by Lexi Blake
Caleb nodded and took Rachel’s hand. “I know you do, but I can’t leave her. Stella is calling Nate, and she’ll call Zane back if she can get him. You’ll have backup as soon as possible.”
Stella rushed forward. “Don’t you dare go after her without this.”
She passed her Colt .45 to him. He felt better having the weight of the gun in his hand. He checked the chamber and pocketed the extra ordnance she gave him. Stella went on her toes and kissed his cheek lightly.
“You come back with her. You understand me? You come back safe,” she said tightly, her eyes glazed with unshed tears. “You’re my boy. I don’t care who gave birth to you. You’re my boy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, a wealth of love for her filling his heart. She’d been his mother in every way that counted.
His father stepped forward. “Stefan, I’ll come with you.”
He looked at his father. His frail father was willing to go into god knows what with him. Jennifer had been right. It was past time to forgive him. Sebastian had made mistakes, but he was trying to fix them. One day his father wouldn’t be here, and he wouldn’t be able to work through their problems. The time to fix things was now. He put his arms around his father. “I appreciate it I do, but I’ll move better on my own. Stay here. I’ll come back. Dad, lock the doors after me. Shut the blinds. Unless you know the person, don’t let anyone in. Stella’s is closed for the day.”
He jogged out the door. In the distance, he could see Max and Rye running down the street from the park, but he didn’t have time to wait and wasn’t sure he should. Their son was about to be born. He couldn’t wait for Nate and Zane. He had to get to Jennifer, and he had to do it fast.
His mind racing with a thousand horrific scenarios, he tried to narrow his focus as he moved between Stella’s and the gallery beside it. He crossed the street and went behind the town hall to get to the alley behind the buildings. He couldn’t go in the front door. It didn’t make a lick of sense to grab the painting and try to negotiate. The mob didn’t negotiate. And how exactly would he negotiate? No, he had one option and one option alone.
Kill them all.
He slowed as he reached the Sheriff’s Office. He thought about the building. Nate’s office was closest, and there was a small bathroom attached. The window was supposed to be permanently shut, but Rye had broken the lock years before during a summer heat wave when the air-conditioning had gone out. On quiet feet, Stef moved toward his destination. What had already happened to Jennifer? How much pain and fear had been handed to her by a bunch of monsters?
He forced himself to quell the panic threatening to overtake him. Rushing in and getting himself killed wouldn’t help Jennifer. He wasn’t sure how many of them were in the building, but they would all have guns. Mobsters had guns, probably more than one apiece. He would have to be careful and hope that Nate was careful, too. To that end, he quickly pulled out his cell and sent a text. God only knew if Nate would get it. The only sure way to get a hold of him while he was working was to call on his police radio, and the equipment for that was currently surrounded by the mob.
But he doubted they had all the bases covered. They could lock the front and back doors, but he knew how to work this particular entrance. As quietly as he could, he pressed in on the lower pane of the window. His ungloved fingers were bitten by the cold, but he had to move with great care or he might make a sound that would alert them. Jennifer was counting on him. Slowly, surely, he pushed the window open and gripped the sill, hauling himself up and over. It was tight, but he fit, lowering himself to the tiled floor of the bathroom. Someone was moving in the office, heavy footsteps slapping against the floor. There was the sound of a door closing and the footsteps moving away. Adrenaline pumping through his system, he eased the safety off the Colt and listened at the door. He could hear people talking but couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying. They were out in the main part of the station house. He gently turned the doorknob and opened the door slightly, wincing at the creak.
Nate’s office had been trashed, his pictures and files tossed carelessly to the floor to make way for the body that lay atop it. Bile rose in his throat when he realized the body was in a bloodstained khaki uniform with a silver star on the chest.
Logan.
His chest rose just barely, as though only a thread of life remained.
Stef’s hand tightened on the gun as the outer door opened.
He shrank back, waiting for the perfect time to pounce.
