“Frank, can you feel your legs?” Duke asked, trying to keep him talking.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Can’t feel my heartbeat though.”
“You still have one, buddy,” the cop said, patting his arm. “Paramedics are on the way.” He lifted his shirt and checked out the wound.
“I want my little girl outta here. She ain’t safe!”
“Frank, no!” she screamed as Hank forcibly brought her to her feet. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding, Frank!”
A second later, Hank picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, his arm securing her hips. “Hank Hinman! Damn you! I want to be with Frank. Put me down!”
“Get her out of here, I said. It ain’t safe!” Frank’s tortured words tore at her soul. He was apparently still concerned about her safety when he should’ve been worried about his own.
Hank stormed toward the house with Julie in his arms. She fought him every step of the way. She needed to be with Frank. She didn’t want to be under Hank’s protection when Frank had been shot trying to save her!
“Damn it, Julie. Be still. You heard him. You aren’t safe. Frank knows something, and we need to find out what’s going on. See if someone can talk to him. Please give us a chance to do that!”
“I can’t lose him!” she wailed. “Please, Hank. Let me go to him. I can’t let him die alone.”
“Honey, listen,” Hank said, releasing her body but securing her arms. “Frank isn’t dying. The paramedics will be here soon, and Frank knows everyone. Those guys will work like crazy to save him.”
The detectives scurried around, trying to secure the area as they searched the property, ducking behind bushes and trees as if they thought someone else lurked nearby. In the distance, Julie heard Duke. “Frank, stay with me, buddy. You’re too much of a fighter to give up on us now. I’ll never forgive you if you crash on me now.”
In the distance, someone called for an ambulance again. A detective approached. “Hank, I need to question her if you don’t mind.”
“Actually, I do, Agent Dickerson. This isn’t a good time.”
“Then maybe I should ask you, and she can respond, if she knows why a woman by the name of Annie Taylor wants to see her dead?”
“What?” Hank screeched, tightening the grip he’d fastened around Julie’s arm.
“The reason Frank told you to get her out of here,” he began, tilting his chin toward Julie, “is because he must’ve known that there’s still a threat to Julie. It’s an ever-present danger, too. The buzz is out among the drivers. She’s been hiring assassins to do her dirty work.
“We just found a Mustang convertible on the back side of your property, down the road a bit, and it’s registered to Annie. Would you happen to know why she’d want to harm Julie?”
“Hank?” Julie searched his eyes and when she saw he was as surprised as she was, she didn’t press for his opinion. At this point, the only thing that mattered was that Carl Carlton, a man she’d once considered her boss, shot the only man she’d ever recognized as a father figure.
“I couldn’t tell you. My brother and I had a relationship with Annie, but we all parted on exceptional terms. She moved on and accepted that we didn’t want her in our lives. When we severed ties, we didn’t tell her we left her because of Julie. Maybe she assumed, but even so, she had no reason to blame our decision on someone else.”
“Apparently, she didn’t move on,” Agent Dickerson said. “From what we’ve gathered from intercepted calls and other research, she hired Carl Carlton to kill Julie. Carl is who we suspected of putting a hit on you, and we were right on the money.”
“I barely knew Carl,” Hank said.
“Seems he felt you were responsible for taking his driver away from him, and according to Carl’s son—and we questioned him yesterday—you became his enemy overnight. Apparently, Carl built his entire team around Julie.” Agent Dickerson took a deep breath and said, “Julie, based on several phone calls we’ve overheard, it appears Carl is responsible for your father’s death, too.”
“Oh no, he wouldn’t have known my father. Carl is approaching fifty, and my father would’ve been in his seventies if he’d lived.”
“You might want to look him up on the internet. They were close friends. And Carl wasn’t approaching fifty. He’s seventy-one.”
“What?” Hank asked, obviously surprised, too.
“Plastic surgery,” Agent Dickerson said, continuing right away, “Julie, have you ever met Annie Taylor?”
“In passing, a few times. Why?”
“Can you think of any reason why she’d want you dead?”
“Like I told you,” Hank replied for her. “My brother and I had a relationship with her at one time.”