Chapter Twenty-Nine

Natasha

"We're here." Nash turns in the front seat of the SUV. "Doc? You okay?"

"Been better. Been worse." Doc holds the younger man's stare for a long moment. "Thanks…for doing this."

When Nash showed up at the warehouse, Raelynn held onto him for a full five minutes. He's not a part of Hidden Agenda, but he was the only one available to drive us to the airport. Everyone else left on a private plane out of Boeing Field thirty minutes ago.

They'll beat us to D.C. by at least two hours. Maybe more.

Nash doesn't say another word as Doc and I get out of the car. The fake Lyft decal on the side of the vehicle should fool anyone Bastian might have watching the drop-off area. But we have to act like we don't know him.

Wren and Ripper were able to identify almost a dozen passengers on our flight who bought their tickets in the past twenty-four hours. Including the two seated directly behind us, and Kerr in the last row. There isn't a single empty seat, even if West had been willing to take the chance and send Graham with us.

A muscle in Doc's jaw ticks as he slings a backpack over his shoulder. We don't have luggage. Only a rudimentary medical kit, our wallets, and two extra sweatshirts. By tomorrow afternoon, we'll either be on our way back to Seattle with Hidden Agenda, or I'll be in lockup and Doc…

Stop. We have a plan. It's going to work.

Except, the plan is based on West and his team being able to track Bastian down, and all Wren was able to get from tracing the call to my phone was the general area. Fairfax, Virginia.

It takes us half an hour to make it through security, and Doc gets tenser by the minute.

I'm numb. Four hours spent memorizing all the sick details of Bastian's crimes. Another thirty minutes learning codes and phone numbers in case we're cut off from the team. Then the GPS trackers. I rub my right ass cheek as we approach the gate. It still stings. The tiny devices might only be the size of two grains of rice, but they hurt like hell going in.

The gate agent scans our boarding passes. The long walk down the jetway feels like the end. Of everything. I haven't been on a plane in eight years. Too risky. And now, I'm about to be trapped on one. With at least three men who want me dead. And the man responsible for killing Logan. I don't care that Kerr is eight rows behind us. It's enough to know he's there.

The worst part of all of this? Doc and I haven't talked in hours. He doesn't want me anywhere near the CID office. With what I know—what I'll have to confess to—there's no doubt I'll be arrested immediately. There's so much I want to say to him. A week's worth of tenderness. A year of apologies. A lifetime of stories and questions and plans.

But I can't find the words. So when the plane lifts into the air, I rest my head on his shoulder and cry.

"Natasha."

A warm hand cups my cheek, and I lean into the touch. It's the best dream. Doc holding me, in bed, the sunrise shimmering over the waters of Puget Sound…

"Wake up, baby. We're going to land soon."

I jerk upright, my gaze pinging wildly around the cabin. No. No, no, no. We were supposed to have five hours together. Instead I passed out within minutes of takeoff.

"How could you let me sleep the whole time?" I wriggle out of Doc's arms as the flight attendants make their final pass through the aisle.

"You were exhausted." His voice is rougher than usual. Dark circles brace his eyes. I doubt he slept at all. No. He kept watch. All night.

"You're the one who needed rest." Anxiety sinks in my stomach. The plane races toward sunrise, lower and lower until lines become roads, specs of color coalesce into cars, and my hope for a future together fades away. Doc leans closer and brushes his lips to my ear. "West and Inara are in the terminal. Trevor, Ella, and Vasquez are watching the CID office. We're not alone. We'll get through this."

The plane touches down with a jolt. I turn my face into Doc's shoulder to stifle my sob. "I wasted so much time."

He nudges my chin up, and his eyes hold so much emotion. Fear, determination, and maybe…love. "Don't go there. We're going to get through this. I want a life with you, Natasha. I'm not giving up. Promise me you won't either."

Before Bastian's call came in yesterday, Wren told us how sacred she—and all of Hidden Agenda—consider those words. I promise.

I can't say them. But maybe…I can show him how I feel. Sealing my mouth to his, I pour everything into one passionate kiss. Doc's hand slides down my back, all the way to my ass. If it weren't for the seatbelt, I'd be in his lap, damn all the people around us. His tongue sweeps over mine. He takes as good as he gets, pulling a moan from my throat, nipping at my lower lip, and reaching between us to cup my breast and skate his thumb over the hard nub of my nipple.

I have to tell him. Now. Before I lose the chance forever.

"I'm falling in lo—" My phone beeps in my pocket. I drop the damn thing and almost lose it between the seats. But Doc rescues it and presses the device into my hand. "Gladys?"

"Baby girl, tell me you didn't come…"

She doesn't sound right. Weak. Sad. Distracted.

"Of course, I came. What's wrong? Did they hurt you?"

Someone jostles Doc's seat, and he hisses out a breath. A tall man in a three piece suit moves into the aisle next to him. "Give me the phone, Natasha."

I blink up at Kerr, and he snatches the device from me, ends the call, then claps his hand on Doc's shoulder. "That pinch you felt was a dose of fast-acting insulin. In five to ten minutes, you'll be unconscious. In thirty—unless Natasha does exactly what she's told—you'll be dead."

