When Malcolm reached the marina, the gate was closed. He parked the BMW in front of it, then reached into the arm rest and retrieved the Glock and silencer. His hands, tainted crimson from Dani's blood, were steady as he screwed the silencer into the gun. Before, his anger, his rage had been out of control. It had no purpose and exploded throughout him, attempting to exit anywhere it possibly could. Now, it was focused. The intensity was still there, in truth it had increased astronomically, but it was concentrated in one direction. The difference between static shock and a bolt of lightning. It no longer controlled him; it simply fueled him.
He exited the car and tried the gate, but wasn't surprised when it was locked. Malcolm tucked the gun in his pants and climbed the fence. Then he redrew the weapon, ducking in and out of shadows as much as he could. Past the building where he and Dani were held, were the slips. Row upon row of them, and he had no clue which one was Bennet's. He strained his ears, trying to filter through the city's natural white noise.
A car door.
To his left, parked by the last row of slips, was Bennet's car. Malcolm weaved between boats and shadows once more. Twenty feet from the vehicle he paused, Damian was the only one near the car.
"If you like it rough baby, I can give you that...I've got everything you could ever need right here..." Damian's advances to Dani replayed in Malcolm's head, the now-familiar fury vibrating through him. The uncontrollable tremors in his hands turned to a constant hum. He watched as Damian unloaded supplies from the open trunk and set them out onto the pavement.
They're trying to run.
Malcolm crept from slip to slip each time Damian faced the trunk, until he was ten feet from the car. Damian closed the trunk, walked around to the back seat, and leaned in to reach something. Malcolm sprinted toward him, gun drawn.
"Don't move," his tone was calm, demanding. Damian froze, still partially inside the car. "Back out slowly," Malcolm ordered, his gun touching Damian's back as he reversed. "Which slip is Bennet's?"
The giant of a man scoffed, "You ain't shooting me, cop. We both know it."
The sounds of Dani, gasping for breath, inside the plastic bag Damian held around her head, flooded Malcolm's mind. His eyes hardened.
He walked around Damian, to face him, and tightened his grip on the Glock. "I'm not a cop," he replied coldly, squeezing the trigger. Damian looked up at Malcolm in disbelief, before collapsing onto the pavement in a seated position. He grabbed his thigh, calling out in pain.
Malcolm held his finger up to his lips and emphasized the fact that his gun was now pointed at Damian's torso, "Shhh."
Blood was seeping through Damian's pants as he complied.
Malcolm stood over him, "Which slip is Bennet's?" Every syllable oozed malice, "I won't ask again."
"Forty-six," Damian admitted.
"Thank you." Malcolm flipped the gun in his hand and slammed it into the side of Damian's head. He fell over, unconscious.
Slowly, Malcolm made his way down the row.
Forty-four.
He could hear movement, water sloshing around the shifting yacht.
Forty-five
Muffled voices floated from the slip in front of him and Malcolm raised his weapon, stepping silently onto the yacht. No one was on the deck, but he knew better than to descend the stairs with no clue what awaited him. Justice was coming, he could be patient.
He stood behind the stairway exit, so that whoever came up wouldn't initially see him, and strained his ears. It was difficult to make out the conversation; most of it consisted of destination information. None of that mattered to Malcolm, this boat wasn't going anywhere. After a few minutes, Luca was the unlucky one to ascend the stairs to the deck.
Malcolm crept forward as he took the last two stairs, and put his gun to the back of Luca's head. "Not a word," he whispered, nudging him forward with the barrel of the gun. The two men halted just before reaching the uncovered portion of the deck, "On your knees."
"I don't kneel to anyone. I'm sure as hell not kneeling for you," Luca retorted.
Malcolm lashed out and kicked the back of Luca's knees, forcing him to the ground. "You were saying?" he spat, as he walked around to confront Luca face to face.
"At least we got that video out of it."
Malcolm pictured Luca watching the footage of him and Dani in Bennet's office, salivating for any glimpse of her he could get. The way he talked to Damian about her...
"You going rogue now, Mr. FBI? Just going to break protocol and shoot everybody, huh?"
"Damian said something similar… before I shot him," Malcolm noted.
