by Mandy Baxter
God, she hoped Simon was okay.
Joel was just the sort of guy who’d go out of his way to kick a defenseless cat. Not that he’d have the balls to come out of hiding and take care of business himself. No, Livy was sure that he’d sent members of the MC to track her down and get his stupid book. She never should have gotten mixed up with her dad. Never should have run.
Coulda, woulda, shoulda. None of it mattered now. Livy was in serious danger. Nick was in serious danger. Rather than worrying about how she could have avoided it in the first place, she needed to figure out how to get them out of it now.
Livy didn’t have her cell to call for help. Nick didn’t have a gun. Hell, he didn’t even have shoes on! Hiding out in the damned cellar wasn’t going to do either of them an ounce of good. He couldn’t take Joel’s guys on single-handedly. He needed help and Livy wasn’t going to sit down here like a coward while he put his life on the line for her.
She reached for the trapdoor at the exact moment a succession of loud cracks rent the quiet. The sound startled her and Livy lost her balance. A grunt of pain escaped her lips as she slipped and toppled down the stairs. Each bounce sent a jolt of pain through her body. Her ass made contact with the unyielding concrete floor and tears sprang to her eyes. Thank God she’d been halfway down the stairs already before she fell. Four or five steps was an easy trip compared to ten or twenty. Still, her body felt as though she’d been tumbled through the dryer for an hour along with a bag full of bricks.
When the fog from her brain cleared, her confusion was replaced with fear. The gunshots sent spears of icy dread through Livy’s chest and her stomach twined into a tight tangle that made her sick. What if he’d been hit? What if Nick lay bleeding out on her floor? Livy’s concern wouldn’t allow for her to stay down in this impenetrable darkness like a total chickenshit. She’d hidden for too long and she wasn’t going to do it any longer. Nick needed her and she’d be damned if he died up there alone.
If she could just get to her phone, she could call 911. It might not be much, but at least she’d know that help was on the way. Her phone was on the kitchen counter. Maybe. Or had she left it on the dining room table? Hell, she used the damn thing so seldom, it wasn’t a surprise that she might not know its exact location. Still, she had to try to do something. Even if that meant taking a quick dash into her kitchen to call in the cavalry.
Far above her, Livy heard the muted thud of footsteps stomping up the stairs to the second story. If Joel’s guys had headed up there to look for her—and the ledger—it would buy her a few minutes to get Nick, maybe get her hands on her cell, and get them the hell out of there. He was a deputy freaking U.S. marshal, for Christ’s sake. He had to have a gun stashed somewhere at his place. If she could just get them across the lane to his cabin, they’d at least have what they needed to make a stand until the cops showed up.
If she got her ass in gear, they might have a fighting chance.
Livy braced her palms on the cold concrete floor and tried to push herself up. Every muscle screamed with pain and she was pretty sure she’d be sporting some nasty bruises in a few hours. She groped in the darkness for anything she could use as a crutch and said a silent, hopeful prayer that she wouldn’t grab on to anything too disgusting. Her hand found something solid and she wrapped her fingers around what might have been a broom handle. She let her grip slide down the worn wood and found that the shape flattened and grew wide at the base. An oar, maybe? She supposed it didn’t matter as long as it helped her get her ass up off the floor.
Every second it took her to get moving was a second wasted. Livy hobbled up the stairs, each step carefully placed so she wouldn’t lose her footing in the pitch black and fall again. The oar did a good job of supporting her and maybe it would make a decent weapon if she could manage to swing it. The damned thing was long and awkward but if she put enough force behind the blow, she could probably knock someone off their feet. Maybe even knock them out completely.
She felt her way up to near the top of the stairs. Her hand met the trapdoor and she fumbled around as she searched for the latch. When her fingers found the cool metal of the D-shaped ring, Livy gave it a half turn and she heard the latch give way. Slowly, she lifted the trapdoor and peeked out from under the rug that draped over it.
