The Doctor + Four

“Out of state,” he replied calmly. “I was attending a conference in Anaheim.”

“And you made a beeline for Fullerton because it’s such a hotbed of news?” Sonya had nothing against an undercover DEA agent—that seemed the most probable explanation for his nosiness—but Gina and her baby were more important than some drug bust.

“I had an interview in the area. My flight doesn’t leave till tomorrow, so I took a self-guided tour of local landmarks.” He halted as Duke fixed them with a glare.

“Hey, Doc,” the fellow called. “You bring a narc?” He’d obviously drawn the conclusion from the man’s business suit.

“Don’t be ridiculous! I have no idea who he is.”

The rival gang member seized on his opponent’s distraction to lunge toward Duke, knife flashing. The move happened so quickly and unexpectedly that no one reacted except the would-be victim, who dodged, grabbed his opponent’s arm and wrestled him to the table.

Sonya was trying to figure out the best way to protect Gina. The reporter, if that was what he was, simply watched as if knife fights were a common occurrence.

The pair deadlocked with the knife in the opponent’s hand. “You owe me,” he panted. “I’m sick of your lies.”

“Hey, Frankie, how am I gonna pay if I’m dead?”

The men’s gazes locked. Then the assailant tore free and stepped back, knife upraised. “You’ll pay me tonight. No more crap.”

“My girlfriend’s got some cash. She’ll lend it to me, okay?” Duke waggled his fingers and eased toward Gina. “Give it to me, baby.”

Rigid with suspicion, Frankie waited for the payoff. Sonya figured the amount had to be significant. Where would Gina get that kind of money?

She’d just drawn the conclusion that this had to be a ruse, when something came out of the girl’s purse. It wasn’t a wad of cash. It was a gun.

Duke’s. He’d sunk so low as to draw Gina into his criminal actions, Sonya surmised, although that didn’t excuse the girl for her part.

Duke hadn’t quite reached his target, and the attacker seized upon the gap to leap toward Gina. Apparently, he’d rather risk getting shot than abandon his quest.

“Gina! Get out of there!” Sonya broke off as strong hands grasped her arm and pulled her toward the steps.

“You have some kind of death wish?” the stranger demanded.

“Let go! I have to help!”

“Are you nuts? Unless you’re wearing Kevlar—”

The gun roared. Sonya stumbled and might have fallen without the man’s steadying grip. Her heart thundered so hard she wasn’t certain how much of the ringing in her ears resulted from the blast and how much from panic.

Through her confusion, she realized Frankie had seized the weapon and looped an arm around Gina’s throat. Sonya could almost feel the girl’s blood pressure soaring, but she didn’t observe any sign of injury. Judging by the speed with which Duke fled down an incline to the left, he hadn’t taken a bullet, either.

Frankie forced the girl closer to the adults. Despite the patchy light, Sonya could see sweat beading her face.

The reporter raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. Sonya’s pulse was still racing and her head felt light, but for Gina’s sake, she held her ground. “Let her go. You don’t want her to lose the baby, do you?”

“Duke’s brat? Why should I care?” Frankie included them in a wave of the gun. “That creep owes me five hundred bucks. Somebody’s gotta make it good.”

Surely a nearby resident would hear the gunshot and dial 911, Sonya thought frantically. Yet the situation might turn even nastier if the police showed up.

“I have an ATM card. I’ll get your five hundred.” The photographer spoke with a raspy edge. “Take me instead of her, for God’s sake.”

Sonya’s assessment of the man ratcheted upward. Narc or not, he had guts.

Frankie’s lip curled. “Never mind the hero act. Hand over that ATM card. And your camera.” He waved the gun toward Sonya. “Your purse, too.”

Even with their money in hand, the situation would remain volatile—and the girl appeared increasingly ill. They had to get her free, but how?

As Sonya slipped the strap from her shoulder, she caught a twitch of the reporter’s eye. A signal? Hoping she wasn’t imagining his intention to coordinate a rescue, she braced to follow his lead.

He held out his wallet and started toward Frankie. Cautious, controlled. Drawing attention from the hostage. “The card and my money are in here. There’s quite a bit of cash and some traveler’s checks.”

Sonya approached from the other side, closer to Gina. She dangled her purse just beyond Frankie’s grasp. “Here you go.”

“Hey! What’re you two—” The barrel shifted from the girl’s temple.

In that instant, the reporter flung the wallet into Frankie’s face, ducked aside, then leaped to catch his wrist. While the men battled, Sonya hauled a startled Gina toward the steps.

The girl’s compliance ended when the reporter wrenched the weapon from Frankie. “Let me go, Doc. We’re safe now.”

“Not until we get you to a hospital.” Sonya tried to make her case persuasive. “You don’t look well. Your condition…”

The girl doubled over. “It’s squeezing like crazy! What the hell is that?”

Sonya hung on to her. “It’s a contraction. You’re in labor.” She was groping in her purse for the cell phone, when she saw Frankie smash the reporter’s ribs. As the man staggered, the thug grabbed for the gun.

Another shot shattered the evening. Gina shrieked and Sonya’s head throbbed from the blast. Frankie fled down the incline, while the stranger clutched his ribs in pain. He’d kept the weapon, though.

“Are you hurt?” she asked the newcomer.

“Just…winded,” he managed to gasp.

The contraction over, Gina sagged. “I’m calling an ambulance,” Sonya told her.

“I have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, use some sense!” Then she realized the girl was staring past her.

She spotted a uniformed officer drawing his weapon as he crested the steps. The man must have been patrolling the parking lot and heard the shot. “Police! Put the gun on the table!”

An odd expression flickered across the reporter’s face as he obeyed. Was that fear? But he’d been in much more danger earlier.

While the policeman collected the gun and requested backup on a handheld radio, Gina jerked free of Sonya’s grip. “I gotta go. Duke’ll get mad.”

“No one’s going anywhere.” The name tag read K. Monroe. To the reporter he added, “Do you have a license for the weapon?”

“Officer, that’s not my gun.” He turned to Sonya for confirmation.

To agree meant betraying Gina. Although the girl had probably been carrying the weapon on Duke’s orders, by the time they sorted this out she might have to give birth in a jail ward.