Unbreakable: A Section 8 Novel (A Section Eight Novel) (14 page)

“She needs a hospital,” Gunner said quietly at one point. “I can stitch her, but I don’t have all the supplies with me.”

“No. Too many questions,” she murmured.

“I’ll figure this out,” Jem told them. “Plane had to take back off—air traffic control reported him.”

The car sped up measurably and Gunner’s arms tightened around her. She didn’t know how long they drove, but at one point they’d stopped and Gunner was putting an IV in, applying pressure bandages where he saw blood and she was fighting him, telling him no. “I don’t want you to see this,” she told him, hated the hurt on his face. He didn’t understand. She couldn’t hurt him more.

And then they were back in the car, driving more. “Keep talking to me, baby. Just keep talking and everything will be okay.” He’d repeat that over and over until he believed it himself.

“Tell me . . .” she started.

“What,
chère
?” Gunner prompted. “Tell you what?”

She needed something to focus on, something beyond the terrible, horrible tragedy that was now filling the truck, making these men too close to anger and panic. She needed to bring them back.

If you find the strength, your men will pull it from you. Find it. In your darkest of times, it will get all of you through.
She swore she could hear Adele’s voice telling her that, even though she’d never met the woman.

“How did you two first meet?” she asked, her voice slightly slurred. “Or is that classified, supersecret spy information?”

“You’re kidding, right? You want to know that now?” Jem asked over his shoulder.

“Road, Jem—watch the road,” Gunner told him. Looked at her. “Really?”

“Would help me. Please.”

Gunner’s jaw tightened, as though he didn’t think he should be telling stories at a time like this. But that’s exactly why she needed him to do it.

“It was my first year with the teams,” he started. “We were in Beirut on a recon mission when we got the call about a hostage situation in the British embassy.”

“I still don’t know why the hell they called you guys in,” Jem interrupted, and Gunner stared at the back of Jem’s head, the familiar
I will kill you
expression on his face.

She would’ve laughed, but it would hurt too much. The truck’s steady rhythm and Gunner’s voice soothed her in a way not much else would’ve at the moment.

Get them to treat you normally, no matter how abnormal the situation. Reassuring them reassures you.

“Our objective was recon during the day, and then we were supposed to go in, grab the hostage, take out the gunman, all while the hostage negotiator with the CIA was distracting him,” Gunner continued. “It was a good plan.”

“It was a shitty plan and you know that now,” Jem corrected.

“It was meant to minimize bloodshed and unrest,” Gunner shot back.

“It was already too late for that shit.”

Gunner stared at the back of Jem’s head, then muttered to her, “He’s right. The gunman garnered all sorts of unwanted attention—purposely—from the media and the locals. By the time my team got there, it was a barely controlled mass hysteria in the streets. The local police were close to losing total control of the situation. They’d called in soldiers to help, but that seemed to make things worse. The gunman was already agitated and unstable, and he started to lose it when the soldiers rolled up the street.”

“In a goddamned tank. Tell her that,” Jem prompted.

“You just did,” Gunner pointed out. “The gunman—his name was Kassim—”

“I thought it was Amir.”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m the one who got shot, so yeah.”

“Jem got shot?” she asked.

“Just a little bit, honey,” he told her.

“Anyway, Kassim shot out the window, yelled to us that he was taking the first one out,” Gunner said. “The hostage negotiators weren’t there yet—”

“Probably having lunch discussing the psychology of the hostage or some shit like that. Hostage negotiators are never there when you need them.”

“That’s the first true thing he’s said so far,” Gunner said.

“Who’s crazy now?” Jem added.

“You still are.” Gunner looked at her. She was smiling a little. “So anyway, all of a sudden, I hear some guy yelling, ‘Fuck this shit.’ And this crazy-eyed person steps through the crowd. Cuts through it like butter, Avery. I’ve never seen anything like it. Or maybe they were just backing away from the crazy.”

Jem snorted at that.

