Ricochet (Out for Justice Book 1)

by Reese Knightley

  “Can’t they see the light from above?” Mac asked.

  “No, it’s too far away from the main house anyway,” Noah answered.

  In the dim light from the lantern, Mac was looking at him with what looked like kindness. Noah recognized that look because it was the same one Carl gave him. Except Mac had piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right into his soul. The man before him was his ticket out of there and Noah took a slow, deep breath. Hugging his knees, he set his forehead on his arms and closed his eyes.

  A sound drew his head up.

  The marshal held one finger to his lips in the universal sign to be quiet.

  Noah held his breath, his eyes going wide.

  “Stay here,” the man whispered and stood, moving away from the light of the exit and back down the dark tunnel.

  Noah couldn’t stay still. His shaking legs brought him upright and carried him after the only sign of life in this hell hole. The wide shoulders disappearing from sight became unbearable. And the thought of something happening to the marshal felt suddenly and unexplainably unacceptable.

  Getting as close to Mac as he dared, Noah stopped. There were plenty of places to flatten against in the dark along the tunnel wall and that was what he did. Noah tucked his skinny form back against the dirt wall, staying out of any light that filtered from the lantern.

  The marshal held a gun angled downward and took a few more steps forward before he flattened his big body between a few tree roots.

  Whoever was coming wasn’t making too much noise, so Noah craned his head, trying to listen. The guy was trying hard to stay quiet and doing a good job of it, with the exception of one crunching footstep.

  A shadow grew along the tunnel wall. The silhouette of a hand holding a gun stretched into an arm and then a profile. Whoever it was, was paying too much attention toward the end of the tunnel and had completely missed the marshal tucked against the wall.

  Mac’s strike was vicious and quick. The man literally exploded from the wall and jabbed the other guy in the throat. The gun dropped, and the man grabbed at his throat, struggling against the sudden lack of oxygen.

  Noah shoved away from the wall and stepped forward. He’d never seen anyone fight the way Mac did. Sure, guys fought at the compound all the time, but never using the moves Mac had.

  “So much for listening.” Mac shot him a quick glance before kicking the gun away. Holding the man down with a knee to the back, Mac quickly zip-tied the guy’s wrists.

  He flipped the guy over, and Noah brought a hand up to his mouth, holding back a choking noise.

  Mac put a hand to the gasping man’s chest. “Slow your breathing and you’ll get your breath back.” Pushing upward, the marshal shoved the guy’s gun into his vest.

  “Do you know him?” Mac asked, walking toward Noah.

  “Belton Gibson,” he whispered.

  That was twice now Mac had saved him. His stomach gave a small flutter and something unfamiliar unfurled inside.

  “We need to get out,” Mac murmured.

  Noah tore his gaze from Belton and looked up at Mac. Smoke drifted through the tunnel. The man reached out and pulled Noah’s sweatshirt up to cover his mouth and brushed at the hair falling into his eyes. Mac was a fucking genuine hero. The kind of hero Noah had only seen in the movies. The marshal radiated strength and courage, and Noah suddenly found that very riveting. He swayed and strangely wanted to feel Mac’s arms around him, but the man turned away.

  “Okay, I’m going first. When it’s clear, I’ll signal,” Mac said, looking upward.

  Noah reached out and caught Mac’s arm, and the marshal turned back with surprise.

  Noah lowered the sweatshirt.

  “Thank you,” he said, and he sincerely meant it.

  “You’re welcome,” Mac said gruffly, patting his shoulder, and Noah tried to ignore the way his heart pounded at the roughly spoken words.

  He held his breath when the marshal disappeared through the hole.

  Noah

  He wouldn’t blame the marshal if the guy just left him down there. Noah felt sorry for the way he had acted, but he had to make sure Mac was on the up and up. The marshal could have been on Manning’s payroll. But Mac had passed every sullen test and shitty attitude Noah could drum up. And, well, after Mac had taken down Belton in a matter of seconds, he was starting to rethink things.

  He wanted to say he was sorry and take advantage of Mac’s warmth because the heat coming from the man had felt incredible.

