His Wife or Her Grave

The Rescue

TYRELL

Tyrell's gun was already up, trained on James’s chest. "Move and I'll kill you."

"No, you won't." James’s smile widened. "Not while you're standing so close to her. Bullets have a funny way of going through people."

Tyrell's mind raced. The staircase was narrow. No cover. James had the high ground or rather, the low ground. Better angle.

They were trapped.

"Ziva." Tyrell kept his voice steady. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head slightly. Her hand gripped the back of his tactical vest, trembling.

James tilted his head, studying them like specimens. "She's fine. Better than fine. We've been getting to know each other. Haven't we, darling?"

Ziva didn't answer.

Tyrell's finger tightened on the trigger. "If you've touched her..."

James laughed. "I have every right to. She's my daughter."

The words hung in the air like poison.

Tyrell's blood ran cold. "What?"

"Didn't she tell you?" James looked past Tyrell to Ziva. "How interesting."

"You're not my father," Ziva's voice came out shaking but fierce. "My father was David Chen."

"A man I put in the ground twenty-four years ago." James’s expression didn't change. "But biology is beside the point. I raised you. Watched over you. Shaped every aspect of your life. You're mine, Ziva. You always have been."

"She's not going back with you," Tyrell said.

"She is." James’s gun shifted slightly, pointing more directly at Ziva. "Ziva. Come to me. Now."

Ziva didn't move.

"I said now!" James' voice cracked like a whip.

Ziva's grip on Tyrell's vest tightened.

Then she did something neither man expected.

She went completely limp.

Tyrell stumbled, trying to catch her.

James' gun tracked her movement, finger squeezing the trigger.

The shot went wide. Bullet punched into the ceiling, raining plaster.

Tyrell didn't hesitate.

He launched himself down the stairs.

Slammed into James with the full force of his momentum.

They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Tyrell's gun went flying. So did James’s.

Ziva scrambled backward up the stairs, away from the fight.

James drove his elbow into Tyrell's ribs, right where they were already cracked.

Pain exploded through Tyrell's chest. His vision whited out for a second.

James used the opening to roll on top of him, hands going for Tyrell's throat.

"You can't have her!" James' face was twisted with rage. All pretense of civility gone. "She's MINE!"

Tyrell bucked, trying to throw him off. But James had training. Old military, maybe. His grip was iron.

Tyrell's vision started to blur at the edges. Lungs screaming for air.

His hand scrabbled against the floor.

James' face was inches from his, spit flying. "You think you can take her from me? You're nothing! NOTHING!"

Tyrell's vision was going dark.

This was it.

He'd failed again.

A gunshot.

Louder than the others. Echoing in the enclosed space.

James' grip went slack.

His eyes widened. Confused.

He looked down at his chest. Red bloomed across his white shirt, spreading fast.

He fell sideways, hitting the floor hard.

Tyrell gasped for air, throat burning, vision clearing slowly.

He looked up.

Ziva stood there. Hands shaking, holding the gun she'd picked up.

Still pointing it at James.

"Ziva." Tyrell's voice was wrecked.

The gun slipped from her fingers. Clattered down the stairs.

She collapsed where she stood, knees giving out.

Tyrell scrambled to her, ignoring the screaming pain in his ribs.

He pulled her into his arms.

She was shaking. Whole body trembling like she'd shatter into pieces.

"Is he dead?" Her voice was barely audible.

Tyrell looked back at James. The blood pooling beneath him. The shallow, wheezing breaths.

"Not yet."

Footsteps pounded toward them. Tyrell grabbed the gun, raised it.

"Sir!" Marcus burst around the corner, tactical vest covered in blood that wasn't his. Two team members behind him. "We need to move! Backup is coming!"

"How many?"

"Too many." Marcus saw James on the floor. Saw Ziva in Tyrell's arms. "Is she...?"

"She's okay." Tyrell stood, pulling Ziva up with him. She was still in shock. Eyes distant. "Can you walk?"

She nodded mechanically.

They ran.

The tunnel entrance was ahead. Open. Dark.

Behind them: shouting. More guards pouring in.

They dove into the tunnel. Marcus brought up the rear, tossing something back into the basement.

"Run!" he shouted.

They ran.

Ten seconds later: explosion. The ceiling behind them collapsed, sealing the tunnel.

Dust choked the air, but they kept moving.

Ziva stumbled. Tyrell caught her, half-carried her the last hundred yards.

They burst out of the old carriage house entrance. Night air. Stars overhead.

The SUVs were waiting.

Marcus's team piled in. Tyrell lifted Ziva into the back seat, climbed in after her.

"Go!" Marcus shouted to the driver.

The vehicles tore out of the woods.

Ziva stared out the back window. Flames were visible now. Something burning.

"What about Timothy?" Her voice was hollow.

Tyrell looked at her. "What about him?"

"He's here. I saw him earlier today."

Tyrell's face hardened. "Then he burns with that place."

Ziva didn't argue. Just turned away from the window.

Curled into herself.

Tyrell wanted to hold her. Tell her it was over. That she was safe.

But she wasn't touching him.

"Ziva," he said quietly.

She didn't respond.

"Ziva, look at me."

She slowly lifted her eyes. They were empty.

"I killed him," she whispered.

"You saved my life."

"I killed him."

"He would have killed us both."

Ziva shook her head. "I killed a man."

Tyrell reached for her hand.

She pulled away.

"Don't. Please don't."

So he didn't.

Just sat beside her in the back of the speeding SUV while she fell apart silently.

Marcus turned from the front seat. "Hospital?"

Tyrell looked at Ziva. "Do you need a hospital?"

She shook her head.

"Safe house," Tyrell said.

Marcus nodded. Gave the driver directions.

They drove in silence.

Tyrell's phone buzzed. He pulled it out.

Unknown number. Text message.

“You took something that belongs to me. This isn't over. V”

Victoria.

Of course.

James might be dying, but Victoria Smart was still out there.

And she'd just declared war.

Tyrell deleted the message. Pocketed the phone.

One problem at a time.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was the broken woman sitting beside him.

The woman who'd just killed to save his life.

The woman he'd do anything to protect.

Even from herself.