Deja Vu (Titan World Book 0) Page 8

  “You good?” he asked again before righting his pants and snagging hers to hand over.

  “If you didn’t swear, I’d bet my life that we knew each other before.”

  “You keep saying that.” Maybe some things were just meant to be…

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  There was a game James played when he was a kid. Someone would fold a piece of paper into an origami finger-game, and based on the number picked, his future would be dictated. Who he would marry, how many kids, the type of car he would drive, and where he would live. At this moment, that was how his mind felt. But there was one woman in play, and he wanted to know what the future held with Allie. The how, when, and where were the only unknowns.

  “What should we do when all this is over?” he asked. “Other than dinner?”

  Allie’s hair partially covered her cheek. “Massages.”

  “Deal. Massages. And then… vacation?”

  “I’m down for a vacation.” Her lyrical laughter rang out—the window cracked with a whiz as the wall thumped. James pivoted side to side, seeing a spiderweb of glass and then a bullet hole in the wall.

  His mind screamed gunshot as both of their training kicked in. They dove onto the ground, rolling toward the wall. No gunshot sound had rung out—there was just a shattered window and a bullet now lodged in the wall. Hell! This was a college campus. Not a place for gunfire and silencers!

  Temper boiling, he tried to control his temper. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. You?” She rolled up and onto the balls of her feet. She was a spy in action, surveilling the scene.

  He moved to the opposite side of the room and perched in a corner. If they could get to his car without being seen, they would at least have a head start before their pursuer followed. Then he could call Beth and Titan and shut this shit show down.

  She crept to the table and swept up the heating elements then placed the coils on the floor and studied them on her hands and knees.

  “Allie, get down. What are you doing?” He ducked underneath the window and tried to grab her out of the way.

  She shooed him away with one arm, concentrating on the words. Even if she thought she did great under pressure, this was pushing it a little. What more was she going to come up with right now? Not much.

  “Come on,” he urged. “We have to move.”

  “Hang on,” she mumbled, dragging the words out. Then she spit-wet a thumb and wiped down the pieces, rubbing them until they were clean, dry, and free of writing. “All right. I’m good now.”

  Well, good. Since she was good now. Since they were being shot at. He grabbed her hand and dragged her down the hall. “Not sure that was the best time for that, but whatever.”

  “Semi-photographic memory. But it’s triggering something. It’s on the tip of my tongue. I was just trying to remember everything before we left. I can’t… I want to say something, and I can’t figure out what it is.” Frustration held heavy in her words as she clung to his hand.

  He honestly couldn’t imagine the way she felt right now, compounding it all with somebody shooting at them. She had to feel more than frustration, more than irritation; it had to be straight-up, one hundred percent, pissed-off aggravation. They turned down a hall, and he saw a staircase that would take them toward the back of the building, where his car was.

  As they began to make their way down the stairs, his phone buzzed. Not the best timing. They pressed up against the wall and silently listened. They both listened and heard nothing except his phone. Dammit, it began to buzz again. Allie gave him a look as he reached for it. It was Beth. He held the phone out so she could see it. He’d wanted to call Beth, anyway.

  “What does she want?” Allie shook her head, irritated, but then she sliced a glance back at the phone as he went to answer it. “And why is she saved in your phone?”

  “She’s not who you think she is.” He pressed the screen and answered the call then held the phone to his ear. “You need to pull your shooter off of me right now. I have Allie with me. Whatever your problem is, I do not care. Call them down. Do it now.”

  “Excuse me?” Beth feigned surprise, which stoked his anger.

  “No bullshit, Beth. I’m done with the Farm boy games. Call it off now.”

  A pregnant second hung in the air. “Doc, I’m telling you the truth. We have no orders to take out any assets. I have specific instructions to bring her in. That’s it.”

  Allie cleared her throat, and he looked over. She tilted her head down the stairs. It’d been far too long since he was in the field doing any sort of operational training, and much longer since somebody with a gun was after his ass. Even when he had been there, he was staying alive to keep other people alive. As an elite soldier with medical capabilities, he had knocked on death’s door. This spy–operative–rogue bullshit that was happening right now? Not his thing, nor his specialty. But he knew they needed to rock and roll, and they had no time to talk to Beth anymore. He ended the call without another word, slipped the phone into his pocket, and listened for whatever she might have heard.

  Zip. He didn’t hear a footstep or an echo. “What’s up?”

  Someone opened a door to the stairwell but didn’t come up.

  “Whoever it is just came inside,” she whispered. “There’s two of us and one of them. They want me; it’s safer for you if we split up.”

  He almost snorted at her asinine suggestion. “Like that’s going to happen.” He took her capable hand and started them down the stairs, but a door opened to another level. “Maybe someone who was supposed to be here?”

  “Like staff or a student.”

  “Makes more sense. Who knows anymore,” he grumbled. His anger was subsiding to irritation as logic fault for its rightful place in the plan building process.

  “James, I heard you talk about the CIA.”

