He did drive a little faster than I would’ve liked, but did well enough for all that.

  Mel opened the rear door and helped me inside.

  “Where to?” Hector asked.

  “Need to get to Bertram,” I said hoarsely.

  “No,” Mel countered. “Take him to Randall.”

  I raised a hand. “No. Bertram’s got… whatever it was Rogan had. Access to the drive.”

  “Hector.” Mel had a warning growl in her voice.

  Hector shrugged. “Sorry, boss. She looks more dangerous than you do, ‘bout now. Y’know?”

  “Mel, I’m fine.”

  “Shut up, Ger. Hector? Now.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  He shifted the car into drive and pulled away just as someone shouted from behind us. Dimly I heard the man shriek, “That’s my car!”

  Oh no, I thought. Not now.

  Hector hit the pedal and the car surged forward, engine growling, tearing off down the road. I tried to sit up, but Mel put a hand on my shoulder from the front and ordered me back down.

  “Gotta ditch the car,” I said.

  “You let us worry ‘bout that.”

  I coughed, and caught a little spit of blood on my hand. I stared at it. Had I cut my lip?

  Mel blasphemed. “Hector, hurry. He’s bleeding.”

  Hector swore as we blew past a patrol car. Instantly, the car swerved behind us, siren and lights blaring into action. I peered over the seat back at the car, watching for a moment as it surged toward us.

  Not good.

  A gunshot rang out. I twisted on the seat and saw Mel leaning out the passenger side window, blasting away with a hand gun. Where had she gotten that?

  The cop hit the brakes, backing off, but still following from a distance.

  We’re going to be doing an OJ here any minute now, I thought. “Gotta lose him.”

  “How?” Hector bellowed.

  “Get creative!” More blood from my mouth, spattering the headrest.

  Abruptly, the car veered left, tossing a hubcap and squealing as he took the turn way too fast. A semi laid on his horn, air brakes hissing and rubber screaming as the trailer swung around, jackknifing toward us. The front bumper of the truck hit ours, spinning us around and tearing the bumper clean off. Hector fought with the wheel, bring us around and hitting the gas as we soared away from the accident.

  I turned back to the window. The cop steered around the wreckage, driving onto the side of the road and spitting gravel as he retook the pavement.

  “That bought us some time, but not enough,” Mel cried. Another cop car pulled in behind the first, following closely.

  “I’m trying!”

  “Try harder!”

  The road wound through a residential section. We swerved in and out of cars, leaving a trail of frightened, angry drivers and their cars in disarray as we fled. Trees and houses flashed past, and at one point we leaped a bridge. The car bucked as we hit the ground on the far side. I felt my insides lurch with the impact, and a red miasma covered my eyes.

  I pointed a limp hand ahead. “There. Golf course.”

  Hector glanced back. “You crazy?”

  “Do it!” Mel cried.

  Hector floored it. The car surged ahead, heading straight for the carefully manicured lawns of the course. We hit the greens going eighty miles an hour, and for a brief moment, the car was airborne.

  I grabbed the seat in front of me for support, but it was no good. The landing cracked my head against the car’s roof, and I collapsed into the back seat, no longer knowing nor caring whether or not we got away.

  The car fishtailed, churning up clods of dirt I could see out the passenger side window. Distantly, I heard the screams and shouts of golfers as we careened through their playground. Sirens behind us, seeming to close in.

  Abruptly, I felt the car skid sideways and come to a halt. It’s over. We’re done.

  “Hector!” Mel cried.

  We’d landed just before a bridge, one not quite wide enough for the car.

  Hector slammed his palm against the steering wheel, and then turned to Mel. “Gimme your gun. You and him—get out of here.”

  “What?”

  “Do it!”

  Hector, no, I tried to say, but no words came.

  Mel pushed open her door and crossed to the rear of the car while Hector unrolled his window and fired a couple of shots back toward the golf course. He didn’t appear to be aiming at anything in particular.

  Mel grabbed my feet. “Come on,” she urged.

  “Go!”

  I gritted my teeth and tried to wriggle off the back seat. Mel pulled me forward, and when I came out of the car, I fell to my hands and knees. Return gunfire rattled the car, filling the air with loud pops and metallic bangs.

  “Damn it, Ger! Come on!”

  She put her shoulder beneath me, hustling me forward across the bridge and down the other side. A fit of coughing seized me, but she wouldn’t let me stop for air. Abruptly, I fell. “Go,” I gasped.

  She left me there. Five seconds later, it seemed, she returned with a golf cart, blaspheming at me. “It was only a few more steps,” she growled.

  I reached a hand up, and she pulled me into the cart and hit the accelerator.

  The last thing I saw of Hector was him returning a volley of gunfire, and then tossing the pistol from the window. The cops surrounded him, yanked him out of the car and threw him to the ground.

  Mel kept driving.

  ***

  I must’ve passed out, because the next thing I knew Mel was dragging me into the bed of a pick-up truck. She muttered something about keeping my head down before climbing into the driver’s seat. I think she hot-wired it, but I don’t know how.

