by Paula Graves
Luke’s heart contracted into a painful knot. She was still alive. She looked scared but unhurt. Damon was right. No sign of Stevie.
“How’d they know to come here?” he murmured aloud. “Last we knew, they were wreaking havoc in Arizona.”
Damon didn’t answer.
Luke turned to look at him. “Reid tipped them off?”
“I think so,” Damon admitted.
“Just to take me out of the equation?”
“Probably thinks she’d be easier to manipulate alone.”
“Los Tiburones aren’t after me, Damon.”
Damon looked confused. “They’re not?”
“They want to force me to watch them torture and kill people I love.” Like Abby and Stevie.
Damon looked sick. “God.”
Luke strapped the rifle over his shoulder. “Stay here. Don’t shoot unless it’s to protect yourself or Abby.”
“You’re going after the kid?”
Luke slipped out the back without answering. Scanning the area, he still heard the murmur of voices from the woods in front of the cabin. He heard Abby’s voice again, though he couldn’t make out her words.
The voices were coming from the east. He thought back to the moment he’d heard the cry in the woods. It had come from the west, hadn’t it? In the woods on the opposite side of the cabin from where Los Tiburones congregated now.
Los Tiburones weren’t a conventional army. They were criminals Eladio Cordero had pulled from the streets of Tesoro to build his own crew of enforcers. What little they knew about covert ops they’d learned in the Sanselmo jungle, evading capture by the hapless Guardia Nacional.
Now that they had Abby, they would stay put, trying to figure out how to use her to flush out Luke.
He headed west, close to the bluff, keeping the cabin between him and Los Tiburones until the trees thickened a few yards down the bluff. Then he slipped into the woods and began looking for Stevie.
Fifty yards in, the metallic stench of blood assailed his nostrils. He followed the scent trail to a thicket of wild mountain laurel, where labored breathing gave away the position of the man Damon had called Malcolm.
He was too far gone to even lift his weapon when he saw Luke. Jerking the .357 Magnum from Malcolm’s hand, Luke tucked the revolver into his jacket pocket and checked the man’s injuries. The left leg of his jeans was soaked with blood, his belt acting as a makeshift tourniquet. But blood still oozed from the deep cut in the man’s calf.
“Where’s Stevie?”
“Tris screamed. Didn’t…want…the kid…in the middle….” Malcolm’s eyes fluttered shut.
Luke checked his pulse. Still there, slow and weak. He ripped open the man’s bloody trousers and saw that the machete had cut to the bone, slicing through God knew how many vital blood vessels.
Luke dialed the number of the cabin. After several rings, Damon answered, his voice wary.
“I’ve found Malcolm,” Luke said tersely. He described where he was. “I need you to call in his position to the bait shop so the EMTs will know where to look when they’re allowed to come up here.” Luke hung up without waiting for Damon’s reply.
Tightening the tourniquet to stanch the oozing blood flow from Malcolm’s leg, he wiped his bloody hands on the man’s jacket and headed deeper into the woods, hoping Stevie had run away from the noise instead of toward it.
Within thirty yards, he heard snuffling sounds, faint but unmistakable. “Stevie,” he breathed, trying to orient himself toward the sound. A little hiccuping noise, louder than the snuffles, came from his right. His heart hammering with relief, he spotted his son’s blue jacket behind the trunk of a hickory tree ten feet away.
The little boy looked up at his approach, his tear-reddened eyes brightening at the sight of Luke. “Home!” he demanded, raising his arms.
Luke scooped Stevie up and hugged him tightly, his heart so full of love he thought it would explode. “Oh, baby, you’re okay, aren’t you?”
He looked the child over for injuries. Stevie’s hands were scratched, probably from stumbling through the tangle of underbrush, and he was a filthy mess. But otherwise, he looked fine.
Luke kissed his grimy forehead. “Got to get you to safety so I can help your mama.”
“Mama?” Stevie echoed, looking around expectantly.
“Mama’s going to be fine,” Luke vowed. But first, he had to get Stevie to safety.
