by Angi Morgan
He landed on his back at a weird angle. They needed him for answers.
“Bree, stop!”
She was already at Larry’s side to see if he was dead. His eyes popped open, his hand latched to her arm and toppled her to his chest. Before she blinked there was a knife, nicking her throat.
“No playing this time, princ—”
A loud gunshot stopped Larry’s words and knife. Jake tugged on her to get her going. He’d jumped down so fast she hadn’t seen him. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t understand him through the fog. Larry’s eyes were open, a bullet wound to his chest.
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Do it over here.” Jake pushed her behind him into a snowdrift. “As soon as the crowd gets brave enough, they’re going to investigate that last shot. Where’s Jerry?”
As much as her stomach objected to the picture fresh in her mind, she didn’t lose her cookies. “After the kid, who was running toward the freeway.”
She took a step to pass Jake and was enveloped in his arms instead. His gentle touch to her neck was a sharp contrast to the man she’d seen fighting on that trailer. The same man who had shot Larry dead to save her. He tilted her chin, using the pad of his thumb to create those soothing circles.
“Are you okay?” He tilted her head farther. The wet drops of blood where the knife had broken the skin were whisked away.
“I’m fine.”
“If we weren’t in a hurry...”
“But we are. Where’s my uncle and that other murderer?” Bree couldn’t think of him as a young man who’d fallen under the wrong guidance. That was for a jury to decide. Right now, she needed to help her family and he was the key. Their only clue.
They took off. Jake had her elbow securely in his strong hand. She wanted to remember his hands from early this morning—gentle, loving. The firm grip was comforting, but it had also pulled the trigger pushing them farther from getting the money to Griffin.
They skirted the oncoming crowd. The police cars made it to the truck stop. She ran, barely keeping up with Jake as he searched for her uncle. Then they both saw the hitchhiker trying to get their attention.
“He’s going to kill him. They’re behind the trash.” His hands were full trying to contain both dogs.
“Stay here,” Jake instructed, looking at them both.
“This is my fight,” she said to his back, following.
Her uncle was pinned on the ground. The kid hit his arm with a pipe. As he raised it again, Jake grabbed it, hurling the pipe into the bags of excess trash spilling from the receptacles.
The younger man turned his anger on Jake. “I’m not going back! They promised.” He pommeled Jake, who kept retreating, leading him farther away from Jerry.
With the hitchhiker on her heels, she ran to Jerry. “Are you all right?”
She helped him sit and listened not to his explanation but for sounds of another fight.
“I think my arm’s busted.” He cradled his left wrist in his thick hand. “The boy caught me by surprise. I turned right into that pipe and went down like a sinker on a fishing pole.”
“Can you stay with him?” she asked the man holding their dogs. She and her uncle had “hired” him to dog sit with the promise of a ride to California when they’d concocted their plan to keep Jake from being shot.
“Take one of these things, will ya?”
Dallas squirmed out of his arms and into hers, licking her hands, glad to see her. She set her on the ground and put her leash back in the young man’s hand.
“I love you, Uncle Jerry.” She rose, ran in the direction Jake had led the fight and listened for sounds. When she didn’t hear any, she backed up to the corner of a small building and waited.
She should have stayed with her uncle. Things had moved so fast. Her first thought had been to help Jake. How in the world could she do that? Screaming for help was the last thing she could do. The police were in the parking lot. People in the crowd had to have seen them running from Larry’s body.
Her stomach lurched at the image of the bullet hole and blood on the snow.
“Where’s the money?”
At first she thought the person was asking her. Then she realized the kid Jake chased was around the corner of the building.
“Man, I told you. She said Amarillo. That’s all I know,” Jake lied.
He knew the money was in his bag of black op equipment. If she could get the gun she had into Jake’s hands, then he could capture the kid. She pulled the gun from her pocket and knelt on the ground.
“I don’t know what to do. Where’s Larry?”
“Want me to take you to him, man? I can do that.”
She looked around the corner, straight into Jake’s jeans. She could almost tug on his hand and place the gun in his fingers. He took a step forward, his hand out of her reach.
She stood, leaning against the stucco building, holding the gun in both hands just like she’d been taught. But she’d also been taught not to point a loaded weapon at a person. Life or death made it different. She’d get the kid to drop the knife, Jake would be safe and they’d find out about her family.
“Hold it,” she said, barreling around the corner, gun aimed at both men.
“Ahhh!” the kid screamed, knife raised, lunging for Jake.
“Stay back, Sabrina!”
Jake’s defensive moves were textbook perfect. He countered the downward thrust of the knife with a sweeping block of his forearm. He caught the kid’s wrist in his hand and shook. Pinned in the snowdrift, their legs barely moved as Jake released the kid’s opposite shoulder to grab the arm with the knife.
The kid pressed forward, wild-eyed and hysterical. He yanked his arm free from Jake’s grasp, violently shoving and wildly wielding the knife from side to side. “I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her.”
Jake growled and blocked the descent of the blade. Bree realized she still aimed the gun at them both. She shoved it back in her pocket, knowing she wouldn’t shoot. They couldn’t risk killing their only lead to her family.