  “Nothing you haven’t already guessed. Come on, angel. Let’s go.” They took the two flights quietly until they finally reached the base of the stairwell. Outside the door, one way would lead back to the guard who was drastically unprepared to deal with a CIA sharpshooter, and the other, out the exit-only side of the building. That was where there were fewer people, and it was closer to his Range Rover.

  “When we get out of here, where are we going to go?” she asked.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I was thinking Turks and Caicos sounds like the best spot.”

  “I was thinking more of an immediate plan.” She tried to hide an inopportune laugh. “Though I like your optimism. We’re weaponless, and your car isn’t sitting right outside the door, right? So… got a plan, Doc?”

  “No. My car’s in the closest lot. We get there. That’s my plan unless you have a plan?” Because he would have taken suggestions at any point now. “You’re the unconfirmed spy. I’m just the doctor.”

  “Yeah, I think we both know you’re a little more than that. My plan is”—she bit her bottom lip and shook her head—“we run like hell, zigzag, and don’t get hit.”

  “Let’s do it, angel.” With one arm, he swooped her back and swung the door open, ready to kill any attacker with his bare hands. Seeing none, they rushed and split up. And as their handhold tore apart, he wanted to shout to her to be careful, to stay safe. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, and right then, he knew that he was losing his mind just like she had lost hers.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There were only a few hundred yards between the back side of their building and where James had parked his Range Rover. The two of them looked insane running side to side, and if he hadn’t known that someone with a gun was trying to kill them, or at least her, he would’ve thought it mattered.

  But at this second, he didn’t give two shits how crazy they looked as they powered off the asphalt platform, making tight Z-strides toward their rendezvous location while covering the most amount of ground in the most efficient way possible. If they had run in a straight line, they would be a shooter’s dream come true. But getting the l
ine of sight on somebody moving back and forth at different intervals at different speeds… that would be harder and maybe save their lives.

  They had only a few more yards to go, and it was as if they were bottlenecking toward the same spot. In his mind, he knew it was the most dangerous part of their exit strategy. Intentionally, he was slowing down. “Run, Allie, harder. Harder.”

  She did. Good girl. Run, angel. He pushed her in his mind. The muffled sound of a gunshot echoed a hair of a second before he saw her shoulder jerk and watched her lose her footing.

  “No! Damn it, Allie.” He sprinted her way in a straight line as the second gunshot came just as quickly and hit the asphalt next to him. What the hell were they trying to do? Take out his kneecaps? Or finish her off?

  James dove on top of her. She howled in pain, and the blood loss was immediate and profuse. Not good. “We need to move.”

  “James,” she cried, but the rest of her words were lost in painful tears.

  He wrapped an arm under her bloody chest. Allie’s pain echoed in his ear. He lifted her up and took off. “You’re okay, angel. You’re okay.” The chant didn’t ring through with truthfulness to either one of them as he closed the final few feet to his car. “We’re here. Easy. Stay with me.”

  Coated in her blood, James knew her welfare depended on how quickly he could stop the bleeding and get her to an operating table. He threw the front passenger door open and placed her inside. “Breathe through it. Breathe.”

  Her blood covered his hands, face, and chest, and the metallic smell permeated his nostrils as James jumped into his seat. The keys were in his pocket, and the keyless start recognized he was in the vehicle. He punched the Start button. The engine turned over as another shot missed by inches, ripping through the passenger window and destroying her headrest. “Shit! You’re okay. We’re on our way.”

  Allie groaned an unintelligible response as he slammed into gear. The few seconds it took for his car to pick up his phone’s Bluetooth felt like decades. The signal connected. “Siri, call the office.”

  It rang twice before connecting with his private staff. “Afternoon, this is—”

  “I’m coming in with a gunshot wound,” he reported. “No paperwork on this one. Meet us at the ER entrance in—” God, too much time was going to pass. “Just wait until we get there. Prep an OR for surgery.”

  Having military and intelligence clients meant his team was familiar with certain protocols and lack thereof. They could move with beautiful efficiency, and he trusted them, but it had never before been personal.

  “Angel, stick with me.” As he drove, he tore his shirt off to use as a makeshift bandage and slow the blood loss. But attempting to tuck it around her while driving proved dangerous and futile. “Fuck!”

  He didn’t have time to waste by not driving, but she couldn’t lose any more blood. James stopped the Range Rover on the side of the road.

  “Change of plans,” he told her, scouting for the shooter. Not that he had seen the gunman before. “I’m going to quickly bandage you and get going again.”

  “But…” Allie’s eyelashes fluttered, and her coloring wasn’t good.

  “No one is behind us right now.” Though they had probably already tracked his cell phone to find them. Damn it.

  He fashioned his shirt around her shoulder and neck area, trying to tie it around her arm, ignoring her cries for him to stop, then used the seat belt to help keep it in place.

  He leaned over and kissed her forehead then her lips. “Allie, angel. I promise you it will be okay. Can’t die on me, okay, baby?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “We have a dinner date then Turks and Caicos. I’m thinking you’re pretty special, angel. Stick with me. Can you do that, hon?”

  No answer, just her awful cries.

  “Allie.”

  “Turks and Caicos,” she whispered, and it gutted him.