The cellar had been so dark that the glow of the light in the kitchen nearly blinded her. She squinted against the brightness and did a preliminary search for feet anywhere in the laundry room or kitchen. As assured as she could be that the coast was clear, Livy eased the door up higher. It whispered open without a sound and she said a silent prayer of thanks as she just as silently crept out of the cellar, pulling the oar out with her.
The oar was a hell of a lot more rotted than she’d first thought. The top was broken off, leaving a jagged end of splintered wood. Well, if she couldn’t effectively knock someone out with the piece of driftwood in her hand, maybe she could use it to stab instead.
“I’m a deputy U.S. marshal.” Nick’s voice carried to Livy from the living room and he didn’t sound happy. “Think carefully about what you’re about to do.”
A distinctive click filled the silence. “I don’t need to think about a goddamned thing.”
Oh shit. Livy held the oar high in her grip and a twinge of pain raced along her shoulder. From behind her, a sound like someone was trying to drive a pickup through her back door startled her into action. She ignored the pain that flared through her muscles and rushed through the kitchen for the living room. Without even thinking she took a wide swing with the oar and knocked it into the arm of a man who had a large pistol pointed at Nick’s face. He pulled the trigger and the shot went wide. So quickly that Livy couldn’t process it, Nick brought his arm up, gun in hand, and fired.
A scream pierced the air as the man toppled over. Livy looked around, shocked, before she realized the sound had escaped her own throat. Nick turned to face her, his expression that of barely concealed anger. His brows drew down sharply over his eyes and his lips thinned.
“I told you not to leave the cellar, Livy.”
She stood rooted to her spot on the floor, stunned. Nick had just shot someone. With a gun. In her living room. Visions of her dad slumped over and bleeding invaded her mind and a wave of anxiety crested over her. Her breath sped in her chest, her stomach launched itself up into her throat, and spots swam in her vision. Livy swayed on her feet as she became light-headed and she would have toppled over if Nick hadn’t gotten up to steady her. The pungent odor of gunpowder hit her nostrils and she stifled a gag.
“Oh my God, is he dead?” The man had been about to kill Nick. Whether or not he was still breathing shouldn’t have mattered.
The sound of urgent footfalls headed toward the top of the stairs above them and both Livy and Nick raised their heads to the sound. “Get out of here, Livy, now.” He pushed her toward the front door and she took a stumbling step. “Run to my place, my phone’s on the counter. Dial nine-one-one and tell them a deputy needs assistance and shots are being fired.” He gave her one last push and she reached out for the door. “Go!”
Any remaining rational thought had left her brain the minute she watched that man fall to the floor. Livy was operating on autopilot now. It was survive or die.
* * *
Nick shoved Livy out the door just as two of Meecum’s guys came flying down the stairs. He brought the gun up and waited. Shooting someone in self-defense was one thing, cold-blooded murder another. Nick stood by his convictions. He wouldn’t fire unless fired upon. If his life wasn’t in immediate danger, these two would get the opportunity to have their day in court. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to arrest four men when he was only one cop with one set of cuffs. The details could be worked out later, after Livy called for backup and he knew the situation would soon be under control.
“Police! U.S. marshal!” he called out. Right before both men opened fire.
Marshals were trained to identify themselves as police
due to the fact that most people didn’t believe that the U.S. Marshals Service existed outside of westerns. Either way, his declaration didn’t stop Meecum’s guys from trying to drill a bullet or two into his dome. Nick dove beneath the kitchen table. Bits of wood flooring flew up around him and chunks of the table scattered around him. He shielded his head—as though that would do him a whole hell of a lot of good—and scooted until his back was to the wall and his right shoulder rested against the rear leg of the table.
With his elbow braced on the floor, he used his left palm to steady the heavy revolver. The lighting was dim and the dust stirred up by the barrage of bullets wasn’t doing shit for the visibility, but Nick sighted as best he could and aimed for the closest man’s shoulder. He gently squeezed the trigger. The report of the shot was like a cannon, which only helped to renew the ringing in his eardrums. His aim was true, though, and the bastard toppled down the stairs with a shout and crumpled to the floor as he rolled from side to side, clutching the hole Nick had made to the upper left quadrant of his chest. He’d probably missed the guy’s heart by four or five inches but it was still a wound that could be fatal without immediate care. Nick didn’t want him dead, but he did want him out of commission. Maybe he’d finally managed to tip the odds in his favor.
