In Love and Rescue: When love is the perfect rescue... Read online

  “Better?”

  “Better,” he groaned.

  He watched intently as she stopped the blood, cleaned the area, then sutured and dressed the wound in gauze.

  “Here, take these,” she instructed, handing him two tablets and a cup of water. He downed the pills and handed the cup back to her, his gaze still following her as she moved around the room.

  “Let me guess, farm training?” He asked, gesturing to his wrapped shoulder. This “wound dressing” talent was completely new to him since there’d never been a need to suture any wounds during their marriage. There was no guarantee that the need wouldn’t have eventually arisen if he’d stayed, however.

  “Something like that,” she replied, putting away the rest of the supplies. “My first patient was my German shepherd, Colton. The wooded area behind our house was a prime location for hunters and Colton was a wanderer, so he got grazed by a bullet once when I was twelve. My Dad and I took him inside, patched him up, and nursed him back to good health. He kept a slight limp until the day he died, though.”

  Desmond nervously glanced at his arm.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll regain your full range of motion,” she teasingly reassured. “You’re the first human that I’ve ever worked on and I must say, animals are much better patients.”

  He grinned and continued to watch her as she cleared the room and tossed away the supplies. When she was done, she helped him slip into another shirt, retrieved the backpack from the kitchen counter, and they relocated to the dining table near the kitchen. Inside Twila’s folder, they found the note that she’d mentioned stapled to the flap.

  “Potassium chloride, sodium thiopental and pancuronium bromide,” Desmond read aloud.

  Larke’s ears perked up. “Lethal injection drugs?”

  He nodded. “It says here that her death was due to cardiac arrest, but I think the nurse was trying to tip Twila off. She was probably trying to tell her that these three drugs were administered to cause her sister’s death.”

  He dropped the paper and squeezed his forehead. “Larke, they murdered this girl. Gano and Jarvis killed this innocent teenage girl with a boyfriend and family. In cold blood.”

  Larke shook her head. “Maybe it’s a good thing Twila didn’t know what those words meant. I mean, we know she has an idea that foul play was involved, but if she knew that they executed her sister, I don’t think she’d be able to cope with that.”

  They remained silent for a few more contemplative moments, then Desmond pulled a phone from the backpack. “I’m going to see if Doug can help us find out if Taina knew anything. They wouldn’t have killed her if they didn’t think she knew something that could implicate them. Her boyfriend told her something in confidence, someone found out, and unfortunately she had to suffer the consequences of it.”

  He punched a few numbers on the keypad and Doug’s voice came through on the line. “I’m glad to hear from you, brother,” he answered.

  “Same here,” Desmond replied. “Do we have anything yet on Taina’s boyfriend? If he knew something that might have made him a target on Jarvis’ radar?”

  Doug made a few clicks with his mouse. “Here is what I have so far. The boyfriend’s name was Keith Richmond. He was twenty-one and up until the four weeks before he was killed, he lived just outside the Overtown district in Miami. He held three jobs before he moved: he worked for a meat-packing plant, a children’s hospital, and a small ceramics distributor.”

  The third location caught Desmond’s attention. “What kind of ceramics do they distribute?”

  He heard a few more clicks. “Apparently, there is a demand in the upper echelon for customized ceramics and this company is one of the main suppliers of one-of-a-kind originals. They make all sorts of stuff from vases and mugs, to tiles and urns.”

  “Do you think that this is a cocaine-in-ceramic-tile kind of operation like we’ve seen before?”

  “I don’t think so,” Doug added. “I have a buddy that works for the DEA that said that the US has pretty much cracked down on that scheme. But, I do think Richmond discovered something at one of his workplaces. How he tied it back to Jarvis, I’m not sure.”

  “That’s if he did,” Desmond acknowledged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they offed him just because he thought something was up but had no concrete evidence. But, if we go off of your hunch, it would make sense that he would tell Taina and that’s how she ended up involved in this mess.”

