Hard Core (Onyx Group) Page 11

  Chapter 10

  The lights went out, plunging them into darkness. Alana’s hand froze just above her patient’s chest. One of the men in the room cursed. Breathing hard, she blinked to stop her tears and jerked the scalpel back.

  “Relax, everyone.” Gavin’s voice came through the darkness. “The backup generator will kick on in a few seconds.”

  Alana’s spirits sank. Of course he would have a backup plan. This was too lucrative a business not to. A few seconds passed in silence. Then another. And still no generator.

  “Where’s the lights, Ross?” one of the men in the room asked irritably.

  “Just…give me a minute,” Gavin said, equally irritated. “Stay where you are. I’m sending someone to check it out.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” someone warned.

  “I know that,” Gavin snapped. “Now, shut up and let me figure this out.”

  Alana stayed still, using the reprieve to collect herself. She heard footsteps fade into the distance, along with voices. The two men sharing the room with her muttered between themselves, leaving her to her own devices.

  “Alana, darling, how are you doing?” Gavin asked from behind her. Close, but not in the same room.

  “Fine,” she answered curtly. Though she shook like a leaf and felt sick.

  The darkness was stifling. Her breath came in shallow pants. She could smell the fear in the room.

  A shout down the hallway broke the silence.

  Gavin cursed. “Excuse me. It seems there’s an issue I must handle.” His footsteps faded down the hall.

  May he never get that thing working, she prayed silently. On instinct she reached for her patient, thinking to comfort him. When her hand landed on his slick skin, he jumped and started screaming behind his gag.

  She snatched her hand back. “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she whispered, distraught. What had she been thinking? Her touch didn’t bring him comfort. It reminded him how close he was to death.

  “Who are you talking to?” one of the men asked in accented English.

  “No one,” she replied automatically, wanting to melt into the darkness and never return to this horrible place again. Gavin had turned her into a murderer whose hands no longer comforted, but caused fear.

  He’d stolen her identity.

  The man on the gurney still fought. The metal wheels scraping on the cement floor echoed through the room and nearly drove her to the edge.

  “Make him stop,” one of the men ordered.

  “I can’t,” Alana murmured, helpless. Tears gathered in her eyes. Panic built in her chest. She had to get out of here. Couldn’t take this. She tore off her mask, gloves and hair cover. Her gown came next. She had never been claustrophobic before, but the blackout weighed on her already frayed nerves.

  Someone called to one of the men from outside the door and he left the room. Her breaths came hard and fast. There was a soft thump. The man on the gurney continued to have a meltdown. The grate of the wheels against the floor, his stifled screams and his struggles filled the room.

  The walls closed in on her.

  “Stop,” she pleaded. “Please, stop moving.”

  Her voice only seemed to panic him more. She covered her ears with her hands. It didn’t help. She could still hear him.

  “Fucking shut him up!” the remaining guy shouted from across the room.

  “I can’t!” Alana shouted back.

  “I said shut--”

  He cut off midsentence and Alana froze. Slowly, she lowered her hands, the room suddenly silent. Even the man on the gurney went still.

  Someone else was in the room with them.

  Hesitantly she spoke into the darkness. “Hello?” Her breath came in short, shallow pants. “Gavin, is that you?”

  No answer. Something moved to her left.

  Blood raced through her veins, her heart pounded nearly out of her chest. Scalpel raised, she prepared to defend herself. Maybe this guy was going to kill her for not finishing the job.

  A brush of air feathered over her arm. An arm snaked around her neck from behind, covering her mouth. She tried to scream, but nothing came out, blocked by his palm. Terrified, she brought the scalpel down and drove it into his leg.

  A grunt of pain. “Ouch. Fuck. It’s me, Alana,” Cristian growled in her ear. His hand tightened on her mouth. “Not another move, got it?”

  She nodded and he slowly removed his hand. She felt him remove the scalpel from his leg, but he didn’t return it to her.