He moved steadily westward, until he felt he was safe to stop and make another call.
Aaron answered on the first ring. “Luke?”
“I’m in the woods just west of the cabin. There are a dozen men in the woods east of the cabin. They have Abby. I have Stevie.” He looked at his son. “Time to call in the cavalry.”
THE MEN DIDN’T KNOW what to do with her, Abby realized. Much like the two men who’d broken into her apartment, Eladio Cordero’s thugs seemed to function as pawns in a bigger game, moving various pieces around the board without any way of scoring the final coup.
Only four of the men surrounding her had spoken. One of them, Ramon, seemed to be the leader of the pack. Though he spoke a slang-filled version of Spanish typical of the southern slums of Sanselmo’s capital, he was the one calling the shots. Still, Abby had the feeling he was waiting for further orders from someone higher up. Cordero himself?
He’d want to savor Luke’s suffering personally rather than hear about it at second hand. Was that why the men hadn’t killed her already? Were they waiting for Cordero himself to arrive?
Suddenly, Ramon grabbed her arm roughly. “¡Vamonos!”
Abby pretended she didn’t comprehend, not wanting her captors to know she could understand their every word. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”
Ramon just pulled her with him toward the cabin. Abby hid her panic. If they holed up inside, the situation could easily devolve into a hostage standoff.
Although inside, there were a couple of rifles that only she and Luke knew about….
She pretended to stumble, crying out loudly in feigned pain. If Luke was anywhere in the area, he’d be alerted.
God knew, she could use a diversion anytime now.
LUKE FROZE IN THE cabin’s back doorway. Had that been a woman’s scream?
Damon met him in the kitchen doorway. His expression softened with relief when he spotted Stevie, but hardened again. “They’re bringing her this way. I think they’re going to come inside.”
Luke tucked Stevie closer. “Damn it. I’m not ready.”
“I got a message from the MacLear backup team, too. They’re in Gossamer Ridge, staging down near the lake.”
“You still have the number to the marina? Call Hannah. Tell her to divert Riley and the local cops to their coordinates. Tell them your buddies are armed and dangerous.” While Damon stepped away to make the call, Luke looked down at Stevie, his mind racing.
The safest place for the boy would be the attic. Any flying bullets would have to go two floors to reach him. Luke ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
The attic was little more than an inverted V-shaped crawl space between the ceiling of the second story and the gabled roof, but Stevie would be as safe here as anywhere.
“Do you know how to play hide-and-seek, Stevie?”
Stevie’s eyes lit up. “Hide!”
“I want you to hide here, Stevie. Stay right behind this box, you see?” He lowered Stevie to the floor and showed him where to hide. “I’m going to find your mama and we’ll surprise her, okay? Hide here and be very quiet.”
Stevie squatted behind the box, grinning at Luke. He put one finger across his mouth. “Shh!”
Luke’s insides melted at the sight of his son’s delight, but he fought the emotion. There was no time. He locked the attic door, knowing he could pick it open later, and ran down the stairs.
At the second-floor landing, he heard footsteps racing up toward him. Damon came into view. “They’re coming in.”
&nbs
p; Luke glanced at his watch. Some of his brothers might be in position by now.
He flipped open his phone. Nothing happened. Dead battery. Luke hissed a string of profanities.
“Use mine.” Damon handed over the phone.
All the numbers were saved into his phone—he’d programmed them in before heading back into the woods earlier. He didn’t remember any of them.
Sam. He knew Sam’s disposable phone number by heart.
He punched in the number. Sam answered on the first ring, his voice wary. “Sam’s Pizza.”
“It’s me. I’m on a borrowed phone. Where are you?”
“Sixty yards from the cabin. Made it home in time to get in on the action.”
Luke felt a flood of relief. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed Sam to be there. “I’m inside. Los Tiburones are here. They have Abby.”
“I know. They left seven men outside. There are seven of us. Want us to get the party started?”
Los Tiburones had left Abby alive this long for a reason. Would they protect her, as he’d done with Stevie, at the first sound of gunfire outside?
