The Distraction (17 page)

I
t took only a second for my mind to wrap around what was happening, but it was the longest second of my life. A man held me from behind, one arm wrapped around my waist, while the other hand held something sharp and cold to my throat. He wasn't much taller than me, maybe four or five inches. I could feel his belt against my lower back and the buttons of his shirt against my spine.

“That was quite a show,” he said appreciatively. He wore gloves. The soft leather stuck to the sweat on my stomach.

I recognized his voice, but couldn't place it.

Alec was standing in front of me a few feet away, shirtless, ripped with muscle. The chair he'd been sitting on was tipped over on its back. He held his open hands up.

“You're a hard man to catch alone,” the man said to him. “Between the public spaces and the feds tailing you, you don't make it easy.”

The FBI was following Alec? My mind grasped on to the hope that they were close, in the hotel even.

“Let her go,” Alec said, over the heavy music. I cursed that music now. If it hadn't been so loud, we would have heard someone break in.

I searched his eyes for recognition, but there was only cold fury. He didn't know this man.

As I struggled, the intruder's hand slid across my belly. All I wore was the lace thong. I might as well have been naked. When he'd grabbed me, I'd covered my breasts, but as he moved I released them in order to try to shove his hands away.

He pinched me hard below the ribs, and I swallowed my shout of pain.

“Let her go,” Alec said again, “and I won't kill you.”

The man gave an amused laugh. “I guess we found your weakness.”

Alec's gaze flicked to mine, and I saw what he needed me to do. Adrenaline pounded through me, overtaking my fright. But before I could try to break free, the man took two quick steps back, dragging me with him. One of my shoes fell off as I scrambled to keep up.

“I could cut her open, Flynn,” said the man. “Maybe then you'd get your head on straight.”

I turned my head, just a little, and caught a glimpse of a scar running from the corner of his mouth across his cheek.

“I know you,” I said. “You work in valet.” The buttons scratching my back were part of his beige uniform. I could picture him clearly now, as he'd been yesterday taking my car. How long had he waited here for us? Clearly he knew who Alec was.

He pressed the knife harder to my throat and my breath caught.

“Who are you?” Alec asked, taking a slow step forward.

“That's good enough,” said the man. Alec stopped. “You need to listen now, not ask questions.”

Alec nodded once, unnaturally calm and still. My eyes darted around the room. The phone was on the nightstand beside the lamp—too far away to grab. The chair was too heavy. I could feel the metal prick my skin, and I jumped.

Alec bared his teeth, as though the knife had cut him, not me.

“I'm listening,” he said.

“Get the feds to drop the case against Stein. Bobby Calloway took the hit for the woman on the bridge. You do your part and Stein walks. This is the only time we're going to ask.”

“And what do you care?” I asked. “You a friend of his?”

“You've got quite a mouth,” he said, a smile in his voice. “I used to talk back, too, before someone taught me not to.”

I had a grim feeling he was referring to the scar on his face.

“You work for Reznik,” Alec said. “Stein is paying Reznik to keep me quiet.”

The man didn't disagree. In the back of my mind I remembered Alec saying the FBI was watching Reznik. That must have been why he'd sent this man.

I was trembling now, ready to do what I needed so that Alec could take him down. I only hoped the knife wasn't lodged in my throat when he did.

“He was disappointed you didn't come by to see him at the restaurant.” Reznik's messenger nuzzled my ear, and I turned as far away as I could from him. “So what's it going to be, Flynn? Are you going to play along, or do you need a little more encouragement?

With that, his hand snaked up my body and clutched my breast. Even though he was wearing gloves, I felt like I was going to puke.

It was now or never.

Just like Alec and I had practiced, I tucked my chin, shifted my hips, and slipped beneath my captor's arm. Then Alec charged, faster than I would have thought a man of his size could move. I was tossed hard to the side, so hard the wind was knocked out of my lungs as I hit the wall and crumpled to the floor. For a few moments I gasped, seeing stars, but they cleared just as the two bodies crashed into the desk in the corner of the room.