  Staring at the opening Mac had disappeared through, Noah held his breath. The thought of something happening to a man he had only known a matter of minutes made his palms sweat.

  Dizzy with relief when Mac reappeared with a hand held out, Noah scrambled upward quickly to hand his backpack to Mac. Climbing out of the hole, he suddenly found himself shoved face down in the dirt.

  “Stay down,” Mac whispered gruffly, a hand pressing against his back.

  “Quit pushing me around,” Noah hissed, spitting out a piece of dead grass. He turned his head and glared at Mac. Okay, he got it, the guy was a big, bad US Marshal, but he wasn’t some doll to be jerked around. The marshal gave him a long look and then nodded. Slowly, Noah let out the breath he was holding.

  He glanced cautiously around. The structure where most of the animals were held stood engulfed in flames and men were scrambling to get the animals to safety. The fire department pulled up with sirens blaring and had turned their hoses on the house. FBI agents along with US Marshals were combing buildings that had quickly gone up in flames and now stood burning brightly.

  Something didn’t feel right and his stomach dipped, but he took the hand Mac offered and stood. Slipping on his backpack, he shoved his shaking hands into his jean pockets.

  Although it was still dark, he got his first really good look at Mac standing under the floodlights. Beneath the assault vest, a black, long-sleeved crew neck strained over mounds of muscles piled on a massive chest. Dark gray tactical pants hugged a trim waist and thick thighs. Chunky combat boots were on the guy’s feet. The man exuded a confidence and authority Noah had never before encountered. Sure, he’d been around Manning, but this guy was different. The marshal didn’t use fear to get men to respect him. Noah could tell by the way others approached Mac. The man answered questions and gave orders if needed. Standing next to Mac, he felt the man’s power drawing him closer as if a cord of electricity connected them. Being near the man felt unsettling, but at the same time, safe.

  An FBI agent by the name of Kane came over and spoke to Mac.

  “Please tell me we have Stevenson,” Mac said, checking the ammunition in his clip and stashing a few zip ties that had pulled loose from the Velcro pouch.

  Kane grimaced and shook his head, holstering his gun. “He disappeared.”

  “There’s one zip-tied down there,” Mac said, then pointed back to the hole in the ground, and Kane called it into the radio.

  “Where’s Jake?”

  “Transporting potential witnesses,” Kane answered.

  Mac handed Kane the drug bullets in the evidence bag. Noah flushed, dying with embarrassment, when Kane gave Mac a curious look before walking away. Noah suddenly wished the earth would open up and swallow him. He didn’t do drugs, had never done them and never would.

  Tearing his gaze away from Mac, Noah took in more of the crazy scene around him. The smell of burning plastic assaulted his nose and smoke filled the air, making it difficult to see. People were either running around, sitting in zip ties on the ground, or wandering around in shock.

  He fought the urge to run. Instead, he took a deep breath and made himself look over every single person he could find in the smoke-filled area. He saw Carl talking to a policeman and he hoped the older guy was going to be okay. Noah felt sure that Carl would find other work in the area. He couldn’t see Jenny in the crowd of people and that worried him. There was no sign of his stepfather, which was good as far as he was concerned.

  Gunf
ire broke out near the west gate with a series of popping sounds that left a man screaming. Mac snatched at his sweatshirt, and Noah stumbled. He found himself plastered against the marshal’s warm, muscled form. Before he could get too comfortable, Noah pulled away. Somebody had left the door open to a nearby metal shed used for gardening tools, and Noah ran toward it.

  Mac was right on his heels. When another explosion rocked the compound, Mac pressed him against the metal siding, using his much bigger and bulkier frame to do it.

  “Give things a minute to calm down.” The man’s warm breath ghosted over the back of his neck and Noah shuddered, swallowing thickly.

  With his pulse thundering in his ears, Noah’s world narrowed to the sounds of their breathing. His focus was suddenly riveted on Mac’s gloved hands that slid up to cover his hands, their fingers interlocking. His own palms lay flat against the building. For several moments, they stood pressed together, waiting for the explosions to die down.

