Protective Instincts

by Mary Marvella

  "Any problems?"

  Sam held the cell phone away from his mouth. "No problems, so far. Drew says they're all headed this way." He returned to his brother. "So, how?"

  Drew's voice came through. "The decoy managed to fool him. I'm following them from a distance."

  The police radio squawked. "Agent Mustang, here." It sounded kinda like code or maybe CB talk. "Following yokel and should meet soon. Someone needs a car wash, a big one."

  Maybe Drake has a dirty truck?

  "We're waiting dinner since you're not the only one missing. Sis isn't here. We'll watch for you," Detective Briggs answered into the radio. After a quick catch up for his deputy and an explanation to Sam, he opened the door of the cruiser. "Gotta pass the word."

  That should fool anyone listening in.

  Sam rang Esther's cell. "Drew says they're headed this way. Please, go home. You don't need to hang around. Julie's safe, so there's no need for you and Brit to be in harm's way.

  "Sorry, brother. Brit says she wants to see the bastard get what he deserves. When you call to tell us he's in custody, or dead, she'll be ready to leave."

  "Damn! Be careful!" Sam hit the door armrest. Headstrong women. God, he hoped they stayed put where they'd be away from the fireworks.

  * * * *

  Julie sat in the back seat of the oldest Chevy sedan she'd ever seen. "Wilma, I really appreciate what you two are doing."

  "Ain't nothin' girl. Sittin' in the back of Three Creek Church might get your friends in trouble. We need to move 'em. Maybe they'll go on home if they see you're safe. Wouldn't want some 'shiner or dealer to find 'em. If Luther finds 'em waiting back there, he'll think they're settin' a trap and kill 'em."

  "Luther? Who's he?"

  "Meanest dealer around. He grows his own weed. Makes a tidy profit, too."

  * * * *

  Sam nearly retched from the pain in his gut. His neck felt like he'd been slammed by a sledgehammer. A cold sweat drenched his face. Brit was in trouble. He answered the cell before the first ring finished. Drew's voice yelled, "All Hell's about to explode. Drake's turning into the church driveway."

  The sheriff's car moved ahead of the others. Sam had abandoned his seat belt to lean toward the driver of the police cruiser. Drew hadn't said which church, but Sam knew. How could they have all been so stupid to think he wouldn't double back on them? How could the woman he loved put herself in danger again? Again! And with his sister? At least Drew and the FBI agent were there. But would that keep Douglas from going berserk and creating mayhem.

  * * * *

  "We've got company," Brit slid down in her seat. Esther cocked her revolver. "There's more than one set of lights." She punched Sam's number.

  Before she could get in more than two words, he shouted, "You didn't leave, did you? Don't answer that. Stay down and be careful. Drake's pulling into the church parking lot."

  Brit could hear Sam's commanding voice. Leaning across the floor shift she hissed, "He's here? Oh, God."

  "You've got plenty of protection. Don't interfere. Don't show your face. Don't get out of the car and do anything stupid!" He left the connection open.

  The van pulled around the corner. Brit and Esther peered, hoping the VW wouldn't be noticed.

  * * * *

  Douglas had never been so ready to finish a job. He waited for the rush he had always felt when he moved in for the kill. He was barely behind the church but no one would see him from the road. He had to lure the teacher from her car. Hell, he'd shoot her through the window if he had to. He'd turned his van around to head out quickly. She'd pulled in behind him.

  He checked his weapons, then opened his door. His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of an old VW Bug. As soon as he was done with the teacher, he'd have to make sure there were no witnesses. Soon the teacher would be dead and he could go get Julie and go away. They'd be together forever. With the money he'd stashed in phony bank accounts, he'd never have to work.

  The Mustang lights stayed on. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something didn't feel right. He could hear his own breathing. The closer he got to the car, the stranger he felt. His pistol hung ready at his side. Maybe he should have just planted explosives on the car to blow it up with the teacher in it. Nah! He wanted her to know she was going to die. He'd have to move quickly in case they did have company.

  He knocked on the Mustang window. A bright light shone in his face as he heard the glass being lowered. He averted his eyes, then turned back to see the barrel of a pump shotgun pointed in his face.

