To Catch a Rat

by S J Grey

  Hell, no. “I said, step back,” she repeated. “And put your hands up. Now.”

  If she fired a warning shot, that only left her with one. And no option to reload.

  Where was Jonathan with the backup team? Why weren’t they here yet? And where was Mark? Was he okay?

  Fears cascaded through her brain. She had to slam the door on being scared. Couldn’t let it take over.

  Her heart thudded in time with the booming noise that rang in her ears. This was another game of chicken. Who would move first?

  Another shout sounded close by, and the smirking guy glanced over his shoulder. When he turned back to face her, his smile was broad and smug. This wasn’t good.

  “Well, Miss. Blackthorne, I think we have found a bargaining chip.”

  It took a moment for her to piece his words together. Did they have Mark? Or was it more bullshit?

  She said nothing. Continued to point the Nikko at him. Why wasn’t he nervous? He must really underestimate her.

  Smirking-guy stepped aside, and there was Mark, two other men hauling him forwards, one hanging off each arm.

  Mark struggled against them, a furious look on his face. He met Emma’s gaze. “You okay, love?”

  “I’m fine.” What a joke. She’d never been less fine in her life.

  That was when Emma saw the sidearm pressed against Mark’s head.

  “Miss Blackthorne,” said smirking-guy, “it’s a simple choice. Option One—put down the shotgun and get out of the car, and your boyfriend gets to stay alive. Or Option Two—continue to be difficult, and he dies. Either way, you are coming with us.”

  She should’ve shot the bastard when she had the chance.

  Her gaze was on Mark and the defiance on his face. “No,” he mouthed and shook his head.

  Emma loved it when assholes at work tried to mansplain things to her without realising she knew more than they did. Putting them in their place was a satisfying game. This was similar but with higher stakes.

  “You want me to put down the shotgun,” she clarified, speaking slowly, “and then you’ll let Mark go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Seems fair.” She lowered the Nikko from firing position. She twisted in her seat, as though unclipping her seatbelt. Moving quickly, her hands out of sight, she unloaded the two shells and shoved them in her pocket. They made a dull chinking noise when they hit the safe keys.

  Here goes. “I’m putting the Nikko on the ground.” She leaned out of the ruined Falcon and laid the shotgun down. It was too nice a weapon to kick out of the way, so she swung her legs out, getting out of the car with care. She moved slowly, and for good measure, pressed her left hand to her side, as though it hurt. The Glock was within easy grabbing distance.

  “Let Mark go. I did as you asked.” Asked. Yeah, right. Demanded was closer. Semantics.

  Her thoughts were all over the place. Did she bang her head? Or was shock catching up with her?

  “If I’m going with you, Mark comes too,” she continued. “We stay together.”

  “That’s so sweet,” said smirking-guy, his arms folded. “And why not? Two hostages are better than one.”

  Someone moved closer, and Emma held out a hand. “No. Don’t touch me. I’m hurt.” She hunched over and groaned.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw one of the men pick up the Nikko. He didn’t check to see if it was loaded. Idiot. He stood there with it held at hip height, pointing right at Mark, and Emma wanted to roll her eyes. The tosser had probably never fired a shotgun before. She made do with another deep groan.

  Now she needed them to move the pistol away from Mark’s head. “Let Mark help me. Please. I did as you asked.”

  The men exchanged a look and a nod, and the guy with the pistol tucked it into his waistband.

  Now she knew they were amateurs. She wished she had the Mossberg, but that wasn’t an option.

  “Owww,” she cried and bent over. She deserved an Oscar.

  There was a flurry of movement. Two men darting towards her. She slipped her left hand into her pocket. Closed it around the Glock. Please, God, don’t let me mess this up.

  The asshole on her right still pointed the empty Nikko at Mark.

  It was time. She tugged the revolver out and stood straight, transferring it to her right hand and bracing it with her left. There was going to be recoil. She had to be ready for it.

  The guys holding Mark were no more than three metres away. She chose the fuckwit with the sidearm down his pants. She hoped it misfired and blew his dick off. Aiming at his feet, she closed her finger around the trigger and squeezed.

