Page 75 of Dark Succession
Then again, she didn’t exactly have room to talk.She’dput in a call to them for help. She found herself speaking without having any intention of doing so. “As much as I appreciate the assistance, stay away from my people, John Finch. Whatever arrangement you have with my husband is between the two of you, but if I hear about you sniffing around where you shouldn’t, I doubt either of us will like the results.”
He laughed, startling her. “Got some steel in your spine, don’t you? No wonder he was willing to throw it all away to save you.”
She didn’t ask what he meant. He was trying to bait her, and she wanted no part of it. “Do we have an understanding?”
“Oh, we do, indeed.” He turned muddy brown eyes on her, shifting between one breath and the next from the nonchalant jokester to something infinitely more dangerous. “Keep your people on the right side of the law, Ms. Sheridan, and we won’t have a problem.” He stopped the car. “Now, go see to your husband.”
She looked out the window to find them in front of Massachusetts General Hospital. “Thanks for the ride.” She reached for the door, but his hand on her arm stopped her.
“The gun, please.”
The gun that linked her to the murders of two men. Sheturned and met his gaze. “And what do you plan on doing with it?”
“Your sins from tonight won’t come back to haunt you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
As if she would trust this man. Being FBI only made himmoresuspicious as far as she was concerned. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take care of it.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” She opened the door and paused. “May I borrow your coat, Mr. Finch?”
“By all means.” He shrugged out of it and passed it over.
She slipped it on, instantly dwarfed. Callie didn’t like it. She didn’t like the musky scent of old cigarettes that clung to the fabric, either, but she could hardly shove the gun into the waistband of her jeans. “I’ll see it’s returned to you.” She shut the door, and then gritted her teeth when he rolled down the window.
“Tell Teague that I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
If it was as she suspected and Teague was informing to the FBI on his family—and hers?—then they’d failed him spectacularly. “You should have been there.”
“I know.” The exhausted admission struck her to her soul. They’d all screwed up to one degree or another. This situation wouldn’t have gotten so out of control without multiple people failing to put on the brakes.
She sighed. She wanted to blame this man, but there was more than enough blame to pass around. “You have a good night.”
“Not likely.” He pulled away from the curb before she could respond.
Callie slipped the gun into one of the deep pockets in the coat. As much as she wanted to rush into the hospital and demand to know where Teague was, she had to take care of the weapon first. She skirted the edge of the buildings, following the street down to the overpass leading to the waterfront. There were better ways to go about disposing evidence, but this would have to do. She didn’t like trusting Finch not to gather evidence and press charges against her, but there was no other option. He had her backed into a corner. It was entirely possible he actually saw her shoot those two men, which meant there wasn’t a jury in this country that would find her not guilty.
It was a worry for another day.
She moved through the trees at the water’s edge. It was remarkably deserted, and she wasted no time wiping the gun down and flinging it as far into the water as her strength could carry it. She waited a few moments to see if anyone saw her do it, then turned around and strode back to the hospital buildings.
It took twenty minutes to get any information at all about Teague—despite the fact that she kept telling them she was his wife—and another ten to be guided to the right part of the hospital. The nurse pointed to the waiting area with the impatient air of someone who’d done it countless times before. “He’s in surgery. The doctor will be out once they’re done putting him back together.”
One hell of a bedside manner. She muttered her thanks and sank onto the faded blue chairs. Or maybe they were gray. It was impossible to say. Callie should call someone, let them know where Teague was. Or,God, wash her hands. She looked down at the blood crusting her palms,and the overwhelming urge to curl up and sob flowed over her like a tidal wave.
Her hands shook, the tremors working their way through her entire body.Oh God, oh God, oh God.Her lungs tried to close, each breath seeming to tear itself free. She bent over, resting her forehead on her knees, and closed her eyes, but that only made it worse. All she could smell was smoke and blood and something she suspected was her own fear.
She lurched to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom. The cold water felt good on her skin, but it wasn’t doing a damn thing to get the blood off. She turned it hotter and pumped a bunch of soap into her hands. She scrubbed until her skin was raw and pink and there wasn’t the slightest trace of blood. There was no help for her clothing, though.
With a sigh, she made her way back to the waiting room. The nurse at the station didn’t look particularly happy to see her, but when she asked to use a phone, she pointed Callie to a public one down the hall.
And then the calls started. First, to her father, who didn’t answer.I’m fine. I’m at the hospital.Then to Carrigan, who also didn’t pick up.Teague’s been shot. We’re at the hospital.And, finally, to Micah, whodidpick up. “Where the hell have you been?”
Her throat tried to close. Again. “I’m at Mass General.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes. It was Teague who was shot. I’m fine.” Or as fine as she could be, considering the circumstances.
