Page 65 of The Vigilante's Lover

Oh, no. Oh, no.

Jax. Jax. Jax!

I see him come out, stumbling, barely able to stand. Then he drops to the ground.

He’s hurt!

I jerk the car into drive, glad I have it all ready to go, hood secured, fuel tank closed, and Jovana’s watch tucked away in the dash.

I pull up to the arena door and jump from the car.

Jax is back on his knees, mumbling something incoherent.

Two security guards burst out the door, then halt when they see me.

I try to lift Jax, but he’s too heavy.

“What are you staring at?” I snap at the two men. “Help me get him into the car.”

When they just stand there, I about lose it. “Help me RIGHT NOW.”

They hurry forward.

“Get the door,” I tell one.

He opens it, and I start pulling Jax up to me.

“Get his other arm,” I command the other.

Between us, we get Jax into the seat.

“Ma’am,” one says sheepishly. “We have to take him in for attacking a guard.”

I whip around. “YOU are going to take in the deputy of HOMELAND SECURITY?” I’m totally making this up, but these guys don’t look too bright.

“The what?”

“He’s undercover. Some of these fighters are in danger. Do you know Colt McClure? You idiots!” I throw up my hands. “I’ll have you court-martialed!” As I round the front of the car, I realize they’re just hired security. “Never mind. You’re civilians. Just get out of our way.”

They keep staring at me as I jump in the front seat. When I stomp on the gas, they leap back.

Good riddance.

As soon as we’re past the exit, I gun it down the street and past the arena. There’s a gas station on the next block, so I screech into the lot and slam the car into park.

I turn to Jax. “What is it, baby?” I feel along his shirt. I don’t see blood anywhere. “What is it?”

He’s slumped against the door.

I grab him and pull him in to me. “Tell me what it is so I can do something!” I slap his cheek.

He sucks in a breath, and I think he’s going to say something, but then he slumps again.

I can’t hold him. He’s too heavy.

What the hell do I do? Hospital? Would the Vigilantes find out?

Oh God.

His stomach makes a strange sound, and I flash back to when I got hit by the poison dart.

Yes, that’s it. He’s been hit too. They got him.

Shit. How long do I have? Is the antidote in his car?

I sit back and jerk the car into gear. In seconds I’m barreling into the lot where we left the Aston Martin.

I pull up next to it and jump out of the Acura. Jax’s car is locked tight.

His watch will open it. I wrench the passenger door open and pull on his arm. Not close enough. I yank the watch from his wrist. When I whirl around, the car unlocks.

Thank God. A quick glance in the car tells me nothing useful is inside. Please tell me he didn’t leave them back at the hotel. It’s too far.

I punch a button on the dash, glad I got familiar with the car when I stole it from Klaus, and the trunk pops open. In the back are the Vigilante cases, both Jax’s and the ones that were there from Klaus.

I don’t really know what I’m looking for, but hopefully the antidotes will be in vials or tubes or needles and not some fancy method of delivery that I don’t recognize. I dump out the first case. Several real guns. Those belong to Klaus. If he poisoned him, he should have the antidote.

A smaller case slides out. I jerk it open.

Five vials with capped needles.

Antidotes? Or poisons themselves?

I have no idea.

God.

I glance over at Jax. Should I hit him with them all?

That could be worse!

I need help. Must have help.

I go back to Jax and slap him again. “You have to tell me what the antidote is!”

He doesn’t open his eyes.

I feel his pulse. Still there. Slow, though. Too slow. God.

I jump in the Aston Martin. The car engine whirs on and the dash lights up.

“Call Sam the Vigilante,” I say.

“Mia Morrow is not authorized for that information,” the voice says.

“But Jax is with me! I used his watch to unlock the door!”

“Command not understood,” the voice answers. “Please try another command.”

“Jax wants to call Sam the Vigilante,” I say.

“Mia Morrow is not authorized for that information,” the voice repeats.

I bang my hand on the dash. How do I do this?

His phone.

I jump back to the Acura and rummage through Jax’s pockets. I pull out the phone, frantically activating the screen. The contacts are empty other than the number for Colt. Colt can’t help now.

