Turn on a Dime - Blane's Turn (32 page)

CHAPTER TEN

When Blane woke, he was in a small, windowless room. He was lying on the cold, hard floor and when he moved, his entire body reminded him of how he’d gotten there. His ribs ached and a headache was crushing his skull.

Getting to his feet, Blane glanced at his watch, only to see they’d taken it from him. His cell phone was laying on his desk at home, so no help there. A tray of food was sitting inside the door, and as Blane glanced around, he saw a tiny camera up in the corner. It seemed they were watching.

Inspecting every inch of the walls, Blane quickly ascertained that there was no escape possible, at least not from the inside. The door was locked, the edges fitting tightly into the wall. He wasn’t going anywhere until someone came through that door.

Picking up the tray, Blane flung it against the opposite wall, the crash it made not as satisfying as he’d hoped. Looking up at the camera, he flipped it the bird.

Kathleen was dead.

The realization hit him again and he had to swallow down the nausea that erupted. He’d failed. He said he’d protect her. Now she was dead.

Blane leaned against the wall, sinking down to sit on the floor as he stared at nothing. She’d been so sweet, so young. Too young to die.

Death wasn’t new to him, but it having an effect certainly was. Blane thought he’d immunized himself to the pain of loss. War left no other option. It was stop feeling, or lose your mind. His eyes stung and it was an effort to swallow. Her death was pointless, a waste. The last thing he’d said to her had been goodbye.

Blane vowed that when he got out of here, he’d kill Frank Santini. Then he’d find whoever had been the actual hand of Kathleen’s death, and that person would die very, very slowly. He couldn’t bring her back, but he could avenge her.

Without a way to tell the time, Blane had no way of knowing how fast or slow the day was going, or even how long he’d been unconscious. The waiting began to grate on him. Forced confinement combined with his anger over Kathleen and his inability to do anything about it worked him up into a state that he couldn’t stop pacing. His long strides ate up the floor, back and forth, and he occasionally glanced up at the camera, wishing whoever was behind it was here so he could wipe the floor with their sorry ass.

His imagination kept painting Kathleen’s death in his head, though Frank hadn’t said how she’d died. Blane hoped it’d been quick, that she hadn’t been in pain, maybe hadn’t even known what was coming. Unfortunately, he doubted she’d been that lucky. What if whoever Frank sent hadn’t just killed her? What if he’d hurt her first? Hit her? Raped her?

It was enough to drive him mad. Finally, when he felt like he would come out of his skin if he didn’t get out of here soon, he heard someone at the door.

Taking up a spot just inside, Blane waited. Whoever it was, he’d grab them and get the hell out of here.

The keys jangled as they scraped at the lock, then the door opened.

Blane seized the collar of the janitor. Hauling him into the room, Blane shoved him up against the wall. The hat the guy was wearing fell to the floor and long, strawberry blonde hair tumbled out.

“Kathleen?”

The shock of seeing her went through Blane like an electric current. He didn’t think, he just felt, and what he felt was a relief and joy that went bone-deep. Blane was kissing her before he’d made the conscious decision to do so.

She was alive. Warm and soft and unhurt. They hadn’t killed her.

Blane pulled back, his gaze intent on hers as he cupped her jaw. He memorized the blue depths of her eyes, the feel of her cheek as his fingers drifted lightly over her skin. He’d been given a second chance with her. Another chance to keep her safe. Another chance to make her his. And suddenly Blane realized he wanted that. He wanted that very much.

“They told me you were dead,” he rasped, still touching her as if to reassure himself that she was really there.

“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” she said, her voice slightly breathless.

The Mark Twain quote amused Blane, knocking him out of his funk.

“I’m here to bust you out,” she said. “Let me go now?”

Blane realized he was pressed tightly against her, rendering her nearly immobile, and he stepped back. As glad as he was that she was alive, she wouldn’t be much longer if he didn’t get her out of here.

“How did you get in here?” he asked.

“I’m temping here today and I saw you on the security cameras,” she said, unknotting the cord that tied his hands together. Blane worked at the rest until it fell to the floor. It felt good having his arms free.

She’d been here? All day? Good God. The thought nearly made Blane’s heart stop.

Kathleen reached for his face, concern etched on her features, and Blane grabbed her wrist.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Typical. Kathleen was the one they wanted to kill, and she wanted to know if
he
was all right.

“I’m fine,” Blane answered. “Though I have a serious problem with you being within a mile of this place.”

Her jaw set in a stubborn line. “I don’t recall asking your permission,” she retorted.

Blane had nearly failed her once. He wasn’t about to again. He easily took the gun from her.

“Hey!” she protested.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, pulling her into position so his body blocked hers. He eased open the door and saw a guard lying motionless on the floor. “Is he dead?”

“Of course not! I wasn’t trying to kill him. Just knock him out.”

Blane shoved the gun in his pants and grabbed under the guy’s armpits. “And how did you manage that?” he said, dragging the guy into his erstwhile prison.

“I hit him with a plunger.”

That stopped Blane in his tracks. He gaped at her. She’d come to rescue him with only a plunger as a weapon?

Kathleen shrugged. “Then he slipped and hit his head. I got lucky.”

She had no idea. “Let’s hope your luck holds.” He grabbed the guy’s jacket, shrugging it on over his torn shirt. “Let’s go.”

Blane led the way down the hall to where he hoped there was an exit. Gun in hand, he eased around the corner. No one was there and he saw a freight elevator. Perfect.

