Clenching her teeth, she cinched down on the belt hard, sending shards of pain through her entire body. She would’ve given anything for the Individual First Aid Kit she always carried in her car, but she knew her training was more than sufficient to make do without it. Her temporary bandage wouldn’t last, but it was better than nothing.
She forced herself to focus on her training and immediately began assessing herself for the most dangerous life-threatening injuries.
Massive hemorrhage? Well, the three new holes in my body probably count.
Airway? I’m breathing. That’s a start.
Respirations? She took several breaths and listened for whistling or bubbling coming from her chest and abdomen that might indicate her lungs were compromised. Nada. So far, so good. The bullets probably hadn’t gone too deep.
Circulation? Aside from the bouts of dizziness and nausea, her heart was still ticking, although it had probably been taxed far more than it ever had before.
Head injury? She reached up and remembered the headbutt to the helmet she had taken just before being shot. It was probably the cause of the wicked headache she had, but other than a small cut and a minor concussion, it wasn’t anything to worry about.
Her self-assessment took less than ten seconds, and she was satisfied that she had treated herself as best as she could. All that was left was to wait for the ambulance to reach her.
Punky pushed herself over to one side and brought her knees up underneath her. She fought through the pain to bring one leg up. And then another. With an arm wrapped tightly around her abdomen — pressing hard against her makeshift dressing — she stood and waited for the dizziness to subside before taking a hesitant step toward the road.
She shuffled by the Ducati that looked mostly intact aside from the road rash it sustained during the crash, and she stopped when she realized that her Challenger was gone.
Bastard.
She bent over and lowered her head, hoping to tighten her grip on the consciousness that was slipping through her fingers.
I need to get to the ambulance.
She pulled out her cell phone and saw the words “No Service” in tiny letters at the top of the screen.
Fucking figures.
Punky shoved the phone back in her pocket and turned slowly back to the Ducati. She wasn’t an experienced rider by any means and would probably only put the nail in her own coffin by getting on the thing, but she didn’t have another choice.
She still needed to get to Jax and warn him about…
Tan Lily.
The thought struck her like a hammer. With her out of the picture, SUBLIME would most likely be on his way to the safe house in Valley Center. And nobody knew he was coming. The fear she felt caused adrenaline to surge into her body and gave her a boost of much needed energy. She was still in severe pain and struggled with every step, but a mask of determination fell over her face as she lifted the heavy bike from its side.
Standing next to it, her stomach twisted in knots. But she lifted a leg and swung it over the bike. She struggled to keep it upright as she lowered her chin to her chest and closed her eyes to fight off another wave of vertigo.
“Come on, Punky!” she yelled at herself.
She opened her eyes and checked to see that the key was turned on before pressing the red start button, listening to the Ducati’s motor turn over before starting. She reached for the throttle and twisted it several times, hearing the throaty growl of the engine. She put the bike into gear and pulled away from the edge of the road, struggling to keep it upright as she turned back toward the park’s entrance.
She worked the throttle in short bursts as vertigo fought to topple her. The bike surged and weaved as she crept closer to the help she desperately needed.
Hold on… Just hold on…
She felt herself slipping and silently chided herself for being weak. Her vision narrowed dangerously, and her hearing became muted. She was focused on the road in front of her, trying desperately to make it to the next reflective marker, the next crack in the road, the next anything that would get her closer to the ambulance.
Slowly, the road began to tilt. At first it was subtle, and she shifted her weight to counter it. She could hear her heart thumping in her ears and was distracted by the silence in between beats as they lengthened to the point where she thought her heart would simply stop. The road tilted again, and no matter how she shifted her weight, it became impossible to stop.
The soda straw of vision closed in around a road that was tilted almost ninety degrees, and she felt the impact on her hip and shoulder before blacking out.
53
Guo Kang leaned back into the bolstered seats, enjoying the Dodge Challenger far more than he thought he would. He had loved riding the Ducati but hadn’t thought twice about laying it down to make his escape. That was what set him apart from his adversary. He was decisive in ruthless execution. The American had been weak.
He downshifted using the paddle on the steering wheel and felt himself sink deeper into the seats as the muscle car accelerated almost instantaneously.
Great taste in cars, though.
He accelerated up the switchbacks and, at the crest of the hill, steered the Challenger past the entrance to the fly-in community where the Americans had stashed the doctor and her daughter. To avoid drawing unnecessary attention to himself, he eased off the gas pedal and coasted through the residential area until the trees closed in around him.
He spotted them instantly. Parked along the opposite side of the road was a matte black Ford Raptor truck with two men sitting inside. Even through the tinted windows, he could tell they were parked there to observe traffic passing the gate. When he brought the Challenger to a stop, one of the men lifted a radio to his mouth to report his presence.
Perfect.
He didn’t know what kind of protection surrounded Tan Lily, but if he wanted to maintain the element of surprise, he needed the men in the truck to report his arrival. He figured ten minutes was all it would take for word to make it back to the safe house that the NCIS special agent had returned.
Instead of following the road straight through the intersection and continuing east of the private airstrip, he turned right and drove into the hills south of the safe house. Looking at his watch, he started a mental clock.
Margaret stood in the living room and stared at the runway through the floor-to-ceiling window. She was on familiar ground and had Cher by her side, but she grew increasingly nervous as the hours ticked by without hearing from Punky. She had promised to return after neutralizing the threat, and her absence only underscored the danger to the woman under her protection.
“Base, this is Road One, over.”
Margaret didn’t flinch at the tinny voice coming through the speaker set into the portable radio on the kitchen counter. She turned for the kitchen with the cur at her heels and picked up the handset. “Go for Base.”
“Yeah, Margaret, we just had an unidentified vehicle come through the intersection and turn south away from your location, over.”
Margaret put her finger on a map stretched out on the counter and noted the location where she had placed her mobile team. “Copy that. License plate?”
“Blue Dodge Challenger…”