Pineapple Pack II

by Amy Vansant

  Chapter Fourteen

  Stephanie stomped her brakes and the Viper skidded three feet down the dirt road.

  She’d seen a flash of metal through the trees.

  Another car appeared ahead of her, pulling into the parking lot of Jackie’s bar.

  She’d caught up to Pirro and his thugs before they had time to hurt Jackie.

  Stephanie pulled a pair of binoculars from her glove compartment and stepped from her car to gain a better view.

  She needed to make sure it was them. If the car ahead of her belonged to Jackie, she wasn’t sure how to explain her presence.

  Hi Jackie, I’m an old friend of Declan and Seamus. Remember me? I thought I’d swing by and find out how easy it would be for a red-headed drug prince to kill you...

  The binoculars came into focus. The car didn’t belong to Jackie. She didn’t know what Jackie drove, but she knew it wasn’t a silver Impala with stylized flames across the hood. Only one cretin drove that car.

  Pirro.

  With dark skin, pale red hair and a face like a chewed piece of gum, the last thing that man needed was a flashy car to draw attention.

  Yet there it was.

  She watched as two other men hopped from the Impala. One lit a cigarette. The other drew a gun and headed toward the club.

  Here we go.

  She hadn’t planned on everything happening so fast.

  Stephanie looked back at her car and remembered with renewed dismay that she’d forgotten her gun. Usually, she kept a spare in the trunk, but she’d taken the Glock inside her office to clean the day before.

  Stupid, stupid.

  It wasn’t like her to make such a moronic mistake. Maybe it was her subconscious trying to tell her something.

  Maybe I should get a shrink. Get a little therapy, get in touch with my feelings, and then kill the doctor so he or she doesn’t rat on me...

  Maybe she was sick of killing Louis’s enemies, but right now she longed to kill Pirro.

  Kicking off her Louboutins, she winced as one skidded along the dirt road and slipped into a muddy little moat.

  Seven hundred dollar shoes. I could have been a little less dramatic.

  Breaking into a sprint, she removed the jacket of her skirt-suit and hung it on a broken branch as she passed. She jerked up her skirt to keep it from restricting her stride. The gravel road bit into the bottoms of her feet, but she pressed on.

  This was her chance to do something good. Something Declan could appreciate.

  Plus she really wanted to kill Pirro. She felt very in touch with her feelings on that one.

  The man with the gun was nearing Jackie’s door. There was no way to get by Pirro and his smoking partner and get to the door without being spotted. Several feet short from the parking lot, Stephanie stopped and leaned over, slipping her fingers into the swamp mud.

  Does Declan have any idea the things I do for him?

  She smeared the mud on her face and arms. She couldn’t bear to slap mud on her Burberry blouse. Unbuttoning it, she limped onto the asphalt, her lacy bra exposed, her hair rumpled to cascade across her face.

  “Help,” she said, walking toward the smoking man. She tried to call loud enough to catch the attention of the man about to enter the building, but he opened the door and disappeared inside without turning.

  Shoot. Have to make this quick.

  “Hey.” The smoking man spotted her. He knocked the side of his fist against the car door to catch the driver’s attention before walking towards her.

  “Eh, Chica, you look like you could use some help.”

  Stephanie peered through her hair at the leering smile on the man’s face. He was as likely to help her as she was likely to let him live another ten minutes.

  Pirro popped his head through the passenger window.

  “Hey baby, what—”

  Stephanie watched the leer drop from Pirro’s face. His eyes grew wide.

  “Chewie, don’t! That’s that crazy—”

  Still grinning, Chewie turned to better hear Pirro. “What?”

  Bad move, Chewie.

  The moment his attention diverted, Stephanie lunged forward like a cobra. She snatched Chewie’s gun from his waist band, firing it into his gut as she pulled it from his belt.

  He’d felt her arrive a second too late. His head turned, his mouth forming a large O as he doubled over and fell to the ground, clutching his stomach.

  Stephanie stepped aside to let him fall and strode toward Pirro, gun raised and pointed at his gaping mouth. He whipped back into his car.

