Page 21 of Lethal Illusion (Six Points Security #8)
She hated the idea of wearing the creep’s clothes, but what Navarre said was true.
Already, a chill had settled into her bones, and it wasn’t even all that cold yet.
Not to mention, her bright-pink jacket made her easy to spot in the woods.
Reluctantly, she slipped on the jacket and zipped it all the way up.
It was huge on her, hanging halfway to her knees, the sleeves several inches too long.
But even though it reeked of bad cologne, it did a much better job of warming her body than the one provided by Sierra’s staff, which was designed more for fashion than function.
It hit her then that Navarre had taken her comfort into consideration when he removed the creep’s jacket before handcuffing him. Not sure what else to say, she murmured a quick, “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me until we’re home. Now come on, let’s go. We only have a few hours of sunlight left.”
Jackson woke amid the wreckage, blinking a few times as his vision came into focus. The SUV had landed on its side at the bottom of a ravine. The windshield was a spider web of cracks, distorting the view outside.
A dull ache throbbed at the base of his skull, nearly drowning out the sound of birds chirping and the rattle of the car’s engine. As the haze of disorientation lifted, memories collided—the sudden impact, tumbling down the ravine.
Shit, was everyone all right?
The vehicle’s engine made one final death rattle before it went silent.
He shifted in his seat and winced at a sharp stab of pain.
Teeth clenched, he gently probed his torso and found warm, sticky wetness.
Great, that meant he was bleeding, though he was unable to locate the source.
There were no broken bones sticking out of his flesh or objects piercing the skin, just the seat belt digging into his side and holding him in place.
Hopefully, it was only a superficial wound and nothing too serious.
But he didn’t have time to worry about that crap.
There were more pressing matters to contend with.
He looked to his right and found Rosario slumped in her seat.
Blood dripped like a leaky faucet from her broken nose, staining her shirt and the rumpled airbag wedged between her and the dashboard.
But the steady rise and fall of her chest let him know that she was still alive. He could work with that.
He reached across the center console and nudged her shoulder. “Rosario, wake up.”
A soft groan pushed past her lips, but her eyes remained closed.
To avoid aggravating the pain in his side, Jackson flipped down the visor so he could use the mirror to view the back seat.
No sign of Garrett. That couldn’t be good.
He might have been ejected from the vehicle.
Half of the back seat had been demolished by the force of the wreck, though he knew the damage would have been much worse if they hadn’t been in a vehicle with armored plating.
Beside him, Rosario groaned again, louder this time. At last, her eyes cracked open. With the back of her hand, she wiped blood from her mouth and swore under her breath.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Jackson said. “How do you feel?”
“Like some asshole rammed us off the road.” The swelling around her broken nose made her sound like she had a bad cold. So far, the bruising was fairly light, but it would surely darken over time. She gently touched the bridge of her nose and sucked air through gritted teeth.
“First time broken?”
She nodded as she flipped down the visor and grimaced at her reflection.
“Congratulations,” he said in a bid for levity. “I was fourteen when I broke mine the first time. You’ve got some catching up to do.”
She laughed softly, and then sucked more air between her teeth.
Moving slowly, Jackson unfastened his seat belt, and the pain in his side went from a seven to a three. He searched for his phone and found it wedged between the seat and console. He swiped on the cracked screen. No reception. Fucking great. “Can you move?”
“Yeah.” To prove her point, she raised her hands, flexed her fingers, and turned her head from side to side. “I’m sore, but I don’t think anything besides my nose is broken.”
No amount of force could pry the door open, leaving them no choice but to climb out a window.
Jackson stood a few feet from the wreckage, every cell in his body aching as a wave of disorientation washed over him.
He braced one arm against a tree until the sensation passed.
All things considered, it could have been so much worse.
After what they’d just been through, they were lucky to be alive.
In spite of the blood and bruises, Rosario seemed steady on her feet. That was one less thing to worry about on a list a mile long.
He scanned the area, searching for Garrett, and frowned when he noticed a rumpled mass at the base of a tree twenty or so feet away.
As he moved closer, the knot in his stomach tightened.
Yep, it was Garrett, lying on his side in a patch of brush with his left leg bent at an unnatural angle. Fucking hell, that couldn’t be good.
“Aw, shit,” Rosario said from several feet behind him. “How bad is he?”
Jackson went down on one knee and pressed two fingers to the side of Garrett’s neck. He found a pulse, weak but steady, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Carefully, he rolled Garrett onto his back and cataloged his injuries. Broken leg and wrist. A shitload of cuts and contusions. God only knew how many internal injuries. Probably a concussion as well. Long story short, the dude was a wreck.
Jackson glanced over his shoulder to Rosario. “He’s alive, but he’s pretty banged up. See if you can get into the trunk. There’s an emergency kit and sat phone in there.”
If they were lucky, the sat phone would be in one piece, and they could use it to call for help. Garrett was in no condition to move on his own, and they’d need special equipment to lift him out of the ravine.
“The trunk’s smashed,” Rosario called out. “I’m going to try to get in through the back seat.”
While he waited, Jackson’s thoughts tracked back to the collision.
It happened so fast, it was little more than a blur.
But the fact Navarre was nowhere to be seen made it clear that this was no accident.
His friend never would have left them down here without at least checking on them first. It went against everything he stood for.
It was safe to assume that Sierra Page was the intended target of the attack.
Boy, were those assholes in for a surprise when they learned it was actually Sloane in the car with Navarre.
How would they react? Probably not well.
Possible scenarios raced through Jackson’s mind, not a damn one of them good.
But he also reminded himself that Navarre was one of the best in the business.
He’d been in far worse scrapes than this and made it out just fine.
Eyes still closed, Garrett groaned.
“Hey, buddy,” Jackson said. “Welcome back to the land of the living. Do you feel as bad as you look?”
One of Garrett’s eyes—the one that wasn’t swollen shut—cracked open. “That depends on how bad I look.”
“Well, it’s an improvement over how you normally look,” Rosario said as she approached. Her voice was light, but worry bracketed the corners of her mouth. She held a first-aid kit in one hand and a small metallic case containing the sat phone in the other.
Garrett let out a low chuckle and winced. “Jeez, don’t make me laugh. That fucking hurts.”
Add broken ribs to the list of probable injuries.
Rosario crouched beside them and handed the first-aid kit to Jackson. “The box is pretty beat up, but phone seems okay. Do you want to make the call, or should I?”
Finally, something to be thankful for. He unzipped the first-aid kit and took out a pack of antiseptic wipes. “Call it in while I work on Garrett. Let them know we need immediate medical assistance, a Cat One search and retrieval team, and a heavy-duty tow truck for the rental.”
Jackson’s thoughts tracked back to Navarre. They’d worked countless ops together, both in the military and at Six Points. He knew from firsthand experience just how lethal Navarre could be. But he was only one man against an unknown number of assailants. Plus, he had an unarmed civilian to protect.
Fifty bucks said Navarre mopped the floor with them.