by Angi Morgan
She finished the cleanup as best she could. The grease stayed in the deep fryer, since it was still warm and she had no idea what to do with it anyway. She snagged some protein granola bars and two more of the energy drinks along with some bottled water. She stashed them all in her laptop bag and was folding the last blanket when she heard it.
Something.
In all the lack of noise that this place had...something that didn’t belong really stood out. She placed her back to the fireplace and searched all the dead bolts. They were all locked. She needed to make a quick decision.
Either someone was already watching her and if she acted weird—as in hiding—they’d know she knew they were there. Or she took a risk that they hadn’t gotten close enough to see her and hid. She spied the key on the granite counter.
Yes, the best place to be was probably on the bedroom side of this house. She could make a run for it, wielding the fireplace poker, but by crossing the porch she was at a superhigh risk. She searched the cabin for a second weapon.
“You’re panicking for nothing, Megan,” she whispered. It was probably another deer banking into one of the cute statues of frogs out front. To make that determination, she had to expose her position in a window.
Think like Dad. What would he do?
Assess the situation. She was vulnerable, that was true. But what had Jack mentioned? In order to get to the house, the SUV guys would have to approach from the road—double windows on the north side. They might be able to see her pass by but wouldn’t know exactly where she was if she stayed on the kitchen side of the room.
The entire south wall was glass panels that pushed aside to open the back of the house. Absolutely no protection, but that was her way out of the house. The creek. The nonpath that they’d have to follow her down.
She slipped the flip-flops down the back of her shirt. She couldn’t afford to lose them. Then she pulled on the rubber boots and as casually as possible—hyperventilating the entire way—made it to the area between the sink and stove. It was one thing to talk big and relax when there was no actual threat. Quite another to think clearly when one might—
Strike that.
Another bang and a curse. There was no longer any doubt. Someone who hadn’t walked outside every hour since they’d been there was outside and had just tripped over something. In other words, she and Jack had company.
Chapter Fourteen
Megan stayed put. She didn’t have much cop experience to go on. She’d only been in a patrol car a short time. But she did have her father’s training embedded in her DNA. If there was one thing she’d learned about a dangerous situation, it was that there could only be one leader.
She might disagree with Jack, but he was the one with the gun and the plan. He was outside, which was an advantage. He probably had more details about these men than she did crouched down behind a granite counter.
Even the granite island didn’t protect her completely. Everything reflected in this house of glass. The man who stumbled found his way to the main door. He tested the knob.
Megan slipped the laptop shoulder strap off. She gripped the fireplace poker with both hands and waited.
The door being kicked in echoed everywhere. She was sure everyone sneaking through the woods heard it. Still bent behind the island, she went to the end, watching the guy in the window reflection. One man ran toward her, gun out, yelling. When he was two steps from her, she stood and swung the fireplace poker with all her might, hitting the hot grease pot onto the man’s middle.
The gun flew. The man screamed. This time in pain and retreat out the door he’d entered.
Megan stayed behind the island and used the poker to grab the gun and stuck it in her laptop bag. She slipped the strap back over her head, ready to leave.
The back doorknob moved. She wouldn’t allow herself to panic. She watched, listened, tried to stop the rush of adrenaline from taking control of her nerves.
“Megan. You okay?”
Jack!
He didn’t have a key. She slid across the tile floor, unsure about what to do. Open or not? Did they have a gun to his head? And if they did, would she let him be shot to save her own life?
Staying out of the line of vision through the front windows, she scooted to where the door would be in front of her. She turned the dead bolt, then the knob, then raised the poker, ready to clobber the next enemy. The door opened, and Jack rolled through.
“Five men—or four and one woman. Some are the same I spied at the diner,” he panted, catching his breath. “Main roads and driveway are covered. All but one are still about two hundred yards away from the house.”
“And the one who broke the front door?”
“Unconscious.” He held up a hand radio and smiled.
“Looks like we’ll need to split the cleaning bill. Sorry ’bout the mess.”
“Not a problem. They’re understanding...friends. We need to move. Looks like you’re ready.”
“You’re the slowpoke.”
“Right. I forgot.” He crouched, hand on the door, ready to open it for them to leave.
“Just think, less than an hour ago, you were cooking with a towel.” She laughed.
“Yeah, the timing hasn’t been missed by me.” He turned the knob, waiting. “Remember, there are three steps down. Stick close to the side of the house. Then there’s a thicker group of trees to your left before a sharp drop down to the creek. Don’t look back. Don’t wait on me. Got it?”
“Check.”
She hadn’t noticed that his other hand still held his gun. He lifted the corner of his mouth. She knew he’d been using his dimples deliberately.
“Ready? Remember...don’t look back. Just keep going.”
He pushed the door open. She left first, following the exact path he’d laid out inside. She listened to him about not looking back until she reached the drop-off. At that point she needed to know if he was coming right after her or fighting.
“Move it!”
