Reckless Road

by Feehan, Christine

  Running, they almost plowed into Savage and an assailant seemingly struggling. One appeared to have a knife and was stabbing it into the ribs of the other man.

  “Savage,” Player hissed.

  Jonas shoved Player out of the way, weapon out, blazing fire, the bullet taking the assailant in the side of the head, spinning him around, dropping him to the ground, the knife falling from nerveless fingers. Jonas swore as he kept running toward the two men. Savage kicked the knife farther away, and then did the same with a gun, Player could see as they came up on the dead man.

  “Thanks,” Savage said, glancing at Jonas. He had one hand covering his side. Blood leaked between his fingers. “I saw the gun but not the knife.”

  “How bad?” Jonas went straight to him.

  Savage backed away, his movement instinctive. “I’ve had a lot worse. He barely got me. I’ll head out with Player and get this cleaned up by the time we get to Sea Haven.”

  “You’ll need to stay here. I have to turn in my weapon. I can’t just kill someone and not have witnesses.”

  “Take a few pictures, but do it fast. We’re not having Alena and Zyah hanging out there by themselves. If you have to stay here with the body and wait for your people,” Player said, “I’ll need Savage with me to make certain the women are safe.”

  Jonas glanced down at his phone and swore. “Jackson just let me know that Terrie Frankle pulled up in front of Anat’s house. She’s going up to the front door now. Lift your shirt, Savage. Let me take some pictures. I’m going to need statements from all of you. Keys, Player, both of you as well as Savage.”

  “No problem,” Player said. “But right now, I’m going after my woman. If Frankle is heading into Anat’s house, you know these people are making their move.”

  Jonas swore. His hands were tied. It wasn’t like he could leave a dead body lying on the ground. It was bad enough that his three key witnesses were leaving. “Get the hell out of here before anyone else gets here.”

  Anat unlocked the front door using her iPad, rolling back her chair to allow Terrie Frankle into her living room, greeting her with a smile. “Terrie. It’s so late, honey. Is everything okay?”

  Terrie nodded and looked around the room. The house was quiet, other than the sound of soft music playing. Anat always liked music playing in the background, even when they were working. The lights were muted, but as usual, when Zyah wasn’t home, several of the rooms were lit: the living room and Anat’s bedroom and sitting room. Terrie had driven past the house several times, both by the front of the house and down the narrow, less traveled street in back. The garage and back of the house and entire upstairs remained dark.

  “Usually, you have someone staying with you until your granddaughter gets home, but when I drove by, it looked like you were alone. I was worried, so I thought I’d just stop for a minute and check on you. Is everything all right?” Terrie poured worry into her voice.

  She’d taken acting classes, and they always came in so handy in these situations. The elderly were lonely and wanted company. They wanted to talk and share their stories. They wanted people to see them, and Terrie was good at making them believe she cared about them. Her partner, Lester Gibbons, was just as good. He was charming and good-looking. The women fell for him, and the men liked him. They made an excellent team. They were equally ruthless and had no compunction about killing if they needed to.

  “That is so like you, dear,” Anat said. “Inez was supposed to be here tonight, but some dear friends of hers are in the hospital, and she and Frank went to see them. I guess things aren’t going so well with them, so they stayed there. Zyah will be home soon. She just texted me that she’ll be here soon. She needed to stop by and see Francine.”

  Terrie didn’t like that there was a text message from Zyah about Francine, but it wouldn’t matter. Francine and Zyah would both be dead. Anat as well now. That little text message had sealed her fate. She winced at the idea of the mess that had occurred at the Randall estate. Francine was supposed to get Zyah to dinner, away from her grandmother’s house, but Francine seemed to be so useless lately. She’d texted that Anat had visitors but that the Randall estate was ripe for the picking, and described just how to get in.

  Francine had been right: the estate was a gold mine. Unfortunately, Gray Randall had tried to pull a gun on Lester, and Lester had gone crazy, the way he did when anyone thwarted him. He was already angry that they’d stayed in Sea Haven so long. They had rules. Those rules had kept them safe. They’d lost two members of their team, and their team was tight- knit.