  After that, the rest of the ride was a blur—or maybe I passed out again. I don’t really recall. I woke once to arguing. It sounded like Mel and Randall, but I really can’t be sure. I tried telling her about Bertram, though I don’t remember whether or not I actually said anything, or just thought I did.

  When next I came to, I was lying on a bed in some kind of motel room. A pale light filtered from the window, and an IV drip was attached to my arm. I sat up, wincing, and discovered that my ribs were wrapped up tight with bandages.

  “You are very bad.”

  I glanced up, and spied a form sitting on a chair in the shadows across the room, one leg draped over the other.

  “Worst patient I have ever had, in fact. And that’s saying something.”

  It still took me a minute. “Carter.”

  He leaned forward, bringing his unsmiling face into the light.

  “You required surgery. And blood. And quite probably more medical care than I could provide. But,” here he stood and walked over to me, “for all that I still saved your life. More than can be said for your other doctor, in fact.”

  “Other doctor?”

  “My skills are good, but they have their limits.”

  I swallowed. “I reckon a thank you is in order.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me. I didn’t want to do it. The way we left things? I was content to let you die. Suffer the consequences of your own very poor judgment.” He wagged his finger in my face. “What is the one thing I told you not to do? Hmm? No getting into fights. And your… girlfriend brings you to me—and what does she tell me you’ve been doing? Hmm?”

  “He started it.”

  Now he smiled, but grimly. “Somehow I think you made it easy for him to do.”

  I grimaced. “Trust me, Doc. He didn’t have it easy.”

  He clucked his tongue and took a step back. Good, I thought. Remember who you’re dealing with.

  “As it is, I have kept you sedated for a while. Make sure you healed up good and proper this time.”

  “Sedated?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  “Six weeks.”

  “Six weeks?!” I tried to surge from the bed, but discovered my left hand was shackled to the frame. I tugged on it in vain. “What?”

  He held up a cautionary palm. “Your girlfriend’s idea. Well, partly mine. She agreed to the six week coma. You almost died. And frankly, she threatened to kill me if I let that happen.”

  “Six weeks? I oughtta kill you myself.”

  He smiled. “Hence the handcuffs.”

  “Get these off me!”

  “Patience.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handcuff key, then quickly closed his fist over it when I lunged for it. “The good news is this: you will live. Melissa has taken care of everything. Including my bill. All that remains, in fact,” he stepped to the IV line and lifted it from the hanger, “is for me to collect my equipment, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  He reached into his other pocket and withdrew a syringe filled with a colored liquid. Deftly, he uncapped the syringe and held it up. “So. Will you be a good boy now, and let me have my equipment? Or do I drug you and leave while you drift back to sleep?”

  I glanced once at the syringe and then back up at him. “You keep that poison away from me.”

  “Behave.”

  I seethed through my nose. “Fine. But get me out of here.”

  “I will give the key to Miss Cooper.” He bent down and withdrew the line from my wrist, then slipped a bandage over the wound. I grabbed his wrist. Quickly, he held the syringe ready.

  “Give me the key.”

  Abruptly, he twisted free of my grasp. I watched as he recapped the syringe from a safe distance and coiled up the used line.

  “Shouldn’t you throw that out?” I asked.

  “Medical equipment is expensive. And hard to come by, sometimes. Don’t worry. I thoroughly sanitize everything before using it again.”

  Somehow, I didn’t find that very comforting.

  He pulled the key out of his pocket and draped it over the hanger where the IV bag once hung. “Good bye, Mr. Smith. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  With that, he hurried from the room.

  I watched him go, and then slipped my feet out of the bed, stretching as far as I could toward the key. At last I snagged it, and undid my cuffs.

  Free of the bed, I quickly realized I was naked but for a pair of undershorts and the dressings around my ribs. I found a full length mirror in the bathroom, however, and that’s where I got the shock of my life.

  Someone else’s face stared back at me from the mirror.

  Chapter 40

  I swore, unbelieving. In all fairness, it wasn’t exactly someone else’s face. It was my own—just not what I was used to seeing.

  The burns were gone, for the most part. I had a mop of hair where my once bald head had gleamed like a polished cue ball. Upon closer inspection, I saw that I had hair plugs growing the new do.

  Somehow, I’d been given a plastic surgery makeover. I looked at my hands and saw that faint marks still remained where the scars had once glowered pink from the burns. I still didn’t have feeling in them like I once had, but I looked passably normal, for all that.

  Other doctor. This is what he meant.

  I started unraveling the gauze, and recognized Randall’s own handiwork. A long scar carved a jagged, pink line across my right side. I tested the ribs, and noticed nothing seemed out of place. The skin still felt a little tender, but not like it had been.

  It was a whole new me.

  The door knob rattled from the other room. I quickly switched off the light and hid beside the bathroom door.

  Mel came into the room, shutting and dead-bolting the lock behind her.

  I came out of hiding. She started when she saw me, and then smiled broadly.

  “You’re up.”

  “Yeah. Randall just left. Took his stuff with him. You believe he recycles that junk?”

  She cringed. “Sorry. It’s his thing. He insists it’s sanitary.”

  “Right.”