  “Time to rock and roll.” He slammed into drive and rolled his window down, ready to toss out his phone—but he didn’t. If the CIA had tracked his location or where they were going, one more phone call wouldn’t hurt. And it might save her. He swiped the phone, smearing blood on the screen.

  The phone rang once before it was picked up.

  “What’s up, Doc?” Jared Westin asked in a kicked-back, gruffer-than-hell manner. “I heard you’re causing—”

  “CIA shot her.” James ground his molars. “I’m calling in every favor I have with Titan. They know I’m bringing her in alive, and I want to keep her that way. For good. I need your help. Are we on the same page?”

  “Alive. Whatever you need, Doc. You have my word you will make it to your hospital without problems, and the spooks won’t be why she meets her maker.”

  “Thank you.” He accelerated onto the highway. “And one more thing.”

  “Don’t worry, Doc. I will take care of the troublemakers.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Arriving at the hospital had been an out-of-body experience. Titan must have gone airborne to meet them. James didn’t recognize the faces, but Allie had an armored escort from his car to the gurney, and the guards stayed with her as the hospital staff rushed her away from him. He had a moment of hesitation. It would be easy enough for an impostor to say they were Titan. But it would be dangerous too. If the CIA ever impersonated Titan Group to get to a mark? There would be an all-out battle within the paramilitary and security community.

  With a prayer and a quick kiss, James let her go, knowing he loved her and would see her in pre-op. She would make it. It would be okay. His heart seized. He couldn’t breathe. Because if she didn’t make it, he would have to live with himself having not told her he loved her when she was coherent. But right now, he needed to cling to the optimism that she had no choice but to make it through.

  Quickly, he changed and washed her blood off then proceeded to pace in a waiting room. Hundreds of his patients had walked this marathon, but he’d never known the true depths of their hell.

  “Dr. Tuska?”

  His head shot up, catching sight of a nurse he’d known for years. Her kind eyes were what had made him hire her. He’d thought her résumé was impeccable, but her caring eyes were needed in situations like this. Right now, they nearly brought him to tears with how reassuring and concerned she was. “Yes?”

  “She’s prepped. Come say hi before she goes in.”

  The familiar hallways seemed foreign. The walk should’ve taken moments, but he felt as though he trudged for miles before he finally reached Allie’s bedside.

  Heart in his throat, James held her limp hand. “Your surgeons are the best, the ones I’d want opening me up.” He had so much to say but didn’t know the words. Tears were in his mind and his throat, though he wouldn’t show them to her. “I’ll be here when you get back. Piece of cake.”

  Her heavy cocktail of painkillers dulled her eyes. Her chapped lips parted, but at least she wasn’t in anguish anymore. “James.”

  He leaned closer. “Relax. We’ll talk when you’re done.”

  Her head shook as though she were fighting time. “The… other… words. You need to know.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about. But whatever it was did not matter. She couldn’t go into the surgery thinking that she wouldn’t come out. She couldn’t plan for contingencies.

  The words.

  She wanted to tell him the other words from the chalk writing she had memorized. Even at death’s door, when she was fighting the most precarious of situations, Allie was focused on her project. And it would likely cause her more stress if he didn’t hear her out before the surgery.

  “If they come to you easily, angel, let’s hear them. But then you have to go to sleep. We have to get you better. Do you understand?”

  Her narcotic-dulled eyes lit as best they could. The flicker of a smile formed on her lips before she focused on mouthing the words. “Sic was smudged. No letter K, meaning incorrect.”

  “Sic, got it.”

&nbs
p; “Farr,” she whispered. “Two Rs. Def was on another coil.”

  He typed into his phone, listening to her recount the words, what she thought they meant, where they were located in proximity to one another. As the last word came, her eyelashes fluttered shut.

  “That’s it, angel. Time for you to get some sleep.” He motioned to the nurse who had been hovering by the door, and even as Allie’s eyes fluttered open again, the anesthesiologist walked in behind the nurse. “Sleep tight. I will see you soon.”

  James watched his team of trusted friends work quickly. Then he stepped out of the room into an observation area.

  More interested in Allie than he was the words, he continued to monitor the progress. Everything happened as it should. Minutes passed into hours until finally the OR surgeon turned up to the observation window and gave James a thumbs-up. He could take a breath.

  When he did, the lead surgeon backed away, and James swept his phone’s screen open, needing a distraction. He stared at the list of words that Allie had given him. Before, he had only taken notes, not processing. Now he did, and what stared back at him was a punch to the gut.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Two words but one name, Dell Forester, stared back at James. He was the infamous former defense analyst on the run from the United States government—and who knew who else—for publishing classified information on his website, USLeaks.

  The man had posted classified intelligence from various security agencies, hacked public officials, and issue advocates. Some of the information had been damaging to careers, while other times, it had been salacious. He’d exposed a powerful mega-star Hollywood affair and unfair equal pay contracts, while he had continued to post information from the likes of the CIA, DIA, the White House, and political organizations. Many times, his leaks had hit the news at the most inopportune times for those subjected to the focus of his limelight. It’d been obvious that Forester was playing sides and had favorites.