The Mighty McKenzies

The car took off, the momentum slamming the passenger door shut. Ian couldn’t hold on and rolled back the other way, crunching his ruined arm between his body and the door before managing to twist around and fall back into the seat. His garbled curses were the last thing he heard before surrendering to the darkness.

Chapter Three

Shannon slammed the brakes, bringing the Charger to a bouncing stop in front of the emergency room doors. Muffled cursing had her wincing and looking at Ian. His normally handsome, chiseled features were almost unrecognizable beneath his blood-matted black-and-blond hair. He was slumped in the passenger seat, cradling his left arm against his abdomen, his deep blue eyes glazed with pain.

“We’re here.” She grabbed the massive revolver from the console and hid it in her purse just as a man in green scrubs ran out the sliding doors, motioning for her to move.

“Lady, you can’t park here. This is the ambulance entrance. We’ve got one on the way, five minutes out.”

“I need help!” she yelled through the open passenger window. “This man, he’s hurt. I...found him a couple of blocks away, lying in the street. I think he got mugged or something. His left arm may be broken.”

Ian grunted, the corner of his swollen mouth lifting in a half grin as he nodded. He approved of her lies. No surprise there. She was good at lying, had been doing it most of her life just to survive.

The man in scrubs leaned in, his eyes going wide when he saw Ian. He turned and motioned toward the doors to someone Shannon couldn’t see. A moment later another man in scrubs ran outside, pushing a wheelchair at a run.

“Sir, I’m Nurse Jack. I’m going to help you. Can you tell me what happened?” The first man eased open the door and crouched inside, checking Ian’s injuries.

For some reason, the nurse’s name seemed to amuse Ian. He chuckled and mumbled something that sounded oddly like “Sparrow.”

“What’s his name?” Jack asked.

“I’m not sure. He mumbled Ian, I think.”

Ian gave her a thumbs-up, acting loopy. He never acted loopy. Just what had that jerk at the truck stop done to him?

The two men struggled to lift Ian out of the car. But they managed to get him into the wheelchair without dumping him onto the concrete. The second one took off, pushing Ian toward the emergency room doors. Jack shut the car door and crouched by the window, motioning toward the parking lot to Shannon’s left.

“Park over there and come inside. We’ve got policemen here 24/7. One of them will want to take your statement.”

“Of course. Be right in. Thank you so much for your help.”

He gave her a tight, suspicious smile. “We don’t see enough Good Samaritans these days. That guy owes you. Thanks.” He backed up to the curb.

Feeling like the fraud she was, she smiled back, then pulled Ian’s car into the lot. With Nurse Jack watching, she parked in the first spot she came to, halfway down the row. She stalled for time by rolling up the windows one at a time. Then she grabbed her purse and cut the engine before slowly getting out of the car.

She could feel Jack watching her, so she kept up the charade. She smoothed her T-shirt over her jeans and strolled toward the emergency room.

Giving up his vigil, he jogged back to the hospital, convinced that his Good Samaritan was coming inside to talk to the police as instructed.

Like that would ever happen.

She ducked down the next row of cars, then took off running in the opposite direction. The next two hours were spent shuffling between fast-food restaurants and convenience stores, all within a few blocks of the hospital. Every time she stayed in one place long enough to start getting curious stares, she’d switch locations and start over.

Now, standing outside the ER once again, she debated the wisdom of going inside. Had she waited long enough to avoid the cops? Were they looking for her? What about Ian? Where was he? There was no way to know whether the doctors had already patched up his injuries. Emergency rooms were notorious for long waits. But he’d been in rough shape. Surely they would have taken care of him by now.

As she cautiously approached, she kept an eye out for Nurse Jack and the man who’d wheeled Ian into the emergency room. When she didn’t see either one, she straightened her shoulders and marched inside. One of the things that Ian had taught her since moving into the other side of the duplex that she rented was to hide in plain sight. Most people wouldn’t question a person’s right to be somewhere if they acted with confidence, pretending they belonged. Proving the point, no one stopped her or questioned her as she moved through the maze of rooms, gleaning bits of information left for anyone to take if they paid attention.

