Breaking Away (Military Romantic Suspense) (Book 3 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) Page 5

  Once he assured himself it was his original driver, he opened the cab door and climbed in. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, a black SUV pulled up and four men got out. Flash bent as though he were tying his shoe and waited until the cab turned the corner before he asked the cab driver to drop him twelve blocks from his destination. He murmured a brief thanks and waited for the taxi to clear the area and turn down a side street before he started the trek to the marina. With every step his head pounded and his stomach roiled. The briny smell of the ocean blending with the car exhausts intensified his stomach’s pitching.

  He’d stored the artifacts, the money, and some of his clothes aboard Bowie’s boat earlier, leaving room in his backpack for the equipment he’d bought. It was time to break the code of silence and contact someone in his team. But the FBI would be monitoring each of their phones. He was certain of that. He had to think in terms of keeping his teammates safe.

  Would they be watching Captain Jackson or monitoring his line? Possibly not, since Flash didn’t hang with him like he did the others. He’d already mailed the letter to the Captain. He could mail the recording device to him, with a note asking him to bring NCIS into it. If the Naval Investigative Services got involved, Flash might have a chance at clearing himself.

  He’d shot two FBI agents. He hadn’t killed them, but he’d wounded them. Jesus! What kind of fucked up situation was this?

  And even worse, he was AWOL. He’d been texted the code to report immediately while the buy was actually going down. Just before Rick Dobson’s message. What was this shit doing to his career? And what would he do if they busted him? The SEALs were all he had. His chest grew tight. If Gilbert had fucked up his career, Flash was going make it his calling in life to make the man’s life a misery for the rest of his days.

  If he lived that long.

  He reached the marina and punched in the key code to enter the locked facility. The place was deserted except for a couple of security guards. He waved to one and strolled down to dock eleven, then moseyed on down to slip sixty-eight. He climbed into the stern of the 1988 Carver 3207 cabin cruiser. The boat represented something permanent in real-life to Bowie. He’d been making payments on it for a while, but he was generous with the team. He kept an extra set of keys on the vessel should any of them want to fish. All they had to do was call and tell him they were taking the boat out.

  If he had to run, Flash would take the boat and head to Mexico. He had a friend there who would help him out until he could figure out what to do.

  He hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.

  Prayed it wouldn’t be.

  Using the keys he’d retrieved from their hiding spot on the fly bridge, he unlocked the cabin and hustled down the steps into the galley. The salty sea smell of the ocean just outside the bay reached him. He turned on one of the interior lights and dumped the backpack on the narrow built in table in the galley. Exhaustion sapped his strength. He’d been on the move since the mission, and his head still throbbed like someone was hammering their way through his skull. He opened the red naugahyde sofa into a bunk, checked the small refrigerator and found some bottled water, washed down more ibuprofen, pulled his gun from the small of his back, and then stretched out.

  Every inch of his body ached. He had to have a concussion. And he probably needed to go to the hospital. He laid his weapon next to him.

  How long had it been since he’d eaten? Early morning at least. But the idea of food increased the nausea he’d been fighting most of the day.

  He closed his eyes, hoping the pain would ease and he’d be able to rest. The boat rocked. His eyes flew open. A stealthy step landed overhead. Flash rolled to his feet, his hand wrapped around his weapon.

  CHAPTER 6

  Las Vegas

  The hand over Samantha’s face trigged such agonizing pain it stole her breath. White lights scattered across her vision, blocking Will’s features. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her. If she threw up she’d probably choke to death before he released her.

  She breathed in through her nose and closed her eyes, swallowing the saliva that pooled in her mouth. Even that triggered a gag. Her vision cleared, and she stared up at Will with her one good eye. His hazel eyes were narrowed, his jaw taut with anger. What had happened to turn the handsome man she had married into this—? He still wore the shirt stained with her blood.

  Her hands gripped and pulled at his wrist and she instinctively tried to pull back from the pressure he applied. Her eyes watered from the pain.

  “You’re going to tell them it was someone else who broke into the house and did this. I’m not going to jail because you fucking wouldn’t stay off my back. If you’d just shut your fucking mouth, none of this would have happened. You know how I get when I’m on a big job. Why couldn’t you just be a good wife and make things easy for us both?”

  It was her fault that he beat her. It was her fault he killed their baby. At one time she’d believed herself responsible and accepted his pleas and apologies. But when Joy started suffering because of it—No more!

  She forced herself to release his hand and relax. The pain drove a spike into her temple and eye. She whimpered. She lay her hands palm up on the bed. Seeing her acquiescent posture, Will relaxed his grip and the pain eased.

  “You’re going to take back everything you’ve told the police. Or, so help me, I’ll make you wish you had.” He rested his forehead against hers. “You know I didn’t mean to do it, Sam. I love you.”

  If it would get his hand off her mouth, she’d tell him what he wanted to hear. She nodded.

  He eased up on the pressure of his hand a little more, but not entirely. Not enough for her to scream. Her body shook as if she had some kind of palsy. The uncomfortable cramping sensation from the miscarriage made her legs ache.