My hand flew to where he'd held the knife. Just a nick. It left a small smear of red on my fingertips.

There was a loud crack, even over the slap of the bass, and the desk broke. Both men rolled across the ground, a tangle of limbs and flying fists. I searched for the knife, but couldn't see it. I backed against the wall; there was no way to help—they were moving too fast, hitting too hard.

Reznik's man shouted in pain; the sound felt like claws raking down my spine.

“Anna?” Alec called. “Talk to me!”

“I'm okay!”

I crawled across the carpet toward the nightstand, jerking the iPod dock cord from the wall as I passed. The sudden silence screamed in my ears as I felt atop the table for the lamp. When my hands were around the base, I stood, and heaved it over my shoulder like a bat. The last light in the room went out, leaving us with only the moonlight streaming through the window as a guide.

I was too late. Alec was hunched over his knees, grasping his side. On the floor before him laid the man with the scar on his face, wearing the beige uniform of all the valets and bellhops in this hotel. His arm was bent backward, like he was a doll who'd had his limb reattached the wrong way. A new wave of nausea climbed up my throat.

“Is he . . .”

“Out.” Alec reached toward me. “Don't look at him. Look at me.”

The shakes caught up with me then. I trembled so hard I could barely walk. I crumpled into him as he slid back against the foot of the bed.

“Let me see you.” He was winded, barely able to speak, and this scared me. Alec was impenetrable. He couldn't be injured.

He touched my neck with one quaking hand, refusing to let go of his side with the other. “Are you all right?”

I nodded.

He pulled the blanket off the bed and tugged it around my shoulders. When I was covered, he pulled me against him.

It wasn't until then that I saw the blood dripping down his side.

“Alec, you're hurt.” I peeled his hand back, no longer caring that I was naked beneath this blanket, or that we'd been attacked by men Maxim had paid. Only seeing Alec.

There was a puncture wound on his right side just above his lowest rib. It oozed blood, black in the dim light.

My heart felt like it had stopped beating.

“It's nothing,” he said, latching his hand over the wound again. “I'm sorry, Anna. I'm so sorry.”

He coughed, and then stopped the sound with a tight groan.

“Alec!” I grabbed him before he fell to the side, and helped to ease him onto the floor. Panic threatened to take control of me, but I pushed it back. Not yet. I wouldn't break yet. Alec needed me.

I glanced to Reznik's man, and found him still unconscious behind us.

“I have to call the FBI,” Alec said, voice tight with pain. “Get my phone.”

My mind was racing. If the FBI wasn't already here, they'd failed as far as I was concerned.

“I'm going to call 911,” I said. “Don't move.”

I ran to the nightstand and dialed the numbers. I wasn't connected to emergency services though, I was put through to the building's security. The man that answered already knew my room number and asked what the problem was.

“S-someone broke in,” I stammered. “My boyfriend's been stabbed. You have to send someone now.” Still holding the phone, I raced back to Alec, who was trying to sit up again.

“Alec, hold still.”

His breathing was shallow. Too fast. I pulled the blanket off my shoulders and pushed down on the wound, hoping it would slow the bleeding.

“Find Mike,” he said between breaths. “You can trust Mike.”

“Shh . . .” I snatched the robe, half under the ruined remains of the desk, and quickly put it on.

“I'm sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” My voice cracked.

I propped his head on my lap, and kept the pressure on his wound, even as he grimaced in pain.

“You were incredible,” he said, siphoning in a quick breath through his teeth. “I fucking love the ballet.”

I gave a watery laugh then bit the inside of my cheek.
Don't cry don't cry don't cry.

“I love you.” I pressed my lips against his forehead.

“Sure,” he muttered. “You say it now that I'm dying.”

The cold prickled my skin.

“Hold on,” I said. “Help is coming.”

