Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (13 page)

“Hell,” Zeus muttered.

“What?” she asked.

“Cars are pulling in and blocking the second lane,” he was saying into his mic. He wasn’t talking to her, but he was answering her question anyway. “We need two lanes. One for people to step in,” Zeus said into his mic, “another to drive away. Procedure was followed yesterday. What, for fuck’s sake, are they doing today? There are now two lanes of virtually parked cars. Our cars are wedged into the lane that can’t get out.”

His hand gripped her arm, slowing her as he and his agents assessed the situation. They were ten yards out from the cars, between barricades of screaming protestors, with a crowd of lawyers, clerks, and judges behind them.

“This is how the ITT and the French military steps up security? You got to be kidding. Fucking idiots. We’ll be goddamn sitting ducks while we wait for cars to move.”

Five yards out from the cars, almost blocked from view by Zeus, Samantha got a glimpse of Judge O’Connor getting into a car with his security team. One of the French judges climbed into a car behind him.

Zeus, gripping her left arm, pulled her close, and sped up his pace. “Teams. Plan B. Drivers. Get in your cars. Move when you can. Sam—walk fast.”

Behind the barricades, bystanders were yelling, “
Witch. Hunt. Witch. Hunt. Witch. Hunt.
” Inside the barricades, there was stoic calmness, yet the urgency in Zeus’s short orders was contagious. Still, from what Sam could tell with the partial glimpses that she had of the judges, lawyers, and security charged with escorting everyone to their cars, Black Raven seemed to be the only security team acting as though the situation was off kilter.

For Zeus, it was a fast walk. For her, it was a jog in five-inch heels and a tight pencil skirt. It didn’t matter whether she could balance. He and the agent on her right each had strong hands on her arms and practically carried her along.

“Which car?” she asked.

“We’re not.”

He guided her down the sidewalk, to his right, past a black sedan as a driver climbed into it. The driver gave Zeus a curt nod as they passed. She recognized the driver as a Black Raven agent. She also recognized the next driver, and the next. All Black Raven agents.

“Drivers, proceed out as you can, when you can. Stay in your cars.” Zeus said into his mic. His tone was calm, yet his eyes were grim as he scanned the crowd. “I repeat. Plan B. Walk away from this clusterfuck. Exit Ile de la Cite via Boulevard de Palais, or any clear way, cross the river at Pont St. Michel and head towards Boulevard Saint-Germain. Lambert and Axel, you copy? Perimeter agents, meet us along the path. Start talking to me.”

Even with the Black Raven cars ten yards behind them, Zeus didn’t slow his pace or loosen his vice-like grip on her arm. “Drivers and all agents. Rendezvous points to be established when you manage to get the vehicles moving.”

He glanced back quickly at the line of cars. Samantha barely heard the boom before he crushed her in his arms, pushing her to the ground and covering her body with his.

Chapter Eleven

Plan-fucking-B did not mean the client suffered injury instead of death. Neither option was acceptable.

She isn’t moving.

“Sam, you okay?” Zeus said, in the split second post boom, post shrapnel whizzing past him, in the pause before pandemonium would erupt in the crowd. He’d cocooned her in his arms, his hands cradling her head, her body tucked under his. His lips were against her head, touching the soft, silky blonde strands. His elbows supported him and she was nestled against his chest, with his legs on either side of hers for support. Jenkins and Miles pressed against him, one on each side. The fourth agent on Sam’s team, Brad Deal, was to the side of Miles.

They’d hold the position until Zeus decided it was time for them to move, based on his mental crapshoot of whether there’d be another bomb blast in the near vicinity.

But for the overcoats he and Sam both wore, the position he was in was classic for activities that had nothing to do with saving her life. Her pelvis was right below his. If they were naked, he’d be able to slip inside her with a few micro adjustments and one powerful stroke. Easily. He lifted his body a bit, giving her a few inches to breathe. Giving him the physical distance needed to fucking-well forget what it was like to do the things he’d dreamed of doing for seven long years.

“Zeus, you okay?” Ragno asked, in his ear.

The same type of chip that was embedded in Sam was also in his arm. This meant, unless there was interference with the signal, she knew his position, relative to Sam.

“Fine.”

“Samantha?” Ragno asked.

“Sam?” He lifted his chest slightly, taking more of his weight on his elbows, then lifted his hand so he could use two fingers to feel the uneven pulse at her temple. Her skin felt sweaty and cold. Shock. “Blink once if you’re alive,” he muttered.

Her lashes fluttered.

“Great bedside manner, Hernandez. News shows were focused on the departure from the proceeding,” Ragno continued. “The blast occurred about twenty yards behind you. Closest to the car of Columbian Judge Exekial Calante as he entered the vehicle. He and his security detail are down, as are onlookers in immediate vicinity, and throughout the crowd.”

