“Waiting?” Willa repeated. “Then what makes you think she accessed the location of the safe house?”
“Because it was on my computer screen.” Cash continued to explain even over Brandon’s loud groan. “I don’t remember leaving the file open. In fact, I could have sworn that I closed it.”
Brandon got in his face. “And why are you just telling me this now?”
“Because I forgot about it. I haven’t exactly been twiddling my thumbs since then. I’ve been trying to figure out who’s after you.”
“I don’t want your help figuring that out,” Willa let him know. She lifted her hand so Cash could see that she’d written Trust Brandon Ruiz on her palm. “Your name isn’t on there for a reason. So, please, just leave me alone.”
She thought Cash might argue with her. But he merely belted out some more harsh profanity, turned and walked away. Brandon immediately shut and locked the door.
“He’s either innocent,” Willa mumbled, “or he puts on a good show. Which is it?”
Brandon shook his head. “I wish I knew. But I don’t regret calling the Rangers. In fact, I want to fax Sergeant Caldwell this photo that Dean Quinlan gave us and tell him it’d be in the best interest of the case to dig into Dr. Farris’s financial records.”
All of that was good, but a new investigation might take months to complete. She didn’t have months. Her baby would arrive in about sixty days. Maybe it was some kind of early nesting instincts, but Willa wanted to be settled and soon.
But where?
And how?
She thought of the cash she had in several safety deposit boxes in San Antonio and Austin. She either had to get to one of them and start out some place new, or…
She had to continue to rely on Brandon.
“What?” Brandon asked, probably noticing the renewed concern on her face.
She stared at him and remembered the kisses. The hot attraction. Willa remembered how much she wanted him.
And how much he was trying to keep his emotional distance from her.
That helped with her decision.
She checked the time. It was too late to make it to San Antonio or Austin before the banks closed, and tomorrow was Christmas. It would be the day after before she could get to her cash.
“On the twenty-sixth, I’ll need to go to a bank in San Antonio,” Willa told him. “You think you can get me there safely?”
He studied her as if trying to figure out what was going on in her head. And he probably would, too. Brandon seemed to be in tune with that she was thinking.
He clutched her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I’ll protect you both until this is over.”
Yes, he would. She didn’t doubt that. But this would take a heavy emotional toll on both of them. Because the longer she was with him, the more she wanted him. The more she started to spin a fantasy of them being together to raise this child growing inside her.
Rather than start an argument with him, Willa merely nodded, but she would get to the bank the day after Christmas, and she’d go off on her own again.
And her heart would be broken.
But she would have to deal with that later, after she was sure her baby girl was safe.
“I need to pick up some things from my house,” Brandon told her. “Let me send this fax, and we’ll get out of here.”
She turned, ready to go back to his office, but the sound stopped her. It came in an instant with no warning.
A loud blast shook the building.
Willa gasped and automatically ducked down. However, it wasn’t a shot. It took her a moment to realize that there had been an explosion.
She looked out the glass door and saw the flames and the debris in the building directly across the street. Oh, God. She knew that sound and recognized the destruction.
A grenade had gone off.
Chapter Thirteen
“Get down!” Brandon yelled, not just to Willa but also to his two deputies who were still in the building.
Brandon pushed Willa to the floor and aimed his gun, but he had nothing to aim at. The diner on the other side of the street was in flames. Since it had closed early because of the holiday, there was no one inside. He couldn’t see anyone milling around, either. That was the good news.
But someone or something had caused that explosion.
“You okay, Brandon?” Pete shouted.
“Yeah.” Brandon glanced back at Pete who also had his weapon drawn. By his side, Sheila had done the same. “Call the fire department. I don’t want that fire spreading to other businesses on Main Street. But tell them not to approach the area until they get an all-clear from one of us.”
Brandon heard Sheila pick up the phone and do as he’d asked.
“There’s a hired gun after Willa,” he told them when Sheila had finished her call. “His name is Martin Shore. He’s six-two, stocky build and has a military-style haircut. He’s armed and dangerous.”
“I don’t see anybody,” Pete relayed, and with his gun pointed toward the burning diner, he inched closer.
“Look harder,” Brandon insisted. He whispered for Willa to stay down, and he levered himself up so he could look as well.
There was still no one visible on the street, but that didn’t mean the assassin wasn’t there.
Because Brandon had his attention fixed on the burning building, he saw the second explosion at the exact moment that he heard it. The blast tore through the fiery debris and what was left of the diner, and it sent a spray of fire and ashes right at them.
“What the hell is going on out there?” Pete grumbled as he dropped to the floor.
Hell was the appropriate word for what Shore was creating out there. The assassin might be trying to scare them or draw them out, and he was tearing up the town to do it. Of course, Brandon had to consider that the next grenade would be launched at the sheriff’s office.
“Help me!” someone yelled.
With her breath gusting, Willa looked back at Brandon. “That’s Wes Dunbar.”
Yeah. And his shout had come from the front door.
