITE
was slim pickings for makeshift weapons. It only gave merit to Jackson’s theory that whatever had once been planned to be built on the large lot had been forgotten a while ago. As he stuck to the outer perimeter, navigating through the elongated skeleton of what might have been a series of smaller offices, the most he found in the way of something helpful was a dented construction hat and rusted key chain bottle opener no bigger than his pinky. Neither was an equal with the loaded gun Charles carried, but it might be better than nothing.

“I’m not leaving until I find you,” belted out the armed man.

Since Jackson had left Nikki unattended, the mercenary had gotten chattier and a deal more reckless. Which was good for Jackson because it let him know where the man was even when he couldn’t see him. It also seemed to dull his meticulous searching efforts. Though that meant he was going through all the sections much faster. The little nook in the corner with its redhead wouldn’t be safe for much longer.

Jackson stopped when he came to the end of the would-be building. Turning so he faced the middle of the site, he crouched behind a steal beam and reevaluated his position. Whatever had been designed for the lot, the middle ground was void of any beams or girders, tarps or debris. As if the builders had been told not to construct anything across the several yards that made a bare box of sand between everything else that had gone up around it. Maybe for an eventual parking area or a courtyard. Either way, it was a large open space that Charles had currently stomped out onto, leaving the opposite portion of the site that he’d been searching through.

“Bodyguard,” Charles called, notably more agitated. Jackson watched as the man pulled his hand away from his gunshot wound. It was bloody, matching a gash across his forehead and a busted lip, no doubt thanks to slamming the cop car into the side of their SUV. Seeing his wounds only highlighted Jackson’s own. Even as Jackson moved to get a better view, he sucked in a breath, wincing at the pain he hoped was only bruising and not broken ribs. The blood on his head from his apartment door had already dried. “This has nothing to do with you,” Charles continued. “Leave and you’ll never see me again.”

Or Nikki
, Jackson thought bitterly. Charles’s desperation was starting to show. When Jackson didn’t answer he swung his gun up into the air and fired.

“When I find you, I’m going to make you wish you never joined up with that bitch!”

Jackson started to move out of his hiding spot, anger propelling him forward, nearly blinding him. Instead, he stopped. A different plan began to spin in his mind. He redirected his anger to the small bottle opener in his hand. Moving back to the cover of the beam, he cocked his arm back and then threw the key-chain charm a few feet from him, where he’d first run through minutes before. It hit one of the many support beams and landed right where he wanted. A broken sawhorse with a tarp hanging across it and held up against the beam. Jackson had found the dented hat beneath its small tent and realized now it looked like someone might hide there.

The noise drew Charles’s attention immediately. Like a dog catching a scent, he cut across the sandy middle ground, head slightly bent as he tried to pinpoint the source. Jackson didn’t move, didn’t breathe. If Charles so much as decided to look his way, he would be able to see half of Jackson’s body peeking out. But Jackson believed the man’s alertness had been compromised by his emotions. He was seeing only what he wanted to see, and as he walked into the beam-lined space, Charles caught sight of the tarp and seemed to focus solely on that.

“Not as clever as I’d thought you’d be,” he said, lowering his gun to it. “I’m almost disappointed.”

Jackson tightened his grip on the brim of the hat and quickly closed the space between them. With as much power as he could muster, Jackson swung the yellow hat out just as Charles turned toward him. The hat connected with the side of his face.

Hard.

Charles reeled sideways but didn’t drop the gun. Jackson rotated his elbow around and swung the hat again. This time in an arc that hit the bullet wound dead on.

Charles howled.

His gun clattered against the concrete. Jackson brought the hard hat back once more, but this time put his fist in it. Before Charles could get his functions back on track, Jackson delivered a punch that had twice the impact right over the man’s nose. A sickening crunch and spray of blood followed. Charles went to his knees and Jackson scrambled for the gun.

When it was secure in his hand, Jackson took a step back and aimed it down at the man. When he spoke, his words were nothing but cold.

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Chapter Fifteen

Heavy. Sore. Hurt.

Nikki opened her eyes to a world she didn’t recognize. Filled with steel, concrete and hot air, it wasn’t anything she expected.

“Jackson?” she tried to call, but found her voice was quiet. The heaviness that blanketed her body weighed down even her words. Though it did nothing to soften the pain.

She moved her right ankle side to side and sucked in a breath. It wasn’t broken, but it surely felt sprained. The next cluster of pain her mind skipped to was her chest. That was when she realized what had happened.

She remembered hearing an awful sound and then...nothing.

We got into a wreck
, she reasoned.
But where am I now? And where’s Jackson?

