Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  It was Aidan, lying on a concrete floor in a heap. Blood pooled around his head. ‘No,’ she cried hoarsely.

  Thorne leaned over to look and swore. Slowing to turn onto the road at the end of Clay’s long driveway, Frederick looked up into the rear-view mirror and—

  The sudden impact stole Gwyn’s breath and had her crying out again, this time in pain. From the corner of her eye she’d seen the approaching Hummer roar out of the trees, a split second before it rammed them broadside. Frederick struggled to maintain control as their SUV was pushed off the road, careening down a slight hill to smash into a tree.

  Then everything was suddenly still, too still. Pulse skyrocketing, Gwyn pushed her hair out of her eyes to look up. The airbags in the front and sides had deployed. Frederick was on the phone, calling 911. Thorne was searching for his own phone, having dropped it during the collision. Clay was blinking rapidly, his side of the SUV having taken the brunt of the collision with the tree.

  The first bullets hit the tires in sync – one, two, three, four – like a well-oiled machine. The next ones smashed into the bullet-resistant windows from all sides, rocking the SUV in little jiggles but not penetrating the interior of the car.

  ‘There are at least six gunmen,’ Frederick said grimly to the 911 operator. ‘You still with us, Clay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Clay said unsteadily. He pushed the now-deflated airbag aside and reached to his feet, bringing up the rifle he’d placed there.

  This is it, Gwyn thought, and drew her weapon from the girdle holster. She handed it to Thorne as the next barrage of bullets hit. The glass was compromised now, little protrusions pushing into the car interior. She could no longer see through it.

  She pulled a smaller handgun from the holster at her thigh and racked it, making sure there was a bullet in the chamber.

  ‘I’ll get out,’ Thorne said, his voice tight and thin. ‘Let them have me.’

  ‘No!’ the three of them shouted in unison.

  Thorne racked the slide of the gun she’d given him. ‘You are going to die. This glass can’t hold much longer. I will not be the cause of this.’

  Slipping his phone into his pocket, Frederick shared a glance with Clay, who nodded. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do,’ Frederick said calmly, with authority. ‘Thorne, take your hand off the door handle.’

  More bullets pelted the windows, these in a steady stream, all aimed at one target – a one-inch-square area of glass on Frederick’s window.

  Thorne complied. ‘And then?’ he asked acidly.

  ‘Clay and I will open our doors, roll out and start shooting. You and Gwyn wait five seconds, then do the same. We’ll take out as many as we can for you. It’s six on four. Not bad odds.’

  And they were all wearing Kevlar, Gwyn thought, releasing her seat belt. We can do this. We have to do this.

  ‘On my count,’ Clay said. ‘One, two, three.’

  Frederick and Clay threw their doors open and started firing, but Thorne grabbed Gwyn and pulled her to the floor, throwing himself over her before reaching up and opening her door. For a moment, all she could hear was shooting. She struggled against Thorne, then felt him jolt. Then shudder.

  ‘Fuck,’ he snarled. ‘Dart gun.’ He fell on top of her, nearly suffocating her. ‘Don’t fight,’ he ordered thickly. ‘Let them try to move me. Then shoot.’

  The shooting abruptly stopped and Gwyn’s heart stopped with it. Frederick and Clay. They had to be all right. Then she heard a barked command: ‘On your knees.’

  That hadn’t come from either of their guys. Dammit.

  But at least the two men were still alive enough to be forced to kneel.

  Atop her, Thorne was still breathing. ‘Love you,’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘Love you,’ she tried to whisper back, but it was becoming increasingly hard to breathe.

  Suddenly Thorne was sliding off her, a grunted curse coming from somewhere near his feet. ‘Fucker’s heavy. I didn’t give him that much, I swear to fucking God!’

  ‘Better not have,’ another voice said. ‘Boss gutted the two who OD’d him the last time. Nasty.’

  ‘Great, thanks.’

  Pulling an extra clip from her girdle holster, Gwyn lifted her eyes in time to see her door opening. As instructed, she propped herself on her elbows, took aim and unloaded her clip.

  ‘Holy fuck!’ The man moaned as he staggered back, and Gwyn reloaded, on autopilot. A second man slammed her door closed. Twisting, she sat up, her back against her car door, the pockmarks in the armored metal poking into her skin. Thorne had been pulled out of the vehicle onto the ground. He lay on his back, his face and all his muscles gone slack.

