by Sherie Keys
Catherine eyed them suspiciously. “Do those still work?”
Michael reached in and easily pulled two out. He cocked a brow at her paired with a small smile. “I think the more important question is… have you ever fired a gun before?”
Her brow narrowed and she crossed her arms, then looked away as she answered slowly. “I mean… does laser tag count?”
With a shake of his head and a smirk, he handed her the rifle. She held it awkwardly in her arms and stared at him uneasily. He set his down and stepped up behind her, gently taking her hands and placing them in the correct position. She tensed as she realized the thing might be loaded, but he rested his chin on her shoulder as he spoke.
“Relax, it’s not loaded. You need to support the barrel here…” He moved her hand down the long metal tube. “And keep your finger on the trigger with your hand supporting this end, or else the kickback will hurt like hell. Keep that locked right here…” He adjusted her shoulder so it cradled the wooden butt of the gun.
She relaxed a bit and felt the position. He took her hand that supported the rifle and lifted it so it now looked straight out in front of her. “See that little tab at the end?”
She nodded in understanding, and he continued, “That’s your guide. You want whatever you're aiming at to fall between it when you look out to your target. Know what I mean?”
Her gaze looked beyond the tab, and by focusing on a mower in the distance, the tab split in her sight. She lifted the rifle a bit, and the mower fell between the two tabs, “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
“Great, shooting lesson over. Let’s get moving.”
***
As they neared the house, Michael and Catherine both exchanged a worried glance. Most of the lights blazed, and now that they were within earshot, they could hear a heated exchange going on inside the giant building. The voices of the two men echoed loudly against the stone and filtered out into the night. Michael and Catherine crept up to a window on the east branch of the building. It was the room between the front entrance and the banquet hall, just a regular room that had once been used as a guest check-in area.
Michael peered in the window and felt his heart skip a beat. There was Lucas, in the center of the room, tied to a chair. His head hung against his chest, and a trail of crimson red blood trailed down his nose and cheek. Michael felt his blood boil in rage; his face hardened, and his blood coursed quickly through his veins as adrenaline pumped to his heart.
Nobody was allowed to touch his baby brother like that.
He pulled an arm back, butt of the rifle positioned to smash out the window, but a hand suddenly snapped up and grabbed his wrist, then pulled him back into the shadows.
He looked to Catherine with angry eyes, but she shook her head frantically and glared at him. “What the hell are you doing?!” she whispered angrily.
He gestured toward the room. “Stopping in for tea... Saving Lucas! What the hell do you think I’m doing?” he snapped back.
“Michael, bursting in there without any idea of where this guy is at is a terrible idea. Calm down and get your head in the game. We need to think of a better plan.”
He went to protest, but she cut him short. “You just told me this was like a surgery. Well, I don’t just smash someone’s head in and expect the cancer to be gone. We need to extract Lucas, and then deal with this guy. What if I go cut the power, then you use the distraction to get in there and get your brother out?”
She crossed her arms as she waited for his response. His face softened, and he glanced through the window, then back at her. He knew she was right.
“Okay, do you know where the electrical unit is?” he whispered as they stepped further back into the shadows.
“I recall you saying in the basement…”
He nodded. “Head around to the west branch, you know where the kitchen opens up to the patio? There is a storm door hidden behind the bushes, it has a security code, 3204. That entrance will pop you out literally right next to the box—big, grey, and metal on your right, can’t miss it. Cut all the power and then come back to this spot. If you see anyone, and I mean anyone, you hide.”
She paused. “Wait... where are the security guards?”
“I don’t know, that’s what has me worried.” His eyes darted around, and Catherine felt a shiver go through her spine as she wondered what had happened.
A loud, booming voice split through the night air. Catherine almost screamed, but Michael reached up and put a hand over her mouth as he peered back toward the window. Ricky had walked into the room. He was dressed in all black, his buzzed hair was wet with sweat, and his sharp jaw was clenched in annoyance. His narrow eyes looked down on his victim, and a meaty hand with a bright, red scar reached down and clutched his shoulder. He squeezed hard, fingers digging in until Lucas flinched and tried to get away from the pressure, which only made him grasp it harder.
“Lucas, I’m just asking you to call your brother? Is that really so difficult?” Ricky crouched down beside him, his steel grey eyes locked on his prey.
Lucas spat a bloody wad of spit at his face.
“Go fuck yourself.”
In a swift motion, he drew back his powerful fist and the sickening smack of knuckles connecting to bone cracked through the air. Catherine grabbed Michael again. His nostrils flared in rage, and his body quivered in anticipation of a fight.
Ricky held the radio out to Lucas. “Last chance.”
Michael watched. He had left the radio behind in the boat to keep it from going off. Ricky held down the button, and his little brother paused, dazed eyes looking up at the older man. Then he sighed in defeat. “Hey Michael, if you can hear me, stay where you are. There’s a mega douchebag here who wants to kill you.”