With more effort than she’d have liked to admit, Nikki grabbed part of the girder she was tucked against and tried to pull herself up. Her left foot slid out from under her as soon as she tried to put weight on it. She barely caught herself, clinging to where the girder jutted out. What should have been the easy task of standing was becoming increasingly hard. Before the crash, her left side had become numb, and now it wasn’t much better. In fact, instead of not feeling anything, a stabbing soreness had begun to radiate down her side. What had she been injected with? And why did she feel so heavy?

A loud bang sounded in the distance, nearly making her lose the footing she had found. A gunshot, but from whose gun? And
where
was Jackson?

Fear battled against her pain, but thoughts of the bodyguard on the receiving end of that bullet helped steel her nerves. She needed to stand, needed to walk, needed to get to Jackson.

Another gunshot sounded.

She needed to get to him fast.

* * *

M
ICHAEL
WAS
HAVING
a bad day.

Not only had he been beaten by an unarmed, two-bit bodyguard in the lobby of a cheap apartment complex, losing his main gun in the process, but Charles had also up and left him without so much as a ride.

He ran his hand over his hair, no doubt smoothing blood into it, and wondered why he’d agreed to take on this job anyway.

Because it was simple and he offered a lot of money
, he reminded himself.
Was
being the operative word. Contracted to grab Nikki no matter where she was after Dabney had given her enough to think about, Michael and Charles were supposed to hang back after it was done as a precaution. They would cover up as much as they could while Andrew got out of the country.

Now the plan had transformed into one giant mess he had to clean up. Michael should have known better than to work for a man like Andrew. A man who liked making plans but didn’t like the work involved to carry them out. Or to keep them from messing up. He should have seen Andrew’s feelings for the woman as a surefire way to derail any hope of a simple plan.

But the money is too good
, he thought with a long exhale. He knew he could be bought with the right amount of money. And was fine with that.

He watched the apartment complex from around the corner, just able to see a patrol car with its lights on blare into the parking lot, when he found a car worth stealing. He was on the road within a minute, cell phone on speaker and resting on his thigh.

“You’re sure I’m going the right way?” he asked, loud enough so the person on the other end could hear clearly. The cops were out and pushing forward into the lobby, guns in hand. Michael thought back to Jackson’s apartment.

If I’d only killed him when I had the chance,
he thought with annoyance. It was more aimed at himself than the bodyguard.
But no, you let that woman appeal to your honor. “Of course I won’t kill an unarmed, unconscious man.” Never again.
Then the old man had shown up and he’d decided not to kill any more people, since the cops were probably already upset over their missing officers. Now that stance was one he was going to change.

“You said you thought he would probably try to take her for medical help?” Teddy, his go-to tech guy, reminded him. “From that apartment there are only a few ways to get there, especially when in a time crunch. Unless they’ve hit the interstate. In that case you need to throw down some serious speed to get to the nearest hospital around the same time as them.”

Michael ended the call, silencing their freelancer and leaving the apartment complex in his rearview. The way Jackson fought for Nikki in the lobby, the way he looked at her, Michael had no doubt that he’d be worrying about the drug he’d given to her and what it could do if not treated. He’d floor it to the nearest hospital without pause. At least, that was what Michael hoped. If he had gone to the police station in the other direction, then Michael and Charles would have to move Heaven and Earth to pull the woman out.

Which was doable, but he didn’t really want to go grab all his weapons. That firefight would be expensive.

Blocks and blocks between the apartment and the interstate flashed past his windows as the minutes went by. Michael followed the road straight, hoping that Jackson and Nikki hadn’t deviated too far from the same path. The traffic went from somewhat dense to almost nonexistent as the buildings around him deteriorated into run-down slumps of the past.

By the time he saw the overturned SUV next to a cop car that had seen way better days, only two bystanders were standing near it.

Michael pulled his car into the parking lot of an abandoned something-or-other and got out. Without a word to the young man and his older friend, he went up to the SUV. He crouched, looking inside, and swore under his breath. Next he went to the police cruiser. Blood was on the driver’s seat.

“Dammit, Charles,” he breathed.

“Pretty crazy, right?” Michael turned to the younger guy standing just outside his opened car door, parked under the light. He motioned to the cars. “We just got here,” he confirmed.

“See the people inside?” Michael asked, walking over to them. The older man shook his head.

“Nope, empty when we pulled up,” he said.

Michael nodded.

“You know, the cops and EMTs probably already came and got everyone out,” Michael tried.

The younger guy wasn’t buying it.

“They would have sectioned this place off or at least kept a cop here to make sure no one ran into all this,” he reasoned.

“Then where would the passengers be?” the older man asked.

