Rogue protector, p.12
Rogue Protector, page 12
“If I ever find those shitstains, I’m going to turn them inside out.”
The look on his face when he’d said those words… He’s not a man who jokes about violence. Not with what he’s seen. Though he’s only told me a little, his eyes practically scream the horrors of his past.
I watch the mountainous trees turn to flatland grasses, and we speed up. The air’s less humid here, and we’ve left the rain behind, making it easier to breathe. Stealing a quick glance at this man who saved me—who saved all of us—my eyes water, and I blink hard to stop myself from crying.
“Mik? You okay?” he asks, so softly I don’t think the others can hear. Not with Li still coughing from time to time and Isaiah talking to Corey, urging him to wake up.
“Fine,” I answer automatically. It’s the furthest thing from the truth. I don’t know if I’ll ever be fine again. But I don’t have a lot of practice talking about my feelings, and if I try now, I’ll lose it completely.
“I don’t believe you, sweetheart.” He brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “But you can be fine for now.” Checking the rear view mirror, he calls, “Isaiah? How’s he doing?”
“Not good,” he says. “I think we need to hurry.”
“Doing my best.” Austin takes the next curve so fast, I grab onto the handle over the door, and the landscape shifts again, houses replacing the brush and dense trees of the Mexican countryside.
Less than five minutes later, the Land Rover screeches to a halt in front of a squat building in the middle of a run-down strip mall. “This is the hospital?” I ask.
“It’s this, or another half an hour to San Cristóbal de las Casas. He might not make it that long,” Austin says as he jumps out of the car and races around to the passenger side to help me down. “Li, go inside and tell them you need a gurney out here right now.”
With his arm around my waist, he half-carries me to the back of the Land Rover, and my stomach flips. I don’t want to see Corey. What they did to him. As hurt and betrayed as I was, as much as I hate what he did, I would never want him dead. And he did try to save me. If I hadn’t fallen, maybe I would have been able to get away.
Corey’s so still, only weak, shallow breaths stirring his chest, and his face is covered in blood and soot, the gash above his right eye so deep, I think...oh God. Is that bone?
A pair of orderlies dressed in blue scrubs come running out with the gurney, and Austin barks orders at them in rapid-fire Spanish. I only know a little of the language, but I catch the words fire, help, and police before Corey is wheeled inside, and the rest of us follow.
The interior looks relatively modern, and the harsh scent of antiseptic fills the air. An older nurse, her face a mask of exhaustion, waves us over to the desk as Austin says something about a doctor in a tone that leaves little room for argument.
“Okay, okay,” the nurse says, holding up her hands in the universal gesture of calm down. “Sit. Lo ayudaremos.”
They check us very briefly for smoke inhalation, and then forms and questions and too much waiting follow, until finally, another nurse comes through a set of double doors. “Mikayla Salim? You follow me?”
“I’m going with her,” Austin says, and relief floods me, making my fingers and toes tingle. I don’t want to alone. Or anywhere he’s not right now.
“No, sir. Exam. You wait here.” She continues in Spanish, too quickly for me to grasp what she’s saying, but Austin’s body language is clear.
“I want him with me.”
“No, la póliza...”
“I don’t care about your goddamn policy. She’s mine, and until I know she’s safe, she’s not going anywhere without me.”
His possessive, growly tone should probably make the “strong, independent woman” in me angry, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel safe. Protected. Cared for. And I need that more than anything.
The nurse relents and shows us to an exam room, where she tells us that both doctors are working on Corey, and someone will be with us soon. After she hands us both gowns to change into, she breezes out of the room, and I sink down onto the single bed.
“Mik? Do you want help with this?” Austin gestures to the blue material. “I can turn around. Or close my eyes.”
“I can manage. Help me off with my flannel shirt and then, maybe…just look away.” In truth, a part of me doesn’t care if he sees everything. I trust him. But now that we’re safe—or at least not about to die—I want more. To be alone with him. Truly alone. After we’ve showered. Have clean clothes. Food. Sleep. I want to go out on our second date, figure out how deep our connection goes.
