'Change of plan?' asked Cole, his eyebrows raised.
'Yeah. Follow my lead and we can still get it done.'
'What are you thinking?'
I adjusted my wig in the passenger side mirror so I wouldn't have to look at him. Until now he'd still been on the periphery of this whole nasty deal. Now I was about to dump him front and center. The guilt made my stomach ache. 'I think I'm about to get very sick.'
Chapter Fourteen
I'll say this for Cole, he's flexible and functions well under pressure. Not a letter of recommendation I'd be happy to write considering what kind of people hire that type, but true all the same. We drove around the block and parked right behind the SUV.
'Come around to my side and open the door,' I said, feeling the blood drain from my face. 'He's coming.'
'Already?'
I didn't need to reply. Cole was already out of the car. Moments later he opened my door. 'Undo my seatbelt, and take your time about it,' I said, that terrible feeling of imbalance momentarily blurring my vision. Something shook me at the core, as if the Ohio River had suddenly reversed course or all the grass in Browns Stadium had burst into flame.
'We have to meet them near the door,' I said. 'Be loud. Be scared. Make a major scene. Make sure something happens so that I can touch him.'
He nodded. 'Ready?'
Hoping I wouldn't puke on Cole's nifty velour jogging jacket, I nodded. He pulled me out of the car and helped me toward the door. My blood seemed to jump in my veins, a warning so dire I would've turned to run if Cole hadn't been holding onto me.
'There they are,' he said.
I raised my head, forcing my eyes to team up, show me the scene. The men, a couple of clones of the gatekeepers Vayl and I had dealt with last night, had reached the first set of automatic doors. One pushed the wheelchair. The other strode beside it. Derek slumped inside it, pale and tired looking, wearing a black turtle-neck and white jeans. His head was tilted to one side, as if to protect the bandaged area that reminded me forcefully of my last confrontation with his attacker. Then I realized he was watching his reflection in the glass doors.
'Smoke and mirrors,' I murmured.
'What?'
'Now. Make it loud.'
He raised his voice. 'It'll be all right, honey.' He clutched at me, gave my arm a comforting pat and stepped us forward. We'd almost reached the entry doors. He waited until Derek and his entourage emerged. 'Don't pass out on me now, it'll be okay.'
I obliged and sagged, keeping one hand firm on the back of his jacket. It took an effort not to hit my knees. All I wanted to do was puke until my stomach was dry as an AA meeting.
'Look honey, a wheelchair!' Cole maneuvered us into Derek's path, blocking his way. 'You're leaving, right?' he asked them. 'We need the chair, man. My girlfriend's really sick.'
'Get out of the way,' growled one of the goons. He shoved Cole backward and I let go of him. This time I did fall, right into Derek's lap. I flailed my hands and managed to slap the bug onto the uninjured side of his neck.
'So sick,' I muttered. Derek shoved me off his lap, leaving me in a crumpled heap. I considered just staying there. Hell, I was two yards from a hospital. Eventually somebody would discover me here, tuck me into a nice, clean bed, maybe pump me full of tranquilizers. I could legitimately sleep for a week.
Fortunately the person who hauled me off my butt was Cole. My hospital fantasy had barely played itself out before he'd strapped me back into the Mercedes. Actually, the seat felt even better than my fantasy bed. Love those luxury models.
I managed to focus on the road as Cole pulled away from the hospital entrance. The SUV was probably twenty yards ahead of us and gaining. 'How close do we need to follow?' Cole asked.
I tried to remember what Bergman had told me about receiving distance. They drew further ahead of us and, as my nausea lessened, my brain kicked in. 'Just close enough to keep them in sight.'
We fell further behind and I sat up straighter, wiped the sweat off my upper lip, ditched the wig and the beret.
'Feeling better?' Cole asked, cocking a raised eyebrow in my direction.
'Much.'
'That wasn't an act, was it?'
I shook my head. 'There's something so far off about that man that every time I get near him I feel like the earth's about to break orbit.'
Cole absorbed my reply with quiet attention. 'Then we'd better find out what he's up to. Are you hearing anything yet?'
'No talking. Kind of a steady thrumming sound. Knowing Bergman this thing is so fine-tuned I'll be able to hear Derek's pulse but his conversation will sound like Charlie Brown's teacher. Wa, wa-wa, wa, wa.'
'Who's Bergman?'
I held up a finger. 'Someone's talking,' I whispered.
'—Assan isn't too happy with you,' said one of the guards. His voice was throaty and strained, probably lined with decades of nicotine buildup. I immediately dubbed him the Marlboro Man.