He listened, but his whole focus remained on Sam. “Sam? Open your eyes now, dammit.” His heart was in his throat, where it had no business being. She couldn’t be hurt. Stunned into silence, maybe, but not hurt. He’d acted fast, and Jenkins, Deal, and Miles had been in protective formation on the way down. “Answer me.”

She lifted her chin. Wide, scared, clear green eyes looked into his. Her nod accompanied sudden, teeth-chattering, full-body trembling. Fear emanated off her with each shake, while relief coursed through him. “Fine. I’m f-f-fine.” She drew a deep breath and lifted her arms. He thought she’d push him away. Instead, she gripped each of his biceps, holding on, and said, this time stronger, “Fine. I’m fine.”

Brave. Courageous. The woman of his dreams was also brilliant, and someone as smart as Sam knew that this situation was horrifying. She was also trying hard to overcome her fear.

“Teams,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “Report.”

“Sir, Agent Axel. Charles is fine. We were far back. Team is fine. We’re down. Waiting on your order.”

“Lambert?” Abe’s team, led by Lambert, had been behind Zeus, closer to the blast.

“Yes, sir. We were ten steps behind you at detonation. Abe has an injury to an arm. A cut. Appears minor.”

“Your team?”

“Tannen has something that looks like metal in his left thigh.” A pause. “He says he can walk. Otherwise, minor scratches. Waiting on your order, sir.”

The scent of Chanel No. 5 mingled with the smell of gunpowder, smoke, and her fear. The surreal, slow-mo action suddenly picked up speed, launching him into real time.

“One minute since detonation,” Ragno said.

When in similar situations, Zeus had imagined he could smell the collective panic that was ready to erupt from the bystanders. This time he had no doubt. He breathed deeply, finding strength as spectators converged on the scene. People started screaming. Situations that were fearful to others drove calm logic for him, and now, as Sam’s bodyguard and the leader of the protective detail for the Amicus team, there was only one logical course of action: get Sam and her team out of harm’s way, away from the masses of people. Odds were most meant well.

It only took one, though, to kill.

Lifting his head, Zeus scanned the crowd. The worst was behind them, just past the Black Raven cars. Bodies and parts of bodies littered the street and sidewalk, which had become painted red in splashes and growing puddles. By the carnage, he knew some were dead. Those that could were stirring. A woman nearby cried in gulping sobs as she looked around with tears running through the blood on one half of her face. Some near him were on the ground. Others stood still, dazed. A man, five feet to his right, lay on the ground, moaning and clutching what was left of his tattered leg. Crimson blood oozed between his fingers.

Zeus did a quick inventory of the agents who were at the scene, assessing how many could be left behind to assist the injured and directing them to do so. “Ragno, reposition agents who can be spared from safe-house operations over here. Plenty of people need help.”

Screams were building to crescendo, mingling with yells of excitement of those who came to help and those who came to gawk. Given the number of protestors in the crowd who had carried signs of hatred and support for the Maximov cause, he guessed more were there to gawk than help. High-pitched sirens cut through the sounds of pain and fear. There’d soon be pandemonium. Or worse. Time to roll the dice.

This one was in hands other than his.
Please God, don’t let there be another fucking bomb. If there is one, make it far away from Sam.
“Teams. Fall out. Plan B. Now.”

Jenkins, Deal, and Miles stood.

Zeus shifted to his side. As he moved, he shielded the side of Sam’s face, using his right hand as a blinder from the people that surrounded them, while using his left hand to cover the cut that he now felt on his forehead. “Close your eyes. I’m carrying you out of here.”

“No. I can walk,” she said, with a firm headshake. She pushed his hand off her face as she used her other hand to lever herself off the ground. “Or run. I’m fine.”

“We’re in a scene from hell.”

“I’ve seen bad sights.”

“In pictures and evidence. You’re in this one in real time, and I don’t think you want to carry this with you for the rest of your fucking life. Close your eyes and relax. I’m carrying you.”

“No, I’m walk—”

“Shut the hell up.” An over-the-shoulder carry would work best for a run, but that would leave her too exposed. Whether there’d be a second and third explosion was still anyone’s guess. Cradling her in his arms was the best way to protect her until they were a safe distance away. “Close your eyes. Arms around my neck. Head against my chest.”

She did as ordered. Almost. Unfortunately, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes were open. Something in the distance snagged her attention. Following her gaze to a point a mere twenty-feet away, he saw a woman clutching what remained of a tattered, mangled arm.

“Eyes closed, dammit.”

The very last bit of color drained from her face as she looked slightly above his eyes. Her body went limp as she passed out.

He’d known he was bleeding near his hairline. Sticky warmth trickled down his temple. Whether the foreign object remained in him was irrelevant to the task at hand. He doubted the injury was significant, but there was no time for assessment. He lifted Sam and got moving.

