"What the fuck, Finn?"
He started to make up a lie but let the words die on his tongue. Conn had spent years working with people who made the cartel look like angels. If anyone could understand this situation, it was him. "I’m being blackmailed by the Guzman cartel."
Conn's arms went slack and fell to his sides. "For what?"
"Six weeks ago, Jack and Abby got into some trouble. I'll tell you the whole story later, but what you need to know right now is that I shot a cartel assassin to save them. The Russian mob here in town has the body, the round and my rifle. They're blackmailing me to force me into bed with the Guzman cartel."
Conn let that sink in for a moment. "What do the Russians want from you?"
"They want me to turn on the cartel after I agree to work with them. They want information."
"In exchange for?"
"Protection from the fallout," Finn said.
"Do you trust them?"
"Who? The Russians?" Finn chortled. "About as far as I could throw your giant ass."
"But?"
"My back is against the wall here." He hesitated. "Hadley's family is tied in with the cartel enforcer who has been meeting with me."
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
Conn gestured to the key. "Let's see what's in the mailbox first."
Grabbing his packed bag and the sandwich, Finn trailed Conn out of the house. They piled into his truck and drove to the west side of the city where the mailbox store was located. He went in alone to get the package and came back to find Conn drumming his fingers on the dash and scanning their surroundings from behind his aviator sunglasses.
"We weren't followed. Coast is clear." Conn gave a slight tilt of his head toward his window. "Unless that minivan follows us."
He stealthily eyed the dark green vehicle before opening the box that had been left for him. Inside he found a large blue envelope, a gun and a fully loaded clip. Conn swore a blue streak from the passenger seat. The new envelope yielded a hot pink and black business card for a high-end salon and spa, the floor plan of the business, a key, and a photograph of a dazzlingly beautiful blonde woman with a time and date written on the back.
"What is that?"
"It's a salon business card." Finn flicked it with his finger. "I think Hadley goes here. I've seen this logo on a magnet on her refrigerator."
"Do you know the woman?"
"I've never seen her before in my life."
"What's her name?"
Finn read the information on the business card. "Holiday Phillips."
"The fuck kind of name is Holiday?"
Finn shrugged and tapped the card on his steering wheel. "The date is today, and the time is tonight."
"Are you going to do it?"
Finn snapped his attention to Conn. "Are you really asking me if I'm going to slaughter some innocent woman?"
"A bullet between the eyes isn't slaughtering. Hell, in some situations, it's a mercy. For all you know, this woman is knee-deep in the shit. Maybe a clean death from you is better than whatever the cartel might resort to if you say no."
Finn's mouth gaped as Conn coldly explained the reality of the situation. "No."
Conn held up both hands. "I'm just saying—"
"And I'm saying no." Finn tossed the business card into the box and put his truck in drive. He pulled out of his parking space and onto the road. He checked the mirror to make sure that the van didn't follow them. It stayed put and the tension in his gut eased some. He drove straight to a convenience store, careful to park his truck in a way that made it impossible for the security cameras to catch his license plate. He dug a cap out of his baseball bag in the backseat and jammed it down on his head. Inside the store, he bought a couple of burner phones with cash.
When he got back into the truck, he drove to the parking lot of the nearest shopping center and found the business card with Kostya's contact information on it. He dialed the number and waited for an answer. The cleaner answered in Russian, and Finn didn't have any idea what the man had just said.
"Kostya? This is Finn Connolly."
"Finn? It must be serious if you're calling me today considering your woman is in the hospital."
How the hell did these guys keep track of everyone in the city? "This isn't about Hadley. It's about a job."
Kostya rattled off an address. "How fast can you get there?"
"Twenty minutes? Half an hour?"
"I'll be waiting. Go into the first stall in the men's room and lock the door."
Creeped out by the instruction, Finn nevertheless drove to the fast food spot. Conn hadn't said a word since the parking lot of the mailbox place. When they reached the burger joint, he finally spoke. "You want me to come in as backup?"
