Playing For Keeps (Montana Men)

by Jaydyn Chelcee

  “It’s true.” Smitt laughed, hurrying toward them. “You’ve never been the Texan’s wife. We fixed you, Lacey darling. Me and my sweet wife, we did a fine job mucking everything up, fucking up your life, all three of you. You ruined things for us, so we got even, and now it’s time to finish the game.”

  Even though her body felt numb and her heart raced, Lacey ordered herself to remain calm. To think. If he reached her, she’d die. There wouldn’t be a second chance with Rafe, a chance to build a life with him. No children. Smitt Davis was black to his soul, but he wasn’t winning, not this time. He wasn’t taking everything from her again.

  Once she made up her mind, Lacey moved quickly. She slammed the back of her head against Karen’s face, striking the woman’s nose with a powerful blow. The soft crunch of bone blended with her agonized scream.

  Lacey slipped free of her hold and raced toward a pitchfork leaning against the hay bales. As a weapon, it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, and more than she’d had before. She grabbed it and whirled to face Smitt who was staring at her, stunned.

  “You gonna fight me, girly? Good. Good. I like a good fight. It makes my dick hard.”

  Lacey jabbed at him, but he jumped back. She dared a quick glance at Karen, but the woman was on her knees, cupping her nose and rocking back and forth moaning—so much for the bitch from hell. Lacey hoped she’d managed to break her nose in a dozen places with that head slam.

  Smitt growled and rushed her, lunging toward her in a reckless move. She jabbed him in the face with the prongs of the pitchfork. This time when he squealed like a stuck pig, it wasn’t because he was jacking off on her.

  He staggered back, but regained his footing. Blood spilled down his face from two puncture wounds. “I’m gonna kill, you, girlie. I’m gonna kill you and sit your rotting corpse at my table.”

  Lacey stared at the black hole of the pistol he held in his hands. She couldn’t fight a bullet with the pitchfork. From the corner of her eye, she saw Danger move. He kicked, catching Smitt’s wrist. The gun sailed through the air landing at her feet like a gift from the gods.

  Scrambling, she grabbed the revolver and leveled it on Smitt. He didn’t see her. He’d turned his attention on Danger. Charging toward him, Smitt bellowed like a wounded bull. Lacey didn’t hesitate. She squeezed the trigger. The bullet pierced the back of Smitt’s left shoulder spinning him to face her.

  “That’s for my baby, you bastard.”

  The second bullet struck him high in the chest.

  “That’s for me and all the women you’ve tortured and killed, you sick fuck,” she yelled.

  He dropped to the floor on his knees whimpering.

  The third bullet pierced his heart and he toppled on the hay-strewn floor.

  “That’s for my son, Joseph, and Anna.” She broke then, sobbing. Her hands shook. “Rot in hell!” Lacey wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, but they wouldn’t stop. The dam had burst inside her. She couldn’t stop. Her lungs felt as if they were going to explode. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Was it over? Was it truly, finally over? Tears streamed down her face as she stared into Smitt’s cold, dead eyes, frozen in death as they’d been in life.

  Lacey glanced toward Karen, but the woman hadn’t moved, and she wondered if she’d even taken in everything that had just happened. “Don’t move,” she warned, as Karen attempted to rise to her feet. “I swear to God I’ll put a bullet through your empty head if you move an inch.”

  Karen nodded and glanced toward Smitt’s body. “We had such big plans. We were going to honor you, your bravery, by sitting you at our table. You don’t play fair. You don’t follow the rules. Smitt won’t like that.”

  “Excuse me if I skip all the fun.” Lacey whirled and went to free Rafe. She untied his hands, then uncoiled the rope from around his chest. He looked grim, his face dark with a frown. She jerked the gag from his mouth and kissed him. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “By God, you were heroic.” Cautiously, he took the gun from her. “I don’t think you have any further need for it,” he said gently. “I’m so sorry you were the one who…”

  “No. I needed to be the one. I owed him.”

