If the Dark Wins (Finley Creek Book 4)

by Calle J. Brookes

  "I'm sorry too, Ari. I wish he was more like Paige or Simon or even Luc." Jillian said, turning the sports car down Lacy’s road. They were about four miles away from the turnoff to Travis’ place. Lacy tried not to stare at his lands around them. She missed him. That seemed so weird.

  She’d never missed a man before. She thought about talking it over with the two people she trusted most, but for some reason couldn’t bring it up. Not yet.

  She heard something, an engine coming up behind them. She turned to look. People out this far, this late, were extremely unusual.

  It had to be Travis, didn’t it?

  Maybe he was coming over to wait for her, even though it was late?

  "Lace," Jillian asked. "You have any idea who that is?"

  "No. The only people that are on this road this late at night are me… And the people on Travis’ ranch. None of them drive this way. They'll use the other service entrance. It’s a heck of a lot shorter."

  Jillian’s hands tightened on the wheel. The truck behind them got closer. And then closer again. He showed no signs that they were even in his path. Had a drunk found his way out to her nearly private road?

  He kept coming.

  Until Lacy could look out the rear window past Ariella and practically count the ridges on the trucks grill. "Hang on!"

  They didn't have time to do much of anything. The truck behind them revved the engine and attempted to pass them. But instead of going around it veered directly into them. Sending them careening.

  And then Lacy felt nothing at all.

  62

  He wanted them dead. He wanted them both dead—Logan didn't stop to think that Lacy was in that car. Or that Jillian and that other girl had never hurt him. Not directly. The only thing they’d done was fall for those damned fairytale perfect Deanes.

  But that didn't matter. They were taking Lacy away from him. And that was wrong. They had to pay.

  He wasn't even aware of what he had done until he saw the small BMW jammed up against the tree. He heard feminine voices calling out. For help.

  What if he had killed them? What if they were fatally injured, and barely hanging on? What had he done?

  He could go to jail.

  But if he had lost Lacy, before he even had her… Well, there was a fate worse than jail, wasn't it?

  He wasn't sure what he should do. If he kept going, he was going to end up at that bastard Deane’s place. If someone saw him enough to identify him and learned what had happened to those poor girls… He would be screwed.

  Had they seen him? What should he do? Logan sat there, revving his engine, for the longest time.

  He could not let Jillian take Lacy to that Deane. He’d lose her for good if that happened.

  Logan gripped his pistol tightly and watched. Waited.

  63

  Lacy bit back the nausea, the panic. Someone called her name--Ari. It was Ari. From the backseat. They were in Jillian’s car and something had happened, hadn’t it? She smelled blood. Tasted it.

  Jillian moaned, cried out. Her friends...were they hurt, too? Lacy forced her eyes open.

  There was an engine revving somewhere nearby. Something far larger than Jillian’s little twenty-five-year-old sports car.

  Ari was crying; Lacy could hear her, but couldn’t see her. Why was she crying?

  Someone shook her arm. “Lacy! You have to get out! We have to get out and my door won’t open. Get out!” Jillian leaned over her and pushed open Lacy’s door. She scrambled over Lacy’s lap. Then Lacy’s seatbelt was unlatched and Jillian was pulling her.

  Ari was pushing... They were making her move, weren’t they?

  Lacy forced her body to cooperate with her head.

  “Go! Ari, up that embankment! Go.” Jillian took charge. Then she had Lacy’s right arm in her hand. “Give me your pistol! He’s coming back!”

  She felt Jillian pull the gun free.

  “Ari, help Lacy up the hill and don’t stop going. No matter what!”

  Lacy shook herself mentally again, despite the pain in her head. In her arm, her side, all of it. She needed to think. She knew this area, they didn’t. “Travis. Three-quarters of a mile that way. Closest, only neighbor. We need to get to Travis.”

  “Then let’s go. He’s not off the road yet, but that guy might be able to go off road in that thing. Go!” Jillian gave her a little shove, and then they were moving, through the sparse brush that separated the highway from the edge of Travis’ ranch.

  Lacy knew when they hit the edge of his property line. He had electric fences keeping his horses in. His cattle. She just hoped they didn’t run into an enraged bull before they made it to his house. “Fences!”

  “Go under!” Jillian ordered.

  Bark flew into the air not even two inches from Ari’s head, exploding outward from the thin tree she had just passed. Lacy screamed, as the sounds of more gunshots erupted around them.

  “Go!” Jillian barked. “Go! Don’t stop!”

  The pistol erupted, as Jillian sent six or seven rounds of the fifteen-round magazine toward the attacker.

  Lacy wrapped her right hand around Ari’s left and she pulled her friend behind her.

