Critical Doubt Read online

  "Or he could be dead, too." That realization hit him hard, and the phone dropped out of his hand. "I can't be the only one left." He looked at Savannah, feeling a sudden tidal wave of fear and pain. And then the bells went off…

  As Ryker covered his ears and fell to his knees, Savannah went down on the floor with him, putting her arms around his shoulders, refusing to let him push her away.

  But this time her comfort wasn't enough. He started yelling. "Stop! Stop! Stop!"

  Every agonizing word made her cringe. This attack seemed worse than all the rest. And she knew what had triggered it—Hank's death, the possibility that Mason could be gone, too. But hopefully that wasn't true. Mason was just in a meeting; he wasn't answering his phone.

  With Hank's death right on the heels of their narrow miss the night before, she had to think about Ryker, about the danger he could be in. Suddenly, their isolated cove didn't seem like a great place to be. They needed to get back to the marina. They needed to go somewhere else, somewhere safe.

  She just couldn't go anywhere until Ryker got through this episode. He'd stopped yelling, but his eyes were squeezed tight, every muscle in his face tense, as if he couldn't bear to see what he was seeing or hear what he was hearing.

  "Ryker," she said sharply. "Ryker. Open your eyes. Look at me." She paused. "Look at me," she repeated.

  His eyes flew open, and his raw gaze almost made her want to turn away.

  "Listen to me, not the bells," she ordered. "We have to get out of here. We need to go upstairs, and you need to get us back to the marina. I can't do it without you. I need you, Ryker." She was suddenly terrified that he couldn't come back to her, that his fear that one day he'd go completely crazy and lose his mind might actually be happening now. "I need you to be with me. I need you to protect me," she said, hoping his sense of duty would wake him up.

  He stared at her for a long minute, his chest still heaving from his rough breaths, but finally his breathing came easier.

  Relief ran through her. She ran her hands up and down his arms, bringing warmth and life with every touch. He blinked again, and his gaze refocused.

  "What—what did you say?" he asked in confusion.

  "We have to go back to the marina. We need to find somewhere safe to stay. Someone could be coming for you next."

  "Right." He scrambled to his feet. "Sorry."

  "Don't apologize. You just got horrific news."

  "We should leave a message for Mason," she said, picking up his phone once more. "I can do it."

  "No. I'll do it."

  She handed him his phone. She was happy to see he was pulling himself together.

  He called Mason once more. This time, he left a short message saying only that Hank was dead and that he needed to call him as soon as he got the message. Then they went up on deck. He started the engine and took them out of the cove.

  It was getting dark, and suddenly the peaceful bay seemed filled with menacing shadows.

  Almost ten minutes passed before he said a word, and then it was another apology. "I am sorry, Savannah."

  "I told you not to apologize."

  "But I have to. I never should have gotten into your car at the river. I never should have let you come with me to Atlanta or to DC or here."

  "You didn't let me. I chose to come, and I would have come without you if you'd tried to ditch me."

  "You're in danger because of me. You could get hurt."

  "I can handle myself."

  "Now you sound like Hank."

  She frowned at the comparison. "I'm not Hank, and I'm very aware of the danger. But blaming yourself is a waste of time. I'm here. And we're going to finish this together."

  He met her gaze. "You should go back to California."

  "That's not happening."

  "This isn't your battle."

  "The reason I got into it still exists. I want to get the truth for Abby, and justice for her and her family. But I have another reason now, too—you. I don't want to see you get hurt, either. And I think you need me."

  "I don't want to need you," he grumbled.

  "I know. But you do."

  He met her gaze. "I know you're right, but it doesn't sit well."

  "It doesn't have to sit well. Just don't fight me."

  "All right. But there's one more thing—"

  "If you apologize for having sex with me, I swear—"

  "No. No." He shook his head. "I was not going to say that, because I'm not sorry about us being together."

  "Good."

  "I was going to ask if you could get my gun out of the locker downstairs."