  "Shit," he blurted. The light nearly blinded him.

  "Police, drop your weapon," a woman's voice ordered. "I said, drop the damned weapon. Hands behind your head or I'll blow your face off."

  Like Hell he would. He raised his gun hand as he prepared to duck below the window.

  "Don't even think about it." A man's voice warned from behind Douglas. "Drop the weapon and move away from the car."

  Douglas flinched as cold hard steel pressed at the base of his skull. He'd kill the bitch and the bastard who interfered. He raised his gun to shoot. "Shit!" The pain in his back made him lose any advantage he might have had. The car door had slammed into him. He fell to his knees. The shotgun pressed into his temple again.

  He still had his knife in his boot. The man standing over him looked willing to kill him here, now.

  Night sounds surrounded him. Crickets, frogs, cars on the road yards away, another car door opening. How the Hell many people are here anyway? He looked up. Both gun barrels pressed his temples. He saw a small figure approaching from the direction of the Bug. He managed to move his head to see who approached. No. No! It can't be.

  The woman coming closer had dark hair, but the face was familiar. He wanted to look behind him. The hot mama who lived in the teacher's house? Yes, but she looked different. Something in her eyes. The teacher?

  The teacher couldn't be in front of him and behind him pointing a shotgun in his face.

  "Looking for me?" the woman in front of him asked.

  He wanted to lunge at her but the cold, hard barrels dug into his flesh. "Stand up slowly." He heard from behind. His arms were yanked behind his back.

  Anger shot through him. He had a card to play and he played it. "I still have your friend. I've buried her alive. Unless I tell someone where to find her, she'll die. No food, no water, air running out. Her death will be slow and painful. Now get these damned guns out of my face."

  "No," Brit answered. "You don't have my friend." The crunch of tires announced more company.

  Brit nearly laughed aloud as an automotive monstrosity pulled into view behind the captive. Two white-haired people hobbled from the ancient car. Julie followed them.

  Julie raced straight to Brit. A roar reached Brit's ears as Julie threw her arms around her. She wasn't sure who hugged the hardest, but it didn't matter.

  "Julie, how did you get here? You were supposed to wait for me, dammit! You were supposed to wait!" Douglas shouted.

  Drew and the agent restrained the maniac fighting like an animal. More headlights and crunching gravel brought the sheriff's car. Behind it, Florence police raced in.

  Brit felt Sam's arms around her only seconds after she saw him exit the police car. She barely heard the words identifying the captive as the man who had escaped jail. She heard snatches of Miranda rights and warnings to go quietly, as he was led to the sheriff's vehicle. Sam kissed her and she wanted to hold him and kiss him forever.

  "NOOO," Brit heard Esther yell.

  Brit tried to turn toward the sound. Sam groaned and his arms left her. He fell to the ground.

  Gunshots rang out. Brit's shoulder ached. Her attacker lay on the ground. Drew's gun pointed at the bleeding, prone figure. She counted seven guns. Her arm felt heavy. A gun, she gripped a gun. That made eight guns? She had fired her gun. She was vaguely aware when Julie took the gun from her hand.

  Kneeling, she reached for Sam. In the beams of light from the cars, sh
e saw bloodstains spreading across Sam's chest. The coppery scent nearly gagged her. She fought for control. Yanking her jacket off, she propped his head up. She tried to find the wound, the source of the glistening life flowing from the man she loved. She couldn't lose him now.

  "Sam, don't you dare die on me. I need you. Sean needs you. I'll never forgive you if you leave me." Esther and Julie stood at her side. Esther offered Brit sterile cloths from her backpack. She found and pressed the wound with both hands.

  Esther's hands joined hers, wiping and pressing cloths. They saturated as soon as they were pressed. Julie and Drew ripped open package after package. Someone handed Brit several sanitary napkins. Sanitary napkins? Couldn't be. The slash seemed to cross his arm and his chest. She'd keep his life from flowing out no matter what she had to do.

  "I can't lose another man to that bastard." She thought she heard someone say he was dead. She didn't care. She pushed aside a memory of the gun's kick as she'd fired it. She didn't have time to think about it. She felt Sam's body heat. She listened to his labored breathing. Blankets and jackets appeared and covered Sam's body as she worked. She didn't know whose.