He looked at Damon. “You set to fight for the good guys this time?”
Damon gave a nod.
“Go for it, Sam.” He looked at Damon. “They’re going to draw fire outside. Could get hairy fast.”
“Bring it on,” Damon said with a grim smile.
THE FIRST VOLLEY OF gunfire near the front of the cabin sent fear jangling through Abby. Around her, five of the six remaining captors raced to the windows. Only Tanto, the boyish young colt Ramon had assigned to guard her, stayed put, though Abby could tell from the excited light in his eyes that he’d rather be outside in the firefight.
“Take her upstairs!” Ramon barked in urgent Spanish from his position at the front window. “Inner room.”
More shots fired, to the east. A couple of Cordero’s men shifted positions. Tanto grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the stairs. “Ven conmigo.”
She dragged her heels, not wanting to be hidden away. Luke was out there somewhere, and there was gunfire. She needed to know he was okay.
Tanto tightened his grip on her arm at the second floor landing, making her gasp aloud. “You’re hurting me!”
He jerked her with him into the hallway. Abby hadn’t seen the second floor yet, though she knew there was a bathroom up here where Luke had taken a shower. She could still smell the woodsy fragrance of the soap he’d used—
Suddenly, she was jerked sideways, and two things happened in quick succession. A large hand clapped over her mouth, and a tall, muscular African-American man jerked Tanto off his feet and out of sight down the hall.
“Don’t scream,” Luke’s voice whispered in her ear. She whirled to face him, eyes wide. He stroked her face. “Stevie’s upstairs, locked in the attic. He’s okay.”
More gunshots sounded outside. Ramon shouted orders below, sending more men out of the cabin.
The African-American man came back alone. Abby recognized his eyes. This was Damon.
He gave her a quick look and moved toward the window looking out over the woods. “They’ve sent three more out there. I just took out one. That leaves two.”
Abby could see Luke calculating the odds. Both he and Damon had rifles strapped over their shoulders. Luke had his own pistol, and she was sure Damon was similarly armed. She was armed, as well—Cordero’s men hadn’t frisked her. She hadn’t had an opportunity to make her move, so the pistol had remained tucked in the holster hidden by the hem of her jacket. She pulled it out and double-checked the clip.
Luke stared at the pistol in disbelief. “They didn’t search you?”
“Guess they didn’t think I’d be packing.”
“You’re not going downstairs with us.”
She touched his stubbly jaw. “I know. I’m going upstairs to protect my son.”
Luke closed his hand over hers. “Don’t try unlocking the door—it’ll take too long and make too much noise. Just guard it.” He kissed her, a long, sweet caress. He pulled away with reluctance. “Abby—”
She pressed her hand to his lips. “Save it for when I see you again.”
He smiled beneath her fingers. Moving to the doorway, he checked the hallway, then looked back at her. “It’s clear.”
She stopped beside him, catching his free hand with hers. “Stay alive,” she whispered.
He kissed her forehead and nudged her toward the stairs.
The door to the attic was closed. Abby didn’t try the lock, afraid the rattle would make Stevie call out to her. The Smith & Wesson felt heavy in her hands, but she firmed her grip and settled in for as long a wait as necessary.
“HOW DO WE do this?” Damon asked.
“They’re looking for intruders from outside. That gives us the advantage.” Luke paused at the second-floor landing, listening. He heard two men talking in low tones.
“We could disappear. Cordero wouldn’t know where to find us,” one of them growled in Spanish. “I won’t die for the bastard.”
Luke almost felt sorry for the man. Cordero wasn’t much kinder to his allies than to his enemies.
“They’re at the windows,” Damon murmured.
Probably looking out at the firefight still going on in the woods outside. If he and Damon could make it downstairs without much noise, they might neutralize the men without any gunfire.
They made it halfway down the stairs when the gunfire outside suddenly halted. Luke froze on the fifth step down, almost losing his balance.
Behind him, Damon missed the next step and fell heavily against the wall with a thud.
One of the men downstairs let loose a stream of Spanish oaths. Footsteps pounded against the hardwood floor below.
