Chapter Eighteen

Everlee rolled her pounding head on her poor swizzle-stick neck, slowly, very slowly. Wondering why a tiny movement hurt as much as it did, and why she couldn't hear anything but buzzing. Lots of buzzing. Plenty of vibrations, too, like she was inside a giant beehive. She came to in slow, dopey increments of stifled, dumb awareness. Her mouth was dry, her throat drier. As in dusty, nasty dry, like someone had stuffed a dirty rag in her mouth, which—what the hell?—someone had.

She wasn't in the SUV. Wasn't anywhere near where she should've been if she'd been thrown from their vehicle. And not only was there a rag in her mouth, the tip of her poor desiccated tongue was stuck to its noxious threads. She had a bag over her head, the open end of it cinched under her chin with what felt like twine. It was scratchy. And tight. She couldn't see where she was or where she was going. Or the dumbass who'd done this to her.

She was thirsty and blind and didn't want to breathe the stink inside the bag one second longer. But there was no way out. Her hands were bound behind her back, and her elbows were jerked back so far that her shoulders were on the verge of popping out of their sockets.

There were no bees and this was no hive. The steady vibration of rotors overhead caused whatever was next to her to buzz. Like a piece of plastic-wrap stretched too tightly over a broken window or Tupperware or… or something. She was in a helicopter, on the floor, on her side, and she was pissed. Angrily, she kicked one leg out straight, hoping to strike the nearest A-hole within reach. She did. Her point. Her game. Until—

OOMPF! Said A-hole retaliated with a swift boot in her gut.

The kick knocked the wind out of her, made her rethink her odds of survival. She was a woman and someone's prisoner. Maybe now, when she could barely breathe or swallow, was not the best time to strike back.

Where was Shane?

Everlee lifted her head, listening for his voice. Hell, striving to hear anything besides the whump, whump of rotor blades and that incessant buzzing. Had he survived the SUV rolling? Had Smart? Was she behind this? Was this her plan all along, to lure whoever came after her into another deadly trap, separate them, and—? And what?

No, just no. That wild-assed conclusion didn't hold a stitch of water. Smart wasn't intelligent enough to construct a plan this complex. Plus, she'd had no idea where she'd been stashed last night and no way to communicate her location to anyone. She hadn't known Smoke or Jess Montoya or—no. Just no. Smart might be guilty of murder, but she wasn't this kind of ‘smart'. Okay, so her last name might be Smart, but a stitch of water?

Everlee almost giggled at the way her poor, aching head was working… Or wasn't working.

Until she realized that tiny side trip from reality might mean she'd been hurt worse than she thought. Concussions were traumatic brain injuries, and she must've been tossed clear of the Toyota. Her fault. She'd slipped off her seatbelt when she'd turned around to shoot out the radiator of the car gaining on them. But her grandiose plan came too late. Before she'd gotten one shot off, the Toyota rolled.

Needing more air, better air, and determined to escape this flying machine, get back on the ground, and rescue her junior agent, Everlee growled at her captors. Shane had only been hired a couple days ago. Helluva welcome to The TEAM, big guy, this continual baptism by fire.

"Can't you shut her up?" an ugly voice bellowed from somewhere overhead. The pilot maybe?

"Can do, Mister Smith," another male voice answered.

Mr. Smith? How cliché. Who did A-hole think he was, Mister Jones?

Too fast, said A-hole smashed something into the side of her head. Smelled like a boot. Something cracked inside her skull. Might've been a tooth. Or her jaw. Roaring, flashing cannons exploded behind her unseeing eyes. The tiniest, girly whine escaped into the grimy rag in her mouth. Then…

Nothing.

Shane came to on his back with a wrinkled, grizzled face staring down at him out of the blue, blue sky. He was out of his seatbelt, but the lower half of his legs and his feet were still inside the shattered driver's side window of the steaming, upside-down Land Cruiser. The rest of him was sprawled perpendicular to the wreck until the old guy tucked his hands under Shane's arms and dragged him a good ten yards or so away from the vehicle. Which was good sine the air was full of gasoline fumes.

His ribs protested the move. God, that hurt. His lungs squeezed out ragged gasps and coughs that sparked shuddering waves of lightning in his chest. He sucked in a jarring breath that shouldn't have felt like he'd inhaled thumb tacks instead of fresh air. Closing his eyes to the bright sky overhead brought instant relief. Dazed and battered, he lay there panting through the pain, struggling to get his brain back online.

Road trip.

Everlee.

Arkansas.

Everlee.

Someone's house—can't remember whose—exploded.

Everlee.

Lasagna…

"Everlee!" bellowed out of his mouth. He jolted upright but had to stick both palms into the dirt behind him to keep from blacking out and tipping over. Would've helped if he could make his eyeballs focus and his bones stop quaking. "There were three of us in the car. Where's Everlee?" he asked the older gentleman... err…

That can't be right.