Chapter Nineteen
Alexei followed Luka into the small office, his every nerve vibrating with tension. He’d begged Holly to stay calm, whispering into her ear, promising her he would save her. How was he going to save her? Any way he looked at it, he lost, and that meant she would lose as well. The minute he revealed himself to be less than the perfect soldier, he would be killed, and his “woman” would be fair game.
Three against one. He had to find a way to even up the odds before he took the chance.
And then Pushkin had thrown it into his lap. He’d told Luka to kill the deputy.
This was his shot. No one would know that he’d killed Luka instead of the deputy until he walked out of the office, guns blazing. It would give the women time to run. It would give them a chance. That was all he could ask.
His heart was racing, his hand trembling. He had to do this right, or he would let them all down.
“The boy was utterly useless,” Luka said in Russian as he approached the body on the desk.
The deputy’s hands had been bound with the telephone cord. His long legs dangled off the edge of the desk. They were still, so still it scared him. Was the deputy already dead? His face was a bloated mess, seemingly a mass of blood and bone and tissue with nothing to animate it. Alexei had seen this before, but now it made him sick. This young man had done nothing to deserve his pain.
“Ah, well, at least the girl will be more fun.” Luka laughed as he pulled his gun. He put it to the young man’s forehead. Logan lay still. If he knew how close to death he was, he didn’t show it. Or perhaps he’d moved to a place where death was welcome.
He whipped up his own pistol to kill Luka before he fired, but the report of gunfire blasted through the room, making his ear ache. It hadn’t come from him. Had he been too late? Had he already failed? His heart nearly stopped as Luka turned and fell to his knees. The gun fell useless at his side. He began to bleed from the back of his head as he slumped to the floor.
A man moved from the shadows where he’d clung like a wraith. Long and lean, the dark man slid into the room. His gun still smoked, heat flowing off it, but his eyes were arctic cold.
“Give me one good reason not to kill you.”
He remembered this man. Jennifer was his woman. He’d come for his woman. Alexei dropped his arm to the side, along with the gun. He kept his voice very low. “Because they will believe one shot, not two.”
“You were sent in here to kill Logan?”
He nodded. “I was not going to do it. I was going to kill Luka. You were faster.”
“A nice fairy tale.” The man’s voice was as cold as his eyes, but he seemed to listen to reason since Alexei wasn’t dead on the ground like Luka. “But I don’t know why I should believe you. I doubt Logan would believe you.”
“I don’t blow the sunshine up your asshole.” He had to make Talbot understand. There were two of them. They had a better shot if they worked together.
“Don’t, Stef.” The words were quiet, but Logan’s lips moved, and his bound hands came up. He spoke through cracked, bleeding lips. “Don’t kill him.”
Talbot’s face finally showed a flicker of emotion, a grimace of pain for his friend. “Don’t talk, Logan. I’m going to get you out of here.”
“There’s no way out. No way,” Logan muttered and mumbled something unintelligible.
“We must to move quickly,” Alexei said, fumbling for the English words. “Pushkin be expecting Luka. He is supposed to to
rture the girl.”
Talbot’s face hardened again, his will implacably marked there. “How many?”
He finally let out a breath. The man was willing to be reasonable. “Only two, but the women are out there. Holly and your woman are out there. Pushkin was interested in your Jennifer. He thinks she knows where his painting is.”
“No, she doesn’t, but I do.” Talbot pulled a knife from his back pocket. It was a utilitarian knife, and he used it to free Logan’s hands. The deputy groaned quietly as he tried to flex them.
“It will not matter. He will not make bargains with you. He will say one thing but do another. If you offer a trade, he will kill everyone. He has to.” He’d seen Pushkin in action far too often. He was a snake, and he would turn on anyone if he saw a profit in it.
The dark-haired man nodded. “I thought as much. He can’t leave us alive. He certainly won’t believe we won’t call the authorities. So we have to kill him. You willing to do that?”
