by S J Grey
She’d fire it if she had to.
Chapter Forty-Two
It was ages since Emma last used a shotgun, but she knew what to do and how quickly she could load it up. Speed was very much of the essence. If someone was in the house and coming to find her, she needed to be outside, pronto.
The quickest way was through the emergency exit in the stock room. She peeked around the office door. The hall was empty. With the Mossberg in hand, she snuck out and tiptoed the half-dozen steps to the next door. Same routine before going in. Peep around the door first. It looked empty, and she hurried in, closing the door with care behind her. On an impulse, she dragged one of the office chairs against the door. It wouldn’t stop it opening, but it would make a noise.
Thank God for Dad’s insistence on emergency planning. When he set up this room as their mini-warehouse, he had a fire-door fitted. It only opened from the inside. She pushed the bar to open it, and stepped outside.
Think, Emma.
Mark had been on his way to the kitchen. If that was where he shouted at her from, he might still be there.
She knew the layout of the section better than any stranger could. She’d helped repair fences and plant trees as a windbreak, when her parents first moved in. She knew the best track through the apple orchard and the prettiest walk through the woods, as well as the area Dad designated for firearms practice.
She also knew how best to sneak up on the kitchen unnoticed, but first, she had to load the Mossberg. She checked the safety. On. In went the shells. One up the pipe and racked, and then the rest. Push into place and lock in with her thumb. Click. One after the other, until it held six. Only then did she let out a breath.
Emma ducked into the shrubbery, a thick section of hydrangeas that were currently in full bloom. The giant pinky-blue flower heads would make it difficult for her to be seen behind them when she crept, bent over, with her head down. The safety stayed on until she needed to fire. If she needed to.
Christ, what was she thinking? She couldn’t bring herself to shoot rats or possums. How would she cope with pointing the weapon at a person?
They’d taken her parents. They’d taken Caleb. They’d killed Joss. And now they might have hurt Mark some more. That should be enough incentive for her.
She’d barely had time to wrap her head around the idea that Mark was actually some kind of government agent. She didn’t want to lose him. He needed to be honest with her, and beg forgiveness for the gazillion lies he’d told her, but trusting him might be the best thing to do. It was what she wanted to do. And right now, she was going to do her very best to help.
The hydrangeas ran as far as the sprawling pohutakawa tree laden with red blossoms, and then there was a thick line of lavender bushes. The lavender was waist-high. It provided great cover but was impossible to see through. Emma had to sneak to the end of the hedge and look from there.
The good news—she had a clear view into the kitchen. The bad news—it appeared to be empty. There was no sound from the house. Was Mark in worse trouble than she thought?
Dad’s voice rang inside her head. Only carry a gun if you’re prepared to fire it.
With her heart lodged in her throat, she had two options. Either be paralysed by fear, or use it. Act on it.
She stood, lifted the Mossberg, and jammed it against her shoulder. The ideal firing position. Safety was on. She could release that in a heartbeat. Left hand on the racking mechanism, right hand with her finger lying against the trigger.
Nobody appeared in the window. No stranger pointed at her or shouted there she is. She took a shaky-kneed step towards the door, and then another. Still no signs of anyone. Did they leave via the front? She didn’t hear a vehicle. Were they circling around to find her?
Emma pointed the shotgun up, while she used her right hand to open the door. Her heart beat so hard, they’d be able to hear it. With her pulse drumming in her ears, she returned to her gun-ready position and entered the kitchen.
Something rustled to her right. She spun to face the noise. Minerva nosed at an unopened sachet of cat food on the floor.
Shit. Emma took a breath, her lungs tight. She was beyond jumpy. Jumpy existed in a whole other universe. She took a step forward and looked over the breakfast bar.
Mark sprawled on the floor, eyes wide. Tape covered his mouth, and his hands were behind his back. A fresh graze ran down the side of his face, his cheek puffy with bruising. He made a faint noise and jerked his head up, to the left.
She tingled with adrenaline. Time seemed to slow down.
Emma followed his gaze. A stranger leaned against the fridge.
