Clay charged, using fast, hard aggression to his advantage. He stayed low, slamming a shoulder into the man’s stomach while pushing his weapon arm high. A rush of air came out as a gasp of pain—his reward for hitting the target.
He was acutely aware of Leigh’s presence upstairs, and how unprotected she was. The enemy’s gun was a problem. A single shot could too easily rip through the ceiling and find Leigh’s soft flesh.
Even the thought of it stole some of Clay’s stony calm, letting fear sink in along the edges where the thrill of a fight usually lived. That fear made his blood pump faster, giving him more strength. He took control of the man’s arm, pointing it well away from the bedroom where Leigh was, and keeping it there.
The muzzle of Clay’s gun was pressed against his opponent’s ribs. He could feel the inflexibility of either bone or body armor. One option would leave him in pain. The other would leave him dead. Either way, if he pulled the trigger, it was going to be a really bad day for the fuckhead.
Only the need to question him kept Clay from firing his weapon. If his enemy’s gun moved even one inch in Leigh’s direction, the decision would be made. Easily. Clay would find another way to get the information he wanted.
From the corner of his eye, he saw another man dart behind some kitchen cabinets, out of sight. A second later, the barrel of a gun appeared over the countertop, pointed right at Clay’s head.
Some shivering kind of power slid over his mind, threatening to take control. He’d felt it before in Arizona, when he’d blacked out and woken up surrounded by men he’d killed. He still didn’t remember pulling the trigger on any of them.
It’s a kind of hypnosis . . .
Mind fuck was more like it.
Clay fought the compulsion to let go and give in, growling as he angled the man in front of him to act as a human shield.
There was a loud pop—similar to the sound of a suppressed round. The man in his grasp went limp, crumpling to the floor.
The weapon peeking over the counter now ha [ounze=d only one target.
Clay stared at it and lifted his gun to fire as he dove for cover. Before he could discharge his weapon, a frantic buzzing filled his head. Something deep inside his skull snapped free, and then he felt . . . nothing. The entire world winked out.
* * *
Leigh couldn’t let Clay deal with the threat of an armed gunman alone. He wasn’t well enough to handle that kind of stress—not if he was suffering the way her brothers had. Their hold on reality had been tenuous at best. They had been distracted easily, breaking whenever the pressure of even little things became too much to bear. And this was no little thing.
There was no way Clay could do this alone.
Leigh rushed back to her room and dumped the contents of her suitcase onto the floor. The cushioned box holding her revolver tumbled out, along with her socks and underwear. Her keys were hidden under her mattress, and she shoved her hand under it, frantically searching for them.
Hard metallic edges met her fingertips. She fished the keys out and fumbled to unlock the box.
Downstairs, she heard a popping sound, kind of like a cap gun. She’d been to the range often enough to know it wasn’t loud enough to be a gunshot, but it was definitely something.
She pulled the revolver out of its foam cradle and used the speedloader to load it.
Oddly, her hands were steady, even though the rest of her felt like it was going to shake apart.
Leigh hurried downstairs, keeping an eye out for armed strangers. The sounds coming from the kitchen were horrible, guttural things. Glass shattered against the floor. Deep male grunts of pain and rage punctuated the sound of bodies slamming into cabinets.
She slowly peeked around the corner and saw Clay with his hands wrapped around the neck of another man. A third man was crumpled on the floor, completely still.
Clay’s opponent slammed his fist into Clay’s ribs hard enough to make her wince. She knew the damage that had already been done there. If any of those ribs were cracked, a punch like that could easily break them.
She lifted her gun and barked out, “Stop!”
The stranger froze. So did Clay. He turned his head to look at her, but there was something terribly wrong with him. His amber eyes were glowing with feral hatred. His lips were pulled back in a snarl, baring his teeth. His whole body vibrated with chaotic tremors.
Leigh had seen this before. She knew what this was. The man facing her now was not Clay. Not even close.
Without looking away from her, Clay twisted the neck of the man, whose hands were lifted in surrender. The sickening sound of breaking bone filled the kitchen, stabbing at her ears.
A wave of nausea choked her as she processed what had just happened. Clay had broken the man’s neck. The intruder [The
He let the man fall to the floor and stalked toward her, his eyes on her gun. There was no mistaking that twisted expression of hatred. He was going to kill her, too.
Leigh set the gun on the floor and backed away. “It’s me,” she said, her voice so faint she wasn’t sure he could hear her. “It’s Leigh. You don’t want to hurt me.”
There was no flicker of recognition. He looked blank. Empty. Just like Hollis had the night he’d broken her arm—the night he’d killed himself.
That memory surged to the surface, threatening to drive her to her knees. So much pain and loss. A life full of promise thrown away—ended in the blink of an eye. Permanent and irrevocable.
“Clay,” she said louder, trying to sound stern. “Stop right there. You know I’m not going to hurt you.”
He didn’t respond.
Leigh’s back hit something hard, blocking her path. The wall. She was trapped.