  “I heard something about that,” Terrie said, her voice dripping with sympathy. “I never met them. Were they friends of yours?”

  Lester had been smoldering with rage. He took it out on Randall, beating him, stomping him when he was down and then going back for more. When Randall’s wife interfered, Lester became enraged all over again. She had been hard-pressed to stop him. It had taken both Charlie, another team member, and Terrie to pull him away. Even then, Lester went back three times, with the alarms blaring and him swearing like a sailor. He’d even shoved her, something he’d never done before.

  “Not really. The Randalls kept to themselves, although some of my friends knew them. Lizz, and Inez, of course,” Anat said. “No one should have that happen to them.”

  Terrie had waited for Lester to get himself under control and suggested they cut and run, but he’d refused. Francine had insisted Anat was hiding a huge treasure in her home, the biggest anyone had. He was furious that the old lady had deceived them, and worse, Terrie hadn’t discovered what she was hiding, so he blamed her as well that they were still in Sea Haven. The property was worth a fortune, and Francine had no reason to lie, so no matter how frugally it appeared they lived, the Gamals were most likely very wealthy.

  “I agree, Anat: no one should have that happen to them. It could so easily have been avoided.” Terrie kept her voice smooth. Gentle. It was time to come to an understanding. By now, Zyah should be in Lester’s hands, or at least close. She pulled out her phone to check for messages.

  Right now Ralph, another team member, was following Zyah back to the headlands. His job had been to keep an eye on Francine, and he’d spotted the stupid bitch wearing jewelry worth a massive fortune when she was eating dinner with Perry Randall. She tried to lie to them and say it was costume—as if they wouldn’t know the difference. Lester was so out of patience with her, he’d threatened her grandmother and told her to bring the jewelry to the blowhole. When she met him there, he beat her, took the jewelry and told her to call Zyah and get her there or his next visit was to the grandmother. It would be anyway. Francine admitted there was a lot more jewelry. They weren’t leaving without it.

  Terrie knew Lester was certain Anat would cave and give them the big treasure if they had a knife to Zyah’s throat or if he started beating her.

  Anat frowned. “I don’t know what that means, Terrie. I must have missed something. I admit I didn’t read much on what happened to the Randalls because it was too much like what happened to me and I still get very upset. Did they do something to provoke the thieves?”

  Terrie rolled her eyes as she hastily texted. Her team member Randy was supposed to have joined her by now. He’d been in the car behind hers, patrolling. He was to make two rounds to ensure no one was near, and then she would let him in. They would spend whatever time with the old lady they needed.

  Lester texted her that a car was parking at the headlands and that Ralph had texted him that two women, Zyah and her friend Alena, the owner of Crow 287, had come together. But no worries, the three men could handle them— just take care of the old lady. He hadn’t been able to raise Ralph since, but they’d learned cell phone service was spotty in places on the coast, and he wasn’t worried. He was going to do Francine immediately. He despised the whiny little bitch. Get it done so they could get to Francine’s home, score everything in one night and get out. He sent her kiss emojis. The door opened behind
her, and Randy strode in, grinning evilly at Anat.

  “Bet you don’t remember me without my mask,” he greeted.

  Anat rolled her wheelchair back toward the door to the hallway, her hand trembling. She made a little trilling sound with her pursed lips. “Terrie? What is this?” She kept rolling her chair until she was in the hallway.

  Terrie followed with her partner. “Well, Anat. This is Randy, one of my partners. My other partners are with your granddaughter, so if you want to see her alive again, you’d better cooperate with us this time. Lester isn’t nearly as nice as we are. He visited the Randalls the other night and things didn’t go well. You don’t want that happening to Zyah, do you?” She couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice.

  Anat had backed her chair into her sitting room and slammed the door like a child. As if that would keep her safe. Or her granddaughter safe. Terrie stepped aside and Randy kicked the door open. He held a gun pointed at Anat’s head, centered right between her eyes. He was right in front of the open window. The breeze fluttered the curtains, allowing the sea air to cleanse any fear from the room.

