Mrs. Janowski nodded, but before she reached her hand to the gear, her door was flung open.
Chapter 22
“Hands on your . . . What the hell are you doing here?” T growled.
Brett had closed in from the other side of the vehicle. He spotted me instantly.
Crap.
I was going to hear about this later, I thought uneasily. And for good reason. We just put ourselves into danger and completely ruined whatever they had planned.
“We’re following the body,” Mrs. Janowski said. “Who did you kill?”
“No one . . . yet,” T gritted.
“Then who’s in the trunk?” she asked.
“The bartender,” Brett grudgingly answered.
“Dead?” she drilled with an arched brow. “Because he looked dead.”
“No, just knocked out.”
Mrs. Janowski nodded her approval. “He needed a little sense knocked into him. Whose car is that?”
“His.”
“How can we help?”
“Go home,” T said. “We’ll contact you in the morning.”
“Technically, it is the morning,” she countered.
“Later in the morning,” he amended.
“I’ll need to know the plan first,” she said.
“What?” he gaped.
“You don’t think we’re going to leave you to your own defenses, do you? Give us the dirt and follow-up plan and we’ll happily be on our way.”
Brett looked at me for help. I shrugged. He wasn’t going to get help from me. I wanted to know how far he was going to take this plan of theirs. I also wanted to know where Mac and Bob were.
And why the hell didn’t he answer my call?
“I could just put a bullet in your engine and leave you here,” T half-heartedly threatened. Everyone knew he wouldn’t follow through no matter how much Mrs. Janowski irritated him.
“You’re carrying?” Mrs. Janowski stole a peek. “Where is it? What are you packing?”
Brett bit his lip to squelch a smile.
“Is Edna okay?” T glanced at the backseat.
“She’s fine. Just got a little over excited,” Mrs. Janowski said with a flick of her hand. “So, what are you going to do with the bartender? Rough him up a bit, eh?”
“We might as well tell them what we know so far,” Brett said to T. “I don’t think we’ll be able to shake them.”
Them?
“They shouldn’t even be here,” T said. “It’s past their bedtime.”
The car filled with disgruntled huffing.
“Either way,” Brett said firmly, “let’s get out of here before someone finds us. You take Mrs. J.’s car and I’ll take the other car.”
T’s brows furrowed until they did their secret eye communication and T gave a nod, opening Mrs. Janowski’s door.
“You can’t commandeer my car,” she said.
“Do you know where we’re going?” T asked.
“No.”
“Then I’m commandeering your car.”
She held steady. “Are you going to give me the four-one-one?”
Brett was already moving to the other car. I bet T is going to dump us off at home, leaving Brett to handle the bartender on his own.
I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned over to whisper to Sylvia first and then to Mrs. Janowski.
Mrs. Janowski scrambled out of the driver’s seat with a smile. “By all means, you should drive us then,” she said to T who looked at her, baffled. She ushered him in with sweeping arm gestures. I slid out from the backseat and eased into the cover of darkness.
“Oh, Brett!” Sylvia called out her window, luring him back to the car.
“Yes?” he asked.
Mrs. Janowski dove into the backseat, causing enough commotion to drown their conversation. It gave me the perfect opportunity to run the few yards and slip into the backseat of the other car, flattening my body to the floor as much as possible. It was a tight squeeze, and if Brett adjusted the seat back, I was a goner.
By the sound of it, Mrs. Janowski was creating enough of a diversion that T wouldn’t even notice I was missing until it was too late. I had the utmost confidence in her to keep the ruse going for as long as possible.
I heard footsteps and willed my heart to stop thudding. The driver’s door opened and Brett stepped in. He shut the door, muttering a curse.
After a minute of uncomfortable silence, the car began to move. So far, the plan seemed to be working. Although, this is where the plan fell short. I had no idea what to do once we reached whatever destination Brett was heading to.
This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, I scolded myself as my cramped limbs fell asleep.
The only thing that kept me in position was the fact that Brett would turn around immediately if I revealed myself. That wasn’t an option. Bob and Mac were priority. Brett too, although he’s safe for the moment. Thankfully.
But it did bring up a concern. I had no way to defend myself if something happened to Brett. Not that the knocked-out bartender posed a problem right now.
Thump thump thump.
My ears perked at the sound. It didn’t feel like a flat tire.
Thump thump.
Brett didn’t stop the car. In fact, he sped up.
Thump thump.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” bellowed a muffled voice.
Oh, Lord. The bartender was awake.
The thumping grew louder, and the cursing skyrocketed. Brett sped up and flipped on the radio, drowning the irate protest.
“He’s awake,” Brett shouted over the noise. I assumed he was on the phone to T. “Wait . . . what did you say? She’s gone? What do you mean she’s gone?”
Damn.
“Go back to the field and see if you can find her,” Brett said. “I can’t turn around now.”
He thought I was back in the field? That was a spot of luck. It would be quite embarrassing if he turned around to find me contorted on the floor.
“No. I’ll be fine. Just find her and keep her safe.”
