by Webb, Debra
He hit the ground with her on top of him. She scrambled away. Grabbed for the gun he’d dropped. His, not hers. Where the hell was hers? There…on the ground not three feet from him.
“Back off,” she warned when he made a dive for her. She held the gun with both hands. “Way back.”
As he scrambled backward, she snatched up the weapon he’d taken from her. “Give me my cell.”
“Get it yourself,” he growled.
The phone lay on the ground halfway between them. She wasn’t going for it. No way.
“Get up.” She pushed to her feet, keeping her aim steady on the bastard. “I said get up,” she repeated when he didn’t make a move to obey her order.
The smirk on his lips sent the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She swung around.
Too late.
A hard forearm connected with her temple. She hit the ground.
“Put her in the trunk.”
Trying to mentally shake off the stars floating in front of her eyes, she crawled backward to escape the reach of big hands.
A kick to the ribs from the guy she’d taken down sent the burger and fries she’d eaten earlier hurling up her throat.
“Get that bitch in the car now!” the boss shouted.
Fingers tangled in her hair once more, dragged her to her feet. She gagged. Her stomach clenched.
“Move!”
Her head still throbbing and her equilibrium out of reach, she stumbled forward.
She fell to her knees once on the gravel road. The man holding her by the hair dragged her until she was able to scramble back to her feet. Her scalp throbbed.
By the time they got to the sedan, the other thug had opened the trunk.
The jerk hauling her forward shoved her against the back of the car belonging to his buddies. “Get in.”
Her arms and legs shaking, she climbed into the trunk. Landed atop a body.
Before the trunk lid closed she got a glimpse of the waitress—Patsy. Eyes and mouth wide open. Definitely dead.
The trunk closed, leaving Jane in darkness.
She fought to control her breathing and the gag reflex. She was pretty sure no ribs were broken, but the pain was damned ugly.
At least now she knew how these guys figured out where Benson lived.
Poor Patsy.
And Jane also now knew that these guys meant business. This was no newspaper or magazine attempting to get the jump on the story.
This was the past, coming back to resolve an old issue.
Think!
First, she needed to determine if this sedan had a trunk lock protection mechanism that prevented accidental lock-ins. Some cars had it, some didn’t.
If she was lucky…she felt around, pushed, tugged.
No luck.
“Damn it!”
She tried the backseat. Pushed, kicked. Wouldn’t budge.
Jane pushed aside the frantic thoughts that were escalating toward panic.
Think!
Deep breath. Calm your breathing. Focus. Consider your options.
Her attention settled on the dead woman. Most people carried cell phones these days. Would Patsy’s still be on her body?
Moving her hands slowly over the woman’s torso, she felt in her pockets. Hesitated. Then checked her shirt pocket.
No phone.
“Sorry, Patsy,” Jane muttered.
Voices outside drew her attention away from her current situation and the dead woman. She listened hard, tried to make out the conversation.
The men were preparing to move in on Benson. She couldn’t determine if their intent was lethal…
She had to get out of this trunk.
As if she’d telegraphed the thought, the trunk lid opened.
“Out!”
“Gladly,” she mumbled as she clambered out. Her side hurt like hell. Her head, too.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, the jerk who’d first sneaked up on her grabbed her by the arm. “Unless you want to end up like the smart-mouthed woman in the trunk, you’ll do as we say.”
Chances were, she’d end up like that anyway. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
One of the other two men grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look at him. “You’re going to walk up to Benson’s door and tell him about your car trouble. You get him outside and you’re done. Free to go.”
Yeah, right. “I can do that.” She trembled, just to give the impression she was afraid. At their mercy. A quick glance at the automatic weapons the three now sported made the show a hell of a lot easier.
His fingers tightened on her chin. “We will be watching your every move. You won’t be able to see us, but we’ll be there. Screw this up and we’ll shoot you on the spot.”
“Got it.” Jane swallowed, let go a purposely shaky breath.
He let go of her chin. “Walk her as far as you can. If she makes a run for it, shoot her.”
Jerk number one hauled her toward the gravel road. Jane didn’t resist. She understood exactly what was going to happen here. For whatever reasons, these guys didn’t want to move in on Benson. They wanted him out in the open. An easy target.
Whatever Benson had done in the past, these people wanted him dead. Now. No questions, no special revenge tactics. Just dead.
Just like she would be in about two minutes.
That meant just one thing.
She had to outsmart these jerks.
“Now.” The fingers clamped harder on her arm. “You do like he said and you’re free to go.” The vise on her arm fell away. “Don’t make me have to shoot you.”
“Whatever you say.” Jane turned down the driveway leading to Benson’s house.
She smiled even as she imagined the three men fanning out in the tree line, their scopes zeroed in on her back. In four years at Brown University and six years in the military she hadn’t once met a man whom she couldn’t best.