A malicious joy lit Alexei’s heart. He’d done the right thing. He had offered to give up his revenge, but now it landed in his lap as though the heavens had decreed it be so. He could save his soul and kill the man who had taken his brother. “Oh, I have waited many years to do such a thing. But I won’t have women harmed. I would rather he go free than risk them.”
“I would rather get the lay of the land. We can’t just walk out shooting. We could hit one of the women.”
“Holly knows what I do. She is supposed to cause some chaos. How about we cause some chaos of our own?”
Talbot hesitated, but Logan managed to reach out and take his hand. Talbot looked down at the deputy. He could only get one eye open. The other was swollen shut. Logan swallowed before he spoke. “You can trust him. They would have killed me and Holly. He told us what to do.”
“He’s the reason we’re all here,” Talbot argued.
“Is there a problem, Luka?” The throaty Russian voice rang through the building.
Talbot’s entire body tensed as Alexei clutched the doorknob. It was time to decide.
“Are you in the in door or going to the outs?”
Talbot snarled, but stepped forward. “If I live through this, you’re getting English slang lessons. It’s just ‘are you in or out.’”
Alexei raised an eyebrow.
“Fine. I’m in.”
Alexei opened the door. It was time to finish it. For good or bad.
* * * *
The shot was still ringing in Jen’s ears as the fact of Logan’s death washed over her. Logan. Sweet, funny Logan had been shot. How was he gone? Why had Alexei allowed it to happen?
“Stop crying, you sniveling bitch! Do you have any idea how much I hate you?” Holly stormed across the room toward her. The sweet-looking redhead had a scowl on her face normally reserved only for soap opera actresses in the middle of a big scene. “I hope Alexei kills you himself.”
Holly launched herself at Jen, hitting her squarely in the torso, and both women hit the ground.
She was caught completely off guard and felt the breath knocked out of her.
“Sorry. I’m supposed to cause a distraction. Alexei was going to kill the other guy and save Logan. Get ready,” Holly whispered in her ear before pushing herself up. She straddled Jen and pulled back her hand.
The younger man, Oleg, grabbed her fist, laughing. “You are a righteous bitch. Alexei chose well.”
He hauled Holly up by the back of her shirt. Jen found herself up against Logan’s desk, staring up at Oleg and Holly. Logan had left his drawer open, and as she attempted to get up, her hand slid across the comic books he kept there, causing her to fall again. She reached up again, and her hands met something wooden. She couldn’t see it, but she knew what it was. Logan’s whittling knife.
“Calm yourself, girl.” Pushkin stepped between Holly, who looked like she was auditioning for a ladies pro wrestling tour, and Jen. He snarled at the red-haired waitress. “Watch it. Alexei is not the boss here. I am. I don’t like trouble, or the people who cause it.”
While Pushkin made his speech, Jen grasped the knife in Logan’s desk. It was small, with a one-and-a-half-inch blade and a wooden handle. Logan had brought it into the diner, swearing he was going to quit his deputy job and make a living whittling bears and wolves. He’d been awful at it, and the knife had disappeared.
She slid the blade, handle up, into the pocket of her jeans and then stumbled to her feet. It was tiny, potentially useless, but it was all she had.
“What is taking so long?” Pushkin asked, stepping toward her, a scowl on his face. He grabbed her arm. “Are they taking apart the body? Tell Luka to toss the body to the side. I want to get this done.”
Oleg turned to the door. “Is there a problem, Luka?”
The door to Nate’s office opened, and Jen felt her heart drop to the floor. Alexei moved out of the office. Stef—her beautiful, strong Stef—was in his grips. A gun was pointed straight at his dark head, the metal at his temple. Alexei had one of Stef’s hands behind his back for leverage as he pushed him along.
“Yes, there was trouble,” Alexei said. “I found this one lying in wait.”
Oleg cursed and said something in Russian.
“I am sorry,” Alexei said flatly. “He kills your brother.”
Oleg spewed what had to be something vile. His face became a wicked shade of red. He pushed Holly aside and started toward Stef.
“Oleg!” Pushkin shouted across the room.
