Winter Miracle Page 31

  Indy sees me. “Cayden,” she says, breathless.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her.

  Naomi’s got a radio handset stretched out from the interior, reading out coordinates off her cell, her handgun in her other hand.

  Matherson shakes his head. “What the fuck are you doing, son? You want to get yourself killed? This isn’t a fucking video game. Those are real bullets.”

  “Local police are five minutes out,” calls Naomi, shouting to be heard across the gunfire.

  Indy’s shaking, knees pulled under herself, terrified.

  Just like she was that night.

  Think, damn it. Think.

  Given the way it ended up, the rear of the sedan is out of the line of fire. Matherson moves to the back, pops the trunk and pulls out a large rifle, standing and firing. One of the passenger windows explodes, glass fanning out across the road. Indy screams.

  I crawl over to her, pulling her head into my chest. I notice she’s wearing a bulletproof vest of some kind. Good. “It’s going to be okay.”

  But I’m not so sure.

  “Hold them back!” shouts Matherson to Naomi. She leaps up and fires the last of her handgun rounds, placing her weapon on the road.

  “I’m out,” she says, trying to remain calm, but I see the panic there.

  Matherson tosses her his own handgun.

  Bullets rattle the side of the car, the body of it shaking against us. We’re seriously outgunned. Soon, those goons are going to start moving towards us.

  I move to Matherson. He fires before pulling himself down beside the car.

  “We’re sitting fucking ducks here,” I tell him.

  I steal a glance through the rear window. One of the men shooting at us darts off into the tree line on the side of the road, the others moving out now our fire has died down.

  A shot rings out.

  “Ah!” Naomi goes spinning backwards, sprawling onto the ground.

  She’s hit.

  “Fuck!” shouts Matherson.

  I move to her as quick I can, dragging her by the collar back to the car, trying not to let the sight of Indy balled up there break my concentration.

  It’s just like hunting. That’s all it is.

  Matherson joins me, placing Naomi’s hand over the wound. “Apply pressure, got it?”

  She nods, teeth gritted together. “It fucking hurts.”

  “No shit,” he replies.

  I steal another look. “They’re coming,” I announce.

  Matherson stands and fires, his arm shaking from the recoil, the muzzle of his rifle flashing.

  Indy’s got her hands over her ears, continuing to rock there.

  I crawl across to the handgun Naomi was using, check the mag, but she’s out.

  Matherson ducks again as the return fire starts, back hard against the panel work.

  “You got anything else in the trunk?” I ask him.

  “An old Remington 768 I take hunting sometimes, some stun grenades.”

  “I thought you FBI guys carried around a full-on armory?”

  Matherson laughs. “This ain’t Hollywood, son.”

  A bullet pinging off the roof the car proves his point.

  I get up and move to the trunk.

  Matherson tries to pull me back. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Local police will be here soon.” But he knows as well I do we’re not going to last that long.

  I shrug him off, fishing inside the trunk, pulling out the Remington and a box of bullets. I place a stun grenade in my pocket. “I’m not going to sit here to do nothing.”

  He jerks his head at the rifle. “You know how to use that thing?”

  I slide the first bullet into the chamber, load it. Hunting—out in the woods. Simple. “Let’s find out. Can you lay down some cover?”

  Matherson shakes his head, Indy watching on in alarm. “Cayden…”

  Matherson stands and fires.

  I whip the rifle around, placing it between the trunk and C-pillar of the sedan, line up the first guy in the scope. He’s an ugly fucker, a tattoo right in the middle of his forehead that looks like it was stenciled by a six-year-old.

  I fire, but it’s slightly wide, punching into the bodywork of the SUV.

  We both crouch down again.

  I reload and nod to Matherson.

  Again, he stands and fires. I do the same, this time recalculating for the scope.

  Football’s trained me well for this kind of scenario. I’m able to quash the nerves down, push them aside for the time being and focus on what needs to be done.

  I fire, clip the goon right in the leg. He goes down, almost takes out his buddy with friendly fire until he lets go of the trigger.

  I see the other one curse and reach down to drag him away. They retreat. I’ve bought us time, but how much?

  We hunker down again.

  “You get him?” asks Matherson, visibly sweating.

  I nod and reload.

  Almost too quiet to hear, I hear sirens in the distance.

  Here comes the cavalry.

  I’ve never shot a man before, but I don’t have time to process it, not now.

  Keep her safe. Nothing else matters. I drum it into my head.

  Matherson looks around the corner of the sedan.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Fuck.”

  “What is it?”

  “Reinforcements.”

  I push up with my back and look through the window. Another SUV has joined the first, three more men spilling out of it with weapons in hand. I took down one, but it’s still five on two here, not to mention the guy in the trees who could be anywhere right now. I scan for him, but come up blank.

  The sirens aren’t getting any louder.

  “They’re coming again,” says Matherson. He unclips his mag. “I’m almost out.”

  I check the box. Three bullets. Shit.

  “Cayden,” says Indy, her voice shaky with fear, “I don’t want to die”.

  “You’re not,” I tell her.

  I remember the grenade, pulling it out and holding it towards Matherson. “How the fuck do you use this thing?”