  It pained her, but she made a judgment call.

  “You better run, Pirro. You touch your gun and I will make sure you die last and slow.”

  Pirro knew her reputation well enough not to doubt her. He hit the gas and rolled into the adjoining field, making a wide U-turn back toward the road.

  Tracing his progress with her gun, Stephanie gritted her teeth. She’d wanted to kill Pirro, but the gun she’d pulled from Chewie only had five bullets left, tops. He carried an archaic six-shooter. Obviously liked to pretend he was an old-time gunslinger. A purist.

  She could have easily sunk the remaining five bullets into the Impala without touching Pirro, who had a gun, or guns, of his own… and knowledge of Chewie’s weapon of choice. As afraid of her as he was, he knew she wasn’t bulletproof.

  A shot and a scream rang out and Stephanie swiveled her attention to the dance club. For the first time she noticed a car parked on the opposite side of the building.

  She recognized it.

  It was Declan’s.

  Stephanie bolted for the club. Behind her, another gunshot rang and she heard something wiz by her head. Pirro had taken a potshot at her on his way down the road

  Such a jackass.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charlotte cocked her head and heard what sounded like a chair sliding across the club’s wooden floor.

  “Here he comes. Sounds like he already took a seat at the bar.”

  Jackie laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Declan took a step toward the partially closed door of the office.

  Suddenly, the world around Charlotte burst into a tornado of motion.

  The door flung inward. Declan dodged to avoid being struck by it. As he twisted, a man appeared in the doorway and raised his arm, leveling a gun at Jackie’s face.

  Charlotte fought to free her body from the shock of the commotion, diving toward Jackie as the crack of the weapon echoed through the small room. Jackie screamed and collapsed beneath Charlotte’s tackle. Her left foot shot forward, punching the back of Declan’s knee, causing him to buckle backwards. Something hot bit Charlotte’s shoulder. It felt as though she’d been stung by a wasp.

  A wasp made of lava.

  An odd thought crossed her mind.

  Television lies.

  On TV, gun-shot people claimed the wound didn’t even hurt, thanks to the shock of the event.

  That was a lie.

  Her shoulder sang with pain.

  Landing on Jackie, Charlotte looked up in time to see Declan’s legs collapsing. He’d been clipped hard by Jackie’s fall.

  She thrust her arm upward and shoved his butt skyward. It was all he needed. He regained his balance.

  What next?

  Charlotte realized she didn’t know what to do. Her instinct had been to push Jackie from the path of the bullet, but what did she do once she was on her friend and on the floor? Television never showed that part. Now they were both on the ground, sitting ducks for the next bullet. Assuming the intruder’s gun had any power at all, he could shoot through them both with one bullet.

  While she appreciated economy of effort, she wasn’t rooting for the man to save ammunition today.

  She saw Jackie’s mouth move but heard nothing. Her ears were ringing. Jackie looked terrified.

  Charlotte turned toward the intruder and watched Declan crack the man across the wrist with what looked like a real karate
chop. The gun fell to the ground, blasting a second time as it tumbled. Even Charlotte’s ringing ears heard the bullet strike the wall above her head. She ducked, cringing and pushing Jackie’s head lower.

  Though in mortal danger, on the upside, she wasn’t totally deaf—or at least she wasn’t before the second shot. Now she wasn’t so sure. Though she thought she detected the muffled sounds of Jackie growing increasingly hysterical.

  Let’s try this again.

  The man snarled and struck at Declan, who swept his arm to the right, deflecting the blow. He tagged the assailant with his left fist, but as the man’s head snapped back, he kicked out with his leg, catching the side of Declan’s shin. The two of them exchanged a flurry of blows, each blocking the other’s punch or kick with one of his own.

  Short of an action movie, Charlotte had never seen two people fight so furiously before. It was almost as if a director had choreographed the battle. Stunned by the violent dance, it took her a second to realize Declan might appreciate some help.