She catalogued the guy’s appearance. Anywhere between thirty and forty years old. Tall as Mark, but more stocky. He was wide, with a bull-neck. Dark hair, cropped close to his head. High cheekbones and thin lips. Dark combat trousers and a dark, long-sleeved, tight-fitting T-shirt.
He was holding a handgun. It pointed at Mark.
“Is this who you are looking for?” His voice had an accent. East European maybe.
“Let my boyfriend go.” Her voice was surprisingly strong. “What do you want now?” She took a step closer. Stepped around the counter. Shifted the Mossberg stock to a secure position. Moved her right hand so that the safety catch was accessible. “You took my parents. You took Caleb. You’re not taking Mark.”
“I’m here for you,” he said and smirked. “Leverage.”
“That makes no sense.”
“We had to trade your parents for Mr. Rush. Now we need some way to control him.”
Did he mean Mum and Dad were safe? Hope flickered inside her, and her confidence grew.
“Let him go,” she said. “I know how to use this.”
“But are you willing to?” He moved closer to Mark. “If you fire from there, you’ll hit us both. To say nothing of the mess you’ll make.”
The Mossberg was heavy. Her arms ached from the strain of holding it in the firing position, but she wasn’t putting it down. Not yet.
“If you shoot Mark, there’s nothing to stop me from shooting you. Point-blank with a twelve-gauge shotgun, and you’re toast. Actually, more like mincemeat.” Her right wrist hurt, but it was her left holding the weight of it. She could take it a bit longer.
“I can fire before you can even rack that.”
He sounded bold, but that was a flicker of fear in his eyes.
She didn’t dare feel hopeful. “I dropped one in the pipe. No. Racking. Required.”
Please, she begged him silently. Please, put your gun down. I don’t want to do this. I don’t think I can do this.
Perspiration nudged at her hairline, and she had to fight, to breathe normally. The stand-off continued. Emma gazed at the guy, and he stared back. How much longer would this go on?
Would he wait until she could no longer hold the Mossberg in position?
Something moved behind Emma.
She saw a blur on her right. Movement towards the counter. It was Elwood, leaping onto the breakfast bar.
The gunman jumped. He swung towards the cat, pistol pointing away from Mark.
“Roll.” She shrieked at the top of her voice.
Mark rolled away from them. The gunman spun to face Emma. She already had the Mossberg moving. No need to fire it, when she could hit him with it instead.
It smashed into the side of his right arm, and he dropped the gun. He tried to grapple with her, to grab the shotgun, but she held tight.
One hard shove, and she worked it free.
She slammed the barrel into the side of his head. He crumpled and fell to the floor.
“Oh, God.” She froze. Her legs were instant jelly, and she had to grab the breakfast bar before she joined them on the floor. She lay the Mossberg down with care, and then dropped to her knees. “Mark? Are you okay?”
Well that was dumb; he couldn’t reply. Her fingers shook, but she dug her nails under the tape. “I’m sorry,” she said, and ripped it off in one go.
Mark
hissed through his teeth. “Can you unfasten me? We need to restrain him and call for help.”
Restrain the other guy? What with? Well, duh. That was a roll of parcel tape on the floor, the same as was tight around Mark’s wrists.
“Let me grab a knife.” She lifted her hands. They were trembling, her palms damp and sticky. “I need a moment. Otherwise I’ll slice through your freaking arteries.” She sank to the floor with a bump. “Are you okay?” She asked again. Her gaze searched his face.
“I think I’m in shock,” he said. “You handled that like a pro. Have you really used one before? A pump-action shotgun? You came in like a fucking Valkyrie. I am so proud of you.”
Emma took a breath, and then another. The shaking was not as fierce now. She hauled herself to a standing position and dug in the cutlery drawer for a paring knife. Cutting Mark by mistake would be a very bad thing.
“It’s cool,” he said. “Wait until you can do it. Breathe in and out. You’ve given him a good, hard whack. He’ll be out for a minute at least.”
