Shot in Darkness Page 6

  At the nurses’ station, I said, “Mr. O’Roark is awake. He’s thirsty.”

  The nurse took the pitcher from me and disappeared into a room. While she was gone, a thought occurred to me that brought a smile to my face. Declan had been able to process my conversation with Ty well enough to be angry about it. My Declan was not only able to withstand a speeding bullet, he could do so and still try to interfere in my work.

  The nurse returned with a pitcher filled with ice water. “I’ll let the doctor know Mr. O’Roark is awake.”

  “Thank you.”

  I returned to Declan and poured him a cup of water. I helped him lift his head up and held the cup while he took a sip.

  Saying nothing, he ran his hand along the side of the bed until he found the cord that led to the controls for the bed.

  “What is it? What can I do?” I set the cup on the tray.

  He pushed a button and raised the bed to something a bit closer to a sitting position. He winced as he shifted.

  “Take it easy,” I said. I hovered a hand over him, scared to touch him for fear I would cause him even more pain.

  His eyes were on me the entire time. He was starting to make me uncomfortable.

  He lifted his hand and motioned for me to sit next to him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then sit softly,” he said, humor in his voice.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “The fact that I was shot? Or the idea that you’re actively looking for the person responsible? Which part, dear Brooke, are you afraid I’m finding humor in?”

  For someone who’d just undergone major surgery to repair damage from a high-powered sniper rifle, Declan was in good humor. Had to be the drugs.

  I was about to defend myself when his surgeon entered. “Mr. O’Roark, nice to see you awake.” He walked close, leaned over, and shined a light in each of Declan’s eyes. Without instruction, he moved the light around, allowing Declan to follow it with his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I was shot.”

  “Well, your humor is intact. Glad I was able to save that,” the doctor said dryly. He put his light back in his breast pocket, then used his stethoscope to listen to Declan’s heart and lungs. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. O’Roark.”

  “That I am.” Declan glanced at me.

  “A couple of millimeters to the left and we might not be having this conversation,” the doctor continued. “The bullet just missed a major artery.”

  I turned away from Declan as emotion overtook me. I didn’t want to think about what might have happened. When I turned back around, Declan was staring at me, but talking to the doctor. “How long you going to keep me?”

  “Well…” The doctor lifted Declan’s hospital gown and checked under his bandage. “I’d like to keep you for at least another day. But after that, as long as your labs are good, blood pressure is normal, and you’re able to walk around and use the bathroom, I don’t see why you can’t recover at home. I’m told home is in Kentucky?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You really shouldn’t fly. And you’re going to want to stay away from crowds where someone might knock into you. And I don’t want you driving for at least a week.”

  “I have a private plane,” Declan said. “And a driver.”

  “And he has me,” I added. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t overdo it.”

  Declan’s eyes met mine. He looked a little surprised at my words, and that bothered me. Did he really think I wouldn’t take care of him?

  “Well, sounds like you’ve got all your bases covered,” the doctor said. “Let’s see how you’re doing in the morning, and then we’ll get you on your way.” He jotted a couple of notes in Declan’s file. “Of course, I have nothing to do with the men in black standing guard outside your room. They might have a different opinion on whether you can return to Kentucky.”

  “I’ll handle them as well,” I said. The agents were there for protection while law enforcement decided whether the shooting was aimed at Declan.

  “The nurses will be in soon to get you up and moving around. They’re relentless that way. But it’s for your own good. And they’ll give you some gum to get the bowels moving.”

  “Gum?” I asked, amused.

  “I know. Sounds ridiculous, but it works.”

  When the doctor was gone, Declan looked at me again. “Brooke—”

  “Shh.” I sat beside him as gently as I could and moved hair off his forehead. “I’m so sorry,” I said. My voice cracked.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  Tears welled in my eyes. “If I’m correct, you’re in this bed because of Romeo’s infatuation with me.”

  “I’m in this bed because bad people do bad things. And you know better than to shoulder that responsibility.”

  He was right, but it didn’t stop the overwhelming guilt I was feeling for so many things.

  “What are you planning to do?” His probing gaze forced me to look at him.

  “I’m going to make sure David knows you’ll be coming home tomorrow. We’ll get the guest room set up on the first floor so you don’t have to climb the steps. And I’ll make sure—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he interrupted. “How are we going to find Romeo?”

  I looked down at my watch, then back at him. “Well, I’m going to check in with Mike and other law enforcement on the case. I’m actually a little surprised they haven’t been back to talk to me more.” Or to Declan.

  “Have you slept at all?”

  “I’m fine.” I waved a hand. “I’ll sleep later.” I scooped up his hand into mine and tried to rub some warmth into it. “You’re going to listen to the nurses. Let them get you up and around so I can take you home.”

  “Are you coming home with me?”

  I straightened slightly at the way he asked the question. “Oh. I hadn’t really considered that I wouldn’t. If you’d rather I didn’t…”

  “Brooke.” When he said my name this time, there was irritation in it. “I’m not the one that needed space. Of course I want you back in Kentucky with me. But this… inconvenience,” he said gesturing toward his stomach, “shouldn’t change your plans. David will see that I have everything I need. You need to take care of yourself. Take the time you need to consider…” His voice trailed off. And the topic of our last conversation in Kentucky finally returned. He wanted an answer.

