The driver, Bassett, saw me approaching, and he got out of the driver’s side. I was impressed with his resilience, driving the car with a broken arm.
The rear passenger door was closed, and that was what saved Miriam. Between fighting her and fumbling to get the door open, Martel didn’t hear me coming, and couldn’t react in time when his partner warned him. He froze when I put the barrel of the gun in the small of his back.
“I hate guns,” I growled.
“Look, buddy—” he started, and I jabbed the gun harder against his kidney.
“Just the fact that I’m holding this gun makes me fuckin’ mad. It makes me look for a reason to pull the trigger. You know what I mean? Do guns make you feel this way, too?”
He didn’t answer. His partner started to slowly walk around toward the rear of the car, his good hand going into his coat.
“You, numbnuts,” I called. “Get your ass back in the car or I’m going to blow a big hole in your friend here with your gun. He’s a tough bastard, but probably not that tough.”
The second man glanced at his partner. I saw the big head nod.
“Let the girl go.”
Obedient with a gun at his back, he dropped his arm. Miriam sobbed and stepped away. Then her face contorted and she kicked him in the shin. It was a vicious shot, and I’m pretty sure it would have dropped me to my knees in pain. But he took it without a word or a gasp.
He turned his head so he could see me out of the corner of his eye. “You’re making a big mistake.” So calm. Just a casual conversation. As if I didn’t have the muzzle of a gun buried in his back. I took two steps away from him and Miriam took hold of my hand. He turned fully toward us now, his gray eyes measuring, emotionless. “You can still keep yourself out of this. Just give over the girl, and I’ll forget you exist. No harm, no foul.” He cracked a smile, revealing teeth that were white and even, save for a chipped front tooth. Spread his hands in a gesture that said, We’re all friends here. “I’ll even convince my partner that he broke his arm falling down some stairs. No grudges.” He tilted his head as if something pleasant had just occurred to him. “And you can keep his gun. A gift.”
We continued to edge away from him, toward the corner of the building.
“Nah, man. I’m already in this. Reckon I’ll see it through from here.”
He nodded with the expression of a man who had already known what he would hear. “You seemed like that kind of guy.”
We were almost around the corner of the building. “Fuck yourself.”
And we turned and ran like hell.
* * *
Free Without Breaking
Miriam / Emma
We blasted down the road, tires squealing as we took corners way too fast. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if the Lexus was coming up behind us, but it wasn’t back there. It seemed that we had lost them again.
“Holy shit, seriously, who do you owe money to?” Ryan said, his eyes never leaving the road as he veered into another turn and threw me against the door.
I pulled my seatbelt across my chest. “It’s more complicated than that.”
He shook his head. “No more bullshit. What’s going on?”
“I…can’t—”
“Goddamn it!” he shouted. “I just rescued you. Violently. Twice.” He slowed at a stop sign, then gunned through the intersection. “I consider myself trustworthy.” He glared at me, challenging me to deny it.
I touched his arm. “You are.” I thought for a moment. “My dad was involved with some very bad people.”
“And?”
“Seriously, you can’t know anything more. It’s for your own safety now. Just understand that there are very bad people, a long way from here, who are angry with my father and would do anything,” I paused, taking a deep breath, “absolutely anything to get back at him.”
“Well that’s just cryptic as fuck.” Then he grinned, and it was like a lamp turned on. “This is, by far, the weirdest second date I’ve ever been on.”
Was he insane?
I ignored his last comment. “We can’t go back to your apartment.”
“No shit. Thanks a ton for turning me into a homeless person.”
“Can you take me to a pay phone?”
He looked at me as if I was from outer space. “Do those even exist any more? I guess this is something I should know. Could come in handy, living on the street.”
I shrugged, hoping.
“I never meant what I said to you.”
He turned the truck north, his mouth set in a thin line. “Which thing?”
“All of it. All those mean things I said. I didn’t mean any of it.”
He looked at me again, and the anger seemed to melt away. There was a soft vulnerability behind his eyes now. “Then why did you say it?”
“To…protect you. To protect myself.” To protect my cover.
“To run me off.” It wasn’t a question.
“I really like you.”
“Because guys with guns keep trying to kidnap you.”
“Did you hear me?”
“I—” he took a deep breath. “Did you say you like me?”
I looked out the window and nodded.
“Well…that’s okay, I guess.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. After showing up at my job every day for the last week to harass me, and then after the wildest morning in the history of mornings, he says this? If I’d been able to glare at him any harder his face would have cracked under the pressure. “It’s okay, you guess?” The ice in my voice should have left frost on the windows.
He put his hand on my arm. “Hell yes it is.”
We cruised around a while more in silence, both of us scanning street-side for a pay phone. At last, Ryan pulled the truck into a dirt lot somewhere on the west side of town. He pointed. “Allow me to present to you the very last pay phone in the great city of Fort Worth, Texas.”
