UNDERCOVER TWIN (8 page)

Heather leaned over the side of the car, looking at the shelving for some kind of weapon. Why hadn’t she kept the statue? She gasped when a dark shadow moved into the garage. Nick, again. The man was going to be the death of her the way he kept disappearing and re-appearing. She pressed her hand against her chest, her heart beating so fast she could hear it pulsing in her ears.

Nick gently eased the door to the house shut, dug his keys out of his pocket and ran to the car.

He jumped over the side and plopped down onto the driver’s seat. “You said you wished you had a gun earlier. Just how good a shot are you?”

“I grew up on a farm. I’ve been shooting since I was ten. I guarantee I can outshoot you.”

“Unfortunately, you just may have to prove that. The door to the house has hinges on the inside, meaning there’s no way to brace it from out here.” He laid his pistol in his lap and reached down, yanking up the leg of his jeans. A small holster was strapped to his calf. He pulled out a .38 snub-nose and handed it to her. “If anyone comes through that door, don’t hesitate, shoot them.”

She nodded, grateful to finally have a weapon, and turned around in her seat, aiming at the door that led back into the house.

The garage door squeaked as it began to rise.

Heather swallowed hard. She felt so exposed knowing the door was opening behind her, but she kept her gun trained on the house door as Nick had told her to do.

The doorknob rattled. The door flew open. Heather didn’t wait for someone to step out. She squeezed the trigger, aiming at the middle of the dark opening.

The shot was deafening in the confines of the garage. A man screamed and fell through the doorway onto the concrete floor behind the car.

“Hold on,” Nick yelled.

Heather grabbed the back of her seat with her left hand as the car rocketed forward out of the garage. She kept her gun trained on the door to the house.

“Ah, hell. It’s the freaking O.K. Corral around here. Get down,” Nick yelled.

Heather dropped down into the seat.

Shots rang out behind them as the car flew down the driveway. Nick slid down in his seat, too, trying to take cover while steering the car. The already cracked windshield shattered and sprayed bits of glass all over the inside of the car.

The car fishtailed into the road out front. Nick slid up higher in his seat and yanked the steering wheel hard left, then hard right. He punched the gas again.

Metal pinged as a bullet hit the back of the car. Nick gunned the car down the road. As soon as they rounded a curve, he sat straight up in his seat and wrestled the steering wheel to keep them from going into the ditch on the far side of the road. The car straightened out and practically flew down the narrow two-lane road back toward town.

When the car quit swerving, Heather stowed her gun in the console and climbed into the backseat.

“What are you doing?” Nick demanded.

“Checking on Mark.”

“Hang on, I’m turning.”

She held on to the back of the seat in front of her as Nick swerved onto a side road, tires screeching. He continued his mad dash, flying down street after street, passing more and more houses as they got closer to town.

“How’s he doing?” Nick asked, turning onto another road, but at a less-frantic speed than before.

Heather pulled Mark’s shirt open and found the entry hole in his chest, about halfway down his rib cage on the right side. She pressed her hands against his injury, applying pressure. “The bleeding isn’t that bad now, but he’s still unconscious. We have to get him to a doctor.”

“Check his pockets for his phone. Mine is...waterlogged.”

Heather wondered why he hadn’t hidden his phone, just like he’d hidden his gun, to keep it dry when he swam out after her. He must have forgotten. She kept one palm pressed against Mark’s wound while she fished into his pockets. When she found his cell phone, she pressed a button and was relieved that the light came on and five bars showed they had service. “You want me to call 911?”

“No. Call this number instead.” He rattled off a phone number and Heather punched it in.

She handed him the phone, then pressed both palms against Mark, trying to stop the bleeding.

Nick spoke in some kind of DEA combination of code words that made no sense to her. When he hung up, he set the phone in the console next to his gun.

“We’re ten minutes from the hospital. Backup’s on the way.”

“You sure about that?” she asked. “I don’t remember backup working out so well the last time.”

She saw his quick grin in the rearview mirror. She didn’t think she’d ever met someone before who could smile or laugh so much when people were trying to kill him. She had a feeling he might have actually enjoyed tonight if she hadn’t been there to slow him down or force him to have to protect her instead of going after the bad guys.