  I stared at him as he leaned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. I didn’t know how to respond to him. Was he telling me that he didn’t want my help? Didn’t want me with him?

  Was he pushing me away?

  “You need sleep,” he said, keeping his eyes closed.

  “Don’t worry about me. You need to concentrate on you.”

  “Of course I’m worried about you.” He lifted his head up again. “You’re not FBI anymore. Who’s going to watch your back while you’re searching for this man who nearly shot you?”

  “He didn’t nearly shoot me. Far from it. He’s enjoying whatever game this is. I’m no profiler, but if I were, I would conclude that Romeo wants to be caught. And he wants me to catch him.”

  “But what will he do to you when you finally catch him? If your instincts are correct, and I certainly don’t see how they couldn’t be, he had someone assassinate your friend—a friend from the NSA who was about to reveal his identity. And then he killed the assassin, also NSA. What happens when you discover his identity, Brooke? You think he’ll just sit back and say, ‘Oh, looks like you won our little game’?”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I do know I’m going to find him. I haven’t changed my objective.”

  “No, but I have. And my objective is to have you with me. Alive. For a really long time.” He took in a deep breath, and after letting it out slowly, he squared his shoulders. “I have so much respect for you, but Brooke, Romeo’s crimes are escalating. This”—he pointed to his stomach—“is no sprai
ned wrist.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” I leaned my forehead against our hands. Declan pulled his hand free and began smoothing my hair back.

  Without looking up at him, I said, “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you.”

  “Luckily, you don’t have to find out. But Brooke?”

  My head sprang up.

  “Stop pushing me away. Stop thinking I’m going to get angry if I know that you’re hunting yet another bad guy. And most of all, stop stalling on considering my question. We can be a team… if you let us.”

  I blinked a couple of times. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “First, tell me you’re considering my proposal.”

  “Of course I’m considering your proposal,” I said, my voice full of exasperation. “I was always considering your proposal. I just wanted some time.” I stood and paced. “I don’t know. I guess I kinda freaked.”

  “Yes, you did. Yet here you are, calm as ever and ready to take care of me in my hour of need.”

  I sat again. “God, Declan.” I shook my head. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw your body, and those EMTs working on you? There was so much blood. And Anya was dead. I thought I had lost you.” Panic entered my voice. “I thought I would never get the chance to tell you…”

  “Hey,” he said. “Come here.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed again and peered down at him. “I’m calm when actually dealing with doctors and agents and plans to take you home, because I specialize in chaos and drama. Crime? Shootings and poisonings? That’s my thing. But when you asked me to make a decision about the rest of my life—about our lives…?” I shrugged. “I freaked.”

  “Okay.” He lifted a hand and rubbed a thumb across my cheek, wiping a tear from my face. “For now, the question is off the table. At least until we’re back in Kentucky. Knowing that you’re considering it is enough for me. Now: tell me about Bradley Archer. I heard you tell Ty that he was NSA. And that Archer knew Anya? What do we know about Archer’s connection to Romeo?”

  I swiped at a couple of tears. Swallowed hard. “I don’t know what their relationship was. In my brief encounter with Archer after the shooting, I got the impression that he was there to assassinate Anya. He didn’t know who you were or who I was. But when he pointed a gun at me, the eyewitness to his crime, someone blew half his head off.”

  “Sure sounds like Romeo.”

  “Had to be, right?”

  “If Romeo knew that Anya had discovered something about his identity, and if Romeo was responsible for having her shot, and if Romeo then turned around and shot Archer… it’s likely that Romeo is a member of the intelligence community.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “If Anya was looking into Romeo’s identity for me, she probably would have kept it out of NSA business. I’d like to start by searching Anya’s home.”

  Chapter 11

  Brooke

  When the nurses came to “torture” Declan, as he put it, I took the opportunity to slip out the back entrance of the hospital. After ditching the agents Mike had assigned to tail me, I slipped into an Uber. I was eager to get to Ty’s, shower, and change out of the hospital scrubs.

  “I wonder what’s going on over there?” the Uber driver said when he pulled up in front of Ty’s townhouse.

  Police cars, dark sport utilities, and an evidence response team van took up the other end of the street where Bradley had lived.

  “Who knows?” I said. I thanked the driver, then made a quick exit and jogged to the front door, hoping no one down the street saw me. I had no desire to speak to law enforcement.

  After showering and changing, I went to my suitcase and found my latest purchase: a Glock very similar to my service weapon from the FBI. I was not in the habit of carrying it in my capacity of working for the Kentucky Office of Homeland Security unless I was working an actual case. My more petite Sig had been more than enough—I had thought. But now I strapped on my holster and slid the Glock into place.

  I looked over at Thurston and Lovey, sleeping in the middle of the guest bed. They could probably use a walk, but… I decided they’d be fine until Ty and James got home. I didn’t want to risk being stopped by the FBI while walking the dogs.

