by Susan Stoker, Cristin Harber, Cora Seton, Lynn Raye Harris, Kaylea Cross, Katie Reus, Tessa Layne
“You gonna start prepping the walls upstairs?” she asked, determined to keep the conversation work-oriented.
“That’s the plan.”
Her heart beat faster when he kept staring at her, then reached one arm behind him. The trickle of alarm turned into a torrent as he drew something from his back pocket, but it was only a pair of goggles, and she inwardly berated herself for being so paranoid. Last night’s situation must have rattled her more than she’d realized. “Scott and me will get started in the master bedroom,” he said. “See you in a while.”
“Yeah.”
When he turned and jogged up the stairs, she blew out a breath and shook her head at herself. Creepy though Eddie might be at times, neither he nor any of the others had been anything but polite to her from day one. Maybe he was harmless. Maybe her gut was wrong.
She took the cabinet doors outside onto the back deck to work on them. In the midst of setting them on the sawhorses, she noticed some staining on a couple of them and bent to take a closer look.
Cursing softly, she ran her fingers over the wood grain marked with some sort of liquid. Maybe one of the guys had spilled something on them yesterday and she hadn’t noticed.
Lips pursed, she let out an irritated sigh. The only way to fix it was to sand the entire front down again, and hope to hell she could salvage the doors that way. She’d put too much work into them to have to start over again now.
She wasn’t alone with Eddie anymore so she went back inside to get her sander, then put on her tunes. The pop music Wyatt seemed to hate so much flooding out the kitchen doors, as she slipped on her goggles and mask. Turning on the sander, she got busy.
A few moments after she got to work, everything else fell away as it always did when she was working on a project. The beat of the music came through the loud whine of the sander as she moved it over the wood, a fine cloud of sawdust rising into the air.
After a few passes she stopped to check her progress, almost holding her breath. Please let it work, please let it work…
Only half of the stain had come off. Her heart sank.
“Dammit,” she muttered, scowling as she turned the sander back on. She couldn’t take off much more of the wood’s surface without damaging all the detail she’d worked so hard on adding.
Carefully moving the sander over the stubborn part of the stain, all her focus was on the task at hand. When noises began penetrating her awareness, at first she thought it was just the music. But then something like a shout came from behind her.
She straightened and half-turned, and was just reaching down to shut off the sander when a flurry of movement in the house caught her attention. As she flicked the off switch, shock jolted through her when Eddie suddenly appeared at the far end of the kitchen.
His eyes were wide with panic, and blood soaked the front of his shirt as he gripped the edge of the doorframe with one blood-slicked hand.
Jesus! Had he impaled himself on something? She ripped off her goggles and mask, automatically took a step toward him, wanting to help. “Eddie, what—”
“Run,” he gasped, and sank to his knees.
She rushed toward him but he shook his head and clamped his hand to the wound in his chest, his expression terrified. And resigned. As if he knew it was too late for him, that he was going to die. “He’s…gonna kill you. Run.”
What? Had someone shot him? Austen recoiled a step, cast a frantic look around. She had to run but she couldn’t leave Eddie. “What are you talking about? Who?”
“Me.”
A scream trapped in her throat as she whirled around to face the silhouette outlined by the bright light flooding through the open doors leading to the deck. Her heart stuttered and she squinted, then the man shifted and she saw the gun in his hand.
Terror raked icy claws at her insides. Her gaze followed that gun as it pointed at her, then trailed up the man’s arm…and into a pair of icy blue eyes.
Scott.
Her face prickled as all the blood rushed out of it, and her muscles were taut as wires. “What—” she began, then stopped because her throat closed up.
“You’re coming with me,” he said in a low, deadly voice, his hand steady on the gun.
Austen stood frozen, too afraid to move, every muscle locked.
“Leave her…’lone,” Eddie wheezed behind her.
Scott ignored him, his hate-filled gaze boring into hers. “Come here, bitch,” he snarled, motioning impatiently with his free hand, “or I’ll shoot you right fucking here and now.”