Some of the tension drained out of her shoulders. Maybe the worst was over now. Maybe they really would make it out of this mess alive.

“You were right,” she called out over the sound of the wind rushing by. “About everything. I should have trusted you back in Saint Augustine when you warned me about Rickloff’s plan.”

His grin faded and his jaw tightened. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You were put in an impossible situation. You’re a civilian. You never should have been given the choices Waverly and Rickloff gave you.”

“I realize that now.” She shoved her wet hair out of her face. “But there’s still the question of what to do about my sister. I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

“We’ll figure something out. Trust me.”

“I do.”

He gave her a sharp look in the mirror before looking back at the road.

Heather wasn’t sure what that look meant, but she was willing to bet it had something to do with
him
not trusting
her.
Since her arrest at the nightclub, she and Nick had never sat and discussed what had happened. Would it make a difference in his feelings toward her if they sat down and talked? Or would he even give her a chance to explain her side?

A few minutes later, the squeal of tires sounded behind them. Nick checked the mirrors. Heather jerked around in her seat. A car had just swerved from a side road and was rapidly gaining on them. The headlights blinked three times.

Heather half stood, holding on to the back of Nick’s seat for balance. She reached for the snub-nose she’d left in the console.

Nick grabbed her hand before she could get the gun. “Hold on, Annie Oakley. Those aren’t the bad guys. That’s our backup.”

She plopped back down, grinning over his Annie Oakley comment. Either she was too exhausted and relieved that backup had arrived to think clearly anymore, or his warped sense of humor was contagious.

Minutes later, as promised, they were at the hospital. Nick pulled up to the emergency room entrance. The backup car pulled right up behind them and two men jumped out. They both wore wrinkled shirts and jeans, as if they’d pulled on whatever clothes they could find when Nick’s call came in. They immediately flanked Heather.

Nick scooped Mark up out of the backseat and preceded them in through the emergency room doors. A nurse saw them and her eyes widened with alarm. She ran around her desk and grabbed a wheelchair. Nick set Mark in the chair and braced him so he wouldn’t fall out.

One of the agents put his hand on Mark’s shoulder, anchoring him to the chair. “I’ve got this.”

Nick nodded his thanks, and the agent rushed off with the nurse and Mark through the swinging doors into the heart of the emergency room.

Nick introduced himself and Heather to the remaining agent, who said his name was Tanner, and that the other agent who’d gone with Mark was named Chuck.

Another nurse stopped next to them and handed Nick a hospital gown to replace the shirt he’d left in the woods when he’d given Heather his vest. He murmured a thank-you and shrugged the gown on as he spoke to Tanner.

Heather was surprised at how much blood was smeared on Nick’s abdomen. Mark must have bled all over him when Nick picked him up out of the backseat. She quietly offered up a quick prayer for Mark’s safety and tuned back in to what Nick and Tanner were saying.

It soon became clear they had never met each other before.

“Wait. Nick, you don’t know this man but you called him for backup?” she asked.

“I called the satellite office here in Key West and asked for help. Tanner and Chuck were barhopping nearby so they answered the call.”

Tanner rolled his eyes. “We were working, not barhopping.” He waved his hand at his clothes. “It may not look that way, but half my job involves dressing down to blend in.”

Heather smiled at him. “I understand. I do that a lot, too.”

“You’re DEA?”

“Oh, no. I’m a private investigator. But half the time I either meet prospective clients in bars or end up meeting informants in bars. It’s an unfortunate downside to my job.”

“Ah.” He didn’t look impressed, and Heather felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. She probably seemed like a bumbling amateur to an experienced DEA agent.

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Tanner said. “We’ll take good care of both of you. Let’s go find somewhere a bit less out in the open and figure out what’s going on.”

“Go ahead. I’ll catch up,” Nick said. “I’m going to check on Mark.” He hung back while Tanner led Heather down the hall.

“Wait a minute.” Heather stopped and turned around. Nick was going to let her out of his sight, with an agent he’d only just met? Knowing how protective he was, that didn’t sit right with her. She stared at him suspiciously.