Like the sign-in sheet at the triage desk when the nurse turned away to talk to someone.

And the whiteboard with patient numbers instead of names, but with medical descriptions beside them: flu-like symptoms, fever, possible dislocated or fractured arm.

That dislocation or fracture could be Ian. Nothing else on the board fit. It still shocked her that he’d lost the fight so easily. She’d seen him take on four guys a few days ago outside their duplex because he was incensed that they were selling weed to the neighborhood kids. Those guys had left bleeding and bruised with their drugs confiscated. Ian had come away relatively unscathed. So how had he been beaten up by one lone man?

True, the guy was brawny and a few inches taller than Ian. But his shoulders weren’t as broad, his arms not as ripped. Normally Ian fought like a junkyard dog, scrappy and vicious, holding nothing back. Today he’d seemed sluggish. It didn’t make sense.

After a few more minutes of snooping and some unauthorized trips into areas off-limits to patients, she had a room number. He’d been taken to the fifth floor half an hour ago. From what she could understand from the medical jargon she’d sneaked and read, he’d been lucky. His arm was deeply bruised and sprained, dislocated and rotated back into place, but not broken. He did have a minor concussion. No surprise there. And he also had bruised ribs. Again, he was lucky they weren’t broken. The blood he’d been coughing up had come from a cut on the inside of his cheek. He’d be in a lot of pain for a few days. But at least he was going to be okay, or so she hoped. She wanted to see him for herself to be sure.

Ducking out of a restricted area into the main hallway, she swept her gaze back and forth, on the lookout for Nurse Jack or the cops he’d mentioned. The elevators were a little farther down. She just might make it. Then she’d find out if Ian was okay, and whether he’d been able to discover anything about Maria before that stupid bully had interfered.

She scanned the intersecting hallway just before the ladies’ room and the bank of elevators, then froze. Three impressively muscled, tall, dark-haired men in business suits were striding down the hall toward her. The one in the middle was half-turned, talking to the man on his right. He had the slightest limp, barely noticeable, as if his left leg bothered him. She’d seen that limp before. And she’d seen that profile, at the truck stop.

He was the man who’d beaten Ian.

She put on a burst of speed and ducked into the ladies’ room. The door had just swung shut when footsteps echoed outside. Had he seen her? Recognized her? She waited, pressing a hand to her chest as if she could force her pulse to stop racing so fast.

A toilet flushed in one of the stalls. She started primping in the mirror, finger-combing her black hair to make the blue tips lie flat against her shoulders.

An older lady in a yellow sunflower-print dress stepped to a sink two down from her, smiling politely even though her disapproving gaze shot to the tattoos on Shannon’s arms.

She’d probably faint if she saw the ones on her back.

Shannon hid a smile and grabbed a paper towel, pretending to dry her hands as she listened for sounds from the hallway. The footsteps had stopped. The elevator dinged. She tensed, her hand dropping to her purse, where the .357 rested inside. As soon as the elevator dinged again, she peeked out the door. The men were gone. She rushed into the hallway to the elevators. Only one was moving, the digital numbers above it marking its ascent.

Two. Three.

Keep going. Keep going.

Four.

Don’t stop, don’t stop.

Five. The elevator stopped.

Her stomach sank. The man who’d attacked Ian and possibly wrecked their plans to finally rescue Maria had somehow figured out where he was.

And he’d brought reinforcements.

Chapter Four

Ian awkwardly shifted against the pillows in his hospital bed as he clutched the phone to his right ear. While he listened to his boss, he watched the door at the other end of the room. He’d managed to keep his true identity a secret from the doctors and nurses so far. He aimed to keep it that way, at least until he discovered whether his cover had been blown with Butch.

“Did you get all that, Ian?”

“Yeah. Got it. Assistant District Attorney Cameron Ellison is a wuss. He wants me to drop my investigation. Doesn’t mean I will.”