  She had been vaguely aware when Drew joined their efforts, though she had taken pads from his hands. She knew he spoke to his brother. She knew Esther spoke to Sam. She just shut out everything but Sam.

  Screaming sirens and flashing lights broke into the quiet after the gunshots. Efficient EMT'S, three maybe, surrounded Sam to attach IVs and move him to a stretcher.

  Only when Julie threatened to have a paramedic sedate Brit, did she move away for the people to do their jobs. She clasped her restless hands to keep from reaching for Sam.

  She followed his stretcher into the ambulance. Brit held Sam's hand all the way to the hospital, watching latex gloved hands cleaning his wound and working to keep him comfortable. She prayed. She encouraged. She pleaded with him to keep fighting. Brit bargained with God.

  She followed Sam into the hospital, turning loose only when he was rushed into surgery to assess and repair the damage.

  * * * *

  A siren wailed in Sam's ears. Pain worse than he'd even experienced, like he'd been slammed by a tractor, held him in place. He hurt all over, but the pain in his shoulder and arm ached. He must have been stabbed by a pitchfork heated in Hell. The smell of blood made his stomach clinch. Brit's scent teased the edge of his consciousness.

  He'd been holding her. He remembered that. Then there was yelling, first Esther, then Brit. His world had gone dark and he'd heard gunshots. Had he been shot? Had Brit?

  He heard Brit's voice, "Don't you dare die on me. Don't you dare."

  He wanted to take her in his arms but he couldn't move. He needed to tell her everything would be fine, but he couldn't find his voice. He shut out the pain.

  * * * *

  Brit wept when Mr. and Mrs. Samuels hurried into the hospital waiting room and embraced Esther and her. It was all Brit could do to listen, while Esther recounted details of Sam's stabbing. Brit filled in with a detail once in a while, but she couldn't concentrate on the conversations. She appreciated the Samuels' comforting her, when they were worried about their son and brother. The coffee Julie brought her cooled. Drew disappeared after a nurse assured them Sam was holding his own.

  Brit rose and paced. She walked up one hall and down another. It was time to call her parents, to let them know it was over. She told them about Julie's kidnapping and Sam's bravery.

  "Mama, what can I do?"

  "Pray, honey, pray."

  "Yes, Mama, I passed a chapel. I'll keep you posted on Sam's condition. When things settle down, I'll give you details. Julie owes us lots of them when she feels like sharing."

  She walked toward the chapel, closing her cell phone. Peace seemed to emanate through its entrance. She was drawn to the quiet, small room.

  There, in the dim, candlelit corner, she vowed to do anything God wanted of her. Esther joined her to share a few minutes of peace and quiet. "I'll even leave him alone, if that's what it takes. I'll give him up, so he can find a woman to marry and be a mother to Sean."

  "But, Brit, you can be a mother to Sean. He's so fond of you already. You can marry my brother."

  "I can't marry Sam." There was no way Brit could explain the guilt she'd felt when Tommy died. She'd finally regained control of her life. Sam could take over her life. She'd have to give up her house, the place she'd bought herself. He loved children and would probably want more. She couldn't give them to him. It would never work.

  "Of course you can."

  "What?" Could Esther know what she'd been thinking?

  "Of course you can marry Sam. He loves you."

  "He's bossy."

  "He wants to protect you. That's the way the Samuels men are." Esther smiled.

  "He's controlling."

  "He's strong. You just have to know how to handle him." Esther rose from the bench she'd shared with Brit. "I'll see if Sam's out of surgery or there is any news."

  "Esther, it's my fault he's lying in there. If I'd stayed in the car tonight, Sam wouldn't have been trying to protect me. If I hadn't let him kiss me, he'd have been paying attention."

  "If we'd stayed home we wouldn't have been there for him or the police to protect?"

  "See?"

  "No, I don't see. That would make it my fault for being there, too. My brother could have stayed with us. It could be his fault. The bastard who hurt him didn't have to attack you. He didn't have to kidnap Julie. He didn't have to lure you out tonight. He's to blame, not you." Esther hugged Brit. "I'd never let you near my brother if I thought you'd ever harm him. None of us would. I'll come back after I speak to Mom and Dad."