He raised a brow in question and crossed his arms over his chest. That action made the hospital gown mold to his body. Heather’s eyes widened and she gasped in shock.

A growing red stain saturated the part of the gown covering Nick’s lower left side. That wasn’t Mark’s blood.

It was Nick’s.

Chapter Seven

Nick plucked at the fresh hospital gown, hating the necessity of wearing the darn thing. His jeans, lying on the emergency room countertop beside the bed he was sitting on, were bloody where the bullet had scraped across his hip. He didn’t relish the idea of putting the jeans back on, but he couldn’t exactly walk out in the flimsy gown he’d worn while the doctor had sewn him up.

A knock sounded on the door. Before he could say anything, the door flew open. Heather stood there, her two DEA agent shadows standing behind her. Two more agents had arrived a few minutes ago and were guarding Mark, just in case someone came in the hospital to seek him out and finish what they’d started.

“Give us a minute, okay, guys?” Heather called over her shoulder. She didn’t wait for an answer. She shoved the door shut, tossed a small bag onto the countertop and put her hands on her hips. Her deep blue eyes were practically shooting sparks as she glared at him.

Nick’s curiosity about what was in the bag was no competition for the vision standing in front of him. He couldn’t have moved to pick up that bag if he’d wanted to. He was too busy just trying to draw a normal breath.

He crossed his arms and tried to appear unaffected, but boy did she look good. Someone had given her a fresh white T-shirt and jeans, both a size too small by some standards but pretty near perfect by his. Every curve was outlined for his hungry gaze. He swallowed, hard, and reluctantly dragged his gaze up from her generous breasts.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, barely able to get the words out past his tight throat. He swallowed again and reminded himself she was off-limits. She wasn’t his girlfriend, not anymore, not if he wanted to keep his job. He’d have a hard enough time as it was explaining to Waverly how he’d ended up in Key West in a firefight when he was suspended and was supposed to be in Saint Augustine.

“You got shot,” Heather accused.

“Uh, yeah. A little bit.”

“A little bit?” she choked out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“We were busy trying to escape without getting killed.”

She shook her head and fisted her hands at her sides. Her gaze went to the items sitting in the tray next to his bed. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

He probably should have hidden his phone.

She strode toward him and grabbed his ruined phone from the tray. When she held the twisted piece of metal up, the bullet hole was clearly visible. Her eyes flashed daggers at him as she tossed the phone back onto the tray. “Waterlogged, Nick? You said your phone was waterlogged.”

“I’m pretty sure I said it was broken.” She sure looked good when she was angry. Her skin was flushed a delicate pink. Her long hair flew out around her and her breasts pushed against her too-tight shirt as she put her hands on her hips.

Nick clutched the edge of the bed to keep from reaching for her.

She narrowed her eyes. “No, you said the phone was waterlogged. You
implied
you forgot to leave your phone on the beach with your gun when you went into the ocean. I thought that was odd for you to forget something like that. Now I know you didn’t. You lied to me.”

He shrugged, unimpressed by that accusation. He lied all the time. It was his job. If lying meant keeping her from worrying and keeping her safe, that’s what he would do. “I didn’t want you to worry about an insignificant injury.”

“Insignificant? You call a gunshot insignificant?”

“Through and through. A handful of stitches.” He gave her his best frown when what he really wanted to do was pull her against him and remind himself how well her curves fit against his hard planes. There was only one reason he could think of for her to be this upset. She still cared about him. After the way he’d treated her, that surprised him. And pleased him. Blood started pumping to a part of his body that left his brain slightly dazed from lack of oxygen.

“I could have helped you,” she insisted. “When did you get shot?” She reached past him, tore the plastic bag open that she’d carried in and dumped out a pair of jeans, a shirt, and miraculously, a pair of tennis shoes that looked like they just might fit.

She grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed and tossed it over his lap. Then she began tugging at the fastenings on his hospital gown, apparently intent on helping him change clothes. He wondered just how far she’d go with that, and he couldn’t seem to dredge up any desire to refuse her help.

She pulled the gown off and pitched it on the countertop. “Well? When did you get shot?”

