I Spy a Dark Obsession

Michael and his team had burned rubber.

Four minutes. That’s all the time it took to reach the motel, but it was four fucking minutes too long. He’d listened to Bastian’s message on the way, having just missed the call. God help him, he hadn’t heard it ringing because they were already roaring toward the motel by then. As they skidded to a stop at the back of the place, behind Bastian’s car, Michael spotted a man lying on the sidewalk.

“One of Dietz’s.”

“I’ll check him,” Willis said, climbing out and walking over. Two fingers to the man’s throat, and he shook his head. “Dead. I’ll check the room, too, and get a cleanup crew here.”

Michael climbed out and ordered Ozzie to keep the van running. Quickly, he walked over to where an exchange of gunfire had obviously occurred. “From the way this guy is positioned, Bastian had to be standing close to the door of his room.” His gaze followed the path from the dead man to the spot where his friend might’ve stood. Crimson droplets were scattered on the walk near the motel-room door, and led from the scene to the corner of the building. “He’s been hit and he’s running.”

Jumping back into the van, he slammed his fist on the dash. “Go!” he yelled at Ozzie. “That way!”

The van squealed through the parking lot, and as they came to the front of the building, he caught sight of a huge man ducking into an alley across the street. “Shit, I think that was Tio,” Ozzie said. “I’ll take the next street and try to intercept them.”

If Tio had Bastian on the run, the situation was dire. The Mexican was a stone-cold killer. Michael willed himself not to panic as Ozzie wheeled the van onto the next street — only to be blocked by white construction sawhorses and a big hole in the pavement where the city had made yet another mess to impede traffic. In front of them, a few businesses down, Tio was just disappearing into another alley.

“Goddammit! I’m going on foot.” Michael flung the passenger’s door open. “Call for backup and get McKay and his medical team here, fast.”

“Got it.”

Michael ran. Gaining the mouth of the alley seemed to take forever. When he got there, he entered cautiously, listening. Shuffling noises, maybe footsteps, drifted from the far end. He heard voices. Pulling his weapon from his holster, he moved forward as quietly as possible, sticking as close to the wall as he could. Wasn’t easy with all the boxes, crates, and rancid garbage strewn everywhere.

Drawing closer, he could make out the hit man standing. Kicking a form on the ground, over and over. And then his arm angled downward, the glint of metal in his outstretched hand.

“Adios, Chevalier.”

“Tio!” Michael shouted, bringing up his own gun. The man spun, and Michael did on pure, honed reflex what he was trained to do.

He blew the motherfucker’s brains out.

Lowering the weapon, he reholstered it and jogged to Bastian, avoiding the human feces that used to be Tio. He dropped to his knees. Even in the darkness, he knew his friend was in bad shape.

One leg of Bastian’s jeans was saturated with blood, as was his face. He wasn’t moving or making a sound. Reaching out, Michael placed two shaking fingers to his neck and found a weak pulse.

“Oh, my God.” He ran a trembling hand over his friend’s hair. “Bastian? It’s me. Christ, please don’t leave me. Hang on, help is coming.”

And it was taking too long. Fishing in his jeans, he retrieved his pocketknife, flipped it open, and used it to split the seam of Bastian’s bloody pant leg as far as he could without cutting flesh, then used his hands to rip the material all the way to his thigh. Peering at the wound, he saw a dark stream of blood pouring steadily from the hole. Not pumping in a full-fledged arterial spray, but losing too much all the same.

Working fast, he cut the torn denim into a long strip and cut it free. Then he wrapped it around Bastian’s thigh, tying it as tight as possible in a makeshift tourniquet. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all he could do.

A sound had him reaching for his gun, but it was just Ozzie sprinting toward him. “How bad is he?”

“Pretty bad,” he said, voice rough. His throat burned, but he had to keep it together in front of his men. “I think the bastard got an artery. What’s McKay’s ETA?”

“Seven.”

“That’s too long.”

“I know, but the nearest hospital is fifteen, even if we took him to the van and drove him in ourselves. And with the gunshot wound, there’s the mandatory reporting.”

“I don’t care about the red tape with the cops if it means Bastian survives,” he snapped.

“Our way is still quicker. McKay is bringing the helicopter and setting it down about a mile from here. One of our men is meeting him, driving him here. They’ll stabilize Bastian, take him back to the copter.”

Michael nodded. The helicopter would whisk his friend back to the compound, shaving off crucial minutes. Time Bastian didn’t have to spare.

He wanted to pull Bastian into his arms, but didn’t dare risk moving him. He longed to tell the other man just how much he meant to him, beg for forgiveness, and now it might be too late.

At last, a vehicle stopped at the mouth of the alley. Four men came into view; one was an agent, and the other three were McKay, a male nurse carrying a backboard, and another doctor named Rhodes.

“Come on,” Ozzie said, tugging Michael’s sleeve gently. “Let’s get out of their way.”

Reluctantly, he stood and moved back, half-frozen. Katrina was half of his heart… but the other half was pouring his life onto the filthy pavement, unaware that Michael’s soul was screaming in agony. That he’d give anything for Bastian to survive, smile at him again. Give him another chance.

Give the three of them a chance.

“I can’t do much for him here,” McKay said grimly. “We need to transport now.”

The doctors transferred him carefully to the backboard, strapped him down. They lifted their burden and headed back to their vehicle at a steady clip, the nurse holding the IV bag aloft. At the mouth of the alley, Michael started to climb into the van with them, but McKay shook his head.

“There’s no room for you in the helicopter. I’m sorry, Michael. Follow us, and I’ll let you know something as soon as I can.”

“I understand,” he murmured. “Take care of him, Taylor.”

“I will.”

And then the vehicle roared away, leaving him staring after it, a ragged hole in his chest where his heart should be. Was this how Bastian had felt after Michael had been shot? Like his whole world hung in the balance, as though he’d been plunged into hell?

“Michael,” Ozzie said softly. “Come on, man. He’ll be in surgery by the time we get there, and I’m sure we’ll know something soon after that. I’ll have someone from the cleanup crew give Willis a ride back from the motel.”

He shook himself. “Okay.”

On the interminable ride to the compound, Michael’s phone rang. It was Willis.

“Boss, we got that kid, Cory. Kelly picked him up and is taking him to the compound. We figured he wasn’t safe going home with Dietz still out there.”

“Good,” he said numbly. “You guys did exactly right. Take him to one of the empty living quarters and let him get some sleep. We’ll figure out tomorrow what the hell to do with him.”

Michael knew what he’d like to do to him, especially after listening to the little shit service Bastian — enthusiastically — for hours on end. And then the naive brat almost fell for Dietz’s trick. Even though the kid had wised up in time to redeem himself, he might have cost Bastian his life, anyway.

“Got it, boss.” Willis ended the call.

Immediately, Michael placed a call of his own. Katrina answered on the third ring.

“Hey, you! Is the stakeout over? This was the last night, right?”

“Yeah. Um, listen, baby. Bastian…” To his horror, his voice broke.

“What is it? What’s happened?” she demanded in alarm.

“One of Dietz’s men got to him. Can you meet me at the compound’s hospital?” His teeth chattered and he started to shiver. Delayed reaction.

“Oh, Michael,” she breathed. “I’m on my way. Hang in there, honey.”