  "I'll go with you." Brit rose. "I'm done here." What more could she offer for Sam's life?

  * * * *

  At six AM, shades of pink morning light filtered through her windows to tint her walls. Brit sat at her kitchen table, sipping coffee. She'd showered to wash away the strain of the night, to remove the scent of blood … Sam's blood. After hours of tossing and turning in bed, moving from one nightmare to another, she had given up. She had never seen so much blood.

  Images of Sam falling haunted her sleep, waking her to the horror that he could have died without letting her say goodbye.

  After Tommy's death, she had believed she'd never love again. Did she even deserve to? If she hadn't sent Tommy out to work distracted, would he have seen Douglas Drake's truck and avoided being hit? If she'd stayed with Sam's parents, like he'd told her to, would he have been stabbed?

  She didn't like being told what to do. Sam was an in-charge kind of man. They'd lock horns all the time. Their being together wouldn't work. The lovemaking was beyond wonderful, but it couldn't always make up for their differences.

  Sam deserved to build a life with a woman who could make him happy, one who could give him children. He was so good with them. She and Sam had done nothing to prevent pregnancy, but she knew there would be no child from their lovemaking.

  After the operation, the surgeon had given orders that each family member and Brit could see him, in pairs, for two minutes. Drew went in with her. He seemed as teary as she felt. She'd never seen Sam look so pale, even against the stark white of his bandages.

  "Good job, old buddy," Drew's voice shook the tiniest bit. Sam's eyes stayed shut, as they had expected. "We got the bastard. Now we can all get on with our lives. I'll call Sean and Adrienne before any news reports can mention the killing. Reporters are waiting downstairs for details. Here's Brit."

  She'd held Sam's hand and he'd gripped it, even in his sleep. She'd kissed his lips. She was certain he'd kissed her back. "I love you," she whispered.

  Detective Briggs had smuggled her out a back door to avoid the reporters and taken her home in a squad car. He had been so kind, after he'd read her the riot act for putting herself in danger. He hadn't mentioned Sam's danger.

  He'd seen her inside, checking her house, in case Drake's employers had sent someone to
do his job. "You still need to be careful."

  He'd blushed when she'd hugged him before he left.

  * * * *

  She'd been home only minutes when the loud jangle of her phone shattered the eerie quiet. She almost let the answering machine take care of the call. Then she'd remembered.

  Her message needed changing. She should be safe for now and she wasn't going anywhere. With Drake dead, she'd seen no reason to stay away; in spite of Detective Brigg's warning, the people who hired him still wanted her dead.

  "Brit?" Drew's voice reassured her. "How about if I bring Monster home?"

  "Oh, please. I miss my baby."

  "I'm on my way. Thought you'd feel that way." She could hear her pet whine into the cell phone. Slurping noises came through. "Stop that, I'm taking you to your mama. Save your kisses for her, you monster."

  "Oh, baby," Brit crooned.

  "Just around the corner." Drew laughed. "I'm not dessert, you overgrown mutt." As he ended the connection, Brit could hear his truck engine in her driveway. He had made good time after leaving the reporters.

  She raced to open her door. A bundle of energy hurtled itself at her. She dropped to her knees, then to the floor. She heard Drew laughing but saw nothing. Her eyes were closed to protect them from the tongue bathing her face.

  "Someone will be in to clear out most of the surveillance equipment in the morning." Drew set a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, yeah, it is morning already."

  "Thank you, Drew. Thank you." Brit held Monster's head, rubbing her face against his muscular neck. She pulled away from the enthusiastic doggy hugs to stand.

  "Gotta get by headquarters, then get some rest. I'll have to be in Atlanta by noon to file reports and question Drake's employers. I think we can convince them we have the goods on 'em and get enough confessions to bury them all. Are you okay here alone?"

  "It's my home, Drew. Besides, I'm not alone now, thanks to you." She hugged him.

  He was nearly out the door when the question popped into her mind. "Who actually killed Drake?"

  "I don't know." Drew shrugged. "We'll know more after ballistics tests come back."