“Let me in!” Wes demanded.
Not a chance. Brandon had no idea if Wes and Shore were partners in crime or if these latest explosions were a result of Wes working alone. And he didn’t have time to find out.
“Are we going out there to make sure we don’t have any injuries on our hands?” Sheila asked.
That would be standard procedure. It would also be procedure to identify the assailant’s location and stop him from doing any more harm.
But Brandon looked down at Willa.
She was shaking and pale, obviously terrified. She had her hands over her belly. He had to try to end this as quickly as possible and get her out of there.
“Call the sheriff over in LaMesa Springs and have him send us some backup,” Brandon instructed his deputies.
LaMesa was the town nearest to them, but it was still a good half hour away. By the time backup arrived, it could be too late. Shore might blow up the entire town to get to Willa.
“Sheriff Tanner and his deputy are on their way,” Sheila relayed several moments later.
Another blast rattled the windows and sent them all ducking for cover. Outside, Wes banged on the door again and yelled for help.
“The SOB blew up the feed store,” Pete spat out.
That did it. Brandon knew this wouldn’t end until he stopped it. He got up from the floor despite the fact Willa was trying to pull him back down.
“Martin Shore is a hit man,” she reminded him. “The minute you step outside, he’ll try to kill you.”
That was probably true, but if Shore managed to get close enough to the sheriff’s office, he’d kill them all. Or try anyway.
“Brandon, I don’t usually argue with what you plan on doing, but I gotta argue with you now,” Pete said. He glanced at Willa. “If this hired gun is after her like you say, then this is where he’s headed. It’d be best if Sheila and I go out back and see if we c
an spot him.”
“And maybe kill him,” Sheila added.
Pete nodded. “And if he gets through us, at least you’ll be here to protect her. I’ve got no stomach for a pregnant woman being at the mercy of a man who likes to toss grenades. Stay here, boss. And protect that woman and her baby.”
Brandon wanted to argue. He wanted it to be him who went out the door and put his life on the line. That was actually his comfort zone. But protecting Willa and the child was also his duty, and they had to come first. Because Pete was right—Shore was almost certainly headed this way.
Brandon finally nodded, giving his deputies the okay.
“We’re going out back,” Sheila said without hesitation. “If I get a shot at him, I’m taking it.”
Good. Because Sheila had solid aim, better than Pete’s, and Brandon trusted her to do her job.
“What should we do about the guy yelling out front?” Pete asked.
“Steer clear of him,” Brandon warned. “He could be in on this.”
Pete nodded, and after Sheila and he put on their heavy jackets, they headed for the back door. Brandon followed them and watched as they made their exit, locking the door behind them. Shore wouldn’t be able to get in that way without Brandon hearing him, but the place had eight windows in all. Each had wire mesh running through the glass so that would make it harder for anyone to break in.
Unless Shore bashed through one of them with a grenade.
“Should we stay here or go to your office?” Willa asked.
Brandon glanced around, trying to determine the best place for them to make their stand. Behind the reception desk might be their safest bet. He could see both the front and back doors from that position, and the large reinforced window at the front allowed him to watch what was happening on Main Street. And right now what was happening was the two fires.
He caught the movement from the corner of his eye and automatically shifted his gun in that direction. It had come from the right of the burning diner.
Brandon tried to pick through the thick black smoke to see if it was Shore. But it wasn’t. It was a tall man wearing a suit, and Brandon didn’t recognize him.
“Over here!” Wes yelled. And the suited man responded by waving. It was Wes’s driver.
But what the heck were they still doing in town? Wes had stormed out of his office at least twenty minutes earlier and should have been long gone by now.
“I’m driving over there to get you,” the man called out to Wes. He headed for his car.
But he didn’t get far.
Something must have alerted him because he swung around and took aim at the other side of the car. In the same motion, he dropped, using the vehicle for cover.
Beneath him, Willa waited, and he could feel her pulse in every part of his body.
They didn’t have to wait long.
Brandon saw the movement. So slight. At first, he thought it was a swirl of black smoke. But then he saw the man’s hand.
And the gun he carried.
The man stepped out from the cover of the building near Wes’s car, and he didn’t take aim at the driver who was now on the ground.
He took aim at the window of the sheriff’s office.
Right at Brandon.
And he fired.
BRANDON PUSHED HER DOWN a split-second before Willa heard something slam into the window of the sheriff’s office. She had no doubt that it was a bullet. She also had no doubt about who had fired it.
Martin Shore.
She’d caught just a glimpse of the assassin before Brandon had maneuvered her out of the semi-crouching position and flat on the floor. Well, as flat as she could manage. She was on her side with her hands covering her belly.
There was another thick blast, no doubt from another shot, but she didn’t hear the sound of breaking glass. Maybe that meant the reinforced steel webbing was holding the window in place. It probably wouldn’t hold for long, especially since Shore fired another shot.
She no longer heard Wes’s frantic shouts for them to let him in. Maybe the man had wised up and gotten away from there.