I giggled. After all I’d been through in the past two hours, it felt almost strange to laugh, but I did, and then he did, both of us laughing until we clutched our bellies. And then, somehow, we were kissing, his arm around my shoulders pulling me to him, our hot mouths locked together. We both got caught in our seat belts and fought to get free without breaking our kiss. His lips were almost tentative, softly caressing and tugging at mine. I opened my mouth to him, and his tongue darted inside, teasing, stroking. I climbed on his lap, straddling him.
When I pulled my mouth away he was breathing hard. And his breath wasn’t the only thing that was hard. I shifted my weight on him and he groaned.
“Honestly, this is not how I expected the morning to end up,” I said.
He leaned his head back against the rest. “Just keep moving your hips another minute or two and it will make the whole ordeal worthwhile,” he said.
I slapped his shoulder. “You are no gentleman.”
He grinned, and those dimples nearly convinced me to pull my jeans down right here in his pickup.
I leaned over to whisper in his ear. He turned his head to hear, his hand creeping up my body to cup my breast.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice husky.
I said, in my sexiest voice: “Do you have a couple of quarters I can borrow?”
His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. “You are a terrible person,” he said.
Laughing felt good, so I did it again.
His expression got serious. “Listen, I have an idea. When you call your guy have him meet you at this address in an hour.” He pulled a card out of his wallet and gave it to me. It was to some muffler shop in Haltom City.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Humor me. If it works out, great. But I think maybe your contact isn’t secure. And if that’s the case…well, this is a safe plan.”
* * *
All Kinds Of Mess
Miriam / Emma
"Castillo here."
Now that we had made it to safety, and I was standing on my own by the pay phone
, the fear returned to me in a wave. My free hand, the one holding the phone receiver, started trembling beside my leg. For a moment I didn't say anything.
"Hello?" Castillo said.
"Marshal?" I hated how my voice trembled.
"Emma?" His voice was tense, surprised. It was a huge breach of protocol, using my real first name. "I was concerned," he said. "I went to the address you gave me and couldn't find you."
I took a long, shuddering breath. "Marconi's men got to me first."
"Oh my God. Are you…are you okay?"
There was something about his tone of voice. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something seemed off. "I'm fine. There was a—" I almost told him about Ryan, but decided better of it. "I got away."
Marshal Castillo blew out a long breath. "Good. Good. Just tell me where you are and I'll come pick you up."
"I'm scared—"
"I know—"
I stared at the card Ryan had given me. When I had dialed the number, I had made up my mind to trust Castillo, to just give him my location and wait for him. But something—his voice, maybe, or just a niggling doubt at the back of my mind—told me to trust Ryan’s instincts. "I have an address. Write this down." I read in the address of the card. "One hour. Meet me there in one hour."
"Okay. Emma — Miriam, are you—"
I hung up the phone.
I climbed back into the truck.
"Well?" Ryan said.
"He'll meet us there in an hour."
"Then let's go." We pulled out of the parking lot and Ryan pointed the truck east, toward Haltom City. We drove for about twenty minutes, crossing over the Trinity River and then under Interstate 35W. A bit past that, Ryan turned south onto Beach Street.
The place we pulled into wasn't the muffler shop. The building was about as nondescript as they come. Just an old, brick storefront, dusty windows, and a single neon sign advertising beer. Another sign hung over the door. It was a simple thing, black lettering on white background and said "Jack's Place". There was a small parking lot in front. A driveway extended from the parking lot around the back. Ryan pulled his truck behind the building and into a large garage garage in back.
"What is this place?" I said.
Ryan took my hand. "I have friends here," he said. We got out of the truck and he led me out of the garage and lowered the door. We stood in a lot that was dirt and gravel and some more dirt. Tufts of grass grew along the edges of the eight foot privacy fence that enclosed the lot and rear of the building, but mostly it was just bare, packed Texas earth. Beside the back door of the main building was a barrel full of sand with a score of cigarette butts snubbed out in it. Ryan opened the door. He stood there for a moment, looking at me, and it didn’t register at first what he was doing.
He was holding the door open for me. After the morning we had been having, he stood there holding the door open as if I was wearing a tiara and we were walking into a fancy restaurant. He smiled at me and touched my shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said. “This place is safe.”
My vision blurred just a bit when he said that.
“All the same,” I said, “this still isn’t a date.”
If anything, his smile widened.
He motioned through the door with his free hand. “My lady.”
I went inside. Cool air blew over me, and we walked into a dark interior.
It took some time for my eyes to adjust, but when they did I saw that we were in a bar. Unlike the dingy outside, the inside of the place was clean and shiny. There was an old-school jukebox on the back wall and a row of pool tables in front of it. A small stage in the corner for local bands to play live music. A dozen square tables for patrons who didn't want to sit at the bar. Then there was the bar, complete with brass railing. I half expected to discover an old brass spittoon propped in a corner.
Behind the bar, a man was wiping out glasses with a cloth. He was as tall as Ryan, but the width of his shoulders made him seem almost squat. He had a broad, deep chest that strained his T-shirt, and his forearms rippled with muscle and vein. He looked to be about thirty years old.
When he saw us he raised his hand in greeting. "’lo there, Calder."
"Ho, Reggie." He leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Wait here."