  The bang wasn’t as loud as she expected. Probably because her hearing was fucked up. The recoil was sharp, but she was ready. The shot released, and the barrel lifted in the air, but she kept hold of the grip and controlled the movement. Fuck, but this was satisfying.

  Even better was the howl of agony from Sidearm-in-Pants Guy. He dropped to the ground and clutched his foot. Curses poured from his mouth in a language she didn’t recognise.

  Confusion reigned. More like chaos. Mark was moving towards her, but Emma was ready to take her second shot. She shifted to face Smirking Guy.

  He didn’t look happy. “Shoot the boyfriend,” he yelled to the idiot that held the Nikko.

  The shotgun clicked. The guy holding it looked startled and tried to fire again.

  “It’s empty,” said Emma, holding the Glock steady. “I can aim higher this time, if you’d like,” she told No-Longer-Smirking-Guy. “I’ll give you two options. I shoot you in the foot, or I shoot you in the balls. Either way, we are not going with you.”

  The only sound was the wailing of the guy on the ground.

  Without taking her gaze off the fuckwit in front of her, Emma spoke to Mark. “Where’s the Mossberg?”

  “I had to drop it.”

  “You, with the shotgun,” snapped Emma. “Put it down. Now. And you, Mr. So-Not-in-Charge, put your hands on your head. Mark is going to take the sidearm off the guy on the ground, and if he so much as thinks about going for his gun, you are going to be very sorry.”

  The guy didn’t move.

  Emma lifted the Glock higher, to point at his crotch. “What did I just say?”

  The glare he gave her should have made her cower where she stood, but Emma was done taking shit from him. “You have two feet,” she mused aloud. “You can manage without one.” She re-aimed, positioned her finger on the trigger, and braced.

  It was enough to convince him.

  “Okay. Okay.” He put his hands on his head. “You can’t get away. How are you going to stop us from coming after you?”

  Emma waited until Mark joined her, a matching Glock in his hand.

  “How?” she echoed. “Like this.” She squeezed the trigger.

  This time she was ready for the recoil. And the blood that spurted out. And the scream of pain, as he fell to the road, clutching his bloody foot. Damn, but she had a good aim with this little thing. She might take up pistol shooting as a hobby when this was over.

  “If you don’t want to be next,” she shouted to the other two men standing near the broken SUVs, “get your asses over here, one at a time. Kneel on the ground, hands on your head.”

  “Do as she says,” said Mark, the handgun steady in his grip.

  Emma watched the men, as they assembled on the road in front of her. “Do we have anything to tie them up with?”

  “There’s a bag of cable ties in the back of the Falcon, from when I installed the alarm in your house.” He pulled a face. “Not sure what state the guy in the boot is going to be in.”

  “I really don’t care,” said Emma, and it was true. She replayed his words in her head. “You’re wrong, by the way. It’s our house, okay? We have a lot to talk about, but I don’t want you to move out.”

  His smile was a thing of beauty. “I’m not arguing with the Valkyrie holding the gun, but can we save this for later, love? We’re not quite done yet.”


  Chapter Forty-Six

  Emma held the Glock steady on the four men lined up in front of her, while Mark secured their hands behind their backs and checked them for any other weaponry. He didn’t take any chances on the two she shot. They were bound too.

  He then went to collect the Mossberg, and reloaded it with the two shells from Emma’s pocket and the two spares he was carrying. Then, while Emma sat in the back of the Falcon, watching the would-be-kidnappers through the open door, he called Jonathan for an update.

  He’d only just connected, when Emma heard the sound of car engines approaching. Their backup. At last.

  Jonathan, Devin, Maxine, and TJ climbed out of their cars and approached the group, eyeing the damage to the SUVs and the Falcon.

  Mark waved to them. “Thanks for joining us,” he said. “Emma has it all under control. This is totally her work. I can’t take any of the credit.”

  He hunkered down at her side. “And now the cavalry is here, how d’you feel about putting that down?”