Lucas gave Ricky a bloody grin, and the man stared down at him with a sneer. He pulled back and punched Lucas again; this time his fist collided with his temple and knocked him out cold.
“Fuck.” Catherine whispered, worried about the trauma it could cause to his healing brain.
Ricky held the radio up to his lips and looked around with those cold eyes as he paced the room.
“Michael, you have one hour to get back to your estate. If you’re not here in time, I’m going to make sure your brother doesn’t wake up.”
The words were icy, and Michael, still unseen among the shadows of the palm trees, gave the man a fiery stare through the window. He watched the man pace around the room, circling Lucas like a vulture. He didn’t like this man’s erratic nature, or the fact that he had no idea why he was after him. He just knew he was going to make him sorry for ever stepping foot on his property and invading his life. He felt a soft touch on his arm and looked down into Catherine’s pleading eyes.
“Just give me a few minutes to cut the power, then you go in there and kick his ass.”
He reached up and grabbed the back of her neck softly, then pulled her in for a kiss. Their lips were salty with sweat, the taste like the ocean breeze. Her touch made him feel invincible, the blood flowing through his body like hot, liquid steel. He kissed her more deeply, while she ran slight hands through his beard and held his face. She slowly pulled back and looked in his eyes, then gave him a lopsided grin.
“Here we go.”
*
Catherine felt like every nerve was on edge—any sound or tiny movement made her flinch as she quickly made her way around the house to the patio. The silver light of the night had cast shadows every which way, and the slightest breeze made the landscape appear as if it were moving, slowly creeping up behind her. Palm leaves fluttered like outstretched fingers, clawing to grab at her as she passed by. The clack of the coconuts from above sounded like a bitter laugh, the once beautiful melody now unsettling.
She shook her head and tried to stay focused, but her thoughts kept drifting to that man knocking Lucas out. He had been brutal—cold blooded—and she didn’t hesitate to think for a second that he would kill Lucas if they didn’t resolve this soon. Her m
ind was suddenly drawn to the cool metal of the gun slung across her back. She took a deep breath in as she rounded the corner and approached the patio, staying close to the house and crouching low to avoid the windows. She exhaled as the storm door came into sight, and her eyes zeroed in on the code box.
“You can do this, just like surgery. Get in there and get it done,” she whispered to herself as she stepped up in front of the door, reached out with shaking hands, and used sweaty fingers to punch the code.
The light turned green and the door clicked as the lock released. She glanced up, her eyes tracing the windows carefully to see if Ricky had left the room to check on any other part of the house. The kitchen lights were on, but there was no movement inside. As softly as she could, she slowly pulled the door open. It creaked and groaned under the pressure, and her heartbeat jumped as she looked to see if anyone had noticed or come to investigate. She held her breath, frozen with the door half open as she watched—nothing.
She opened it the rest of the way and peered down into the darkness of the basement, the concrete steps hardly visible in the scattered light. She gulped and put a careful foot down as silently as she could, then crept down the rest of the way, using her hands against the rock wall to guide her. She finally reached the bottom of the stairs. It was so dark she could hardly see her hand in front of her face. She felt the outline of a handle, twisted the knob to the basement door, and slowly pried it open.
The basement and cellar were pitch back—absolutely no light from above seeped in—and she frantically searched the wall beside her for a light switch. She was flooded with relief as she traced the little switch, then flicked it on and cast a yellow light across the basement. Her eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the new scene. Boxes and cabinets were stacked in rows, and beyond the shelves, she saw a cellar door propped open and full of wine. She knew on the other side of the cellar there were stairs that led up to the kitchen, and she held her breath as she waited to see if she had been heard through that entrance. There weren’t any footsteps or voices above—or more importantly, coming for her—prompting her to sigh and look to her right where the electrical box sat. She turned toward it and opened the thin, metal door to reveal rows and rows of switches, each labeled with the appropriate area.
She set the gun down and looked to the labels. There were so many rooms and wings she realized it was useless to try and select different ones. She shook her head and flicked the first one off. “Fuck it.”
In a rapid succession, she hit each one, until she reached the last that read ‘basement’. She glanced up at the light, grabbed her gun, slung it around her shoulder, and leaned into the doorway. With a reach back, she hit the final switch and was thrown into inky darkness yet again.
She swung back toward the cellar door and looked up at the night sky. The bone white moon watched her as she came up the stairs, wide eyes searching. The house was pitch-black—not a single light emitted from any of the windows. It was also eerily silent. There was no hum of appliances or even the motor of the pool cleaner. Her steps were quiet and quick as she took her trail back toward where Michael had been.
A loud crash echoed through the stillness of the estate, followed by a yell. Catherine sprang into a full sprint toward the window where she and Michael had been, blood rushing and her mind racing as a million different scenarios went through her head. She saw the form of two shadows in the room, caught in mid-fight, and knew it was Michael and Ricky. She paused right outside, breathing hard, the whites of her eyes like the moon above as she watched the scene inside. She peered in and saw the two wrestling for a gun, and without hesitation, she flung herself toward the open window.
