Chapter 31
Using my body as a shield, I both protect Sloane from the man on the ground and from her seeing the destruction sown by her blade.
The silver blade sticks out from the eye socket where the tango took a direct hit to the left eye. The blade has to be inches inside the cranium.
His hand rises from the ground. He’s conscious, and it looks like he might attempt to move the knife.
The handgun lies inches from his side.
I kick it away, choosing to ensure my fingerprints aren’t on it.
The guy on the ground appears dazed. He’s most likely in shock. Suffering from a brain injury. Hemorrhaging, perhaps.
I pull out my phone and dial emergency services.
The man on the ground’s uninjured eyelid closes and his head lolls to the side.
“Who is he?” I ask as the phone rings.
“He would’ve shot you. I couldn’t let him.” Sloane’s voice is shaky. She looks fucking petrified, but if she’d given me five more seconds, I would’ve taken the guy out.
I press my finger to his neck. His pulse is plenty strong. There’s little blood stemming from the eye socket, which says to me he’s most likely hemorrhaging internally. Judging from the placement of the handle, my guess is the blade extends four inches into his brain matter. It’s fascinating he didn’t die instantly.
“Where’d you learn to throw knives?”
“Sam. I don’t like guns. He said I had to learn self-defense.”
Throwing knives is one helluva self-defense. “In your apartment. That enormous block of wood. It wasn’t art, was it? You use that to practice.”
“Knife throwing relaxes me.”
Off in the distance, sirens wail.
“Guns are loud. I don’t like them.”
Sloane’s messenger back hangs in front of her body. One hand still lingers inside the flap.
“You got more knives in there?”
She lifts the flap. The inside is custom designed to hold flat blades. Below the blades are star-shaped knives. Christ. Absolutely savage.
Sloane’s skin is flushed. Her eyes are glassy. Her index finger rubs back and forth over her thumbnail.
There’s nothing I can do for the putz on the ground. But I can calm Sloane.
The sirens grow louder, cutting through the breeze. A passenger van zips by on the road, unaware of the tragedy on the drive.
“You sure you’re okay?” I pull her to my side. Her arms are stiff, one hand still tucked inside the messenger bag.
“I’m not hurt.”
I’m not so positive I agree with her. Years in the military have taught me there’s a vast array of wounds, and the nonphysical can be as lethal as the physical.
“You always carry weapons with you?”
“Not always. But most of the time. Sage is the optimist. I’m the realist.”
The sirens grow louder, and they’ll be here any minute.
“You ready to answer questions? Medics will be here soon.”
“I’ll tell them everything. Do you think I’ll go to jail for the rest of my life?”
“What? No. This was self-defense.” She’s so stiff in my arms. I rub my palm in a brisk motion up and down her arm, trying to bring her back to me, to the present. “Dr. Kallio was self-defense, too. I saw the gun.”
“They both wanted to kill me.”
“Do you know why?”
“Their boss told them to kill me. William was the one who wanted to keep me alive.”
“Is that right?”
“They’re using those people in the compounds to test all kinds of things. When they get a formulation that works, they begin ethical testing under legal scrutiny. My guess is there are drugs already on the market that were tested this way, and if this all came out, those drugs would have to be recalled. Both Dr. Kallio and William mentioned other people. Neither of them wanted to kill me.” Her glazed eyes have me wondering if she’s seeing anything.
I press the side of her head to my chest and wrap an arm around her, wishing I could remove her from all of this.
“Is Dr. Kallio dead?”
“Yeah.” The ambulance will be here any second, but I’m not feeling particularly optimistic about the outlook for the man on the ground, either.
“I couldn’t let William hurt you.”
“Sometimes death saves life.”
“Sam. He used to say that. You said it too.”
The ambulance careens into the driveway, and the front doors open. A man in a uniform with jaw length dreadlocks steps forward, mouth open, aghast at what he’s seeing.
“Aw, man. What the hellz happened here?” He bends to check the pulse. “Roger, get the gurney.”
He glances up at us. “What happened?”
“Self-defense.” I answer and gesture to the handgun.
“All right, man,” he says, concern etched on his features as he no doubt evaluates the two of us.
He’s joined by a man in a matching uniform, two tattoo sleeves, a silver hoop earring, and a shaved head.
The two men work in concert, and in less than sixty seconds, William is on a gurney and they’re attaching an IV while wheeling him to the back of the ambulance.
The man with dreadlocks calls out to us as he’s jumping into the driver’s seat. “Wait here. The police will be here shortly to ask you questions.”
“Yes, sir.” I answer, but the ambulance is backing away before I finish.
We could leave and easily make it to the tarmac to get out of here before anyone connects our identities with the two knife attacks. But we’re working with the law. Not against them.
The siren becomes more distant. I’m certain other sirens will come our way soon.
I text the team, letting them know what’s happened and we’ll be heading to the police station after they arrive on the scene. Erik texts that Matteo should be here in about an hour. I let him know we won’t need him now. I’m not leaving Sloane’s side.
Sloane’s muscles are tight. Her body is like a board pressed against mine. “So, you’re a knife thrower, huh? And you didn’t think to share that with me when I asked about your hobbies?”
“I didn’t want you to think I’m weird.”
“Yeah, well, I kind of love your weird.”
She sniffles and buries her face into my shirt. “Shh.” I press my lips to the top of her head and hold her as tightly against me as I can. Emotion is good. She needs to feel it. Taking life is hard. You’ve got to do it a lot before it doesn’t faze you, before that piece of humanity is wiped away.
“I can’t believe I was a part of something like this. How could I have been so stupid?”
“Doesn’t sound like you were a part of anything. You had the misfortune of discovering what’s going on.”
She sniffles. “I just keep seeing those faces. The people in the compound.” She presses the side of her face hard against my chest. “They need to be rescued. You know that, right?”
The compound situation is a political shit show. But whoever is in charge made some serious missteps, because by going after the Watson sisters, they brought the sordid mess under scrutiny instead of brushing it under the rug as intended. “Interpol’s following this. The crimes cross borders. This is their jurisdiction. They’ll get involved.”
“That meeting in D.C. I’ll tell them whatever they need to know.”
“I’ll be there with you.” My hope that the meeting will ultimately lead to US involvement in affairs in Asia isn’t great. My guess is back in D.C. they just want intel.
“I don’t need protection. You can go home.” Her clipped words are bitter, but her body’s saying something else. She’s leaning into me, and damn if I don’t love it.
“You may not need protection, but I’m still gonna be there. There’s no one else like you, Sloane. You’re going to have a hard time getting rid of me.”
“You’re the only person who says I’m different and makes it sound like it’s a good thing.”
“For someone who is so incredibly brilliant, you can be slow on the uptake.”
“I know.” She sniffles. “I should’ve figured out earlier what was going on. I should’ve refused to do anything they asked in Cambodia?—”
“Sloane, I’m not talking about that.”
I cup her chin and gently urge her to tilt those dark eyes upward. “I’ve fallen hard for you, Sloane Watson. You’d better believe I’m going to be by your side. Sure, Sam taught you well. But you’re a better team player than anyone gives you credit for.”
“Only with you.”
“Exactly. And that’s how it should be.”