Once inside, Kathleen got rid of her janitor disguise. Blane didn’t bother looking anywhere else but at her as she took off the overalls. Her skirt was bunched at her waist, providing a lovely view of her legs and more before she smoothed the wrinkled fabric down. She tried to fix her hair, then gave up and let it fall around her shoulders. The fierceness of what he felt as he watched her surprised Blane and he filed it away to analyze later.

They reached what seemed to be the basement level without incident, but their luck didn’t last.

“What are you doing down here? Stop right there!”

Shit. Blane grabbed Kathleen’s arm and started running. The guy behind them fired and Kathleen cried out. The bullet missed, hitting the wall instead. They reached the elevator and Blane hit the button, dragging Kathleen in front of him to shield her with his body. The guy was getting closer and fired another shot. This one hit its mark, embedding itself in Blane’s shoulder and coming out the other side.

Turning, Blane fired. The guy fell and didn’t move.

The elevator finally got there and they wasted no time getting inside. Kathleen jabbed again and again at the button until the doors closed. Blane leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths and trying to compartmentalize the pain.

Kathleen suddenly pulled aside his jacket. “Oh my God, Blane! You were hit!”

“I’ll be fine,” he said to calm her. She looked near hysterics. Her face was white and her hands shook. Blane remembered what she’d said to him when he’d seen the bruise on her face. “It looks worse than it feels.”

She swallowed. “Good, because it looks horrible.” She looked on the verge of tears.

The elevator doors opened and Blane concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as they walked through the lobby. A couple dozen other people were also leaving for the day. Good. They’d blend in.

Kathleen’s palm pressed into his and Blane curled his hand around hers. She was ice cold. Two men rushed toward the elevator behind them and Kathleen’s grip tightened. Blane could almost smell the fear and adrenaline pouring off her.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, trying to soothe her. She couldn’t panic now. They were almost at the doors. “Keep moving.”

With a degree of calm that belied the fine tremors running through her body, Kathleen walked beside him until they’d reached the outdoors and freedom. Her pace sped up and Blane gritted his teeth. Blood loss was getting to him. He could feel it oozing from the wound and coating his skin and the fabric of the coat. The pain was becoming harder to manage and he pressed his lips tightly together.

Kathleen seemed to sense that he was in trouble, wedging herself under his arm and taking some of his weight as he staggered. Blane didn’t pay attention to where they were going, his focus on staying conscious and alert for signs anyone was following them. They rounded a corner and suddenly Kade was there. Blane didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to see him.

“What the fuck did you do?” Kade bit out angrily to Kathleen.

“Not her fault,” Blane said, moving to lean on Kade instead of Kathleen.

Kade helped Blane to the car and Blane gratefully sank into the passenger seat.

“Is he going to be okay?” he heard Kat ask Kade.

“He will be. As soon as I get him to a hospital. You coming?”

“No. I have to be at the airport by seven.”

That got Blane’s attention, dragging him abruptly out of fog permeating his mind.

“Why?” He couldn’t manage more than that, but he couldn’t think of a single damn reason why she should be going to the airport instead of his house, where she’d be safe.

“They’re going to Chicago tonight,” she said. “I’m working for one of the vice-presidents, Stephen Avery. I’m hoping I’ll be able to find the right server on-site.”

Blane looked at Kade. He didn’t need to say anything, Kade knew exactly what he was thinking. She’d wouldn’t get two feet inside the door before they executed her.

“Grab her,” Blane ordered.

He saw Kade wrap an arm around a protesting Kathleen and heaved a sigh of relief. She was safe. Kade would keep her safe. Darkness enveloped him and this time he gave in to its silent embrace.

When he woke, he was staring at the white ceiling of a hospital room. Blane sat up with a jerk. His shoulder reminded him of why he was here and he grimaced. His clothes had been removed and he was wearing one of those awful hospital gowns.

A nurse nearby stepped forward. “Mr. Kirk?”

“Where am I?” Blane asked.

“Indiana University Hospital,” she answered, checking the drip on the I.V. in his arm.

“What time is it?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “After midnight.”

“Where’s the man who brought me?” Blane asked. He needed Kade. Kade had Kathleen. He needed to see Kathleen, needed to know she was okay.

“He left hours ago,” the nurse said, reaching to take his blood pressure. “He did leave a cell phone for you. Said you’d want it.”

“May I have it?”

She nodded, finishing her task before going to a corner and retrieving his cell from the counter. As he dialed, Blane said, “Please get the attending physician. I need to go.”

“But you have to stay overnight for observation,” she protested.

“Did the bullet hit any major organs?”

“No.”

“Did they sew me up?”

“Yes.”

“Then get the doctor and I’ll leave my card for the cops.”

Blane held the phone to his ear, dismissing her. He ignored her and she exited the room in a huff. It rang three times before Kade answered.

“Thanks for leaving me my cell,” Blane said. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, give me a minute,” Kade said.

Blane heard the murmur of voices as he waited, then finally Kade came back on the line. “I’m fine. How’re the nurses treating you?”

“Good enough, I guess. I just woke up a few minutes ago.”

“Anything permanently damaged?”

“No. It was a clean shot,” Blane said. ““Where are you? Where’s Kathleen?”

“Ah, yeah. About that. I’m in Chicago.”

“Did you find the server?”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“And it’s taken care of,” Kade said. “They won’t be delivering any elections tomorrow.”

“Good work,” Blane said, relieved. He’d known Kade would come through, even if Blane had been taken out of the picture. “Did you stash Kathleen somewhere safe?”

There was a pause. “She’s with me.”

It took a moment for Blane to process that, then, “Are you fucking kidding me?” he ground out. “I told you to grab her, not take her to Chicago. I trusted you—”

“Relax, she’s fine,” Kade cut in. “Short of me tying her down, she was coming here. I came along to keep her safe.”