She tried to dart out of the way before he could reach her, but he was too fast. He grabbed her arm and flung her to the floor. She scurried back on her elbows. The long hem of the robe kept tripping her up, preventing her from putting any distance between them.
“Clay!” she shouted, the sound of her voice loud and frantic over the heavy thud of her heart.
Payton had been wrong. Clay was going to hurt her. That vacant look in his eyes was proof that the man Payton trusted was nowhere to be had. Whoever was behind the wheel now was cold, methodical, and without feeling.
He stepped on the robe, pinning her in place. Then he reached down and jerked her back to her feet by her arms, tossing her back into the front door.
“Please. Don’t do this,” she begged.
No one was going to stop him. No one was going to save her.
And then she remembered the syringe in her pocket.
She would save herself.
Clay had a painfully tight grip on her biceps and was slowly lifting her higher. The cold glass chilled her back. The wooden frame around the window scratched her skin, even through her robe and nightshirt. His grip was so hard that her fingers began to tingle from lack of blood.
If she was going to do this, it had to be fast—before she lost all feeling in her hands.
He didn’t seem to notice her reaching in her robe pocket. His gaze was fixed on her, his eyes as empty as a freshly dug grave.
Clay grabbed her face, wrapping his fingers around her jaw. He began to push up, shoving her head hard against the door frame. Pain splintered along her skull. Panic closed her throat around a scream.
She uncapped the needle and jabbed it into his armpit—the only target [ on
He didn’t even notice that she’d stabbed him. It was as if he hadn’t felt the pain at all.
His eyelids fluttered. A momentary flicker of confusion clouded his eyes, and then they slid shut.
Clay collapsed onto the floor with a heavy thud. Leigh landed on top of him, panting. Tears streamed down her face as she clumsily disentangled their limbs and hobbled away.
As much as she wanted to slump to the floor and sob with relief, she knew better than to give in to that urge. She was on her own—too far away from help to even bother calling for it. Ther
e were three men to deal with. And only one pair of handcuffs.
She left Clay where he lay and went to the closest man. He was breathing. His heartbeat was steady. A fringed dart was sticking out of the back of his neck—likely some kind of tranquilizer or poison.
A quick check of the second man proved true her suspicions that he was dead. Clay had killed him.
No time to dwell on the implications of that right now. She had too much to do.
Leigh gathered all the weapons and hid them in a drawer next to a wooden spoon and spatula. She found a roll of duct tape in another drawer and used it to secure the man she didn’t know. Clay got the handcuffs, locked behind his back around the stair railing. She wrapped a nice thick layer of duct tape over the lock, preventing him from inserting anything into it.
Let him try to pick that.
Once she knew no one else was coming at her with the intent to kill, all her strength drained away. She sat down on the living room floor where she could see both of her prisoners. The dead man was out of sight, slumped against the kitchen cabinets. She was grateful she didn’t have to look at him, too.
Her hands were shaking now. The rest of her was as well. Dizziness kept her on the floor while a chill curled around her and wouldn’t let go. It was shock. She knew that, but knowing what it was called didn’t make it any less unpleasant.
Clay’s head was slumped forward at an uncomfortable-looking angle. His deep chest expanded evenly as he breathed. Seeing him asleep and relaxed like that, she could almost forget how he’d looked coming at her. Almost.
She was in way over her head, and there was only one person she could call.
Leigh forced herself to her feet and slogged up the stairs to where her purse and phone were. She dialed Payton, who answered so quickly, there was no way he’d been sleeping.
“We were attacked,” she said. “Two men broke in. Clay killed one of them.”
“Are you okay?”
The places where Clay had grabbed her arms and face hurt, and she felt brittle enough to shatter, but she was the only one left standing, which she guessed counted for something. “Yeah.”
“Let me talk to Clay.”< [y.nted for /p>
“Sorry. I had to knock him out again.” She swallowed twice before she could get the words out. “He would have killed me, too, Payton.”
“I want you to leave him there. I’ll find a way to get back to him before he wakes up.”
“No. I’m not going to abandon him. The one man left alive is also unconscious, with some kind of tranquilizer, I think. There’s no way to know who will wake up first or what will happen when they do.”
“Then restrain them.”
“I already have.”
“You can’t stay. Whoever is behind this clearly knows where you are. You must leave.”
“I’m not strong enough to move Clay, and I’m not leaving him here to be killed—not when I was the one to render him helpless.”
She could hear the sound of a car engine revving in the background. “I’ll be there soon to take care of everything. Then you can go home. I never should have involved you.”
Leigh wanted to let him take over and make it all go away, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. “This is my one chance at finding a way to help Garrett. If that man in the kitchen knows anything, I want to find out what it is.”
“Men who break into houses in the middle of the night are not usually inclined to give up information easily. And I know you don’t have the stomach for torture.”
A few years ago, he would have been right. “You have no idea how far I’ll go to see Garrett free and well.”
Payton was quiet for a minute. “Fine. Search the men and see what you can find. I’ll head your way and be there in a few hours. Call me for any reason, and if you think you’re in danger at all, I want you to leave.”
“Of course I’m in danger. I knew I would be when you told me what was at stake.”
