by Meg Tilly
The SUV rolled to a stop. The right shape and size for the Escalade. Hard to confirm, since it was partially obscured by the trees. His night-vision system was good, but it couldn’t penetrate the dense foliage. Two large men exited the vehicle. Anger surged through him, bright and hot; a predatory growl threatened to erupt. Only years of discipline kept him silent.
They were packing.
Shit.
“Okay, Samson,” he whispered, removing his goggles and stuffing them in his backpack. “Let’s go, boy.”
* * *
• • •
MAGGIE HAD BEEN unable to fall asleep. Her mind was spinning a mile a minute, playing and replaying the events of the last few weeks. Well, she thought, at least no one can say my life is boring. She fluffed her pillow and flipped onto her other side.
Maybe she should get out of bed. She had learned, in the days after Brett’s betrayal, different tools recommended by articles on sleep health. If she couldn’t sleep, she needed to get out of bed, go into another room, do something peaceful until she got drowsy.
What was that?
Some noise outside the cottage. It sounded like a scuffle.
Maggie got out of bed, tiptoed to the window, pulled back a corner of the curtain, and peeked out. She saw bodies lunging, heard fists hitting flesh. The unmistakable sound of Samson’s ferocious growling. Which meant Luke was out there. She had to help!
Maggie slammed her feet into her shoes and grabbed the first weapon she could find. She bolted through the kitchen and out the back door, the hefty John Fitzstein Stone on Steel sculpture firmly in hand.
* * *
• • •
LUKE WAS GRATEFUL he’d had the element of surprise on his side. He had disarmed the first assailant and was struggling for control of the second assailant’s gun, while Samson kept the first one at bay. Luke hoped he could disarm the bastard without resorting to his Glock. Safer that way, with the two women asleep in the house.
The first assailant screamed as Samson knocked him to the ground. The thug Luke was wrestling glanced over, and that was the split-second opening Luke had been waiting for. He grabbed the gun and twisted it down, snapping the assailant’s trigger finger.
“Who sent you?” he growled.
“Fuck you,” the guy spat out.
“Suit yourself,” Luke said, as he systematically broke another bone in the assailant’s hand. However, the tough son of a bitch still didn’t release his grip on his gun.
“No paycheck’s worth the kind of pain I can put you through,” Luke said, watching a trickle of sweat drip down the side of the guy’s face. “Drop the gun, and I’ll let you go.”
“Go to hell.”
Suddenly, a third figure leaped from the shadows to join the fray.
A jolt of added adrenaline shot through Luke. He’d seen only two men getting out of the SUV, and then he realized—
Shit! It’s Maggie.
* * *
• • •
THE GUY HAD a gun and was trying to shoot Luke. Over my dead body, Maggie thought, swinging the sculpture with all her might and smashing it over the guy’s head. It worked pretty well, because he let go of the gun right quick and crumpled to the ground.
“And Brett called you a useless piece of junk,” Maggie said to the sculpture. “Well, we showed him.”
“Watch out!” Luke yelled.
Maggie whirled. The other man was charging at her. He had a nasty-looking knife. She could see the blade glinting in the moonlight. Holy mother of God. Okay. No problem. Don’t freak out. It’s only a knife.
She hoisted her trusty Stone on Steel art piece to her shoulder like a bat, scared shitless but ready to rumble.
There was a loud crack, a faint smell of sulfur. “Get back! Get back!” Luke was yelling. She felt Luke grab the back of her nightgown and drag her backward.
In her peripheral vision, she could see the creep she had bashed over the head staggering to his feet. “Luke,” she called out, but instead of charging toward the two of them, the man tore down the driveway, hand clutched to his bleeding head.
The other guy was still advancing, his face contorted in bloodlust and rage. There was another loud crack, which seemed to jerk the guy back. He shook it off and continued to stagger forward, but thick, dark blood blossomed outward on his chest. Luke shoved Maggie behind him. In the distance she could hear a vehicle door slam, an engine roar to life, the sound of the SUV speeding off.