It felt like the world slowed down. One minute everything was far too fast and the next was horribly, painfully slow. She tried to run to him. She had no idea what she would do once she got there. She only knew she couldn’t watch Stef die. He’d come for her, like she’d known he would, and the outcome of that act couldn’t be his death. She took one step and then another before she felt a hand on her arm, pulling her back.
Oleg’s gun came up, his movements jerky as though rage had taken over and there was clearly only one thought on his mind. She screamed, pulling against the hand that held her, but his strength ensured she couldn’t get away. Futilely she tried, panic overtaking her, but the fist on her arm tightened, hauling her back as his other arm raised a pistol.
She heard Holly scream and hit the floor, covering her ears as a loud report boomed through the building. Gunfire cracked through the air, at least two shots going off, but it was Oleg who jerked backward as though he had hit a wall and bounced back. It was Oleg whose chest bloomed with blood.
Alexei pushed Stef lightly away as he shot Oleg again. Stef’s right arm came from behind his back, and he had a gun, too. She watched as he aimed his gun, but his eyes lit with horror before he could pull the trigger. Stef stepped back as she felt an arm snake around her middle. Her back was suddenly pressed to Pushkin’s chest, and his meaty arm was a manacle holding her down. He was using her as a shield. She squirmed, trying to do anything to get out. He hauled his weapon up and fired. Jen felt her eyes widen in horror as Stef took the bullet. A spot on his left side above his waistline started to bleed.
He staggered back for a moment, but managed to stay upright, his gun level at Pushkin’s head. “Let her go.”
She could feel the heat of Pushkin’s breath against her ear as he spoke. “I don’t think that is such a good idea. I believe I will keep the girl close, or I will end up like Oleg there.”
“And if I told you I don’t care about the girl?” Stef asked.
“I would not believe you,” Pushkin replied. “You came for the girl. That is the only reason you are here. If you were simply working with the traitor, Alexei, you would have left the same way you came in. Tell me something, do you know where my painting is?”
Stef looked far too calm for a man who had just been shot. “I know enough to know you don’t give a shit about the painting.”
There was a low rumble from Pushkin that might have been described as laughter had there been an ounce of humor in it. “No, I don’t care about the fucking painti
ng. But I do want the bearer bonds behind it. Alexei, you appear unwell. Did Oleg’s shot find purchase?”
Alexei did look a bit green. He put his hand over his gut and came away with blood. He fell to his knees. Holly scrambled from her protected position to get to him. Even with a hole in his gut, Alexei pushed Holly behind him, trying to cover her body with his damaged one.
“I’m glad you’re dying, you bastard. I never trusted you,” Pushkin said. “There was something about you.”
Alexei struggled as he spoke. “You kill my brother. I have worked, risen in your organization, to kill you. You will die here. Whether by my hand or others, you will die today, and you will take no more innocents with you.”
Holly wept behind him, trying to get her hand on his wound.
Pushkin accepted the information as though it was a mere report of the weather and not a curse. “I did not know what was wrong about you, but I felt it better to keep you close. When I heard you changed course and were coming to Colorado, I was worried. I decided to come to the country in case something went wrong. When I couldn’t raise Ivan, I became suspicious. That’s why I brought along another three men. They should be here any moment. I’ve had them asking questions and looking for the painting. But I sent the signal for them to come to me. Soon, you and your friends will be a distant memory.”
Jen heard the sound of gunfire, but this time it was from the outside of the building.
Stef’s lips quirked up. “I have friends, too. We’ll have to see who walks through that door, won’t we? Or you can give me my woman, and I’ll allow the sheriff to arrest you.”
Pushkin took a deep breath, and the gun pressed to her temple. Such a small circle pushing against her head, and yet it could bring death in no time at all. She wouldn’t even know it had happened. Pushkin could pull the trigger and everything she was would be gone.
“I love you, Stef.” If she was going to die, those would be the last words she said because they were true. Nothing in this world had ever been as important as loving Stefan Talbot.