“No!” she screamed as she tumbled into the dark room and toward the two men fighting for their lives.
****
She had done it—the place suddenly grew dark as light after light went out from within the estate. Michael smiled at the thought, knowing there was no one better than Catherine with whom to go hunting for bad guys. His gaze returned to the room. He could see Ricky’s face in the moonlight, looking angrily around to see what had happened. After a few moments, the man gave an exasperated sigh then tore out of the room to try and discover the source of the inconvenience.
He knew it—now was his chance. With a silent step forward, he reached up and pushed at the narrow window, a sigh escaping his lips when it folded in, unlocked. With a quick hoist, he was perched inside the frame, his large shadow falling to the floor in front of where Lucas was tied. He silently placed his feet on the ground then softly slid down until he was in the room. He crouched for a moment. The gun was slung behind his back, and he quietly reached back and pulled it forward. His eyes looked around as he stood up, then in a sweeping motion he came up beside Lucas’ unconscious body.
He reached out, one hand gently nudging his brother’s shoulder, and the other lightly tapping his face. “Come on, Lucas. You gotta wake up.”
He felt his lungs burn as he held his breath—his brother wasn’t moving. He shook him a bit harder, careful to not cause further injury to his already beaten and bloodied body. “I swear man, I’m going to beat the shit out of this guy.” Michael growled.
There was a light cough, and his little brother’s eyes slowly opened. The left was too swollen to manage much, but his other peered at Michael with fear. “I told you… not to come…” he said hoarsely, his throat sore and tired.
Michael shook his head. “I was already here. Come on, let's get you out of here.”
He had already begun untying the ropes; the material fell away from Lucas’ wrists, and then he pulled them from his ankles before reaching down and putting an arm under Lucas’ shoulder. “Can you walk?”
His brother nodded. “I think so.”
He propped him up, and his brother swayed slightly. As he regained his ground, he looked around at the dark room with suspicion. “Where’s Ricky?” he whispered.
“Catherine cut the power, he’s probably looking for the source. You head out through this window, I need to deal with this guy.”
Lucas went to protest but his brother’s hand shot up and covered his mouth as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. Michael gave a sharp nod then pushed Lucas, who was trying to hold onto him, through the window.
“Go get help, I need the police,” he instructed Lucas in a low whisper, as the footsteps grew louder.
His baby brother cursed then slid out the window without another word. He looked back, saw Michael nod, then turned around and started limping toward the garage.
The door crashed open behind Michael. He quickly pulled the gun over his shoulder and turned around to see Ricky Barber with his own gun drawn, pointed right at him, a cold, sly smile on his face.
“Michael Francis, so nice to finally meet you,” his voice was low.
“Wish I could say the same Ricky, but, whoever you are, you’ve been a royal pain in my ass the last couple days.” Michael began to circle him, the two of them caught in a standoff.
“Oh, that’s right. How would you know the family members of any of the victims you killed?” Rickey said, grey eyes narrowed, his thin lip pulled back in a vicious sneer.
“Who are you?” Michael asked, ignoring the accusation.
“I’m the agent that’s going to drag your ass back to the States for a trial that will hopefully end in your death…” he paused and cocked his gun, “and if you refuse, I’ll just have to do it myself.”
Michael felt himself stiffen at the threat, but he kept his mind focused as he studied the room. There had to be a way to disarm this guy.
“You went missing from the FBI, why?” he asked, the question a distraction as he began to back Ricky toward the open door to the banquet room.
“Oh, them. Too many rules and regulations, but once they see I have you, they’ll be a little more willing to loosen my rein,” Ricky replied with a chuckle.
Michael shifted left, and Ricky mimicked to the right. His back was now t
o the opening, and Michael had the heavy, wood door just in his reach.
“So, you’re a dickhead on a power trip who is after me because you assume I funded a terrorist attack, and you want a raise? Do I have that story right? If so, you need to get your priorities straight, buddy.” Michael tensed as Ricky shifted a bit from the opening, his body swaying in anticipation of an attack.
“No,” he spat, “You killed my family.”
Michael felt his heart stop. He knew he had never killed anyone, but he realized right then that this man must have had family members killed in the attack.
“You’re one of the victims’ family members?” he asked quietly.
Ricky nodded. “My parents were Turkish immigrants to the United States. They were back home visiting family when they were killed in the explosion…” he paused, lifting his gun up to Michael and taking aim, “All because of you.”
Before he could finish his sentence, Michael released his gun from his hands, reached over, swung the door closed, and sent Ricky flying back from the force. When he pulled it back open, Ricky was lying on the ground, his gun a few feet away. He launched himself at the older man, but the agent sent a kick from where he lay straight to Michael’s jaw, and the unexpected impact sent him reeling back. The gun fell from his hands and onto the floor, next to the chair that Lucas had just been tied to.