  Doug rubbed his chin. “There’s something else too. I found out that Twila and Taina’s mother died due to complications from childbirth, so they were raised by their grandparents since they were only a few days old. I was able to get a copy of their birth certificates and the man listed as their father goes by the name of Lawrence Campbell. There happens to be an FBI agent in the Miami office with the same name. My money tells me that’s him.”

  “So now we have an agent’s daughter in the mix,” Desmond summarized. “As far as Taina, it turns out that they abducted her from the airport, took her to that hospital, and then administered lethal injection drugs to kill her.”

  Doug’s curse resounded through the phone. “They executed a kid? What the hell kind of operation are we dealing with here, Des?”

  Desmond squeezed his brow. “Hell if I know, Doug.”

  Larke continued to flip through the folder until she came upon a sealed yellow envelope with the words “K and T Forever” written across the front. When she jimmied the flap open, a picture of Keith and Taina with their arms encircled around each other fell out. They were standing in front of a hospital building. Behind the picture was a photo of a brown teddy bear with its head cut open, and a baggie containing a white substance sticking out of the lining of its stitching.

  “What’s the name of that children’s hospital where Keith worked?” She asked, turning the picture towards Desmond.

  “It’s called the All Saint’s Children’s Hospital,” Doug replied. “Why?”

  “Do you know if they ever give out any stuffed animals? Maybe in a toy drive?”

  “They’re known for it. Every year, they have a big Santa Claus toy drive for the hospitalized children. From what I understand, the gifts are furnished from a toy manufacturer in Miami called 90-North. It’s privately funded by some big name investors.”

  He cursed again.

  “Jarvis’ name is on the list, isn’t it?” Desmond asked.

  “No,” Doug answered. “Delgano Richards.”

  Larke continued to go through the pictures: there were more open teddy bears, wooden toys that had been broken in half, and even a snow globe whose bottom had been hollowed. On the back of one of the photos, someone had haphazardly written the name Lawrence Campbell, and the address to the FBI office in Miami where he worked.

  “I think we just found out why Taina was killed,” Desmond told Doug. “Somehow, her boyfriend found out about Jarvis’ smuggling operation and she must have been trying to get help from her father in the FBI. Someone in Eddie’s camp must have found out and had them both killed.”

  Doug swore once more.

  “That’s not all he found out,” Larke continued, unfolding a couple sheets of paper.

  “Is that a fax?”” Desmond asked.

  “Looks like it,” she answered. “It’s some sort of consent form for human trials. For research. It’s for a drug called Trovodine.”

  “Never heard of it,” Doug chimed in. “Does it say what it does?”

  “No,” Larke skimmed the fax, “but I have a colleague that does regulatory stuff for the FDA, new drug applications, things like that, and this doesn’t look like the official form. This looks more like a private document.”

  “Who’s the agreement between?” Desmond asked.

  Larke peered closer. “A Dr. M. Lin and E. Jarv. But, the fax was sent to Keith by Walter Vickers.”

  “Which would explain why Jarvis murdered Vickers,” Doug added. “Vickers knew that Jarvis was signing off to illegally try this Tro
vodine on humans and tried to blow the whistle.”

  Desmond nodded. “That makes sense, but why would he choose Keith Richmond? Vickers was a federal judge and Richmond was a kid struggling to stay out of poverty. Their paths would only cross by coincidence.”

  “Which would make him the perfect choice,” Larke finished. “One, they’d be less likely to tie them together and two, Vickers sent this fax from his office thinking that his office was too heavily guarded for Eddie to find out. He also chose the one kid out of the entire operation that he thought wouldn’t squeal to Eddie. The kid that was already taking pictures of Eddie’s drug empire.”

  “Unfortunately for them both, Eddie knew all along,” Desmond added.

  Doug ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit just hit the fan.”