She almost did as he said, almost took a step toward him, but something in her refused to obey. Spinning around, she grabbed the first weapon she could see, a nail gun, then whirled and fired it at him.
He staggered back and clapped a hand to his chest where the nail had driven into his flesh, his cry of pain and rage sent a chill down her spine.
Austen fired again and ran.
He roared in pain. “You’re dead, bitch!” He got off a wild shot that punched into the doorframe where her head had just been a split second before, sending up an explosion of splinters.
She veered left and raced for the front door, desperate to get out, to find cover. The extension cord on the nail gun was going to run out soon. She fired again and dropped it as she kept running. Her gaze locked on her truck through the open front door, parked right in front of the porch. She might be able to reach it before he shot her if she was fast enough.
Raw terror exploded through her when she heard his running footsteps on the old wooden floor behind her, almost as loud as the pounding of her heart. Her mind whirled, a thousand things flying through her head all at the same time.
There was no one around to hear her if she screamed for help. Scott was coming after her. He would shoot her, same as he had Eddie.
She had to save herself. Stay alive until help arrived.
She raced through the front door. Her right foot had just landed on the top step when a shot rang out behind her.
* * *
Wyatt was in a shitty-ass mood by the time he reached the worksite. All that time wasted, and for what? For the past three hours he’d talked to the cops who’d showed up to his place, then answered questions and spoken to detectives down at the police station, with nothing to show for it. He’d been prepared for it, but was still disappointed.
He’d handed over the mask and given them the pictures he’d taken of the footprints outside his back window, but it would be hours yet before they could analyze any of it. The cops said they’d call him if they found anything, but Wyatt had a feeling nothing would come of it.
With no leads and still no idea who had sent those texts, they were at a dead end. And right now, all he wanted was to get back to Austen.
It had only been a few hours since he’d last seen her, but he missed her already and that was a revelation in itself. The only reason he’d let her go into work by herself this morning was because she’d insisted on going, and she wouldn’t be alone on site.
After last night he couldn’t wait to see her again, wished he could throw her over his shoulder and hide away with her in the cabin for the next week. She was just so damn sweet and kind and sexy, he couldn’t help falling for her. If he had his way she’d check out of the motel and stay with him until her house was finished.
Scott’s and Eddie’s vehicles were parked out front with Austen’s when he arrived at the worksite. He picked up the tray of drinks he’d stopped to buy at the café for Austen and the guys, then lifted Grits down from the cab and set him on the ground. The dog turned and raced up the front steps into the house before Wyatt had even shut his door.
Three steps up the front porch, he stopped dead when a terrified female scream ripped through the air, coming from the rear of the house. He’d never heard Austen make that sound before, but he somehow knew it was her. Alarm slammed into him.
“Austen!” The quickest way out back was through the house. He dropped the drinks and charged up the front st
eps, through the foyer, headed for the kitchen.
Wyatt sucked in a breath and jerked to a halt when he saw Eddie lying facedown in a pool of blood in the kitchen doorway, unmoving. Grits was sniffing at him.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, and drew his weapon from his waistband. Austen! Raw terror flooded him as he jumped over Eddie’s body and raced for the deck doors.
She screamed again, from somewhere out in the backyard. The sound was high-pitched, petrified, and it blasted through Wyatt like a frag grenade.
Grits started barking and snarling as he raced through out onto the deck. Wyatt ran after him, noticing the trail of blood staining the drop cloths, leading straight out the doors. Oh, fuck, was she wounded? Outside, Grits was going nuts, snarling and barking hysterically. What the hell was—
His breath caught when he reached the back deck and took in the scene before him.
Off to his left Austen was partially hidden from view in some bushes lining the west side of the yard, and she was trying to fend off someone with a garbage can lid. The man’s back was turned to him as he lunged for Austen, a gun in his hand.
She screamed and lashed out with the garbage can lid, striking the assailant in the shoulder and head. Grits was at their feet, snarling and nipping at the man’s leg.