A heavy sigh sounded in his ear. “We can’t run roughshod over the locals. We have to play nice in their sandbox. And he’s not asking us to drop it, just put it on hold for a few days, let things cool off. There were complaints at the truck stop. Several people saw the fight and called it in. That kind of exposure doesn’t help any of us.”

Ian’s hand tightened around the phone so hard his knuckles ached. “If those same people paid attention to the real trouble going on around them, maybe we wouldn’t have this human trafficking epidemic.”

“Ian—”

“Please tell me you don’t really expect me to back off. What do you think is going to happen to those girls if I do? I’m pretty sure I told you about ten of them were kids. We’re talking thirteen, fourteen, maybe. And two of them, my God, Nash. They were children. Little kids. We can’t sit on this. Don’t ask me to do that. I won’t. I can’t.”

Another sigh sounded through the phone. “What do you think you can do at this point? They saw you with Adam. They either suspect or know you’re in law enforcement.”

“Maybe, maybe not. They don’t know for sure what Adam does. Butch just got the cop vibe from him is all. And they wouldn’t expect a cop to pick a fight with another cop the way I did. There’s plenty of doubt there. I can build on that.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“I go back to work, back to the shop. Stick to my routine. If they still want a deal, Wolverine will contact me again.”

“And if they think you tried to set them up, they may try to kill you.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to finish me off, and I’m still here. Nash, come on. Let me do this. Give me one more chance to set the trap and catch these slimeballs. For the love of all that’s holy, help me get those little kids back to their parents.” The phone went silent. “Boss, you still there?”

“I’m here.”

“What’s it gonna be? Let some local prosecutor call the shots and sacrifice dozens of young victims? Or do I get to wrap this thing up and make a difference for once?”

“You’ve rescued hundreds of victims since becoming an agent. You’re making a difference.”

“Doesn’t feel that way from where I’m sitting. I’ve spent months building my cover, getting that noxious Wolverine kid to trust me. We’re almost at the end. You pull me out now and bring someone else in, it’ll take them months, longer, to get back to this point. Maybe you end up with a prosecutable case. Maybe you don’t. Either way, it doesn’t help the victims we know are in or near Gatlinburg right this minute. Rescuing those in need comes before prosecution. That’s how we’ve always done things. A victim-centered approach. Or did our charter change while I was unconscious?”

“You know dang well it didn’t. Fine, fine. You win. Based on those photographs, we know there are approximately thirty victims in jeopardy—”

“Thirty-two. He mentioned two Latina women.”

“All right. Thirty-two. You and I both know how fast this scum likes to move their inventory, especially around a hub like you’ve discovered out here. If you’ve still got this Butch guy interested, maybe he’ll wait and give you one more chance. Forty-eight hours, Ian. That’s all I can give you. After that, we do it ADA Ellison’s way. Might as well try to put someone in prison after all these months even if we don’t end up rescuing the victims.”

He hated that his boss was right. If he didn’t make a deal in the next day or two, the victims were likely beyond their reach, already sold to the highest bidder. Bringing down the trafficking ring would be the only way to prevent others from becoming future victims. But he wasn’t giving up on the girls he’d seen in those pictures. The children. Not yet. Someone had to fight for them. It might as well be him.

“All right. Forty-eight hours. I still get Chris as my contact? Same signals, same setup? I don’t have time to train someone else, establish new parameters and routines.”

“Nothing’s changed from my perspective. It’s the scum you’ve been dealing with who may feel otherwise. If they even suspect who you really are—”

“They don’t.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

Ian’s mouth tightened. What could he say? He had no way of knowing for sure what Butch suspected, or didn’t suspect.

“I didn’t think so,” Nash said. “I’m adding a condition to your forty-eight hours. Every time you go out, you put on Kevlar.”

“Boss—”

“Nonnegotiable. Either wear the vest, or I shut this operation down right now.”

Ian swore. Kevlar added risk, especially with his contacts possibly spooked. But if something did happen, and he wasn’t wearing his vest and somehow survived—Nash would can him in a second. Then what would Ian do? This wasn’t just his career. It was his life. There wasn’t anything else.

Shannon. There was still Shannon.