  “Take the shot, take the shot,” Jackson ordered in the ears of the Torpedo Ink members.

  The bullet hit Randy in the temple, driving him away from the window and Anat, spinning him around and taking him down. Terrie screamed, diving toward the gun, scooping it up and popping up to take a shot at Anat.

  A huge tattooed man came out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around Anat, taking her right out of the wheelchair to the floor, his body completely enveloping hers, taking the bullet meant for her as the rifle sounded a second time, and Terrie felt pain blossoming throughout her entire body and then went numb. She couldn’t hold on to the gun, even though her brain told her she needed it. She was looking directly at the man who had taken Anat to the floor. He was enormous, all muscle. Terrifying. He looked at her as if she were already dead, and maybe she was.

  “Anat, did I hurt you?” Destroyer spoke gently.

  “No. My leg aches a bit, but you wrapped it so well. Are you hit?”

  “It’s nothing. No worries. Lana and Jackson took care of both of them. I don’t want you looking at them. I’ll get cleaners in here. I’m going to pick you up and take you into the bedroom. Jackson can hear me, so he knows you’re alive and everything’s all right. Both are down, Jackson. The male is dead, the female on her way out. Another minute.”

  “You hit?”

  “It’s nothing. Take care of Alena and Zyah. Lana, back them up. I’ve got this. Do we have anyone on Lizz?”

  “Yes,” Czar said. “She’s covered.”

  “Lester plans on killing Francine,” Jackson reminded. “We have to try to find a way to stop him. Do you have eyes on him? Or how many men he’s got with him? I haven’t spotted him yet.”

  Francine knows Player killed those two men Jonas fished out of the ocean. She was in the garage the night they tried to kidnap Zyah. Sooner or later she’ll tell out of spite or try to blackmail Zyah and him, Czar reminded. This isn’t going to end well for Francine, no matter how much any of us would like it to.

  Player had managed to make his way to Sea Haven with the rest of his team to meet up with Czar’s team, joining them just as the orders were given by Jackson for Lana to take the shot at Randy, and then she had to shoot at Terrie. They had choreographed ahead of time, over and over, as they did when they ran their own operations, to make certain they were prepared for every contingency. These thieves couldn’t be left alive, not after Player had shot two of them and Jonas already suspected him.

  Czar could be ruthless when it came to protecting his family. And his family was Torpedo Ink. Who was Player kidding? They all could be ruthless, and they would protect every family member—and that included Zyah and her grandmother.

  “Trying to get eyes on him now,” Ice reported. The bastard is sitting about two hundred feet from Francine. He’s got four men with him. They plan on boxing Zyah and Alena in.

  They’re expecting their lookout Ralph to show up as well, Steele said. Jonas had to stay with his body.

  Zyah and Alena got out of the car and made their way down the narrow path through the tall grass toward the bluff. The blowhole was about midway there, a small fence surrounding it to make people aware there was danger and to stay away. The wind had come up just a bit, as it could on the coast, blowing in from the ocean, carrying both salt water and tendrils of fog with it.

  Storm and Ice fed the fog, letting it thicken and darken, moving it toward the bluffs. Francine had been huddling on the ground, but as Zyah and Alena approached, she jumped up, a look of horror on her face.

  “It was only supposed to be you, Zyah. Only you.” She began backing up, shaking her head, her fingers covering her mouth, looking wildly around.

  She hadn’t been lying. Someone had beaten her severely. Her face was swollen and lumpy, eyes nearly closed. Her mouth was distorted. Her clothes were ripped nearly off. Zyah held out the coat to her, but Francine continued to back away, shaking her head.

  “You don’t understand.” The words came out a moan. “You had to come alone.”

  “Why did she have to come alone?” Alena asked. “I’m a woman, honey. I understand these things. I’m not going to tell anyone. We’ll get you home.”

  “No. No. They’ll hurt my grandmother. They will. I’m sorry, Zyah, but it was you or my grandmother.” Francine’s sobs were loud, the sound carrying in the night air.

