Page 32 of Shane
“Damn Tuesday Bremmer to Hell!” Everlee spat as she took firm hold of Shane’s hefty biceps and tried to ease him back to the ground. “You’re hurt. Not bad, but you hit your head again, didn’t you? Lie down. The EMTs, firemen, and police are on their way.”
“What?” he yelled, pushing her hands away and refusing to stay put. Confusion and maybe a bit of hysteria darkened his deep blue eyes as he sat back up.
“Can’t you hear the sirens?” She could barely talk over them emergency responders screeching up the street. It was then she saw the ink on Shane’s left pec. In caps adorned with light green vines and tiny pink flowers.SaraandAbby? Who were they? His mother maybe, and who else? A girlfriend? Two girlfriends? Not like it mattered. Everlee stored that detail away, saving it for another day—when she could think.
“What?” he asked again, louder this time and blinking like that might help his ears work.
Muscling him onto his back one more time, Everlee shook her head. There was no sense talking to a man whose eardrums must’ve shattered from that blast.
Shane shook his head at her, then signed in ASL, “You okay, Ev? Are you hurt? You’re scaring me.”
Will wonders never cease? Everlee knew American Sign Language, too. She’d learned early because she had two deaf friends, also because ASL actually helped her thinking process work a little slower and a little better. Quickly, she signed back, “I’m scaring you? You’re the injured one here, buddy. I’m good. Just worried about you. How bad are you hurt?”
He shrugged, then signed, “My shirt’s scorched, and I can’t hear for shit, but otherwise, I’m good. Just out of breath.” Shane rolled his neck, lifted both shoulders off the ground, and stretched forward, testing for injuries. “Looks like I got a little toasted.”
Everlee ran her hand over his head, searching for blood or bumps or… Oh, what the hell? She just needed to touch him, to make sure he wasn’t bleeding or lying or dying. Guys tended to fib when they were hurt, and every one of them said they were good when they were anything but. She didn’t need that kind of macho crap, not today.
At last satisfied that he wasn’t badly injured, she allowed a deep breath, then settled her brain and signed, “I thought you were dead. When I first saw you, you were smoking, and on your back, and...” She ceased signing before she signed something dumb, like how scared she’d been that she might have gotten him not only hurt on his first mission but killed.
“No such luck, Yeager,” he signed enthusiastically, “but Tuesday Bremmer” —he nodded his chin at what was left of the damned witch’s latest hideout— “if she did what it looks like she did, then we’re looking at another crime scene. Maybe attempted murder. Of us.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m just glad you’re okay,” Everlee signed, her heart pounding in her throat, high enough that her eyes were watering like crazy now, too. He could’ve been killed, and that would have been her fault. Alex told her not to let him get hurt, and right out of the gate, this happened. She signed furiously before her emotions betrayed her. “She just tried to kill us, Shane. This was a trap. One that she set, damn her. She’s mine!”
He shook his head, as the first of what eventually became five police cars, three fire engines, and two ambulances, screamed up to the scene, their blue, red, white, and yellow lights flashing. Dazed, he took his pistol back and returned it to his left holster cup. He’d only drawn the one, Everlee guessed because he’d probably been polite and rang Bremmer’s doorbell with his other hand.
“Did you open her screen door? Is that when everything blew?”
He bobbed his head and signed, “She didn’t answer her doorbell, so yeah, I opened the door to knock, thought maybe—”
“That’s what triggered the bomb.” Damn Bremmer. She’d known someone would come looking for her. And damn the FBI, too, for offloading this nightmare to The TEAM.
A neighborhood crowd had already gathered on the opposite side of the street beyond the fire trucks. The rental SUV’s side windows had been turned into cracked safety glass and the windshield was gone. Something small burned on its roof. Several men, probably the homeowners, were spraying both houses on each side of Bremmer’s with garden hoses to keep the fire from spreading. The homes’ windows were broken and both lawns were checkered with blackened or burning spots from where the debris landed. What a disaster.
Shane’s fingers were still flying. “We need to talk with her first, Ev. We don’t have any proof she did this. Can’t condemn a person without evidence and a fair trial. Alex didn’t send us here to be judge, jury, and executioner. Our job is only to take her back to DC.”
“Yeah, but…” Everlee stopped signing. She had no words, in ASL or otherwise, that could express the turmoil churning in her head and her heart. She’d never lost a partner, but she’d come damned close tonight. The thought of Shane dying was ripping her up. He was a brand-new hire, one of America’s best, and she’d almost gotten him killed. Her, someone who’d never seen combat, but who thought she knew everything.
Jiminy Christmas… So much carnage. Here. In what should have been a nice quiet neighborhood. Not wanting Shane to see her meltdown, Everlee looked over her shoulder at the glowing shell of brick where Tuesday Bremmer had ‘allegedly’ lived.Allegedly, my ass.
Every last one of Everlee’s suspicions flamed brighter now. Was there any chance in Hell Bremmer was innocent? How could she be anything but guilty? After two vicious murder sprees that resulted in four deaths, her home exploding just when Shane and Everlee approached her? How could she not be behind this disaster? Everlee had seen the security footage from the latest fire Bremmer had set. She’d kept looking over her shoulder while she’d chained her apartment door handles. Sure as hell, she’d known what she was doing, yet she’d done it anyway. Just like she’d rigged this house to explode.
Everlee was a firm believer in the three-strike rule. And by hell, Tuesday Bremmer’d just had her last chance. Just for killing her kids, she needed to go down and go down hard. Three-year-old little Toby and two-month-old Betsy, for the love of God. Their deaths rankled the worst. Killing children was the most unforgivable sin in Everlee’s book. But man, killing Shane would’ve been just as bad.
EMTs were on the scene now and taking charge. Two fired questions at her, and shined their annoying little flashlights straight into her eyeballs. “I’m not the one who’s hurt, damn it. Let me be,” she snapped, batting the nearest one’s attempt to help away. She signed to Shane, “Stay here. I’m calling Alex.”
He nodded, not like he was going anywhere. Two EMTs had already manhandled him onto a gurney and were seriously fussing over him. He seemed okay with it, and that worried Everlee. He might’ve been hurt worse than she thought and was just acting tough like guys did when women were around. He might’ve landed harder than he realized. Might have internal bleeding after being blown off the front porch. That was a good twenty yards or so. Shit.
Stepping into the middle of the street, she made her way over to their bright red and ruined rental. Everlee tugged her cell phone out of her pants pocket. Before she called home and unleashed the Armageddon that Alex would surely rain down on her for getting Shane hurt, he needed another shirt. She located his gear bag in the front seat where he’d left it and, just as she’d expected, found a neatly rolled extra set of pants, a shirt, socks, and underwear beneath the dozen or so boxes of .380 ACP ammo.Sweet.Then she dialed home.
Of course, Alex picked up on the first ring with a terse, “Stewart.”
What’d he do, sleep in his office? So much for his‘alleged’retirement.
“Boss,” Everlee said, her heart suddenly squeezing the single word out of her vocal cords. Making her sound weak. She and Shane were alive, but Shane was hurt, and…
Damn.This was going to be hard, but Alex had to know, and she had to tell him—everything. Fighting tears, she cleared her throat and said, “Bremmer’s house blew up when we approached, Boss. I’m okay, but…” She blinked to see straight. Everything had gone blurry. Had to be from all the smoke, damn it.
“Sh-Shane’s hurt,” she finally spit out. “Police and fire are here, and the EMTs are taking good care of him, and he thinks he’s okay, and the fire department’s here, and… oh, shit, Boss!”