CHAPTER THIRTY

In the first basement they came to, Billboard, taking point, saw the man on the floor who Wiley and Perk had taken care of. The injuries to the man’s face were…a little over the top, even for Billboard.

“What did you do?” Billboard grunted as he looked around for the metal cabinet that Jakes had said led to the sub-cellar. “It looks like you sicced a cat on him, and his side is bleeding pretty badly.”

Wiley shook his head. “He was already messed up when we got to him. My guess is that O’Shea got in a lot of good hits.”

Billboard sure hoped so.

But if the perp looked like this and had managed to walk away from O’Shea, what kind of damage had he done to her? His gut curdled.

“There,” Brent alerted, putting his fears on temporary hold. Billboard’s teammate pointed to a rusted out, tall shelving unit on one wall.

They all ran toward it, where Billboard and Brent dragged it forward. It didn’t make noise or take much effort. Clearly the egress had been used recently.

Billboard took a deep breath and muttered quietly, “I’m going in first.” He didn’t know who or what he’d find down there.

Just because Jakes had told them there were only two accomplices in the house, didn’t mean the man was telling the truth.

Del nodded, and they all drew their guns.

Billboard carefully went down the first two steps, saw that the area below him was dimly lit, and paused to listen. No noise hit his ears, which could be good…or very bad.

Keeping his gun raised, he furtively crept downward. He was just about to clear the rough stairwell when he heard…a footfall?

Wasting no time he leapt to the dirt floor and…

“Shit!”

A chair came crashing toward his head and he was barely able to deflect it with his arm before it headed for him again. He grabbed a leg and held on. “Drop it!” he ordered.

“B…Billboard?”

“O’Shea?” Billboard released the chair and it fell to the floor, revealing… “Oh my God. What did they do to you?”

O’Shea took one staggering step toward him and would have collapsed, but at the last second, Billboard dropped his weapon and caught her up under her arms.

She looked at him, her face a bloody mess. “Nice to see you,” she gasped, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out in his arms.

“Call for an ambulance,” Billboard yelled, but he might have saved his breath. The guys who’d already piled in after him, were way ahead of him. Billboard became aware that Perk, with his phone to his ear, was rattling off the address to someone.

But…

“Shit,” Billboard hissed, his brain momentarily engaging. “Perkins. You can’t call the locals. We don’t know who’s on Jakes’ payroll.”

“Don’t worry,” Perk assured him as he hung up. “I called Agent Vessers. She’s sending a secure pick-up for O’Shea, and she’s on her way to help straighten out the rest of this Charlie-Foxtrot.”

Subsequently, Billboard was too preoccupied cradling a comatose O’Shea and cataloguing her visible injuries to pay much attention to things going on around him. But he was still aware that the team was giving Perk a ration of shit.

“Agent Vessers, huh?” Daire asked, a smirk in his voice. “That wouldn’t be Ms. Badass from Anna Jakes’ house, would it?”

“And how did you get her number?” Prez asked in a similar vein. “Boss,” he turned to Del. “I think we’re going to have to keep a closer eye on this one. He’s a lot slicker than we thought.”

“Leave Perk alone,” Del chastised, coming over and shining a penlight on O’Shea’s face. Like Billboard, he wasn’t in the mood for banter. “She looks pretty rough,” he gruffed to Billboard before laying his fingers on the side of O’Shea’s neck. “Pulse is strong, though. And she must have had something left in the tank to attack you like she did with that chair.”

Billboard took heart from the boss’s words, hoping he wasn’t just blowing smoke, but that wasn’t normally Del’s way. Billboard stared down at O’Shea’s battered and bruised countenance, if only…

“Let’s get her out of here,” Wiley suggested, snapping Billboard away from the regrets he had for not being with O’Shea tonight. Wiley was right. The sooner they got O’Shea out of this house, the better they’d all feel.

“I’ll grab Jakes,” Daire said.

“I’ll bring the basement guy,” Prez added.

“And I’ll pick up the one we knocked out upstairs.” Perk had regained his easy, seemingly innocent demeanor, but even Billboard, in his distracted state, knew the man was in for a ration of shit once the mood lightened and they knew O’Shea was going to be okay.

Please let her be okay .

The next twenty minutes went by with Billboard only vaguely aware of the bustle going on. He’d arrived out in the front yard still cradling O’Shea, and had sunk onto a stone wall by the driveway, waiting for help.

His team came and went. Agents came and went. Then finally the ambo pulled in, lights flashing. Billboard had never been so happy to see EMS.

Two paramedics hustled out of the back, and ran directly to him, equipment in hand.