“I never thought Clay would attack you. I’m so sorry, Leigh.”
“Part of me expected it. After seeing how it was with Hollis and Garrett . . .”
“I’m still sorry.”
“It’s fine.” What a huge lie that was. “Get here soon. I’m going to see what I can turn up.”
“Be careful. They know where you are. More men may come.”
“I know. I’ll be armed.”
And because she was no idiot, she filled another syringe and got it ready. There was no way she was sleeping any more tonight—not with those men in the house. It was best to just get dressed and do whatever she could to fix this as soon as possible.
With her clothes back on and her revolver sitting within reach, she went to the men in the kitchen and went through their pockets. No ID. No money. They both had a phone, but there were no numbers or messages on them [sag the—as if they’d just been purchased.
Or maybe they had simply deleted the information. If so, then it might still be there, lurking where some computer goddess like Mira could find it.
Mira. Of course.
It was still before dawn, but this couldn’t wait. Leigh knew how Mira felt about Clay and that she wouldn’t hold too much of a grudge for being woken up at such a crazy hour.
Mira answered, her voice thick with fatigue. “Leigh?”
“Sorry to wake you, but it’s important.”
“I wasn’t sleeping. What do you need?”
“You have access to Clay’s phone records, right?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Is there some kind of GPS thing you can track?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you look back and see where he’s been recently?”
“What’s this all about?”
“I need you to stop asking questions. I don’t know how safe it is to talk on the phone.”
Mira suddenly sounded more alert. “What is going on, Leigh?”
“I need a list of everywhere Clay has been. Can you do that?”
“How far back do you need me to go?”
“At least a few weeks. Longer if you can.”
“Okay, but that’s a lot of data. You’re not going to be able to make sense out of it unless I pretty it up for you.”
“Then do it.”
“Is Clay okay? Can I talk to him?”
Leigh eyed Clay’s slumped form. “He’s sleeping, but fine.” At least physically.
“I’ll get you what you need. Where should I send it?”
“E-mail me.”
“Are you sure everything is okay?”
Leigh desperately wanted to confide in Mira—to tell her how horrible it was to be sitting here with two men who might want to kill her and a third dead and growing cold on the floor. To not know if some other armed killers might be closing in on her right now. To not know if she’d be smart enough to find a way to save her brother.
She wanted to reach out for a bit of comfort from a woman she’d come to think of as a friend, but she didn’t dare. If Mira knew how bad things were, not only would she worry, she might try to do something stupid like track Clay down.
If Clay could hurt Leigh, he could also hurt Mira.
“We’re just trying to solve a puzzle. Really. Nothing to worry about.”
“Which is why you’re calling me this early in the morning. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“Of course not. You’re brilliant and will save us with that wonderful mind of yours.”
“That’s me. The chick with the brain cape.” Mira let out a frustrated sigh. “Call if you need anything else, okay?”
“That reminds me. If I were to erase all the messages on my phone, could you get them back?”
“Probably, unless it’s really fried and nothing was backed up. Did your phone break?”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
A skeptical tone entered Mira’s voice. “I really wish you’d let me talk to Clay.”
“You said he hasn’t been sleeping well. We need to let him rest.”
/>
“Yeah. You’re right. Have him call me as soon as he wakes up, okay?”
“I will,” said Leigh, hoping her friend would forgive her for the lie. “Talk to you later.”
Leigh collected both of the intruders’ phones, removed the batteries, and stored them with her things so she could take them to Mira later. She’d packed everything and set it by the door in case she needed to leave fast. The keys to both cars were in her pocket, along with another king-sized dose of tranquilizer.
Now that her escape route was clear, she grabbed a chair from the kitchen and positioned it so she could see both the sleeping men and the exits. All that was left to do no
w was wait—for one of them to wake, for Payton to arrive, or for someone else to show up and try to kill them.
Whatever happened, she was as ready for it as she would ever be. Which wasn’t saying much.
Chapter Seven
Clay fought to wake up. There was something important he needed to do—some threat he had to face. Someone needed him.
His mind was sluggish, moving too slowly for the frantic urgings pounding at the back of his brain. His head throbbed as if someone had taken a hammer to it. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep where the pain couldn’t reach him, but there was a reason he couldn’t do that—he just couldn’t remember what it was.
As he surfaced on another wave of consciousness, he realized his hands were bound behind his back.
Rage sent a surge of adrenaline racing through him, giving him that last big push into wakefulness.
He tried to stand before his eyes were fully open, but something caught and held him back. He heard the jingle of metal and a scraping sound.
Handcuffs. He’d been cuffed to something.
“Easy,” said a woman, her voice low and soothing but with more than a hint of fear. “You’re safe.”
Clay knew that voice but couldn’t place it.
He pried his dry eyes open, fighting whatever was weighing his lids down. As the initial burst of adrenaline wore off, sleep kept trying to suck him back in.
A cool hand touched his neck. He jerked away from it, unsure of its intent.
“Calm down, Clay,” said the woman again. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Edge of Sanity: An Edge Novel Page 6
