Her Rocky Mountain Defender. Jennifer D. Bokal
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and in one piece. Just remember that.”
“Alive and one piece,” she echoed.
“I need to get in touch with my employer in Denver. Can I use your phone?”
She pulled it from her purse and handed it over. Roman entered a number, the phone’s volume so loud that Madelyn heard the ringing.
Voice mail picked up. “You’ve reached Ian Wallace. Leave your message at the sound of the beep and I’ll return your call promptly.” The accent was British and educated. It reminded Madelyn of a blindingly white shirt, freshly pressed.
“Ian, it’s DeMarco. Big happenings but I don’t want to get in to too many details on an unsecured phone. I’m on my way to you and will fill you in when I get there.” Roman ended the call. “Thanks,” he said.
On a night that had too many questions and not enough answers, Madelyn needed to know who she was with and why. “I thought Oleg said your name was Roman Black. Now you’re DeMarco?”
“I’ve been working undercover for months.” He handed her the phone. “My alias is Roman Black.”
It seemed like the only answer he was willing to give and she set the phone on the console between the seats. He’d spoken about leaving Boulder. What was Madelyn supposed to do? Drive herself to another police precinct? She needed to report what happened, but without Roman?
Roman gripped her arm. “I need a favor. My car is parked in front of The Prow. I can’t go back for obvious reasons. Can you drive me to Denver?”
She could, but to her the real question was, did she want to? Sure, she wanted to help, but she also just wanted to be safe. She stared forward, indecision a rock in her belly. Madelyn switched her gaze to Roman. His palm remained on her wrist. Sweat dotted his upper lip. His hand slipped away. A bloody streak stained her flesh.
“Roman. You’re bleeding.”
“What? No, I’m not...” He touched his side and brought his hand up to examine by the light of the dashboard. His fingertips were crimson and wet.
“I need to look at your abdomen. You’re wounded,” she said. Her medical training clicked into place like a puzzle piece, and Madelyn now had a clear picture of what needed to be done.
“Sure,” said Roman.
Madelyn pulled next to the curb and turned on the dome light. She reached around Roman and pulled up his soaked shirt. A neat furrow had been dug out of his skin. “You were grazed by the bullet, so there isn’t any internal damage,” she said. “But you’ll need stitches.”
“I can get those in Denver.”
“Denver is thirty minutes away, even without bad weather. Don’t be the hero. Let’s get you to CU’s hospital and you can make another call from there.”
“I’m not waiting around all night in an emergency room. I need to get to Denver now.”
Roman’s lips were pale, a sure sign of blood loss. She didn’t have time to argue. Madelyn reached into her purse for her badge from the University of Colorado Hospital. It was proof that she, and therefore he, would get into the hospital’s trauma center upon arrival. Wallet. Lipstick. Apartment keys. Three quarters and a nickel. She looked again. And again. “Where is it?” Madelyn searched through the console. Nothing.
“Where is what?”
“My hospital ID. I always put it in my purse and now it’s gone.”
Then she remembered those harrowing few minutes in the beer cooler. She’d accidentally dumped the contents of her handbag and then hurriedly collected everything once the door had been unlocked. Had she been too hasty?
“The Prow?” Roman asked.
The sour taste of bile rose in the back of Madelyn’s throat. “It has to be there.”
“We have to get you out of Boulder.”
“I can’t abandon my life. I have rounds at the hospital, classes. Besides, you need to see a doctor.”
“I thought you said that you were a doctor.”
“I’m a medical school student.”
“Can you sew me up?”
“If I had the proper equipment, of course.”
“Then drive. I’ll keep pressure on my wound and give you directions as we go. Get onto the interstate and head west.”
“West? Why not south and toward Denver? I thought you wanted to talk to your employer?” Whoever that was. She turned off the dome light.
“We have to assume two things,” Roman said.
“Yeah? What?”
“First, is that Oleg Zavalov will find your ID. Soon, he’ll know everything about you. Anton already has the make and model of your car along with your license plate. It’s only a matter of time before Oleg has your address. Then Oleg will get people, like Jackson, out looking for you in all the obvious places—your apartment, the hospital and even the interstate to Denver.”
“That’s not reassuring.” Rain fell heavily, a seemingly solid wall and not thousands upon thousands of individual water molecules. The wet road reflected lights, creating a world of reality and a wavering mirror image in the water. Madelyn pulled away from the curb.
“I wish I had better news,” Roman said. “Because the second thing we have to assume will be worse.”
“How can it be worse than Oleg Zavalov knowing everything about me?”
“As long as Oleg is out there, your life is in danger.”
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