High-Stakes Loving [King's Bluff, Wyoming 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Fiona Archer

  Reagan’s shoulders slumped in relief. If there was ever any doubt as to Julie’s faithfulness, it was now dispelled. Thank you, Mom.

  But the self-righteous piece of shit had still hit on her mother. Her gut rolled at the thought of him touching her, kissing her, and wanting more, much more. She clenched her teeth to keep herself from yelling out insults.

  “But Mitch and his pals had boasted she was real comfy with other men. And I told her so.” The bastard’s voice rang with superiority.

  “She slapped my face.” His eyes glinted with fury at the memory of Julie’s defiance. “I shook her. She needed to see. But she shoved me away and her heel broke. Her head…” He stared far off into a time years before. “Her head hit the porch post. She fell. Just like Vicki.” His last three words were but a whisper.

  Four white posts held up the awning on the back porch. Planters now hung from those posts. She’d only painted over them a couple of months ago, made them look all shiny and bright.

  This piss-weak excuse for a man had stolen her mother’s life. All because he acted like a spoiled child and demanded something that didn’t belong to him.

  In the darkening room, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “If you’d never tried to force her, she wouldn’t have fallen.”

  He snapped his gaze back to hers. “All she had to do was kiss me. One kiss. Was that really so much to ask?”

  “Yes!” Reagan lurched forward, using the balls of her feet to keep herself from falling off the chair. “You were married, you bastard. You should have left my mom alone.” The words kept coming. Twenty years of smothered rage morphed loud and clear. “My father cried at night. I heard him. So many times.” Tears scalded her cheeks. “He’d bury his face in the pillow. I’d creep down the hall. Stand at the door.” Her bare feet would freeze on the wooden floor but she didn’t want her slippers to make a noise and give her away. “He’d beg God for some kind of sign. An idea of where she was.” She broke off on a sob. “So he could lay her to rest. He never believed she’d r–run away. Not once.” And he died before his prayers had been answered.

  Oh, Dad, I hope you’re together now. Hug her for me. Tell her I love her too.

  Leonard sneered, pointing the gun back too close to her face. “It’s your fault, bitch. Your fault Vicki’s dead. All she wanted was to go to Nevada and the grandkids. With Wagner’s help, we were set up for an easy life. He got my spot. I got to retire.”

  She felt her gaze narrow. What?

  Outside sirens wailed, getting ever closer until they stopped under a screech of tires. Car doors banged closed. Thank God! She sobbed on a breath. Hope strengthened her spine.

  Blue and red flashing lights cast their shine through an uncovered window down the hall. Their shadows lit up the living room like some macabre disco bereft of music.

  “Fuck!” Leonard ran to the side of the front window to peel back the curtain. “No. No. No. This wasn’t—Fuck.”

  “Leonard, this is Sheriff Caleb King. We need you to answer your cell phone.” Caleb’s voice came out clear on the bullhorn. “Let me know everyone inside’s okay. Come on buddy, we can talk this through.”

  That meant her men were here too. No force on earth could keep Mike and Quinn from taking a part in whatever was happening outside. Her heart squeezed. What she’d give to hold them, tell them she loved them. Just to run her cheek against their chests and feel their arms tighten around her.

  Where was their future together? The summer nights sitting on the porch. The winters curled next to the fire. And babies. They hadn’t even had a chance to talk about kids. But she wanted them, so damn much. Fight. Don’t give in. This weak asshole had taken enough from her. Her muscles tightened in readiness.

  A too-bright chime trilled from somewhere behind a clump of boxes. She started. Leonard’s cell phone bleated on and on. Its sound grated in the eerie silence.

  Finally, after a dozen or so rings, it stopped. He walked over, picked up the phone, switched it off, and then tossed it into the nearest open box. When he looked up, it was the face of a man who had no faith and even less hope.

  “No calls. No negotiations. I’m done talking.” He kept walking toward her.

  The deafening roar of her heartbeat hammered in her ears.

  * * * *

  Mike stood silent, watching from behind a sheriffs SUV as Caleb lifted the bullhorn once more. “Leonard, I know you can hear me. I need you to turn your phone back on and take my call. Nobody wants to see anyone else hurt this afternoon.”