  She let out an exhausted sigh. “Happy to.” She handed the Glock to Mark, and he slipped it into his jacket pocket. Her arms ached, and her head was bursting. The adrenaline surges had receded, and now she felt tired and nauseous, like she had a bad hangover. She leaned against him, glad of his arm around her shoulders. “I just realised you trusted me not to shoot you while you fastened their hands behind their backs. That was incredibly brave or amazingly stupid. If my finger slipped on the trigger…”

  “Hey.” He held her close. “I trusted you? Hell, you’re probably a better shot than I am. You should go on a range sometime.”

  “I might. But right now, I want this to be over.”

  “I know, love. I need to brief my team. Will you be okay?”

  She nodded. God, she could sleep for a week. “Yep. You go sort out the mess. I’ll wait here.”

  Mark gathered his team around the car. They had a good view of the captives, and it meant Emma was included. “We need transport for these back to Wellington,” he said. “Two have gunshot wounds to the feet and need medical attention. There’s another guy in the Falcon boot, by the way, and he might need a paramedic too. Jonathan, I want you to run liaison with the local police. Contact DS Miller. I don’t want ugly questions asked when they go to hospital, and we need to keep them under armed guard at all times. Devin, organise a clean-up crew for here. Full forensic sweep on their vehicles. Any update on the Blackthornes?”

  “I sent Leah and Jan to pick them up, and take them to the Wellington office for debriefing,” replied TJ. “They’re both fine. Keen to see Emma.”

  Yep, she was looking forward to seeing them too.

  “Do we have anyone to sweep their house?” Mark asked the group.

  Maxine scrolled through something on her phone. “Yes, boss. I’ve got a crew going in a few hours. Do they need access?”

  “I have the front-door key,” said Emma. “They need to be mindful of the cats and not let them out.”

  “I’ll go with the crew,” said Maxine. “Let me have the key when you leave here.”

  Emma nodded. She tucked her knees up and huddled into the seat. It felt almost normal now, to see Mark in charge of this group. He must be feeling tired as well, but she bet he wouldn’t let it show. Not until they were alone.

  He issued more instructions, and then came back to the car and sat beside her. “Time to go.”

  “What happens now?”

  “We need to debrief, so we’re heading back to Wellington. That includes you, love. We’ll get to see your mum and dad while we’re there.”

  “What about Caleb? Do you have any news?”

  “He’s been tracked to Wellington, to the cargo terminal. We’re doing a joint op with the police to locate him.”

  “But if the police catch him, they’ll arrest him again.”

  “I know, and that sucks. But we need their manpower. I’m trying to argue that we have jurisdiction here and can override them, but I’m on shaky ground.” He took her hand and threaded their fingers together. His palm was hot, or maybe she was feeling the cold?

  He cocked his head on one side and smiled. It was mischievous, proud, and loving all at once. “My Valkyrie girlfriend. Sounds like a great title for a movie.”

  “Yeah, along with My Non-Accountant-Part-Time-Secret-Agent boyfriend. What are you? What’s your real job title?”

  He huffed a tired sounding laugh. “Let’s give Maxine your keys, and then TJ is ready to drive us into Wellington.”

  He’d ducked the question, but she was too weary to argue.

  Sometime later, Emma lay sprawled across the backseat of TJ’s car, her head in Mark’s lap, his fingers sifting through her hair.

  “I could sleep for a week,” she mumbled.

  He tugged his jacket over her like a blanket. “I’ll be your pillow for now. Will that do?” He brushed his hand against her cheek, and it felt hot again.

  She forced her eyes open, and sat up to peer at Mark. His cheeks held pink spots of colour, but his eyes were bright. Too bright. Emma touched his forehead. He was burning up.

  “Mark, you have a fever.”

  “Just a headache, is all. I missed taking my antibiotics today.”

  The knife wound in his thigh. It must be infected. “We need to get you checked out.”

  “I’m fine, love.”

  “I know what a good liar you are,” she said softly. “For once, please tell me the truth.”