God, he hoped Livy had made it to his house all right.
His worry for her nearly stole his focus. The way she’d reacted to seeing the man he’d shot laid him low. She probably didn’t realize that she’d been so deeply affected by what had happened in her dad’s office so many years ago. That shit stuck with you. Nick knew that. He had his own not-so-great experiences to prove it.
Another rally of shots peppered the wall above him and the floor beneath him. Nick flinched with every shot and he tucked his head between his shoulders as he waited for the asshole to run out of ammo and take a break to reload. Nick was all about quality versus quantity. He didn’t need to let his bullets fly like a scene out of Scarface to have the impact he wanted.
His next target was farther up the stairs than the first guy, which posed a problem. Nick sighted the revolver and aimed for the guy’s thigh. The slats in the bannister might deflect the bullet but he squeezed off the shot anyway. Wood splintered and the bullet hit its mark. Black Death alum number two went down hard on the stairs and skidded down on his ass until the wall stayed his progress. They were down, but not out. It was enough of an opportunity for Nick to get the hell out of there and find Livy.
Nick scurried out from beneath the table. Sounds came to him as though he were underwater. He hoped the hearing loss was only temporary but for now it meant that he needed to be even more on his toes. With one of his senses dulled, he was vulnerable. Meecum’s men didn’t share Nick’s sense of honor. They shot to kill. If he didn’t keep his guard up, one of them was bound to put him in the ground.
He pushed himself up from the floor with a grunt. The inside of Livy’s cabin looked like a war zone, the walls peppered with bullet holes, the floors as well. Splinters of her dining room table lay around him and the stuffing from her couch and one recliner littered the living room. Glass pebbles from the framed photos that hung on the wall glinted on the floor. The bastards hadn’t even managed to spare her fireplace. Chunks of broken brick lay on the hearth and floor. Either these guys were shitty shots, or they were determined to destroy everything in their path. Probably both.
Nick headed for the front door. Darkness permeated his vision; the sun wouldn’t begin to rise for another couple of hours yet. His gaze searched out any sign of light—or life—from his cabin but its still, dark facade didn’t fill him with hope that Livy had made it across the lane. Fear rose in his throat. It choked the air from his lungs and caused his limbs to quake. He might have sent her straight toward danger. Right into the arms of the men who wanted her dead.
He kept the gun at the ready, his eyes scanning the darkness as best he could for any sign of attack as he eased across the porch and down the front steps. His breath fogged in the frigid morning air and his bare toes and feet went from a tingle to a burn as the cold penetrated his skin. It had to be fifteen degrees or colder outside. Maybe even below zero. With no shoes or socks, and no shirt, it wouldn’t take long for Nick to become hypothermic. His house was a mere thirty yards away but as he crept to the bottom of the stairs and across the cleared flagstone walkway, it might as well have been thirty miles.
Nick wasn’t going to be worth a damn to either of them if he didn’t get some goddamned clothes on. He paused at the edge of the house—still no sign of Livy—and cursed under his breath. His anxiety jacked up another notch and his teeth began to chatter despite his clenched jaw. Where in the hell was she? If any of Meecum’s scumbag guys laid even a finger on her, Nick would throw all of his convictions to the wayside. Screw his honor. His badge. Nothing mattered more to him than Livy. He’d make them all pay.
He raced across the lane and hopped up on the steps of his cabin. The snow soaked through the cuffs of his jeans to chill his legs and Nick’s free hand formed into a useless claw as he pawed at the doorknob. It was a wonder he could still hold the gun without dropping it. Hell, at this point his hand was probably frozen around the grip. The latch finally gave way and he stumbled inside, going to his knees on the plush carpeting just past the entryway. He used the door to leverage himself upright and stumbled through the dark for the mudroom.