The phone is still tied to the car. I run around and shut off the Acura, praying that when it’s switched off, it will revert to Jax’s normal mode.

As soon as the engine is down, I pull up the phone again.

Yes, the contacts are restored.

But as I scroll through them looking for Sam, I realize they are coded. Shit. I don’t know who anybody is. They’re all numbers.

I go to the most recent calls. Who are the people on this list?

I choose the day he left me with Colette and pick a number around that time. Whoever he would have called that day should be safe.

I punch the number and hold my breath. Please be Sam or Colette. Please. Please. Please.

Sam’s voice floods me with relief.

“Jax, this is bad, you just called on an open line,” he says.

“It’s Mia,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry. Jax has been poisoned and I don’t know what to do.”

“Switch to video,” he says.

I find the icon and punch it.

“Show him to me,” Sam says.

I turn the phone around.

“Did he throw up?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

“Spasms?”

“No.”

Sam’s voice is calm. “See if his eyes are dilated. If the pupils are huge.”

I reach down and carefully tug his eyelids apart. “Yes, I think so.” I hold the camera up.

“This is important,” Sam says. “If you choose the wrong one, he dies.”

I open his lids again.

“Compare them to your own in this light,” he instructs.

I pull back and stare into the side door mirror. “His are definitely bigger.”

“I can’t see well enough, but I trust you,” Sam says. “Did you find the vials in the trunk of the car?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Okay. Get the green one.”

I run to the trunk and jerk the green vial from the case.

“Where do I stick it?” I ask Sam.

“Anywhere works, but if you can get him in the arm close to his heart, that’s best.”

I jerk up the sleeve to his white linen shirt and expose the crook of his elbow. That’s where nurses always stick you to take blood. It must be good. I uncap the needle.

“Just let it go in slow and steady,” Sam says.

I prick his skin and push the plunger in.

“Mia,” Sam says. His voice is strained. “You have to get off this phone call and leave there immediately. We’re all in trouble now.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I kill the call and throw the phone across the parking lot. It lands in a thorny bush. Maybe that will slow them down since they can track it.

I turn back to Jax. I want to take his car so we can be cloaked, but I can’t move him. He’s starting to stir.

I lean in. “Jax, baby, if you want to take your car, you have to move. The Vigilantes know where we are.”

He opens his eyes. He shakes his head, then suddenly he’s all action. He reaches behind the seat and grabs his knapsack. He pauses a moment, staring at the floorboard, and picks up Klaus’s metallic blue gun.

I back away as he lunges for his car as if he’s going to drive.

“Oh, no,” I say. “You have to sit in the passenger seat.” I grab his arm. He jerks away, then shakes his head again. I know what he’s going through. I remember this manic phase. I wonder if I should take the gun away.

I walk him around and open the door. “In,” I order, and he obeys.

Then I race around the car and jump in.

I don’t want to go back toward the arena. That seems the most likely place they’ll come from.

“Cloaking levels one, two, and three,” I tell the car as we bounce over a curb and onto a dark back street.

“Cloaking initiated,” the woman says.

“Look at you,” Jax says. “Like you were born to it.”

I flash him a smile. “You got a Crybaby in this one?” I ask.

He shakes his head, his hand on his temple. “Just drive away. They can’t track us unless they get a visual. Blend into traffic as soon as you can.”

I bump along the back road, scanning ahead for a busier street. We zigzag through the neighborhood, then I spot a traffic light. That should intersect with something else.

“Is it safe to go back to the hotel?” I ask him.

“Should be, as long as we’re not followed.” He scans the road ahead, then turns and looks behind. “We seem clear.”

I look over at him and he meets my eyes. “You were great back there,” he says.

I’m coming down from the horrifying adrenaline rush. “What happened?”

Jax ruffles his hair. “Klaus poisoned me. Slick new device embedded in prosthetic skin.”

I grimace. “Sounds disgusting.”

“It got me.”

“Do you have people trying to kill you all the time?” I ask.

He holds the gun in his hand for a moment longer, letting it glint in the passing streetlights, then drops it into his knapsack. As we merge into traffic, he says, “Only once or twice a day.”