"Tuesday? Err, Ms. Smart?" he asked, feeling more like a mixed-up, drunken fool than an intelligent special operator. Holy shit, he'd mistaken her for an old man? Three hits to his head within forty-eight or so hours might have guaranteed that concussion Doc Fitz was worried about.

"Yes, Agent Hayes, it's me," Smart replied evenly, now kneeling beside him, her fingers running soft as feathers on his chest and up his neck. "You're hurt, you're bleeding, and you need to go to the ER. Can I use your phone?"

"Not happening." Shane took hold of her fingers to stop the pleasant sensation skimming over his skin, fighting to keep this particular woman in the suspect column. She was not his friend, damn it. Sucking in another deep breath that didn't hurt as much as it had moments ago, he asked, "Where's Agent Yeager?" Please don't tell me Everlee died in the rollover. "Is she... okay?" Did I kill her?

"I don't know. A helicopter touched down as soon as we stopped rolling. You and I were both still upside down in the SUV, but I watched what happened through the broken window. Some guys dragged her away."

That didn't make sense. Shane had been sure the shooters were after Smart, not Everlee. He glanced over her shoulder at what was left of the Toyota. Its fancy plastic trim and all of its windows were missing. Most of its shine. Some of its paint. Not one part of it wasn't dented.

"A car pulled alongside us, Agent Hayes. Two men with guns got out. I think they were the same ones who shot at us. Agent Yeager must've been thrown clear of the vehicle when it rolled because she wasn't inside when I came to. They walked straight over to where she was and they took her with them in the helicopter. That's been about ten, fifteen minutes ago." Smart lifted a hand and shoved her thick, dust-laden hair out of her eyes and over her shoulder.

A helicopter? Some guys? Everlee? Abducted? That made no sense. Could this have anything to do with her ex, Butch? Or was Smart behind this? Was anything she said true? But why would she lie? If she wasn't, then everything she'd been saying all along was true. Shit.

Shaking his head to clear the residual fog in it, Shane lifted slowly to his feet, straight-arming Tuesday Smart the moment she moved in closer to keep him from falling, not needing her help. At least, not wanting to admit he needed it. But definitely not wanting her up close and personal now that he was wounded. This easy op was making him look weak, when, until he'd joined The TEAM, he'd been one of the toughest men in his squad.

Gripping his pounding head between both hands, he shook off the burgeoning migraine creeping up on him. For now, no aura threatened to take over his vision. Those suckers were the harbingers of certain pain that would all but render him blind for a few hours, another complication he didn't need. Cussing his failure to prevent Everlee's abduction, he pushed the very real expectation of a killer migraine aside and planned on getting Smart out of sight and Everlee back. "How many men?"

"Two in the vehicle that stopped" —Ms. Smart nodded at the sporty, silver car butted up against the left corner of the Toyota's damaged rear bumper— "one guy in the chopper. But it stirred up a lot of dust when it landed, so I'm not really sure. I was still hanging upside down like you and—"

"It took three big tough guys to kidnap one little lady? What kind of helo?"

"Umm, a white one?"

Shane nodded. Shouldn't have asked. Smart was a civilian, had no experience with choppers, and it was a stupid question at best. "Which way'd they go?"

"That way." She pointed eastward, "but I stopped watching where they went once I got out of my seatbelt and got to you. You were so pale, and I… I thought you were dead."

Staring off into the direction where she pointed, he grunted at the tenderness in her tone, needing to shut that sympathetic connection down. She was just a prisoner, not his friend. "Not yet, sorry to disappoint."

Her breath caught in her throat, but not in one of those breath-hitching moments women made during all those cheesy, made-for-TV, Hallmark moments, either. The gasp was more as if she'd been slapped. Made Shane feel like an ass. All she'd done since the rollover was help. She hadn't run, and she could have.

Swallowing hard, he finally noticed the fresh blood on the side of her neck and darker red trailing into her shirt collar. She was still wearing those fashionably torn jeans and the red shoes Smoke gave her. But dirt and grass stains smudged her knees, and the scuffed, dirty toes of those shoes proved she'd crawled out of the SUV like she'd said. Dust and debris had settled everywhere. In the air. In his eyes. In her hair. Tuesday Smart was injured, yet she hadn't deserted him. She was still there. Her flex cuffs were gone, though. He should've noticed that a helluva lot sooner.

"Where are your cuffs?"

"There was lots of glass all around me, Agent Hayes. And a knife. I don't know where it came from, but I used it to get out of those cuffs and then, out of my seatbelt. It was hurting me."

Shane let his gaze scroll over her, then to the SUV. What Smart described was the truth. There was a knife in the dirt by the driver's door. Not in her hand. But right where she'd obviously used it to free him from his restraints. Again, she could've used it against him, saved herself and run.

"Where's that old guy on the tractor?" Who I made damn sure I didn't hit. "Where are the other drivers who were on the freeway? Why the fuck hasn't anyone stopped to render aid?"

"Shhhhh," Smart whispered. "It's okay, Shane. The guys who took Everlee scared them off. They had guns and fired at everyone. I think they'd already shot some of those cars before we crashed."