“I don’t know,” the younger one admitted. “But I’m going to call this in regardless.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, ready to be a good little Samaritan. Michael let out a loud sigh. It drew the two men’s attention to him.

“Hey, you can’t say I didn’t at least try.”

Michael pulled out his gun and shot the young man in the head. His phone hit the asphalt, waiting for him to finish the three-digit number. The older man looked on in muted horror.

“Just to let you know, I’m no coward,” Michael said, raising his gun again. This seemed to thaw the man. His face contorted to one of rage. Whoever the young man was, he had meant something to him. Not that Michael cared. “I just don’t have time for this.”

Michael pulled the trigger, only readjusting slightly when the man tried to act. He tipped backward and fell against the hot street. Michael turned back to the SUV and cop car when he noticed something he hadn’t the first time. Leading away from the scene and past the parking lot he’d parked in was a trail of something dark.

It was blood.

He smiled.

Time to clean up a mess.

* * *

T
HE
FIRST
SHOT
sounded like a car backfiring and Jackson almost thought it was. That is, until Charles’s lips, covered in blood pouring from his busted nose, pulled up into a wicked grin.

“You aren’t the only ones with friends,” the man said.

“Somehow I doubt men like you have friends,” Jackson responded without missing a beat. Charles snorted.

“Call him whatever you want but—” Another gunshot sounded, making Charles pause. They waited for another gun to go off. When it didn’t, Charles continued. “He’s armed and, I’m guessing, not afraid to kill you now.”

Jackson couldn’t tell from where they stood what was going on in the intersection they had left behind, but he knew it wasn’t good. He ground his teeth together, silently cursing when a thought occurred to him.

“Empty your pockets,” Jackson commanded.

Charles’s smile didn’t drop. “Or what? You’ll shoot me?”

Jackson motioned to the bullet wound already in the man’s arm.

“I already proved I’m not afraid to do just that,” he said. “Now empty your pockets.”

“You know, I don’t get why you’re trying to protect her like this,” Charles said. “As far as I can tell, you barely know her. Why would you risk your life for hers? Would she even do that for you?”

It was Jackson’s turn to smile. He felt the cold from it. “Empty. Your. Pockets.”

Charles’s smile wavered. He seemed to be considering his options. Jackson readied for an attack, but finally Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

And then threw it with his good arm toward the corner of the lot, closest to the road that ran toward the intersection where their vehicles were.

Jackson swore, not so silently.

“If you want my phone,” Charles said, “you can go get it yourself.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jackson couldn’t help yelling. “Why would you help a pompous man like Andrew Miller kill an innocent woman? What kind of man does that even make
you
?”

“A man who wants to get paid. It’s my job,” he spit. “Though my old one now.”

Jackson raised his eyebrow, questioning the comment.

Charles seemed to like his confusion. Or, rather, answering it. “One I’ll gladly quit so I can kill that little—”

For what felt like the tenth time that day, a gunshot split through the air. Charles tipped sideways, eyes wide, and fell to the floor.

Confused, Jackson whipped his head to the left.

“And
that
is why you never agree to be partners with someone.”

Michael didn’t lower his gun as he moved around one of the beams. A choice that didn’t fare well for Jackson. He brought Charles’s gun up and tried to take cover, but it was too late.

* * *

J
ACKSON
RAN
THROUGH
the maze of steel and concrete like a bat out of Hell.

He had no doubt that the few yards of a head start he had on Michael were the only thing keeping him alive. However, one misstep and he was done for. No question about it. If Michael had an opening, he wouldn’t hesitate in killing him. And Jackson wasn’t that confident that with his current surroundings he could stop the man.

Jackson might have had a sketchy background, wrought with disorderly conducts thanks to bar brawls and self-defense—plus a few run-ins with other unsavory characters over the years—but he knew his aim wasn’t as true as the mercenary’s. It was one thing to shoot paper targets, bottles in a field, or even a man a few feet away in a lobby but it was an entirely different beast to hit a trained man bent on killing you with the hefty advantage of a surprise attack. Plus, if he’d added up correctly, Charles’s gun was low on ammo. If he had any chance of winning their duel, he’d need to make every shot count.

So, with more pain than he’d ever felt in his life, his heart pounding and his mind racing, Jackson wove his way through what was becoming his personal construction nightmare as far away from Nikki as he could get.

Just thinking about the woman, unconscious, defenseless and hurt, gave him a second wind. It also gave him something he realized he’d been working without since the car crash.

Complete clarity.

He ran the length of the unfinished building until he hit the corner of the nonexistent office. Instead of turning to follow the outline of the connected building, Jackson pivoted around a beam and raised his gun.

It was time for a last stand.