  He was never going to let her go. Never going to stop hitting her, not until he killed her. And as long as he continued to beat and terrorize her, he would traumatize Joy and make her emotional scars worse.

  She’d rather be dead than see her child go through life thinking it was okay to be beaten and emotionally abused. She’d rather be dead than see her child live in terror of her father for even one more day. If Will killed her, he’d go to prison and at least Joy would be free of him. Where only fear had resided resolve took root inside her.

  “I didn’t hurt you all that bad. Just a few bruises and a black eye. I don’t understand why they brought you to the hospital.” He brushed her hair back from her face.

  How could he threaten her one moment and caress her the next?

  “You killed your son,” she said from beneath the continued pressure of his hand. The words weren’t clear enough for him to understand what she said.

  He relaxed his grip.

  “I was pregnant and you killed the baby,” she said as loudly as she could. “It may have been the son you keep harping about, and you killed him.”

  She watched the shock of it strike.

  “You’re a lying bitch,” he breathed, his face filling her vision as he shoved closer.

  He was going to hit her. She could see it in his eyes. Sam gripped his cheeks with her nails and held on as hard as she could. A screech of pure rage and desperation ripped from her as all the pain from the last four years rose up. She jerked forward hitting him in the nose with her forehead.

  Will yelped in pain and tore free. Her nails had dug long furrows down each side of his face. Blood ran from his nose. Swearing he drew back his clenched fist to hit her.

  Her ribs screamed as she tucked her head down and covered her face with her arms. He hit her in the side of the head instead. The blow jolted her neck and shoved her head into the hospital bed railing.

  The door crashed open and the nurse rushed in.

  “What are you doing? Get away from her.”

  Will punched the woman and she dropped as though her legs had been swept out from under her. Her movements sluggish, she rolled onto her knees and crawled toward the door.

/>   Adrenaline pumped through Sam’s system. She threw a leg over the railing and bailed out of the bed. Shoving the IV pole out of her way, she dove under the metal bedframe. The pole fell with a crash. The IV line jerked at her arm, so she pulled the tape loose and yanked the plastic needle free.

  Will lunged to one side of the bed and she scrambled out the other. The sounds of running feet came from the hall. He caught her shoulder, twisting her around. Her feet tangled, and she fell, landing hard on her hip. Pain streaked down her leg.

  His shoes came into view. Fearful of being kicked, she rolled to her knees to crawl away. He grabbed the long hair at the back of her head and dragged her to her feet, nearly ripping the strands from her scalp.

  “I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch. You’ll never raise your hand to me again.” Holding her bent at the waist, he shook her by the hair, straining her neck muscles, so she latched onto his arm with both hands.

  Sam had been at his mercy so many times. But no more!

  With a backhanded grab, she latched onto his crotch and squeezed as hard as she could.

  Will made a keening sound, as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and fell to his knees, dragging her with him. He started pounding on her with his one free hand, hitting her ribs, her arm, her back, her head. She covered her battered face and, despite the blows, kept the pressure on his balls until her hand ached.

  Two security guards rushed into the room. Each grabbed one of Will’s arms. While one worked to force Will’s fingers to release her hair, the other fought to keep him on his knees until she scrambled out of the way. She crawled under the bed again for cover and curled into a ball on her side.

  The two men dragged Will from the room, as he recovered his breath and began screaming obscenities at her.

  Her ribs ached so much she could hardly breathe. Pain throbbed at the base of her skull. Knots were already forming on either side of her head. But a small sense of triumph helped make the pain bearable.

  She’d fought back for the first time.

  A small bubble of pride expanded inside her.

  It felt good.

  San Diego, California

  Flash’s heart hammered like it was stuck in hyperdrive. He was trapped inside the ship’s cabin. There were no escape hatches, just the one entrance. Why hadn’t he realized he needed a back door before? Goddamn rookie mistake! As footsteps approached the cabin door, he pressed back against the galley cabinets, where he had the most cover.

  At the decisive tapping on the wooden door, he jerked in reaction. “Fuck!” he breathed.

  Bad guys did not knock. Most of the time.

  He tucked the gun into his waistband against the small of his back, and sidled to the door. Every muscle in his body tensed for action, he paused, and then jerked the door open.

  Edward Rice, one of the security guards, stood in the glow of the one dim cabin light, his features barely discernable. Flash recognized his round face and bulky structure.

  “Just checking to make sure it was you, Lieutenant. Ensign Rivera would shoot me if something happened to his ship,” Rice said with a slight smile.

  Flash controlled the sigh of relief with an effort. “Yes, he would. I’m spending the night on board. Plan to fish early in the morning and thought I’d just sleep here.”

  “That’s quite an injury you have there, sir. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. I had an accident. But the docs say it’s mostly just bruising.” He touched his face tentatively and felt how far the swelling had traveled. It was getting worse.

  “I’d take it easy if I were you, sir. You forgot to sign in when you first arrived. I’ll make a note that you’re on board. Be sure to sign in the first opportunity you have. We like to keep a record of who’s on the premises so we won’t keep checking the boats over and over.”