Each assault from the younger man was countered by the more experienced ex-marine. The kid’s wielding of the knife became more frantic and chaotic as he tried to get past Jake.
Their attacker kept crying out, “I have to kill her. I have to kill her.” His words hypnotized Bree at the building corner. She was unable to move or cry out or help. Her uncle came around the corner and darted forward without hesitation, broken wrist and all.
There was a final sweep of Jake’s arm, the knife disappeared, a scream and then the kid threw back his head and collapsed in the snow. While Jake and Jerry looked at his wound, trying to stanch the blood, she ran over and took the young man’s face in her hands. His eyes focused far from her. She shook his coat collar to get his attention, losing whatever bit of decency she had left.
“Who are you working for? Where’s my family? Tell me!” Her uncle could have died. What if Jake had died for her?
“You won’t get—” He coughed. A bead of dark red blood dropped from his nose. “They promi...”
She stumbled back into Jake’s stable body.
Her uncle checked for a pulse and confirmed what was evident from the glazed, open eyes.
“They’re...dead. Both dead?” She started breathing and talking fast, unable to block all the unanswered questions filling her head.
“It’ll be okay,” Jake said, from just above her ear, leading her back toward the truck.
“Can’t you see he’s dead? Did he say where my family is being held? Who he works for? Why did you kill him? You killed them both. It’s all your fault.”
“My fault?” Jake answered, leaning on the truck, breathing a little hard. “Damn, why didn’t I stop to interrogate him? Oh, yeah, he was beating your uncle with a steel pipe
. Then he was determined to kill you and me with a knife. I saved your uncle. And I saved you. Totally unnecessary if you’d stayed in the truck.”
She knew she was wrong and still the fear bubbled to the surface in the form of spiteful words. “What about my mother, father and sister? What if these two have to report to Griffin? And when they don’t? What happens when Griffin knows his men are dead. It’ll be all over the news before we can possibly get near Amarillo.”
“Try to calm down, Bree. You’re in shock.” Jake pulled her face to his shoulder, muffling the sounds of her sobs. “We’ll find a way. Don’t give up. Right now we’ve got to get out of here.”
“Give her the black dog,” Jerry told the hitchhiker. “Bree, you and Jake need to get out of here before the police head this way.”
“Are we getting out of here, too?” the hitchhiker asked, setting the dogs in the snow.
“All in due time,” her uncle answered.
“Dallas should stay with you,” Jake told him.
She shook her head. “She’s my dog. You can’t give her to anyone.”
Burying her face in the dog’s cold fur, she had little faith they’d succeed and paid no attention as she was pushed into the truck. The engine started, Jake barreled through the snow away from the crowds, two dead bodies and the police stuck trying to determine what had happened.
“I don’t know how my uncle thinks he’s going to talk his way out of jail.”
“If you’d stayed in the truck—”
“You’d be dead,” she answered quickly.
“Dammit, Bree. You broke your promise to stay in the truck. Don’t blame me for having to clean up the mess.”
“You really expected me to just sit there and not fight for myself?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m not sure why you’re even trying to get away or continue to help me. It’s hopeless.”
“We aren’t beaten yet, Bree. I’ve seen hopeless, and this isn’t one of those scenarios.”
She tucked Dallas into the dog bed in the backseat. She couldn’t look at Jake, no matter how encouraging he was attempting to be, so she dropped her face into her hands. Yes, he saved her life with his accurate shot, but at what price? “They’re dead, aren’t they? My family. All of my family’s gone and it’s my fault.”
“Never think that. Griffin knows he needs them alive to get the money back.”
“It’s a long way to Amarillo. We can’t just snap our heels together and get there in an instant. And then we have to find them. And rescue them. Driving, it’s three and a half hours on a good day. Just admit that it’s impossible to save them.”
“I promise you, sweetheart, we’re getting to your family before anything happens. It’s only two hours by chopper. They won’t be expecting us. We’ll have leverage and surprise on our side.”
A hint of the look she’d seen while he’d fought crowded the features she adored and had kissed so hungrily less than an hour ago. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to the fighter he’d unleashed on those two men, but she needed those killer instincts to win this battle.
“Just tell me what to do.”
Was there a fighter left in her? She’d been running so long, afraid of failing, afraid of no one believing in her. Had the past years of building her business against the advice of her friends and family meant nothing? Could she remember what it was like to fight for what she wanted?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sometime during one of his encounters today, Jake’s side had been sliced by a knife. Not a bad wound, but enough blood to show through his sweater. Bree had accused him of keeping the cut a secret, but he honestly didn’t remember it happening.
No helicopters had been available and it had taken a lot longer for a charter pilot to get there than he’d hoped. He’d been anticipating the police finding them before they could get the runway cleared and their plane in the air. Five thousand dollars later, they still had a good hour before reaching Amarillo.
