“I, Hank…” His eyes slid shut.
“Hank what?” she demanded. She wanted to shake him, force him to answer her, but she knew it would be futile as she watched him struggle not to fade into unconsciousness. What was it about Hank that Jakes wanted to tell her? Why were his first words about Hank, who had been dead for almost five months?
“Royce,” Briar yelled over her shoulder, “call an ambulance. It’s Jakes and he’s bleeding out.” Briar unzipped her jacket, unbuttoned her shirt, and tore it off in a rush. As fast as she could, she wadded the fabric up and pressed it against the wound in Jakes’s side.
Seconds later, Royce was at Briar’s side, phone in his hand.
“Where’s he shot?”
“Just under the ribs. Spleen, kidney I don’t know.”
Royce knelt next to the wounded man. “Jakes.” The downed man opened his eyes again. “You need to try and tell us what happened. What’s going on? Help is on the way, stay with us. Who did this to you?”
Jakes made an effort. Briar could see him trying to form words, but his eyes closed again. His breathing was raspy and uneven and had her very concerned.
“Shit.”
Briar grabbed Jakes’s wrist. “He’s still got a pulse but it’s weak and erratic.”
“Bishop and Caleb are on their way, but they’re about twenty minutes out. They were up by the river tracking the shooter at Tor’s.”
“Did they find anything? And what about an ambulance?”
“I called for one. They found some fresh tire tracks on the access road but nothing else.”
Briar shivered and remembered she was sitting in nothing but her bra.
“Hold this for me?”
Royce kneeled next to Jakes and took over trying to keep him from bleeding out.
Quickly Briar pulled her jacket back on and fished her phone out of her pocket, calling Agent Klay for the third time in less than twenty-four hours. He answered immediately.
“Nilson, what’s the situation?”
Briar was momentarily surprised by the fact that Klay didn’t ask a bunch of questions, just trusted that she had a situation and needed back up. Even though she hadn’t done anything wrong, after what had happened in Arizona, Briar had felt like a pariah.
“It depends on what day we start with, sir.”
The wind picked up again, making the few leaves left on the maple trees rattle and a few of them give up and float to the ground. Even for Briar, who’d been an agent for thirteen years, the last forty-eight hours had been surreal.
“At the beginning, Agent.”
Briar snorted. If he only knew. “How about the Spark Notes? This morning we drove out to the funeral home to make arrangements for my father’s body. We found the mortician inside sporting a clean bullet hole in his forehead, and Christian Jakes outside, bleeding out from a bullet in the gut. We need a medivac, sir, and now, or he doesn’t have a chance.” Royce tapped her on the leg, holding his free hand out. “One second, let me hand the phone to Sheriff King.” She passed it to Royce, who told Klay exactly where the Bridgeton Funeral Home was.
A minute later, Royce hung up on SAC Klay and handed her phone back. “A copter is on its way. I guess it’s nice to know people in high places.”
Jakes moaned, restlessly turning his head. Royce kept Briar’s shirt pressed against his wound, but what they really needed was something to pack it with. Jakes lifted his hand as if to reach for her and Briar kneeled again to take it and hold it carefully, not knowing what he needed or if he was going to make it.
“He’s lost so much blood,” she said uselessly.
Jakes couldn’t die. They needed answers about what was going on. Not only in Rexville, but what the hell had gone wrong with the Spiders MC investigation, too, and Jakes was the only one who could answer those questions.
“Who shot him?” Royce asked, looking around again. “And where are they now? I don’t like being out here in the open like this. We’re sitting ducks.”
She felt a slight pressure on her hand, and Briar looked back down at Jakes. “Got… one. T—” His voice broke off, the effort too much.
“Got one?” She repeated. “You shot one of your attackers?”