“That fucker,” the guy choked out, more breath than voice, a slight sneer flickering across his face. He managed to lurch another step forward and then crashed to the ground like a felled oak tree.
Maggie and Luke stood there, the night suddenly quiet around them. Then gradually the frogs started up: first one, then two, and then a chorus of them.
“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Maggie asked. She was shaking; she couldn’t stop shaking.
“I doubt it,” Luke said. He wrapped his arm around her tightly, the other arm hanging at his side, the gun in his hand. “If anything had happened to you—” He exhaled, dropped a gentle kiss on her head. “You all right?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” But she most definitely wasn’t.
“You handled yourself well, but in the future, I would prefer it if you stayed out of the fray. Keep yourself safe. I know how to handle this type of situation.”
Maggie managed a wan smile. “First of all, for the record, I am hoping we don’t run into this type of situation ever again. And second, I’d never leave you to face an unfair fight on your own, two against one. Luke, I had no choice but to jump in. My mom didn’t raise wimps. It was important to her that Eve and I learned how to defend ourselves in case of an emergency.”
“You were a ferocious warrior woman tonight,” Luke said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “Thanks for coming to my”—he cleared his throat—“um . . . rescue.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head for a moment.
She wrapped her arms around his waist. The faint ringing in her ears was lessening. “You’re welcome,” she said. She could smell blood. She didn’t want to look. “What do we do about—” She swallowed. Her throat felt thick, like it was narrowing and she couldn’t take in enough air.
Luke gave her shoulders another squeeze, then walked over to the guy, flipped him onto his back, and squatted down to check for vitals.
“Is he”—Maggie swallowed again—“dead?”
“’Fraid so.” Luke straightened. “Guess he won’t be answering any questions.”
“What about the other guy?” Maggie asked. She was trying to act all calm, grateful for the dark night so he couldn’t see how badly she was shaking, that her teeth clattered like it was thirty below outside. “Will he be back?”
“Don’t know,” he said, returning to her side, wrapping her in his arms. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
* * *
• • •
“OKAY,” THE BEEFY, bald-headed cop said. He put away his pen, gathered his papers. “We’re all done here.”
“Do you need us to follow you to the station?” Luke asked. He looked exhausted. The morning sun was just starting to peek over the horizon.
The cop shook his head. “We’ll call if we have more questions. Might need you to swing by the station later. I doubt this will go to court. As you pointed out, the vehicle the assailants used matched the attempted hit-and-run. We’ll add this new information to the report you filed yesterday afternoon.”
Luke filed a police report. Oh my God, I never would have thought to do that.
“My neighbor, Dorothy Whidbee, midsixties, a”—the cop cleared his throat—“unique personality, apparently was an eyewitness. Barged into my house while the wife and me were sitting down to dinner. Helped herself to a healthy portion of pot roast and then treated us to a detailed reenactment of th
e incident”—the cop’s eye flicked down to Luke’s crotch for a millisecond and then snapped back up to his face—“before she headed to her belly-dance class. Her version of the events corroborated yours.”
Thank heavens for Luke, Maggie thought. Eve and I would probably be dead right now if it weren’t for him. Why did those men want to harm me? I’ve never seen them before in my life. Her eyes felt like sandpaper. She was dog-tired. Needed sleep.
The skinny, sandy-haired cop gulped down the last swig of his coffee. Two sugars and cream, Maggie thought. She felt removed from the situation, like she was floating around on the kitchen ceiling, watching herself interact, answer questions, and every once in a while race off to the bathroom to dry heave over the toilet again when the night’s images and memories rose up and overwhelmed her.
“It was a real honor to meet you, Mr. Benson,” the fresh-faced cop said, grasping Luke’s hand and pumping it enthusiastically. He looked like he was around twenty-two or twenty-three. “A real hero. Didn’t know you were the Luke Benson. And living right here on Solace Island.”