Doc grabs Kerr's wrist, but the man shakes off his hold easily. "I haven't…eaten anything in twelve hours…asshole. I won't have…ten minutes." Sweat dots his brow, and he tugs at the neck of his Henley.

"Doc? God. What do I do?" I surge up and jab the call button, but all around us, the other passengers are getting their luggage. The flight attendants can't get to me even if they want to. Doc's breathing is too rapid, and he's starting to shiver. His pupils are blown.

One of the men from the row behind us joins Kerr. He unzips a small, black pouch and shows us a syringe. "This is glucagon. It'll counteract the insulin. Eventually. Once you're off the plane, Natasha, I'll give it to him."

Doc fumbles for my arm. "No choice… Do what they say. But don't turn yourself in…unless you know…it worked and Gladys…is safe." He's shaking harder now. His words are starting to slur. Kerr grabs my elbow and lifts me to my feet.

"Time to go, bitch." He muscles me around Doc, but at the last moment, I throw my arms around the man I know I've fallen in love with. Quickly, I slide the folded letter into Doc's pocket. He said he didn't want to read it, but…it's all I'll ever be able to say to him.

"Now!" Kerr growls.

I let him propel me down the aisle, stealing glances back at Doc until I can't see him any longer. "If you say a word to anyone in the airport, he and the old woman are both dead."

I can only nod at his side. As we reach the terminal, a pair of EMTs shout for everyone to get out of their way. Please, God. Let one of the other passengers have called 911. But as they pass us by, I think Collins is one of them.

Kerr steers me toward baggage claim, but before we can pass through the security gates, he removes a badge from his pocket, veers to the left, and swipes the piece of plastic against a card reader.

"Where are you taking me?" I demand. The doors slam shut behind us. I drive my arm down, breaking his iron grip on my elbow. "I need to know Doc's going to be okay."

"That depends on you. Right now, he's on his way to join the old woman. If he doesn't make trouble—and you do as you're told—they'll live."

I take two steps back. "I'm here, aren't I? But I'm not going anywhere with you until I know the insulin didn't kill him."

Kerr shoves me against the wall, his arm across my throat.

"This isn't ‘doing as you're told'." The punch to my stomach steals my breath. I double-over, barely managing to twist away before he can grab me again.

Panic drives every thought from my head but one. Get to Doc.

I stumble for the door, but as my fingers close over the handle, my entire body seizes. The pain is like nothing I've ever felt before. My vision tunnels into twin points of gray. Kerr's fingers dig into my shoulder even harder, and his other hand finds the pressure point between the bones of my right arm.

In seconds, I'm on the floor, Kerr looming over me. "If you want more, by all means, keep fighting me."

I can barely breathe, but manage to shake my head.

Kerr drops to one knee, grabs my wrists, and pulls out a zip tie. The plastic tightens almost to the point of pain.

My thoughts ping wildly, the pain scrambling what little focus I had left. If he's tying me up, he's not worried about anyone seeing us. We're not going back into the terminal. We won't pass West and Inara.

Kerr grabs the plastic and tries to drag me to my feet, but my legs won't support me. So he throws me over his shoulder and starts walking down a long hallway. I want to tell him he's a piece of shit, but I can't form the words.

He badges us through another security door—I hear the beep, though I can't see shit with my face pressed against his back—and sensation starts to return to my muscles. "Put…me…down…fucker."

Setting me on my feet, he wraps his fingers around my throat and squeezes. "Try anything else and I'll shove you into a suitcase from lost-and-found."

"Won't," I manage. My gait is more of a stumble than anything else, but I stay upright until we emerge into the bright, morning sun. A car pulls up to the curb and Kerr drags me around to the passenger side, opens the door, and shoves me into the seat.

"Hello, Natasha." From behind the wheel, Bastian offers me a gleeful smile. "I thought I'd drive you to CID personally. After all, I wouldn't want you to get lost." He leans over and snaps my seatbelt into place, trapping my arms against my body.

"I told you I wasn't walking through that door until you showed me proof Gladys was safe."

"You'll see her—on video—before you get out of the car." He checks his mirrors, then pulls into the street with a squeal of tires.

"And Doc?" My voice cracks. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. Pale, his eyes unfocused, his mouth slack. He knew he was in trouble. The panic in his voice…

Tears lend a shimmer to the traffic all around us. Stop. Don't let him see you cry.

Bastian taps the car's in-dash controls, and Collins's name appears on the display. After a few rings, he picks up. "Yeah, Sarge?"

"Sit-rep on the doctor."

I take a deep breath, gritting my teeth so I don't lose my shit completely.

"His blood sugar is back up to fifty. He's still out, but he'll wake up in an hour or two. Taking him?—"

Bastian hangs up and glances over at me. "By the time we reach CID, he'll be with the old woman. I'll even let you talk to them—for a minute. But now, you're going to prove that you took my orders seriously. Start from the beginning and explain exactly how you're planning on convincing the CID officers that you were responsible for everything."