  “Cristian?” she whispered.

  “Don’t call me that,” came the rough response.

  “What are you doing here? Where are the two men who were here?”

  “Dead.”

  He moved next to her. Doing what, she had no idea.

  “You really are a mercenary,” she murmured as he grabbed her hand and dragged her with him.

  He didn’t answer, just pulled her behind him.

  She hesitated. “I can’t see.”

  “I can. Come on.”

  “You know how to get out of here?” Her shoulder bumped the doorframe.

  “Yes.”

  “Wait.” She tugged on his hand, bringing him to a stop. “I can’t leave without my patient.”

  “What?” Cristian asked between clenched teeth.

  “The man on the gurney. I can’t leave without him.”

  He cursed, long and low. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the room. Rustling, a stifled scream, a struggle, then a thud and silence. Seconds later, Cristian appeared at her side.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Where’s my patient?”

  “Over my shoulder. Now, shut up and let’s go.”

  Alana grabbed his arm and followed. “He’s awfully quiet,” she said as they made their way down what she assumed was the hallway.

  “I had to hit him.”

  The thump she’d heard. Poor man, though it didn’t surprise her. He’d been through hell and couldn’t trust anyone here. Not even her.

  “Gavin and his men will be coming back soon.” She stumbled through the darkness. “Once he gets the generator working.”

  “It’s in a hundred pieces.”

  Alana gasped. “You cut the lights?”

  “Stop talking.”

  Pursing her lips, she followed silently, focused on not tripping. Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the dark. She’d become accustomed to it over time and developed decent night vision. She’d had to in order to survive in the jungle at night.

  She didn’t allow herself to think about what would happen once Gavin discovered his bounty was missing.

  “Stairs,” Cristian said and they began to climb. He didn’t seem burdened by the extra weight he carried.

  Behind them, men’s voices echoed shouts and curses.

  “They’re coming,” she told Cristian.

  “Let them.”

  A door opened and Cristian pushed her through. It was pitch black outside; she couldn’t see an inch in front of her face. Her eyes barely had adjusted to the darkness inside.

  “Where now?” she asked.

  A gunshot exploded in the stairwell behind them. Alana jumped and ducked. “They’re here!”

  “Stay close, we’re going to be moving fast.” Cristian darted into the night.

  She followed close, breathing hard in exertion and panic. Her spine tensed in fear that one of the bullets zinging past would hit her.

  Flashlights lit up the area around them, ratcheting up her tension. They were in the courtyard now, dodging trees and plants. In front of her, Cristian ran with her patient dangling over his shoulder, still unconscious. Probably for the better, because he wouldn’t like the situation now with bullets raining around them.

  “Keep up, Alana,” Cristian ordered. “They aren’t aiming for us.”

  The bullets seemed awfully close as they winged over her head and struck trees. But he was right. Gavin needed her and he wouldn’t risk his patient getting shot. Organs needed
to be fresh in order to transplant.

  Cristian moved fast, considering he carried the weight of another body and still wasn’t fully healed from his own injuries. His night vision must be better than hers. She struggled to see where she was going and it slowed her down. The voices behind them pushed her harder.

  “They’re fast,” she said, breathless. “Their lights are on us.”

  “Just stay close.” Cristian veered left into the jungle.

  They were forced to slow down in order to move through the foliage. Finally, she could catch her breath. She’d thought herself in shape until now.

  “Where are we?”

  “The beach. I have a boat anchored a mile out.”

  Leave the island?

  Alana stopped. “No, I won’t leave.”

  The lights and voices were getting closer.

  “We don’t have time for this.”

  “I can’t leave.”

  “We aren’t leaving. I need you safe so I can finish the job.”

  Safe. He was going to keep her on his boat while he killed Gavin. Considering what Gavin had almost made her do, she hoped Cristian put a bullet in him. Better than he deserved for all the innocent people he’d murdered.