  Turning his face away, Noah fought to breathe. He couldn’t move, but that was mostly due to Mac’s bulky frame pressed against him. The man’s big, muscled body was causing a reaction that was going to become embarrassing if Noah didn’t do something quick.

  Jerking sideways, he slipped away and stumbled. He felt Mac’s arm come around him, but he shook it off.

  Ignoring Mac’s puzzled look, Noah bent over, hands on his knees, pretending to catch his breath but instead, hiding his crazy and very visible desire.

  Mac positioned himself between the trees and Noah. “Stay close. Stevenson could be close by.”

  Noah shook his head. His stepfather was long gone by now. Stevenson had a backup plan for every situation and the time to catch the man had been in the house. Once he got outside, there wasn’t a chance in hell anyone could catch him. And just the thought of his stepfather effectively crushed his erection.

  Several dirty, green jeeps roared through the gates. Shaggy men dressed in camouflage poured out of the vehicles and opened fire.

  Noah found himself pushed to the ground beneath Mac. Only this time, he didn’t complain.

  “Go! Go!” Kane yelled across the distance, just as Noah saw the FBI agent dive to the dirt and scramble for cover beneath an SUV.

  “What the hell?” Mac growled when more of Manning’s men poured into the area.

  The ranch became a shit show after that. FBI and local police returned fire, but it became apparent that the odds had tilted in Manning’s favor. EMTs and firefighters, along with ranch workers, ran for cover, but some didn’t make it.

  People screamed and some openly cried until the sounds became deafening. Gunpowder drifted on the air. Bodies littered the area, laying unnaturally still. A man stumbled with his hands pressed against a stomach wound.

  Noah found himself shoved in the direction of the fence where a hole had been carved through it by a Hummer.

  “Run!” Mac growled the order.

  Noah ran. His instinct for survival kicking in. Bullets pinged, hitting the ground, and dirt sprayed everywhere. Noah rounded a building and several loud gunshots followed them. Slugs slammed against the metal siding, some ricocheting wildly.

  More gunshots. Pop, pop, pop.

  Mac grunted and Noah risked a glance over his shoulder, his heart in his throat at the thought of Mac getting hurt.

  “Keep going,” the man ordered, and Noah climbed through the hole in the fence and darted behind an old shack that was falling apart. Out of sight, they stayed there, flattened against the broken boards.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, turning sideways when the marshal rubbed at his side. Ignoring Mac’s surprised look, Noah lifted the man’s arm, trying to see the area along his ribcage.

  “The bullet hit my vest. It’ll slow me down some, but I’m fine.”

  Mac

  The quiet inside of the SUV felt alien in comparison to the noise outside. Thankfully, they had gained the upper hand. The SWAT commander and his team were experts at combat, and although it took a while, they were able to subdue most of the gang. The rest of Manning’s men ran. So much for loyalty.

  Mac swallowed a good deal of water from one of the water bottles and pressed another one into Noah’s hands.

  “Drink.”

  The kid looked to be in shock. The young man closed his eyes, giving Mac the opportunity to look him over. Clinically, he figured the teenager was sick from swallowing the drugs and, even though he tried to act tough, was scared to death.

  Opening his eyes, Noah looked at him. “Why are we waiting again?”

  Mac realized he was staring and tore his gaze away. Looking out the window, he said, “Things need to settle down out there. Once they do, we can head out.” The silence was thick inside the vehicle and Mac shifted uncomfortably. Their isolation was made all the more obvious with them cut off from the rest of the noise outside.

  Deciding to get himself on an even keel, he figured questions were his best option. “So, tell me, how’d you end up in this… shit hole?” Mac asked.

  Noah gave a half laugh, half growl. “Ricky Stevenson is my stepdad.”

  Mac’s chest squeezed. Talk about bad fucking luck. Noah had been born into this shit. “Where’s your mom?”

  “Dead.” Noah’s voice sounded flat.

  “So, you’re Noah Stevenson?”

  “Noah Brown.”

  “Is that your mother’s last name?”