Behind her. She was a climber, used to plans and safety ropes. But this was more of an unplanned tumble down a rocky mud slide. The trees were like prickly pear. The shallow roots gave way when she tried to use them as an anchor.
The fireplace poker that she’d carried out without thinking came in handy and stopped her slipping several times. Jack was above her, then to the side. He paused more than once, telling her to keep going.
She hit the rock creek bank, slipping to her butt, but there was no time to worry about cuts, bruises or tailbones. She was surprised that the oversize rubber boots were still on her feet.
“Stay close to this bank,” Jack said above her. “Remember the plan.”
Continue down the creek until they made it to a ranch. It was the longer way, and their pursuers in the SUVs would hopefully think they had chosen the other way.
The boots were like giant plungers into the mud, catching and sinking. After pulling them from the muck twice, she left them there. Jack’s feet hitting the rocks was the only sound she heard during her pause. She took a step with her shoeless foot.
“Wait. Throw me the boots.” She did. “Now move it. Fast. Through the water. You need to get around that bend in the next two minutes.”
Easier said than done.
The creek was shallow but freezing. She tried not to think about it, drawing on the rush of adrenaline that had hit her system. There were shouts above her. Evidently her two minutes were up. The quickest way around the bend was on the other side. It was all rock on the limestone side of the bluff, broken limestone at the bottom. This side was complete mud.
Listen to the leader kept playing through her mind. But which instruction was more important? Getting around the bend and out of sight in two minutes. She ran across the creek, avoiding a deep hole at the last second. She swung her black laptop case above her head, making her r
ealize that her red flannel shirt would be eye-catching against the white limestone.
Taking a huge risk, she made it to the wall, balanced the bag on a rock, pulled the shirt over her head and stuffed it in the outside zipper. Now on dry and rocky ground, she could run.
She heard voices and plastered herself under a rock overhang. Once the voices had drifted farther upstream, she resumed her run, wondering with every step if Jack was having any success.
* * *
AFTER MAPPING THE perimeter of the house almost every hour for the past day, Jack was pretty damn familiar with the ruts and holes where trees had fallen. But the riverbank...not so much. He found the first real mud hole and stuck the rubber boots into it.
Then he climbed again. Definitely not his favorite thing. And definitely crazy hard in the mud. He slid more than he climbed or pulled his way back to a steep incline west of the house.
Just as he was about to rest his weary arms, he heard shouts that they’d found the boots. Two men passed five feet in front of him. He held his breath. He was in no shape to fight after that climb. The men cut back toward the house.
Dammit! This is taking longer than I thought it would.
There was no way to catch up with Megan along the creek. Crossing it wasn’t an option. Even if he could mentally force himself to climb the hundred-foot bluff, the limestone was slick from the rain and groundwater seepage from above. That left him one choice.
Driving.
His truck was next to the house. His odds of making it weren’t very good. They couldn’t be. And that was why it would work. The SUV guys wouldn’t be expecting it.
It was slow moving, circling wide so he wouldn’t be heard. Most of the noise was at the creek. A couple of them seemed to be close to the house. He had seen the SUVs from a distance and had no idea if someone had been left with each vehicle.
Once he climbed into his cab, there was no turning back. There was only one way to guarantee that they couldn’t follow—he would have to ram their vehicles into the ditch on either side of the one-lane road. He wasn’t looking forward to the body-shop repair bill.
The deer guard on the front would help. Next time he saw Wade, he’d force him to take back his statement of how it was for all show and had no benefits. He made it to the truck, using the key to silently unlock the door and built-in storage container where he kept his DPS-issued vest. He didn’t bother to put it on correctly.
He got in the truck with his loaded weapons stuffed in his belt and the radio dropped down the front of his T-shirt. He couldn’t risk that it would fly somewhere during the crash. Then he doubled the vest between him and the door to block someone shooting at him.
No seat belt. He needed to move fast if this thing went sideways. He switched on the ignition and rolled all the windows down. When he cranked the engine, he heard shouts. But he didn’t have to worry about the guys behind him.
Just those in front.
Hitting the gas, he bounced up the driveway. Splashes from the puddles flew inside the cab...a necessary evil when you needed to fire a weapon. He kept his eyes glued to the road, or what little of it hadn’t been washed out. He kept his foot on the gas instead of braking to turn onto the road connecting the homes through here.
One of the SUVs was parked across the driveway. Jack T-boned the passenger side. Between the dark overcast sky, the shade of the towering trees and the tinted windows, Jack had no way of knowing if there was a shooter still inside the vehicle. He threw the truck in Reverse. Then he went forward, stepping on the gas and ramming the SUV a second time. This hit sent the front of the vehicle into the weeds.
“One down. One to go.”
* * *
MEGAN HUGGED THE laptop bag to her chest, shivering in thigh-deep water that she wanted out of more than she wanted to escape the creeps making her run through it. Where the hell is Jack?
There had been a lot of shouts just a few minutes before she plunged into a very open spot along the creek. There was just enough light to see the sinkholes and avoid them. Otherwise, her laptop would have been toast more than once.