  “I knew you were one hell of a woman, I just didn’t know how much, until now.”

  Her lips trembled. “I don’t feel very heroic…just very old…and tired.”

  “I know, baby. It’s the adrenaline rush leaving your body. It’ll pass.”

  “I’ll free Danger. He’ll probably want to take me in for questioning.”

  He clasped her elbows, stalling her for a moment. “You did nothing wrong, Lace. Don’t ever feel guilty over killing that slimy worm.”

  She nodded, but couldn’t find any words at the moment. She’d taken a human life. It was something she’d have to come to terms with later.

  “I guess we have a big problem,” Rafe said, nodding at Karen.

  Lacey glanced toward the other woman, then at Danger who hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She had the feeling he didn’t give a damn if Rafe knew he wanted her, because he sure wasn’t making an effort to hide it. “If what she said is true, then yeah, we have a big problem. Let’s take things one step at a time.”

  Rafe looked at her oddly, then glanced toward Danger. “Yeah, I guess we’d better do that.”

  She knew then he suspected her feelings for him had changed. Had she somehow betrayed the fact she still loved Danger? She felt like crying, denying it wasn’t so, but she couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He patted her shoulders. “Release, Danger. I’ll call the sheriff’s office to come pick up this scum.” Rafe held the gun on Karen. “Get up. And don’t try anything. It’d make me very unhappy, but I will shoot you in the leg.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

  ~Martin Luther King Jr.

  Colorado

  West of Denver

  February 19, Thursday

  Sixty-six hours after the assassination…

  Flayme thought she’d die when Duel killed the large bull elk in the herd they’d watched earlier. “You shot it! It was so beautiful,” she cried. “Why did you kill it?”

  “He was the oldest.” Duel’s voice was husky with regret. “His time was already short. Best to leave the younger bulls alive.

  She saw the pain in his eyes and knew then it hadn’t been easy for him to shoot the majestic animal. “You killed it because it was old?”

  Duel shook his head and dropped to his knees. “Partly, but mainly no. He was the biggest and we’re going to need the room.”

  “What?” She didn’t understand, but when he started slitting the animal’s belly open she fell to the icy ground beside him and threw up. Wiping off her mouth with the back of her hand, she moaned. “You don’t happen to have a bottle of water tucked in there with that battery charger do you?”

  “Sorry, love. Wash your mouth with some snow.”

  She packed a snowball and nibbled on it. “You’re hunting at a time like this?”

  He eyed her curiously. “You always get sick at the sight of blood? I don’t remember you getting ill when you took care of my wounds.”

  “No, I’m not that weak-stomached. Don’t know why this got to me. Why are you dressing the elk?”

  “I’m not dressing it, baby.” He dragged out the intestines.

  Flayme thought she’d be sick again. Watching the vaporous warmth rise from the guts of the animal that had been a living, breathing, magnificent thing a few minutes ago, made her feel faint. Her stomach seriously objected to the sight and smell.

  Duel parted the animal’s belly, held up a flap of hide, and lifted his face to hers. “Get in.”

  “What?”

  “Get inside, then I’ll get in and pile the entrails around us.”

  “I’m not getting in tha
t animal’s belly.”

  “Yes, you are. It’s the only chance we have of surviving the night. Come on, get in.” He helped her in, then crawled in beside her and scrunched his big body close to hers. Pulling the warm intestines around them, he then closed the flap and pinned it down with his knife. “See, cozy as can be. The guts will act as insulation.”

  “When you promised to show me a good time, was this on your agenda?”

  Duel laughed. “No. If we get real lucky though, the worst of the storm will turn northeast, but it’s going to get cold, even inside here.” He spooned his body around hers, slid his arm around her waist and splayed a hand across her belly. “I’m thinking there’s a reason you threw up. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s way too soon to even contemplate it.”

  “I don’t.”

