Page 28 of Broken Wheels (CrossBow Protection Book 2)

For maybe thehundredth time since this nightmare had begun, Dix silently thanked his bosses for being so freaking awesome. Michael had told him not to worry about work—Doc was his priority. Three days since his surgery, Doc was still sleeping a lot, but at least he wasn’t in pain. Dix had spoken with his nurse, Amber, who’d told him that situation would change once he was off the IV painkillers. Apparently, the oral painkillers sucked.

Sleep while you can, baby.

Chalmers had stopped by twice, the second time with a huge bunch of flowers and a box of chocolate chip cookies that smelled amazing. The first occasion, after ten minutes of awkward silence, Dix had decided Doc was right. He needed to be the bigger man, especially since he was the one who’d flown off the handle. Not that it wasn’t deserved, but whatever. He’d apologized to Chalmers for trying to lay him out, and Chalmers accepted the apology. In exchange he’d provided what little information they’d discovered about the shooting.

Dix was saving all his rage for when they found that bastard.

“Dixon?” Doc was peering at him, blinking. “You’re still here?”

Dix chuckled. “Now, where else would I be?” He pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, taking Doc’s cool hand in his.

“I’m taking far too many naps,” Doc grumbled.

“Bullshit. Sleep is your body’s way of healing itself.”

Doc frowned. “Have the feds gotten any nearer to finding out who shot me?”

He shook his head. “They examined the bullet and concluded it was fired from a small bore, high-velocity, military-type rifle.” Doc shivered, and Dix stroked his hand. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Whoever he was, he botched the job. So he’ll be back, right?”

Dix got up and leaned over until his face was barely an inch from Doc’s. “And if he does come here, he’s not gonna get anywhere near you, Doc. I promise. You’ve got the best protection Gary and Michael could arrange.”

Doc gave a sheepish smile. “But that’s you. Have they sent anyone else?”

“You’re good for my ego.” Dix kissed him on the lips. “Relax, okay? We’ve got this. If that son of a bitch tries to get to you, two things are gonna happen. One, he’s gonna run into a brick wall of resistance from our guys.” Another light kiss.

“You said two things. What’s the second?”

Dix grinned. “Two, he’s gonna wish he was never born.”

“Can’t wait to get out of here so I can kiss you properly,” Doc muttered.

Dix chuckled. “And that’s all we’ll be doing, at least until all the drains are out and everything is working as it should.”

Doc’s eyes glittered. “My mouth works just fine. So does yours, come to think of it.”

“Will you quit being such a horndog?” Dix rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to be taking things easy.”

“But I don’t want to take it easy. I want to get back to work.”

Dix caressed his cheek. “A couple more days, Doc, and you’re outta here.” He pressed his lips to Doc’s. “Now be good, please? For me?”

Doc smiled. “Anything for you.” He closed his eyes, and it wasn’t long before Dix registered the change in his breathing. Carefully, he placed Doc’s hand on the blanket that covered him, then retook his seat.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

It had takenMordaunt three days of surveillance—and one lucky break—but finally he was ready to make his move. He’d initially called the hospital to check on his dear Uncle Josh, only to be told there was no patient by that name.

A lesser operative would have concluded Mordaunt’s bullet had done its job and Malone was dead.

Mordaunt was better than that. Way better.

If by some miracle Malone had survived, the feds and Malone’s bosses would make sure he was protected. And if he was still alive, that left Mordaunt with only one option—to take him out, no matter the risks. He knew he’d reap rich rewards for completing the assignment Vreeland had botched so egregiously. He was smarter than Vreeland—not that it was difficult. What idiot doesn’t check the ice he’s given by a volatile man like the boss? Everyone who worked for him knew the man didn’t accept failure. The fact that Vreeland had at least three strikes against him that Mordaunt knew about was testament to the limited patience the boss had for failure. And that had run out, which meant Mordaunt couldn’t afford to screw this up.

He’d watched the hospital entrance for two days, scrutinizing everyone who went through those doors, looking for two people in particular. There’d been no sign of Malone’s boyfriend. And hadn’t that revelation been a gift from heaven? Another name to add to his list. The boss would be pleased to know Mordaunt had eliminated all ties to Malone.