All he wanted to do was nap. His sore jaw reminded him he needed to be alert and at his best. But the look in Bree’s eyes wasn’t restful. His clean T-shirt was off, his side had been washed and he waited while she searched through the pilot’s first-aid kit for antiseptic.
The atmosphere inside the cabin was still freezing. Bree had stopped talking, using gestures instead of words. At least with him. He didn’t like it, wanting to wrap his arms around her and haul her to his lap. He wanted to forget the faces, his actions. Wanted her to believe everything he did was to keep her safe.
“Finding this plane is better than a noisy helicopter.” He settled for random conversation instead. “Easier to stretch my legs.”
He extended his long limbs into the aisle as Bree rested between their seats on one knee, cleaning his wound. The plane pitched in the air and she wobbled. When he reached out to steady her, she jerked away.
“I don’t feel right using any of that money for this plane.”
“We didn’t have much of a choice. It was the only charter available and Ernie wanted three thousand cash up front before he’d fly.” Her delicate fingers were warm and soothing against his skin. Her gentle touch was worth the alcohol sting on the laceration.
She balanced in the aisle and worked in her seat as the plane sped forward. A picture of her bare thigh and the thong he’d torn came to him. He’d love to get his hands on that black lace bra again.
“I think you need stitches.” She had the gauze and tape in hand and ready to go when the plane dipped quickly and she lost her balance heading nose first to the floor.
Jake steadied her around her ribs, forgetting that she’d been kicked by the kid. Their pilot recovered with a few curses and a message of “Sorry, folks.” Bree twisted from his grasp.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” he asked. He didn’t think it was just her injury keeping his hands off her. He’d seen that disgusted look before.
“Only when I lean hard on something.”
“Or if someone grabs you.” He looked at his injury. “I’ll be fine with no stitches. Tear some of that tape into half-inch strips.”
She began and he gritted his teeth before pulling his wound closed tight. “If you...um...put the tape on and...yeah, draw it together. Just like that. Now the gauze. Great. See, no stitches needed.”
“You still need a doctor.”
“I’m all caught up on my shots.” It wasn’t his imagination—she got away from him as fast as possible. “I’ve had many a scratch taped like this. No trips to Emergency for me when I was growing up.”
“You can’t be serious.” She sat and pulled Dallas onto her lap. “Why would your parents do that?”
“My grandmother, actually. She took care of me summers. Stitches were equivalent to being stuck in the house. So she’d tape me back together, I’d go play outside and she had peace.”
“My grandmother’s the reason I started my business. I’d walk her dog and bathe it. My uncle moved back after his discharge and her dogs did wonders for him. Charlie was amazing helping him work through his PTSD. When I got older, I house-sat. My granny connected me to friends in Amarillo for summers. Seemed natural to expand my business instead of attending college or working in a coffee shop.”
He caught a silent tear on her cheekbone. He could see the withdrawal in her violet eyes as she pulled back from his touch. “Look, I’m sort of getting the impression you’d rather I keep my hands to myself. I thought we were past that but—”
“We moved past it way too fast. No offense, Jake, but I don’t know you at all. So maybe we should back up a little.”
“You want to pretend this morning didn’t happen?”
“I wish I could pretend none of it happened.”
“None of it?”
“Why would I want to remember th
ose two men being killed?”
Or him killing them. “I get it.”
“I know you did what you thought was best.”
He needed out of here and he didn’t see a parachute handy, so he was stuck a foot away from the first person he’d let close since returning from overseas. He’d let a dang puppy break through his defenses and she’d tugged her owner right along with her.
The plane dipped and Bree almost lost the pup out of her hands. “Whoa there, girl.”
Dallas squirmed and jumped to his lap, barking a couple of times and ending on a short howl. She climbed Jake’s chest and started licking his chin. “That dog going to jump around the whole way?” Ernie asked.
“I should have left her with my uncle. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
He knew exactly why she’d brought the pup. Comfort. “It’s okay. Maybe we can pay Ernie to dog sit.”
“Or find another hitchhiker. That was so bizarre. Jerry asked what he was watching, gave him the once-over and then said, ‘Boy, I’ll give you a ride clear to California if you just hold these dogs for me.’”
“You left your uncle’s truck. Before I was almost shot. Why? You promised you wouldn’t. I knew I should’ve used the handcuffs to keep you there.”
“I really couldn’t sit there letting you fight for me and take all the risks. Besides, I wanted to help you keep your promise that you wouldn’t get grazed.” She drew a line through his hair above his ear, mirroring the bullet burn from the day before.
He jerked his head away from the pleasant stroke. “No touching works both ways.”
Her face changed from relaxed to what-am-I-doing in a heartbeat. “The chubby...guy was following my uncle. I thought he was in trouble. I couldn’t stay safe while you were both fighting.”
“That’s exactly what you should have done.”
“Our impromptu plan got you safely off the trailer roof,” she defended.
Did your plan include shooting Larry? Even unspoken, the question hung between them. Her eyes darted worriedly back and forth. She knew what he’d almost asked. She bit her lip and drew in a long sigh. She also knew his answer. If she hadn’t been in danger, he wouldn’t have shot him.