Finn shook his head. "Watch my back from out here?"
"Like you have to ask," Conn grumbled.
Finn grabbed the envelope he had picked up in the mailbox and carried it into the fast food place hidden under his t-shirt and tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He went straight to the men's room and locked himself in the first stall. A minute or so later, he heard the bathroom door open and lock. Someone walked into the stall next to him. For a split-second, he wondered if he was about to get shot through the wall dividing the stalls.
"Well?"
Finn held the envelope over the stall. "This is the target."
Kostya reached up and grasped the envelope. Finn listened carefully as the Russian cleaner lifted the flap and studied the contents. A shocked hiss filled the air. Did Kostya recognize the woman?
A long silence stretched between them. Finally the envelope appeared over Finn's head again. He grabbed it and waited for his instruction. When he received none, he asked, "What do I do?"
In a deadly, cold voice, Kostya answered, "You go to the salon tonight—and you kill Holly Phillips."
* * *
Controlling his breaths, Finn crossed the shadowy parking lot to the rear door of the salon and spa. His heart beat quickly but his hands remained steady. Dressed in all black, he kept to the darkness and ensured every step was perfectly placed. He used the key he had been provided to slip into the stockroom of the salon via the delivery door. The information in the packet he had been sent had assured him the security system would be disengaged, and it was.
Inside the building, he took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the light change. He had memorized the layout of the salon and spa so he moved easily through the halls. When he entered the office area of the business, he heard a woman's voice drifting through a door. He followed it to the office at the end of the hall.
Holding his breath, he listened carefully. It was a woman—Holiday Phillips—talking to a customer service agent about her problem with the security system. It wasn't the first time it had happened, apparently. Calm and collected, he pushed the door open and entered the office.
Blonde hair was visible over the top of the chair. Weapon at his side, he crept toward the chair. More controlled breaths kept his movements even and his fingers steady on the grip of his pistol. Gripping the back of the chair, he spun it around quickly—and dropped to his knees.
Two puffs from a silenced pistol hit their target in the doorway, the rounds fired from the chair he had just spun. Popping out of the chair, Kostya whisked off the blonde wig he had been wearing and stormed to the doorway. The recording of the woman's voice continued to play in the background. He crouched down and kicked away the gun the man who had been following Finn for the past twenty minutes had been carrying. The fine hairs on the back of Finn's neck finally settled down now that the threat was ended.
"Is he dead?" Finn rose slowly and kept his weapon pointed at the floor. The Russian cleaner's plan had gone accordingly so far.
"Yes." Kostya began to rifle through the man's pockets. Finn moved closer—and heard the telltale sign of approaching footsteps. He tapped Kostya's shoulder to alert the other man. Pushing him out of the way, Finn moved into a better position. The second the dark
figure appeared just outside the doorway, Finn grabbed him and hauled him into the office. He slammed the unknown man into the wall and put his forearm across the man's throat.
"Hey! Hey!" Hector Salas threw up both hands, one of them holding a gun. Finn quickly stripped him of his weapon and pointed his own pistol on him. "You have three seconds to tell me why you're here."
Kostya touched Finn's hand. "Lower your weapon."
Realizing there was even more at play here than he had understood, Finn reluctantly did as told. The two criminals held a staring match. Finally, Kostya coldly stated, "You're late."
"It's been a busy night," Hector replied.
"Did you get it done?"
"It's finished. It's over."
Kostya made a humming sound and nudged the dead man with the toe of his boot. "What do you want to do with this one?"
"That's your specialty, not mine."
"That's right. Betrayal and treachery are yours."
Hector shot Kostya the finger, and Finn began to piece together what had happened tonight. Whatever this move was against Holly Phillips, it had been meant to provoke a response from the Russian mob family. Nikolai Kalasnikov had answered it by—what? Making a deal with Hector? Is that why Kostya said the other man's specialty was betrayal?