“A pleasure meeting both of you, as well,” Luke said. “I’m hoping we can keep my previous line of work on the down-low. I’ve retired from that and—”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Benson, sir. Not a word. You can count on us.”
“Let me know if anything else comes up,” the beefy cop said as they pushed back from the table.
“Will do,” Luke said, walking them to the door.
“You have a nice day, now,” the cop said, tipping his hat. And then they were gone.
Eve stood at the window until the cop car disappeared from view and then turned toward Luke and Maggie. “All right, you two,” Eve demanded, her face tense and pale, “what the hell is going on?” She pointed a finger at Luke, then grabbed his shirt. “And you, Mr. Bread Baker! What was all that hero-worship business from the cop? Retired? From what? If you’ve gotten my sister mixed up in some kind of scheme, so help me God!”
“Eve!” Maggie pried the front of Luke’s shirt out of her sister’s grip. “Stop yelling at him. He’s not the enemy here—”
“How the hell do you know that? You’re so damn trusting.” She thrust her finger over Maggie’s shoulder and jabbed it into his chest. “Well, I’m not, buddy boy! Are you running from a drug deal gone bad?” She shook her head. “Nah, can’t be a drug dealer if he’s friendly with the cops,” she muttered. She jerked her head back up to glare at him. “You a snitch? Huh? Huh!” She tried to shove him, but Maggie held her off. “Look, I didn’t live in New York and learn nothing. You mess with my little sister? I will. Take. You. OUT!”
“Eve—”
“It’s okay, Maggie,” he said, his voice radiating a sense of calm and strength. “She’s right to be concerned. I am as well.” He turned to her sister. “To answer your questions, I am a baker. Let me continue,” he said to Eve, holding up his hand. “Before that, I worked in security, and prior to that, I was in the armed forces.”
“See, Eve,” Maggie said, as if this weren’t news to her as well. “He was in the armed forces, just like Daddy.”
“Where were you based?” Eve asked, her chin jutted out, her eyes narrowed.
“Fort Campbell, Kentucky.”
“What division?”
“The Fifth Special Forces Group Airborne.”
Maggie watched the suspicion leave her sister’s eyes.
“Okay,” Eve said, giving a short nod.
“I’ve been trained to handle dangerous situations. I was hoping that I was the intended target yesterday when the Escalade tried to run us down, but after last night’s events—” He broke off and glanced at Maggie almost apologetically, then turned back to Eve. “It’s clear to me that someone has taken out a contract on your sister. It’s possible that you’re included in the hit order. There’s a lot of information I don’t have yet, but I swear to you, I will get to the bottom of this. And I will do my damnedest to keep the two of you safe.”
“A contract,” Eve said, her eyes huge. “As in someone has been hired to kill my sister—and maybe me?” Her voice was getting progressively higher, ending on a squeak. Eve grabbed hold of Maggie’s arm. “Come on, Maggs. We’re leaving—”
“No,” said Maggie. “We’re going to live here. Remember?”
“Fuck that,” Eve said on a half laugh, half cry. “I don’t care how pretty Solace Island is. If you aren’t safe, we aren’t staying—”
“It doesn’t matter where you go. They’ll find you,” Luke cut in. Maggie was aware of a regretful sadness in his eyes. “This has the markings of a professional, outside job. Yes, one of the hit men from last night is dead. But the other is still out there, and his buddy is easily replaced. Your safest bet is to move to my house. Immediately.”
“Your house?” Maggie said faintly.
He nodded. “I can protect you better there. I have a state-of-the-art security system, for both the house and the exterior of the property. The driveway gate has reinforced hinges and a steel core. There is a six-foot wall around the perimeter of the property that is equipped with cameras. I made a call to my brother last night. He works at a security company and is sending two of his best men here. Men I have worked with and would trust with my life. Finally, Samson is not only a damned fine pet, but he’s a trained guard dog as well.”