Austin eases the flannel off my shoulders, and I try not to let him see that every movement brings a new twinge, a fresh bruise or cut making itself known. Stripping off my tank is even more painful, and when the gown covers my torso, I turn my back to him. “Tie it for me?”
His fingers skim my neck, then my back just above my bra, and my body tingles all over, tiny sparks of electricity everywhere he touches.
“All done.” His lips brush my ear, and I lean against his chest, his arms gently wrapping around me, offering without another word what I need most. To feel…protected.
I still need to take off my pants and my boots, but for a few minutes, I savor our closeness, how he doesn’t pressure me to say anything, to talk about what happened at the lab, about Corey, about the men who tried to kill us and almost succeeded.
When I pull away, he unlaces my boots, then helps me up and holds onto my waist, his eyes closed, as I unbutton my pants and let them fall to the floor. The gown covers me almost down to my knees, and I curl up on the bed while Austin folds my clothes and sets them on the little table next to us.
“You’re not changing?” I ask when he slides a hip onto the bed next to me. “Your pants are burned. Your legs…”
“The rest of me’s fine.” He leans down, rips the black pants all the way up to his knees, and tears the excess material away. Both of his legs are dotted with angry splotches of reddened skin, but I don’t see any actual blisters, and I’m amazed he got so lucky.
For another hour, we wait, Austin stretched out on the bed with me tucked against his side, and I nod off from time to time, but whenever I open my eyes, he’s awake, watching the door, his body relaxed, but somehow still hyper focused.
“Doing okay?” he asks when I shift so I can meet his gaze.
I can’t keep this secret from him. Not for another minute. What was I thinking? That Austin would bring me back to the hotel I’d magically forgive Corey? Or forget? What he did…all the orchids he helped them harvest, replace with others that are “harmless.” That won’t help millions of people living with Parkinson’s. Or any number of other neurological diseases Dr. Branch thinks could benefit from his experiments.
“Austin, I have to tell you—“
The door opens before I can finish my sentence, and the nurse enters, followed by one of the doctors. “Were you working on Corey Larkin?” I ask. “He’s in Mexico working for me on a research project, so I’m kind of responsible for him. How is he?”
The doctor runs a hand through his messy black hair. “He suffered a severe head trauma, as well as second-degree burns to his legs. Two broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder as well. He is stable, and in a few hours, he will be transferred to the hospital in Tuxtla Gutiérrez. He is in a medically-induced coma because of the swelling in his brain, and will be for at least another few days. After that, we will know more.”
“He needs protection,” Austin says. “We’ve been here almost two hours, and I asked for the police when we arrived. Want to tell me what the holdup is?”
The nurse steps forward with a kindly smile. “They are with the other young woman now. I insisted the doctor examine you first.”
Whatever he sees in the nurse’s face and body language must satisfy him, because Austin relaxes slightly, though he still hasn’t let go of me.
Our earlier insistence on staying together must have made its way to the doctor, because he doesn’t even try to make Austin leave, just asks him to turn around when he examines, then applies a handful of butterfly bandages to the gash on my hip. After that, he fits me for an ankle brace, and turns to examine Austin while the nurse helps me get dressed, then brings me a fresh inhaler, and sets a small prescription bottle on the table. “The white pill is a muscle relaxer. The red pills are extra-strength ibuprofen. Take all three pills before you go to sleep tonight.”
“You both were lucky,” the doctor says as he pulls off his gloves and turns to the nurse. “Señor Pritchard needs some salve for his burns, then you can prepare the discharge paperwork.”
Lucky. Yes. We were. Though one of the poachers caught Austin in the face with an elbow, it didn’t break his nose, and the various cuts and bruises he suffered while saving me—and fighting them—aren’t serious.
Less than five minutes later, there’s a quick knock on the door, and two police officers enter. “I am Detective Chavez, and this is Officer Lopez. May we sit?”