He had a feeling if he told her he’d gotten shot just as they’d reached the woods after running from the house, that she’d never let him hear the end of it. He decided a vague reply was the safer route. “I’m not really sure. It didn’t even hurt.”

Actually, it had hurt like hell, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

She rolled her eyes and helped him slide his arms into the clean shirt. “
I’m
sure that it did. I don’t buy for one second that you don’t know when you were hit.” She stepped back, apparently deciding he could button his own shirt, and raked her hands through her hair.

“I’m tougher than I look,” she said. “I don’t want you giving up your Kevlar vest for me and running into a firefight. And if I’d known you were injured, I could have helped, somehow. I could have dressed the wound to make sure you didn’t lose too much blood, for one thing. I have enough on my conscience without adding you to the list.”

“Like what?” He didn’t bother with the top two buttons on his shirt. He grabbed the fresh jeans and lifted a leg to put them on.

Heather’s eyes widened and she whirled around. “What do you mean, like what?” she asked.

Nick smiled at her sudden nervousness and tossed the blanket back on the bed to make it easier to pull on his pants. “You said you had enough on your conscience. Like what, for instance?”

He pulled the clean jeans on, wincing when they tugged on his stitches. The fact that he was partly turned on from ogling Heather’s breasts and staring at her curvy backside didn’t help with the snug fit. He was extra slow and careful with the zipper, since he was forced to go commando.

She threw her hands in the air. “What do I have on my conscience? Really? Everything! Mark being hurt. You being hurt. And Lily, God knows it’s my fault she’s in this mess.”

Nick stilled. “What do you mean it’s your fault?”

She peeked over her shoulder, as if to make sure nothing was exposed that shouldn’t be before turning around to face him.

Good grief, the woman was adorable. She acted as if she’d never seen him naked before. Then again, they’d only slept together once, the night before the raid on the club. And speaking for himself, one time with the little firecracker wasn’t enough, not even close. It would have to be, of course, which meant he’d probably spend the rest of his life wanting her and wondering what could have been.

That thought had his mood taking a dive south.

He grabbed his wallet from the tray and shoved it into his pants pocket. “How is it your fault that Lily’s in this mess?” he repeated.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Nick called out. He didn’t miss the look of relief that crossed Heather’s face. He made a mental note to ask her that question again later, when they were alone.

Chuck and Tanner stepped inside.

“About ready?” Tanner asked.

“Just about.” Nick sat back on the bed and grabbed the pair of shoes. “How’s Mark doing?”

“He’s still in surgery,” Chuck said. “But the doctor said his prognosis is good. We’ll keep agents guarding his room until he’s stable enough to be transferred to a Miami hospital.”

Heather stepped forward and pushed Nick’s hands away. She grabbed one of his shoes and gently slid it onto his foot. He stared at her in surprise. It had been hurting like crazy trying to bend down to put his shoes on, so he appreciated her help. But he couldn’t fathom why she was being so nice and concerned after he’d left her in jail all weekend. He owed her an apology, at the least, and here she was trying to take care of him.

He thanked her and forced his attention back to Tanner. “Did you find the men who were after us?”

“Not yet, but we did find the police car. It was stolen right out of a parking lot earlier tonight. Pretty bold. And it proves this whole thing was planned. Nothing spur-of-the-moment about it, that’s for sure.”

Heather finished tying Nick’s shoes and stepped back. “How will I know the real cops from the fake cops when I go back to my motel?”

“You’re not going back to that motel,” Nick said. “Gonzalez’s men will be watching, hoping you’ll return.”

“But my suitcase, my clothes—”

“We’ve got that covered, ma’am,” Tanner spoke up. “We’ve already had someone pick up your things. And as soon as the police release the crime scene at the house you rented,” he said, addressing Nick, “we’ll get your stuff from the house. But that might be a while. In the meantime, give me a list of what you’ll need and I’ll send someone to a store to get it.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that. I assume you’ll put Heather and me up at a hotel in town tonight?”

At Chuck’s nod, he continued. “You said the police are processing the scene. Were they able to identify the men I shot in the woods behind the house? And the one Heather shot in the garage?”

