Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

off, stopping to look around, wondering which way to go to make his escape. His short pause enabled Ben to spot him, so he pulled to the curb and abandoned the car. Just as Ben got out he heard what sounded like a rocket, and then the dull roar of a crowd in the distance. Gareth had spotted Ben and made the mistake of waiting to see what he would do. Like a shot, Ben took off after him, both men dodging pedestrians as they ran one block, then two. Ben was keeping pace with the younger man when he dashed into an alley. Gareth stumbled slightly when making the sudden turn, and Ben began to gain on him. The pursuit changed course when Gareth, then about twenty yards away from Ben, tried the gate of a walled property. It was locked, but he scaled the wall with ease and dropped to the other side just as Ben reached the outside of the wall.

The house had two doors that opened onto a patio crowded with chairs and pots of flowers. A long table held preparations for some sort of party. Landing hard, Gareth tried to resume running but tripped on a chair, momentarily losing his footing. Both doors leading into the house were ajar, and Gareth ran through one of them just as Ben managed to get over the wall. He followed Gareth and saw him running toward the end of a dim, tile-lined corridor. Ben entered the house, welcoming the coolness but continuing to pursue the man pace for pace. Gareth reached the end of the long hallway, Ben only a few yards behind. Both men heard loud voices and laughter that seemed to come from above the stairwell to the left. Gareth was trapped against a massive carved door, the main entrance to the house. Just as Ben reached out for him, Gareth pulled the door open. The roaring of a crowd flooded the house as Gareth dashed blindly through the doorway. Confronted with a street barrier, he body-slammed it, forcing it aside. He ran straight into the middle of Calle Estafata, nearly colliding with the last few bandana-clad runners. The ground trembled beneath his feet as he heard a faint rumble becoming louder. In that instant the bulls rounded Mercaderes corner into Calle Estafata and advanced on him at full speed. He was stunned, paralyzed on the spot, and before he could react with evasive action they plowed over him, one pausing to toss him aside with its horns. Ben came through the door and stopped in his tracks, horrified by the scene in front of him.

Even though ambulances were always on standby during the bull runs, the crowds made it difficult to reach an injured runner or bystander with immediacy. Ben ripped off his shirt and knelt beside Gareth, hoping to control the profuse bleeding from his inner thigh. Yet it became obvious that manual pressure would not have helped such a gaping wound. An ambulance reached the location rather quickly, but to Ben the wait had seemed unduly long. As the emergency medical technicians transferred Gareth to a stretcher Ben could see by their expressions that his condition was grave. Ben managed to pass for a friend and was admitted to the ambulance. They left the scene, siren blaring, but Gareth’s femoral artery had been damaged. The situation urged Ben to see Gareth only as another human being, one who needed comfort in the face of his possible death. He soon lost consciousness and while the ambulance sped through the crowded streets he stopped breathing twice. Resuscitation was effective only once. He died from blood loss before reaching the hospital.

* * *

At some point during the mid-morning Ben’s parents had arrived at the hotel, having no idea what had transpired. They asked the concierge to call Ben’s room then Ana’s, but neither answered. While discussing whether they should just go to their room and wait, the concierge received a call. Ana was on the line requesting that Paris and Hugh be given a message immediately when they checked in. The concierge passed the phone to Hugh, telling him it was Ana Doherty.

“We were so sorry not to be on site to meet you, but so much has happened and there was no chance to call.”

“What do you mean? Is Ben all right? Has he made any progress in finding Olivia? Is it Valerie who’s with her?”

“I’ll answer all your questions, but right now you must get to the hospital to see Olivia.”

“What? Olivia? Then he found her. Is she all right?” Ana paused, trying to find the right words. Hugh became impatient and all but yelled into the phone. “For God’s sake tell us!”

Paris tried to grab the phone away from Hugh, but he held tight, turned to her, and said, “She’s alive.”

Ana continued, “Yes, she’s okay, or at least she will be. The doctors said she’s dehydrated and malnourished, and other than a few superficial scrapes and bruises she seems unharmed. I rode in the ambulance with her. She was completely lucid—kept asking for Ben—was Ben okay … over and over.”

Ana hesitated, unsure of what to say and how to say it. When Hugh finally spoke, his tone of voice betrayed his impatience. “What? What haven’t you told us?”

”It’s Valerie. She’s been taken into surgery. She was shot during a struggle between the kidnappers. The doctors said it doesn’t look good. She lost a lot of blood.”

Paris tugged on Hugh’s sleeve. “What about Ben? Ask her. Where’s Ben?”

Ana had heard Paris ask the question and gave the only answer she could. “I don’t know where he is. He took off after one of the kidnappers and I hate to say that I haven’t heard from him since.”

Hugh sighed, immediately thinking of how he would tell Paris that Ben was presently out of touch, who knows where and doing who knows what. He asked Ana for the name of the hospital where Olivia and Valerie