  “No, my mother’s was Brandenburg. After she died, my stepfather changed my last name to Brown.”

  “Why the hell did he do that?” Mac frowned, trying to put the pieces together. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded growly.

  “I don’t know.” Noah sliced him with a look. “Because he felt like it, or maybe he’s just a dick!”

  Mac studied Noah. The temper brought a stubborn tilt to the young man’s chin. And Mac felt a smile tug at his lips.

  “So, you spoke a foreign language upstairs earlier. Where did you learn that?”

  Noah narrowed his eyes at him for a minute, and then sighed before answering. “My mother was German. It was our secret language. I can’t remember a time I haven’t spoken both German and English. She also taught me Italian,” Noah softly confessed. “She said that it was easier if I learned them young. I learned all of them by the time I was eleven.”

  “Three languages?” Mac’s eyebrows rose.

  “Well, four now. When I was fifteen, I took Spanish in school.” Noah shrugged like it was no big deal.

  Mac stared openmouthed at Noah. “Four languages by the time you were fifteen years old puts you in a rare category.”

  “Whatever.” The young man blushed as if embarrassed.

  Noah was a fucking prodigy and Mac found he couldn’t look away. Not only smart, but Mac had to admit, the young man was beautiful. Noah tipped his head back against the seat and blond hair fell in waves to his shoulders and spilled over the curve of his cheek. The man’s almost angelic features held a firm jaw that would only become more pronounced as he grew older. Lush lips only made more so by perfectly even white teeth chewing on a plump bottom lip. Mac would guess that Noah stood about six feet tall, which made Noah four inches shorter than him. The young man’s body was built like a swimmer’s. He still had some filling out to do, but that was something time would take care of.

  He decided Noah’s eyes weren’t brown after all, but rather golden, the color of expensive whiskey. Seventeen years old. That was a nine year age difference between them. Not to mention, he’s a fucking minor. Abruptly, Mac shifted and looked away, gazing out the window at the crazed scene. After a moment, he released the breath he held.

  “Why the fuck would you be carrying drugs?” he growled, suddenly remembering. His anger felt out of proportion.

  “I’m not a drug mule!” Noah glared at him. “My stepfather ran out of carriers.”

  Fucking hell. Mac shoved his fingers through his hair, trying to get a grip on his anger.

  “Have you ever met Terrance Manning?�
� he asked, hating the look of pain that crossed Noah’s face.

  “Yeah, I’ve met him,” Noah stated, then gave an angry sounding half laugh.

  There was something there, possible history, but he let it go for the time being. The boy appeared stressed to his limit. “Well, hopefully the FBI has him.”

  “Don’t count on it. Terrance Manning wasn’t here when you guys busted the house. I doubt you’ll be able to find him.” The boy twisted a leather band around his wrist.

  Damn it. Mac clenched the steering wheel. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you some place safe until we can apprehend him,” he said, releasing the steering wheel and giving an awkward pat to Noah’s shoulder.

  “I can take care of myself.” Noah’s eyes narrowed at him. Mac sighed. The guy was prickly, so Mac dropped the questions and fell silent.

  It took another hour before they could leave. Mac checked in with Kane. Jake was on his way to a planned safe house. Once Noah was seat belted into the passenger seat with the heat blasting, Mac pulled the SUV away from the scene and headed down the gravel road.

  “Mac?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did they find a girl, you know, at the house? She’s real skinny. Her name is Jenny.”

  He glanced at the teen and frowned. “She should be in protective custody already. When we stop, I’ll put in a call.”

  “Thanks,” the boy said and glanced out the window. Restless fingers twisted the leather band around his wrist.

  “So, the plan is we get a hotel today, and tomorrow, we fly out of Portland.”

  “Okay.” The young man sank down farther in the seat.

  “It’s going to be okay, Noah,” Mac said, placing a hand over the leather band, effectively stilling the young man’s twisting fingers. “Do you trust that I mean what I say?” he probed when Noah didn’t answer.

  “Yes.”

  Mac removed his hand when Noah gave the tentative reply. He turned the SUV down a gravel road that would eventually take them to the main highway.