  “Stay down,” she said to Jackie, knowing that between the gun shots and the screaming, there wasn’t much chance she’d been heard. Considering the panic on Jackie’s expression, she wasn’t too worried her friend would try to rise any time soon.

  Charlotte scrambled to her feet.

  “Get the gun,” roared Declan.

  Charlotte perked. I heard that!

  How Declan was able to see what she was doing while playing some sort of savage patty-cake game, she didn’t know.

  Good idea, though.

  She searched for the gun, unsure where it had skittered after the second shot. Spotting the weapon near the file cabinet, she reached for it, only to have her hand stomped on by the intruder.

  Seems their foe could also multitask.

  She howled in pain.

  Declan rushed the man, sending him slamming back into the door jamb. The force shifted the man’s foot from Charlotte’s fingers to the gun, kicking the weapon across the room. Charlotte scrambled after it. She’d nearly reached it when the two fighting men stumbled back in the opposite direction, grappling and twirling as they struggled for power. Jackie squealed and scrambled behind the desk. Declan’s heel hit the gun and it spun into the desk leg before ricocheting back toward the file cabinet.

  Charlotte rolled out of the way to avoid being trampled.

  Spotting the gun on the opposite side of the room, she again crawled toward it, only to have the battle switch directions, blocking her progress.

  On her hands and knees she peered up at the wrestling men. “Oh come on.”

  Pleased to find she could hear her own complaining, she dove for the gun and grabbed it, hastily pointing it back at its owner.

  She never had a chance to scream Freeze! or Stop or I’ll shoot! or any of the other cool things she’d remember shouting when she collected her dramatic private-eye exploits into a best-selling memoir.

  Declan robbed her of the chance.

  No sooner had she raised the gun, than Declan slammed the other man’s head to his knee. As the man bounced back to an upright position, stunned and wobbling, Declan side-kicked him through the door. Splinters of wood exploded as the man plummeted to the dance floor outside, landing spread-eagled and unconscious.

  Possibly dead.

  Charlotte wasn’t sure how anyone survived having their head plowed into a kneecap before being face-kicked through what appeared to have once been a pretty solid door.

  Charlotte watched as Declan rushed to the man, checking to be sure he’d neutralized his enemy.

  Since when could Declan fight like that?

  Declan turned to her, his eyes still wild with intensity, chest rising and falling with the exertion of his battle. She spotted the moment he truly focused on her. The fury in his eyes calmed. His expression relaxed. He appeared almost embarrassed.

  “We need to find some rope to tie him up,” he said.

  Charlotte nodded. “We also need to talk.”

  The sound of a car door slamming echoed from the other room.

  Jackie yelped as if she’d snapped from a quick nap. Charlotte jumped. She’d almost forgotten Jackie was there.

  Declan grabbed the gun from Charlotte’s hand and ran from the room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Declan cracked open the front door and peered outside. A barefooted woman running toward the building stopped and held up a gun.

  Stephanie.

  He opened the door and pointed his own gun at her. They stood, locked in their stalemate.

  “Stephanie,” he said.

  “Declan.”

  “Are you responsible for this?”

  She smiled. “The guy who went in there? Uh, no. That one—” She motioned over her shoulder with her gun. Declan leaned to the left and spotted a man on the ground fifty yards behind her, one hand waving in the air, the other gripping his bleeding gut. “That one was me,” she added.

  He lowered his weapon. “Is he armed?”

  She scoffed. “What am I, stupid?”

  “He’s not going anywhere?”

  “He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t bleed out in another five minutes.”

  Declan sighed. “Who are they? The one in here was trained.”

  “Drug thugs. They work for Louis Beaumont. Sort of. I suspect he works for them, but he doesn’t know that. He’s playing drug lord dress-up.”

  “Any relation to Victor Beaumont?”

  “His son. Not exactly a chip off the old block.”

  “And you? Do you work for them?”

  Stephanie hooked her mouth to the side. “Would you believe I’m recently retired?”

  He shook his head and glanced at the dying man in the parking lot. His hand still hovered in the air, dropping lower by the second.