Luca tilted his head quizzically, trying to decipher whether or not he was telling the truth, then nodded almost appreciatively. "You probably did. Lot of good it does to be protective of your girl after the fact though." Luca had to put out a hand to catch himself; the force behind Malcolm's punch would have knocked him completely over if he hadn't. He straightened himself back up, rubbing his jaw, as Malcolm raised his gun again. Luca smiled, "Hey, I get it. You fucked up, now you're angry and want revenge. Understandable."
"Shut up," Malcolm ordered.
"I mean, Dani… She was all kinds of fine, though. Gorgeous face. And that body. Damn, that body. Soft, but firm as hell."
The image of the ripped buttons on his shirt, of Dani's exposed skin, of Luca's knowing smirk flashed before Malcolm. A high-pitched ringing started in his ears, as once again his hands vibrated with a focused fury. For the second time that day, Malcolm glared at Luca down the sight of his gun.
"You lost the woman you love. And you just watched it hap-."
Luca's sentence was cut short, his breath stolen from him. He looked down to see the blood spilling from his wound. His was the mirror image of Dani's: same location, opposite direction.
Malcolm stepped back as Luca slumped forward, hitting the deck with a thud.
"Luca?"
Malcolm's head whipped in the direction of the stairs, the thumping of Bennet's footsteps warning of his arrival. He moved away from Luca, hoping the sight of his friend would distract Bennet.
It did. As soon as Bennet reached the top of the stairs, he saw Luca and rushed to him. Malcolm was a foot behind Bennet, gun pointed, when he finally heard him, and turned his head. Bennet remained crouched down by Luca. "Mr. Bright," he acknowledged turning back to his friend as he struggled to breath. "And Damian?"
"Not as bad," Malcolm informed, coldly.
"Do you intend to kill me, Malcolm?" he asked. When he didn't reply, Bennet continued. "If you don't even have enough conviction to answer the question, I seriously doubt you will actually kill a man."
"Tell that to Luca," Malcolm shifted his eyes' focus between Bennet's head and the sight on the end of the Glock.
Bennet grinned, "Perhaps."
Malcolm moved his index finger from the side of the gun to the trigger, and paused.
In that split second, Bennet leapt at Malcolm like a cat, knocking the Glock from his hands and tackling him to the floor. Malcolm's punch connected first, but Bennet countered with two of his own, stunning him for a moment. Bennet grabbed his own gun from under his suit jacket. As he was pointing it, Malcolm quickly smacked the barrel to the side, the bullet indented for him fired into the deck instead. Again his ears rang, this time from the proximity of the gunshot. Malcolm kept Bennet's gun at bay with his left hand and grabbed his neck with his right. He dug his nails into the front of Bennet's throat with everything he had, squeezing his trachea mercilessly.
Finally, Bennet started coughing from the force, and pulled back to free himself from Malcolm's grip. Bennet stood, and Malcolm reached for his gun.
"Ah, ah, ah," Bennet warned, gun pointed, "Up."
Malcolm stood his hands raised at the level of his chest.
"Unlike you, I'm man enough to allow my enemies to die on their feet. Speaking of… How's Dani? Did she die there on the pavement, in your arms? Is that why you're here?"
The pain Malcolm had been suppressing came rushing back in one all-consuming wave of anguish. Visions of Dani, bloody and convulsing filled his mind. His voice played a melody of grief in his head: Hold on… they're almost here. Just a little longer… I love you. I need you to stay. Malcolm tried to push it back down, but there was no controlling it now that it had been released. He clutched at the front of his shirt, as though he had already been shot.
Bennet took a step forward, arm still extended.
Despite the agony washing over him, Malcolm saw his opportunity. His hands, stained with Dani's blood, flew up to Bennet's, now within reach. He grabbed the barrel with one hand and his pressure point with the other, disarming Bennet just as he had Damian the first day he arrived at Diablo.
Come back...Come back.
Without a second thought, Malcolm aimed at Bennet's chest, and fired. Again, the shot echoed infinitely out over the water. Bennet fell backward with a resounding thud.
Malcolm stood, arm and weapon still extended, frozen. His heart was beating so forcefully, it felt as though it would exit his chest. The ringing in his ear had intensified now thanks to the second gunshot. It took a moment for his limbs to cooperate when he told them to move. He crouched and laid Bennet's gun down, then walked over to him, and checked for a pulse. It was there, faint, but present. The odds of him surviving until the medics arrived were slim. Malcolm watched Bennet for another moment, before he pulled out his phone and called for the ambulance.