Or maybe Shore had already killed him.
Until this attack, she had thought that maybe Wes had hired Shore to come after her, but after hearing Wes’s reaction to the explosion, either he was extremely good at faking fear, or he was an innocent bystander in all of this.
Another bullet slammed into the window, and this time she did hear the glass crashing to the floor. She also felt the cold air start to spill into the building. Brandon didn’t return fire. Maybe that’s because he would have to fire through the window as well, and he perhaps didn’t want to create an opening that Shore could use to shoot at them.
“Let’s go,” Brandon told her. “But stay down.”
She did stay down. He didn’t. Brandon rushed them to his office and got her inside, but instead of coming in with her, he stood in the hallway and took aim.
He was right in the line of fire.
There was another shot.
Then, another.
Where were the deputies? Why couldn’t they get to Shore and stop him?
Her heart was pounding now, and Willa tried to force herself to calm down. This fear and anxiety might hurt the baby. But she couldn’t discount the fact that all of them might die here today. And for what? To cover up what she’d been forced to do while she had been a hostage?
Or was something else going on here?
Brandon had positioned her on the side of his desk, but she could still see out the single window in the center of the wall. Willa kept watch, but she knew that Shore was still at the front because she could hear his shots.
“Stay down,” Brandon told her.
And he fired.
That meant Shore had either destroyed the window or was maybe already inside.
She wanted to tell Brandon to get down as well and to be careful, but the movement outside the window caught her attention. It wasn’t the deputies. Or Martin Shore.
It was Dean Quinlan.
He didn’t appear to be armed, but he had his back pressed to the building next to them. What the heck was he doing out there?
“Brandon,” she warned. “Dean’s outside.”
He stepped back into his office, and his gaze slashed to the window. He didn’t take aim at the man but instead kept his gun in the direction of the last shot that had been fired.
She heard the sound of more breaking glass, followed by a heavy thud. Someone was trying to kick in the door.
Oh, God.
Shore was breaking in.
Willa spotted more movement outside the window. It was Pete, the deputy, and he went to Dean and pushed the man to the ground. Pete, too, kept his weapon aimed in the direction of the front of the building. Maybe, just maybe, Pete could get off a shot and stop Shore.
At least that’s what she thought until she heard the next bullet.
It didn’t come into the building but rather the narrow alley where Dean and Pete were. Pete dropped to the ground as well, but Willa couldn’t tell if he’d been hit.
Brandon slammed his door and caught her shoulder to move her deeper into the room, next to a metal filing cabinet. Willa no longer had a clear view of Dean and Pete, but she did see something else.
“That’s Wes’s driver,” she told Brandon.
The man came out from across the street and he had a gun in his hand. He took aim but she couldn’t tell who or what he was aiming at.
Pete got back to his feet as well and aimed in the same direction as Wes’s driver.
Everything seemed to happen at once. She heard the front door crack and give way. Brandon threw open his own office door and stepped into the hall, ready to kill the intruder.
Willa heard herself call out to him, but her words were drowned out by the sound of the shots. There seemed to be so many of them, all coming from different directions, and the combined blast was deafening.
She closed her eyes for just a second and prayed tha
t Brandon hadn’t been hurt.
When she looked out, Brandon was still standing. Thank God. He had his gun pointed toward the front door. So did Wes’s driver. And neither man was moving.
“He’s down!” Pete shouted.
Did Pete mean Shore? Relief flooded through her, but Willa reminded herself that he could have meant someone else. There had been a lot of shots fired in the past thirty seconds, and there were other people outside, not just Shore.
She waited with her breath held.
“You okay, boss?” Sheila called out.
Brandon glanced at Willa first. “We’re okay,” he answered.
Willa tried to see what was going on, but everyone had left the alley. Brandon moved too and went toward the front of the station.
She followed him, terrified of what she might see and that Shore might still be standing out there ready to do what he had been hired to do.
The door was wide open, the wind battering it against the wall, and there were massive gaping holes in what was left of the window. She spotted Wes across the street. He was behind his driver. Or maybe a better word for the man would be bodyguard because that’s what he seemed to be doing—protecting Wes. He had Wes positioned behind him as Brandon had her.
They inched closer, but Brandon didn’t lower his gun.
Willa saw Pete and Dean to the right. Sheila was on the left. Both deputies had their weapons trained as well, but they were definitely converging toward the front door.
She soon realized why.
There was a pool of blood on the small concrete step directly in front of the door, and next to that pool lay Martin Shore.
“I had to shoot him,” Wes’s driver confessed. “He was about to put a bullet in your deputy.”
Brandon stooped down and put his fingers to Shore’s neck. Checking for a pulse. But Willa knew he wouldn’t find one. Shore’s blank eyes were fixed on the dull winter sky, and there was no life left in him.
No life and no breath.
And that meant he couldn’t tell them who had hired him to kill her.
This wasn’t over.
Chapter Fourteen
Savior in the Saddle Page 12