“So this one guy—another agent, I think—says, ‘Sir, we’re waiting for the negotiator. Please don’t make the situation worse.’ And so Jem turns to him and says, ‘I’m the negotiator,’ and he keeps walking. He’s beyond the police lines at this point and everyone just goes quiet watching him walk into the building. Even the gunman’s looking out the window, and he’s kind of stunned at the death wish Jem had going on.”

“Again, the second true thing Gunner’s said all night,” Jem added.

“And so he’s inside and the gunman’s all freaked out, starts firing at him immediately, but he’s wired and so his shots are going all over the place. And Jem’s just walking toward him, weapon drawn, not firing. Just walking straight at him. And finally, he gets right up on the guy. Right in his face. And he just takes the gun from him. Tells the people to get the hell out of the building.”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “How did you know what happened inside the building?”

Jem started laughing, that crazy laugh she’d come to know so well. “Tell her, Gun. Tell her how you followed me inside the building.”

“Even then, I knew someone had to watch your back.”

“I had it under control.”

“What happened to the gunman?” she asked.

“Jem waited until everyone got out safely. Then he shot the guy dead and told everyone he’d done them a favor by saving them the cost of an execution. I visited him in jail,” Gunner said wryly.

“I was only detained, not arrested,” Jem told her. “Ridiculous red tape.”

“He tried to get into the hostage negotiating team right after that. Used that as proof he’d do a good job,” Gunner said with a roll of his eyes. “I told you—twenty pounds of crazy stuffed in a five-pound bag.”

“But he’s our crazy,” she said with a smile.

“Yeah, he is,” Gunner confirmed. “Crazy and I will get you through this.”

“Crazy just found the perfect motel.”

Under the cover of night, Gunner carried her into one of the adjoining motel rooms and put her on one of the beds. She was holding the blanket tight, shivering uncontrollably. Her body was wet with blood, although the cuts had stopped bl
eeding considerably, thanks to the pressure bandages.

“Come on,
chère
. Gotta let me help,” Gunner urged.

“She doesn’t want you to see this, man,” Jem told Gunner.

“I don’t have a choice. I need to help her.”

“Get her comfortable and give me half an hour.”

“What are you going to do, find a doctor?”

Jem pointed and for the first time, Gunner noted they were across the street from a clinic with an ER. “Gotta be someone in there who’ll help and keep their mouth shut.”

“Jem—” Gunner started, but the man was already out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Gunner focused on Avery, who was trying to make sure the blankets were covering her. Keeping her calm and from going into shock were two things he could do. Uncovering her now would make things worse, although he wished to hell he’d brought his medic bag. Being helpless never sat well with him, but this . . .

“I’m . . . okay,” she managed to say.

“You’re comforting me?” he asked. “You never cease to surprise me, Avery.”

“I promise I’ll be okay. You’re what got me through.”

I’m the one who got you into this
, he wanted to tell her. Instead, he said, “I was with you, every step of the way. You’re so fucking strong.”

“For you,” she murmured.

T
h
e twenty-four-hour clinic had seen better days. Jem eyed the staff, assessing them quickly, and focused in seconds on the female doctor who was talking to a young woman in the waiting room.

Her hair was in a messy bun, a pencil stuck through it. She was touching the woman, who looked like a prostitute, kneeling in front of her. Reassuring her.

She’d be perfect. Especially because it didn’t take her long to get up and walk away from the main part of the clinic. He slid past the waiting area where there was too much chaos and not enough security for anyone to notice him and followed her into the back room.

He would recruit Dr. Drea Timmons as urgently and persuasively as possible.

When she whirled around to face him, she looked more angry than terrified that he’d followed her in here and blocked the only exit. The locker room was small and crowded, with a cot in the corner.

This had happened to her before, and he was suddenly oddly protective of someone he was attempting to kidnap.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t try to scream. Simply went to punch him in the jaw, landing a semisuccessful and damned good right cross, but he subdued her in seconds. At that point, she looked suitably impressed and fearful. And then irritated when he drew his weapon.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he started, and she snorted. “I have a friend in need of medical attention. You come with me and I’ll make sure you’re more than suitably compensated.”