  Jillian was directly behind them.

  They hadn’t gone more than half a mile when Jillian cried out and Lacy heard her crash to the ground.

  Ari turned back immediately. Lacy pushed her ahead. “No! Go. Get to Travis! You can move faster than I can! Go!”

  “I’m ok, Lace! He hit me in the leg, but not an artery!” Jillian limped toward her. “Keep going.”

  Jillian turned again and fired two more shots. “I only have six left. We need to get to help, fast!”

  “Let’s go. Keep up. It’s less than a quarter of mile now, I think!”

  “We’ll make it, I know we will!”

  They caught up with Ari as she worked the latch to open the gate on the other side of Travis’ field.

  Jillian stumbled again. Lacy pulled her to feet, ignoring the fire eating at her own insides.

  They had to get to Travis.

  It was all she could think about.

  64

  Travis stroked the little beagle head and accepted the doggie devotion he received in return. Little guy was beyond lovable.

  Had Lacy ever had a pet?

  He could see her snuggling the puppy in that purple and white bedroom of hers deep into the night. He’d sleep right there between the two of them. Or tucked up by their feet while Travis held her through the nights.

  And the dog would act as an added protection when he couldn’t be there with her, eventually. He couldn’t deny that.

  Something had him worried tonight. Itchy. Like he’d been the night her barn had caught fire. He thought about calling her, but knew he’d come on too strong lately. And after the intensity of the night before, he didn’t want her getting scared of him and retreating.

  He strongly suspected that was exactly what she would do. He needed to strategize how he’d react when she did.

  The dog jerked when sharp cracks of gunshots broke the silence. The beagle pup started howling in fear.

  Travis didn’t waste time with the dog. He knew that sound far too well.

  There wouldn’t be anyone shooting on his place unless it was one of his hands. And that made it his business.

  He grabbed the rifle from the gun cabinet where he kept it locked up in case his niece and nephew visited, and made sure it was loaded. Travis cautiously opened the front door--he wasn’t stupid. Someone was shooting out there.

  Men could die by being stupid, after all. “Anybody out there?”

  “Travis!”

  He looked past the porch rail just as three shadows came out of the darkness and into the circle of the light.

  Three bloody, female shadows.

  Travis cursed and grabbed the first one he saw. Rafe’s half-sister had a wild look of fear in those big brown eyes of hers, and blood covering her forehead. Her terror was something he’d not b
e forgetting anytime soon.

  “Get inside!” He pushed the girl in his arms into his house, and turned to the next two. He lifted Lacy over the four steps leading up easily. “Lacy, honey, inside, now!”

  “Jilly! Needs help. He shot her!” Her words were broken and wracked with pain. Travis wanted to take a good look at her for himself, but he saw what she meant.

  Jillian Beck—that little she-devil who’d given his brother a good dunking—was as pale as a sheet and covered with blood from the waist down.

  The blood stain was growing. Right before his eyes. He scooped her up quickly and carried her inside. He laid her on the couch. “Bar the door and stay away from the windows.”

  He grabbed a stack of hand towels from the kitchen drawer. He handed them to Lacy, but she pushed his hand back toward her friend. “You do it. My hand is hurt. I won’t be able to get it tight enough.”

  Travis followed her instructions, then answered the harsh knocking on the back door quickly.

  Hank—one of the hands he’d employed for a good ten years—stood there, his own rifle in his hands. “We ran some asshole off the north edge of the fields.”

  “You get a good look at him?”

  “No. Too dark.”

  “I need help, get my truck. I need to get them to the hospital.”

  “Will do.”

  When he got Jillian back into his arms--she really didn’t weigh all that much, he’d wrestled far larger calves just that morning--he looked at the other two women. “Let’s go. Truck’s waiting.”

  He made it to the porch again and his truck was waiting. Along with one in front and one behind. Four of his men were waiting. Hank nodded. “We’re your escort, boss.”

  Travis nodded. He knew what they were thinking, seeing with their own eyes. And they were just as angry.

  Two men would drive, the other two already had rifles loaded and ready. The women would get an armed escort to the hospital.

  Anyone trying to screw with them again would be facing a small army of pissed off cowhands.

  And the bastard had better pray Travis let them live when he was done with him.

  65

  Rafe heard someone bellowing his name over the PA system and he ran toward the ER on instinct. He came to an abrupt halt, seeing his younger brother standing at the intake desk with Jillian Beck, nearly unconscious and covered in blood, in his arms.

  Rafe take one look at the women next to his brother. They still wore the same clothing from earlier. It hadn’t been that long since the three left, after snarking at him with rude little taunts he’d no doubt deserved. They’d been all pretty and fiery. Passionate. Clever. It had been all he could do to keep from laughing at some of the things that came out of their mouths.