Was he going to be safe? A flicker of doubt had my mouth opening to tell him I was here and to cease the search. Brett ended the call before words formed.
The car turned onto a gravel road.
“Damn it, Mars!” he swore, but his voice turned gentle by the time it reached my name—the kind of quiet gentleness that could steal a person’s breath.
Sorry, I silently mouthed.
The car rolled to a stop. Brett swung the door open and stepped outside. I could just make out his strained features in the car’s dim light. He slammed the door shut, snuffing out the light.
The trunk popped open.
“I’m going to kill you!” the bartender hissed.
“Yeah, you told me that already,” Brett said. “What you didn’t tell me was where Bob and Mac are.”
“Like I said before, I don’t know who you’re talking about!”
The car jostled.
I had to hold myself back from popping up to see what was happening. The smack of skin against skin put my whirling brain on the path of most-likely scenarios. By the following groan, I could only imagine that Brett hit the man.
I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, but I hoped the situation wouldn’t get any uglier than a few bruises. The thought of dirty alleys with snapping bones didn’t sit well. But Brett wouldn’t do that . . . would he?
No.
“If you’d cooperate, I wouldn’t have had to hit you,” Brett gritted.
“You’re going to have to do more than hit me if you want my cooperation,” the man hissed.
“My pleasure!”
Well, maybe he would.
There were sounds of scuffling and huffs until Brett was finally able to drag the man from the trunk and into . . . I poked my head up . . . the little stone cottage in the woods.
Odd place to bring a bartender who wants to kill you, but I doubt he had many alternatives.
I had fallen in l
ove with the little stone cottage the first time Brett brought me. Okay, maybe not the first time. He was acting like an overprotective guard dog. I had to cuff him to the bed to make my escape. But the second time, well, that was quite a memorable night.
As soon as they were inside, I crept from the car and fell onto the gravel driveway. My numb limbs were now getting the bloodflow they had been deprived, sending epidural-sized-needle prickles coursing through my body. The pain made me want to howl.
I gnashed my teeth together and rolled into a ball, hoping the sensation would end soon.
Within a minute, the pain lessened considerably and I was able to hobble to the cottage window.
I stole a quick peek. Both Brett and the bartender were facing away from me, so I was able to lean in closer for a better look.
The bartender was cuffed, but it didn’t look like he was tied to the chair he was sitting on. I wasn’t sure if Brett deliberately missed that step or if he didn’t realize it. That worried me. One single glance away and the bartender would make a run for it . . . or worse.
Brett was circling the man now. I’d hate to liken someone as swoon-worthy as Brett to a vulture, but he did look like he was on the hunt. The vermin sitting on the chair was definitely his target.
While Brett was circling, I turned to find a weapon. Even a stick would be better than nothing.
My phone blasted the outdoor silence. I scrambled, yanking it out of my pocket and silencing it.
Brett appeared at the window, spotting me in a stalled attempt to run. In a flash, he was out the door and over to me.
“Where have you been? Why are you here?”
There were a few more questions, but I was momentarily caught off guard by his beautiful white teeth. They were perfect—even if they were framed by scowling lips. I’m not sure what it was, maybe just the way they gleamed in the darkness, but his teeth had my heart fluttering like a first crush.
Odd.
Or I might be an idiot.
“You didn’t tie him to the chair,” I finally said when I put two working brain cells together.
“What?”
“You didn’t tie him to the chair,” I repeated. “He’s going to escape.”
“Is that why you’re here?” he asked, baffled. “To make sure I do my job properly?”
“What exactly is your job?” I questioned.
“Can we have this conversation later?” Brett rubbed his temple. “There’s a man who has information about Bob and Mac. Why don’t we put your questioning to good use?”
“Really?”
“No!” he blustered. “Do you think I’d have you go in there so he can see you?”
“He saw you. What’s the difference?”
“The difference?” he blustered again. “The difference is that I don’t want you in danger.”
“But it’s okay that you can put yourself in danger?”
“Do you want to find Bob and Mac or not?”
“Yes,” I said.
He seemed a little reassured by that until his eyes traveled behind me. “How did you get here?”
“I hitched a ride.”
“With who? No one followed me here.”
My pointing finger cautiously drifted to Brett.
Brett’s mouth fell open. He rubbed his chest. “Dear Lord, Mars! You’re going to end up killing me. I’m having pain already.”
“Just let me help,” I said into his chest, which he’d pulled me into unexpectedly.
“No.”
“I’m going to whether you like it or not.”
“Decidedly not.”
“Brett!”
“I still have those handcuffs you’re so fond of.” His threat carried no weight. I was rather fond of them.
“You can use them later,” I said. “But right now, I want to help.”
“I can see you’re determined. Mrs. Janowski is starting to rub off on you.”
I was prepared to launch a protest, but that would only prove his point.
“Fine,” he muttered his consent, his chin resting on my head. “How would you like to help?”
Well, this was an interesting development.
I pulled back. “I want to question him.”
“He’ll threaten you. It won’t be easy.”