He shook his head. Stupid dreams. There was no possibility of a future between the two of them. She thought he was simply the mechanic who lived on the other side of her duplex. Once she found out he was in law enforcement, he’d become enemy number one. He’d never see her again.

Of all the people he’d duped in his career, Shannon was the one he truly regretted. She wasn’t some criminal or thug. She was a genuinely good person, a survivor. She’d worked so hard trying to find her friend Maria, who was still trapped in the life that Shannon had escaped. That story had been shared with Ian over dinner and a few too many glasses of wine one night. It had also been the catalyst that had sent his investigation in an entirely new direction.

What Shannon told him about believing Maria might be in the area had eventually led him to Wolverine. She was a hero, and didn’t even know it. She trusted him, thinking he wanted to help her find her friend, because of the attraction they shared and because he was a good person.

He hadn’t faked the attraction.

But the guilt was eating him alive that he’d misled her about his motives, that everything else he’d told her was a lie. Almost. In order to gain her trust, he’d revealed his own extremely personal dark secret, a secret he’d never told anyone else. Which only went to show how obsessed he was with this case, or with Shannon. He’d always planned on taking that particular secret with him to the grave.

“Ian? You still there?”

He shook his head again, then winced when the movement jump-started the headache that had been threatening since the fight with Adam. Maybe he could bum an aspirin or something stronger off a nurse before escaping this place. “I’m here.”

“What about the vest? Do we have a deal?”

He blinked against the bright fluorescent lights overhead and longed to rub his aching temples. But with his left hand in a sling and the phone in his right, all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut. “We have a deal. My vest is at the duplex. I’ll put it on before I head to the shop in the morning.”

“You’d better. If these guys decide they can’t trust you, that vest is your only chance. First sign of trouble, use the nuclear option. I’ll have the cavalry in place to come running. Understood?”

The nuclear option meant blowing his cover, sending the signal for agent in distress. It would activate every asset in the area to come help him. But it would ruin his chances of rescuing anyone. He had no intention of using it. Ever.

“Understood.” Technically, he hadn’t made a promise. “What about the ADA?”

“Leave him to me. I’ll tell him you’re lying low, letting things settle. Don’t make me regret this, Ian. Be careful. See if you can figure out the location of the victims so we can set up a rescue operation. Then shut it down. Don’t try to be a hero and get yourself killed. The paperwork would be a nightmare.”

Ian laughed, then winced at the sharp jolt that shot through his cut cheek. His stomach clenched. The pain was making him nauseous.

“Ian?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll do what I can to keep you from all that paperwork. You’re going to pick up the hospital tab, right? My crappy car mechanic insurance won’t cover an ER visit without a hefty deductible.”

“I’ll take care of it.” The line clicked.

Chapter Five

Ian dumped the landline phone onto the side table and clutched his aching head. But he couldn’t allow himself the luxury of sitting there until the pain receded. He needed to leave. Now.

He stood, then had to grab the bed railing to keep from falling. When the room stopped spinning, he hobbled to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. A few deep breaths seemed to help with the nausea. He cupped his hands beneath the faucet and drank some water. Then, seeing the blood smeared on his face and matting his hair, he did a quick wash in the sink. Finally, looking more presentable and feeling less shaky, he went on a hunt for his clothes.

A few minutes and several curses later, he was fully dressed, minus his favorite leather jacket. It had died a tragic death beneath the scissors of a nurse trying to work it off his injured arm. It would have come in handy right now to hide the splotches of blood on his shirt. But he figured that was to be expected in a hospital. People would just assume it was someone else’s blood, that he’d helped a friend into the emergency room. He couldn’t imagine anyone would try to stop him, as long as he made sure the nurse assigned to him didn’t see him leaving the room.

He still felt naked without a gun. Shannon had his .357 Magnum and his car, which meant she presumably had his Glock .22 pistol, as well. Thankfully, his house key and wallet were in his jeans pocket, so he’d be able to hire a car to drive him home. And he wouldn’t have to kick in the door when he got there. Bonus. That was one tiny bright spot in what had turned into a wasted day.