  After discovering Vicki Aitken’s crumpled body dumped behind a bunch of the bastard’s own moving boxes, Mike didn’t give a damn if Leonard made it through to supper.

  The asshole’s hostage was another matter. Was Reagan okay? Unconscious? Bleeding? His gut cramped, fear stabbing into him like a knife.

  No answer from Leonard. Christ, what was happening inside?

  “This isn’t working.” Quinn’s harsh sigh drew the attention of Deputy Williams standing nearby.

  Play it cool, dummy.

  Mike shook his head. “Maybe so, but Caleb has to at least try. This isn’t a black ops mission in the field. Our good sheriff has to attempt to make contact.” Amidst the smell of freshly mowed lawns, the stillness of the evening allowed the voices of about fifty witnesses to travel. Shock, anger, and even excitement could be heard as they tried to make sense of what was happening.

  “Fair point.” Quinn cast a look back over his shoulder at the crowds being kept back nearly a whole block. The closer neighbors had been ordered to stay inside.

  Mike eyed the number of law enforcement on hand. Unfortunately for Caleb, only two of his deputies had been on duty. The third was on leave for an interstate family wedding and the fourth had scrambled into town and was now managing the crowd at the end of the street. Sometimes it paid to have a supply of ex-special forces commandos on hand.

  There were still no sounds from inside the house. What the fuck was Leonard doing in there?

  “Nothing.” Caleb threw the bullhorn onto the front passenger seat and turned to face the two deputies and he and Quinn. “The SWAT team is thirty minutes away. Of all the days, they were called to a possible attempted bank robbery in Sheridan. So it’s us until that time.”

  “Fuck that. By the time the SWAT guys get here it might be too late.” Quinn glared at their friend.

  Caleb’s forehead had more lines than a cartographer’s map. His reply was cut off by a squawk on the radio clipped to the outside of his bulletproof vest. “Permission needed for Noah King and Flynn Taylor to proceed past the barrier.”

  Mike turned to see Flynn up real close to another deputy. His smile was anything but pleasant.

  Caleb spoke into his radio. “Permission granted.”

  The Aussies carried a duffel bag and a slimmer maroon-colored bag, one that made the hairs stand up on the back of Mike’s neck.

  “Get some fucking vests,” Caleb ordered.

  Noah stopped in front of them and opened the duffel to reveal an assortment of weapons, including Sig Sauers and bulletproof vests. “We got that covered, Sheriff.”

  Flynn’s penetrating gaze seemed to bore right through Mike. “This is for you.” He held out the maroon bag. The one for his Win Mag, the favorite of SEAL snipers. The one he hadn’t touched in nine long months.

  The image of Reagan’s face flashed up before him. The trust always on display in those big blue eyes compelled him to action. Before he knew it, his hand curled around the bag’s leather handle.

  Without the SWAT team, nobody else here could match his sniper skills. If a shot had to be taken, it would fall to him.

  Whack. A bulletproof jacket was shoved against his chest. Quinn held onto the padded Kevlar, his gaze guarded as he glanced at the maroon bag.

  Mike shrugged. “I’m out of retirement, for the time being anyway.”

  “Reagan’s life is at stake. Nothing gets left to chance.” Quinn stared at the large covered window at the fro
nt of Aitken’s house, the tightness around his eyes and mouth the only tell to the desperation Mike knew his buddy was feeling inside. They were both feeling it.

  Noah strapped on a vest. The former SAS Team Leader spoke with his usual candor. “This bloody nut job had us all fooled.”

  Yeah, but Aitken would regret taking their woman hostage. With his last breath, if need be.

  Mike watched as one of the deputies turned on the SUV’s lights to illuminate the front of the house. “You don’t want this to run into nightfall.”

  Caleb’s blue eyes were sharp, focused. “I know Aitken has a shotgun and a pistol. He’s used them at the gun range outside of town. Let’s assume he has them with him on the premises. With no direct contact, I’m guessing at Aitken’s mental state. If he’s not prepared to enter into a dialogue, then all we can do is sit tight until the SWAT team arrives. I’ll keep trying to establish contact.”