"You should go, Finn." Hector gestured toward the door. "This isn't the sort of night you want to be without an alibi. Get back to the hospital. Hadley needs you. This," he spun his finger in the air, "is done. You're free of whatever obligation you had to the cartel."
"Wait." Kostya reached into his pocket and retrieved a card. He extended it toward Finn. "Consider it your insurance policy. Whatever you need, you call me. I owe you a debt."
Finn hoped he never needed the card, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He tucked it into his back pocket—and got the hell out of that building. The events of the last ten hours flashed before him as he drove back to the house to shower and change, from Kostya explaining his plan through the wall of that bathroom to arranging for Conn to sit at the hospital and watch Hadley's room, just in case.
He waved at his father as he came into the house and hurried upstairs to get out of his clothing. He put it all in a large trash bag that he carted with him to his truck after his shower. On the way outside, he heard his father listening to the news. He backtracked to stare at the screen. His stomach dropped like a runaway elevator.
"You see this, son?" Nick Connolly shook his head. "They're saying it was a bloodbath around the city tonight. Seventeen known associates of the Guzman cartel were killed tonight in Houston. Apparently south of the border, it's the same story. They're calling it a coup."
Finn didn't say a word. He quietly left the house and drove to the storage locker across town. When he pulled up to the building he rented with Jack and Kelly, a man stepped out of an idling SUV. He held a rifle case. Finn exchanged his sack of possibly contaminated clothing for the return of his rifle.
"You'll find the spent round in the case," the man said in heavily accented English. "The boss thanks you for your service tonight. He says that his door is always open if you need anything, and he wanted me to tell you that he hopes your girl's surgery is successful and that she has a swift recovery."
Finn nodded and watched the Russian mob soldier climb back into his SUV and drive away. He unlocked and entered the storage container and stowed his rifle on a top shelf. He would never shoot that one again, and he couldn't sell it either. It seemed destined to stay on that shelf and gather dust until the end of time.
Still not quite believing that he had gotten out of this bind without firing a single shot, Finn headed for the hospital. He would have to sneak in because the visiting hours were about to end. Not that anyone would dare to tell him no. It had become clear to him very quickly that Hadley was receiving different treatment than most patients. No doubt the possibility of a mega endowment by her father or her had everyone on their best behavior.
When he entered her hospital room, Finn discovered Hadley squished between her mother and Dom on the bed while they watched television. Hadley's entire face brightened at the sight of him. She hadn't said that she loved him yet, but he could feel it radiating from her all the same.
With a slow, cleansing exhale, Finn released all the tension and fear of the past. This beautiful woman in front of him was his future—and it looked pretty damned bright.
Chapter Thirteen
Stomach empty and mouth dry, I glanced at the door to my hospital room. All the consent forms had been signed. I had been visited by our parish priest earlier in the morning to partake in confession. After that torrid night with Finn, I had quite a bit more to atone for than usual, but I had wanted to make sure I was going into this surgery with the slate wiped clean, so to speak.
My insides wobbled, and my fingers trembled. I was surrounded by the people who loved me—Mom, Dad, Finn, my brothers, my sister-in-law and Dieter, Coby and Papaw. Kelly and Bee were making an appearance via Coby's tablet. Bee had wanted to fly in to be with me, but I didn't see the point in her spending twenty-four plus hours in a plane just to sit in a waiting room when she could do that via an internet connection.
The love and friendship surrounding me bolstered my courage. They all strengthened me by sitting at my bedside and making me laugh and smile. Their love for me would see me through this trial in my life. I believed that absolutely.
Dr. Rae, an anesthesiologist and three nurses entered the room. Dr. Rae smiled at me. "It's time, kiddo."
With a brave nod, I started the long process of hugging my friends and family members. Coby went first and made sure Kelly and Bee got their well wishes in there too. Vonny, Dieter and Papaw went next, and then my brothers took turns squeezing the air out of my lungs. My mother was already crying when she kissed my cheek and hugged me tight. Tres and Papaw lingered near the doorway and eventually came over to get Mama. Both men slid their arms around her shoulders and helped her from the room, leaving Finn and Daddy behind.