  ‘Sonofabitch,’ she yelled. If they’d killed him, she’d—

  Her door flew open and a pair of arms grabbed her from behind. ‘No!’ she cried, desperately trying to twist free, but the arms held on.

  ‘Get her fucking gun,’ the man holding her ordered. ‘She’s like . . . like I’m holding a fucking snake.’

  Aiming down, Gwyn shot at the booted feet. The man cursed in shock, grabbing her wrist so hard she felt something pop. She dropped the gun and wrenched free, falling to the ground. Rolling to her feet, she began to run away from the SUV, toward Clay’s house.

  ‘Freeze!’ a voice called. ‘Take another step and loverboy dies.’

  She faltered, turning to see a masked man on one knee next to Thorne, his gun pointed at Thorne’s temple. Run! She could hear Thorne’s voice in her mind, but her feet wouldn’t move.

  ‘Smart girl,’ the man said.

  From where she stood behind the SUV, she could see the entire battlefield. The truck that had rammed them was an older-model Hummer and had sustained no damage at all, but their SUV was completely trashed.

  Two of the masked men lay on the ground, unmoving. Their black clothing was dark and shiny, and blood was pooled around them. A third man lay in a fetal position on her side of the SUV. He was rocking and moaning.

  She felt grim satisfaction for only a split second. Yes, she’d taken one out, but there were three left. Two stood over Clay and Frederick, who were both stony-faced. The third, who knelt beside Thorne, came to his feet.

  ‘I’m probably older than you are,’ Gwyn said flatly.

  ‘What?’ the man asked, and even with his face covered, she could tell he was giving her a puzzled look.

  ‘Don’t call me “girl”. I’m older than you are.’

  ‘Pack a damn fine wallop too,’ the man grumbled. ‘We deserve double pay for this job. Get your ass over here. I’m not chasing you.’

  Probably because she’d shot his foot, at least once. Good for me, she thought as she moved to Thorne’s side, dropping to her knees and taking his hand, her heart beating so hard she could barely breathe.

  She found his pulse easily, slow but strong. They hadn’t killed him. Relief hit her like the truck had hit their SUV, leaving her lightheaded and grateful that she was kneeling, because she wasn’t sure she could have remained standing.

  The man whose foot she’d shot wasn’t injured so badly that he couldn’t function. He motioned to the two men guarding Clay and Frederick. ‘Cuff ’em, hands and feet. Then one of you stand guard over them. The other, come and help me with Thorne.’

  A van appeared from a nearby clump of trees that had been concealing it from view. It rolled to a stop next to Thorne. The men opened the side door. Then one grabbed Thorne’s feet, the other gripping under his arms, and together they swung him into the empty cargo area and cuffed him with zip ties.

  The man in charge swept into a bow, gesturing to the open van door. ‘Get in, or I throw you in,’ he snarled.

  With a helpless look back at Frederick and Clay, who were watching grimly, Gwyn climbed into the van, freezing at the sight of the woman behind the wheel.

  Laura. Their bartende
r. Aka . . . ‘Kathryn,’ Gwyn snarled her name.

  Kathryn laughed, surprised. ‘Well, hello to you too. I’d like to know how you found out my real name, but we’ll handle that later. Please restrain her. And make sure she’s not carrying anything else.’

  The man did so, then climbed in after her. He pointed to the second man. ‘Go help him get the bodies in the Hummer, and stow the two old guys. We’ll meet you there.’

  Then the door was closed and Kathryn eased the van up the hill and back onto the road. Stepping on the accelerator, she sped toward town.

  ‘I’d welcome you,’ she said cheerily as she drove, ‘but you won’t be around that much longer. And the time you have left will not be enjoyable.’

  Twenty-seven

  Hunt Valley, Maryland,

  Thursday 16 June, 3.30 P.M.

  Frederick watched the van drive away, disgusted with himself. ‘Fuck this,’ he muttered. ‘The white van that took Thorne and Gwyn is driving away.’ He’d phrased it as carefully as he could, hoping he was still connected to the 911 operator and that he wasn’t tipping off the gunmen that he’d just reported Gwyn and Thorne’s disappearance.

