Under Pressure (Body Armor #1)(84)

Given the strain of his throat, he didn’t think he could anyway.

He used the open door of the car to help him gain his feet.

Gingerly, trying not to disturb his oddly bent fingers, he withdrew his cell and fumbled until he could press in Sahara’s number.

She answered immediately. “Enoch?” Voice shaky and anxious, sounding suspiciously like tears, she asked, “Where are you? Are you okay?”

No, definitely not okay. Swallowing hurt so bad. But he had to tell her. Ahead of him he could see a crowd forming, an ambulance, police.

But would he reach them?

At any second that awful man or one of his goons could return.

Enoch tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Enoch! Please, please answer me.”

Hearing the upset, knowing his brave, vibrant Sahara was near to losing it, he tried again, and finally, in the faintest, raspiest of whispers, he managed to say, “Outside.”

“I’m on my way, Enoch!”

It seemed only seconds passed before Sahara and Justice burst through the entrance, their gazes wildly searching. When they spotted him, Justice rushed to him, Sahara doing her best to keep up in her heels in the snow.

If his mouth hadn’t been so grotesquely swollen, Enoch thought he might have smiled.

“Easy now.” Being a regular muscled behemoth, Justice scooped him up as if he weighed nothing. Heading back for the agency, he said, “I got ya. You just relax, my friend.”

Sahara, her eyes swimming with tears, met them on the way. “Oh, Enoch, thank God.” She sniffled, looked him over with something akin to horror, and the tearful expression turned to rage. “Someone will pay dearly for this, I promise you that. Do you understand, Enoch? I will make him—”

Her voice faded, his vision narrowed and he lost consciousness knowing he was safe.

*

SITTING ON THE side of the hospital table, Leese watched Cat as she watched the doctor stitching him. Five stitches total. Justice was either off by a little, or this doctor liked tiny sutures. Thanks to a numbing shot Leese couldn’t feel the piercing of the needle, but his side hurt as if he’d taken a kick from a heavyweight.

He could see Cat holding herself tightly, watched as she repeatedly chewed her bottom lip and squeezed her hands together. He thought of how close he’d come to losing her and he, too, tensed from head to toe.

The doctor gave him an impersonal glance. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Never again. Today, the second they were alone, Cat would tell him everything. No more guessing, no more fear, no more keeping secrets.

Definitely no more running.

When he heard a commotion in the hallway, he braced himself, but a second later Justice stuck his head around the curtain. “Hey, thought you should know, everyone’s come to visit.”

“Everyone?” Cat asked, alarm making her breath come faster.

“Friends,” Justice clarified. “Nothing scary ’bout it.”

Miles poked his head around the curtain too. He smiled at Cat first, then said to Leese, “Justice called, whimpering, saying you were all but slain and so everyone piled into a car and here we are, just to make sure you don’t need a lollipop or anything.”

Leese let out a long, aggrieved huff. “I’m fine.” And he was damned tired of saying so.

Looking at her, Miles said, “I think Cat disagrees.”

She whispered, “He was shot.”

Miles strode on in and put a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah, hon, I know. But not with a cannonball or anything, right?”

While Leese appreciated the support, he needed time alone with Cat. Entertaining the masses, putting up with the good-natured ribbing sure to come, would keep him from clearing the air with her.

The doctor finished up with a bandage and stood. As if he dealt with gunshot wounds all the time, he rattled off instructions and, eyeing Miles and Justice, wished them all a good day.

The guys hung around while Leese pulled on a fresh shirt, wincing only a little in discomfort. “Where’s everyone waiting?”

Justice grinned. “Some pretty little nurse hustled them off to the waiting room just around the corner.”

“You can hear the muted roar,” Miles said.

“And Sahara?”

“She’s with Enoch.” Looking pissed all over again, Justice said, “They moved him to a room.”

“How is he? And how’s Troy?”

“Troy is bandaged up and ready to go. He’ll be in a sling and off work for a while. Sucks, I know. He already looks bored.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“Yeah. The goons had Enoch’s briefcase, claimed he’d been hit by a car. When Troy went to check on him, they tangled. He got shot, but kept going, so the second bastard hit him in the head, knocking him out. He came to tied up and stuffed in the closet.”

“Damn,” Leese said, frowning in sympathy. “And Enoch?”

Justice shook his head. “He hides it, but he’s tough as nails, no way ’round it. He was strangled bad. His eyes are bloodred.”

“Subconjunctiva hemorrhaging,” Miles said.

They’d seen it before in a fight gone wrong.

“Dude’s neck is bruised real bad, and it looks like he took a real ass-whoopin’ before that.”