  "I can do that." She went down to the locker and retrieved the gun and ammunition. When she returned to the cockpit, she handed the weapon to Ryker. They were alone on the water for now, but who knew how long that would last?

  As Ryker tucked his gun in the waistband of his jeans with ease and agility, she realized he was moving back into warrior mode, which was good, because she needed him to be on his game.

  "Where do you want to go?" he asked. "Obviously, we can't stay on the boat."

  "Let's go back to DC. I can call my friend in the FBI. Parisa can get us into a safe house. We need time to find some answers. And we need to stay alive while we do that."

  His jaw turned hard as stone. "Who the hell is killing my men, Savannah?"

  "Maybe whoever set up the ambush wasn't satisfied with only two of you dying. He wants to finish you all off."

  "And he waited nine months to do it? Why now?"

  "I don't know. We need to find out what happened during that ambush. Is there any way to get our hands on the reports?"

  "I certainly don't have access. What about you?"

  "Probably not. That would involve a lot of red tape, especially since I'm sure it's classified, and I have no evidence to tie what happened in Afghanistan to what is happening now. We need someone in the military."

  "What about your dad? He's in DC. He has a lot of friends in high places. Maybe he could get us the reports."

  "Involving my father is a terrible idea."

  "Is that the daughter talking or the FBI agent?"

  She gave him an annoyed look. "I don't want to answer that."

  "Because you already know the answer. But it's fine. We'll figure out another way."

  "Maybe my friend Parisa's fiancé could help. He's a CIA agent. Jared might be able to get his hands on the report. The CIA is pretty heavily involved in that part of the world."

  "Good idea." He drew in a breath and let it out. "At least we have something to work on. But before we do any of that, we need to get a hold of Mason. We need to get him into a safe house, too."

  "I agree. We'll keep calling him, and if we don't hear from him before we get back to DC, we'll go back to Spear or track him down at his house."

  She took her gun out of her bag as they neared the marina. As Ryker drove into his slip, everything looked normal and as peaceful as when they'd left. But she couldn't trust that to last. Everyone knew where Ryker lived. They needed to get off the boat fast.

  After tying the boat down, they stepped onto the dock. Ryker took the lead, gun in hand. She stayed close to his back, also ready to shoot if needed. Fortunately, there was no one lurking around the marina. It was dinnertime, and she could see a few people on boats having drinks, but most of the boats were dark.

  "I'll drive," Ryker said, as they neared the rental car.

  "Sounds good," she murmured, her nerves tightening. She had a bad feeling, but she saw no reason for it. There was no one else in the lot. No one sitting in a car.

  She started toward the passenger side of the car as Ryker took out his keys.

  "Wait," he said, suddenly putting up a hand.

  She froze. "What?"

  "Back away from the car."

  She took a few steps away. He dropped to his knees and took out his phone, aiming the light at the underbelly of the vehicle. And then he scrambled upright, running toward her.

  "Go
," he yelled. "Run."

  They were twenty feet away when the car exploded, and she was thrown to the ground for the second time that week. Ears ringing, she looked for Ryker. He was on his feet, moving toward her. In the fiery light behind him, she saw a figure running in their direction, a gun in his hand.

  "Gun," she yelled.

  Ryker dived behind another vehicle as the shot went off. She scrambled toward the same protection, pulling out her gun.

  Another shot went off, hitting the window. The glass showered down on her head. She peered around and saw someone behind a car twenty feet away. She took her own shot. It bounced off the fender. As she ducked down, Ryker fired.

  Then he looked at her and said, "Cover me."

  She nodded, reading his intent. As he ran toward their attacker, she fired off three shots, engaging the shooter.

  Ryker was almost to the shooter when the guy took off, running toward the harbor service buildings. She moved from behind the vehicle, following Ryker across the lot. They met up at the corner of one of the buildings. There was a six-foot space between the structures, and they moved down the alleyway, guns drawn, searching for the shooter. It was only when they got to the end that they realized they were trapped by a ten-foot-high chain-link fence.