A noise caught my attention.
“It won’t be easy if he escapes, either,” I said, pointing to the man who was running in the opposite direction.
Chapter 23
Brett casually reached into his pocket. The escaping bartender suddenly jerked and fell to the ground with a twitch.
“What did you do?”
“I never could understand why an owner would put a shock collar on his dog,” he said. “And this guy had them on all of his fight dogs.”
“He has dogs in the bar?”
“Among other animals.”
“And they fight each other?”
He nodded.
“A blood sport?” I questioned, jamming my hand into his pocket, pulling out the collar control.
His eyes showed surprise.
“To the death?” I questioned again.
“Would you want to be alive after that?” he asked, attempting to bring me back into a comforting hug.
I was having none of it. Grown men beating the tar out of each other for money was their business. But when they bring in defenseless animals to fight to the death, then they’ve gone too far.
And this was coming from a woman who wasn’t keen on pets. I like the little fur balls—but as far away as possible.
I marched over to the bartender who was shaking his head to clear it.
“You’re an animal killer!” I shouted, nearing him. Brett was on my heels, his hand holding my arm back.
“I don’t kill them,” the man said. “They kill each other.”
I pressed a button on the controller. The man gasped but was otherwise unaffected.
“You have to use the bad dog button,” Brett said.
“Oh.” I pressed “bad dog” as the man lunged for the controller. I’m not sure what he intended to do with both hands tied, but the result was a rapid fall while thrashing. The man shrieked as he continued to convulse.
“You can let go now,” Brett said, taking the controller out of my rigid hands.
I jumped back, wiping my hands on my jeans.
The man was sprawled face first onto the ground, panting.
“Are you ready to talk now?” Brett asked.
“Go to hell!”
Brett tisked. “Maybe I should give the controller back to my friend.”
Friend?
“No!” he barked and then realized his error. “Shock me all you want. The batteries will die before I talk.”
“Okay,” Brett said, handing the controller back to me. “I have extra batteries in the house.”
The man flinched.
“Did you think I wouldn’t be prepared?” Brett taunted. “This house isn’t even on a mapped road, so try not to get your hopes up about being rescued.”
The man snorted, face still pressed into the dirt. “I had no hope to begin with. Ever hear of the criminal’s code? I’m as good as dead.”
“There’s a code?” I asked. “Is that like the pirate’s code?”
The bartender frowned. “Nice sidekick you got there,” he said sarcastically to Brett.
“I’m not a sidekick. And I have the shock controller in my hands,” I reminded with a light zap.
I’m not going to lie. It felt rather nice abusing an animal abuser and an altogether nasty man.
“Shit!” He flopped over to glare. “Be careful how you choose your enemies. Your two friends could tell you that.”
Two friends? Bob and Mac?
Brett immediately stepped between us but jumped back when I zapped the man again.
“I’ve never had the opportunity to choose my enemy,” I said. “Normally they’re predestined somehow.” I zapped. “And if I’m going to have an enemy, which I’d rather
not, I’ll just have to choose you.” Zap. “Because if you abuse animals . . .” Zap. “. . . and kidnap my friends . . .” Zap. “. . . then you’re going to wish you hadn’t made me your enemy.” Zap.
And another zap for good measure.
The man lay in a heap on the ground.
“Jesus,” Brett breathed but didn’t interfere as I had suspected he would.
I nudged the man with my toe. “Are you going to tell us where Bob and Mac are, or am I going to have to refresh the batteries?”
“Go to he . . .” He was cut short by a shock.
“You were saying?”
He didn’t respond.
Dear Lord. I didn’t kill the man, did I? I was using a light setting. Maybe he had a heart defect and I overtaxed it.
I bent down to listen for a heartbeat. Brett yanked me away just before the man jammed his knees forward.
“Brett,” I whispered, “I don’t think he’s going to talk no matter how many times I shock him.”
Before Brett could respond, a vehicle crunched its way up the gravel drive.
“Get in the house,” he ordered.
“But . . .”
“Now!”
I crossed my arms. “You’re starting to sound like T,” I complained. “It’s only Mrs. J.’s car. I don’t see why I have to run and hide.”
Brett squinted against the headlights. “How do you know it’s her?”
“Didn’t you hear the car squeak when she turned?” I asked. “It’s been making that sound for the last two years.”
His exasperated sigh was directed at the parking car and the gaggle of ladies pouring from it.
“What did we miss?” Ida called.
Brett whispered to me, “Is there any way you can call off the troops?”
“Not that I know of,” I said. “I’m not even sure how they found us.”
“Oh, that was simple enough,” Mrs. Janowski said. “We wrestled it out of T.”
“Where is T?” Brett asked warily.
“He’s on his way. But I have to warn you, he’ll be a little testy.”
“I can only imagine why,” Brett mumbled.
“So, is this the vermin?” Mrs. Janowski asked, stalking over to the bartender. “What’s with the dog collar?”
“Are you into kinky sex?” Sylvia asked the man, looking as if she might be interested.
Security Squad Page 18