Maggie’s mind was spinning with this information overload. “But . . . why do you have so much security?” she asked.
He shrugged, looked a little embarrassed. “Habit, I guess.”
“Right,” Eve said, all business, as she steered a dazed Maggie out of the kitchen. “Let’s go pack.”
* * *
• • •
MAGGIE SAT ON the bed, watching her sister race around the bedroom, throwing their belongings into suitcases. “Eve,” she protested, “I was thinking . . . I’m not sure if this is necessary, moving in with Luke.” She was so tired. “Maybe we’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting?” Eve screeched. “Overreacting?” Maggie could almost see the fireworks exploding from the top of her sister’s head. “First, someone tried to mow you down in broad daylight. And then two assailants arrive in the dead of night armed with guns and knives and God knows what else. There’s a fight. One of the hired hit men is dead, the other on the loose! And, by the way, you appear to be their target. This is in no way ‘OVERREACTING’!”
Eve yanked open a dresser drawer, scooped out the socks, underwear, and bras, marched the armload of stuff over to the suitcase, and dumped it in. “And for the record, I am worried! I am very worried, and I don’t care if I have to drag you by the hair, but we are going to stay with Luke until this whole thing can be sorted out. No ifs, ands, or buts!”
Thirty
WHEN MAGGIE CAME into the kitchen, towing a large suitcase, Luke was able to breathe a little more easily. He hadn’t been sure if she was going to agree to the move. He had clearly heard Eve’s bellowing—it was impossible not to—but had been unable to make out the words of Maggie’s quiet murmur. His instinct had been to march in there, throw her over his shoulder, and not stop running until he had her safely at his house.
He’d refrained.
He’d paced the kitchen like a caged animal instead.
She looked pale and drawn, and Luke wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let go. She had flown to his rescue like a possessed she-devil. Not that he’d needed rescuing. Her appearing on the scene had frightened the hell out of him and at the same time had moved him deeply.
“Can I help with anything?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said, swiping her hair back from her face with her forearm as she gazed around the kitchen blearily. “We’ve got to pack up the kitchen, all our food in the cupboards and fridge. Some of the measuring spoons and cups are ours, as well as the mixing bowls—” She paused midsentence and looked at him, concern filli
ng her eyes. “How are you holding up? You must be tired, too. Look, you’ve already gone above and beyond, and I really appreciate everything you’ve done. Go home and get some rest. We’ll follow as soon as—”
“Maggie,” he said, walking over to her and pulling her gently into his arms. “We’re in this together.” He could feel her relax against his body, her hand on his chest. He was tired, but the mere fact that she was nestled so trustingly in his arms . . . Hell, he’d have happily stayed up another twenty-four hours. “I’m not going to leave here without you,” he murmured, “so tell me what you’d like me to pack.”
* * *
• • •
MAGGIE WASN’T SUPPOSED to let anyone drive her rental car. However, in trying to unlock the vehicle, she accidentally set off the alarm and then the trunk release. Clearly she was too tired to function.
“Maybe I should drive,” Luke had suggested.
She didn’t argue, just handed him the key fob, let him figure out how to turn the damned alarm off. Which took him all of one second.
The rental company would probably prefer a fully intact vehicle to be returned to them, she thought as she rounded the car.
“Good move, Luke,” Eve called out the window of her car. “Maggs is a mediocre driver at the best of times—”
“Am not,” Maggie said, but there was no heat behind it, because Eve was right.
“But when she hasn’t slept . . .” Eve shook her head.
“Whatever,” Maggie said. She got in the passenger side and shut the door.
“Duly noted.” Luke opened the rear door. “Up,” he said. Samson leaped into the backseat, folding his huge body like a piece of origami paper until he managed to cram himself in with all her stuff.
A couple minutes later they were at his gate. She was glad he lived so close. Sleep was beckoning, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it off.
