High Intensity (High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G #2)

Chapter 20

Twenty

Jillian

“I am fine .”

He’s grumbled that same line several times over the past hour or so, and his irritation is starting to get on my nerves.

My body is shaking and tears threaten when finally, the dam breaks.

“What do you mean you’re fine? You are not fine. You were shot and you have a gash in your head from flying glass.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” he counters predictably.

“A flesh wound? You’re not Arnold Schwarzenegger. You could’ve been dead. So I want you to sit here, wait for them to stitch you up, and stop being such a damn man !”

He tries to grab the finger I’m poking his chest with, but I’m not done.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to be sitting in a hospital—again? To see someone else I care about bleeding? Do you realize how hard I am fighting not to run out of here, away from you, because the thought of what might have happened terrifies me so much, I’m not sure my heart can handle another hole.”

Suddenly he’s there, all around me. My face is pressed into his chest, as his arms surround me and his mouth is by my ear, mumbling soothing words while I completely lose my shit in the hospital emergency room.

“I’m sorry. Don’t cry, Jilly. Shit . I’m so sorry.”

Good God, what is wrong with me?

I’m mortified. Not only do I embarrass myself by going ballistic on an injured, bleeding man in full view and hearing distance of the entire emergency room staff and patients, but worse; I’m embarrassing him and making him feel guilty.

Jesus, I’m a basket case.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he says when I try to worm out of his hold.

“I’ve gotta go,” I sob.

Apparently, the wrong thing to say, because the next thing I know my face is once more buried in his shirt as I’m lifted off my feet, and hear Wolff grumble, “I need someplace private.”

“Second door on your left,” an anonymous voice responds.

It’s not until I hear the click of a door closing, he loosens his hold on me. As soon as my feet touch the floor, I step out of his arms.

We’re in a small treatment room with just a hospital bed and one stool. Wolff is blocking the only exit, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Just us in here, sweetheart. Let’s slow down a minute and take a breath.”

“I’m a mess,” I blurt out.

“Well…so am I, so you’re in good company,” he confesses, taking the wind out of my sails.

“You? How are you a mess?”

“When that guy pulled open your door and reached in for you, I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life.”

He unfolds his arms and runs his hands through his long hair.

His hat got lost in the shuffle, and is probably still somewhere in his truck, which we left at the side of the road when EMTs and Jonas—who’d arrived not long after first responders got there—insisted Wolff be taken by ambulance. I wasn’t about to let him go to the hospital alone, and hopped in there with him after Jonas promised he’d take care of the dogs.

“Look,” he continues, his head still hanging low but his eyes fixed on me. “I’m new at this…whatever is happening with us. I’m practical, normally lead with my head and operate on training, and feelings don’t really come into play, but that’s obviously not the case anymore.”

“Obviously?” I echo. I have an idea what he is talking about but I want to be sure.

It takes him a moment to respond, and by the time he does, I’m squirming under the intense look in his eyes.

“I thought it was obvious I have feelings for you.”

That is very direct, and leaves me searching for a response.

“Well…I…uh, I suppose. And I clearly have feelings for you as well, which is why I kinda flew off the handle earlier.”

We’re staring at each other across this small, nondescript hospital room, and the air crackles between us. I’m not sure who makes the first move, but the next moment his hands cup my face and his mouth covers mine in a searing kiss.

“Oh, excuse me…”

The voice belongs to a young man in blue scrubs who pokes his head in the door.

“I’m looking for Lucas Wolff?”

“You found him,” Wolff rumbles, slipping his good arm around my shoulders.

“Ah. I believe you need some stitches. I’m Dr. McDougall.”

He walks in, a nurse behind him wheeling a cart, which she parks beside the bed. The doctor looks young, barely out of his teens, although I’m sure he’d have to be late twenties at least to have finished the required schooling to call himself doctor.

Wolff turns his head to me and mouths, “Doctor?” I swallow a chuckle.

