Chapter Thirty

Doc

A bone-jarring impact yanks me back to awareness. The headache threatens to crush my skull, and my muscles feel like limp noodles. Something's very wrong, but I can't figure out what. Metal bangs from behind me. Then silence.

I was with Natasha. A sharp pinch to my arm. Fuck. Insulin shock. I try to rub my eyes, but my arms won't move. I can't feel my legs. Can't feel anything, really.

"Doc? You alive?" The weak, familiar voice sounds like it's underwater. Or I am.

I blink hard, desperate to focus, but all I can see is a single, dim light above me.

Roll over, dumbass.

Easier said than done, but with a groan, I turn onto my side. A hazy form sits against the wall. White, orange, and purple hair.

"Gladys."

"You were supposed to protect her," she says. "Nat's all alone with that man now."

Slowly, I pull my knees to my chest. "Didn't have a choice." I'd tell Gladys that we didn't come to D.C. alone, but I don't know if anyone's listening.

She crawls over to me, moving too carefully. They hurt her. Anger gives me the strength to struggle up to sitting, though the room spins around me. At least the nerve block is keeping the pain from my broken rib at bay.

Gladys's cheek is several shades of purple. Fingertip bruises darken around her arms. She's not bound, thank God, but she's favoring her right side. Her wrist is swollen. Tears shimmer in her eyes. "They're going to kill her."

"No. They want her to go to prison for the rest of her life." That single hope is all I can hold onto. All I have. Hidden Agenda won't stop until they get her out. Even if it takes days. Or weeks. With their contacts, they'll get it done. Though we won't be here to see it.

With a slow shake of her head, Gladys sniffles. "The asshole in charge is gonna kill her after she signs her confession. He said she'll be arrested, and they'll be able to get to her. That the Colonel wants to be the one to do it."

Fuck. I have to warn West. Ryker. Someone. "Wait. Who's the Colonel?"

She shrugs. "Some big muckety-muck. They were talkin' to him on the plane."

My vision has adjusted somewhat to the dim light in the room. Cinderblock walls, a metal door, and nothing else. It's cold—despite being the middle of August. "Are we in a basement?"

"Yep. Those fuckers made me walk down a whole mess of stairs," she says. "With my knees! And the only bathroom is on the first floor. ‘Course, they only let me use it once. Not that they've given me anything to eat or drink either."

Shit.The GPS tracker won't work through thick cement walls. Assuming it's even still under the tape on my side. I can't tell. But if it was transmitting up until they threw me in here, West and the team should be able to figure out where I am.

I don't know how long I was out. I vaguely remember being rushed through the airport on a gurney. Sirens blaring. An intense pain in my chest. Oh, fuck. "Gladys, lift up my shirt."

"Huh?" She frowns. "Are you tryin' to come on to me? Here?"

"No. Please. Just do it."

Her hands shake, but she raises the Henley all the way to my armpits. Fucking hell. Two burn marks. One on the right side of my chest, the other just below the bandages under my left arm. My heart stopped. And the electric shock…it'll be a miracle if the GPS chip was transmitting after that.

"Enough," I manage. Everything's fucked. Up, down, and sideways.

"What did those punks do to you?" She smooths the shirt back down, and suddenly, she looks more like a frail, doting grandmother than her usual zero-fucks-to-give badass self.

"Too much." I close my eyes, but an intense wave of dizziness almost sends me pitching over.

Gladys rubs her hands together, then blows on them as she shivers. Her thin t-shirt, pink pants, and house slippers aren't enough to keep her warm down here.

"Come closer. Put your arms around me. You're freezing."

"Don't be flirtin' with me, Dr. Sexy Pants," she says, a deep sadness to her tone. "You're Nat's man, remember?"

Despite her words, she scoots until we're hip to hip, then winds her spindly arms around my waist.

"She won't mind. She knows I love…fuck. I never told her. I didn't get the chance." The realization is too much. She almost said the words to me on the plane. And I would have said them right back. Now…will we ever have a chance?

The minutes stretch from one to another. Exhaustion tugs at my heavy lids. I'm so fucking compromised, physically and mentally, there's no way I'll be able to fight my way out of here.

I must nod off, because I jerk awake when the door bangs open. Collins and Doherty enter, with Sutton hanging back in the hall, a pistol in his hand.

Gladys's arms tighten around me, though she glares at the men with fire in her brown eyes.

Doherty holds up his phone so we can see the screen. Natasha sits in a car, her cheeks glistening with tears. "Doc? Gladys?"