Her amber eyes searched his. Beautiful eyes, like a wary lioness. Her hair was long and blonde and wavy, although it was now tucked into a loose ponytail, sans pencil. She’d only managed to take her white coat off before he’d come in, and she wore a plain black
T-shirt and blue scrub pants.

“I don’t want money from you,” she said evenly.

“Either way, sweetheart, you’re coming with me.” He pointed to the phone. “Excuse yourself from work.”

“I’m off the clock now,” she told him. “No one’s going to miss me.”

He wanted to tell her that was something she should never, ever say to someone, but who was he to lecture people about doing stupid things? “Come on. I will pay you.”

He released her, a show of good faith.

“I don’t want your money. Donate to the clinic,” she said as she grabbed her bag, stuffed it with supplies like IVs and the like.

“You’ll need stitch kits. Several of them.”

“Blood?”

“Maybe.”

“Bullets?”

“No. Knife. And a rape kit,” he said quietly. The anger dissipated for a brief moment.

“Are you criminals?” she asked.

“No. We’re the good guys,” he told her. Couldn’t tell if she believed him or not, but he hoped she would walk out with him, not alert anyone that she was leaving under duress.

As if to reiterate that point, she turned to him, pointed at his chest and hissed, “This is my choice. Just remember that. Put that goddamned gun away.”

He did.

“Please. My friend, she’s really hurt.” He locked the door and she went to her locker, but not before he showed her that he’d taken her phone and her beeper.

She took her bag out of her locker, along with a black medical bag like the one he’d seen Gunner haul around.

“Is this what you consider something good guys do?” she asked quietly.

He thought about that carefully. “Yeah, it is. Because sometimes being good requires you to do some of the most fucked-up things you’ve ever seen.”

Drea stared at him, blinked. It was like some kind of debate settling itself behind her eyes. “At least you’re honest.”

“Some of the time. At least about that. Come on now.” He led her toward the door. “Do the people who work here know you well?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you talk about your personal life?”

“No. Never.”

She was telling the truth. “Well, you’re about to walk out holding hands with your boyfriend, so we can move past security.”

He put his hand out and she took it. Glanced up at him for a long second before they passed the security guard, who opened the door for him.

“Night, Dr. Timmons.”

“Good night, Ray,” she called, caught Jem’s eye and smiled. He held her hand as they crossed the street. He pointed at the diner and they swerved in that direction until he was sure the guard was distracted by other patients entering the clinic.

Then they moved behind the diner to the motel. She stiffened for a second outside the door, until he whispered, “Avery really needs your help badly. Please.”

He held his breath because he really didn’t want her to do this under the duress of a loaded gun.

“Let’s go, then,” she said, her voice sure.

He opened the door. Gunner stood, not letting go of Avery’s hand.

“This is Dr. Timmons. She’s agreed to help.”

“Drea,” she said. “You can call me Drea.” She moved to the bathroom to wash her hands, kept the door open.

Gunner raised his brows.

“What? She came of her own accord,” Jem said.

“I’ll believe that . . . never.”

“Whatever. Avery getting help’s what counts, right, G?”

“You have to stop calling me that,” Gunner muttered.

“I’m going to need some help,” Drea said.

“Not him.” Avery pointed to Gunner. “Please. Just . . . if you can do this yourself . . .”

Her voice was a plea. Jem watched Gunner nearly crumple. He took his friend in hand, forced him to sit watch by the window in the second room so he was far enough away. He bolted the door, boarded the window behind the curtain so it wasn’t visible to anyone from the outside. He rigged it so it was alarmed and handed the small camera to Gunner. He also rigged a makeshift curtain between the bed and the rest of the room, where he could still see Drea and Avery, but there would be some semblance of privacy.

He caught Drea’s eye as he did so. She nodded her approval and gloved up. “If I need you, I’ll let you know,” she said quietly. Calmly. Then she turned back to Avery, her competence shining through. “Avery, I’m going to help you and you’re going to be fine.”

Jem knew he wasn’t the only one in the room who believed that.