  He sighed. “My leg hurts like a son of a bitch, and it feels like I’ve an axe embedded in my skull. I’m also a little hot. But apart from that, I’m fine.”

  Emma might be tired, but Mark was ill. She turned to speak to TJ, behind the wheel. “Mark needs a doctor, sooner rather than later. Also, could we please stop to buy some bottled water and ibuprofen?”

  “Sure. I’ll stop at the next gas station, and I’ll radio ahead, for our medical team to meet us. We’re about twenty minutes from HQ.”

  Mark made a grumbly noise in the back, but Emma insisted on TJ stopping at the first opportunity. She wanted to get Mark to take something to bring his temperature down, even if he disagreed.

  “It’s not good for my tough boss-man image,” he whispered, as they pulled onto the forecourt of a gas station on the highway.

  “And collapsing with septicaemia is?” Emma softened her tart words with a smile. “Let me look after you for once.”

  Mark needed a bit more than a drink of water and a painkiller. On arrival at an anonymous office on the edge of the CBD, someone checked his state and despatched him straight to hospital.

  “I’m sorry, love,” Mark told Emma as he climbed back into the car. “You need to stay here and give your account of what happened. Don’t be afraid to tell them the truth. Your mum and dad are waiting to see you, too. I’ll be on the other end of the phone, and back here before you know it.”

  “Not if they put you on a drip, you won’t.” She fussed over him, worried by how much pain he was in. She couldn’t be in two places at once, and much as she wanted to go with him, she needed to see her parents. She had to settle for giving Mark a rapid goodbye kiss, and then she watched as his car peeled away into the traffic.

  TJ escorted her through a maze of corridors to a brightly lit room, where she found her parents. They sat on a squishy sofa, a half-filled pot of coffee on a low table in front of them. Tears flowed freely as she greeted them.

  Hugging Mum on one side, Dad on the other, Emma finally sagged and let go of the fear. She’d been tightly wound all day, but at last, it felt as though everything might be all right.

  Everything except Caleb. It tore at her that he’d be thrown back into prison when the police rescued him. From one captor to another.

  There must be something she could do.

  Emma expected the debriefing to be like a police interview, but it was much more relaxed. Comfy chairs, fresh coffee and pastries, and even though there was a video camera running throughout, gentle and imperson
al questions.

  They took her phone, so they could check some details on it—or so they said. Corroborating her story? Or planting a mini-tracker in it, in case she tried to run away? She didn’t care. She just wanted the drama to be over.

  Kieran and Clare, who conducted the interview, were keen to hear what happened from the moment she took the first call from the kidnappers. They didn’t ask her anything about how she and Caleb came to be together, or how he managed to evade the police when he broke out of Rimutaka Prison. Maybe they’d ask that later?

  The focus was on the kidnappers, and the events that followed Emma and Mark’s return to her parents’ house.

  She answered everything she could, and remembering Mark’s comment, was completely honest about shooting the two kidnappers and beating the other one around the head. She felt no remorse, and even while she talked through everything that happened, part of her wondered why she didn’t regret it. She was probably tired. She’d broken so many laws today, the police would lock her up in an instant—helping a fugitive evade capture, using a handgun without owning a firearms licence, driving Mark’s Falcon into two other cars, causing bodily harm three times…

  It looked as if the interview was winding up.

  Emma sat up straight and gazed at Kieran and Clare in turn. “Will you tell me what’s happening with Caleb? Please?”

  “We’ll find out for you,” said Clare, her voice smooth. “I can take you back to your parents now, if you’d like.”

  “Yes, please. Can I have my phone back, too? I’d like to call Mark.”

  “Of course. Give me a minute.” She led Emma back to the same room she started in, and then disappeared with Kieran.

  The lack of windows was disorienting. It was daylight when they came to this office. Would it be dark now? She’d no idea how much time had passed.

  When Clare handed over her phone a few minutes later, Emma realised they’d been interviewing her for nearly two hours. It felt much longer. She called Mark’s number, but it bounced to voicemail. “Hey,” she said. “Checking how you are. Call me back, please. Love you.”