Beyond the Fire

by Cheryl Pierson

  “Who’s out there?” Kendi’s heart pounded in her chest as she waited for Jack’s answer. “What do you see?”

  “Blood,” he said finally. “Lots of it.”

  “Is he...dead?”

  “I don’t know.” He turned away from the window quickly. “He’s hit, but I don’t know how bad. He’s not there. Either he’s hiding in the barn, or they have him. Not good, either way, by the amount of blood on the snow out there.”

  “We have to do something!”

  “No shit. But not we, Kendi. You are going to get safe somewhere. Is there a basement?”

  She shook her head. “No, and besides—”

  He let the blind fall, turning to face her. “There’s no besides to it.”

  The whine of a bullet outside ended as lead struck the glass of the windowpane, shattering it. Jack instinctively dove across the bed at Kendi, tumbling them both to the floor. He came down atop her with a groan of pain as he turned her to cushion the fall at the last possible instant. The air left her in a rush. There was no time to catch her breath as Jack stood, pulling her up with a grimace. He touched his ribs absently, grabbing her hand and starting for the door.

  “Wait! The gun!”

  He let go and she scrambled to retrieve the old pistol and shells, pushing the .44 in her waistband, the bullets in her pocket.

  “Is there an attic?”

  “This way—” She took the lead then, into the hallway and around the corner at the far end. There was a door in the ceiling and from it, a cord dangled a few inches above Jack’s head. He reached up and pulled it, lowering the fold-out ladder to the hallway floor.

  ****

  Kendi started up the ladder, and Jack watched her. The curve of her jean-clad bottom over his head was a sight to behold. A smile touched his lips, despite everything. That was one image he’d never forget.

  She paused at the top and looked down at him. “Come on! What’re you waiting for?”

  “I’m not coming, Kendi.”

  She looked at him as if he’d suddenly spoken Martian. “Jack?”

  “Go on, Ken. Stay safe.” He’d already started folding up the retractable ladder.

  “What are you doing?” Panic seized her, making her voice shrill and desperate.

  “I have to go. It’s me they want...not you.”

  “Do you have to be so...so damned selfless?”

  The ladder squealed as Jack started to push the stiff hinges toward the ceiling. “No need to thank me, ma’am.”

  “I’m not thanking you, dammit!” The ladder snapped up into place.

  “I didn’t think so,” he muttered.

  “Jackson!” came the muffled voice from the closed attic.

  He stopped, looking up at the nondescript rectangle in the ceiling. “Quiet up there, brat!”

  “Brat? Did you just call me a brat? Let me out of here!” The tone turned from indignation to a wail. Jack smiled, shaking his head.

  “I can’t, love. Quiet, now.” He moved closer to the crack around the opening. “I love you, Kendi. Never forget.”

  There was no answer, and after a few seconds, he turned away, heading for the stairs, and what lay beyond.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Lookee here, Boss. He’s with us again.” Bull’s voice was high and excited.

  Sanchez peered down at Rivers, who lay on the floor of the old barn. Remnants of snow melted from Rivers’s face. Damn Bull had been packing him in ice, covering him with snow like some kid would do. Sanchez’s lips curved up. He should’ve stopped Bull from playing around like a child, but it amused him to watch.

  But this was no child’s play. Sanchez pressed the barrel of his shotgun against Rivers’s belly. “Look at me, Rivers.”

  Rivers opened his eyes slowly. They were protected from the elements, but it was still damn cold. Rivers shivered. Sanchez couldn’t tell if it was from the cold, or the idea he could pull the trigger at any moment to send him on his way to hell.

  “Where is Taylor?” Sanchez asked softly.

  Rivers’s lips twisted in a grin, despite the excruciating pain. “Dead, last I knew.”

  Sanchez delivered a swift kick to the wound in Rivers’s side. This time, he couldn’t hold back the scream. He clutched at his flesh, his fingers spasming with the terrific agony. Sweat dotted his forehead.