  “It’s a flashbang, son. It won’t do any damage.”

  “But it might distract them, right? Buy us more time? I don’t fucking know. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  “Those guys are seventy yards away, maybe more. Unless you’ve got an arm of gold, you’re not going to get that thing anywhere close.”

  I smile. “Just tell me how to use it.”

  “Pull the pin and toss it, but don’t dally around, got it?”

  I nod, looking down at the grenade. It’s heavier than I expected it to be.

  I take a breath. “Cover me as best you can. On three.”

  “One.”

  “Two.”

  I pull the pin. “Three.”

  We stand together, Matherson firing.

  I draw back, line up the SUVs and throw the grenade with everything I’ve got.

  It isn’t a football. That much becomes clear, but the throw’s good. It arcs high and falls to the ground maybe five or six yards from the SUVs.

  Matherson runs out of ammo. “Don’t look!” he cries, pulling me down.

  The grenade goes off.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s fucking loud—loud enough to be painful from this distance.

  I hear someone scream down there.

  “Stay do—”

  I get up to check. One of them is on the ground, the others with their hands clamped over their ears. It looks like they’ve been blinded.

  I pick up the rifle, shoot another in the shoulder, reaching for a bullet but knocking the box, the last two rolling under the car out of arm’s reach.

  I slam the butt of the rifle against the bodywork. “Fuck!”

  Matherson places his weapon down.

  The sirens are louder now, closer.

  I look through the window. Some of the goons are coming
around, weaving themselves together and about to make their way down to us.

  The sirens wail.

  Hurry the fuck up.

  There’s nothing more to do—get into the Mustang maybe, or run, but to where? The road’s too long, and the car’s not enough cover. We’d be exposed.

  “I hope this is worth it,” I shout to Matherson, finding it hard to hear. “For all our sakes.”

  He doesn’t reply, sitting there breathing hard. His eyes lock on something. “Thank fuck.”

  Local patrol cars fly down the road towards us, six, maybe seven of them. They start to pull up around us, skidding sideways, doors flying open and weapons drawn, more shouting.

  I’m struggling to hear what they’re saying. The ringing in my ears won’t let up. It’s like someone’s jammed a jackhammer in there.

  One of the patrol cars butts up against the back of the sedan. An officer gets out, low. He waves us across.

  I turn, reaching for Indy when I see him.

  He’s coming out of the tree line, one of the goons, bringing his assault rifle to his shoulder.

  He’s aiming right for her.

  No. You. Fucking. Don’t.

  I dive, spanning myself across Indy, crushing her between me and bodywork of the sedan.

  She’s screams.

  A single shot rings out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  INDY

  No. God. Not now, not when I finally found a sliver of happiness.

  But when I manage to get out from behind Cayden, I see a suited man lying on the side of the road, one of them.

  I swivel my head and notice a police officer with his gun drawn a few feet from us, smoke curling from the barrel. He looks like he’s in shock.

  I start to shake Cayden. “Cayden!” I shout, my voice muffled, my hearing dull. “Cayden!”

  He starts to move, peeling himself from me, reaching for his shoulder.

  “Sorry,” he says, “I landed kind of hard.”

  More shots are fired, too many to count.

  My hands flit across his chest, looking for wounds, but he’s intact.

  I pull him against me. “I thought you’d been…”

  “I’m fine,” he says, holding me.

  “They’re leaving!” someone shouts in the background, two patrol cars flying past our position in pursuit.

  Cayden gets up, wincing. “It’s okay. They’re gone.”

  I stand, shaking out fragments of glass that have collected in my hair and clothes from the broken window above. The vest I’m wearing is heavy, suffocating.

  I go to take it off.

  Agent Matherson stops me. “You’ll have to leave it on for now, sorry.”

  Another black sedan, a mirror image of the one we were just hiding behind, stops right in front of us, an ambulance driving in behind it. Agent Matherson points down to Naomi, barely conscious against the car. “Over here!”

  Two men get out from the sedan and run over. They begin to lead me away.

  Cayden reaches for me. It’s déjà vu all over again. “Wait, please,” he calls.

  Agent Matherson places his hand on Cayden’s chest, the other agent helping Naomi hold pressure on her wound. “Let them go, son. Let them keep her safe.”

  Cayden shakes him off and bolts forward, enough to make it to me, to hold my face in his hands one final time.

  We kiss, kiss until they pull me away towards the car.

  I’m crying, my face laced with tears. “Wait for me,” I say.

  “I promise,” he shouts back, as they bail me into the back of the car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CAYDEN

  The door closes, the tint too dark to see what’s going on inside, and I almost pick up the rifle, trying in vain to tell them that only I can protect her, that I don’t trust them.

  And what use would that be? You’re not an army. You’re a fucking college football player. You’re not even a Beckett.

  I stand there helpless, the sedan reversing fast, drawing Indy away from my life.

  “Kid.”

  The sedan becomes smaller, then a smudge, a dot, and then nothing.

  Indy’s gone, gone to who knows where and for how long.

  But I will wait for her. I decide this then and there. I’ve never been so committed to something.