  Whirling around, they started back when one of the building doors flew open.

  They instinctively dodged behind the nearest dumpster.

  "Come on. This way," a man said, waving at them.

  The voice was familiar, frighteningly familiar. She met Ryker's gaze, saw the shocked look in his eyes. He moved around the dumpster, and so did she, wondering if the face would match the voice.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Her heart stopped. It was Paul, dressed all in black.

  "Hurry," Paul said tersely. "We don't have much time."

  "You're alive?" Ryker asked, echoing the words running through her head.

  Paul stepped into the light, and there was no doubt that it was him.

  She sucked in a quick breath. What the hell was going on?

  "I'll tell you everything," Paul said. "But you have to come now."

  Before they could take a step, a shot rang out and Paul fell forward.

  Ryker shoved her back behind the dumpster as he took a shot at the figure on the adjacent roof. The guy took off running. And Ryker once again did the same.

  She rushed toward Paul, as Ryker sprinted down the alley. She heard sirens in the distance. Someone must have reported the gunshots.

  Falling to her knees, she saw blood gushing from Paul's neck. She pulled off her sweater and pressed it against his neck, praying the bullet hadn't hit his carotid artery.

  "Sorry," he gasped, his eyes wide and shocked. "Tell Abby."

  "You'll tell her yourself," she said fiercely. "You have to hang on, Paul." She pulled out her phone and called 911, reporting their location and the need for an ambulance. She also let the dispatcher know that she was an FBI agent.

  "Make sure Abby knows—did it for her and Tyler—better for them."

  "You being dead is not better for them. You have to stay with me."

  Hearing pounding footsteps, she lifted her head, hoping the shooter had not returned. Thankfully, it was Ryker.

  "I lost him," he said, anger in his voice.

  "Help is on the way."

  Ryker's gaze moved to Paul. "Who shot you, Paul? Who's after me—us?"

  "Supposed to—scare you," Paul stuttered. "Not hurt you. Couldn't let them hurt you. Didn't know. Sorry."

  "Didn't know what? What's going on?" Ryker asked.

  "You're good. Better than everyone else," Paul said, his eyes dazed. "Wouldn't have fallen for the lie."

  She wanted Paul to tell them everything, but she also wanted him to stop talking, because he needed to hang on to his strength. If he could survive this, he could go back to Abby. Abby could have her husband back. Tyler could have his father back.

  Paul's eyelids started to flutter. "No," she said forcefully. "Fight, Paul. Do it for Abby and for Tyler. They can't bury you again."

  He didn't answer her.

  "I'll show the ambulance where we are," Ryker said, running back down the alley.

  She pressed her sweater harder against Paul's wound, silently praying that he wouldn't bleed out.

  A moment later, the paramedics arrived, along with the police and the fire department.

  She stood up, as they took over Paul's care.

  Ryker put his arm around her as they watched the medics put him on a gurney and run him out to the ambulance.

  "He has to make it," she said, feeling desperate to make her words come true. But as she stared down at her bloody hands, she couldn't find much hope to hang on to.

  A police officer joined them. "What happened?" he asked. "Dispatch said you're FBI?"

  "Agent Kane," she said, showing him her badge. "This is Ryker Stone. We're working a case." She really didn't want to get into it all with a patrol officer, so she gave him just enough information. "The victim is Paul Hawkins. He stepped in front of a bullet to save our lives. The shooter got away."

  "Any description?"

  She looked at Ryker, wondering if he'd gotten a better look than she had.

  He shook his head and said, "It was a male dressed in black with a hoodie over his head. I didn't see his face, his hair, nothing of note."

  "Not much to go on. I assume the shooting has something to do with the explosion."

  "They're definitely connected," she said.

  "Do you want help canvassing the area for witnesses and leads?" he asked.

  She gave him a grateful smile. "I do. It will be some time before I can get my team here."

  "I'll get the other officers to ask around," he said. "But I'll also need you to talk to my chief, let him know what's happening."