Patience. Malone first. The boyfriend is a bonus.

The second day he had his answer. He recognized the fed who’d been with Malone at the bakery. Chalmers, isn’t it? Somehow he doubted Chalmers was there for a medical appointment, not armed with flowers. That had made Mordaunt smile.

So Malone is alive.

The next step was to locate him, and that was the tricky part. At least, it had been, until the previous night when he ran into the cute kid with the absolutely adorable Midwestern accent, on his way home after his shift, still in his scrubs.

The scrubs Mordaunt was now wearing, along with the kid’s doctored ID.

Allen Bennett had been in his midtwenties, quite affable, and even if Mordaunt wasn’t into men, the boy had been a looker. And after a few drinks—and a little flirting—he’d agreed to go with Mordaunt. Sure, there was the possibility someone would remember them, but Mordaunt had disguised his features. Besides, they’d be looking for a blond guy, and the wig was already in a dumpster.

The liquor had proved most efficient, however. Allen had said he was a traveling nurse, bouncing from hospital to hospital to cover shifts during the shortage of qualified personnel. Pity they’re now down one more. This week he was at the Eastern New Mexico Medical Center, working in the trauma department.

Perfect for Mordaunt’s needs.

He hadn’t hidden the body, but he hoped the authorities wouldn’t find it too soon. That would jeopardize everything Mordaunt had accomplished. He almost regretted killing Allen.

Almost.

He could see how much the kid wanted to be loved and cared for by someone. Mordaunt used that when he invited him back to his hotel, not missing the gleam in Allen’s eyes. But instead, Mordaunt had driven Allen to the Oxbow trail, telling him it was a place they could lay back and watch the stars as they held hands. Allen had been so excited.

Until Mordaunt had brought out the knife.

Allen had tried to get away, but Mordaunt was faster, not to mention stronger. A tackle, a blade drawn across Allen’s throat, a gurgle of blood, followed by a lot of coughing, and finally Allen shuffled off this mortal coil. Unwilling to dump his body, Mordaunt had placed it reverently along the trail, knowing someone would find him. It had been a true shame to see the light going out of those eyes, and Mordaunt didn’t want Allen to be another of the lost who never found their way home.

Ah, well. There was no time to mourn the dead. Mordaunt just needed to make sure Allen had some company.

He took one last look at the ID he’d cobbled together. Since time was a luxury he didn’t have, it’d been a rush job. It wasn’t his best work, but as long as no one looked too closely, it should pass muster.

As long as it gets me where I need to go.

He sucked in a breath as he headed for the doors. He had to be calm, cool, and collected. He had to remember he was now Allen Bennett, a nurse.

He had to find Dr. Josh Malone.

Josh screwed up his features.“Does anyone really like Jell-o? I mean, seriously?” He knew the dessert wasn’t the problem. He wanted out of that bed, out of the hospital, and back to CrossBow. It didn’t matter that Gary probably had guards three-deep outside.

Josh didn’t feel safe. Somewhere out there was a guy with a rifle—and God knew whatever implements—who wanted him dead. And after all the attempts so far, Josh knew they weren’t going to rest until he was six feet under or turned into celestial kitty litter.

Dixon took the cup of Jello from his hands and placed on the cabinet beside the bed. “No one says you have to eat it, y’know.” He held Josh’s hand. “I need to go talk to the men, but I won’t be gone long.”

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” Josh gestured to the IV stand. “Put it this way. If I tried to walk through the hallway with that thing, I could do some real damage.”

Dixon leaned in and kissed him. “Now, no flirting with any male nurses while I’m gone, you hear me?”

He managed a pout. “Spoilsport.” One more kiss, and Dixon was out the door.

Josh closed his eyes, not intending to nap, but only to shut out the world. If the doctor was pleased with his progress, he could be out of there the following day.

He couldn’t wait. Hospitals weren’t his favorite places at the best of times. This stay had to be the worst. He sent out a silent message to Dixon.

Don’t be long.

Having him around eased the knots in Josh’s stomach and calmed his frayed nerves. And speaking of which, he figured he only had one nerve left. A small part of him hoped his potential assassin would make a move. Then Dixon and the others would take him out, and Josh might finally sleep soundly.