They had no idea just how much trouble she could be.
Chapter Six
Troy was prepared when the knock came at his door.
He couldn’t be sure if the woman, Jane Sutton, was working with the others or not, but that didn’t really matter at this point.
They had caged him in.
There was nowhere to go without confrontation.
Only one thing to do.
Go down shooting.
He took a breath, leveled the barrel of his weapon. “Come in.”
The door opened.
His gaze locked with Jane’s.
In that one instant he saw the warning.
She dived for the floor.
Troy pitched right, hit the floor and rolled.
Gunfire erupted.
“There’s three of them,” Jane said as she scrambled up onto all fours. “You got another weapon?”
Troy cast a you’re-kidding look in her direction. As far as he was concerned she was the enemy.
The window above her shattered and she ducked down. “We gotta get outta here.”
That much was true.
He rolled to his left and low-crawled into the hall and toward the kitchen.
She crawled after him.
Three feet separated him from the kitchen stairs leading to the second floor. If he was fast enough, with the lights out, he might just make the stairs before whoever was likely out back fired off a round.
He hesitated.
He could leave her.
But if she wasn’t with them…they would kill her.
“On my mark,” he called back to her, “run.”
“Copy.”
Had to be ex-military.
“One…” The hail of gunfire escalated. Blowing out the front room lights. “Two…” He braced. “Run!”
He rushed for the stairs.
He’d gotten a mere two steps up and she was on his heels.
Bullets splattered the kitchen cabinets.
By the time he hit the second-floor landing she was questioning his logic.
“I hope this means you have a plan.”
“Sort of.”
“Perfect.”
He wrenched open the door that hid the attic stairs and lunged upward. “Close it behind you.”
She did as he said, then double-timed it to catch up to him.
The attic was as dark as pitch. But he knew the way. He reached the window on the west end of the house and climbed out just as the sound of footsteps warned that his enemy had entered the house.
He dropped to the porch roof, a full eight feet, rolled and barely caught himself before going over the edge.
She hit the roof a second later, crashed into him, almost knocking him over that edge.
She looked around, grappling for her bearings.
“Now we jump,” he explained before she could ask.
He didn’t wait for her response.
He jumped, grunted on impact. Rolled.
She hit the ground next to him. The air whooshed from her lungs. No time for her to catch her breath. He grabbed her by the arm and ran for the woods. The underbrush slowed them down. He pushed harder, kept a desperate grip on her hand. She stumbled once but he didn’t let her slow his momentum.
He’d memorized this route, run it most nights.
Half a mile later they broke out of the woods into the old Haines back pasture. Not much cover…had to run faster.
Almost there. He could see the back of the big old barn. Just a little bit farther.
To his surprise, she kept up with him.
Definitely ex-military.
He rounded the barn, let go of her hand and reached for the barn doors. “I have transportation in here.”
“I’ll get the doors,” she said on a gasp for air.
He nodded, rushed between the narrowly open doors.
The old car wasn’t much to look at, but it ran like hell. Souped-up V-8 with a four-speed transmission. He’d reworked it himself. He had it gassed up and ready for exactly this moment.
By the time he revved the engine and shifted into Reverse, the doors were open wide. He charged out of the barn, hit the brakes and waited for her to jump in.
He bumped over the rutted road leading from the barn to where the old house used to be. The moonlight spotlighted the relic of a chimney that attested to the fact that a house had once stood in that spot.
“Who the hell were those guys?”
As they entered the main road, a mile beyond his place, she twisted in the seat to stare out the rear window. He didn’t answer her question, instead he focused on putting as much distance between them and the shooters as possible. By now the shooters would have realized that he and the woman were no longer on foot. It would take some time for the men to reach their car and give chase, but give chase they would.
“Friends of yours?” she commented as she turned around and reached for the seat belt. She stared at the lap belt. No shoulder harness.
“I could ask you the same thing.” He kept his attention on the road. “They showed up about the same time you did.”
“Do you have a cell phone?”
She planned to ignore his roundabout question, did she?
“Yes, I have a cell phone.”
“I need to call in.”
“You mean call your aunt?”
She heaved a disgusted breath. “I just need to use your phone, okay?”
He shot her a look then. “Lady, I don’t know who you are, but I do know that I’m not that crazy.”
“I’m not with those guys, Benson.” She peered at the upcoming road sign. “Where are we headed?”
“We,” he said pointedly, “aren’t headed anywhere. I’m dropping you off in town. There’s a pay phone at the convenience store down the block from the diner. You can call in from there.”
That she sat in silence after his announcement was not a good sign. He’d only just met this lady, but he didn’t take her for the type to give up so easily.
What was her game?
Not his problem. He didn’t have time to wonder or to worry. Worrying about others always got him into trouble.
Losing the shooters back at his house was his problem.
That meant starting over.