The man growled and slashed out a hand at Austen, knocking her weapon away. She whirled to flee but the man shot his arm out and clamped it around her throat, and Wyatt caught a glimpse of his face.
Shock and rage detonated inside him.
Scott. He suppressed the urge to roar in rage and anguish. That bastard. That fucking bastard. Wyatt would kill him for daring to go after Austen.
Everything slowed as he raised his weapon.
His pulse thudded in his ears as he took aim, locking on his target just as Scott spun and fired at him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Noooo!” Austen screamed as the shot exploded from Scott’s gun. Heart in her throat, her eyes stayed locked on Wyatt as he dove to the deck and disappeared behind a stack of lumber. She couldn’t tell if he’d been hit or not.
Pure rage slammed into her. Baring her teeth, she rammed backward against Scott with all the force she could muster. He grunted and tipped slightly. She seized the opportunity and drove the point of her elbow at his head, intending to smash him in the middle of his lying fucking face.
He dodged the worst of it, her elbow skimming the edge of his cheek. The shift in momentum threw her off balance. She threw out a hand to grab for the nearest branch to keep from falling, and it cost her dearly.
An expression of lethal rage contorting his face, Scott lunged forward to grab her around the throat with his forearm and locked it tight. Grits was barking ferociously just feet from them, charging forward every so often to nip at Scott’s legs.
The arm around her throat tightened. Austen choked and struggled, clawing at his skin. Then something hard and cold pressed against her temple and she went dead still as she realized he had the gun to her head.
She was panting, her entire body shaking under a lash of adrenaline and fear. Her eyes darted over to the deck but there was no sign of Wyatt and her heart shattered to think he’d been shot. She needed to get to him, to stop the bleeding—
Grits let out a ferocious snarl and lunged at Scott, sinking sharp teeth into his lower leg.
Scott yelled and kicked the dog off him. Grits cowered. “Get the fuck outta here,” Scott growled, and jerked the gun away from her head.
Austen realized his intention and struggled in his hold, tried to ruin his shot. “No—”
He fired.
Grits let out a bloodcurdling scream as the bullet hit him, then disappeared into the underbrush.
The tears she’d been holding at bay flooded her eyes as once again Scott shoved the muzzle of the gun against her temple. “Let me go,” she choked out, her eyes feeling like they were going to burst from the pressure around her throat.
“Not a fucking chance,” he snarled back, dragging her deeper into the bushes. “I’m gonna kill you while Wyatt watches.”
“He’ll kill you first.”
“I don’t care if I die, so long as he sees me kill you first.”
He was a monster. She could smell blood, could hear Grits’s pained cries coming from somewhere nearby. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she focused on the deck, searching for Wyatt.
Scott dragged her to a spot beside an opening in the bushes and she had no choice but to follow. “Why?” she demanded in a strangled voice. Her throat felt raw and bruised from the pressure around it, and her insides were quivering. The will to fight burned bright inside her, fueled by the rage and need for vengeance. She wasn’t going to let him kill her, let alone hurt Wyatt by making him watch her die.
“I know you’re still alive, Colebrook,” Scott called out.
He was breathing hard, his muscles twitching. She could smell his sweat and almost taste his fear, but it was mixed with a terrifying kind of elation and the feel of his erection pressed against her rear turned her stomach.
He was turned on by this. The thrill of the hunt, and the idea of killing her and Wyatt. Sick bastard. She swallowed, frantically thought of what she could do to get out of this.
“Come out like a man and watch what I do to her, you son of a bitch,” Scott yelled.
Austen stared at the deck, heart in her throat. Grits was no longer crying, but his agonized whining sliced at her like razors.
“Does she know what happened that day in Afghanistan, Wyatt? Did you tell her what a hero you are before you fucked her on that couch last night?”
Oh God, she was going to be sick.