Austin nods, and they sink into hard plastic chairs across from us. “We have finished taking statements from Li Chen and Isaiah Williams,” Chavez says. “They are on their way to the Hotel Veracruz, where we will take you when we have finished this interview.”
“What?”
Panic sets in, until Austin leans over and whispers in my ear, “Safer that way, sweetheart. In case the assholes decide they need to try again.”
Oh, crap on a cracker. How could I have been so stupid?
I knew I didn’t want to go back to the hotel. Couldn’t. I didn’t even think about Li and Isaiah. But after losing the lab, now I’m more worried than ever. “My things,” I say. “I have USB drives in my hotel room with data I can’t replace.”
Chavez offers me a kindly smile. “I have sent two officers to pack up your rooms. Everything will be delivered to your new hotel by morning, if not sooner.”
“Th-thank you.” I reach for Austin’s hand, needing something to hold on to, some way to stay present and grounded so we can get through this next bit. Because they’re going to ask me what happened, and the last thing I want to do is remember.
“We will have questions, of course. But please tell us how this all started.” Chavez leans back in his chair while the younger officer sets a voice recorder on the little table next to us and then takes out a notebook and a pen.
“I’m here studying the Blushing Note orchid. It’s endangered, but it’s also very valuable. Both for medical research and for collectors. Each plant can sell for as much as fifteen thousand dollars to private traders—and that was before a handful of researchers in the US and the UK discovered a possible treatment for Parkinson’s that uses the pollen and dried root matter from the Blushing Note.”
Chavez and his officer look at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I straighten as much as my bruised back will allow. “If you don’t believe me, you can contact Dr. Howard Lowenstein at the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center.” I rattle off the number with a huff, but my little burst of indignation saps my energy, so I sink back against Austin and let him prop me up. I’m so tired, I just want to sleep, but I know this is important.
“My apologies,” Chavez says. “Please continue.”
“A few days ago—crap. Sunday, I think. We noticed some anomalies in the photos from one of the study sites—Site One. There’s a bug that likes to attack orchids—a spider mite. It doesn’t kill them, just mars the petals and leaves so they can’t be sold as collectors’ items. When we arrived two weeks ago, all of the orchids at all five sites had spider mite damage. But the photos we took just a few days ago didn’t show any of the damage we’d seen before. So either someone sprayed them with the world’s best pesticide or those weren’t the same plants we’d photographed when we arrived.”
“You believe someone was stealing the plants and replacing them?” Chavez asks.
“Someone was.” Nerves twist into an icy ball in the pit of my stomach, and I wrap my arms around myself, pulling away from Austin as much as I can.
“Mik? What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I’m sorry.” The words escape on a whisper, and I can’t look at him. “We were going to go to Site One on Monday afternoon—all four of us—but Corey and Isaiah had food poisoning. Li and I had readings we needed to get from Site Four, and after we finished those, I decided to hike up to Site One myself. When I got there…” I swallow hard. I can’t keep this secret any longer, and he’s going to hate me.
“Go on,” Chavez says.
“Three men were harvesting orchids from the site. I tried to get away before they saw me, but I had an asthma attack. I was about to pass out. One of them got to my inhaler and helped me. I didn’t know…not until I could breathe again…but it was Corey. He was with them. Helping them.”
“What?” Austin springs to his feet and stands directly in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. “Mik…what the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I…he tried to help me. After the other two—Arturo and Martín, I don’t know their last names—zip tied my wrists and were trying to decide what to do with me, Corey…he told me to run. He tried to distract Arturo and Martín to give me a chance to get away.”
Tears burn my eyes, and I shrink away from his touch.
“Mikayla—“
“Let me finish, please? I can’t…I need to get this out so maybe I can stop replaying every minute of that night over and over again in my head.” I’m actively crying now, and Austin drops his hands and sinks back down onto the bed, this time at least a foot away from me. The loss of his warmth, of his arm around me, his support? It hurts. So much more than my memories, and I sniffle and swipe at my eyes. Detective Chavez is watching me intently, and I focus my gaze on his tie.
