Girls Just Wanna Have Guns

by Toni McGee Causey

  “Mitch!” Francesca screamed, running from behind a tree over to their fallen cousins. “You bitch,” she yelled as Sean clobbered Bobbie Faye on the back of her head with his own gun.

  “Ow!” She stumbled forward and fell to her knees.

  “Put the fuckin’ gun down, or I’ll cut my losses now.”

  “So . . . we’re not gonna hold hands and skip anymore?”

  Sean’s man grabbed the gun and tossed it away from her before she could move, and then dragged her toward the helicopter, just fifty feet away.

  “Robbie, now,” Sean shouted, and the rat-faced man jumped out from behind a bush and rushed their direction, then stopped, arching his chest forward, a permanent question mark, and Bobbie Faye saw Cam standing, grim, at the front door, gun drawn, aimed at where the little man had fallen.

  “You stupid fucking bitch,” Francesca continued to yell, moving slowly away from Mitch and focusing on Bobbie Faye.

  Sean’s redhead raised herself back upright, dazed, her eyes unfocused, her bloody hand holding up a gun, aiming at Bobbie Faye.

  “You’ve ruined ev’r’thin’,” she slurred.

  Her gun wobbled, her shot just as likely to wing Sean, and he shouted, “Mollie, no,” but the determination on her face said she didn’t have the slightest intention of stopping. Her hand wavered and one shot from Trevor took her out as another from Sean spun her as she fell to the ground.

  “No!” Sean’s accomplice shouted, clearly devastated, and he looked wildly around for who’d made the shot, and saw Sean lower his gun. “Fucking no, Sean.”

  “She’s already dead, Aiden. Keep movin’! We’ll get even later.”

  Cam ducked behind the tree where Bobbie Faye had originally started out this whole disaster. Between them, Francesca walked toward the helicopter, looking wholly deranged, but using the trees for cover. Bobbie Faye’s vision blurred from the hit Sean had given her and there were three Cams and three trees. She blinked and felt the back of her head, where blood oozed into her hair. Along with never wearing a dress again, she was never, ever, using the word “plan.” Apparently, the word “plan” was code for the Universe to strap on its tights and go all World Wide Wrestling on her.

  Sean nodded at her cousin. “Stop that one,” he said to Aiden. But Aiden was still rattled from Mollie, and Bobbie Faye thought he was too shell-shocked to comply. Sean didn’t seem concerned, and he turned to Bobbie Faye. “If you want to live, you’d better have those fuckin’ diamonds, or I’ll toss yer sorry arse out when we’re over the Gulf.”

  “Damn you, Bobbie Faye,” Francesca shouted, nearer now, and Bobbie Faye heard a sickening thunk as Sean’s cohort beside them took a round in the chest. He slid to the ground, and Bobbie Faye could have sworn he was humming “There’s a Hole in My Bucket.”

  “You are not leaving! Everybody’s always leaving. Mamma and her stupid art and Daddy and his stupid hootchie fling, and I outsmarted the great Bobbie Faye. I did not do all of this work for you to get away with it and the diamonds, too,” Francesca seethed.

  “They’re gonna know it was you, Frannie, especially if you shoot me now.”

  “No, they’re gonna think I was trying to help them keep a murderer from killing the rest of my family. Totally self-defense.”

  Bobbie Faye wasn’t sure where Cam or Trevor had gone, but clearly, neither of them had a shot at ol’ Fluffy Head. Great. Sean tried to shove Bobbie Faye into the helicopter and Francesca closed in on them, her gun aimed firmly at Bobbie Faye’s cleavage. Bobbie Faye was seriously considering the helicopter to be the better of the two choices when Lori Ann broke and ran, getting closer to try to get a shot. (Damn Roy for having an arsenal with him everywhere he went—Lori Ann was a worse shot than Roy, if that was statistically possible.) Francesca saw the movement and spun, firing, and if it was possible to die three billion times per second, Bobbie Faye did.

  Cam perfected the flying tackle, taking Lori Ann down to safety behind another tree, but not before Bobbie Faye saw the bullet rip into his thigh. Bobbie Faye started to move toward them to make sure her sister was okay when Sean pushed the barrel of his gun to her temple and shouted, “Get in, love,” in the least loving voice Bobbie Faye had ever heard.