  ‘I know,’ Clay muttered back. ‘He called us old.’

  Frederick snorted a shocked laugh. ‘Shut up. This is serious. What are we going to do?’

  ‘You’re going to shut the fuck up,’ the guard snarled. ‘Or not.’ He delivered a kick to Clay’s ribs. ‘I’d enjoy fucking you up. The guy you killed was my cousin.’

  Clay breathed out slowly, and Frederick had known him – and trained with him – long enough to know that that long breath masked a moan of pain. Arching his back and neck, Frederick looked around and saw the man who’d helped drag Thorne into the van. He was walking toward the Hummer, favoring one leg. The man who Gwyn had shot in the foot had left with the white van, so either he or Clay must have injured this guy. They’d have to use that fact in their favor.

  Frederick glanced at Clay and saw him noting the same thing.

  The man who’d kicked Clay squatted beside them. ‘The boss is going to slice you up while you’re still alive. I’ve seen him do it before. The guy gettin’ sliced always screams and screams until he passes out. The boss lets him come to, then starts all over again. I’m hoping he lets me help this time. I hope he lets me cut you.’ Holding his handgun by the barrel, he swung it up like he was about to bring it down on Clay’s head. Clay closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the blow.

  Rocking up to his knees, Frederick was about to throw his body into the gunman’s when another shot rang out. The gunman jerked, then crumpled into a moaning heap. Frederick sat back on his heels, stunned.

  ‘What the actual fuck?’ Clay muttered. He rolled onto his back and sat up, the movement ungainly. His wince indicated that he probably had a cracked rib or two.

  The other guard began to run for the Hummer, but five more shots rang out, four of them hitting the tires, just like their attackers had done to the SUV. The would-be driver changed direction and headed for the trees, but soon came out with his hands raised, dragging one leg, two young women with rifles behind him. One was tall, with long black hair, the other a petite blonde.

  Frederick let out a harsh breath. ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘What?’ Clay’s back was to the direction of the trees and he twisted his body, doing a one-eighty rotation on his ass. ‘Taylor?’

  ‘And Daisy.’ Frederick’s eldest daughter did not look happy to see him.

  Taylor came running when she saw them. ‘Dad! Pops!’ She kicked the handgun away from the now-bleeding man, then dropped to her knees, pulling a switchblade from her boot. She cut the zip ties and inspected their faces, then mouthed Wow at the ruined SUV.

  ‘What happened here?’ she asked.

  ‘I could ask you the same question,’ Clay said, rubbing his wrists. He looked at the Hummer, all four of its tires now flat. ‘Nice shooting, baby.’

  ‘I only did one side. Daisy did the other.’ Taylor popped to her feet, searching the pockets of one of the dead gunmen.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Daisy asked impatiently.

  ‘Finding zip ties. Here they are.’ Taylor dug them out and cuffed both survivors, because the one who had been about to brain Clay was still breathing. And moaning. Loudly.

  ‘You can relax now,’ Taylor told Daisy, who lowered her rifle but did not appear convinced.

  ‘You said it was calm and quiet out in the country,’ she said to Taylor, and Frederick was very aware that she was ignoring him completely.

  ‘It is, except for this week.’ Taylor extended a hand to both him and Clay, pulling them to their feet. Clay groaned softly and Taylor looked concerned. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Probably a bruised rib,’ Clay said, and Frederick didn’t correct him. Clay had reached for his phone and was dialing. ‘We need to call this in. Did you pass a white van? They took Gwyn and Thorne.’

  ‘Yes,’ Taylor nodded grimly. ‘Joseph is chasing them.’

  ‘Voicemail,’ Clay said, then texted the information to Joseph.

  ‘How did you two get here?’ Frederick asked as Clay dialed 911, stepping away to report their status. Hopefully the cops would be on their way after Frederick’s first call, when they’d still been in the SUV.

