Final Target(51)
Another shot. This one not muffled by a silencer.
Who was shooting?
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was catching the man running ahead of him and killing the son of a bitch.
Stinging pain.
Something warm and wet running down his side.
Keep running.
The man had reached the street and was ducking into a small Volvo.
Travis lifted his gun but couldn’t get a clear shot as the Volvo pulled away from the curb.
Gone. Rage tore through him as he watched the car screech around the corner.
Shouts behind Travis. Another shot.
Get away. Find the son of a bitch later.
He ran across the street, down the alley, and then around the corner. His car was parked four blocks away. Reach it. Get back to the farmhouse.
Streaks of pain ripped through him. Murder. Jan’s head exploding.
Don’t think about it yet.
Get back to the farmhouse.
Jan . . .
13
“Get me a first aid kit, Melissa.” Galen flung open the door and helped Travis into the kitchen. “The stupid ass got himself shot. I knew I should have gone with him.”
“Shot?” Melissa felt her heart jerk. “Bad?”
“A bullet wound is never good.” Galen lowered Travis gently into a chair. “It only grazed his ribs, but he’s lost some blood.”
“Who did it?”
Travis shook his head. “I’m not sure. I have to think about it. Just get a bandage on me and give me something to clear my head.”
“CIA?”
“This had nothing to do with Cassie.”
“How do you know if—”
“Get him bandaged before you cross-examine him,” Galen told her. “And women are supposed to be the gentler sex.”
“Shut up. Go in the bedroom and get Jessica’s medical bag, but don’t wake her. She just got to sleep.”
“She’s a doctor. Maybe we should—”
“I can take care of this. I don’t want her bothered.”
“Heaven forbid,” Travis murmured. “We wouldn’t want your sister bothered.”
“No, we wouldn’t. You’ve put her through enough hell.” She went to the sink and filled a basin of water. “Take off your shirt.” She saw him struggling and said through her teeth, “Oh, stop it. You look like you’re going to pass out. I’ll help you.” She put the basin on the table and carefully stripped the shirt off him. “I take it your ‘business’ didn’t work out as you hoped.”
“You could say that. Hurry, will you?”
“I’m hurrying. Do you think I like fussing over you?”
“Here’s the bag.” Galen set the leather satchel on the table and opened the latch. “May I help? I’m pretty good at first aid myself.”
“I bet you are.” Melissa deftly cleaned the long, jagged graze. “All those battle wounds . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing. Give me that antiseptic.” She glanced at Travis’s face. “This is going to hurt.” She didn’t wait for a response but put the antiseptic on the open cut. He didn’t flinch. He looked as if he didn’t feel it. Her lips twisted. “Macho man.”
“Yeah, that’s me.” Travis looked at Galen. “Get on the phone and find us another place. I wasn’t followed here, but we need to make sure that the man who killed Jan isn’t able to—”
“Jan’s dead?” Galen interrupted. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Travis.”
“So am I.” Travis looked at Melissa. “Are you through with me?”
“I wish.” She finished bandaging the wound. “But that should hold you.” She gave him three Tylenol. “You’re not having enough pain for anything stronger.”
“Oh, I’m having enough pain.”
He wasn’t talking about physical pain, she realized. She smothered the ripple of sympathy. “If your head’s messed up, it’s not because of that flesh wound.”
He swallowed the Tylenol and said to Galen, “He knew we were coming and he knew about the delivery. He was either Karlstadt’s man or someone else who had access to the information. He said Jan had been helpful. Jan found two bugs in his apartment last week. I thought maybe CIA, but . . .” He shook his head. “He could have been a rogue agent, but that doesn’t smell right. I have to think about it. Just get us out of here.”
“ Paris?”
Travis shrugged. “Why not?”
“Right.” Galen rose to his feet and took out his phone. He hesitated. “I really am sorry. I know he was like family to you.” He strode out of the house.
Melissa barely heard those last words. “Paris? Why Paris?”