  “I’ll ask you again. Where is Taylor? In the house?” Sanchez dropped to his haunches beside Rivers. “Do I burn it down, amigo? Eh? Or can we just talk...and be truthful...the two of us?”

  “He’s not—not—here,” he gasped, trying to turn onto his right side to ease the pain of his wound.

  “Lying again.” Sanchez sighed. “I had hoped for more from you, Rivers.” He passed a hand over his face, then peered through the barn door toward the house.

  “Who lives here?” he asked thoughtfully, glancing back at Rivers. “Don’t tell me you don’t know. Must be someone very special, if you felt you had to bring in firewood. A relative? An old flame?” He waited, but Rivers didn’t respond. “Who, Rivers?”

  Bull stood by, his hands clenching as if they itched for his whip. “Bet I could get him to talk.” Anticipation edged his voice.

  Sanchez nodded. “Mm-hmm. But there’s no time for that.” He smiled knowingly. “Maybe I’ll just go knock on the door. See who’s home.” He rose slowly, but before he could step away, Rivers’s hand snaked out, catching his boot. He yanked hard. Sanchez lost his footing, landing in a heap on the floor of the barn. Rivers weakly grasped a handful of Sanchez’s shirtfront.

  “You...leave...her alone!”

  Sanchez’s fist connected solidly with his prisoner’s chin, knocking him back to the ground. That blow was followed with another punch to the face to make sure there was no doubt he was in control once more. Breathing hard, he loomed over Rivers in the early twilight.

  “Who is she?” He gave Rivers a hard shake when he didn’t answer readily. “Who?”

  “Go to...hell...” Rivers managed to grit out. He spat a mouthful of blood out, trying to turn his head before Sanchez’s fist connected again. He was too groggy to move quickly enough.

  “Lookee what I found, Boss! Gasoline!” Bull shouted from the back of the structure

  Sanchez chuckled. He leaned close to Rivers. “Gasoline, huh? That’ll start a hell of a fire.”

  “No,” Rivers muttered, his face twisting. “No...not the house—”

  “Yes,” Sanchez replied with a sage nod. “The house, and everything in it.”

  ****

  Jack couldn’t see a damn thing. But hearing— that was a different matter. From where he crouched just outside the ramshackle west wall of the barn, every word the three men inside spoke could be easily heard. Jason was alive, but he was fading fast. He had only heard Bull’s and Sanchez’s voices, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others in another part of the barn or in the nearby woods.

  Jack’s hands were numb. The temperature was dropping with the coming night, and the wind cut through the flannel shirt as if it were silk. He brought his hands to his face, cupping his fingers around his mouth to breathe on them, try to get some feeling back into them. That would be essential in handling the gun he carried.

  And it would have to be soon, no matter what. When darkness fell, it would be impossible to stop Bull from lighting up the night with the gasoline he’d found. Kendi would be trapped in the attic.

  His muscles rippled and tensed as footsteps sounded inside the barn, approaching the door. Jack was four feet from the door behind the stack of firewood. After getting Kendi safely to the attic, he’d stopped by the bedroom just long enough to pull on socks and boots before heading for the back door, slipping ghost-like into the evening, and making his way to the barn. He’d been listening, waiting, for twenty minutes. Hoping for the perfect chance he needed, it hadn’t happened—and time was running out.

  “Boils and Granger should’ve been here by now,” Sanchez observed softly. Jack heard him pace, turn,
and pace the other way. He could only assume Jason was unconscious, and hope he wasn’t dead already. “And Lopez—” Sanchez added. “We need him, too...”

  “Why, Boss?” Bull spoke up. “It’s just whoever’s in that house—and Taylor’s ghost—we’re after.”

  Jack heard the glee in Bull’s tone. He was certain he’d seen the job done—a bullet in Jack’s own head and the corpse rolled to the creek bank. Jack could only imagine what Bull thought must’ve happened to him. He didn’t seem concerned about the disappearance of the body.

  From inside the barn came Sanchez’s disdainful snort. “It’s Taylor’s vanishing act that worries me, amigo. The people in the house are going to burn, soon enough...vanish, too...”