W
hi
le the doctor named Drea was washing up, Avery resumed her stare at the ceiling. She’d been doing that while Gunner was running her IV, grateful that the ceiling wasn’t reflecting back at her. The stark whiteness was a relief, as was the fact that Gunner hadn’t pushed her to look under the pressure bandages.

He’d seen enough, though. Seen the ugly gashes in her skin. Seen the cuts through her beautiful tattoo. All of those marks hurt her more than anything.

Gunner thought he’d heard everything, but he hadn’t.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember the exact coordinates on the paper Landon had held up in front of her. Her mind had been swimming, a combination of the drugs and blood loss and fear making her unable to focus for any length of time, especially on tiny numbers that seemed to swim on the page every time she’d tried to focus.

And Landon had laughed. Since he had complete control of the audio, he’d lowered his voice, turned away from the speaker and mouthed,
All the information is here, Avery. Come on, don’t you want to help these people, the way James had been doing?

She’d cursed at him, viciously. Her hands had been able to make full fists by that point, but the assault had been too far under way.

He’d held the paper closer. Whispered, “These are exact coordinates of the boat that leaves late tonight. Your drugs will have worn off by then. If you survive this, you’d be in time to help them. Then again, if you’d left James alone to do his job, this wouldn’t be your problem.”

Landon’s words echoed in her ear now.
Because of you, there are women and children who are suffering.

And while she knew it was complete bullshit that it was her fault, the fact that she’d had tangible evidence of a cargo ship containing unwilling, kidnapped people that was too late to stop because she couldn’t read the information chilled her.

It could’ve been a lie, but she’d seen the container invoice. The stamp with the approval number as it left Mexico. He’d pointed to the date—read it out loud to her. Taunted her with the arrival time. That cargo ship could’ve been docking anywhere in the world, and it would’ve been coming in right about now.

She’d considered telling Gunner this part of it. It was important, but since there was nothing any of them could do about it, because he and Jem felt guilty enough for something they had no control over already, she decided she was best served living with that guilt all by herself.

Stopping human trafficking was the one thing that made working for Landon bearable for Gunner. The fact that Landon would throw that in his face proved to her how depraved he was.

Drea was watching her. Avery tried to school her expression and figured she’d failed miserably when the young doctor put a hand over hers and said, “It’s okay if you cry or yell or curse. Sometimes it’s better.”

She wanted to, but she glanced past the curtain, could see the open door, although not Gunner or Jem.

In response, Drea turned the clock radio on, low enough to be able to have a conversation, but loud enough that Gunner and Jem couldn’t hear.

Avery realized her fists were balled tightly against her sides. She’d been holding her body so taut against the threat of pain that it ached to move even a little. “He didn’t . . .” She paused, licked her lips. “He cut me. He didn’t rape me.”

She swallowed.

“You were still violated, Avery. You have every right to be angry at what he did to you.”

Her body eased as Drea gave her that permission for the anger that had built to an unbearable level. It was as if the cork had been pulled from the bottle, simultaneously making the anger a living, breathing monster, but easing the intensity at the same time.

It was a livable, focused anger. She could do something with that. And the first thing she would do was get through the next several hours.

Drea gloved up and asked, “Can I take this?” pointing to the blanket wrapped around her.

Avery nodded, still not trusting her voice, and watched as Drea carefully replaced the bloody blanket with clean sheeting and disposable chucks. The sheet went over Avery lightly; the chucks were slid with care and precision under her so the bed wouldn’t get soiled from the Betadine.

Gunner called this battlefield medicine. Drea appeared to have experience with it, judging by how efficient she was. Avery let that soothe her—she was in good hands.

It also made her wonder why Drea had this kind of experience. “Where . . . do you work?”

“The clinic, right across the street,” Drea answered, her expression softened. “Your friend asked me to come help you.”

Asked. Avery could just imagine how Jem had asked but let the subject drop for now. She’d only be prolonging the inevitable.

Drea laid her instruments on the night table she’d covered and pulled the chair Jem had gotten for her right up to the bed. Avery shifted so she was closer and winced even as Drea put her hands out to stop her.