Luke whirled around. “Go!”
He and Damon made it to the second floor and split up, Luke going into the first room on the right, Damon the first on the left. Luke flattened himself behind the half-open door and willed his pounding pulse to quiet down before the two remaining Cordero thugs reached the second floor.
ABBY LISTENED to the silence outside, wondering which side had won the battle. Then, a thud below caught her ear, followed by a sudden flurry of footsteps. She struggled against the urge to run downstairs to make sure Luke was okay. Stevie needed her. He was in the room right behind her, and anyone who tried to get to him would have to go through every hunk of lead she had in her possession.
There was another loud thump, then two gunshots, impossibly loud, in rapid succession. Then, silence.
Oh God oh God oh God.
The quiet seemed to go on forever before she heard the first soft thud of footfalls on the stairs below.
She adjusted her stance and lifted the pistol, mentally racing through the steps of her training. Strong leg back and to the side. Don’t lock the arm. Weak hand supporting strong. Pad of the finger on the trigger. Squeeze, not pull.
The top of a head came into view. Then a face.
Luke’s face.
She didn’t relax her stance. Someone could be with him.
Luke reached the top of the stairs. “I’m alone,” he said. She could tell it was the truth. But she still couldn’t lower the gun. Her limbs wouldn’t move.
He reached her side and gently took the pistol from her grip. Once the weapon was safely at his side, she felt her knees buckle beneath her, and only his strong arm looping around her waist kept her from falling.
“You’re alive,” she whispered, gazing up into his eyes.
He touched her face, his fingers cool. “So are you.”
She found her legs again. “Stevie.”
Luke released her. “I need a hairpin.”
“Fresh out.” Abby’s voice wobbled.
“Will this do?” Damon appeared on the stairs. His shoulder was bleeding, but he wore a satisfied grin. He held a lock-pick gun in his good hand.
Luke took it from him and made quick work of the lock. As Abby was about to hurry inside, he stopped her, leani
ng close to whisper in her ear. “He thinks he’s playing hide-and-seek.”
She nodded, loving him more for that one simple warning than she’d thought was possible.
She entered quietly. “I’m looking for a little boy,” she called out, forcing strength into her wavery voice. She heard a soft snicker behind a cardboard box near the edge of the room. Her heart swelled with love.
As she circled the box, Stevie jumped up. “Boo!” He grinned with delight.
Abby scooped him up, kissing him wildly until he wriggled in protest. She let him go and he ran to Luke, lifting his arms.
“Again!” he demanded. “Hide again!”
Luke picked him up and met Abby’s eyes over the top of their son’s head, his gaze a blend of love and fear.
Cordero knew about her and Stevie now. She and Luke had nothing left to lose.
Nothing but each other.
THE BULLET DAMON TOOK to his shoulder had been a through-and-through, and the emergency-room doctor assured him the bullet hadn’t hit any major blood vessels. He’d given Damon a prescription for antibiotics and painkillers and told him to follow up with his own doctor.
Damon eyed the bottle of painkillers while he waited for Quinn to answer the call.
“Heard you made a mess down there,” Quinn said quietly. Damon could tell from the ambient noise that his old friend was outside in a public place. He heard shouts in Spanish in the background, and bright laughter.
“I helped clean up a mess,” Damon countered, trying to keep pain out of his voice, even though his bullet wound hurt like a son of a bitch. He gave Quinn a quick rundown of what had transpired—eight of Cordero’s men had died in the gun battle outside, while inside, Damon had taken out the one Abby later identified as Tanto, and Cooper had killed the one who’d shot Damon. The other man inside the cabin had fled at the first sound of gunfire upstairs, only to run straight into Aaron Cooper just outside. Two more had escaped. The Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department was out hunting for them. MacLear’s crew had avoided capture.
“No sign of Cordero,” Damon finished.
“He never left Sanselmo, if my contacts are to be believed.” Quinn’s voice didn’t reveal his own assessment of his contacts’ veracity. “Cooper’s still in danger.”
