The Tracker Page 13

  Gordon shut his bike off and pushed the kickstand down. He dismounted and came toward me, not appearing hindered at all by his prosthetic leg. Taking pity on me, he knelt, his big body blocking the sun as he inspected my calf. “That looks pretty painful. We’ll have Nate take a look at it after he fixes Tracker up.” There was sympathy in his eyes as he stared down at me. “You’re going to be okay and so is Tracker. Got it?”

  My first impression of this man—cold, hard, mean—faded in that moment. He was human too, just like Tracker. I decided I liked him, even if he was a little scary.

  I sniffled. “Yes. I’ll be fine. I’m just a little…overwhelmed. I’m afraid Tracker might die. Can’t they hurry?”

  He gently patted my shoulder. “They’re on their way. Tracker’s tough. He’s a dreg, remember? If he’s lost a lot of blood, we can give him a blood transfusion.”

  A blood transfusion? Seriously? What the hell were these guys? Physical, emotional and spiritual connections? Sensing pain? Sharing blood?

  The sound of an approaching vehicle had us both glancing up. The black Escalade I’d seen in the mansion’s garage earlier approached, stopping next to Gordon’s motorcycle. The window on the driver’s side rolled down and a dark-haired man wearing sunglasses glanced over at us.

  “Where’s Tracker?”

  Gordon rose. “Down the road a ways. The lady will take us to him.” He held a hand out to me. I placed my hand in his giant grip and he hauled me to my feet.

  The man in the Escalade smiled, flashing brilliant white teeth. Except it was more like a grimace than a smile. He was as large and intimidating as the rest of the dregs I’d met so far. And probably just as dangerous.

  “Jessica, meet Nate. He’s The Healer.” Gordon walked to his bike.

  Nate nodded at me, his gaze hidden behind the dark sunglasses. “Ma’am.”

  I nodded back. “Nice to meet you.” Nate talked like me. He was a Southerner. Perhaps even a Georgian like me. The other dregs I’d met—Ryan and Luke—both had Midwestern accents. Gordon had said each dreg had a buddy, someone he was closely connected to. I would bet that Ryan and Luke were partners. I’d only caught a glimpse of one other dreg—The Smuggler—that first night, and if I remembered correctly, he’d had a faint Hispanic accent. As if Spanish had been his first language, but he’d spoken English most of his life. He’d been wearing a hoodie, had spoken only briefly, and had vanished back into his apartment almost as quickly as he’d appeared. Was he Nate’s partner? How many other dregs were there? I had a feeling I would find out very soon.

  “Come on, Jessica. You can ride with me.” Gordon motioned me toward his bike. I climbed on the Harley behind Gordon and moments later, we raced away.

  Several minutes later, we reached the housing subdivision where I’d left Tracker. He was still lying underneath the shrubs in front of the house where I’d hidden him. Gordon bent and checked Tracker for a pulse while I stood aside helplessly, wishing I could do something to help.

  Nate exited the Escalade with a black bag that I assumed contained medical supplies. He knelt next to Gordon.

  The passenger door of the Escalade flew open. I stared as a large, dark man emerged. If I thought Tracker was dark…well, this man took “dark” to the extreme. Everything about him was dark—his hair, his skin, his eyes, his clothes. Even his aura was dark. He looked to be Mexican or Latino or some other South American nationality. His black gaze flickered over me, almost contemptuously, before dismissing me. I had to stumble out of the way as he strode past me to where Nate and Gordon were leaning over Tracker. The man’s coldness and his contempt offended me. Who was he? What had I ever done to him?

  The two back doors of the SUV opened and two more men emerged from the vehicle. The tinted windows obscured the inside of the Escalade and I hadn’t realized Nate had brought any passengers with him.

  I stood on the grass as the other two men approached. Both were large and muscular like the other dregs. One had light brown hair, the other blond. Even though both men were very good looking, I didn’t even feel a hint of attraction for either of them.

  Because you’re falling for Tracker.

  The thought sobered me. It was true. I was falling for him. And he might die.

  The men nodded at me, but didn’t say anything as they swept past. I had never met any of the newcomers. It was possible one of them was The Smuggler—the dark one?—but I hadn’t gotten a good look at that man’s face the first night, so I wasn’t sure.