  Jack couldn’t mistake the decisiveness in Sanchez’s clipped tone. They were getting ready to make their move. He stood up, unfolding his body slowly, letting the pain eddy through him and recede. The wind was merciless in its buffeting. The only good thing about numb hands was not being able to feel the lingering effects of the torture they’d dealt him.

  He placed one booted foot forward, letting his weight follow the careful step, settling his foot firmly with no noise. With the incessant wind, he doubted the occupants of the barn would have heard it if the ice had crunched or a twig had snapped. No chances. He couldn’t risk anything, at this point.

  He glanced down, seeing how the stark white of his bandaged hands stood out in the gathering gloom of the impending night. In a few quick movements, he removed Kendi’s handiwork and rolled up the gauze, stuffing it in his shirt pocket.

  The hole in his right hand was crusted with dried blood. He flexed his fingers in a slow movement. The wound held, and Jack let his breath out on a slow sigh. His left hand tingled as the sharp cold awakened the burned nerve endings. He ignored it and took another well-placed step.

  He tensed, ready to round the corner of the barn door and take Bull and Sanchez down. Something made him stop. There was a familiar prickling at the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder, waiting. His eyes watered in the cold wind, still sensitive due to the beating he’d taken. He blinked to clear his vision, but his ears picked up the sound of the motor before the truck rumbled into view. He compressed his lips to keep from letting the curse fly, and melted back into the shadows.

  Reinforcements were here. But not for him.

  ****

  It had been over two years since the last time Kendi had climbed into the attic. Tal had been talking of leaving her, even then, and she’d ventured into the dark depths to hand down most of his boxes of winter clothes. At the time, she’d promised herself she’d have a light installed when everything settled down. It had never happened.

  The cold soaked into her clothes, wrapping her in a shroud of frigid stillness. She had no way of knowing how long she’d sat on the attic floor beside the retractable ladder, legs drawn up tightly, hunched over. She was listening without really being aware of it. It was doing her no good at all. She hadn’t even heard Jack’s footsteps as he’d walked away. Outside, there was nothing but the wind.

  But inside, her heart was speaking loud and clear. She bowed her head and rested her forehead on her knees. A prayer made its way up from the depths of her subconscious, settling in her thoughts, repeating itself in a litany of despair that couldn’t dare to hope. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she only noticed them as the air chilled the wet tracks against her skin.

  She closed her eyes, shutting out the outline of the crack framing the rectangle of the ladder. Jack’s face rose up in her mind, looking up at her as he had through the opening. There had been a quiet assurance in his dark gaze. She realized now he’d made her a promise with that look, a promise to keep her safe. He wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her—not like what had happened to Amy.

  He’d been confident he could prevent any harm from befalling her. She’d seen that in his expression. Belatedly, she understood what it could mean for him.

  For them.

  She lifted her chin from her knees and sniffed. Wiping at her eyes, she began to clear her thoughts. She’d survived loss, too. Her sister’s death had started the downward spiral of her once-happy family. It had turned her mother and father into ghosts of themselves, driven her brother to a lifetime of vengeance. And what of her? What legacy had the unfolding tragedy left her? She had survived and picked up the pieces of her life, only to have them shattered again with Tal Dyer’s betrayal.

  Now, she was waiting for her happiness to be cast to the wind once more. She glared into the cold darkness, her lips thinning. She had the .44 and she knew how to use it. So, what was she doing sitting here alone, waiting for Fate to find her and manage her dreams once more?

  A fighter? A survivor? Hardly. Not when hiding was the “action” of choice. She shook her head. It wasn’t her choice. She had wanted to keep both of them safe, but Jack was risking his life while she did nothing.

  She scooted forward and pressed the edge of the trap door downward. It gave with a loud squeal of the springs. Grimacing, Kendi peered down through the widening crack into the hallway below. She didn’t know what she expected to see. Jack was gone, and if anyone else was inside the house, the noise of the trap door was sure to telegraph her position to them.