  “I don’t think so,” Trevor said from about thirty feet behind them, and there was no mistaking his fury. Sean turned and time crawled for her as she felt the cold horror of watching the barrel of Sean’s gun slowly swing away and aim at Trevor . . .

  . . . who moved toward them like thunder, hellbent and fast, gun up, storming forward like an angry God, fire spitting from his fingertips, unloading rounds, dropping and switching magazines in a lightning move. Sean slammed backward into the open door of the helicopter, several rounds shredding the shirt at his chest, and as he fell, he tried to pull Bobbie Faye with him, and Trevor just kept coming, kept firing, nailing Sean’s arm, forcing the man to let go, but not before Sean grabbed the alligator purse and reached with the other hand for Bobbie Faye . . .

  And Trevor moved forward, utter vengeance in his eyes as he kept firing kept firing . . .

  Francesca was suddenly up, oh fuck no; Bobbie Faye grabbed Aiden’s gun, spun and loaded a round into Francesca’s shoulder, and Trevor kept moving forward.

  Sean rolled and used the protection of the helicopter door as he aimed at Trevor, at the same time that Francesca switched the gun into her left hand.

  Aiden’s gun clicked. Empty.

  Francesca didn’t aim at Bobbie Faye. She smiled, aiming at Trevor’s back, and he kept moving forward, never knowing that Francesca’s hand moved up, up, up, behind him, level.

  Without really thinking, the moment she saw Francesca take dead aim, she knew Trevor wouldn’t live, and Bobbie Faye leapt in front of him—all she knew was, no, not when I’ve found him. Three rounds drilled into her as Trevor registered what she’d done and he yelled noooo when a bullet from the helicopter sliced through the spot where she’d just been standing.

  Bobbie Faye crashed into the lawn and the slow-motion world stuttered and jerked, all intermittent flashes of images and splashes of black and bursts of noise, as if the pictures and sounds were out of synch. She saw Cam take Francesca down, hard, disarming her and cuffing her the next second; she’d never seen him move so fast, in spite of the blood pouring from his leg. People shouted her name and the helicopter lifted off. She could have sworn she saw Sean, bloody inside the craft, looking at the stupid alligator purse he’d managed to grab, but maybe she was dreaming. She felt all floaty, golden, and fuzzy; she thought she heard Cam call her Baby and Trevor, closer, growled out, Sundance, stay with me, and it got quieter as the sound of the helicopter’s rotors dimmed and then disappeared, though the sirens were still there. It all seemed so very distant now.

  Cam cradled her head as Trevor pressed on the wound and she thought for a moment she heard the distinct silky voice of the woman who’d threatened her in the SUV. Bobbie Faye reached down to feel her right abdomen and touched Trevor’s hands and everything oozed, slick . . . sticky and warm when she had grown colder and colder, and she knew that really wasn’t a good thing. She saw the absolute terror and love in Trevor’s eyes. She didn’t know he could look so afraid.

  The last stupid thought she had was that at least her boobs hadn’t popped out of the dress on national TV. Then everything was gone.

  U.S. DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY

  FROM THE DESK OF JESSICA TYLER (JT) ELLIS

  ASSISTANT TO THE UNDERSECRETARY OF THE UNDERSECRETARY OF THE SECRETARY OF THE ASSISTANT TO THE DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE HOMELAND SECURITY

  NEW ORLEANS, LA

  Re: progress report stats

  (to be filed under field notes, personal, only)

  Thirty

  “Happy birthday, sleepyhead. You’ll be happy to know,” Nina said to her as she rested in the hospital room, “that you’re quite the celebrity again.”

  “Hey, you’re not supposed to taunt the wounded.”

  “Wimp.”r />
  “Damned straight. Did I hear two women arguing over some sort of jurisdiction over me?”

  Nina nodded, fluffed her pillow and handed Bobbie Faye some water to sip. “Yeah, apparently one of the three people who’d hijacked you in the middle of the street was actually Homeland Security, who hadn’t bothered to check in with the FBI over just who you were; they assumed you were really going to give the diamonds to Sean. Trevor set them straight and his boss and the SUV woman were not pleased with each other. I think this is the first time both sets are actually trying to claim you, B.”