  She giggled. “Why on earth would you think I’m pregnant? We only did it about a half-dozen times. Surely we need more practice to get it right?”

  “Oh, we need lots of practice, doll baby, but I’m pretty sure we’ve already got this one thing done right.”

  She wished she could see his face, his eyes. She loved the way the green in his eyes lit up when he was being wicked, but her back was to him and there simply wasn’t room to turn, besides, she didn’t want the guts rolling all over her. It was creepy enough feeling the wet squishy things on her. “You really want a baby…this soon?”

  “Do you?” he countered.

  “I guess so. I suppose it depends on you. Some men like to play, but when things turn serious or a child is created, they tend to panic and run away.”

  “Flayme,” he drawled her name with that Western accent she loved. “I’m not an irresponsible teenage boy. If I hadn’t been sure you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, I wouldn’t have taken any chances. I love everything about you. Your courage in the face of danger, the way you laugh and talk. I especially love the way you walk in a pair of six-inch heels. Your hair, God, your hair gives me an instant hard-on. I want you. I want any children we make together. If it happens now, it’s okay. If it doesn’t, we’ll have fun working on it. Just know I’m here for you and I’m not going anywhere…ever.”

  And so the night went, him talking to her, cuddling her as close as possible to his body, discussing their baby, his cockiness and certainty he’d made her pregnant. He told her about his dreams to build a house on his share of Dancing Star, how the serial killer Smitt Davis had nearly killed his elder brother, Jace. About his sister’s plane crash in Australia and how they all feared she was lost to them, and how Jayla Ross had been responsible for sending his younger brother to prison.

  He teased her about putting three babies in her at once the way Jace had done Kaycee. He shared tales of some of his assignments, but she was sure he bypassed the grimmer things he’d been involved in.

  Her toes went numb from the cold. Her fingertips ached inside the mittens. Her teeth chattered. Her body shivered, but he refused to let her give up, and she fell in love with him all over again. He wouldn’t let her sleep even when she complained he talked too much.

  “Hang in there, doll baby,” he coaxed. “We have a lot to live for, you and I. We have a baby on the way. Just think, a son.”

  “What if it’s a girl?” she questioned through chattering teeth, playing along with his certainty she was pregnant.

  “A girl? Huh. Never thought of that possibility. Remingtons produce strong, hardy boys, but,” he drawled huskily, “if this one’s a girl, we’ll have to practice making a boy. Won’t we?”

  “Yes, I suppose we will.”

  “If it wasn’t so cold, we’d get in some overtime right now,” he said, nudging her butt.

  “I love you, Duel, I do, but not even for you am I stripping off my clothes in this carcass and the freezing cold.”

  He laughed and hugged her closer. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Before she knew it, he was folding back the piece of hide that had sealed them inside the animal’s belly and crawling out into the morning light. He helped her out and washed the blood off her face with snow. “I can’t get it out of your hair.” He frowned touching the damp strands. He sounded upset and she wondered if he thought she was going to freak out over blood in her hair.

  She clasped his hand. “It’s only blood, Duel. It’ll wash out in the shower.”

  He nodded and pulled her close. “God, I love you, woman. Let’s get out of here,” he said. “The cabin’s about a mile east of here.”

  “What if someone’s there, waiting on us?”

  Duel picked up the rifle. “Then he’s a dead man.”

  * * * *

  McLean, Virginia

  CIA Headquarters

  February 20, Friday

  Eighty-three hours after the assassination…

  “Samantha Rivers.” The CIA agent held the office phone against her ear and waited for whoever was on the other end to speak.

  “Sam?”

  “Duel! Thank God. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried to death about you. Are you all right? Is Flayme okay?”

  “My phone went dead. It’s a long story, but yes, we’re both all right for now, but we have a big problem.”

  “Hang on.” Sam held her hand over the mouth piece of the phone and motioned Travis inside her office. “It’s Duel. He says they’re in trouble.”

  Travis laid the transfer papers on her desk and scowled. “Where are they?”