Over his body, I watched the motionless form of the man who'd attacked us, and waited.

T
hree hours later I was pacing across the waiting room of the ER. I'd counted the tiles—fourteen from one side to the other—and when I reached the end, I turned around and started over. It was the only thing that kept me from kicking down the door that separated me from Alec.

“Anna.”

I looked up as Mike crossed the waiting room to where I was standing. He was wearing blue baggy sweats that clashed with a red, long-sleeved T-shirt. I imagined him reaching for the first pieces of clothing he could find when I'd called and told him what had happened.

Just having him here made me feel infinitely better.

“How's our boy?” he asked.

I stared at the metal doors, blocking us from the patient area.

“I don't know. The doctor said he has a punctured lung and a couple broken ribs. They're not going to operate but . . .” I swallowed. Inhaled. “But he's got a tube in his throat and an IV in his arm and if they don't let me see him in the next five minutes I'm going to start breaking things.”

“All right,” he said, wrapping me in a hard hug. “Let me see what I can do.”

I followed him to the front desk, where a bossy nurse looked down from her high horse just long enough to tell us we'd have to wait for someone to call for us.

She couldn't tell us how long it would be.

She couldn't tell us if he was okay.

She couldn't tell us shit.

“Let's sit down.” Mike led us to a row of orange bucket seats. The next row over, a woman laid across the chairs, knees curled up against her stomach, her head in a man's lap.

“Alec's going to be okay,” Mike said. “He's a tough son of a bitch.”

“He was
stabbed
.” My voice broke. I hunched forward, elbows on my knees. “I don't know what's going on. We were back there together, and then two policemen showed up. They took my statement and kicked me out.”

I didn't understand why I couldn't stay with Alec. He'd been sedated when I left. Vulnerable. I didn't even trust the doctors to be alone with him at this point. Not after Reznik's man had gotten to us.

Mike placed a warm hand in the center of my back. I was grateful he was here. I didn't want to be alone.

“You're freezing,” he said with a frown. He rubbed my arm. I'd been given a set of scrubs when I'd come in, and though they provided more coverage than the blanket, they were still paper-thin. I wasn't even wearing a bra, which was obvious as I looked down.

I crossed my arms over my chest.

He walked back to the front desk, and returned with a thin, pink hospital blanket that he draped over my shoulders.

“This guy that broke in,” Mike said. “He hurt you?”

There was an iciness in his voice as he said this, and it occurred to me why Alec had said I could trust Mike. He would serve as my protector while Alec could not.

My fingertips felt my neck, now covered with a Band-Aid. That was nothing compared to the feel of our attacker fondling my nearly naked body.

“Not really.”

“How'd he get in?”

“Key card,” I answered. “He'd slipped in as a new worker in valet. No one even thought to check up on him.” So much for awesome security. “He'd brought wire cutters for the chain.”

Mike muttered a curse. “The cops took him?”

“Yeah.” He'd roused by the time the paramedics had arrived, but the hotel's security had handcuffed him to the bed frame by then. The manager, a perfectly groomed man with blotchy red cheeks, had been in shock, apologizing to me over and over as I'd stayed with the team that took Alec by stretcher to the ambulance.

“Where's Chloe?” I asked, remembering suddenly that I'd pulled a family man from his home in the middle of the night.

“Took her to my mom's. She barely even woke up.”

I nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

He put his arm around me, and gave me another squeeze.

A moment later a nurse in pink scrubs opened the security doors and waved to me across the lobby. After vouching for Mike, we were led back through an intricate maze of hallways to a room where one of the two policemen I'd met earlier was standing guard. He must have been fresh out of the academy, with a crisp blue uniform and dark, buzzed hair. I glared at him. He was the one who'd escorted me to the waiting room when I'd refused to leave.

The nurse stopped us both before going inside. “One at a time.”

Mike offered for me to go ahead.

“Make it quick,” the guard said to me as I passed. I nearly stopped and told him he could kiss my ass, I would take as long as I damn well pleased, but Mike ushered me forward.