Heather shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist. She might think she was tough, and maybe she was, but obviously the idea of shooting someone—no matter how much they deserved it—didn’t sit right with her. Nick hated that she’d had to experience that. No matter how many times he was forced into that kind of situation, it still ate at him every time he had to hurt someone or take a life. Heather wasn’t in law enforcement. She hadn’t signed up for that kind of burden. Waverly and Rickloff deserved a special place in hell for using her and abandoning her when she needed their protection.

Tanner and Chuck stared at him in surprise. “Are you saying you shot someone? Both of you?”

“Yes,” Nick answered slowly, studying them both. “I shot two men back in town who were trying to kill Mark. I shot three more in the woods and Heather shot one in the garage. It’s possible they weren’t all killed and some of them got away before the police got there.” He glanced back and forth between them. “Are you telling me no one found
any
bodies?”

Tanner shook his head. “Not a one. They did find blood in the garage, but they figured it was Mark’s. How certain are you that you actually hit anyone?”

Nick crossed his arms, insulted they’d even asked. “I never miss.”

“Neither do I,” Heather said, crossing her arms as well and looking just as insulted as Nick felt.

Tanner motioned to Chuck, who nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket as he stepped out of the room.

“We’ll notify the police to make another sweep, see if they can find a blood trail in the woods. But that may not be possible until daylight.”

“Put the hospital on alert for gunshot victims and make sure they notify the DEA if anyone comes in for treatment,” Nick said.

Tanner nodded. “Will do. We’ve already set up hotel rooms for the night under some aliases. You two will be in a two-bedroom suite. Chuck and I will be in the room next door, just a phone call away or a knock on the wall if you need us. Tomorrow morning we’ll take you to our office. Our boss wants to debrief you on everything that happened.”

“Have you spoken to Waverly or Rickloff?” Nick asked.

“We spoke to Rickloff. He claims there was a miscommunication, a mix-up about the name of the bar. He claims his men wanted to provide backup but didn’t know where to go.”

“A miscommunication?” Nick said. “That’s what they call it these days?”

“Call what?” Heather asked.

Incompetence.
Actually, he was beginning to wonder if Heather’s original suspicions about Rickloff were right, that he might be working for Gonzalez. But he wasn’t going to air that thought in front of fellow agents without facts to back it up.

“Never mind,” he said, in response to Heather’s question. He eyed Tanner. “Since this is the only hospital in Key West and the men who tried to kill us know we grabbed Mark, it’s a pretty safe bet they’ll assume we’re here, too. I bet they’ve already got someone watching this place. We can’t just walk out the front doors.”

“We can take you through the ambulance bay.”

Nick shook his head. “Not good enough. This was a well-planned attack with plenty of manpower and a cleanup crew, or else you’d have found the bodies.” He slid a glance at Heather. “They didn’t get what they came for.
You.
So I’m betting they’re not going to just say forget it. They’ll be worried we’ll go into hiding, so they won’t want to miss us leaving the hospital. They’ll watch everyone who comes in or out.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Heather glanced worriedly back and forth.

“Does this hospital have a medevac helicopter?” Nick asked.

Tanner shook his head. “No. When we have trauma cases, Ryder Trauma Center in Miami sends their chopper to airlift the victims. That’s an hour out, and they won’t send the medevac for something like this.” He grinned and pulled his phone out. “But I do know where we can get a chopper.”

* * *

H
EATHER
TUCKED
THE
last of her hair up underneath the ball cap and critically inspected her reflection in the hospital bathroom mirror. The T-shirt hugged her chest almost indecently. And the jeans were snug, too. The nurse who gave Heather her clothes had been just a little smaller than Heather. The sneakers were tight, too, but at least she wouldn’t trip over her own feet when she ran outside. Would Gonzalez’s men recognize her in this outfit? It certainly didn’t conceal much, other than her hair.

“Heather,” Nick’s deep voice called through the door. “The chopper’s a minute out. We need to hurry.”

She tugged at her T-shirt, trying to stretch it out some more, but gave up. She sighed and opened the bathroom door.

Nick stood in the opening. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You’re not going to fool anyone in that outfit, even with the ball cap,” he said, his voice oddly tight.