  “I can’t ask him. This isn’t a secure line.”

  “Sam,” Duel said, “I’m in Colorado, at my cabin. It doesn’t matter if you’re using a secure line or not, we’re already compromised.”

  “What?” Sam motioned for Travis to shut the door. “How? When?”

  “I don’t know, but Flayme and I took gunfire late yesterday. We spent the night in the forest and damn near froze to death.”

  “You don’t know who fired the shots?”

  “No. A chopper came in low, fast, and hard, fired off some rounds and blew up my snowmobile. I think they thought to catch us in the open and blow it up with us on it. It didn’t pan out that way, but we’re stuck here without transportation. I can’t drive out, the passes are blocked. You’re going to have to fly in or send someone you can trust after us.”

  “I don’t trust anyone right now,” Sam replied, “except Travis and Rydge. I can’t borrow Rydge because he’s on special assignment to protect the president. Travis and I will fly out, but it’s going to be hours before we get there. And I don’t like that.”

  “Just get here when you can. I’ll hold on.”

  “Duel?”

  “Yo?”

  “Stay safe. And keep Flayme alive. She’s important to me.”

  “You have no idea just how important she is.” He broke the connection.

  Sam disconnected and stared at Travis. “We have a mole.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes. Someone betrayed us. Someone told where Duel is.”

  “Any ideas who?” Travis fiddled with the transfer sheet on top of her desk.

  “If Neil wasn’t dead, he’d be my first guess, but you know as well as I, the room was filled with operatives. It could be anyone, plus there’s the chance of a bug somewhere.” She tapped a long nail against her lower lip. “Sweep the meeting room, my office and yours.”

  “Okay. What about Mac? His activities for the last few months have been erratic. Certainly they’ve been out of character and suspect.”

  “You think Mac betrayed Flayme?” Sam sounded doubtful. “Granted, he’s maybe been a fool allowing his illicit affair with a younger woman to destroy his marriage, but he was an excellent operative. He loves his country. I can’t see him being involved in the assassination of the first lady.”

  Travis shrugged. “I just thought maybe a man who lost his wife or the woman he loves might feel he has nothing left to lose and throw it all away, his honor, his patriotism…everything.”

  Sam
frowned. “Well, right now, we have a flight to catch to Denver. Duel needs our help. I’m not trusting his life or Flayme’s to anyone else. Once we get to Denver, we’ll take a helicopter to his cabin.”

  “Sam, my transfer papers are on your desk.”

  She looked around for her coat and purse. “First things first.” She stuffed the papers in the top drawer of her desk and locked it. “I’ll look them over when I have time.”

  “I see.”

  “Stop frowning. I’ll sign them…just not right now.”

  “Sam, you need to sign them and let us put the past behind us.”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I need you.”

  Travis pulled her door closed behind them. “If only that was true.”

  * * * *

  Rimrock, Montana

  February20, Friday

  Eighty-nine hours after the assassination…

  Lacey Blackstone drew a deep breath and settled on the chair in front of Danger’s desk. Talk about Déjà vu. Her life with Danger had pretty much started with her seated right here in the sheriff’s office in front of him.

  It was pretty much ending right here, too.

  He sat behind his desk, his face calm, but she knew, like her, inside he was a mass of nerves. “So,” he said, toying with a pen. “Looks like I sure made a mess of things.”

  She tried to smile, but couldn’t find any humor in their situation. “You’re still my husband,” she said faintly, feeling slightly flushed. She couldn’t quite ignore the rush of joy that spread through her stomach. He was still her husband.

  The last thing she wanted was to hurt Danger, but she couldn’t see a way around it. She couldn’t just walk away from Rafe. Besides, just because she was still Danger’s wife didn’t mean he was happy about it. He was the one who’d wanted a divorce to begin with. She had little reason to think he’d changed his mind.

  “Yeah, looks that way. I can tell from your expression you aren’t too happy about it.”