  Flash nodded. “Roger that. And I’ll sign in when I gas her up tomorrow morning, Ed.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate it. You have a good evening.”

  “Will do.” Flash released a breath as the man turned away.

  After closing and locking the cabin door, he slumped onto the bunk and cradled his throbbing head in his hands. Adrenaline spiraled from his system, leaving him jittery. But the pumped, high-alert feeling, as though his body were poised for action at any moment, lingered. It was like being back in Iraq all over again. Except he was in his own back yard and someone he’d trusted had screwed him. God damn it!

  He had to have an exit strategy in case what he’d planned went south. He had to think this through.

  Would Gilbert try to play it straight and turn him in? Somehow Flash doubted it. As long as the cash and artifacts were out of reach, he’d be covering his ass. FBI never admitted mistakes. If Gilbert weren’t involved in Dobson’s death, he’d be pulling out the stops to find Flash. And the goods. Then he’d lay every fuck-up on Flash and try to bury him.

  After their conversation on the phone, there was no doubt left in Flash’s mind the man was involved. Had they been able to take Flash out along with the others, they’d have the money and the artifacts. And could make up any story they wanted. After all, they had three suspects down; the lead in the investigation was dead, and the only ones left standing would have been the guys in partnership with Gilbert.

  Flash dragged his backpack over and removed the FBI badges from an inner pocket. Why would they be fool enough to carry their ID if they were going to assassinate someone? And that’s exactly what they’d done. They’d shot down the smugglers in cold blood.

  They hadn’t counted on his survival. And they’d been arrogant about their success. Their overconfidence had saved Flash’s life at the time. But now it raised the threat level to DEFCON 1.

  These two assholes, he glanced down at the names on the ID, Harrison and Ballard, would probably get a fucking commendation for being injured during an operation.

  He reached for the prepaid phone, one of several he’d purchased earlier in the day, flipped it open, and keyed in a number. He’d hoped never to have to make a call like this. Especially not to him.

  “This better be someone I know,” a voice grated in his ear.

  “Travis, this is Flash.”

  “Hey, son.” The man’s tone changed immediately. “What’s happening?”

  “I’m in trouble. And I need help.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Las Vegas

  Samantha Cross studied Dr. Simons’ face. In the last four years, she’d learned to read quick changes of expression to avoid a shove, a slap or a beating. She’d honed her powers of observation to a fine point. Dr. Simons wasn’t really sorry for ignoring her concerns and warnings, he was pissed that he had to apologize to her for ignoring them.

  “Is the nurse okay?” she asked.

  “Nurse Gooding will be off work for about a week.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope she’ll file charges.”

  “The hospital is going to see to that.”

  “Until Chaney comes in and offers them a ton of money to build a new wing.” There was an edge of bitterness in Sam’s voice.

  “We have to guarantee our patients’ and employees’ safety, Mrs. Cross. That includes yours.”

  “Sure.” She looked up at him. “You’ll tell the nurse thank you for me. She tried to protect me.” She allowed a smidgeon of emphasis to color the word “she.”

  The doctor eyes shifted away. “I’ll tell her.”

  “When can I get out of here? I have to file the paperwork for the restraining order before Will gets out of jail.” She eased further onto her left side. Her ribs screamed in protest. She shut her eyes against the pain until it eased.

  “The hospital has filed a restraining order. Should he come within five hundred yards of the building, he’ll be arrested again.” The doctor’s eyes trailed over her arms, and face. “Should you need me to testify on your behalf, Mrs. Cross, I’ll be available.”

  Sam focused on one of the uneven circular bruises that marked her forea
rm. Last night adrenaline had partially numbed the pain of her injuries. Today she felt each and every one of them. Tears blurred her vision and she touched the patch over her injured eye.

  “Now that the hospital has gotten involved, the police have sent a forensic specialist to take pictures of your injuries and gather a copy of your medical files for evidence.”

  Will had finally taken on someone with more power than he had. If only he could go to jail for a long, long time. Maybe she could stop being afraid. Anxiety raced along her nerve endings and she gripped the thin blanket on the bed and held it against her. Her throat grew tight and her breathing uneven. “They’ve sent a woman?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  This was just the beginning of the long road to putting her life back on track. She had to suck it up and do whatever it took for Joy’s sake—and her own. The shame of having people see her like this turned her stomach. She had to have a moment before facing that humiliation. “When will I get this patch off?”

  “Dr. Greenway, one of our ophthalmologists, will be in to do a thorough exam later today. You still seem to have a lot of swelling around the eye socket.”

  Dr. Simons stepped to the door and motioned for someone to enter.

  No! The word rose in her throat and she bit it back. She could do this. It would be proof they could use against Will in court. Maybe.

  Her mouth grew dry and she clutched the blanket harder. A small woman of Asian descent, perhaps Japanese or Korean, entered the room, a satchel hanging across her narrow shoulder and a large camera in her hand. Ink-black hair cupped her chin in a soft bob and bangs brushed her brows. Her dark eyes settled on Sam while Doctor Simons introduced her.

  “This is Tammi Mai, Mrs. Cross. She’s a police department evidence recovery technician.”