  A noise outside caught Larke’s attention and she rose to investigate its source. On the back patio, the furniture remained in place and the pool was still, however it was almost too still. As she moved closer to the glass doors, she noticed that it was not rippling as it usually would. Stepping back, she glanced across the room at the clock on the microwave to find it blank. Then, she flipped a switch and none of the lights came on.

  She turned around to alert Desmond but he was already in place behind her scanning the exterior. In the distance, a tree branch swayed awkwardly when compared to the way the other leaves wavered as a breeze blew, and he grabbed her shoulder to move her away from the glass.

  “I have about four bodies at the garden doors right next to the keypad,” Doug announced. “They’re trying to break the entrance code. I’ve also got two trucks about four miles out with more troops on them. From the looks of it, everyone on board is armed.”

  Desmond noticed the black tip of someone’s hat briefly appear in the midst of the trees before disappearing. “How long can you trip them up?” He asked.

  Doug pulled up a program on the computer screen that scrambled the entrance code to the villa every few seconds. “I can keep them off for a little bit. At least, quietly. I radioed in and can get you guys pulled out in about fifteen minutes, but there’s no way they’ll be able to make it up to the villa.”

  Desmond grabbed the backpack and tossed it to Larke. “From what you can see, what would be our best way out?”

  Doug rubbed his chin as he watched the men at the entrance grow frustrated with their failing decoder. He knew that sooner or later, they would give up and try to blow through the entrance, so Desmond and Larke only had a few moments to use the men’s perceived element of surprise to their advantage.

  “They still think that they have you guys cornered,” he explained. “Right now, you’d only have to deal with the four guys in the front, but if you don’t get out in the next five to seven minutes, you’ll be dealing with the entire squad.”

  Desmond looked at Larke. “We’re going to have to take them on,” he told her while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest when panic spread across her face.

  “If you don’t mind a commotion,” Doug was saying, “I can activate the guns around the house and clear the path for you.”

  A loud explosion sounded at the front entrance and the red wooden doors flew across the yard, smashing against the windows in pieces. The four men rushed through the entrance, all dressed from head to toe in black uniforms with their guns pointed forward. Although Larke felt her heart crash into her stomach, she remained poised and ready to follow whatever instruction Desmond had.

  “Clear the path, Doug,” he agreed. Then, he destroyed the phone and pulled Larke to hide behind the staircase before a round of bullets ricocheted out of nowhere at the front of the house, taking down two of the men and sending the other two ducking for cover. When the gunfire finally ceased, the remaining two men slowly emerged from their hiding positions and moved to the front of the house. Desmond pulled out his gun and raised it towards the entrance.

  As one of the men crossed the doorway, for the first time in his life, Desmond hesitated. With Larke’s hand resting on his lower back, he was sure that this would be the first time that she’d ever witness a man get killed right in front of her, and the fact that she might not ever be able to live with that was enough reason for him to hesitate.

  The two men quietly made their way into the living area and surveyed the room, overturned furniture, scoured the kitchen, and checked behind the curtains that bordered the glass doors. Larke watched the veins bulge in Desmond’s forearm as he clenched the gun and wondered at what moment he would take his shot.

  As the men inched closer to their not-entirely-inconspicuous hiding place, she noticed him glance at her, and realized why he was hesitant.

  While she’d never before seen someone killed, this was a different situation altogether. No evidence was needed in this case. If he didn’t shoot, they would, and that was enough justification at that moment.

  She squeezed his arm and when he looked down, sent him a reassuring nod. Without any further hesitation, he fired a shot, hitting one of the men in the side and taking him down instantly. The other man poised to retaliate and fired a few shots that deflected off of the wall behind them. Shots an amateur would take. Desmond fired a single shot which hit him in the abdomen, and as he writhed on the floor, they realized that he couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Jarvis and Gano had recruited mere boys to be pawns in their scheme, do all of the dirty work, and shoulder all of the risk. Like canaries in a coal mine.