Until they send someone else.

That did it. When he got out of that damn bed and back to CrossBow, Josh was going to put a stop to this whole business.

Whatever it took.

Mordaunt strode through the hallways,doing his best to make it look as though he knew where he was going. The map of the hospital they had online helped a lot. So far he’d checked out the floor nearest the trauma department, and the ICU. That left three more floors. When he spied the two security guards posted outside one of the rooms on the fourth floor, he smiled to himself.

Seriously? You think I’m that stupid?

Mordaunt knew a trap when he saw one. For one thing, all the rooms on that side of the hallway had windows that looked down into the street. Perfect opportunity for another shot. As if they’d put him in a room like that.

No, they’ve got him someplace else. Now all I have to do is work out where.

No one had challenged him thus far, so he figured he blended in with all the other staff. He didn’t have access to the computer system, so it would either be luck or brains that provided the information he required. He walked past the nurses’ station and stopped under the pretense of helping himself to a cup of water, trying not to be obvious as he read the whiteboard behind the desk that contained a list of rooms and patient names. One in particular caught his eye, and his heartbeat sped up.

Gary Michael Cross.

He smiled. Gotcha.

Mordaunt patted the pocket in his scrubs, where the small plastic case containing the vial of toxin lay hidden from view. He wasn’t stupid enough to bring a gun—even hospitals nowadays had metal detectors—but the contents of the tiny glass bottle were just as deadly as a bullet.

Now all he needed was a syringe, but he figured he was in the right place to find one.

Mordaunt scanned the hallway for a supply closet, cursing mentally when he saw it had a keypad. Fortunately, a nurse was just coming out of it, and he darted forward to grab the door. Her gaze went automatically to his ID, but her smile said plenty.

“How are you finding it here?” she asked.

“Fine.” He returned her smile, then peered at her badge. “What time do you get off?” Not that he’d be around. He’d be long gone.

“Six.” Her eyes sparkled. “You?”

“Same. Maybe I’ll see you then.” He puffed out his chest.

“Maybe.” She flashed him a grin. “You look like you’re a bad boy, Allen.”

You have no idea. He made bad boys look like pussy cats.

He chuckled. “Damn, you catch on real quick.” He brushed past her to go into the supply closet. Once the door closed, he searched for the syringes and helped himself to a pair of gloves too. On the way out of the closet, he surreptitiously wiped the handle with a wet wipe.

They weren’t going to find any of his prints.

Mordaunt strolled along the hallway until he reached the room. He paused at the door, listening.

No voices.

Perfect.

Mordaunt pushed open the door and stepped inside. The small room contained a bed, a couple of chairs, and the usual monitoring equipment that beeped and whirred. The room’s only occupant lay in the bed, on his side, his back to the door. The red hair was unmistakable.

He walked toward the bed, reaching into his pocket for the case. “Good afternoon, Mr. Cross. I’m here to give you your shot.” He inserted the needle into the vial and removed about 10cc.

Malone rolled over to face him. “Funny. I’m not due any shots. Especially since we told everyone to stay away from this room. So whoever you are, you’re not a nurse.”

Mordaunt stilled. “Very good, Dr. Malone. I’m relieved to find you here. I was starting to worry I hadn’t gotten it right. That would be a terrible blow to my reputation.”

To Mordaunt’s surprise, Malone smiled.

“Thank you for coming.” His gaze alighted on the syringe. “Just so we’re clear? On the first date, I think etiquette says to bring flowers.”

Mordaunt held up the small but deadly object. “I’m impressed. Humor in the face of adversity. Well, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we’ve come to a parting of the ways. The boss is going to be over the moon when I tell him you’re dead.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to be foolish enough to spill the beans before you kill me? You know, like in the TV shows? Because I’d love to know exactly who the boss is.”

Mordant smiled. “You’re right, Dr. Malone. I am not that foolish.” Malone’s brief chuckle took him by surprise, and he stared. “Something amusing you?”

“Haven’t you wondered why they left me in this room? I mean, I told Dixon you weren’t an idiot. You would’ve guessed I wasn’t in the other one as soon as you saw the security guys.”