  My phone rang. “Fairfax,” I said.

  “Brooke. Where are you?” Mike sounded panicked.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “The police want to bring you in for questioning. It’s out of the director’s hands at the moment, but I was instructed to warn you.”

  “Bring me in?” I actually wasn’t surprised.

  “The lead detectives on the case just sent a team to the hospital. Since I know you ditched those rookie agents, I’m assuming you’re already staying clear of investigators.”

  I pulled a jacket over my T-shirt and holster. Dressed in jeans and running shoes, I headed downstairs. “Why are you and the director warning me?” I asked. In the kitchen, I began rummaging through cabinets, looking for something very specific.

  “I told the director I thought you were hiding something. He ordered me to give you the time to explore whatever it is you think you know. But Brooke? Please be careful.”

  “Got it. Tell the director I said thanks.” I hung up, then spotted the item I was looking for on the beverage cart in the corner of the dining room: a stainless steel cocktail shaker. I rushed over and grabbed it.

  Then I wondered: Would the police be looking for my car?

  Assuming they would, I went back to the kitchen, grabbed the keys to James’s car, and headed for the garage.

  As I turned the corner, leaving the kitchen, a man appeared.

  He was fast and had a hand over my mouth in a flash. “Don’t scream. The team down the street might hear you.”

  I stared into hazel-green eyes. The man’s dark, almost black hair was spiked in the front.

  He slowly removed his hand. His lips lifted into a sly smile. “Hello, darlin’.” He said in a thick British accent.

  “Dimitri,” I said. “You changed your hair.”

  He rubbed his hand back and forth across the short hair. “You like it?”

  I thought about it. “Yeah, I do. Better than the fake blond.”

  Dimitri Tobias was a master at disguises and changed his accent so often that I wasn’t even sure what his true nationality was. He still had an earring in his left ear, and a date—December 21—was tattooed across his bicep. No year, just a day.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked.

  “Away from here. I think the cops are coming for me.”

  “Well, that’s exciting. Let’s go then.” He grabbed the keys from my hand. “I’ll drive.”

  James drove an old, refurbished Mercedes from the 1980s—his pride and joy. “If we wreck this,” I said as we climbed in, “James will kill us both.”

  “Where’s your faith?” Dimitri said. After adjusting his seat and the mirrors, he pulled slowly out of the garage. “Where to, love?”

  I set the cocktail shaker in the cup holder, then plugged an address into my phone. I struggled to read the map on the splintered screen. “Take a right at the end of the alley.”

  “Okay.”

  Dimitri did as I instructed for several turns. When we were far enough away from the townhouse, and I was sure we weren’t being followed, I turned to Dimitri. “Who do you know at NSA?”

  He slid an easy glance toward me. “What makes you think I know anyone?”

  I angled my head. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have asked David to contact the wrong person. I was under the impression that you knew people everywhere. In that case, please pull over. You can get out and be on your way. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  “Declan did say you had a quick wit about you.”

  I stared at him, my face blank, waiting for him to continue.

  “Keep your skirt on. I know a few people. What are we after?”

 
“I need to talk to someone who can tell me what Anya Bhatia was working on the past week. If I could get into her computer or her personal email, that would be great. But I really want to know who she might have confided in recently.”

  “You want to hack into the personal email and computer of an NSA employee?”

  “Yes,” I said matter-of-factly. “And if I could see her calendar, that would be fantastic. Oh, and I’d like to get inside her apartment.”

  Dimitri slowed at a red light. He turned and faced me. “Anything else?”

  “No, I think those are good places to start.”

  My phone rang. It was Declan. “Hi,” I said. “Are the nurses being kind?”

  “No. Did Dimitri find you?”

  “How did you—”

  “David called shortly after you slipped out of here.”

  “Before you start in on me. I was planning to tell you I wanted to make contact with him, but you needed to concentrate on you today.”

  “Tell Dimitri if anything happens to you while I’m laid up in the hospital, I will hunt him down when I get out.”

  I turned to Dimitri. He was smiling. Declan had spoken loud enough that Dimitri had heard him loud and clear. “You’d think that going into a burning building to save your life would have been proof enough that I would protect you with my own life.”

  I laughed. “Take a left at the next light.”

  “Brooke,” Declan said. “The police were here.”

  I tensed. “Yeah? They want to interview you?”

  “Yes, and they were looking for you.”

  I closed my eyes. Mike had been right. “What did they say?”

  “Frankly, they asked questions that pissed me off. They’re trying to find an angle that makes you an accessory to this crime. They wanted to know why you had sent me into the bar ahead of you, why were you speaking with Bradley Archer, and what your meeting with Anya was about.”

  “And what did you tell them?”

  “I told them that I was under the impression that Anya had called the meeting. And that for all I knew, it was nothing more than two college roommates getting together for drinks. When they asked where you were, I told them that I assumed you were off showering the rest of the shooter’s blood off of you and preparing to take me home to Kentucky.”