"Don't do this, baby. Please. Walk away. Right now." I can't let her confess to all Bastian's crimes. She doesn't know what they're planning. She thinks she'll be safe—that Hidden Agenda will get her out, even if it takes them a few days. She doesn't have that long.

Collins bites back an oath. Sutton beelines for me, then jams his pistol to my temple. "Shut up, old man."

Bastian's voice comes through the speaker. "Natasha won't dare disobey me. If she does, the two of you serve no purpose."

I sit up a little straighter. "Get it over with, fucker. We all know Gladys and I aren't walking out of here alive."

Sutton slams the butt of the pistol against my skull. Stars burst in front of my eyes, and Collins drags Gladys away from me. Her fist connects with his nuts, but there's no power behind the punch, and it only serves to piss him off. He shoves her to the floor, and she whimpers softly.

"Stop! Don't hurt her!" Natasha cries. "I'm here! I'll walk in there right now and confess to everything. But let Gladys and Doc go!"

"I'm not a complete monster," Bastian says. "The old woman knows I can get to her and her pretty niece any time I want. I'll return her to Seattle—alive—once your signed confession is part of the public record and you've been arrested. As for the doctor…he's dead either way. But if you try anything—or if you fail to confess to even one of the crimes on my list, I'll torture him for weeks before I kill him."

Natasha swipes at her tears. Her gaze pings from Bastian behind the phone to someone obviously in the back seat.

Even if she were willing to walk away, the asshole won't let her. I can hear it in his voice. He'd kill her right now if she tried to run.

With a nod, she clears her throat. "Just…let me say goodbye. Please. Give me this one thing."

The video shakes, and he must hand her the phone, because her face fills the screen. "Gladys?"

Doherty turns so she can see the older woman huddled on the floor.

"You're the grandmother every woman wishes she had. But you're also my best friend. I should have told you everything from the beginning. I hated keeping so much of myself from you, and I'll regret it every day for the rest of my life. I'm so sorry."

Gladys pushes up on an elbow. "Ain't nothin' to forgive. Love you, baby girl."

Doherty pans back to me. "Doc, on the plane, I tried…I wanted to tell you?—"

"No. Not like this." I straighten as much as my body will allow. I thought I had to tell her—and I do—but I won't give that fucker the satisfaction of listening in. "He's taken too much from you—from us—already. I'll always be with you. No matter what. Get a good lawyer. Stay out of prison as long as you can. It's…dangerous inside. Everyone has a hidden agenda. Make sure you find yours. Watch your back. Live, Natasha. Live for me."

Sutton cocks the pistol. He's not going to wait. He'll kill me in front of her. Fuck. I can't let her watch this.

"Hang up, baby. Right now!"

"Enough!" Bastian snarls. "He stays alive until I know Natasha has done her part. Sutton, back off. I'll let you know when you can have your fun."

The call drops. Sutton punches me in the face, and I taste blood, before the three men stalk out of the room and lock the door behind them.

Was it enough? Telling her to find Hidden Agenda? Will she understand I was trying to warn her? Or is this the end for all of us?

I cast one last look over my shoulder. Bastian leans against the hood of the car, a crazed smile on his face. Kerr takes his place behind the wheel, glaring at me.

My former squad leader sends a pointed look at the door to the Army CID office, a not-so-subtle warning to get my ass inside.

My fingers find the sea glass in my pocket. It's the only piece of freedom I have left, and in minutes, I'll lose this too.

Does he have people on the inside? Probably. He's had them everywhere else. The plane. The airport. From Doc's cryptic warning about staying out of prison, he probably has someone there too.

Swallowing my sob, I push through the door.

Nothing's changed in eight years except the photo of the Special Agent-in-Charge. The same beige walls, the same polished floors, the same armored door separating the reception area from the offices and interrogation rooms.

"Can I help you?" A man in his mid-forties dressed in a rumpled suit steps up behind the counter to peer at me. CID employees all wear civilian clothes, though they're far from civilians. Warrant officers, mostly.

Help? I'm beyond help now.

I clear my throat and place my hands, palms down, on the tall desk between us. "My name is Sergeant First Class Natasha Winters. Second Battalion, Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment. Retired. Eight years ago, I accused five members of my squad of killing a civilian family in the Al Anbar Province of Iraq. I testified against them and was instrumental in their conviction and prison sentences. I'm here to recant my testimony and confess to those killings, as well as numerous war crimes over the course of almost fifteen years."