“Avery, you’ve got to let me help you. That’s what I’m here for. You can cut the tough act, at least in front of me. You’ve got nothing left to prove.”

Drea’s voice was warm and understanding but also made Avery nod and agree that she wouldn’t move again until Drea helped her. “Thanks, Drea. I’m so sorry about all of this. I don’t know how Jem asked you to come here, but knowing him . . .”

She trailed off and Drea gave the ghost of a smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve been recruited. But you need to tell me if the men in this room hurt you.”

“No, they rescued me. Jem and Gunner, they’re my friends. Don’t want Gunner to see me like this. Both of them feel guilty enough already.”

Drea leaned in. “Are you sure? I can call the police. I will get you out of here if you need that. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

There was something in Drea’s voice that made Avery want to hold the doctor’s hand. “I’m positive. They’re good men.” She heard the catch in her own voice and stared up at the ceiling, blinking. She would not give the fucker who did this to her any more of her tears.

“And whoever did this to you isn’t,” Drea said firmly. “Do you want me to do a rape kit?”

“That’s not necessary. Besides, a court of law’s not going to be the one who convicts the man who did this.” Avery heard the vengeance in her own voice and after a brief pause, Drea nodded approvingly.

After a moment, Drea held up a needle and Avery almost fell out of bed trying to get away from it.

“It’s okay, Avery. Please, breathe. I’m putting the needle down,” Drea told her. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than you’ve been.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t feel anything when he did it. That was . . . horrible.” She stared at Drea as if willing her to understand. “I need to know it really happened. If I don’t deal with it now, it’s going to come back and bite me. I need to feel the pain.”

“Oh honey,” Drea said sadly. “It’s my job to stop the pain.”

“Only if you can erase it forever. Really, I can take it.”

“If I can’t get you stitched up properly, I’m not going to have a choice,” Drea warned her, but went ahead with what she needed to do.

It hurt. Burned. Avery stared at the ceiling and thought about all the ways she would make Landon pay, for everything. By the time Drea was done, at least an hour had passed and tears had streamed down Avery’s face.

Except for murmuring, “You okay?” several times during the procedure, Drea was completely focused. She covered the stitches loosely with a dressing.

“There will be some seepage for the next forty-eight hours, which is normal,” Drea explained. “I’ve started you on an antibiotic already. A strong one. I’d like to clean you up, get you dressed.”

“I don’t . . . have clothes,” she murmured, not answering to what Drea was saying.

“I’ve got some scrubs in my bag I can give you,” Drea continued. “They’ll be comfortable.”

“Thank you. I’m sure this wasn’t how you expected to spend your evening.”

“I’ve learned to take life as it comes.” Drea took more things out of her bag. “I’m going to clean you up and make sure I’m not missing anything.”

“Please. I want to wash him off me,” Avery said, teeth gritted. Drea nodded, got up and went to the bathroom. She came back with a basin full of warm water, washcloths and gloves.

She cleaned Avery up gently, but even that hurt. Avery clenched her teeth and bore it. Drea looked up at Avery, nodding, realizing that Avery hadn’t been lying about not being raped. But Avery was still grateful to have as much of the experience wiped off her as possible.

Drea looked over the other bandages after dressing her in the scrubs. “I went slowly with the stitching because I was trying to minimize the scarring. After it heals, I’m betting a plastic surgeon could work miracles.”

“Thanks, Drea.”

“I’m going to talk to your friends about getting you some food. Can I put a mild painkiller in your IV? You won’t be numb. I won’t snow you.”

“Yeah, that would be good,” Avery said. She needed sleep. Needed all her strength to get through this. “Food, maybe later.”

“Definitely sooner than later,” Drea advised. “You did great. I’ll send Gunner in now. I’m surprised he’s stayed out this long.”

•   •   •

Thr
ough the curtain, Gunner watched Drea’s fingers flying over Avery’s skin. Jem set it up so he could easily see both their outlines, and although it wasn’t close enough, it was better than nothing.

Avery was holding back her whimpers. She’d refused pain meds.

