The cut was ugly, and I wasn't sure where else she was injured. I needed to get her away from here, fast, maybe even to a hospital, though I wasn't looking forward to answering any questions. I pocketed the gun, lifted her into my arms, and trudged back up the hill. She started to fight against me, her weak arms nothing more than a light breeze against my chest.
"No, I have to kill them. You don't understand. They'll come back for me. DiSalvo will send them again. I have to kill them."
The stark fear in her voice tore at my heart. And I knew about DiSalvo. If he was the one who had sent the killers, she was right. They'd be back to finish what they started.
"I don't know if I can k-kill them." She sobbed. "But I have to try. I c-c-can't let them get me again."
A tremor racked her body as I continued carrying her up and away from the carnage. I pressed her even closer to me, trying to comfort her any way I could.
"Shh, angel. Calm down. I got this." They would never touch her again.
I laid her in the back of the cab. She curled into a ball, the picture of self-preservation and protection. She was shaking badly. I wanted to comfort her, but I still had some business to take care of. The rage inside wasn't going to let the fuckers down the hill off so easily.
I took my suit coat off and draped the driest part of it over her. She looked so small, vulnerable. The flames of my rage rose higher. The ones who had taken her would pay.
"Hey, man, is she okay?" the cabbie asked. "There's so much blood."
"Watch her. I'll be back."
"She needs a doc-"
"I know what she needs. What you need right now is to shut up and keep an eye on her until I get back." I didn't hide the rage. I was consumed with it. It was meant for the men that had taken Evan, but I would use it wherever needed.
The cabbie blanched. He was innocent in this, I reminded myself, helpful even. He'd told me that he wasn't supposed to leave Manhattan, but he'd acquiesced after he'd witnessed Evan's kidnapping.
I softened my tone. "Please, just take care of her until I get back. I'll take it from there."
He swallowed hard and nodded. His silence was assent enough for me.
"Where are you going?" Evan asked. Her voice was weak, thin. "Please, don't leave me. I'm so sorry, so sorry, Lincoln. Please forgive me. I'm so-"
"Shh." I brushed the hair away from her face. Just hearing her apology was a balm on my spirit, but it did nothing to revoke my rage at the men down the hill.
"I'll be right back, angel. Just stay here. No matter what you hear, understand?"
Her eyes grew wide, but she nodded. I pushed the door shut.
I opened the front passenger door and leaned in to crank the radio as high as it would go. Evan jumped at the sound but settled back down. Some Middle Eastern station playing a melodic tune with a female singer crooning in a high warble. Perfect cover. The less Evan and the cabbie heard, the better.
I took a few steps down the embankment so I was out of sight.
I took the gun from my pocket and checked the magazine. Full.
I pulled back on the action and checked the chamber. Loaded.
I headed back down to the wrecked car.
Chapter Eleven
EVAN
Lincoln slid into the seat next to me.
"Go back to the city." He gave the cabbie his home address. I stared at the back of the pleather seat, following the white stitching along the seam. It was frayed, coming apart and allowing stuffing to poke through. Too many rough visitors pushing against it with their shoes or knees or who knows what. Some things weren't meant to be handled so roughly. Some things couldn't take the abuse.
"-Evan!" Lincoln said, as if he'd been calling my name for a while.
I felt his arms around me, pulling me into him. I sat on his lap, my legs stretched out in the seat where I'd been lying. There was fire in the distance. It retreated through the back windshield. A small explosion sent a burst of fire into the air before my view was obscured by trees. I looked down at my legs. They were dirty, and my shoes were gone. Odd.
He looked me over, a full inspection as his hands roved here and there. It wasn't sexual, more clinical than anything else.
"What hurts?" he asked.
I didn't know. I reached up to touch the cut along the bridge of his nose. I didn't put it there with my own hands. But something whispered around in my mind that I might as well have.
"Angel, please, tell me what hurts."
I tried to concentrate. There was a ringing in my ears that prevented me from focusing. The incessant hum was maddening.