“Livy?” He spoke in hushed tones, not sure what he might find. The house was dark and eerily silent. Nick’s boots were at Livy’s house but he managed to find a pair of sneakers tucked beneath the bench. He slipped them on, cringing at the shock of pain that raced along the tops of his feet, and grabbed a sweatshirt from a hook next to the washing machine. He was far from warm, but it was a start.
“Livy?” Nick spoke louder this time. He ventured from the mudroom to the kitchen. His cell phone sat on the counter, untouched. “Fuck.” Anxiety pooled in his muscles and Nick stretched his neck from side to side in an effort to ease some of the tension that settled there. She was outside somewhere. She’d never made it to the house. Goddamn it. A sense of urgency rose up inside of Nick. She’d been outside longer than he had and though she wore a sweater and pants, she’d been barefoot too.
His fingers were stiff as he snatched his cell from the counter and unlocked the screen. He opened the phone app and dialed 9-1-1. Nick looked to the heavens when the dispatcher answered, “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“This is Deputy U.S. Marshal Nick Brady. I’m on Cottonwood Drive off of Warren Wagon Road. There is a possible fugitive on the loose and five armed assailants. Three have been shot and two are still unaccounted for with a possible hostage. I need backup ASAP.”
Without waiting for a response from the dispatcher, Nick ended the call. He wasn’t interested in coordinating anything, he needed to get back outside and find Livy before Meecum’s men did. Already, it might be too late.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Livy watched as Nick sprinted from her house, across the lane, and up onto his porch. She tried to scream, but the hand held tightly over her mouth muffled any sound she might have been able to produce. A muscular arm held her in an iron grip and squeezed the air from her lungs until spots swam in her vision. She struggled to take a deep breath, her nostrils flared and burned from the cold in the air.
“You so much as grunt, I won’t think twice about drilling a bullet into your pretty skull.”
The cold of the gun barrel poking into her temple drove the point home and Livy stilled. Nick’s front door slammed and it might as well have been the lid to her own coffin.
“Take care of him,” Joel said to a guy standing beside him. “Kari and I are going to have a talk.”
No! She tried to scream again and Joel shoved the barrel against her head with enough force to coax tears to her eyes. She needed to warn Nick. To do something to make him get the hell out of there. There was no way she was getting out of this alive, but he didn’t have to die.
God, please don’t let him die.
Violent tremors shook Livy’s body as Joel dragged her down the lane toward one of the cabins that was closed for the winter. Her feet had gone completely numb about ten minutes ago and her fingers weren’t faring much better. Joel was an idiot if he thought he’d be able to break into one of the several fortresses that lined the lane without triggering an alarm. Did he seriously think a million-dollar summer home wouldn’t be well protected? Of course, Livy wasn’t about to warn him. She hoped he triggered a motion sensor and the cops showed up and rained bullets down on him. She wouldn’t even mind being caught in the crossfire as long as it meant the murdering son of a bitch was wiped from the face of the earth.
Livy tripped as Joel continued to drag her and he hoisted her upright with a harsh jerk of his arm that left her ribs bruised. She couldn’t feel her feet, for Christ’s sake. She’d like to see him try to take a step without falling on frostbitten feet. Livy swore, if she lost one of her toes over this, she was going to kill the bastard herself.
The entire lane wasn’t more than a few hundred yards but it felt so much longer. Joel passed up the cabins closest to Livy’s house and dragged her to the end of her lane and then over to the next. Damn it. Joel was definitely smarter than Livy had hoped he was. Closest to the main road sat one of the only other houses in the area besides hers and Nick’s that didn’t look like it had a million-dollar price tag. Didn’t mean the place wasn’t equipped with ADT, though. At least, Livy hoped.
They waded through the two-plus feet of snow as Joel dragged her up onto the front porch. The house was dark, the driveway hadn’t been plowed and the deck hadn’t been shoveled. Obviously shut up for the winter. Livy’s leggings were soaked through and the numbness in her feet began to spread up her calves and into her thighs. If she didn’t warm up soon, she wouldn’t have to worry about Joel killing her. The cold would get it done.