The room was sterile, white, without the stock art and bad wallpaper that you found in most hospitals. Emergency services probably didn't keep people long enough to warrant decorations. From behind the half-pulled curtain came a cough, then a raspy sigh.

“Alec?” I rushed to the bedside, finding him pale, baring his teeth in a pained grimace. He was trying to sit up, but was tangled in his IV and heart rate monitor. The tube had been removed from his throat, and been replaced with an oxygen line beneath his nose, which he was in the process of pulling off his face.

“Hey, you need to lie down!” The nurse pushed me aside and blocked him with a firm hand on his upper arm.

He blinked a few times, focusing on me.

“Alec, it's okay. I'm here.” I grabbed his hand, held it between both of mine. He wasn't much warmer than I was.

“Anna,” he whispered. He pulled me close, and I threw my arms around his neck, careful to avoid the tubes and bandages. His hands fisted in the back of my shirt.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was raw, quiet.

I helped settle him back on the pillow and touched his face.

“I . . . I came with you, remember?” Maybe he was out of it and didn't remember the ambulance ride. I wished I were so lucky. The way he'd fought as they'd intubated him, the blood soaking through the bandages on his side. Those were images I'd never forget.

“They said you'd left.”

“No, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

His eyes grew wary. With a shake of his head he released me and tried to push up on his elbows. Gently, I pushed him back down. The beep on his heart rate monitor picked up speed.

“It's not safe here,” he said. He coughed, then winced.

A chill crept over my skin. I wasn't sure who we could trust anymore.

I glanced over my shoulder as the nurse left the room.

“Who?” I whispered. “The cop? You think he knows Reznik?”

“Me,”
he said, too loudly, then clutched his side. “You're not safe around
me
.”

He'd pulled his hand away, but I'd come closer and spread my hands over his chest in an attempt to keep him from moving. The gown they'd put him in was untied, and fell open, revealing a thick gauze bandage covering half his chest, a reminder of what had happened.

“Lie back,” I said. “Please.”

Footsteps crossed the floor. I turned to look, but instead of seeing Mike, I saw a woman in a sharp black suit with shoulder-length auburn hair. Her age was hard to pinpoint—she looked to be in her early thirties, but the confident way she assessed us made me think she might be older. She wasn't beautiful, but she
was
hot. There was a dominatrix-y kind of vibe about her. In her hands was Alec's chart.

“You're going to be fine,” she said, speaking to Alec.

Alec's mouth formed a thin line.

“You're his doctor?” I looked for the stethoscope.

The woman's gaze shifted to me. She was all business, not even an ounce of reassurance.

“You're Ms. Rossi,” she said. “The masseuse. I've seen you from afar.”

“She's with the FBI,” Alec said. “This is Agent Jamison.”

“You've been watching Alec?” I asked, feeling a spark of resentment flash to something much brighter.

“Obviously not when he's behind closed doors,” Jamison answered.

I snorted. “Obviously not.”

Jamison gave me a hard look, the kind I'm sure made most people wither. Not me, though. I'd run up against scarier people than her.

“I read the police report,” she said to Alec. “Anything you'd like to add?”

“The guy who attacked us was working for Reznik,” Alec said. “Max Stein must have paid him to stop me from testifying against him.”

Jamison considered this a moment, but didn't look surprised.

“He's getting nervous,” she said. “That's good.”

“For who?” I asked. “Alec was just stabbed. I was . . .” I threw my hands up. I didn't want to say it again; I'd already told the police.

Jamison's eyes pinched at the corners.

“This is the first attempt since prison?” she asked. I recognized her voice now. She'd been the one saying his name when he'd called me at his father's.

Alec's gaze flicked to me. The cold seeped deeper into my skin.

“What do you mean ‘since prison'?” I asked.

She didn't answer, leaving Alec to fill me in.