  A lady from a house across the street peered out at us through the blinds of her front window. When my gaze caught hers, she quickly shut the blinds. Was she calling the cops right now? Or would she pretend she didn’t see us and stay hidden in her house? Should I mention the lady to the dregs? Would they even care?

  I hesitated, then approached the masculine huddle around Tracker. I paused just outside of the group. Being surrounded by so much testosterone made me uncomfortable. Made me feel extremely small. Helpless. And very female. They moved forward as a group, ignoring me, and bent to scoop Tracker up and carry him into the house. I followed hesitantly behind them, not sure what to do.

  “As soon as I assess his condition and make sure he’s stable, we can get him out of here. There’s no telling how long before someone comes home.” Nate glanced at me. “I need you to be the lookout, Jessica. Let us know if anyone shows up.”

  I nodded and stepped aside as the men carried Tracker down a short hallway and deposited him on a bed in the first bedroom they came across. I followed them, not wanting to miss what was going on, and moved over to the bedroom window that looked out into the front yard. I peered out the window. No one was out there. I glanced at the house across the street, but the lady had not reappeared. I looked back at the bed where the men were stripping Tracker and assessing his injuries.

  “Um, I don’t know if this is important or not, but a lady from the house across the street saw us drive in. She closed her blinds when I looked at her.”

  Gordon nodded. “We’ll be in and out as quickly as we can.”

  I glanced back at Tracker. Blood soaked his torso, making it impossible to tell from where I stood just how badly injured he was. The sight of all that blood made me queasy. His naturally dark skin was pale. How much blood had he lost? Could Nate save him?

  Nate removed some type of antiseptic wipe from the bag and began cleaning the area around Tracker’s bullet wound. I fought back my nausea as Nate lifted some type of tweezer things and probed inside Tracker’s stomach, searching for the bullet.

  “Look away, Jessica. Can’t have you puking all over the place.”

  I glanced at Gordon, who’d spoken. Surprisingly, there was sympathy in his gaze, not contempt. I looked at the others, but the only one who looked back at me was the scary dark Hispanic man, and his gaze was definitely filled with contempt. What the hell was his problem?

  I glanced back out the window.

  Several minutes passed.

  “Got it.”

  I turned back in time to see Nate lifting a chunk of metal from Tracker’s stomach.

  Thank God. Relief gushed through me. Did this mean he would live?

  “He’s going to need a transfusion.” Nate glanced at Gordon.

  Gordon nodded. “No problem.” He leaned against the wall and held his arm out to Nate.

  A sound from the yard out front had me glancing outside again. The greedy opportunists who’d shot Tracker were on the street out front, their Jeep slowly patrolling the road. They must have changed out the flat tire. I snuck a glance at the house across the street, but the blinds were still drawn. Had the neighbor decided to mind her own business?

  I jerked back to the roomful of powerful men. “Um, the guys who shot Tracker are out there.”

  Five pairs of eyes turned toward me.

  Nate waved at the others. “You guys handle it. Be quick about it. We don’t need an audience if we can help it. Gordon and I will take care of Tracker.”

&nb
sp; The three men left the room without a word.

  “Jessica, come over here. I need your help.” Nate waved me over.

  More than happy to be away from the window and out of sight of whatever was about to happen outside, I scurried toward the bed.

  Nate laid his hand over Tracker’s bullet wound and a current seemed to pass through him and into Tracker. Then a faint burnt-skin-smell floated up from Tracker as Nate removed his hand. I stared at Tracker’s wound in shock. Nate had somehow cauterized the wound with his hand. What the hell?

  Nate placed a large dressing over Tracker’s wound and laid my hand against it. “Press down tightly. I cauterized it, but it’s still fresh and we have to hurry. I’m about to put more blood in his body from Gordon, and we don’t want it to start bleeding again.”

  I swallowed hard, forcing back the nausea.

  You can do this, Jess. Be brave.

  Nate patted my knee. “You okay?”

  I lifted my gaze to his. He had slipped his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing eyes that were a striking light green with gray undertones.