"Well, damn." That made sense. Shane stuck his chin at the SUV and told her, "Thanks for everything you've done for me. I hate to ask, but would you mind reaching inside that wreck and turning the engine thing off?"

"You bet," she replied easily. Lifting to her feet, she backtracked to the Toyota, climbed in through the driver's door window and onto the ceiling of the vehicle, leaned forward, and…

Thank God for silence.

Shane couldn't help but watch her backside as she completed the task he'd asked of her. Smart was still as compliant as ever, and those rear pockets were taut and, yeah. He noticed how they barely jiggled when she backed out of the missing driver's side window on her knees. It was getting harder to dislike her. Getting a big guy like him out through that shattered driver's side window had to have been damned hard. She was a woman, for God's sake, and he was a much bigger, wider load. Yet she'd dragged his dead weight all the way over here.

Pushing to her feet, she dusted her hands on her thighs and returned to his side. There went another chance for her to take off. Why hadn't she? As banged-up and slow-witted as he was, she could be long gone by now. Only she kept coming back.

When she knelt alongside his legs, he noticed her once sleek, blonde hair was thoroughly decorated with bits of weeds, dried grass, and tiny sticks. She needed a comb and a brush, an hour or two of rest wouldn't hurt. Damned if Shane's dumbass hero complex didn't jump up and want to provide all that crap to this woman. Right here. Right now. Not because he liked her that much, but because she deserved someone in her corner. Like it or not, she still looked every bit as innocent as she'd made herself out to be at the start of this nightmare. If that was all pretense, she was one helluva actress. Which was precisely what a black widow was, right? An actress? A liar? Shane had yet to see that side of her, but he'd sure as hell seen her compassionate side.

He shook those questions out of his head. He honestly didn't know who or what Smart was anymore. Photographer or killer? Innocent caught up in some other person's demented scheme? Practiced scam artist? Like an idiot, he brushed the strands of some dead weed out of the silky tangles hanging in her eyes. "You're hurt, too."

Brushing that same frazzled hank of hair over her shoulder, she leaned her cheek into his palm. "Not as bad as you. It was a helluva ride though, huh? But I was never completely unconscious. Just dazed and dizzy and mad when I couldn't get my seatbelt off."

He winced at her direct assessment of his failure as TEAM agent. Helluva ride, nothing. He'd nearly gotten them both killed. Possibly Everlee, too. Where could she be? For that matter…

"There was a first-aid kit in the rear of the Toyota, next to Smoke's cooler. See if it survived, then we need to grab it, some food, water, our gear bags, and get moving. We can't be here when the police arrive. We'll bandage whatever wounds we have once we get out of sight."

Like a female in distress, Smart looked up at him, her soft green eyes wide and so damned misty. "Why not, Shane? The police will help us. They'll believe you, I know they will."

She'd used his first name, not his title. For some dumb-jock reason he didn't want to examine too closely, he liked the sound of it on her lips.

"Sure, yeah, but we need to find Everlee, and we won't be able to do that if you're in police custody or if I'm in the hospital. Understand?" He hoped she did because Shane wasn't sure why he was suddenly relying on a baby killer to help him locate his partner.

The light of their dire situation finally dawned in Smart's eyes. "Oh. Okay, sure. I guess you're right. Everyone still thinks I'm a killer. Got it."

Shane had the good sense to withdraw his hand from her warm cheek. Like it or not, they were not friends and determining her guilt or innocence was not his job. This mission was a pick-up and deliver order, and he was the delivery man with a missing partner. "Come on, let's get rolling, Ms., err, Tuesday." He gave her that much.

"Thanks for using my real name, Shane. It helps to know you at least want to believe me, like maybe we can help each other. Where to?" she asked, her voice nothing more than a whisper in the hot, dead air between them.

Interestingly, this woman didn't do a thing for Shane's libido. There was no desire to kiss her or push her onto her back beneath him. Despite her very obvious feminine charms, a definite sadness shadowed everything Tuesday did and said. An unabated loneliness. That was what had initially drawn him to her. Tuesday Smart was a kindred spirit, a person who had, like him, suffered unimaginable loss at a young age. Also, like him, she was alone in the world. No family. No roots to go back to. Not a castoff. More like a solitary ghost nobody missed, ached for, needed, or saw. Until that debacle at TEAM HQ, Shane had been exactly like Tuesday. He had no idea how to help her. Hell, he couldn't even help himself. But he believed he honestly had a family now, or at least, the makings of one.

He'd never been in Arkansas before. Guess this was as good a time as any to fade into that new crop of baby corn and disappear. He glanced over her shoulder at the miles of lime-green rows running alongside this stretch of highway. "East," he told her with conviction. "We'll go east as far as we can today. Once we're a few miles away from this accident, we'll take a break and assess our injuries. I'll contact my office while we walk. Can you make it that far" —again he chose to use her first name— "Tuesday?"

"Yes, Shane. I can do anything you need me to do. Let's go."

God, he hoped she wasn't a liar.