  A shotgun and a pistol. Either one could kill Reagan.

  Once more the sheriff lifted the bullhorn. “Leonard, do you need anything? Are you or Reagan hurt? We can help you. Just turn your phone back on so we can talk it all out.”

  Mike appreciated the fact Caleb needed to go through all avenues of negotiation, but all he could think of was Reagan inside that house, terrified, possibly hurt.

  He squeezed the leather handles in his hand, the rubbing burning against his skin. He needed to find a position. When the SWAT team arrived he’d give it up, but until then, he was the marksman on site. “I need to get into position.”

  Flynn was drawing a rough floor plan of the house. “I’ve been inside a couple of times. The back door leads through the laundry and then into a short hallway.” He pointed to spots on the outline with a pen. “From there it runs off into various rooms.”

  Caleb gestured for his men to come closer.

  Deputy Williams and Boyer listened in as Caleb gave his orders. “Here’s the plan. Quinn and Noah, you take the back of the house. Mike, you take the other side with Flynn. There’s a side window there that may prove useful. Last visual had a partially open curtain, but we hadn’t been able to get close in daylight. Neighbor’s garage had no windows. There’s one tree. I’ll be out front with my deputies. Leonard needs to see those of us in uniform and think we’re short on numbers.”

  He waited until each man nodded their understanding before continuing. “Nobody has the authority to fire unless I say so. We wait for the SWAT unless absolutely necessary.”

  This time, his and Quinn’s nods of acquiescence were slower in coming. Hell, Quinn’s was barely distinguishable from any movement at all.

  Caleb glared at the Texan as Deputy Williams passed around headsets with a small microphone attached. “Wear these so we stay in contact at all times.”

  Sound checks were performed. Then he, Quinn, Noah, and Flynn ducked around the side of the house, moving in a wide perimeter across the neighbor’s front yard. They’d just stepped on the mowed grass when the front window curtains of Aitken’s house were dragged open.

  There in the middle of the window was Leonard Aitken. And acting as a human shield stood Reagan, pale and visibly terrified, with a pistol pushed against her head.

  Rage heated his soul with the power of a blast furnace. Only a crushing grip on his shoulder kept him from rushing the front door of the house and breaking it down in one kick. His woman was in danger. Every primal instinct in his body screamed at him to rescue her and annihilate her attacker.

  “Move.” Flynn dragged him to the side fence. Noah managed, barely, to do the same with Quinn. Hunkered down near a large oak tree, the four ex-commandos faced each other.

  Quinn’s gaze dropped to the canvas bag and then back up to Mike’s face. There was a gleam in his friend’s eyes. “One last time. This is the one that counts.”

  A calmness settled over Mike. For Reagan, he’d push his body to whatever limits required and then beyond. And with a certainty borne from years on the battlefield, he knew his best friend would do the same.

  Damn straight this one counted. “I’m in.” He checked for his best vantage point. “I’ve got my spot. Neighbor’s second story, window looking onto the Aiken’s garage.”

  Quinn asked, “Caleb, what’s happening?”

  “He’s looking out at the street, seeing where everyone is. He’s holding Reagan in front of him. Get into position.” Caleb’s voice was soft over the coms unit.

  “We’ll create a diversion if needed.” Quinn turned to Mike. No words were said. They didn’t have to be. With a nod, Quinn moved off down the fence line, Noah following right behind.

  “Let’s get you comfy.” Flynn gathered up Mike’s bag and together they ran low to the neighbor’s front door. Thank fuck the guy had seen them in the front yard and was ready to unlock the door. The man stood aside as they raced to the second story, Flynn going ahead and opening doors.

  Mike’s pace was slower but still faster than he’d thought possible. He sucked in a breath and kept going. Only five more steps and he’d have cleared the flight of stairs.

  Four, three, two— His knee gave out from under him.

  He crashed hard onto the steps, falling directly on his injury.

  Hot stabs of pain knifed deep into his wound. Black dots swirled in front of his eyes. Fuck, he couldn’t stop. Seconds counted.

  “Shit.” Flynn’s boots filled his gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” came Quinn’s harsh whisper over the headset.