  ‘Joseph had picked up Daisy from the arrivals terminal at BWI and we were most of the way here when you called,’ Taylor said. ‘He was planning to drop us off at Clay’s and head back to Judge Segal’s home when he got Thorne’s call. He heard the crash and knew you needed help. Luckily Thorne had just told him that you were leaving Clay’s house. The 911 dispatch was feeding him information as you gave it to them, Dad. Joseph got your message that Thorne and Gwyn had been taken away in a white van. We were almost to Clay’s driveway, so he stopped his SUV and told us to get out, because he was going to follow and he didn’t want us in the line of fire. Joseph had extra rifles in the SUV, just in case we ran into trouble on the way from the airport. Daisy and I knew that you two were in danger, so we grabbed the rifles and got out. The white van passed by a few seconds later. We could see your wrecked SUV and this asshole –’ she jabbed the toe of her boot into the gunman still writhing on the ground ‘– about to hit Clay with his gun. So I shot him. Then we saw the other asshole running away and we brought him back. Now you know it all.’

  ‘Good timing,’ Frederick offered, but Daisy deliberately looked away.

  Taylor sighed at her sister’s wordless rebuke. ‘Not good enough, because they got Thorne and Gwyn.’ She visibly tried to relax her bunched shoulders. ‘Joseph was on the phone with one of his people when Thorne first called him, by the way. His team is searching the judge’s house.’

  Frederick nodded. ‘We knew that. Alec caught it on the scanner.’

  Taylor frowned. ‘He’ll catch this on the scanner too, and will be worried.’

  ‘Hold on.’ Frederick called Alec and assured him that he and Clay were okay, but that Thorne and Gwyn had been snatched. Before he could hang up, Jamie took the phone. ‘What’s happened?’

  Frederick sighed. ‘They drugged Thorne and dragged him away. Threatened to shoot him if Gwyn didn’t cooperate, so she did. The last time I saw him, he was alive and breathing.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Jamie whispered. ‘No. Please.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Frederick murmured. ‘There were seven of them in two vehicles, including the driver of the van. We got three of the gunmen, between Clay, me and Gwyn. One of the survivors went in the van with Thorne and Gwyn. The bartender was driving.’

  Jamie moaned. ‘No. I told him to let Joseph handle this.’

  Frederick wanted to reassure him, but all he could do was give him the facts. ‘Joseph is in pursuit right now.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jamie whispered. ‘I have to tell Phil. This could kill him.’

  ‘We’re going to get them back,
’ Frederick said firmly. ‘I swear we’re going to get them back.’

  ‘How . . . Why are you there? Did they leave you?’

  ‘No. Like I said, they had two vehicles. We were going in the second one, but that’s when Joseph arrived. We have a survivor, who knows where they were going. We’ll get him to tell us.’

  ‘How?’ Jamie asked, sounding so lost.

  Frederick glared at the man who’d tried to run away. ‘Don’t worry about that. He will talk to me. I have to go. I’ll call you back.’

  Clay finished his call to 911 at the same time and walked over. ‘What are you going to do?’ he said under his breath.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Frederick said gruffly. ‘Plausible deniability.’

  Clay looked torn. ‘Don’t do anything you can’t live with.’

  ‘I can’t live with Tavilla gutting Gwyn while Thorne watches,’ he spat bitterly.

  Clay nodded. ‘What can I do to help?’

  ‘Make sure my daughters don’t see this,’ Frederick whispered.

  ‘Okay.’ Clay squeezed his shoulder. ‘Thorne would want you to keep your soul intact.’

  Frederick was pretty sure Thorne would be more concerned that Gwyn not be murdered. He walked to the man who lay on the ground on his stomach, his hands and feet secured by zip ties. So let’s see if we can’t make Junior here tell us what he knows.

  Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Clay had taken the girls a short distance away and was talking to them intently. Probably filling them in on everything that had been happening.

  He bent over the survivor, keeping his voice quiet but deadly. ‘Tell me where you were taking us.’

  ‘Go to hell,’ the man spat, his spittle landing on Frederick’s shoe.

  ‘I probably already am,’ Frederick muttered, yanking him to his knees. Twisting his fingers in the man’s hair, he jerked his head back. ‘Tell me.’

  The asshole tried in vain to twist out of Frederick’s grip. ‘Go. To. Hell.’

  Goddammit. He did not want to do this. Crossing his fingers, Frederick jabbed them down into the hollow of the bastard’s throat, ignoring the hacking cough and the writhing. Abruptly he pulled away. ‘Tell me.’