  “Kid!”

  I look down to find Matherson tugging on my pants. “Help me get her up.” He’s trying to lift Naomi up, carry her to the ambulance, the medics waiting for the all clear before getting out.

  Indy’s gone. There’s nothing you can do about it now, but I am here, still on the scene. I can help.

  I nod and reach down, taking Naomi under an arm and lifting.

  I’m taken to the local police station, a backwater affair with missing posters from the ’80s and a water fountain you wouldn’t let your dog drink from. I speak to three different people, all of them employing the same tailor.

  I answer their questions, telling them about our relationship. I’ve got nothing to hide and no reason to lie.

  I check my cell when they let me out, surprised to find the sky black instead of the Cookie Monster blue it was when I went in. Even the stars are hiding tonight.

  No messages.

  No calls.

  I don’t know what I expected, some secret signal from Indy telling me she’s okay, a cryptic clue as to her whereabouts, but no.

  Nothing.

  I’m getting into the Mustang when I spot Agent Matherson making his way across the lot. I get out, running to meet him. “Hey.”

  He turns, looking just as spent and weary as I do.

  “How’s Naomi?” I ask. “That was her name, right?”

  He takes out a pack of smokes, taps one out and pushes it back in. “Yeah, son. She’s alright. Bullet went clean through. She’ll have a story to tell, as will you, not that you’re going to say shit about your girlfriend, are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  A moment of silence passes before I speak again. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me when I’ll be able to see her, where she is?”

  Matherson laughs, head back. “You want to know where to find the Easter Bunny while we’re at it?” He shrugs. “Even I don’t know now.”

  “When’s she going to testify?”

  “Mmm.” Matherson kicks at the gravel. “Look, I’ll be straight with you, only because that was a hell of a throw out there. But… another couple of months at best. At worse…”

  “And after she testifies?”

  He throws his hands up. “I can’t say. These things always play out differently. This is a big case, and the prosecution is not going home without heads. The higher powers won’t allow it.”

  I think of Dad, representing those degenerates, and my blood boils. We’ll have words about that.

  Matherson takes a step closer. “You want some advice? You’re young. You’re at college. She’s cute. I get it, but you’re better off forgetting about her, kid. Find someone else, a fucking cheerleader. I don’t know, but your girl? She’s gone, pal.” He lets his fingers expand out in the air to drive the point home.

  “I can’t do that,” I tell him. “I promised.”

  He laughs again, taps out another cigarette and this time brings it to his lips, lights it. “And I told my wife I’d quit smoking, yet here we are.”

  *

  I take a moment before I enter Hunter’s hospital room.

  Yesterday was such a blur. I haven’t had a spare second to pick through what the hell happened. One moment I was in bed with Indy, and the next I was in a fucking gunfight, like something straight out of Lethal Weapon. The adoption thing seems like small change now, a minor detail considering what else I’ve lost lately.

  Getting home was the worst, no one waiting, our grand house with its sweeping stairway and four bathrooms quiet as a tomb.

  I could still smell her on my sheets, the pillows.

  Lost.

  Never coming back.

/>   I push the door open and step in.

  Hunter smiles, sitting up from the bed. “Cay!”

  I see he’s watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians. “Wait until I tell the team about this.”

  He picks up the remote and switches it off, kicking the chair beside his bed containing one drooling, disheveled Colton Beckett. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

  Colton snaps to, leaping forward. “What? What is it?” He sees me. “Oh.”

  I sit on the end of the bed, placing my hand on Hunter’s leg. “How are you doing?”

  Hunter looks to the doorway. “Well, you wouldn’t want Gordon Ramsey in here as far as the food is concerned, but I’ve got my eye on a few of the nurses. What was the blonde’s name, Colt, the one with button nose?”

  “Amelia,” yawns Colton.

  “And your condition?” I ask. “You know, the life-threatening disease?”

  “Right,” says Hunter. “Well, Dad got in touch.”

  “He did?”

  Hunter nods. “He’s transferring me to this cutting-edge place in LA, says they have the best doctors in the country. Colt has already been through all tests. He’ll come with me, donate when we get there.”

  I notice the Band-Aid on Colt’s arm. “I see.”

  “Where have you been?” Hunter continues. “I know the adoption thing was a fucking shock, and honestl—”

  “Stop,” I tell him. “That doesn’t even matter anymore. Blood or not, we’re still brothers. In fact, I’m sort of glad there’s an explanation why I’m so much more handsome than you assholes, not to mention the question of why my cock’s so big compared to y—”

  “Okay, okay,” laughs Colton. “But truly, Cay, we should have told you sooner. Fuck Dad and what he told us. You had a right to know.”

  I shrug. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Hunter out of that bed and back in the game.” I reach forward to fist-bump him.

  “Amen, brother,” he replies.

  I look to Colton. “Maybe even this prick can take up a real sport now he’s done playing with sticks.”

  Colton smiles. “Very funny, but I think college sports are out for me given my unceremonious ejection from Abbotsleigh. I doubt there’s a college in the entire country that will take me now.”

  “So move to Canada,” teases Hunter.