“Yeah, big-time war hero. A real stud, damn near the Bionic Man!” He paused to draw a breath. “The truth is, you should have died out there with the others. You don’t deserve to be here when the rest of them are dead.”
Austen’s blood turned to ice. If Wyatt was still alive, those words would hurt him more than any bullet wound ever could. “Stop it,” she grated out.
Scott jerked his arm against her throat, momentarily cutting off her air, and kept going. “It was your fault, Wyatt, and you know it. Those Marines are dead because of you. All of them, including Taylor.”
Taylor. The grandson of the woman who’d owned this house. What was Scott’s connection to Taylor?
“You were his squad leader. He was your responsibility. And he was my best friend,” he added, his voice cracking. “He should still be here, not you. This house should be his, not your goddamn whore’s. I should be working for him, not you. But he’s dead because of you, and you were the only one who survived. You fucked up and the whole town rallied around you. I didn’t do anything wrong and they all turned on me, even my wife. Well, now you’re gonna find out the true meaning of suffering, my friend. I’m gonna take her from you while you stand there and watch and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do to save her.”
Her heart seized when she caught motion at the pile of lumber and then Wyatt appeared, pistol gripped in both hands, his expression icy calm. Relief speared through her when she saw that he wasn’t wounded, but she wished he’d stayed behind cover.
The cold look on his face was absolutely terrifying and Scott’s cruel words to him pierced her. She was furious that this asshole would blame Wyatt for something he’d had no control over. Wyatt had suffered enough and she wished she could escape Scott’s hold long enough to grab the gun and shoot him between the eyes.
“Let her go,” Wyatt commanded in a low voice, everything about him radiating cool confidence.
“I don’t think so, sergeant,” Scott sneered.
“I’m not gonna ask again,” Wyatt said, and her skin prickled at the menace in his voice.
She was out of time.
For a single heartbeat she stared up at Wyatt through tear-blurred eyes, drinking in the sight of him as she fought past the fear and numbness to unleash the fury burning inside her.
Now.
With
a strangled cry of rage, she shot both hands up to lock around the hand holding the gun to her head at the same time as she let her legs go limp. Scott jerked in surprise as her attack caught him off guard, and she wrenched his wrist back and down as hard as she could.
The gun went off, so close to her ear the noise deafened her. He screamed as his wrist snapped, and the gun fell from his hand.
Then the scream cut off suddenly and he went limp. He crashed to the ground, dragging her with him. Terrified, Austen rolled and lunged for the gun. She grabbed it, rolled to her side and aimed it at him.
She stared in shock at the hole in the center of his forehead. Blood trickled down his face, his pale blue eyes half-open and staring vacantly.
The gun fell from her fingers as strong hands gripped her and lifted her against a wide chest. “Austen.”
Wyatt’s arms banded around her, crushing her to him. She whimpered, clutched at his shoulders as she buried her face in his neck. He set a hand beneath her chin and tipped her face up, his eyes scanning her face anxiously. “Are you okay?”
She managed a nod, everything shaking so badly she couldn’t get the words out. Without meaning to she looked over her shoulder, her gaze automatically going to Scott.
“No, don’t look.” Wyatt took her head in his hands and turned her to face him. Those gorgeous hazel eyes delved into hers, full of concern, and her face crumpled as everything hit home.
“Sweetheart,” he groaned, one hand cradling the back of her head as he lifted her and began carrying her out of the bushes.
“N-no,” she protested, squirming out of his grip. “Grits.”
* * *
The moment he released her she ran on rubbery legs over to a certain spot in the bushes. Wyatt followed, his stomach hard as a block of concrete. He didn’t want to find his dog dead. Just couldn’t deal with it on top of everything else. Eddie was already lying dead in the kitchen entryway.
When Austen knelt and pushed the branches away, a pained sound escaped her when she saw Grits. He was lying curled up in a tight ball, his left hindquarters covered in blood. He was panting rapidly, his eyes glazed as he looked up at them, and his heart broke when the end of Grits’s tail wagged in recognition.