  “Oh, dear God.” Bobbie Faye tried not to move too much—the crater and two flesh wounds on her side where her appendix used to be hurt like hell, and she hated morphine, so she was trying to avoid using the stupid drip. She was quite proud of herself for not needing the medicine yet, for the whopping forty-five minutes she’d been awake. Given the slack-ass way her willpower usually worked, this was actually promising.

  “Although they are somewhat distracted from you because they are also fighting over Emile and Sean—yeah, the state police helicoptors stopped Sean from getting away—and they’re still looking for Marie. Oh, and you’re gonna love this one . . . the governor claims he helped you in your undercover sting operation and he’s assured the public that you are completely innocent of any possible wrongdoing.”

  “Are you going to give him back the pictures?”

  “Ha. No way. Those puppies are mine.” Nina smiled at her and fussed a bit, brushing Bobbie Faye’s hair as she sat on the side of the bed. “You’ve been busy,” she said, and Bobbie Faye tried not to laugh, because laughing hurt. Hell, everything hurt, including thinking.

  “Benoit?”

  “Waking up as we speak,” Nina said. “He’s kinda gone in and out of consciousness, but he seems to be stabilizing, so they think he’s going to make it.”

  Bobbie Faye relaxed back into the pillow, so relieved she didn’t even bother to hide the tears flowing down her cheeks. Nina sat with her a minute, handing her a Kleenex without mockage.

  “There are two guys out there holding a barely controlled truce,” Nina said. “I don’t know what the hell you’ve been up to, but they both look incredibly haggard, and Cam acts like he’s . . . come to his senses or something?”

  “I have no clue. He certainly was . . . confusing yesterday. From one extreme to the other.”

  “You had to go pick the two alpha-est males on the planet, didn’t you?”

  “Apparently, I’m very talented in ‘stupid.’ And hey—you didn’t have to rush home. I know you have a life—you can’t always drop everything when I’m blowing things up.”

  “Well, fine, then I’ll just come for every other time you take out the entire political structure of the state, along with a couple of landmarks. But get used to me—I’m going to be here until you’re okay.” When she started to argue, Nina shushed her. “No, sorry, but you don’t get a vote, B. Sean’s apparently unhappy.”

  “I thought Trevor shot him. A lot.” She knew she must be groggy from some form of pain meds when she only felt like throwing up in panic, not completely wigging out.

  “He did. But the bastard lived and it should have been fatal. He had on body armor underneath his clothes because Trevor shot him multiple times, though he grazed Sean’s head twice, once pretty badly. When he didn’t die from the chest shots, Trevor realized what was happening and aimed for appendages. Sean’s not going to be using his arms much anytime soon.”

  “Wow.”

  “Exactly. And this came for you today from Sean.” She showed Bobbie Faye a note, sealed in plastic. “They were going to take it in, but I convinced them you had a right to see it.”

  Bobbie Faye looked at it, but it was in Gaelic, and she glanced up to Nina, puzzled.

  “Apparently it says that ‘you’re his’—in a way that’s strongly emphatic. Like, he owns you. So we’re being extra careful until he’s transferred into a maximum-security prison.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Meanwhile, there are two guys out there, and I don’t know how long that truce will hold. The question to you is . . . who do I send in first?”

  Cam loomed inside the doorway, favoring his bandaged leg. Thank God he’d been reinstated. She’d never seen him this ragged before. That he cared about her hadn’t totally surprised her—even when they had fought bitterly and regularly, she knew he cared, at least as a friend.

  But this was the first time in a year she could see more . . . the way he used to look at her. Damn, she really was regretting the no-morphine decision.

  Instead of taking the chair next to the bed, Cam sat on the bed itself like he would if they had been together. The electrical jolt to her heart made her blush and she knew he saw it. He brushed her hair out of her eyes a little, and she waited, wondering just what in the hell he was thinking.

  He stared for a long, long moment.

  “If you’re going to yell at me, could you get it over with? The suspense is killing me.”