“Dude, you gotta unclench,” Jem said quietly, passed him a cigarette.

Gunner lit it and inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs, blew it out toward the open window, because he couldn’t do anything else. “I want to kill him. If he was here in front of me . . .”

“I know. But going off half-cocked isn’t going to help the plan.”

“What
is
the plan? I still can’t believe Landon would pull this shit. It doesn’t make sense. Hurting women’s never been Landon’s style.” He had to think about it rationally, or else he’d start smashing everything in the room.

“But these women are standing between him and you,” Jem reminded him. “Makes sense in a very fucked-up way.”

“Landon’s all about seduction, no matter the form it takes,” Gunner told him. Jem had been an undercover operative for years, had been in situations where he’d had to do things for the job that weren’t to his personal bent. “When he got angry last time, he took it out on me. But he’s still denying that. Why?”

Jem raised his brows but didn’t say a word as Gunner continued. “I never believed he killed Josie. Call me a fucking idiot but—”

“Fucking idiot. What? You said to,” Jem pointed out. “What about the brother?”

Gunner stilled. “Donal?”

“Yeah. I found his name in the folder that Mike and Andy had. What’s he like?”

“The only thing I remember is seeing him walk away toward the plane. Landon had him leave when I got there. Don’t know why, never asked. At the time, I wished I was going with him. Maybe Landon was hiding something?”

“Everyone’s got something to hide. Something they’re ashamed of.”

“Even you?”

Jem gave a short laugh. “Brother, my shit’s on the table for everyone to see. I’ve got a crazy family tree, dressed with a dose of mean as shit, addiction sprinkled in for good measure. That’s the great thing about being nuts. You scare people just by being you.”

On the surface, Jem appeared to be a fun-loving good old boy without a care in the world, one who talked a good game about being crazy.

Guy was fucking nuts. Gunner had seen him take point on missions. He was a wild man, took chances no sane person would ever take—or want to. That was the true sense of crazy, that it would live right next to you and you’d never know it.

Crazy always had the element of surprise.

“You think Donal sees me as some kind of rival?”

“As good a theory as any,” Jem said.

“Mike’s been able to track him down?”

“Never. He only knew about him because he talked to someone who knew Landon’s father. Then he pulled the birth certificate.”

“I know as well as anyone what happens when a guy disappears.”

“If anyone can find him, it’s someone who knows how to bury himself. Between you and Mike . . .”

Gunner shook his head.

“Gotta face them at some point.” Jem’s voice softened. “They helped you. They don’t fucking blame you.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck, Gunner, I don’t even blame my parents and they were the biggest jackasses on the planet. But yeah, I’m sure they thought about blaming you. I’m guessing they’re over it, since they’re the ones who helped us get you back. They’ve always known where you were.” Jem shook his head as Drea poked her head out from behind the curtain.

“Is it okay?” she asked, motioning to where they sat.

“Please, yes.” Gunner stood, waited for her to move closer. “How bad is it?”

“If it doesn’t infect, she’ll be okay in two weeks. Not great, but okay. She can’t do anything for herself until the cuts start to close—give it three days at the least. They were deep enough to scar, but whoever did this knew exactly where and how to cut to create maximum scarring and blood loss without hitting any internal organs or arteries.”

Gunner could only nod, his fists tightening with anger.

“She’ll be all right, but she’s in a lot of pain.”

“I heard the whole thing when it happen
ed. I couldn’t get to her, but I had to be with her.”

Drea blanched. “I’m sorry. But she’s strong. Even so, she’ll need to talk to someone about the attack. And I mean someone besides you.”

“I hear you, Doc.”

“She needs to eat. I’ve got an IV running, but the sooner you can get food into her, the better,” Drea told him. Jem handed him the bag he’d grabbed from the diner. Pure comfort foods, and Gunner took it and left the two of them alone to sort the rest of the shit out.

He got why it might be easier to let a total stranger help her. She was more worried about his welfare than hers, and that made him want to strangle Landon in the middle of the police station and make sure it was televised.

He’d already allowed the man to lie to him about fucking with the people he’d loved.