  “Mike took a tumble. Give us a second.” The big Aussie hoisted him up from under his arms and dragged him into the bedroom. Mike gritted his teeth against the searing burn. Even the slightest movement yielded agony. Sweat coated his face, stinging his eyes.

  Squinting, he saw a desk and chair sitting in front of the window. Perfect.

  “Here.” Flynn lowered him onto a chair before disappearing.

  With a shaky hand, Mike grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the desk and wiped his face.

  Flynn returned to shove a plastic mug filled with water under his nose. “Drink.”

  The chalky dryness of his mouth soaked up the water as he gulped it down. He ignored the way his hand shook as he handed back the empty mug.

  “Can you do this?” Flynn’s voice held no doubt, only concern. The others stayed quiet over the coms.

  Could he? This wasn’t an ego call. Flynn needed to know he had the goods to get the job done.

  He decided to answer the Aussie in the way he’d appreciate. “Think I’d give you a chance to boast how the SAS saved the day?”

  Flynn snorted, his lips curled in an almost reluctant smile. “Bloody yanks.”

  “I’ll use the chair.” Shit, it was the only thing keeping him upright.

  The curtain in the Aitken’s side window revealed a perfect view of Leonard’s head, enhanced by the headlights of the sheriffs SUV. Thank God Reagan was short. Her head came up to Aitken’s shoulder.

  With speed born from much practice, he set up his weapon, using the folding bipod for extra balance. After attaching the scope, he studied his target close up, the stock’s cheek-piece against the side of his face. To negate Aitken getting off a shot even if he was hit, Mike needed to make a direct hit right to the cerebellum. Right between the eyes. He lined up his shot.

  He spoke into the coms unit. “In position. Second story window.”

  Suddenly the man jerked to his right, his arm around Reagan’s waist pulling her so they both now faced the side window. Aitken started swaying and muttering to himself, seriously getting his freak on.

  Time was running out.

  Reagan said something, which only garnered a vicious jab to her temple with the barrel of a Glock. Her face twisted up in pain as tears ran down her cheeks.

  He ground his back teeth together and forced his finger off the trigger. For that alone the bastard deserved to die.

  The bullhorn squawked as Caleb’s voice cut through the air. “Len, let me get—”

  Aitken lifted
his weapon from Reagan’s head and shot at the ceiling.

  Reagan’s terrified scream ripped through the air.

  Mike forced himself to stay still, focusing on nothing but his target.

  Caleb’s voice came over the com. “Mike, confirm you have a clear shot?”

  Aitken stopped swaying.

  “Affirmative.” Mike blinked against a wave of dizziness. Suck it up, buttercup.

  “Take it,” Caleb ordered.

  Using the ball of his finger, he gently touched the trigger. One more second. He needed to shoot between breaths to avoid shaking and risking his aim.

  Aitken looked to the ceiling as if saying something to his maker, his finger slipping off the trigger.

  Pop.

  Aitken’s head jerked back before he fell, taking Reagan with him.

  “Target neutralized.” Mike said the words a second before he collapsed back in the chair. His arms were covered in sweat. Chills raced over his body. None of that mattered. He needed to see that Reagan was okay.

  He heard a crash from the back of Aitken’s house before Quinn yelled Reagan’s name. The deputies and Caleb stormed in from the front.

  His earlier sense of calm returned. Quinn was there. He’d take control, make sure Reagan was safe.

  He just needed to take a breath, stretch out his knee. Doc was going to be so pissed.

  “Mike? Jesus, mate, you look like shit.” Flynn’s words were the last he heard before blackness enveloped him.

  * * * *

  “Reagan!” Quinn roared his way down the corridor, safe in the knowledge Noah had gone first, checking for obvious booby traps. A cornered man was liable to do anything.

  “Clear,” Noah called from the front room seconds before Quinn rushed in.

  Reagan squirmed helplessly, lying alongside Leonard’s body, whose head was surrounded by a pool of blood. A dark hole marked the spot directly between the man’s eyes.

  Both men rushed forward, Quinn dragging Reagan into his arms as Noah inspected Aitken’s prone form.

  A rush of bodies stormed into the room. In the background, he heard Caleb giving orders.