The man's eyes widened with every word. He reaches for his service weapon. "Don't move."

"I won't. I'm unarmed." Can he see my terror? How badly I want to run?

A buzzer sounds. I flinch as two other men—also in suits—rush into the lobby, weapons drawn.

"Turn around," one of them snaps. "Hands behind your head. Interlace your fingers."

I obey, then shiver as the cuffs tighten around my wrists. I pray West and his team know where Doc and Gladys are. My fate is sealed, but they still have a chance.

The full body search is humiliating, but it's the loss of that single piece of heart-shaped glass that hits me the hardest.

One of the officers brings me into a windowless room with a single table and three chairs. "Wait here. Someone will be with you. Eventually."

"No! I need to give you my confession now. Please!" His stare warns me that my time to make demands is over. Whatever happens now, the Army controls.

Gladys cried for ten minutes after Natasha said her goodbyes, then fell asleep against me. My hands and arms are almost completely numb, and my heart rate has been ticking up steadily.

The shot of glucagon they gave me to counteract the blood sugar crash is wearing off, but the insulin will stay in my system for another few hours. If I don't get some sugar in my system, I won't last long enough for them to kill me.

"Gladys?" I elbow her gently.

"Wha…?" She flinches, then shoves at me. I'm so dizzy, I go down. "Oh, shit. Hot Doc."

I don't bother trying to sit up again. It won't go well.

"What's wrong?" Narrowing her eyes at me, she leans closer. "You don't look so good."

"I need sugar. Or juice." My strength is fading, fast. "Will they hear you if you bang on the door?"

Worry and fear deepen the lines across her forehead. "You want those assholes to come back in here?"

"Not much choice…if they don't, I'll slip into a coma. Please, Gladys. Try."

"All those muscles and you can't do it yourself?" She huffs, but wobbles to her feet. Her steps aren't even, and her path to the door is anything but a straight line. Shit. She's in bad shape too. Have they fed her? Given her any water?

Her fists don't make much impact on the metal, but she's got a set of lungs on her. "Get your asses down here right this minute! Your mothers would be ashamed of you! Treating an old lady like this!"

"Thought you weren't old?" I ask with a wink.

"I can be old when I want to be." After a beat, she backs up quickly. "They're comin'."

The door bangs open, and Doherty glares at us. "Make that much noise again, bitch, and you'll regret it."

"Hey, asshole." I roll onto my side. "If you don't want to tell your Sergeant…that I died on your watch, get me…some fucking sugar."

"Huh?"

"You shot me up with insulin, idiot." A tremor wracks my body. The single bulb overhead takes on a halo. Shit. I'm losing focus. "Glucagon doesn't last…long enough. Sugar. Now."

For a moment, he actually looks scared. But he turns on his heel and races up the stairs. "Allan! Get me a can of pop! And a candy bar! The doctor's crashing again!"

They didn't shut the door. Gladys looks at me, questions in her eyes.

"Don't risk it. Not…yet."

After almost a minute, two sets of heavy footsteps come back down. Doherty has a can of Coke in one hand and a Snickers bar in the other. Collins is right behind him. No Sutton this time. Is he still in the building?

"Stop," Collins barks, stopping Doherty in his tracks. "Give the shit to granny. He could be fucking with us."

"Do I look…like I'm fucking with you?" It's getting harder to force my tongue to work, but I add a little extra slur to the words for good measure. If they underestimate me, I might find an opening. Later. When I'm not minutes away from hypoglycemic shock.

Gladys takes the soda and eases herself down next to me with a symphony of pops and groans. "Next time you kidnap a senior citizen, take their arthritis medicine with you," she mutters.

The first sip of the sugary drink makes me want to gag, but I force half of it down before I close my eyes. "Gonna need more in a couple of hours, assholes."

Collins whispers, "Is he serious?"

"Do your fucking research next time. Insulin…is serious shit."

The two men leave, slamming the door hard enough to make Gladys flinch. She scoots closer, and the candy bar wrapper rustles. "Eat some of this, Doc."

With my hands still bound, she has to feed it to me, and the longing look she gives the chocolate is too much after a couple of bites. "You need to eat too."

"I won't die without sugar. You will." Her voice cracks, and she licks her dry lips.

"Gladys, finish the damn candy bar. I'll be okay."

More than okay, I hope. Because now, I know these guys don't want me to die before their boss is good and ready. And I can use that.