“Can you tell us what happened?” one asked while hooking O’Shea up to a blood pressure cuff and a pulse/ox device.

“We’re not sure,” Billboard responded gruffly. “They…they beat her up, pretty badly.”

Paramedic number two brushed the hair back from O’Shea’s battered face, and noted the large knot that was forming. “Looks like a possible concussion. Was she awake when you got to her?”

Billboard started answering their rapidly fired questions as competently as he was able, but when a third EMT from the crew rolled the gurney over and attempted to take O’Shea from his arms, he growled. “I’ll do it.”

Smartly, the guy backed off.

Gently, he laid O’Shea down, noticing even in the dark how pale her skin was. His vibrant O’Shea. Biting back a sob that inadvertently rose to his throat, he bent and kissed the one spot on her cheek that didn’t look damaged.

“You’re going to be fine, O’Shea,” Billboard told her, even though she couldn’t hear him.

He stood, and when they began wheeling his woman toward the ambulance, he trotted along beside it.

“Are you related?” one of the paramedics asked.

Billboard knew where this was going, and clenched his fists. There was no way he was going to stand here and watch them drive off with his heart.

“It’s okay,” a female voice clipped from behind Billboard. “He’s clear to accompany her.”

Billboard turned to see Agent Vessers approaching, and gave her a thankful nod.

“Right. Just don’t get used to the preferential treatment,” she barked at him. “This is a one-time only perk, you got me?”

“Did you call my name, Agent Vessers?” Perk trotted up, and if his tongue had been hanging out, Billboard wouldn’t have been surprised. He resembled nothing more than a rambunctious puppy looking for a treat.

“Not even close,” Vessers responded curtly, then spun on her heal and walked back toward the action where her fellow agents were amassed. Perkins followed, seemingly undeterred.

Billboard, under other circumstances, would have loved to witness additional interaction between the pair, but he had places to be.

He strode off after the gurney, ducking in through the back doors of the emergency vehicle just before they closed.

****

What was with the lights? Seriously? It had to be the middle of the night because O’Shea’s brain felt like mush, which meant she hadn’t had nearly enough sleep.

“Turn off the lights,” she whined, or at least that’s what she meant to say. It came out more like, “Trmmovalipes.” Fuck . She really was out of it.

“O’Shea?”

She knew that voice. Well, now at least she knew where she was. She’d obviously spent the night at Billboard’s again. O’Shea attempted to smile, and…

“Uhh.”

Why did her face hurt so much?

“Shh. Don’t try to move,” Billboard told her. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve been beat up pretty badly.”

Well, that accounted for the pain. And the obnoxious, overhead lights.

“What…?”

Had the word come out right?

It must have because Billboard didn’t hesitate to answer her.

“A concussion. Lots of cuts and contusions. Three broken ribs, and they’ve casted a dislocated ankle,” he enumerated.

Wow . It must have been some car accident she’d…

Shit. It hadn’t been an accident at all.

Memories flooded back into her head. She’d been roughed up and brought to Jakes’ house, dragged into the basement, then beat to shit for the combination to the safe. Which she’d given to them. Eventually. And incorrectly. She’d needed to waste as much time so the team had a chance to…

Oh, crap. They had found her, and she’d tried to take Billboard out with a chair.

She went to apologize, but before she could form the words, she felt an insistent tug back into oblivion…and went with it.

****

The next time O’Shea woke up, the lights, thankfully, were no longer drilling holes through her eyeballs, and there was actual daylight streaming in through the windows.

She gingerly turned her head, and saw Billboard crashed out in a very uncomfortable looking chair, his head tipped back, his mouth open, and his legs sprawled practically halfway across the room.

Even disheveled, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She itched for her phone to take a picture…

His lids popped open, and he was instantly on his feet and at her side.

How did anyone do that?

“O’Shea. How are you? Do you need anything?” His hands fluttered around her like he didn’t know quite where to put them.

She was able to lift one arm to settle him down, noting the IV that was taped to the back of her hand. Well, hell . Once again, all her tribulations came flooding back. It all seemed somewhat…surreal.

And what was it that Billboard had asked. Did she need something?

O’Shea focused her thoughts. “Water?” she strangled out.

“Absolutely,” Billboard said, and grabbed a cup with a straw in it that sat on a swing-out table on the opposite side of the bed. He held the straw to her lips, and she sucked, thankful. The cool water tasted so good.

“What…happened,” she rasped, once he’d taken the cup away. “After…” Her fingers went to her face which hurt like a bitch.

“You remember being beat up?” he asked with a distinct snarl to his tone.