Malcolm sprinted through the parking garage of the hospital and into the emergency room doors. His hair was dripping wet from the water the medics gave him to clean himself up. He'd had no clue how much of Dani's blood was in his hair. Pushing the sodden mess back with his hands, he searched the waiting area for a familiar face, eyes bouncing.
"Bright." Gil's voice found him, from a corner by the windows.
Malcolm rushed to him.
She's alive, he profiled. Gil would be devastated right now if she wasn't. There was comfort in that much at least.
Still, a lump formed in his throat as he tried to ask "How is she?" The words simply wouldn't exit.
Gil seemed to understand, and replied to his unasked question. "No word yet. Doctors said she'd lost a lot of blood and was lucky to be alive when they got here. Surgery to repair the lung could take anywhere from one to four hours." He looked at his watch, "It's been a little over an hour, so."
Malcolm nodded his head in response. Given the circumstances, that was as good a report as he could have hoped for.
Gil was staring at him. Malcolm was about to question the look when a nurse approached them, concern written all over her face. Malcolm's heart immediately sank, fearful of the news she might bring.
"Sir, are you hurt?" She asked, staring wide-eyed at him.
"What?"
She waved her hand up and down in front of him, showcasing his clothing. Malcolm had completely forgotten that his clothes were covered in Dani's blood.
"Oh. No I'm-,"
Not okay. Not fine. Not any of these things.
"This isn't mine," He clarified.
"Speaking of," Gil reached down and retrieved a bag from the seat next to him. "I sent a uni to your place to grab a change of clothes. I assumed you'd be here sooner." He tilted his head slightly to the side questioningly.
Satisfied that the man covered in blood was going to change, the nurse went back to the reception area.
"Thank you," Malcolm said, looking around for the restroom.
"And this," Gil added, handing him a stack of evidence bags. Malcolm furrowed his eyebrows, confused.
"CSI needs all of your clothes for the yacht investigation," Gil explained, eying him.
So he did know already, Malcolm wondered if any of the responding officers had contacted him. Dread creeped into Malcolm's head like a thief in the night. He looked up at his mentor for a split second. Then, using the need to change as an excuse, he rushed away from Gil's perceptive gaze.
When Malcolm returned to the waiting room, Gil gave him a five minute respite before questioning him. "So, you going to tell me what happened at the marina?"
"Bennet had the cartridges. After what he did to Dani, I knew he would try to run. His yacht was the logical mode of quick escape."
"That's great, but none of that answers my question," Gil responded, glaring at him.
Malcolm ran his hands through his now damp hair, frustrated, "What do you want to know, Gil?"
"The truth would be a wonderful start."
Malcolm opened his mouth to reply, when a doctor in a surgical mask and cap exited the swinging doors. A number of people in the waiting room looked up expectantly, the two of them included. When the doctor took off the mask, Gil stood.
Dani's doctor.
Malcolm tasted bile in the back of his mouth.
"You're with Detective Powell?" the doctor asked.
Gil nodded, "Yes," as Malcolm stood paralyzed with fear.
The doctor looked at them both, his eyes weary. Malcolm forgot to breathe.
"She's out of surgery," he said.
Malcolm inhaled audibly, his breath shaking.
The doctor continued, "She coded twice on the table. Scared the shit out of us. Excuse my language. But, she pulled through. Her vitals are all over the place right now, with the blood loss, the pulmonary edema, the surgery. We definitely aren't out of the woods yet. But she made it through surgery."
Malcolm found his voice, "When can we see her?"
"She has to be out of 'critical' status to have visitors. We will let you know when we get her more stabilized."
"Okay," Gil replied, "Thank you."
Malcolm collapsed into the chair, all the emotions of the last twenty-four hours hit him like a ton of bricks. His hands started to shake and he put his head in them. Twenty-four hours ago he had been in bed with Dani asleep. How had it only been one day since then? It felt like a decade. Silent tears fell from his eyes. They carried with him everything he'd felt that day: Fear, Love, Worry, Rage.
Gil sat next to him and put his arm around him.
"Our girl pulled through," He said.
Malcolm huffed a relieved smile, looking up from his hands.
My girl pulled through.