Four years lost.
“Look, Mr. Benson, I’m not with those guys back there,” she said again. “I don’t know why they showed up guns blazing, but I was just as surprised as you were.”
Arguing with her was a waste of energy. Since he would need to drive all night he didn’t have any energy to waste. They were almost to town. He was dropping her off, end of story. No way was she making any calls while she was still with him.
He slowed for the turn onto South Street. A few more blocks and he was out of here.
The Sack-N-Go was still open. Good. She could make her call and wait inside. Those guys weren’t going to risk causing trouble where the police might be called in. His place was one thing, in the middle of nowhere with no close neighbors. The middle of town—even one as small as Plano—would present far too much potential for trouble.
In his experience with these types, they didn’t want to draw attention.
She would be safe here.
He pulled into the parking lot and braked to a stop by the pay phone.
He turned to his passenger. “This is your stop.”
She stared directly at him. The neon sign provided ample light to see the questions in her eyes. “Why are those men after you?”
“It’s a long story, Ms. Sutton. I think you’ll understand when I say I don’t really have time to go into it right now.”
Another of those prolonged moments of silence.
He had to get moving. But she just kept looking at him with those brown eyes filled with worry.
Why the hell would she be worried about him?
“I can help you.”
Was she for real?
“The way you can help me at the moment is to get out of the car and go inside until the dust settles.” He kept one eye on the rearview mirror. If they suspected he’d headed this way…
“I work for the Colby Agency. Trust me, we can help you.”
He hated to do it this way. Reaching for his weapon, he gave her one more chance. “Get out of the car.”
She glanced at the gun. “Suit yourself. It’s your life.”
Actually, no…it wasn’t.
His life had ended four years ago.
Jane Sutton got out of his car and stalked to the pay phone.
Maybe in the last four years he’d grown stupid. But for some ridiculous reason he suddenly felt as if he’d let his one chance walk away.
“Right.”
He’d definitely gone stupid.
Shoving the stick into Reverse, he eased off the clutch and rolled backward.
Headlights appeared at the end of the block.
Troy held his breath.
Could be a local.
Could be someone passing through.
The sedan took a sudden left, roaring into the Sack-N-Go parking lot.
Troy shifted into First.
The passenger side door opened.
“Go!” she shouted as she dived into the seat.
There was no time to argue.
He blasted out of the parking lot.
The sedan squealed out behind him.
He had a plan.
A route for this very scenario.
He roared through the gears, propelling the car forward and leaving his tail behind.
A left. Then a right. Another right.
Around behind the high school.
One rapid turn after the other.
Until he reached Route 34.
Once on the highway, he focused on gaining speed and eating up the asphalt.
Five minutes, then ten passed with no sign of headlights in the rearview mirror.
Troy relaxed.
He would lie low for the night and figure out his next move in the morning.
This exit strategy had been planned for four years, but as
time had passed he’d begun to believe he wouldn’t need it.
Complacency was the true enemy. He knew this all too well. Still he’d let it happen.
Nothing he could do about it now.
Except move on. Do what he had to do.
“Why are those men after you?”
She just wasn’t going to stop asking that same question. He mentally altered his longtime getaway plan.
Step one, get rid of his company.
He sent a look her way. “Who sent you to find me?” he asked instead of answering her question.
“Stuart Norcross. He wanted to show his gratitude for what you did for his wife and son.”
Troy shook his head. He couldn’t regret what he’d done or even call it a mistake. But that one act had sure as hell wrecked his existence.
The real question was, since his name hadn’t appeared in any of the reports related to the Norcross rescue, what or who had tipped off his pursuers?
“What methods did you use for finding me?” He checked the rearview mirror once more despite being fairly certain he was in the clear.
“Mrs. Norcross’s description. I asked around town.”
That wouldn’t have alerted the sleeping dragon.
“That’s it?” He sent her a skeptical look.
“That’s it.”
Didn’t make sense.
The fact was it didn’t make any difference in the end.
He made a right and drove the final few miles to the place he’d hoped never to have to use.
The house was deserted. Condemned actually.
He parked the car behind the run-down house.
Maybe he was getting older. Maybe he was just tired. Troy closed his eyes. He did not want to do this again.
“They’re not going to give up. Running will just delay the inevitable.”
He opened his eyes. She shouldn’t be here. Damn, but he’d screwed up.
“The Colby Agency can help you.”
She’d said that before. But she had no idea. No idea at all what she was getting into.
He opened the door and got out. Drew in a deep breath of night air. As much as he hated to admit it, he was going to miss this place. A world away from the past.
The car door closing dragged his attention to the woman. He still had to get rid of her. But not tonight. Tonight he had to lie low. Make a plan.
“I’m not a big fan of one-sided conversations,” she noted aloud.
He walked around the car to the trunk. Shoved the keys in the lock and opened it.