“Here goes.” Mark’s wrists were pressed together tightly, but the slim-bladed knife slid against his skin. She sawed gently, oh so careful about where the blade moved. The tape gave a little, and then ripped completely.
Emma sat back, her heart racing. She placed the knife on the floor. She didn’t trust herself to do any more yet, though. “What happened?”
“It was my own stupid fault. I didn’t see him until it was too late. He hit my head.” Mark touched his forehead and winced. “I saw stars. While I was reeling, he shoved me down and taped my wrists.”
Mark gestured at the roll of tape, and Emma handed it to him. “Time to return the favour,” he said. “Did you get your phone?”
She sagged. “Yes. Nothing from them.” It was hard to speak around the lump that appeared in her throat.
Mark was hunkered down, wrapping tape around the guy’s wrists, and then his ankles. “He can have two strips on his mouth,” he said. “My face feels raw from where you had to pull it off.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t be sorry. You were amazing. I hoped you’d run—maybe take your Dad’s truck if you knew where the keys were—but you came back for me.” He sat back and gazed at his handiwork.
The guy was out cold.
“Come here,” said Mark and opened his arms. “I need to hold you.”
That worked for Emma. She felt the same. She clung to him and buried her face in his shirt. The guy said he’d come for her. It wasn’t a bullshit statement.
“What happens now?” She pulled back enough to speak. “Police?”
“No. I’ll call in my people. I don’t want to risk your parents if they’ve not been released yet.” Mark cupped her cheeks with both hands. “I have to find somewhere safe for you. Christ. I died a thousand deaths when I saw you coming at him with that shotgun. I was petrified you didn’t know how to use it, or that you’d freeze. I don’t know why I worried.” He kissed her hard on the lips. “I’m going to call the cavalry,” he said.
“Please, tell me you can get the information out of this bastard? I don’t care how you do it.”
“I will. We’re a step closer to getting them back.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Mark made a phone call, while Emma fed the cats and cleaned their litter trays. The guy was awake again but trussed up and immobilised. His sidearm was on the other side of the kitchen, and the Mossberg was propped up near the back door. Emma and Mark agreed they wanted to keep the weaponry close at hand, in case anyone else turned up. As a precaution, Mark collected Geoff’s Nikko shotgun too.
Mark smiled at Emma as he loaded both barrels of the Nikko with shells from her pocket. “I still can’t believe my girlfriend is a pro with a pump-action shotgun. It’s a stark reminder never to piss you off again.”
Emma could make some snarky comment about everything that had led up to this point in time, or she could let it go. On balance, she would rather have Mark on her side, than against her. There was still a lot of talking to be done. It would be a long time before she fully trusted him again, but she wanted to. That was the difference from yesterday.
They searched the man together. He glared, and grunted when they rolled him over to check the pockets on his ass, but they found nothing. Not even a cellphone.
Mark tugged Emma to one side. “Do you have any tissues or cotton wool? Something to stuff in his ears, so we can talk without him listening?”
“There’s a bag of cotton-wool balls in the bathroom.”
“Okay. Take the Mossberg with you.”
Carrying a shotgun to the bathroom seemed like overkill, but she couldn’t blame Mark for taking every precaution possible. She returned with the makeup-remover balls, and Mark shoved some into each of the guy’s ears.
Now when they moved away from him, they could speak quietly and be confident he wasn’t listening.
“I’m worried,” said Mark. “No keys or cellphone. There was no vehicle outside. How did he get here? If he was dropped off, how did he plan to get back with you? And how is he in communication with his group? He’s not wearing a wire or a concealed earpiece. Maybe he was sent here on stakeout, with a pickup at a prearranged time? It doesn’t make sense.”
He gazed out the window. “Or was he going to drag you to the other side of the section? Where’s the nearest road, apart from at the front? He must have a ride stashed out of sight. Maybe a quad bike? Or he was going to steal one of your parents’ cars.”
His musing was interrupted by Emma’s phone, ringing. She grabbed it and stared at the screen. An unfamiliar number with a 04 area code. A Wellington and district number.