  I nodded. “Yeah. I think so. How did you…do that?”

  Gordon chuckled from where he leaned against the wall several feet away. “Nate can heal things. But nothing major like cancer or broken bones. He can seal up a wound, or cauterize one closed, but his ability doesn’t allow him to go internally to heal deep injuries. He can also make the pain go away. We don’t need pain meds with Nate around. He’s a lifesaver when one of us is injured.”

  I nodded slowly, my eyes wide. That was awesome. “Do all the dregs have supernatural abilities?”

  Gordon nodded. I averted my gaze as Nate found a vein in Gordon’s arm and stuck a needle in it.

  “What’s yours?” I asked Gordon, glancing back at him.

  “I make things grow.”

  The Gardener. Of course. The name was fitting. Did the name refer to plants or did it refer to other things as well?

  These guys were special. Truly unique. All of them. What were the others dregs’ talents?

  Muffled sounds from outside the window indicated the dregs had encountered the thugs. I tuned them out and stared down at my hand over Tracker’s wound. I let my gaze slide up his naked, bloody torso, then over to his arm. I hesitated, then lifted my other hand and grasped Tracker’s hand, gently squeezing it in mine. His hand was cold. Lifeless. I willed my heat to flow into him. To give him life. To help him heal.

  I glanced up in time to see Nate and Gordon exchanging a glance. I didn’t care what they thought about me holding Tracker’s hand.

  Gordon cleared his throat. “So, tell us what happened, Jessica. How did Tracker get shot?”

  I took a deep breath, slowly exhaled. Then I told them about going to Augusta to follow the lead Tracker had, getting taken hostage by that black man, Jermaine, then Tracker shooting him, people screaming, Tracker announcing who he was so everyone would leave us alone. Then fleeing. Running into the road block. Tracker fighting them all off and getting shot.

  Gordon scrunched his brow and glanced at Nate. “Doesn’t sound like Tracker. He notices every single detail about everything. No one ever gets the best of him.”

  Assuming he was referring to Jermaine capturing me, I admitted, “It was my fault. Tracker was in front of me. I wasn’t paying attention.” Because I was too busy ogling Tracker’s ass.

  Nate nodded. “What I want to know is why Tracker didn’t kill those bastards who shot him.”

  “I asked him the same thing,” I admitted quietly. “He said I’d seen enough violence for one day.” And that if he ever wanted to be good enough for me, then he had to stop killing.

  Gordon and Nate exchanged another glance. “Shit, Tracker’s getting soft.” Gordon eyed me knowingly. Heat scalded my cheeks. Gordon’s lips twitched. “Are you falling for him, girl?”

  My face grew hotter. I lowered my gaze, not saying anything.

  Nate snorted.

  “Be careful, Jessica,” Gordon warned softly. “You know once he finds your sister, he’ll walk away and never look back.”

  “Tracker’s a good man,” I said defensively, though Gordon spoke the truth. I meant nothing to Tracker. Right? I wasn’t even sure why he was helping me. But I believed he had good in him.

  Nate shook his head and turned away. He cleaned up Tracker’s arm where Tracker had severe road rash. Then he pressed his hand against the wound and while I stared, a scab slowly appeared over the cuts. Wow. That was incredible.

  Gordon huffed. “None of us are good men, Jessica. We’ve done bad things. Terrible things.”

  I lifted my gaze to Gordon’s in challenge. “Everyone does things they’re ashamed of. That doesn’t make them bad. And just because you’ve done bad things in the past doesn’t mean you can’t do good things now.”

  Gordon’s fuzzy red brow shot up. “Are you sleeping with him?”

  More heat crept into my cheeks. I shook my head. “No. He’s been…a perfect gentleman.”

  Nate snorted with soft laughter and glanced at Gordon. “I told you, man, I think he’s gay.”

  Gordon rolled his eyes. “No. Tracker’s not gay. He’s just…particular.”

  What did that mean? Did Tracker think I was ugly? If he wasn’t attracted to me, then why had he drawn me naked?

  “He drew me,” I blurted, though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince them or myself that Tracker found me attractive enough to want to draw me.

  Gordon smirked. “Nude?”

  My face grew hot all over again. I nodded and lowered my gaze.