  "I'll be at the hospital," she said.

  "I'll let him know."

  As they moved into the parking lot, she saw that the ambulance had already left, but the firefighters were still there, putting the finishing touches on the fire. They paused for a moment, the skeletal remains of Ryker's rental car reminding her of how close they'd come to losing their lives again.

  "We're going to need a ride to the hospital," she said.

  "Actually, we don't. My truck has been parked here since I took a cab to the airport on Monday. It's in the owners' lot on the other side of Chowder Heaven. I didn't mention it, because I figured we needed to get the rental car back to DC."

  "Right. Of course, your vehicle would be here. I wasn't thinking." She paused, seeing his dark-green canvas duffel bag on the ground. "Hey, your bag survived. Unfortunately, my bag was in the car."

  "We'll get you some clothes later."

  "I'm not worried. I just want to get to the hospital."

  "Let's go."

  They walked across the lot. When they neared the public restrooms, Ryker paused. "Do you want to wash your hands?"

  She looked down at her fingers, still tinged with Paul's blood. "That's a good idea."

  He followed her into the restroom. "Just to make sure you're all right," he said at her unspoken question.

  She was actually happy to have him there, and no one else was inside. She washed her hands as quickly as she could, but with each drop of blood washing down the drain, she could see the life draining out of Paul. She prayed he would make it. As she dried her hands, she said, "Paul was in bad shape, Ryker."

  "I know. You did everything right."

  "I hope so. I still can't believe he's alive. How is that possible? There was a cremation. We had a funeral. And he's not dead?"

  "If you hadn't seen him, too, I might not have believed my own eyes."

  "This just blows me away. I never ever imagined that he wasn't dead. Do you think Todd is alive, too?"

  He gave her a bewildered shrug. "I have no idea."

  "Paul had to have help faking his death. Maybe it was Todd who did that. Maybe that's why he kept wanting to apologize to Abby."

/>   "It makes sense, but we don’t know why Paul did what he did."

  "To get out of trouble. He must have felt he was in danger." She frowned. "Is it the same danger that's come after you?"

  "You're asking me a lot of questions I can't answer. Let's go to the hospital. Hopefully, Paul survives and tells us everything we need to know."

  She nodded and followed him out to his truck. The hospital was about fifteen minutes away, and they didn't speak on the way. Her brain was spinning, and Ryker also seemed to be lost in thought.

  Once they reached the hospital, they were sent up to a waiting room on the third floor. Paul was already on his way to surgery. They would have to wait to learn more.

  They sat down together on a small couch in the waiting room.

  "What did Paul say to you?" Ryker asked. "Before I got back."

  She tried to remember exactly what he'd told her. "He said to tell Abby he was sorry. That he'd done it for her and Tyler. You heard the rest."

  "Yes. He said they were only supposed to scare me, not hurt me, and he couldn't let that happen."

  "But he didn't give a name. He didn't say who they were." She paused. "He also said something about you would have never fallen for the lie. What's the lie?"

  His jaw tightened. "This whole situation is insane. Paul allegedly fell off the roof of Todd's house. The police department in Dobbs took his body to the morgue." He paused. "Did Abby see her husband? Did she identify his body?"

  "I never asked. I never thought I needed to." A painful realization hit her. "I have to call Abby. I have to tell her that Paul is alive." She pulled out her phone.

  Ryker put a hand on her arm. "Maybe you should wait, Savannah. What if he doesn't make it?"

  "But she'll still have to know he was alive."

  "Agreed. But do you want her to have to wait to find out if she's going to have a second chance with her husband?"

  His argument made perfect sense, but she knew down deep in her heart that if she didn't tell Abby immediately, her friend would never forgive her. "I have to tell her, Ryker. If it was me, I'd want to know. And it will take her time to get here. If I wait, and she misses an opportunity to see him…"

  "I get it. You're right. Call her."

  "I just don't know what to say. How do I tell my best friend that her husband wasn't really dead but now he might be dying?"