  “I’m not going to yell. I’m going to tell you that when I saw how much control you had with that guy—how you didn’t show any fear, though I know you, I know you were feeling it, and you thought so fast under pressure, I was really proud of you. Scared to death, but proud of you.”

  She blinked. Holy shit. She couldn’t think of a single sensible thing to say. He was proud of her?

  “I see my plan to confuse you has worked,” he said, grinning.

  “There aren’t a lot of coherent brain cells left here—play fair.”

  “Look, we’ve got to talk. I know you’ve started seeing this guy, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s completely my fault. I thought I had good reasons for what I did, but I went about everything all wrong. Completely, stupidly, wrong.”

  She was groggy and tired and her brain must not be working because what the hell? “Well, if you’d wanted to break up with me, all you had to do was—”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  He was back to being daft again. She sighed. “Before you arrested Lori Ann. I mean, I could tell you were unhappy, and for several months you were distant and weird and kept pushing me away. I knew something was wrong. If you’d just said—”

  “Stop. Just . . . holy . . . Baby, is that what you think?”

  She stared at him, and her head hurt with the noise from her careening thoughts. Because of course that’s what she thought. And their stellar argument after he’d arrested her sister and him yelling get the fuck out of my life with this shit pretty much sealed it.

  “I was nervous because I had bought you a ring and wanted to ask you, but things kept happening and the timing was never calm or right or happy. I was more nervous than before a game. I couldn’t figure out a good, romantic way to do it.”

  “You’re kidding me.” She must be dying. She had a terminal illness. They found it when they went in after the bullets. That was the only reason he was being so nice.

  “No. You better than anybody know how all kinds of stupid I can be. I’m asking you to forgive me. Please. You were so worried and upset over your sister. It killed me to see you in knots. I thought if I just solved the Lori Ann problem, you’d be able to breathe peacefully a little while, and when you went ballistic . . . I went to the moron end of the scale. And those arguments—they were bad. We both said things we didn’t mean.”

  They had. She had. It had been bloody and merciless and somehow, she had lost sight of the fact that as best friends, they had always known that they would be there for each other—no matter what. Even through a fight. And yet, they had taken that for granted, and had thrown it away. He entwined his fingers into hers, brushing away tears she didn’t know she was shedding.

  “I’m not going to force you into a decision. I know I pushed you away, I know this guy has stepped up, but we have something permanent, and you know it. We have always had it, even when I was too stupid to know. That doesn’t ever go away—not if it’s real, and ours
was. Is. If I hurt you half as much as I’m hurting now, I don’t know how you can forgive me, but I’m asking you to try.

  “But I’m done being stupid, baby. I want you to think about that, before you commit to this guy.”

  She just did not know what to say, and she knew he saw that. It broke his heart, she could tell, that she didn’t automatically leap into his arms, picking up where they left off . . .

  . . . because she honestly didn’t know what she felt.

  And it was killing her.

  Nina stood outside Bobbie Faye’s room where Trevor had not-so-subtly parked himself so that he could see into the small window on the hospital door. She had to give it to her best friend—she sure as hell knew how to pick the good-looking ones. Extreme alpha, knocking against the top rating on the damned-gorgeous sex-ometer.

  The man stood quietly, his arms crossed. She finally decided to cut him a little slack.

  “She asked me to remind you that you had a manual you should be studying.” She looked at him for a response, and he allowed the smallest indication of a smile, his gaze never wavering from that window.

  They fell silent again for a minute, until he finally said, “He’s going to be a real problem for me, isn’t he?”

  She looked into the window, saw that Bobbie Faye had tears on her cheeks, though they couldn’t see Cam’s face.

  “Probably.” Then after a moment, she said, “I’m not entirely sure that he’s not the best choice for her, you know.” She looked pointedly at him. “The safest.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “But you’re not backing away, are you?”

  He shook his head slightly. “I’d have to stop breathing, first.”

  She hmphed, and they went back to staring at that door. Then she said, “I’d have never believed it, with someone with your reputation.” That got her the arched eyebrow, but he didn’t waver from his watch. “Have you told her all about your past?”