Shot to the Hart - A Novella

Chapter 7: Old Friends

For a moment as he was raging at her, something weird happened. Sal was so angry, she felt herself shrinking back almost like she was a child again and in some deep trouble. He had a deep rumble of a voice and the fury in his eyes was so terrifying she almost forgot her training.

Almost.

The carelessly knotted ropes around her wrists came loose easily. Obviously, he wasn't used to subduing an opponent.

He paced back and forth as he ranted, wincing from the pain in his side. He must have faked her out and got the IV out of his arm sooner than she thought. There was no way he was this keyed up with any decent amount of sedative in his body; that would be inhuman. He was dressed in his jacket and pants but shirtless, blood was seeping through the bandage that covered his wound. His face was pale grey and he looked like he was about to drop.

"I want your car keys and my phone. Now!" he bellowed. Her hands were free but perversely, she wanted to see how far he would take this so she remained seated. He had her gun, the .22 she kept taped under the sink in the bathroom. Sal had been a naughty boy, roaming her rental house while she was at the lake trying to figure out how to keep his ass safe. Suddenly she was furious.

"No."

"What did you just say?" The growl had turned to a ragged, menacing whisper. She saw him fight the pain of the gunshot wound, trying to mask it but his eyes never lied. He was hurting. The gun he was pointing at her trembled in his grip, just a bit.

"I said no. You're just as stubborn as always, Sal. Whether you want to believe it or not, I didn't shoot you. I was... there when it happened." Nadia considered telling him the truth but quickly changed her mind. Despite her years of training as a black ops agent for NATO, subsequent freelance career and all the men she'd overpowered and neutralized, she knew never to underestimate an opponent.

"Bullshit," he said, but he looked confused, considering what she said.

"If I wanted you dead, I would have left you bleeding on the street for that sniper to finish the job. Instead, I risked my life to save your ass. I'd really rather you said thank you than smash my skull with a rock." All the fight had gone out of her and she changed her mind about overpowering him, making him get back into bed, forcing him to stay until they figured out what was going on.

Enough of this.

She was feeling woozy and nauseous, and blood was trickling down the back of her neck.

She'd made a mistake. She couldn't have shot him, but she never should have intervened and put her own life at risk for him. Did her life mean so little that she'd throw it away on a virtual stranger?

Nadia rose to her feet, swaying unsteadily as she discarded the rope. His eyes registered shock and surprise when she quickly snapped the gun out of his hand and emptied the cartridge in one fluid motion before tossing it onto the kitchen island. "My keys are in my jacket. Go. No one's keeping you here."

This he did not expect.

"What about my phone?"

"Your phone is at the bottom of Massachusetts Bay in case whoever wants you dead put a tracker in it. There's the door. You're welcome." She made her way to the kitchen to find a cloth to stop the bleeding. Not finding anything except the decorative rooster towels hung on the stove, she shook her head in disgust as she pressed one to the back of her skull. She loved those towels and these were now ruined. Head wounds bled a lot and this one was no different. She collapsed into a kitchen chair, suddenly so very tired.

"I'll have your car returned to you when I get to the city," he said, his voice losing all its fight. He headed to the door before pausing. "I'm sorry I hit you. I thought you were trying to kill me."

"If I wanted you dead, you would have been dead hours ago" she said, wincing as she withdrew the towel and saw the amount of blood still leaking out of her skull. "Wow, you really clocked me," she muttered, feeling the wound tenderly with her fingers. It was shallow and wouldn't require stitches. Finally, some good news. She really didn't want to bring the vet back out here and stitching it up herself was impossible unless she suddenly grew eyes in the back of her head.

"I'm really sorry," he said softly and in his voice she recognized her childhood friend.

"So you've said. You can go now. I have shit to do." Reality was setting in and she had things to figure out, an escape to plan, a plane to catch. Where in the world would she go so her bosses wouldn't find her?

Rising from the table, she dry swallowed three headache pills and went to the freezer for ice.

"Are you still here? If you haven't figured it out by now, I didn't kidnap you, I saved you. I was trying to hide you until you could figure out who was out to get you but if you want to go, go," she said, annoyed now. She pointed to the door while he looked at her strangely.

"What?" She looked down at herself just in case she had another injury she wasn't aware of, or spilled something on herself. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

"Why did you say I was 'stubborn as I always was?' You seem very familiar. Do we know each other?"

She debated telling him but what was the point? They were about to go their separate ways and that was that.

"No," she said, turning away from him to press the ice pack to her head. "It's just a figure of speech." Silence. She turned back and saw him staring in her direction but not at her.

As if sleepwalking, he came towards her and she tensed, ready to fight him if necessary. But he walked past her, reaching up and taking something from the top of the fridge. It was her stuffed black cat, her good luck talisman that went everywhere with her. He stared at it for a moment then looked back at her.

"Who are you?"