He left me to stand awkwardly by the door and went to talk to Reggie. Their conversation was quiet and matter-of-fact. As if they were discussing the weather. At one point Reggie's eyebrows drew together and he looked angry, glancing over at me and nodding. Ryan nodded back, apparently confirming something.
A moment later, Reggie said loudly, "All right then. We'll get it taken care of." He clapped Ryan on the shoulder and came out from behind the bar. Draping his towel over his shoulder he waved for me to come over.
“I’d imagine you’re a little bit nervous,” he said.
I nodded. What else was I going to say?
The corners of his eyes crinkled in sympathy. “I understand. But there’s nothing under the sun that can’t be fixed, and you happen to be in a room with two of the best fixers on the planet.”
I arched an eyebrow at him, skeptical, but he was already turning away. "Y'all come with me."
We followed him around the corner of the bar through a door in back. It opened onto a short hallway. At the end of the hallway was a door with a panic bar and an exit sign. A flight of stairs branched off to the side, and he led us up those. The stairs were very closed-in and musty-smelling. Dark. The heavy shag carpet had been worn down to the padding in the center.
""I live up here," Reggie drawled, "so don't y’all be making a mess."
"I don't reckon we’ll be here long enough to make a mess," Ryan said, looking back to make sure I was following.
Reggie snorted. "When I was your age it didn't take me long at all to make all kinds of mess."
It took a moment, but I finally caught on to what they were talking about. I'm certain my cheeks flushed a bright crimson.
There was a small apartment at the top of the stairs. Similar in layout to Ryan's apartment, and just as spartan. A small living room with a couch. A kitchen. A short hallway to what I presume was the bedroom.
Reggie walked over to the window beside the sofa and pulled open the curtains. "You can see the street from right here." Ryan went to stand by his side.
He glanced at his watch. "We’ve got a few minutes," he said. He motioned for me to come to the window. "Look down there."
It took me a moment to understand what he was pointing at. When I saw it it seemed obvious. Across the street was the muffler shop listed on the card he had given me. That was where Castillo would go to meet me.
“I should go down there and wait for him," I said.
Reggie shook his head. Ryan said, "No, I think it might be a good idea if he waits for you this time."
"What do you—"
He put a hand on my shoulder. “Let's just watch and see for a minute."
Reggie went to the kitchen and came back holding two dining room chairs. These he sat in front of the window. "Make yourselves comfortable. When you see what you need to see come on down and talk to me."
Ryan motioned for me to take a seat at the window. Then he turned and shook Reggie's hand. "Thanks, man."
"Anytime, my brother. You know I look out for my own." With that he turned and headed back down the stairs.
Ryan sat in the chair next to me. The window was small, and for us both to see out it we had to sit very close to one another. Without even realizing it, I had pressed the length of my body up against him.
I felt his eyes on me, and when I turned I found his smirking face inches from mine. "If I had known all it took was a couple of armed kidnappers, I could've arranged for something days ago—"
I slapped him again and his mouth dropped open in feigned shock.
"So how do you know this Reggie guy?" They seemed to have known each other for quite a while.
Ryan turned his attention back to the street. "I served with him
briefly. In Afghanistan."
So Ryan was military. That actually seemed to explain a lot about him. "You were in the Army?"
He looked at me as if I just pissed on his shoe. "Marine Corps.”
“Isn’t that basically the same thing?”
He turned and looked at me for a long moment. “I don't know if I even like you anymore."
I laughed again, and it occurred to me how much I enjoyed laughing with Ryan Calder.
His back went rigid. "Oh. Look there." He tapped the glass.
I looked out at the street. "What am I looking at?"
He pointed, not at the muffler shop, but toward the street itself. His finger traced the path of a car that was moving down the road. A black Lexus.
I felt my blood go cold. "It's probably not them," I said. "There are lots of black Lexuses."
He nodded, his lips pursed. "Maybe so." But his eyes followed the Lexus until it was out of sight.
Three minutes later, it appeared again, this time from the other direction. I did not need Ryan to point it out to me this time.
As we watched, it drove by twice more. Castillo’s Dodge never stopped at the muffler shop, nor so much as drove by.
Ryan turned to me and took my cold hand in both of his. "Whoever your friend is, this guy you've been calling…he isn’t your friend."
* * *
Fight When You Have To
Ryan
We headed back downstairs. Miriam seemed shaken by the increasingly obvious fact that her contact, this guy she trusted to take care of her, was selling her out.
She still wouldn't tell me who the hell any of these people were.
Back downstairs, I asked Miriam to wait for me again while I talked to Reggie.
“Why?"
I arched an eyebrow at her, hoping to appear dramatic. "You have your secrets. I have mine."
She made a sound like a worn harrumph, turned on her heel, and stomped to the door. I signaled Reggie behind the bar and he came out to talk to me.
I laid out my plan. If there is anyone in the world that I trust to critique a defensive strategy, it’s Reggie Bishop. He listened carefully, made a couple suggestions, and then nodded.
The Next Thing: Bareknuckles Brotherhood Page 4