  When no one appeared, she let her breath go, not realizing she’d been holding it. She unfolded the top portion of the ladder and crawled across the opening to start down. No need for stealth. It was speed she needed now. She kicked the bottom half of the ladder to unfold it, settling her weight against the wooden rungs as the folding sections locked into position.

  Once she reached the bottom, she glanced around behind her. Her hands were shaking. The anger and uncertainty mingled, rising in her chest until she thought her heart would pound its way out.

  Jack was out there, alone. Jason obviously couldn’t help him. Her eyes stung as she thought of her brother. He had to be dead. They’d been waiting for him, and it had been a clear shot. They were professionals—and would do the job right.

  As they would if they caught Jack.

  She hurried down the hallway to her bedroom to the only window that offered a view of the barn and the woodpile. She had to risk a quick look outside. Now that she’d left the relative safety of the attic, she was going to need a plan.

  ****

  Jack stepped back quickly. Dammit. Could the timing have been any worse? The SUV rolled cautiously up the graveled drive and came to a halt. Four men jumped out, all of them glancing around as they made their way toward the barn.

  Sanchez walked out into the dusk, motioning them over. Jack melted into the shadows, close to the barn, weighing his very limited options. Even if he showed himself, surrendered to Sanchez, there was no guarantee Sanchez would leave without burning the house. He was a thorough bastard, if nothing else.

  And Jason? Jason would be executed, if he wasn’t dead already. No. He was better off here, in the shadows where maybe he’d get the opportunity to do something to help Jason and Kendi, the woman he’d thought to keep safe by putting her protesting, cute little ass up in the attic.

  In the gathering darkness, he caught sight of something that made his heart pound, then nearly come to a dead stop. From the back corner of the house, he saw movement. A head, peeking around the corner; a beautiful red tumble of hair he knew felt like the finest silk; eyes that seemed to take everything in, then bored into him, where he stood concealed. But Kendi knew right where he was. He could feel her gaze holding his in the crisp twilight.

  He didn’t know whether to be glad she was out of the house, or worried as to what her next move would be. There was one thing he knew for certain; she was not the type of woman to get safe in the woods and wait for whatever might happen. Come what may, they were in this together. His throat tightened. He hated the fact they’d met under these circumstances, but otherwise they probably would never have had the opportunity. His partner had never been forthcoming about his family, his former life. That Jason had chosen
to dump him here to be “murdered” was as close as Jack probably would have ever gotten to meeting Jason’s family—or what was left of it.

  Kendi was staring at him with wide, beautiful eyes that held the question, “What now?”

  Local law enforcement was out of the question. Junior and the good ol’ boys were not going to be of any help. Even if they were to show up, they’d be outgunned and outsmarted. This was nothing new to Sanchez. But to the locals, it would, no doubt, be a first time all-out firefight.

  Jack motioned Kendi back to the woods behind the house. When she realized what he was intending—that she wait it out—she shook her head in stubborn denial. He’d figured as much.

  “Dammit,” he muttered. He could hear voices from inside the barn, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. In the next instant, Jason cried out—a sound that was unmistakable enough. Jack glanced at Kendi, her shoulders going stiff at the sound.

  A moment later, she had emerged from the corner of the house and started toward him, skirting the tree line. It wasn’t full dark yet. They’d be able to see her, if they were looking. She was coming straight to him. They had very little chance of getting out of this alive, even less of getting Jason out with them.

  Jason cried out again from the depths of the barn, and Jack heard laughter. He didn’t know what they were doing to his partner to amuse themselves, but could well imagine. He was no stranger to any of it. It tore at him, though, to know they were torturing Jason, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. But, that was part of the game. They knew, if he was anywhere in the area, he’d have to come. No one could listen to that for long, and not take action. But now, he had Kendi to think of. He had to keep her safe; she was innocent in all this.

  She was only a few feet away now. Close enough that he could see her clearly in the near-darkness, the trust and love evident in her beautiful features. Her ex had to be the world’s biggest idiot.