A crash echoed along the bluff, stopping her as she took the last step onto the sandy bank.
Metal on metal, glass breaking, shouting. Another crash. Shots fired.
“Jack.”
Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Keep going no matter what.
The shouts were far away and the words indistinguishable. Whatever Jack had done, he’d successfully drawn the men away from her.
If he was in the truck escaping, then he had a plan of where they’d meet up. She had no choice—she had to push forward. But her legs just weren’t moving as quickly. Not only was she tired, she was cold and her feet were numb. Not to mention sliced in several places from sharp rocks.
She had to rub her feet and put on the flip-flops—Jack’s sister’s shoes.
Shots rang out again. Rapidly. Whoever was firing this time wasn’t missing. She heard round after round connect with metal. Another crash. Tires spinning. Metal on metal yet again.
He had to be hitting them deliberately. Disabling them? Making it impossible to follow? She could only guess. Shots continued. They were closer to her, even though the shouting had stopped.
Move your legs, Megan.
Her dad wasn’t there, but she heard his voice. It was on one of the hardest, longest climbs he’d taken her on. And toward the top, her body had given out. Or at least she thought it had. But her dad told her to move her left, then her right. Hand over hand, foot over foot.
She’d finished the climb one step at a time.
Like now.
Right foot. Left. Right. Left.
One step, then another.
The water shifted sides and so did she, avoiding it when possible, making more progress downstream. Far enough away that there weren’t any echoes of shouting or bullets flying.
Jack MacKinnon had saved her life...again.
It began to rain again in earnest. First in small sprinkles, then in sheets, complete with lightning and thunder. Running through the water couldn’t possibly be the safest place, but there was no way she could be seen from the bluff above. She saw chairs and a deck, but no lights.
The empty house. She’d had the conversation with Jack about using a phone line. There weren’t any. The price one paid for living in practical isolation. So there was no help at the top of that hill. She slogged on.
Right. Left. Right. Left. Sometimes she had to lift her foot to make the next step. The next beat of her escape.
She must be delirious. She wiped the rain from her eyes and blinked. But yeah, sitting in the middle of the creek was a white pickup, and it looked like Jack was walking along the bank.
“Megan,” he called. “Come here.”
She turned to him but couldn’t move. If he was a mirage, he was a pretty good one. He lifted her into his warm arms, carrying her back to his truck.
“Damn, woman! You’re like ice. Where’s your shirt?”
“In...in...in the...”
“Shh, honey. I got ya now. Everything’s okay.”
They’d done the impossible.
It got dark quickly in a Hill Country thunderstorm. When she warmed up enough that her lips were no longer blue, she asked where they were going.
“Dallas. It’s time to find out exactly what’s going on.”
Thank God.
Chapter Fifteen
The truck was a wreck. Literally. At least they were alive. Jack needed another vehicle before continuing the five-hour drive to Dallas. The windshield had three bullet holes, and he was surprised it hadn’t shattered.
“Ouch. My toes are stinging like hornets are attacking them.”
“Good—you’re defrosting.” Jack was certain her core temperature had dropped, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
“Back seat. Why?”
She disengaged her seat belt, dropped the passenger seat back and turned until she grabbed the bag. He heard a zipper and saw a flash of red-and-black flannel. He’d almost forgotten that she wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“I can’t believe that the inside of this thing is still dry. Man, I came close to dousing it a couple of times. I’d be lost without that laptop and external drive. Everything is on there.” She stretched her arms through the armholes and brought the seat back into place. She wedged the black bag at her feet and opened more pouches.
“Water or an energy drink?”
“What?”
“Aren’t you thirsty? I brought drinks. Add it to my cleaning tab.”
“How in the hell can you be making me laugh? Now?” He didn’t understand it, but he was. Before pouring semi-hot oil on one of their attackers, she’d thought to pack snacks.
She laughed, too, popping the tab on a can. “Here. I’m not sure. Maybe we’re both giddy with relief or something just as obnoxious. I’m sure you need this. Drink.”
He did. She handed him a granola bar, wrapping paper peeled back. His insides weren’t shaking as much...just the truck.
“Dammit, I messed the front end up. There’s no way we’re driving this thing all the way to Dallas.”
“I think it’s time for a phone call. What about you?” She was already retrieving the phones.
“First thing we do is get somewhere and listen to the messages. A town, preferably with a police station. If something does start up, you go into protective custody. Agreed?”
“Sounds reasonable.” Megan set the phones in the cup holders. “You sound pretty confident that the SUVs won’t be following us. I’m sorry about your truck.”
She took napkins from the glove box and stuffed them into the bullet holes where water was streaming in through.
“You should see the other guy,” he joked. “There’s silver tape in the emergency kit. That might help.”
Megan repeated the steps she’d used to retrieve her bag, found the tape and stopped the water spray through the windshield. Then she curled up and fell asleep about five minutes down the road.