“Max has connections,” he said grimly. “They run deep.”

I couldn't believe he hadn't mentioned this before.

“What does
that
mean?” I asked, realizing as I said it what must have happened. “The scar on your back. That wasn't an accident in the metal shop.”

Alec avoided my eyes.

“They moved me to isolation,” he said through his teeth. “I wasn't permitted any contact with the outside after that.”

That's why he hadn't called me or written while he'd been in prison. Not because the FBI was worried about contaminating the case. Because he had already been attacked once, and they were trying to keep it from happening again.

My fear for him—for both of us—deepened.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked quietly.

“Probably to avoid that look you're giving him right now,” chimed in Jamison, flipping through the chart.

I turned on her, my temper shooting past its boiling point.

“No one asked you,” I snapped. “What do you know anyway? He could have died tonight!”

She removed a tube of ChapStick from her pocket and rolled it over her lips.

“I know that if you play with fire, you get burned.”

Her intent was clear. She was blaming Alec for what had happened, and me for putting myself at risk by staying with him. If he'd never associated with Maxim Stein, we wouldn't be in danger now.

I stared at her, fingernails digging into my palms. I didn't like her. Didn't like her tone, didn't like her neat little suit. But deep down inside of me, I couldn't say she was wrong.

“Anna,” Alec said.

“I'll give you a few minutes,” said Jamison. With that, she turned and left the room, taking Alec's chart with her.

I turned back to the man I loved, hating the betrayal I felt when I looked at him. “You told me no more secrets.”

“There was no reason for you to know.”

“That's not the point.” I swallowed to keep my throat from tying in knots. “If I'm going to be with you, I need full disclosure.”

He stared at me for one long moment, and in it his emotions and his pain became hidden, as if pulled behind a steel curtain.

“If,”
he said quietly.

I pressed my thumbs into the corners of my eyebrows.

“If you weren't with me, what happened tonight wouldn't have happened,” he said. “A lot of things wouldn't have happened.”

“Alec.” A pressure, just as heavy as that I'd felt pacing in the waiting room but less sharp, settled on my chest. I didn't like where this was going.

Jamison returned to the room, followed by a doctor in a white lab coat. A nurse came in a second later, her arms filled with supplies—IV bags, bandages, a box of rubber gloves.

“He's safe to transport now?” asked Jamison.

“It's not my preference,” said the doctor, an Indian man with a thick black moustache. “But if you must, you must.”

He wrote something in the chart, then checked a prescription bottle the nurse handed to him.

“Saddle up, Flynn,” said Jamison. “We're out of here.”

I gripped Alec's forearm. “Where are we going?”

“You're going home,” the agent said to me.

Alec shoved himself up in his bed. The nurse had placed the supplies in a white plastic bag and was pushing a wheelchair up to the bed for Alec. Mike stood in the doorway, kept back by the police officer guarding the door.

“I'm staying with Alec,” I said.

“Not possible,” said Jamison. The nurse was unhooking Alec from the heart monitor. “He's going into protective custody until the trial.”

They were separating us. After we'd both just been attacked together.

The realization suddenly became clear. Alec was the important one. He was going to testify against Maxim Stein in the biggest white-collar case since Bernie Madoff. But me? I was just his girlfriend. The masseuse.

“That wasn't the plan,” said Alec.

“The plan's changed,” Jamison responded.

“She was supposed to be kept out of all this.”

“She was,” said Jamison. “You're the one who keeps bringing her back in.”

Alec muttered a curse.

“Where are you taking him?” I asked.

“I'm afraid that's classified,” said Jamison.

“She needs protection more than I do,” Alec argued breathlessly. “They've seen her. They know who she is.”

“I've put in a request to have a car stationed outside her residence through the night. I'll press Stein about the attack, but his wall of lawyers is ten feet thick. All we can do is continue to monitor Reznik.”

The police officer stepped into the room. I backed into the bed, into Alec, who put a protective hand around my waist.