“Why don’t you hop on the bed? We’ll get this done and have you out of here in no time.”

First, he tackles the nasty gash on Wolff’s forehead, which is right at the hairline. It requires twelve tiny stitches the doctor assures him won’t leave much of a scar.

Next is the bullet wound, which is more of a deep groove through the muscle of his upper arm than it is a hole. Work on that takes a little longer, but eventually that wound is closed as well, and we’re sent off with an appointment for Wolff to come back in ten days to remove stitches, and a sheet of care instructions he promptly crumples up and stuffs in his pocket.

A few people gawk at us when we walk through the ER waiting room, and I realize it’s because both of us still have bloodstains on our clothes. Wolff grabs a firm hold of my hand and guides us to the sliding doors.

When we get outside, two sheriff’s cruisers are parked in front.

Sloane and Sheriff Ewing are standing next to them.

“I take it you’re our ride?” Wolff guesses.

“Yeah,” Ewing confirms. “You okay?”

“As okay as you’d expect someone to be with a bullet hole and a couple of dozen stitches in their body,” I snap in a knee-jerk reaction.

Wolff squeezes my hand he is still holding.

“I was lucky. I should heal up fine,” he shares.

Ewing nods, already having dismissed my snarky comment, but Sloane is still looking at me, a smug grin on her face.

Whatever.

Wolff

“We towed the Yukon to the sheriff’s department. We didn’t want to mess with it in the dark on the side of the road,” Ewing volunteers.

“That’s fine. I’ll tell Jonas. It’s his vehicle.”

Fucking hell .

I’m sure he’s going to be glad he decided to lend the Yukon out to me. Hopefully, the only damage is to the driver’s side window. I didn’t really look that closely; I’d been too busy making sure the threat was neutralized and Jillian was safe.

“And my dogs?”

“Jonas took ’em back to the ranch as promised,” Junior answers Jillian’s question.

She took the back seat in the sheriff’s cruiser and insisted I take the front seat. Sloane is following behind in her cruiser as a precaution.

“Any updates on the guy I shot?”

The guy had a faint pulse, and we did our best to staunch the bleeding from the hole I put in his body until the EMTs finally arrived. I’d like to say I don’t give a flying fuck if he lives or dies—he was trying to harm Jillian—but I’d be lying.

I do care. I’d been forced to shoot a man in the line of duty once, and it was an experience I do not care to repeat. There is nothing redeeming about taking another man’s life, I don’t care how bad the man or how just the cause. I carry that man’s death like a dark stain on my soul.

I’m not looking to add another.

“He’s in surgery and I should be notified when he comes out,” Ewing informs me, glancing over. “For what it’s worth; from what we’ve put together, it was a justified shooting,” he adds.

I nod and grunt my appreciation.

“As for the other guy; Ira had the presence of mind to memorize the license plate. Bellinger was on that as soon as he got to the scene. I’m sure he’s gonna want to talk to you at some point, but for now he’s trying to chase down the second guy.” He glances over his shoulder at Jillian. “He also asked me to check whether you’d changed your mind about FBI protection.”

It’s quiet in the back seat, and I’m wondering if maybe what happened this afternoon did change her mind. I can’t really blame her if it did.

“Maybe you should think—” I start, but as I turn around, I catch sight of her angry face.

“No. Not even discussing that,” she says stubbornly. “It’s not an option.”

“Figured you’d say that,” Junior announces beside me, a smirk on his face. “Even told Bellinger as much.”

We’re about to pass the road to Jillian’s place, when we catch sight of flashing lights on the opposite side of the road up ahead, turning off toward Libby’s small regional airport.

Ewing immediately steps on the brakes and pulls off on the shoulder, stopping even with the turnoff. In the side mirror, I can see Sloane pulling up behind us.

“Unmarked. Feds?”

“Looks like it,” I confirm, counting three in total.

Typical dark SUVs with grill and dashboard lights.