  Nate chuckled. “Okay, you’ve convinced me he’s not gay. But why the hell isn’t he fucking you? Is he crazy?”

  My face was so hot it burned. “Because I…” I trailed off. “Didn’t want him to.”

  Gordon guffawed. “Sounds like our boy has a conscience. That makes him a better person than the rest of us.” He eyed me for a long moment, making my discomfort grow. “You’re changing him, Jessica, and I’m not sure if I like that.” His gaze hardened.

  Nate grunted in obvious agreement. “Come here, Jessica.” He patted the edge of the bed. “Let me see your leg.”

  I obeyed, sitting near Tracker’s feet while Nate cleaned the road rash on my calf. I hissed out at the stinging pain as he wiped it with alcohol, then pressed his palm against my stinging flesh. Almost instantly, the pain went away. He removed his hand and I stared down at my leg. It had scabbed over like Tracker’s arm. “Wow,” I whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. You’re amazing. Thanks.”

  Nate chuckled. “Anytime.”

  The other three dregs chose that moment to come back into the room. Nate turned back to Tracker, checking the IV line that linked him to Gordon, sharing Gordon’s blood.

  “We took care of the situation,” the blond guy said. He glanced at me. “I’m Logan, by the way. They call me The Trainer.”

  I nodded at him. Something about his speech was slightly off, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. “I’m Jessica. Nice to meet you.”

  The guy with light brown hair smacked Logan in the arm. “He’s partially deaf. You have to speak up around him. Bomb went off near his head. Blew off his ear and half his face. Thank God for plastic surgery.” He chortled, then stuck his hand out to me. “I’m Noah. I’m the Hacker.”

  Dear God. A bomb had gone off near Logan’s head? He was probably lucky to be alive. And the plastic surgeon had done a good job on his face, as I could only see a small scar near his jawline and another one near his hairline. His hair was longish, hiding his missing ear.

  I let go of Tracker’s hand long enough to shake Noah’s hand. “Hi. And why were you discharged?”

  Noah pointed at his right eye. “Bullet went through my eye. It’s a major handicap for a soldier.”

  I nodded. I could see that. A prosthetic eye replaced what once apparently had been his real eye. Blindness in one eye would make him extremely vulnerable.

  The other
man, the dark guy, eyed me without introducing himself. He glanced down at my hand over Tracker’s and made a sound of disgust.

  I couldn’t take his rudeness anymore. Lifting my gaze to his, I glared.

  “And what’s your name? Satan?”

  The other dregs snickered and glanced at the dark guy to gauge his response.

  The Hispanic man’s gaze narrowed on me. He said something in rapid Spanish, then turned from the room.

  Gordon whistled softly. “Damn, girl, you’re really stirring shit up, aren’t you? Don’t worry about him. He’s just an ornery bastard. His name’s Antonio, but he goes by Tony. He’s the Smuggler.”

  So that guy was The Smuggler? I didn’t like him. Not even a little bit. He was a jerk.

  “Why was he discharged?” I asked. “Pure evilness?”

  The other dregs exchanged glances before Gordon murmured, “Something like that.”

  Nate clamped the tube that flowed blood from Gordon into Tracker. “I think Tracker’s stable enough to move him now. Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jessica

  Nate told me there was nothing I could do while Tracker’s body healed. He said that even though he’d healed the outer part of the wound with his hand, it still might be a day or two before Tracker woke, because the bullet had done some internal damage and Tracker’s body would need time to heal. I stayed by Tracker’s side, monitoring his condition for that entire first night. Nate came to check on Tracker every few hours. He told me to get some rest, that Tracker wasn’t going to die. I didn’t want to leave Tracker alone, so instead of going to my cot, I cuddled up next to Tracker in the bed. It was a little out of character for me to be so brazen with a man, but I cared about him and wanted to be close in case he needed me.

  I dreamt of a different life, a different world. Of happiness. A life with Tracker. Just the two of us. We were happy in the dream, in love, constantly touching, unable to get enough of each other. I’d never known that kind of happiness, and when I woke, the dream still fresh in my mind, I longed for that happiness someday. With Tracker. Was I a fool?