The second bright spot was that Shannon hadn’t gotten hurt. When she’d pulled that gun on Adam, Ian had been terrified that she’d get killed. Hopefully, she’d gone home and was lying low. He didn’t think Butch or the others had seen her rescuing him at the end of the fight. The van had been gone by then. But he wanted her away from any potential danger, just in case.

He never should have taken her to that truck stop with him, even if it meant rescheduling the meeting. He should have ignored her impassioned pleas that he not delay, that he go directly to the rendezvous point. He shouldn’t have believed her promises that she’d stay in the car and wouldn’t interfere.

Then again, she had stayed in the car.

He grinned at the memory of her daring to call Adam a bully. The woman was just as feisty as she was gorgeous. But knowing Adam, he probably had a BOLO out on her and Ian, just on principle. Every cop in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, had likely been alerted to be on the lookout for the two of them. Which meant if they saw her, especially driving the Charger Adam had seen, she’d be handcuffed and thrown in jail.

In the few months that Ian had known her, one thing was clear—she had a deep-seated fear of law enforcement. If she ended up under arrest, the second she made bail she’d run. He’d never see her again. That shouldn’t matter. But it did.

He was halfway to the door when it started to open. He was mentally spinning a cover story to explain why he was dressed and walking when the nurse stepped inside. Except it wasn’t a nurse. And it wasn’t just one person. It was three.

Adam was flanked by Duncan and Colin. And they were looking at him as if they thought he was the slime stuck to the bottom of their shoes. Nothing had changed since the last time they’d all seen each other. When was that? Probably last Easter, a good seven months ago. Not nearly long enough.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Adam stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

Ian braced his legs and fisted his right hand at his side, fully expecting all three of them to take a turn trying to wallop him. One-on-one, even though each of them was a tad bigger than him, he’d normally have at least a fifty-fifty chance. But he wasn’t exactly at his best tonight. Still, he’d give it a good solid try if they pushed him. As ticked off as he was about this truly screwed-up day, it could give him the advantage.

“If you’re here for round two, Adam, be warned that I’m not throwing the fight this time. You’re the one who’ll be bleeding on the floor when we’re through.”

“I knew it,” Adam said. “You were pulling punches at the truck stop. I figured it was either that or you’d gone soft. Why did you pick the fight to begin with? And what in the world were you doing with those losers by that van?”

He shrugged, then pressed his hand against his protesting ribs. “Losers hang with losers, right?” The other two were intently watching him, but seemed content to let Adam do the talking for this little welcoming committee. “I’d love to reminisce about old times with you boys, but I have things that need doing.”

He stepped around Adam. As one, Colin and Duncan moved to block him, spreading their legs and bracing themselves against whatever he might try.

He blew out a deep breath. “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You can’t butt out and let it lie? Fine. There’s still some fight left in me. But to be fair, let’s do this one at a time.” He motioned toward the sling on his left arm. “Just to even the odds.”

“Knock off the sarcasm.” Adam crossed his arms, his brow knitting into a frown.

“Who’s being sarcastic? I can take you guys.” He motioned toward Adam. “You first. Payback time.”

He rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “What did the doctors say was wrong? Do you have broken ribs? A concussion? They don’t typically admit someone for a broken arm.”

“What do you care?”

Colin shoved him. “Knock it off, Ian. What’s really going on? Adam told us about those pieces of scum that you were with at the truck stop. Associating with guys like that is low, even for you.”

“Even for me? Gee, thanks, Colin. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Can’t wait to see what you write on my next Christmas card.” He tried to shove him out of his way.

Colin shoved right back.

“Leave him alone,” a feminine voice called out from behind the Colin-Duncan wall.

Ian groaned as Colin and Duncan turned around. Shannon stood just inside the door, holding his .357 Magnum revolver in both her hands.

In the blink of an eye, three pistols were pointing directly at her.

“Drop it,” Adam ordered. “Now.”

Her face turned chalk white. Her arms started to shake.

Ian moved between Colin and Shannon, once again playing human shield. He was really getting tired of that role. “Guys, dial it back. Shannon, give me the gun.”