They walked on either side of the gurney as I was wheeled out of my room and down the halls of the hospital. When we reached the double doors leading to the operating suites, the gurney slowed to a stop. This was it.
Daddy wrapped his arms around me and pressed a kiss to my temple. Suddenly, I was five years old and on the verge of begging my father to take me away from here, to steal me away and hide me someplace safe. Somehow I managed to hold it together.
"I'll see you soon, mi'ja." His voice was husky with emotion. "Everything will be all right." He squeezed my hand. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
He stepped aside and let Finn have his chance. Tracing my lower lip with his thumb, Finn grinned down at me, his eyes shining with love. He captured my mouth in a loving, thorough kiss. Pulling back slowly and gently, he brushed his fingers down my cheek. "I'll be right beside you when you wake up."
"Okay."
Finn dipped his head and whispered, "I love you, Hadley."
Clutching his arm, I never wanted to let go. "I love you, Finn."
The whispered words were audible only to our own ears. It was a secret, special moment that we shared among all those curious gazes. Reluctantly, Finn and my father remained standing in the hall while the nurses rolled me through the automatic doors and into the operating room.
They took me to an operating suite at the far end of the surgical floor, transferring my care to a team decked out in scrubs, gowns, masks and gloves. My hands began to shake, and if there had been anything in my stomach, it would have made an unwanted appearance. With help from the surgical team, I transferred from the softer hospital bed to the cold, hard table. My arms quivered at my sides as I stared up at the ceiling and answered questions about my name and birth date to ensure they had the right patient on the right table.
The anesthesiologist spoke to me, his voice muffled by the papery barrier covering his mouth and nose. "All right, Hadley. I'm going to put a mask over your face and give you
some gas that will help you sleep. Once you're asleep, I'll administer a heavier dose of anesthesia. When you're out, we'll prepare you for the surgery by placing central lines, IVs and a breathing tube. Then Dr. Rae and her colleagues will start the procedure." The anesthesiologist reassuringly patted my shoulder. "Are you ready?"
"No," I admitted weakly, "but it's time."
"It's time," he echoed calmly. Very carefully, he placed a mask over my nose and mouth. I fought the claustrophobic panic of having something on my face and inhaled normally. "Count back from ten, please."
"Ten, nine, eight, seven…" As the gas filled my lungs and made my head spin, I heard Finn's voice. I'll take care of you.
*
With a flutter of eyelashes, I regained consciousness. My head throbbed, and I couldn't think straight. My body felt so heavy. I didn't even try to move my arms. A dull ache in my chest spurred the memories of what had happened and where I was. It was the after effects of the anesthesia and the massive doses of morphine they were pumping into me that left me feeling weighted but disconnected.
The sensation of air whooshing into my lungs, the slight puffs coming out of my nostrils confirmed my worst fear. I had awakened while still intubated. The tube shoved down my throat supported my breaths, just in case my heart and lungs decided to quit.
Relax. Relax. Don't gag. It will hurt.
A flash of movement caught my attention. Finn and my father were at my side in an instant. Concern and worry were etched into their faces. Finn offered an encouraging smile and carefully caressed my cheek. He said something, but I couldn't understand it. Drowsy and too weak to fight, I surrendered to the promise of endless sleep.
*
When I woke up again, the first thing I noticed was the missing intubation tube. Raw and burning, my poor abused throat warned me to take this breathing thing easy. I inhaled a cautious breath and anticipated the pain that was sure to come.
And there it was.
Grimacing, I held very still as my ribs and chest screamed at me. The narcotics they were forcing into my system via IVs would keep the worst pain at bay, but there was always that constant throbbing reminder in my chest. I tried to find the silver lining. If I was hurting, I was alive.