“Which was exactly what I did. I wasn’t about to walk into that room and be taken down before I even reached the bed.” Mordaunt was growing impatient. Time to finish this before the idiot thought to yell for help. Besides, the conversation was starting to give him a bad feeling.

This was not how he’d anticipated the task to go down.

“Yeah, we knew you’d figure it out, so we set up a two-pronged attack.”

“Attack?” Mordaunt sneered. “You’re not exactly in the best of shape to stop me, are you?”

“No—that would be my job” came a voice from behind him. Mordaunt spun around, only to have the syringe knocked from his grasp and a punch delivered to his solar plexus with all the delivery of a Mack truck. He went flying backward, his head smashing into the metal bed frame, and the world started spinning.

Before he could get up, the door opened and three guys entered, heading straight for him.

Malone’s boyfriend watched as they cuffed him.

“Doc said you’d know he was in another room. He also told everyone to wait for my signal. Me?” His smile was grim. “I was hoping you’d show up, just so I could kick your ass.”

Mordaunt listened in dismay.

Maybe Vreeland wasn’t the only stupid one.

Dix had to admit,Chalmers was a damn sight more patient than he would have been. At least they had a name for their would-be assassin, but that was the result of Chalmers doing a lot of digging. It was as if someone had taken steps to erase the existence of one Gregory Mordaunt, thirty-two. Yet another military man who’d left it all behind and apparently gone into business for himself. According to what Chalmers found, he commanded a hefty price tag for hits.

Who’s paying for this one?

The small consultation room, with its table and four chairs, wasn’t the ideal location for an interrogation, but it was the best they could do in the circumstances. Chalmers’s badge granted him a lot of leeway.

Speaking of Chalmers, he seemed to finally be running out of patience.

“Let me ask again.” Chalmers pushed the words through gritted teeth. “Who paid you to come after Dr. Malone?”

Dix was sure Mordaunt would have folded his arms if he could have. He set his jaw. “For what must be the two hundredth time, I’m not talking without a lawyer.”

“Give me five minutes with him,” Dix growled. He glanced at Mordaunt. “I promise you, he’ll talk.”

Mordaunt arched his eyebrows. “You don’t scare me. Besides, you’d never go after someone who’s cuffed to a chair.”

Dix let out a wry chuckle. “I think there’s something you need to keep in mind. I’m not a cop or a fed, so I don’t give a flying fuck if I’m violating your rights. After I finish, they can arrest me. I’m cool with that.” Dix wanted out of there. He had better things to do, like go see if Doc was okay. He was safe—Dix had made sure he wasn’t alone—but considering what had just gone down, he could be in a real state.

Chalmers held up the vial and syringe they’d taken from Mordaunt. “Is this what killed Vreeland?”

Mordaunt arched his eyebrows. “Who?”

Enough was enough.

Dix slammed his hand on the desk, the noise loud in the tiny room, and Mordaunt flinched. Dix leaned toward him, deliberately keeping his voice low, aiming for menace. “You shot my boyfriend. That was a death sentence right there, as far as I’m concerned. Then you came back to try to finish the job. Trust me when I say having you cuffed just means I can take my time and enjoy it more.”

“Dixon?” Chalmers’s voice held a note of warning. “We need him alive.”

“Sure. But there are levels to being alive,” Dix muttered. “Besides, we do have another route we can go through. Dr. Malone is known for being a philanthropist. When word gets out to the media, they’ll descend en masse. And when we tell them we have the subject in custody and he’s cooperating?” He offered Mordaunt a sweet smile. “I’m sure that’ll get back to the person he’s working for.”

“You can’t do that.” Mordaunt paled. “He’ll kill me.”

“Like I wouldn’t?”

Mordaunt shook his head vehemently. “You don’t understand. No one goes against the boss. Not if they expect to live, at any rate. He’s….” He looked Dix in the eye. “No, I’d rather you kill me than let him do the job. Shit, I’d rather kill myself.”

In the silence that followed, a shiver trickled down Dix’s spine.

Who is this boss that he can engender such fear?

And what would happen when they finally met?