JESS HAD NEVER BEEN GOOD at waiting. But if waiting was torture, then sitting in the car, waiting to see if Madrid would make it out of that building alive, was nothing short of hell.
She couldn’t see the front of the building from where she was parked, but with her window down she’d heard the shots. And the thought of all the things that could be going on inside made her sick.
A glance at the clock on the dash told her six minutes had passed, but it felt as if she’d been waiting an eternity. Was Madrid in trouble? Had the cop shot him? Or had the agent with the dark eyes been forced to do the unthinkable and shoot a cop?
“Come on, Madrid.” Her voice sounded strained in the silence of the car. She tried drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, but they were shaking too much. She couldn’t take her eyes off the stretch of sidewalk leading to the police station….
A strangled yelp escaped her when she heard a tap on the passenger window. Half expecting to see a cop with a gun, she glanced over to see Madrid standing there, looking inside. Weak with relief, she hit the locks.
“What took you so long?” she hissed as she started the engine.
He slid onto the seat. “Drive.”
Jess jammed the car into gear. The tires squealed as she pulled onto the street.
“Easy,” Madrid said. “We don’t want to draw any attention.”
“God forbid someone might think we just burglarized the police department.” Jess figured they would be drawing plenty of attention very soon. The wrong kind. “What happened in there?”
Grimacing, he leaned back in the seat and glanced down. Jess looked over from her driving and followed his stare. “Oh, my God.” Her heart began to pound as she took in the amount of real blood soaking his shirt. “You’ve been shot.”
“That just about sums it up.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough.”
The blood oozed black in the semidarkness. She couldn’t stop looking at it.
“Watch where you’re going.”
She glanced back at the road just in time to keep the wheels from going off the pavement.
“You need to calm down,” he said. “Slow down. This’ll hold for a little while.”
They were on the coast highway now. Jess glanced at the speedometer, inched it back down to sixty. The last thing they needed was to be pulled over. “Did you get the papers and photos?” she asked.
He scowled, shook his head. “I grabbed what I could, but I lost most of it when the cop jumped me.”
She gaped at him. “A cop jumped you?”
“Long story.”
Jess hoped he had enough of the documents to figure out what the Lighthouse Point PD was into.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Just drive.” Worry crept into her mind when he leaned against the seat and put his head against the rest.
“Are you going to be all right?”
“I’m always all right.” He grinned, but she saw the stress around the edges. He was in pain and bleeding. As far as she knew, the bullet could have broken his arm or perforated a vein.
Using his right hand he eased his cell phone from his pocket. He punched numbers, then put the phone to his ear. “It’s me.” His voice was low and rough. “I need sanctuary. Code one. Level blackjack.”
He listened for a minute, then without speaking closed the phone and shoved it back into his pocket.
“Who was that?” Jess asked.
“Cavalry.” He pointed to a gravel lane. “Turn around. Head north.”
Jess turned into the lane, then backed out and turned the car around. “Where are we going?”
“Church.”
“Back to Father Matthew’s church?”
Madrid shook his head. “I’ve already involved him enough. There’s an old mission an hour to the north. A safe house set up by the MIDNIGHT Agency.”
“I thought you quit.”
He lifted his shoulder as if to shrug, but winced instead. “This is unofficial.”
Jess glanced at him. A sheen of sweat covered his face. His mouth was set in a thin, taut line, his eyes dark and glassy with pain. “I hope they have first aid supplies,” she said.
“We’ll find out when we get there.” Closing his eyes, he leaned against the seat.
IN THE SIX YEARS he’d been with the MIDNIGHT Agency Madrid had been forced to function countless times in extremely uncomfortable situations. This time, however, the pain radiating from his shoulder to his fingertips was far worse than mere discomfort.