21. Nine Millimeter. Hollow Point.
NINE MILLIMETER. HOLLOW POINT.
EXTON
We rush the house, hearing the pop of gunshots. I take the stairs two at a time. I’m forward entry. Young takes the rear. I watch as a greasy-haired man in a dirty T-shirt takes aim at Willa. His finger squeezes the trigger as mine does the same.
Mine hits him in the head.
One shot. Nine millimeter. Hollow point.
He drops, his finger still near the trigger, hitting Willa’s chair and knocking her back, her arms twisted under her, no way to break her fall.
“Clear,” I say through comms.
I rush to Willa, check her pulse and pupils before doing the same with Jackie.
Fitz moves from the back of the house, firearm hanging loose at his side, eyes on the move. He stops to take us in—two dead men, two drugged women, and me.
I sit Willa’s chair up and slide a knife from my pocket to cut her restraints. One arm sits at the wrong angle. He does the same for Jackie before lifting her and carrying her out the front door to the waiting car.
“Willa’s car is the green one we passed two streets over. Keys should be in the cupholder or her purse.”
He nods.
I continue, “Purse and phone should be there too. Hoping they still are with the neighborhood we’re in. We’re going to the closest emergency room. Can you have an agent retrieve her car?”
He nods again, but says little else, moving from the front, leaving the door ajar for me to carry Willa out.
I get her into the Bureau’s car and swear when I get a clear view of her mangled arms. I fight to keep my cool when I touch the knot at the base of her skull, the growing egg on her temple.
I come unglued when I see the handprint across her cheek.
“Hospital,” I say to Fitz, climbing in cradling Willa to me, and program the GPS on my phone to give him turn by turn.
Jackie lolls in the seat next to us.
I close my eyes and take four deep breaths. That’s enough to slow my nervous system and get my adrenals under control. Another four and I can correct my spiking blood pressure, but my anger is forcing it to stay elevated. I’m not afraid of what that emotion says to anyone who can read it.
I shoot off a text.
Me: Got her. Beat up, but alive. Home after hospital. Will keep you posted.
Brax: 10-4. You okay?
Brighton: Oh no. What can we do? What do you need?
Pop: Be safe and bring her home.
When we arrive at the emergency room, I jump out. She groans as I lift out of the seat, still cradling her to my chest, and carry her inside.
“Bed. Now. Where do I go?”
The clerk at admittance jumps up and tries to stop me from moving forward. “Now, wait one moment, sir.”
“Nurse!!” I yell and wander toward the double doors.
I slide in as they swing open. I’m met with confused glances and paralyzed bodies until I say, “Thirty-year-old, multiple head injuries. Temple and skull.” I find a bed and look at it, asking permission to lay her down, which I’m granted.
I relay what I know of her previous injuries and what I can surmise from today’s.
I fight not to lose my shit. “Another vic coming in now. Expected same drugs administered. Can’t speak to anything else.
Both are under the protection of the FBI. ” I flash my badge.
The staff shoves me away and begins taking vitals and hooking Willa up to monitors.
They draw blood and order tests and remand me to the waiting area, not impressed or intimidated by my badge.
I have no idea what her medical history is but two hospitals in five days is more than anyone should have to deal with.
When I get to the waiting room, Fitz is there too and Jackie is nowhere in sight.
“Team met us outside and took her in through another bay.” He visibly exhales and paces the small waiting area.
“Thank you. For that. For today. You’ve saved me more than once.”
“It’s what brothers do,” he replies.
I sit in the waiting room on a god-awful purple chair that should’ve been retired a decade ago. One arm is loose and wiggles when it’s touched. That doesn’t matter, it just serves to distract me. My elbows are to my knees, my hands to the back of my neck, eyes on the floor.
The squish of shoes on the floor is annoying as fuck, but at least it marks the passage of time, and time is my friend right now. Or I hope it is.
Assuming they’d have told me if there were complications or worse.
I go to the front desk and ask for a status on my wife.
The admin there says she’ll ask, and she’s genuine.
She’s not just blowing me off. To be fair, I only asked to plant the seed that they could feed me info.
My badge doesn’t mean shit here. I’ve known that since before the Austin hospital venture.
But most people are too surprised and alarmed by seeing a badge, they don’t know what to do.
I’m using that to my advantage.
I return to my rickety chair and sit in silence with the man who just rushed into madness, risking himself to save Willa, to save my sanity. I close my eyes and rest my head on the wall behind me. I sink into my thoughts and wallow in the last week…
My time off for Mom’s funeral has been completely unexpected. Her service, remembering her, missing her has been harder than I could’ve imagined, even having been gone from home for almost sixteen years.
Knowing it was coming doesn’t help the vacuum her loss has created.
We’re all in danger of being sucked in. Watching Pop navigate without her.
Seeing Brighton’s too bright eyes. Knowing the significance of every look on their faces…
knowing it’s mirrored in mine. The loss to each of us personally has been devastating.
The loss to us collectively will be nearly impossible to overcome.
Meeting Willa and connecting with her is beyond my wildest dreams. It’s the sun breaking through the clouds on a dreary day.
It was a great night that’s become several great days, and I want more.
Correction, I’ll never accept less. I won’t take losing her.
She is mine now and that’s that. A public attack and now a private whatever we call it is two too many.
The threat for the second attack has been neutralized. But I don’t know the motive behind it. What set things in motion? Who’s calling the shots? Why her?
On top of all of this, in less than a week, I’ve had a consult with the DA’s office and a meeting with the San Antonio Bureau chief.
There are options if I ever want to come home.
Either will accept me. Hell, either would recruit me—they’re trying at least. But it’s all too much, too fast, and there’s no way to process it all without knowing about Willa.
I open my eyes and am staring at…
“Layton?”
He sits across from me and holds my gaze and nods once, holding his tongue for once in his life. So out of character for him.
“What are you… How did you know?”
“I’m in this family too,” he spits out.
I hold my hands up in a don’t shoot gesture. “I meant how did you know where I was, not anything deeper.”
“Pop sent a group text with your message. I have the flexibility right now and I never get to see you. Besides, you’ll need someone to get you home, I suppose.”
I hold his eyes, hoping they say everything that I can’t over the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Family of Willa Jayne?” The three of us stand, turning to face the man in scrubs who’s just pushed through the swinging doors.