  “So.” She sat on the bed. “New face.”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  “You like?”

  “Sure,” I gushed. “It’s… wow.”

  She smiled. “You got questions?”

  “A billion or two.”

  She patted the bed beside her. I shook my head. “Rather stand. Been a while since I been on my feet.”

  “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

  “Six weeks, Mel.”

  “You were in bad shape. Really bad shape. Randall insisted it would take that long for you to fully heal. Wouldn’t do it unless I agreed.”

  “Shouldn’t have done it.”

  She shook her head. “Yeah. I should have. And then the facial reconstruction team—that was something.”

  “How did—?”

  “Oh, they do it all the time. You got bad guys wanting to hide from the Feds, escape facial recognition stuff. New identity. Comes with the territory.”

  “I meant to ask how did you afford it.”

  She grinned. “Carlos had a stash. I meant to tell you about it, but everything back at the house happened so fast.”

  “A stash?”

  “Diamonds. Took me a while to fence them. Fortunately, both Randall and the plastic surgeon guy take other forms of payment besides cash. Made it real easy.”

  “Diamonds.”

  “Uncut stones. Carlos had his hands in a lot of pies, it seems. Once you had Hector get those guys all doped up outta their minds, I sorta helped myself, y’know?”

  That made sense. “Speaking of Hector, any word?”

  She shook her head. “I hear he’s awaiting trial. Shooting at those cops was a dumb idea.”

  “Maybe. He saved our lives. Certainly saved our freedom.” And all the while, I’d treated him like garbage. He deserved better than that. Better than me.

  “He sacrificed himself,” she said.

  “That he did.”

  She folded her hands and propped her elbows on her knees. “I think he would want us to carry on. Get what we came down here for. Everything that happened? Wouldn’t make much sense if we didn’t.”

  I grunted. She was right, but I wanted more answers, first. “You hear anything about Carlos?”

  “Now that has been all over the news. You were right about Candi. DEA all the way. They don’t show her face, but the reporters keep talking about a deep cover operative who brought him down.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s sitting on his ass in jail. Boy’s facing a long prison sentence.”

  I grimaced. “No, he ain’t.” When she frowned, I explained, “They’re trying to get him to cut a deal. Candi wants him to burn his network. Point out the rest of organizational heads.”

  “He has to know that if he does that, he’s a dead man.”

  “I know.”

  “So what are you worried about?”

  “I’m worried he’ll figure out a way. And if he does, he’ll get off with a lighter sentence, or worse—go into witness protection.”

  “You think he’ll come after us.”

  “Hell, yeah. First chance he gets.”

  She nodded. “So what do you want to do?”

  I thought a minute. “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”

  “Oh! I’ve got food here.”

  “Okay. How ‘bout some clothes, then?”

  She grinned mischievously. “No. I like you the way you are.”

  ***

  I wasn’t keen on eating in my underwear, but Mel wouldn’t budge. She satisfied my appetite with a store bought lasagna heated up in the microwave, and then took me to the bed and satisfied her appetite with me.

  Afterward, I escaped to the dresser and found a change of clothes neatly folded in the lower drawers. Quickly, I put them on. When I turned around, Mel was studying me from the end of the bed. She lay on her chest with her head on her hands, moving her legs back and forth like a cat waving its tail.

  “You gonna stay in bed all day?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Where’s the fire?”

  I straightened. “Look, I realize I’ve been out of it a while, but it sure does seem to me that we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t move.

  “So don’t you think we oughtta get a move on?”

  “To?”

  “To getting the data. Look, I suppose I didn’t tell you. Rogan’s dead. Whoever it was he was hiding from got to him. But before he died, he made sure he gave something to his buddy, Bertram. You remember him?”

  She shook her head.

  I swore. “That’s right. You weren’t there for this part. Bertram’s an ex-cop. Like Rogan. Trustworthy, you know?”

  She snorted derisively.

  “Trustworthy enough that Rogan gave him something before he died. Told him that if he didn’t come back, that Bertram was to give this thing to me.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “‘Cause I called him from Carlos’s house.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  I shrugged. “All his phone lines were in the basement. Pretty basic to tap into if you know what you’re doing.”

  “You know how to tap a phone.”

  “Not everything’s done by computer, Miss Smartypants. At any rate, I got ahold of him—six weeks ago—and told him I’d be over there to get whatever it was Rogan left for him.”

  “If it’s been six weeks, you think it’ll wait till morning?”

  I frowned and glanced again at the window. It still shone with a pale light. “What time is it?” I hurried over to the frame and peeked through the blinds. The light out there wasn’t daylight at all. Just a brightly lit balcony, beyond which I spied an interior atrium with a faux skylight.

  Mel came over and pushed the door open, stepping onto the balcony and leading me with her. “It’s quarter after three. In the morning.”

  I gaped at the trees growing below us in the atrium and listened for a moment to the waterfall that fed a stream running through it.

  “This place looks expensive.”

  “It is,” she replied, “which is why we should enjoy it a little while longer.”

  “That’s strange, coming out of you.”

  “Why’s that?” She wrapped her arms around me and lay her head on my chest.