The sheriff rolls down his window and gestures for Sloane to follow him. Then he waits for an opening in traffic, and cuts clear across the lanes, taking the exit toward the airport.

“What are you doing?”

Ewing darts a glance at me before returning his focus on the flashing lights up ahead.

“My wife works at the airport,” he clarifies.

I guess that would explain why he’s driving us into what could be a possible volatile situation. I glance over my shoulder at Jillian, who bulges her eyes at me. I shoot Ewing a pointed look and when the airport buildings come into view up ahead, he pulls the cruiser onto the shoulder.

“You guys wait here. I’ll leave the engine running; get yourselves out of here at the first sign of trouble,” he orders as he gets out of the vehicle.

I get out as well, in time to watch him jog over to Sloane’s cruiser stopped behind us, and get into the passenger side. As they speed off, I round the hood and get into the driver’s side.

“What is going on?” Jillian wants to know.

I lean over the steering wheel, peering at the cruiser’s taillights as it makes a left onto the airport grounds. Farther to the left, closer to the runway, I can see the flashing lights reflecting off the night sky. It doesn’t look like they are still moving, but it’s hard to tell.

“I’m not sure. We know they’re looking for the shooter and the vehicle, so it’s a pretty safe guess they have reason to believe he’s here somewhere. They may be looking for him in the hangars.”

Despite the cold night air, I roll down the window to see if I can hear anything, but it’s surprisingly quiet. I can’t see any movement either. I’m concentrating so hard on what might be happening outside, I almost have a heart attack when the radio crackles to life.

“Wolff, come in…”

I grab the mic and depress the button to respond.

“Wolff here.”

“Blue pickup heading your way. Don’t let him pass.”

Don’t let him pass? And how the fuck am I supposed to do that? I had to hand over my weapon before I was taken by ambulance.

While I’m still debating my options, I catch sight of a vehicle coming down the road toward us. No headlights, that’s got to be him. He’s going at a good clip too. Behind the truck I notice several vehicles in pursuit.

“Is that him?” Jillian asks from the back seat.

“Yeah. Make sure you’re buckled in.”

When the truck gets within a couple of hundred yards, I turn on the cruiser’s headlights, hoping to blind him, maybe force him to slow down. Unfortunately, it seems to have no impact, and with time running out, I only see one option left.

“Brace,” I warn Jillian, as I shift the cruiser in drive.

Then I slam my foot on the gas and jerk the steering wheel to the left.

The truck never slows down, and the enforced grill guard of the sheriff’s cruiser hits it broadside. The impact is bone-jarring, throwing me forward against the restrains of the seat belt. Over the sound of grinding and squealing metal, I can hear Jillian scream behind me.

The next thing I know, bright lights shine in my eyes and I’m a little disoriented as I hear voices yelling outside the vehicle. Then a cool hand touches the side of my neck.

“Lucas? Are you okay?”

I lift my own hand to cover Jillian’s.

“Yeah. You?”

“As far as I can tell,” she replies dryly. “Except my heart is still lodged in my throat, and I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

I take her hand and turn my head so I can kiss her knuckles.

“Fair enough.”

Suddenly, the door beside me is yanked open with a loud metal groan, and Junior Ewing sticks his head inside.

“You are one crazy motherfucker.”

“You’re the one who told me to stop him,” I fire back, unclipping my seat belt and heaving myself out of the mangled vehicle.

Ten feet from me, FBI agents are slapping cuffs on whoever was driving the truck. He’s down on the ground so I can’t see his face, and right now all I need to know is that he’s secure, so I can get Jillian from the back of the cruiser.

She’s already out of the seat belt when I open her door, and I barely have time to open my arms before she launches herself at me.

“God…” Her voice is muffled by my shirt as she pounds a fist against my chest. “I wanna be so angry at you for that harebrained stunt you just pulled, but I’m just too damned relieved it is over.”

Her head abruptly pops up and she seeks out Ewing.

“It is over…right?”