  If Cristian eliminated Gavin, the threat on the island would be gone. She and her family would be able to live in peace. A win, win situation.

  “You can’t fight them all,” she said. “There’s too many.”

  “I’m good at what I do. Move it, Doc.”

  Standing here would only get them caught. She didn’t want to go back to that place, so she started pushing through the jungle with Cristian, trusting him to get them to the beach.

  Her life was in his hands. She only prayed he’d be able to get them to safety, because Gavin Ross would not stop until he found her.

  * * * *

  Fool. Slade put Alana’s patient down on the sandy beach. He should be swimming alone to his boat, mission completed, and on his way home instead of hiding an idealistic doctor and her patient. What the hell had she been doing in Ross’s basement? He probably didn’t want to know.

  From the moment he’d started scouting Ross’s estate, waiting for the shot, it had been FUBAR--Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. When he saw Alana parading around with Ross, dressed to kill and looking ready to implode, it had sealed the deal. Slade didn’t know what she was doing there, didn’t care. But he hadn’t liked it. Not one damn bit.

  This woman continually messed up his plans. He wasn’t on the island to save a life. He was there to take one.

  “What now?” Alana dropped down on the beach and began to assess her patient. The sun cast a warm morning glow across the serene beach.

  “You stay here while I swim to the boat and bring it back.”

  She looked up at him, her cheek swollen. Someone had hit her hard enough to leave a mark. “Your leg is bleeding,” she said. “Give me your shirt.”

  Unable to stop himself, Slade reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her face to the side. Anger seethed through him at seeing her soft flesh marred by someone’s hand.

  “Ross did this?” he asked.

  She pulled away. “Give me your shirt. I need to look at that leg and cover my patient.”

  Slade tugged his shirt off and handed it to her, watching as she used it to cover her patient’s midsection.

  “Will we be safe here?” she asked, her hands moving over her patient.

  “For now. Take this.” He held out his Glock 19.

  She looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake. “I don’t like guns.”

  Slade bent down and pressed the gun into her palm. “Aim and squeeze the trigger, Alana. There are fifteen rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber.”

  She looked down at the gun in her hand, then at him. “I’m not a soldier, Cristian.”

  “You don’t have to be to shoot a gun. Aim and shoot,” he repeated, rising to his feet. “Call me Slade.” He turned and plunged into the ocean before she could argue. It would take him sixteen minutes to swim to the boat. Ross’s men would be tromping through the jungle looking for them, not heading for the beach.

  He swam faster. There was always a chance.

  His cabin cruiser was right where he’d left it, anchored in a small cove, out of sight. He sped toward the beach seventeen minutes later, the twin-turbocharged 1,350 horsepower engines purring. As he approached the shore, he saw Alana struggling with her patient. The man jumped to his feet and pushed her backward into the sand. His face contorted with a mixture of fear and panic.

  Slade watched Alana hold up her hands in a non-threatening gesture, then cursed when her patient looked around, wild-eyed. The best thing she could do was stay away from him until he calmed down. The man was a ticking time bomb.

  Alana reached out to him and Slade watched the man come unglued. He jumped back, screamed like a lunatic and leaped on her, knocking her to the ground. As his fists pummeled her, Slade pushed the boat to its limit, blind with rage.

  Seconds later, he vaulted over the side of the boat and landed in the sand. He came up behind the man and snaked an arm around his neck, dragging him off Alana.

  This man would die for hurting her.

  * * * *

  One minute Alana was being attacked, the next she stared into the cold, lethal eyes of a killer. A man she recognized, but didn’t know. Cristian had her patient by the throat, his head cocked awkwardly to the side. The man was terrified, sensing he was very close to death.

  On her knees, she reached toward Cristian. “Stop,” she pleaded. “Please. He didn’t mean to hurt me. He’s afraid of me. Cristian, please, listen to me.”

  Every muscle in Cristian’s body was taut, primed. With one small move he could snap the man’s neck.