“Perimeter agents have three cars,” Ragno said. “They’re en route to the Pont au Change. Security forces are closing bridges to vehicular traffic. From what we can tell from camera feeds, crowds are shifting. Barricades are down. Get to the bridge as fast as you can to rendezvous with our cars.”

“Understood,” he said, weaving through people who were also running for the closest bridge off the island. His team was in step with him. Sam’s legs were over his right arm, her shoulders at his left, with his forearm under her left armpit. Her head lolled back, eyes closed.

“A newsfeed just caught you,” Ragno said. “It’s quite an image. Jesus, Zeus. She looks dead.”

“Call Samuel. Tell him she’s fine. He’ll have a fucking fi—”

“He’s calling now. Okay, you and Samuel are patched together.”

“Zeus?”

“She’s fine, Samuel. The sight of blood got to her. Mine. Not hers. She has no injuries.”

“It’s dripping down your forehead,” he said.

Great. The media must have zoomed in on them. “Minor scrape.”

“Have Samantha call me when you get her situated. Make her do it. I’m damn tired of her silent treatment.”

“You hired me to keep her safe. Not make her do things she doesn’t want to do. If she doesn’t want to call you, there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about that.”

No fucking answer.

Zeus had learned from Ragno that Samuel repeatedly tried to call Sam on Tuesday and Wednesday mornings. She wasn’t returning his calls.

“He’s gone,” Ragno said. “At least he’s smart enough not to bother a busy man for too long. Theresa has called headquarters.”

Theresa was his ex. Ana’s mother. “Call her back and update her. Agent Martell has probably alerted her, but make sure she understands what happened here and with Judge Devlin’s wife. Tell her to keep Ana from watching television. This will be in the media cycle for a while.” Glancing at Sam for a second, he saw that her eyes remained closed. “Tell Theresa I’ll call her later.”

“Will do. They closed the bridge to vehicles. You’ll have to cross on foot. How are your legs holding up?”

“Fine,” Zeus said, stepping into the street, dodging a group of ten or so people who had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Just because I’ve mostly been in the office for the last few years, doesn’t mean I’m not in shape. Tell me about our drivers and the cars on the scene.”

“When you implemented Plan B, they each got in their cars a few seconds before detonation.”

“And?”

“Our driver closest to the blast is down. Agent Pitts. Rear window blew from force of flying debris. Good thing no one from the Amicus team got in that car.”

Fuck.
“Extent of injuries?”

“Serious enough that Pitts will need a surgeon. Mostly limbs. No visible head injury. He managed to get face down on the front seat before the debris reached him.”

“So much for bulletproof and bomb resistant vehicles,” Zeus muttered, though he knew that true bomb resistance was hard to accomplish in a car, if not impossible. That was why he hadn’t steered Sam into a car when his instinct told him that things were off. He’d felt that something was going to happen. He just hadn’t known what, where, or when.

Sam stiffened. He looked down.
Shit.
Her eyes were open and on him for a second, before she squeezed them shut.

“Please stop. Put me down. I’m going to be sick.” Eyes closed and watering, she clasped a hand over her mouth. She looked even paler than when she’d been in a dead faint.

He and the team stepped onto the bridge. He’d been to Paris before, on this exact bridge. A few times for work. Once for a honeymoon that should’ve never happened. He’d looked at the murky, green-gray water of the Seine River more times than he could count. With Sam in his arms, he knew this was the most important time he’d ever visit the city.

The wide expanse of the bridge, crowded with people running from a bomb blast that wasn’t even a mile behind them, left them too exposed to stop so she could catch her breath and fight her nausea. “Lean into me. Shut your eyes and focus on breathing. Breathe in through your nose. Hold it, three counts.”

Her head pressed against her chest, her eyes shut, but she shook her head. “Breathing techniques don’t work.”

“Dammit, Sam, try. Trust me. This’ll help. Breathe in. Hold it—one, two, three. Now purse your lips and breathe out, as slowly as you can.”

“Zeus!”

“Sorry. No way in hell are we stopping. If you puke, you’ll do it on both of us, and I still won’t put you down. Inhale, through your nose. One, two—”

“I won’t faint again. I faint once,” she whispered, “then—”

“You vomit if you see blood again due to stress-induced nausea. You’re going to see it, Sam.” Damn. His legs were burning and his arms were starting to ache. Ragno had planted the seed with her teasing, and now he was feeling the exertion of running while bleeding from a couple of wounds. Sam’s weight, slight as she was, wasn’t helping. He guessed that she didn’t weigh more than one twenty-five, but cradling her in his arms at the same time he tried to run, while trying to keep from jarring her too much, was awkward and straining muscles in his back, his shoulders, and his arms. Talking to her was making it worse. “I can’t stop blood by force of will. You’re going to vomit. Just go ahead and do it. Won’t be the first or last time that happens to me as I work.”

Eyes shut, head against his chest, with a hand balled into a fist between her mouth and his chest, she said, “I hate being sick.”