It might be the police again. Or a reminder that her car insurance was soon due for renewal. Or anybody. But it might be her parents.
“Hello?” If it was something banal, she wasn’t sure how she could bear it.
Mark wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He was here for her.
“Emma? It’s me.”
“Mum? Are you okay?”
“Yes. We’re fine. They didn’t hurt us. But they dropped us off, and we don’t know how to get home. Could you pick us up, darling? We’re in Johnsonville, at the Shop’n’Save supermarket.”
Tears pressed at the backs of Emma’s eyes, and she couldn’t speak. The relief was overwhelming. Once again, her knees shook and threatened to dump her on the floor. She fumbled with the phone and put it on speaker. “Tell me again?”
“The Shop’n’Save in Johnsonville. Geoff had a few coins in his pocket—enough to make this call, but that’s all.”
“We’re very glad to hear your voice, Sandra.” Mark sounded choked too. “I’ll get someone to pick you up in around fifteen minutes. So that you know it’s safe, I’ll give the driver a code word. How about Mossberg Maverick? Then you know he’s legit.”
“That’s one of my shotguns,” said Geoff. “Did Emma show it to you?”
Mark met her gaze, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “You could say that. Stay on the line with Em, while I make a call.”
“Please be careful,” Emma told her parents. “They’ve got Caleb. I was so scared. I’m so happy to hear your voices. I love you both, very much.”
A beeping interrupted, and Geoff made an exasperated noise. “My money’s about to run out. We’ll wait in the entrance of the supermarket. Love you, baby girl.” The connection cut.
Mark wrapped his arms tight around her. “It’s okay, love. They’re okay. The kidnappers kept their end of the bargain.”
“Now we need to find Caleb.”
“We will. His plane landed in Wellington, and he’s close to the waterfront. We’re mobilising a task force, to move in and take them down, but we’ll wait until we’ve picked up Geoff and Sandra. We’re close, Em. It could all be over by tonight.”
“And your people will pick up Mum and Dad?”
“Yep. I’ve despatched a driver from Wellington. He’ll be there real soon.”
“What about this fuckwit? How long until the cavalry arrives?”
Mark glanced at his watch. “Not long. Ten… fifteen minutes?”
“Time to clean you up.” She smiled at him. Now her family was safe, she could smile again. She picked up a bundle of cotton wool and wet it under the tap. “You have a smear of blood down the side of your face.” She dabbed at it with care, gentle on the tender-looking skin. “This is an ugly bruise. Would you like some ice for it?”
“Nah. I’m good. Thank you.”
“I can’t believe this might be almost over. I know this sounds stupid, but it feels almost too easy, you know?”
To his credit, Mark didn’t crack a joke. “Yeah. I do know. One guy waiting here for you. Granted, it took two of us to disable him, but this has been a seriously slick operation so far. My spidey-senses are tingling. I’m missing something.” He tugged her closer. “We’re missing something. But what?”
He picked up the handgun and examined it. His efficient check that it was loaded confirmed Emma’s thought that, yes, he knew his way around firearms.
“He’s not stressed,” said Mark, looking back at the guy. “He knows his backup is coming, which means they have eyes on us. God damn. They’ve put cameras in here. They’re watching us now.”
“Mum downloaded an app. I can search for it.”
“I have a sweeper in the car, but there’s no time. We need to leave.”
“What about scary-gunman-dude?”
“He comes with us. My car boot is big enough to take him.” Mark slipped the pistol into his pocket. “You take the shotguns. I’ll drag our guest.”
“What about the cats? Will they be safe?”
“If we’re being monitored, they’ll see us leave, and there’ll be no reason for them to come back here. I’ll get someone to remove the cameras before Geoff and Sandra return.”
Emma checked both shotguns had the safety catch in place, and then lifted them, to cradle them in her arms.
“Come on, sunshine,” Mark said to the gunman. “We’re going for a little ride.” He grabbed the guy by the arms and tugged, hauling him across the kitchen floor. “Em, you wait at the front door, and have the Mossberg ready in case there’s an ambush waiting outside.” He paused. “You okay with that?”