“I sponsored Corey for the Smithsonian internship. His grades weren’t perfect, but he’s smart. From his essay though, I knew if someone didn’t step in and give him a chance, he’d drop out of school. His home life is a mess, and that’s how they got to him.”
Chavez narrows his eyes at me. “Can you explain, Senorita Salim?”
“Dr. Salim. Or Mikayla.” The automatic response, one I’m used to giving any time someone tries to patronize me, slips out before I can stop it, but Chavez waves his hand.
“My apologies. Dr. Salim. Why do you think Larkin’s home life was to blame?”
Dropping my gaze to the floor, I have to force the words out. “He told me so. Right before he tried to help me get away, he said he knew how valuable the Blushing Note was. His dad was in so deep with one of the cartels that’s active in Los Angeles—where he grew up—and so he contacted them. Said he could get all the money his dad owed and more.”
I recount the whole story, stopping only when I need water. How Corey used our research to cross-breed the Blushing Note. How the poachers replaced all of the plants they stole.
Austin doesn’t say a word until they ask him for his statement, and as he explains how he found me, how he got me off that ledge, carried me to the dilapidated building in the middle of nowhere, and then got us back to the lab, Chavez whistles.
“That is quite impressive, senor. Not many men would be able to accomplish such a feat.”
Bristling, Austin snaps, “You’re right. I’m one of the few who could. I’m also a retired Major General in the United States Air Force and I’ve spent the past two months hiking and climbing my way here from the start of the Maya Trail. So before you go accusing me of anything, you might want to make a couple of calls and verify those facts.”
“Apologies,” Chavez says. “It is my job to ask these questions.”
With a sigh, Austin unclenches his fists and rubs his hands over his thighs. “If it gets these guys arrested, it’ll all be worth it,” he mutters.
It takes another hour for us to finish our statements, and then Chavez offers us a ride to the hotel they’ve booked for us. “Can we have a minute?” Austin asks.
“We will be right outside.”
The door closes quietly, and then we’re alone. Austin turns towards me, and the look on his face makes me want to cry. “Why didn’t you say anything, Mikayla? I thought you trusted me.”
“I do.” An errant tear races down my cheek, and I swipe it away, then straighten. Sort of. I’m so tired and sore, it’s probably an ineffective gesture. “When my cousin was eleven, her parents tried to sell her for drug money. She ran away, and eventually, my parents were able to get custody of her. The stories she’d tell me… I recognize the signs, Austin. The body language. The look someone gets in their eyes when they’re living in constant fear.” Shaking my head, I swallow hard. “Corey’s father sold drugs right out of their tiny apartment. He’s been beaten up, threatened, had to bail his dad out of jail…over and over and over again. It’s a miracle he made it as far in school as he did. Had to depend on scholarships and a heck of a lot of hard work. It…does something to you, when the people you’re supposed to be able to trust more than anyone else in the world betray you.”
Austin flinches like I just slapped him and stumbles back. His entire demeanor shifts, the anger fading into a deep, emotional pain. I’ve seen that look in his eyes. Every time he’s closed down and shut me out. He knows what it’s like to be betrayed.
Taking a chance, I reach out and wrap my fingers around his wrist. When he doesn’t shake me off, I pull him closer. “I should have told you. I’m sorry. I don’t think Corey’s a bad guy. I think he was just…trapped.”
Something shifts in Austin’s eyes, and the hazel depths turn dark and stormy. “People do terrible things when their backs are against the wall.” Before I register the movement, he wraps me in a gentle embrace, and I bury my face against his neck. Even after everything, after the fire, the blood, the night spent in ruins easily two centuries old, underneath the sweat and the smoke, he smells like pure male strength. Like home. Like everything I’ve ever dreamed of in a man.