  “I’ll call an ambulance. I suppose you’d better come in. I have to check on the other guy.”

  Declan felt someone approaching and turned with his gun raised. Charlotte stopped and held up her hands.

  “Whoa.”

  He lowered the gun. “Sorry.”

  Charlotte peered out the door and scowled. “What is she doing here?”

  Stephanie waved, gun still in her hand. “Hi, girlfriend.”

  Declan frowned. “I don’t exactly know yet. I need to get this guy tied up.”

  “Already done,” said Charlotte, as Stephanie and Declan entered. Charlotte scowled and craned her neck to peer around them. “Is that a guy in the parking lot?”

  Stephanie nodded as she walked past Charlotte. “My bad.”

  Declan glanced at the man Charlotte had tied up. She’d tied him to the bar foot rail. It didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere, even if he happened to wake up.

  Declan turned his attention to Stephanie, who’d perched herself at the bar. “What is all this? Why does Louis Beaumont want this place bad enough to kill for it?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Something to do with drugs, I imagine. They’re sort of one-minded that way.”

  “Who’s Louis Beaumont?” asked Charlotte.

  “A drug dealer,” said Declan.

  Stephanie held up a finger. “He prefers to be called a businessman, thank you very much.”

  Charlotte scowled. “You’re working for him?”

  “Not after I shot his guy, I think.” Stephanie blew her hair out of her face. “I was over it anyway.”

  Declan glanced toward the front door. “We need to call an ambulance.”

  “Oh let me,” said Stephanie grabbing the phone on the bar. She stopped and stared at the screen.

  “Is that me?” she asked, turning the screen away from her to face Declan.

  Declan looked at the screen and recognized the photo Charlotte had shown him earlier of Stephanie sitting at a bar.

  Stephanie didn’t wait for an answer and turned the screen back to herself.

  “This angle. I know who took this shot. He’s at Louis’s dry cleaning right now.”

  “What?” Charlot
te took a step forward. “Ryan Finnegan is mixed up in this?”

  “Not on purpose. Last I saw him he was tied to a chair. Unless he’s into that sort of thing and then maybe it is on purpose.”

  Charlotte looked at Declan, who turned, scowling at Stephanie.

  “You didn’t think to free him?”

  Stephanie’s eyes grew wide. “Little ole me? How could I free a kidnapped man from a drug dealer?”

  Declan’s jaw tightened. “Stephanie, I swear to—”

  She held up her hands. “It was none of my business. I’ve got my own issues. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to take a second to realize that if it hadn’t been for me you’d all be dead by now.” She glanced at the unconscious man tied to the foot rail of the bar. “You might have handled one but you wouldn’t have handled three.”

  Declan did the math. “Three? I count two. Him and gut wound out there.”

  “You forgot Pirro.”

  “Where’s he?”

  Stephanie shrugged. “On his way for reinforcements, I imagine.”

  The door swung open and Declan and Stephanie both drew their weapons.

  “Charlotte, there’s some drunk out in the parking lot—” Mariska covered her head with her hands. “Don’t shoot!”

  Stephanie’s eyes rolled in Charlotte’s direction as she lowered her weapon. “I assume she’s one of yours.”

  “I think that man might be hurt,” said Darla entering a moment later. She stopped and stared at Mariska, who remained balled up like an armadillo standing on one foot. She looked at Charlotte. “What’s that all about?”

  Charlotte sighed. “A misunderstanding. What are you two doing here?”

  “We followed you—” Darla pointed. “Is that a man tied to the bar?”

  Charlotte nodded.

  Scowling, Darla continued. “We wanted to see the club and ask Jackie why she never invited us here. Where is she?”

  Charlotte thrust a thumb in the direction of the office. “Hiding behind the desk in there.”

  Darla strode past the others, pausing a moment to ogle at the destroyed office door before stepping inside.

  “We have to get out of here,” said Declan.

  Charlotte walked over to Mariska, encouraging her to uncurl. Mariska peeked from under her hands to find the weapons gone. Her shoulders unbunched.