  She rose to her feet and approached slowly. Her patient now begged her with his eyes to save him. He knew his life was in her hands once again. Only this time she wasn’t holding a scalpel.

  She reached out and touched Cristian’s arm, his muscles coiled beneath her fingers. “Cristian,” she said softly. “It’s okay. He didn’t hurt me. He’s scared, that’s all. Let him go.”

  Something shifted in his eyes. She was getting through to him. Nodding slowly, she eased his arm from around her patient’s neck.

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “Let him go.”

  Her patient fell into a heap onto the ground and curled into a fetal position, rocking in the sand.

  “Thank you,” she said to Cristian. He was still strung tight. Dark. Dangerous. Every inch the mercenary.

  “You’re a fool,” Cristian said roughly and turned away. “Get him on the boat before I kill him.”

  She dropped down next to her patient and spoke quietly, comforting and explaining the situation. In shock, the man only stared at her blankly and allowed her to lead him to Cristian’s long, sleek boat.

  Cristian helped them aboard, all but lifting her patient off the ladder. She followed suit, noticing blood droplets on the floor. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Get him downstairs in one of the cabins. Keep him quiet. There are clothes in the closets. Here.” He tossed her a bottle of pills. “Give him two of these.”

  “What are they?” No label adorned the brown prescription bottle.

  “Something to help him sleep. Go.”

  Her patient didn’t resist as she led him downstairs. Alana found one of the bigger cabins and helped her patient into a pair of Bermuda shorts and t-shirt she found in the closet. He didn’t put up a fight when she nudged him into bed and covered him with a blanket. His eyes were open wide and stared blankly at the wall. He was in shock.

  Not that she blamed him. He’d been kidnapped, strapped naked to a gurney, threatened with a scalpel and guns and Cristian. No wonder the poor man retreated within himself. He’d been through hell. Everyone he’d come in contact with tried to kill him.

  “I’ll be right back.” She left the room and walked down the hall to the kitchen, where she poured a glas
s of water and tapped two pills out of the bottle Cristian had given her. Back in the cabin, her patient was in the same position as when she’d left him.

  “Here,” she said, lifting his head. “Take these. They’ll help you sleep.” She managed to get the pills down him, followed by the water.

  “Rest now,” she told him, relieved when he blinked at her. “No one here will hurt you. You’re safe.”

  His eyes closed and she sighed, worn out. Slipping off the shoe covers she’d forgotten she was wearing, she took one last look at her patient. She’d like to take a nice, long nap too, but she had to talk to Cristian, so she went back upstairs. The boat moved quietly through the water. Cristian stood behind the wheel, taking them out to sea. The sun rose in the sky, bringing heat with it.

  “Where are you taking us?” she asked, standing next to him. There were all kinds of high tech gadgets on the dash that she had no idea how to read.

  “To a cove a mile out,” he answered without looking at her. His hands deftly held the wheel as the sleek boat cut silently through the water.

  A gentle breeze stirred hair that had come loose from her ponytail. Salt from the sea clung to her lips. This was the first time she’d been off the island in five years. Because of Cristian, she might never have to leave again.

  “Sit down before you fall down,” Cristian said gruffly.

  “I’m fine.”

  A muscle jumped in his stubbled jaw. She longed to reach out and smooth it, but kept her hands at her sides. He wouldn’t appreciate it and they had other things to talk about.

  “You’re going back for Gavin?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll leave? Go to the Rocky Mountains?”

  He glanced at her, brows raised before he masked his surprise.

  “You told me it’s your favorite place.”

  That muscle in his jaw twitched now.

  “No matter,” she said, since he wasn’t going to give her any more information. He’d told her more when he was delirious. “As long as Gavin is…gone, that’s all that matters.”

  They rounded a corner of an alcove that couldn’t be seen from the island. Cristian turned off the engine and took the key. He picked up the Glock she’d dropped in the sand when her patient attacked her from the dash, and handed it to her.