  Larke trailed Desmond as they exited the villa and he did a quick scan to make sure no other bodies were visible. They then went around the side of the house to brave the steep hill that held their only route to safety, and the descent was much steeper than either of them had planned. Their shoes slid along the rich, red dirt of the hillside and Larke slipped several times, cursing each time her palms or elbows hit the rocky earth and skinned. Whenever Desmond turned around to check on her, she would shake her head to let him know that she didn’t need help. Nothing on earth could get her to stop moving at this point as the thunderous rumble of trucks echoed behind them. As long as she kept moving forward, she could live a bit longer, which was her intended goal. After witnessing her family’s grief, she knew without a doubt that she had to get back to them. She had to let them know that she was still alive and that they no longer had to suffer.

  Eventually, they got far enough down the hill to be obscured by the trees. Once the ground evened out, Desmond began to jog through the path, cutting through the trees as though he kept a topographical image of the area in the back of his head. Larke picked up her pace as well and when his jog turned into a sprint, she sprinted, remaining right on his heels.

  They continued to run without what seemed like a destination in mind until Desmond fished another small black device out of his pocket. He held it in his right hand and clicked it continuously, his head darting from left to right. After about a quarter-mile, his running slowed and they stopped in the middle of an opening that housed several fallen trees and patches of dying grass. He continued to look around and Larke searched with him. Although she wasn’t exactly sure what they were looking for, she knew that whatever was coming was going to be helpful.

  Sure enough, a black SUV came charging into the clearing. When it stopped, two men stepped out and ushered them inside without exchanging any words. Larke and Desmond hopped into the vehicle and they sped back out of the clearing with the same urgency with which they’d raced in.

  There were three men in the truck—one drove and the other two sat in the back with them. The two sitting in the back were silent and armed, their gazes fixed outside of the heavily tinted windows.

  “Sir,” one of the men nodded at Desmond, “I spoke with Officer Casey. The passports in the bag, he got clearance for them at the airport, but we have to get you guys through in under sixty minutes before the FBI finds out.”

  Desmond’s eyes darted between the two men. “Someone’s tracking Doug?”

  The man nodded. “He’s not sure who, but h
e recently got orders to shut the entire Tapley operation down.”

  “Orders from who?”

  “The US Attorney’s office. Doug said that he can keep them off his back, but he gives them an hour before they shut down the flight arrangements.”

  “US Attorney Robert Dillinger?” Larke asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” the man answered.

  “Does Robert know I’m still alive? Why can’t we just tell him that I’m still alive?”

  “Because there’s a mole in the US Attorney’s office,” Desmond finally figured out, his brows furrowed with anger. “That’s why Doug didn’t just tell them that you’re still alive. Someone in that office is working with Jarvis. If we give them your whereabouts, Jarvis can track you.”

  He cursed under his breath. At this point, they couldn’t even enlist the help of the FBI. Unless…

  “Where’s the flight taking us?” He asked.

  “You’re scheduled for a straight flight to Miami.”

  Desmond grinned. Doug was already two steps ahead of him. There was still one person in the FBI that they could persuade to help them, even if they weren’t sure he could be trusted.

  “Is there police at the airport?” He continued.

  “Littered,” the man answered.

  “So, how are we expected to get through?” Larke asked. Doug was good, but she was pretty sure that the minute their faces were spotted, they’d been in handcuffs.

  The second man that had remained silent the entire time fished a bag from beneath the seat. Desmond searched through the backpack and handed the passports to Larke.

  “Courtesy of Officer Casey,” the man replied, pulling out a wig, fake beard, makeup kit, and clothing. “We have to transform you two into the people in those pictures.”

  Larke opened the passports. Desmond’s picture looked virtually nothing like him with its full beard and thick, black-rimmed glasses. Hers was even more indistinguishable with an auburn wig with bangs, flawless makeup, pouty red lips, and beauty mark just below the chin.