“Uh, huh,” she responded, concentrating and thinking back. “Bastard kept punching and kicking me.” She stuck her tongue out to wet her lips. “But I…managed to get one hand loose, and…” O’Shea almost wanted to laugh, but she knew it would hurt too much. “…while I was giving him the wrong combination, I took a knife from his belt. I cut him on his side, surprising him because he dropped to the floor. While he was down, I…got myself loose the rest of the way, and…”

Words were coming with difficulty.

Maybe if she closed her eyes for a moment…

****

O’Shea popped her lids open and gazed around. It was dusk outside her windows, and…Billboard wasn’t there.

What had she expected? O’Shea wasn’t surprised. The man couldn’t be by her side 24/7 until she was up and on her feet again. He’d probably gone home to shower and change. She knew he hadn’t abandoned her.

She turned her head. The covered water cup that she remembered was still there, and her mouth was as dry as a wooden spoon. She desperately needed a drink. Gingerly, she sent a hand out, reaching for it, and managed to get her fingers wrapped around it before—

“What are you doing?”

Crap. The door swung wide and Billboard stood there looking aghast, like she’d been up trying to dance the Cha-cha or something.

Her tentative hold on the life-giving liquid faltered, and the cup slipped to the bed, sending water droplets all over her sheet.

Billboard rushed to her side. “Dammit, O’Shea. I walk out for one second…”

He swiftly gathered up the wet, top sheet and rescued her cup, while also managing to put a hand back through his hair, making what little of it there was, stand on end.

O’Shea giggled.

“Oh. You think that’s funny?” he questioned, but his lips twitched upward.

“Maybe,” she said, taking every inch of him in. She must be feeling better, because she wanted nothing more than to wet her whistle on—instead of water—all his gorgeous ink. But getting him to laugh would be okay, too. She affected a pout the best way she could with a fat lip. “I think you scared me on purpose so I’d spill on the sheet and you’d get a look at me in this sexy little johnny.”

He snickered.

Yup. She was feeling better, now that she’d made her man happy.

But then his eyes traveled the length of her body and he scowled.

Right.

O’Shea looked down. She wasn’t exactly at her best; her ankle casted and her body all bruised.

Billboard balled up the wet sheet in his arms. “No worries,” he told her with conviction, obviously having seen her concern. “You’re beautiful, no matter what. How are you feeling?”

O’Shea dragged in a breath. “A lot more alert than the last time I woke up,” she assured him. “But still thirsty.”

Holding one finger in the air, he hustled across the room, deposited the sheet on the floor, then from the sink in the corner, he filled the cup he still clutched. After delivering it to her, and making sure she had a firm grip on it this time, he went back to a closet O’Shea hadn’t noticed before, and took out a new sheet. He brought it back and tucked her in again.

“There,” he said, taking the drink from her hand when she finished. “Now…” he sat down in the slippery looking chair again. “You were going to tell me what happened after you stabbed your assailant.” His voice was all gruff and growly.

O’Shea had to think for a moment before speaking, but it all came back to her pretty clearly. “Well, I cut myself loose from the chair, and stood to fight the asshole as he got up off the floor, but he’d already damaged my ankle and I had trouble balancing, so I’m afraid he got the better of me. He kicked it again, demanding the combination, and I finally gave it to him. The last thing I remember was his fist coming toward my nose. I ducked, but clearly not enough.”

She touched the lump on her forehead and winced. “I must have passed out for a few minutes because the next thing I knew, he was no longer in the room, and I was hearing footsteps headed down. That’s when I picked up the chair, and…”

O’Shea regarded Billboard sheepishly. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were a bad guy.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you were ready to protect yourself,” he said with sincerity. “I’d let you beat up on me any day, if it means keeping yourself safe. Not that I hope ever to do a repeat of this again,” he ended with a snarl.

“I know, big guy. And you’ve done nothing but try to keep me safe. I appreciate it. I… have to tell you. I didn’t panic in that small space where they took me. And the only reason I didn’t is because I knew you’d be coming for me soon.”

Billboard grunted, but she could see he was pleased.

It was O’Shea’s turn to prompt him. “Now tell me what happened after I passed out.”

Billboard launched into his story, leaving nothing out, not even his interrogation epiphany. When he was finished, O’Shea—undaunted that he’d not only coerced Jakes with a shard of glass, but had also left it impaled in his hand while he came to her rescue—purposely put a cat-licking-the-cream look on her face.

“Damn,” she purred. “I’m so sorry I missed it. But I’m beyond thrilled you can finally see that sometimes we have to put our hard-won ideals aside for the greater good. That greater good being me this time,” she added cheekily. “But Jakes?” Her smile couldn’t have gotten any wider. “I’m beyond elated that the rat-bastard got what was coming to him.”