  “Shut up, bitch. I’m so fucking sick of your whining. You were happy enough to take the money and watch all the old people get beat.” Lester’s voice came from behind them.

  “Stop,” Francine whispered. She put her hands over her ears and kept backing up. “Don’t tell them. Don’t say it.”

  “Why? Don’t you want them to know what you did? How you wanted us to fuck her up? You were right there yelling at us to fuck her up. To beat her until she couldn’t stand up, until no one would be able to look at her face again. You laughed when her grandmother was beaten so badly and you told us we didn’t get the treasure. That her grandmother hid the greatest treasure of all from us. You were the one giving us all the information on the families in this town, your neighbors, the people you grew up around. And you did it for money.”

  Lester continued to mock her as two men came up on the left side of Zyah and Alena and another two on the right. “And now you’ve brought these two women here so we can get the treasure. You know what we’re still going to do, you little whiny bitch? We’re going to take your grandmother’s jewelry, all of it, tell her what you did and then beat her almost to death. We might leave her alive so she can think about you every damn day and how you betrayed her. First, though, I’m going to put a bullet in your fucking mouth because I can’t take hearing your voice one more minute.”

  He raised his gun. Francine turned and ran. Zyah yelled at her to drop to the ground. Three shots rang out simultaneously. The fog swirled thicker than ever. There was a thin wail that choked off midcry. Jackson was a marksman, and Lester had gone down immediately. He’d been hit by Jackson’s rifle as well as Lana’s and Preacher’s.

  The men on either side of the women tried to use them as shields, pulling weapons and firing into the night, one dragging at Zyah’s arm to thrust her in front of him. Another clawed at Alena. Player ignored every command by Jackson, first sprinting and then somersaulting, coming up under the man holding on to Zyah, hitting him with both feet in the jaw, snapping his head back so hard, there was an audible crack.

  Jackson swore and took the shot, taking out the man trying to pull Alena in front of him. Alena seemed to stagger backward, right into the man’s partner, and both went down in a wild melee of arms and legs. The fog swallowed them so that it was impossible for the sharpshooters to cover them.

  “Stupid little bitch. You messed with the wrong man.”

  “Stupid little bastard. You messed with the wrong woman.” Alena had come down under him, but her legs were wrapped loose
ly around his neck. She tightened them and rolled, snapping his neck easily. “Idiot,” she hissed. “I don’t have time to play around. I’ve got a restaurant to run.”

  She came out of the fog, staggering for Jackson’s sake, took two more steps and then sank down, pressing a hand to her head where she’d let the nasty little worm kick her. She’d have a knot, but they had to look like they’d taken a beating, right? Jonas was too suspicious of them most of the time. She kept her hand pressed to her head, but looked toward the fog where Player was “fighting” with his opponent.

  Twice the two men rolled out of the fog bank, struggling for the gun, just long enough so Jackson could see the furious battle. Zyah crawled toward Alena, helping her to her feet. She looked as if she was torn between helping Player, trying to go toward the bluffs to find Francine or helping Alena to the car. Reaper and Savage came up on either side of her, pointed toward the car and then started toward the bluff, disappearing into the fog.

  Player was thankful it wasn’t his job to make certain Francine had gone over the edge on her own. He just had to make it look good for Jackson before this last man was dispatched. Twice the man had tried to give up. The gun was in his hand, but Player controlled it completely. He was too strong, too powerful.

  Each time Player took his assailant out of the fog bank, he gave Jackson a clearer shot, but he needed to make certain Jackson took that shot. He wasn’t taking chances on anything else. Lana and Preacher were his backup. He was putting his life on the line to make certain this last man went down. He was also banking on the robber’s instincts. He would have the gun at last and Player in his sights. Instincts should make him raise it even if he didn’t pull the trigger. Player would dive to the ground, but that didn’t ensure he wouldn’t take a hit. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be a head shot.

  They rolled out of the fog together, came apart, Player “losing” his grip on the gun as they came to their feet. He dove into the fog as the robber lifted the gun. Again, shots rang out. Storm sent a gust of wind between the robber and Player as the gun lifted. The thief went down.