  But not now. Now they were covered in blood. And Beck was practically limp. “What the hell happened to them now?”

  McGareth answered quickly, in a tight voice. “Ran off the road… Jilli…”

  Travis interrupted. “Later, Rafe. They’re all hurt, damn it. Some asshole… Jillian’s been bleeding since before they got to me... They ran all the way to me for help from the damned highway, Rafe.”

  Rafe swore. It had to be close to a mile from the highway to his brother’s place. Why hadn’t they called for an ambulance? Why hadn’t McGareth started the basics of first-aid? He took Jillian from his brother and put her gently on the gurney; personnel rushed around her quickly. The nurse Annie took scissors to the scrubs pants Jillian wore.

  McGareth stayed back, for once not barking orders. She just held Jillian’s hand, tightly. Ariella stood in the corner, all big-eyed and terrified. With blood dripping down her pale cheek.

  He looked at the first-year intern hovering nearby. “See to that laceration. Ariella, go with Glass. He’ll take good care of you. McGareth, are you injured?”

  He took another look at the blonde. Whatever hell they’d been through out there, it showed on McGareth.

  “Jilly and Ari first,” she said firmly. Rafe understood. McGareth was the protector of their little trio. Everyone knew that.

  “La—” Jillian tried to say before the attending turned her leg. Her sharp yell went straight through him. Rafe looked down in time to see the makeshift bandage being cut away.

  He froze; he’d seen enough gunshot wounds in his career overseas to know what he was looking at. “McGareth—what the hell happened? Who shot her?”

  “Oh, did we forget to mention it? We were not in a wreck—some sonofabitch tried to kill us. Again. For the who-knows-what time. I’ve lost count at this point.”

  Jillian reached her hand out toward McGareth. The blonde reciprocated with her left hand. That’s when Rafe saw the open fracture of her left arm. Saw the bone sticking through the skin. How the hell had McGareth not known? Said something?

  Still, he’d seen far stranger things in Africa. Fear would make some people just miss things, especially when they feared for others. “McGareth, your arm.”

  He watched her look down—saw the realization hit her pretty dark green eyes. Saw the tight hold she had on herself start to loosen. His focus sharpened—something about the way she favored her left side…

  He vaguely heard his half-sister’s cry—she hadn’t left with Glass, after all. Rafe had forgotten all about her.

  He had no clue where his own brother had ended up. Ariella stepped closer to her blonde friend, skirting around the trauma team still working on Jillian.

  A low cry left McGareth’s mouth, and Rafe knew what was about to happen. He jerked toward her.

  He was too late. McGareth fell to the floor, knocking over the cart next to her. Rafe cursed, as Jillian and Ariella screamed McGareth’s name. Jillian nearly jerked off the gurney. Dr. Patel kept her in place. “Help her, Virat!”

  Dr. Patel held Jillian still, reassuring her that he would help her friend.

  Rafe called for a second trauma team. He helped lift McGareth onto the gurney. Just as the team behind him went into a flurry of motion. Rafe spun, in time to see Jillian’s body go limp. He didn’t need to look at the monitors to know what had just happened.

  “Pressure is dropping. Come on, Jilly…” Annie said. “Please don’t do this…”

  “She’s lost too much blood,” Rafe said, mind running furiously over their next steps. “Prep O-Neg. We need to get her upstairs. Make sure the bullet didn’t hit the femoral.”

  “No reason she should’ve lost so much,” Dr. Patel said. “The GSW is not that significant of an injury.”

  “We had to run so far,” Ariella said from the corner. “And she was bleeding…she had Lacy’s pistol and came up behind us when the man started shooting. We heard her fall, but none of us could stop. Lacy said to keep going, to Travis. That man was right behind us.”

  “Stats are rising,” Annie said. “That’s...that’s it; come on, Jillian...”

  “Get her upstairs, now.” Rafe’s attention turned toward the other team. McGareth was still basically unresponsive. Her clothes had been removed. He saw the trauma to her left side. What the hell had happened to these women?

  They wheeled McGareth out first, after Rafe’s orders to do whatever they could to preserve the mobility of the arm. McGareth was a damned good trauma surgeon already. If she lost ability in her dominant, her future career was screwed. The type of breakage he had seen … she would be lucky if it healed straight.

  “Someone needs to call Jillian’s family. Let them know what’s happened,” Wanda said.

  “And McGareth’s,” Rafe said. He looked at his half-sister questioningly. Annie had moved to her side, and was attempting to stop the blood on her forehead.

  Rafe suspected it wasn’t just a random laceration. His half-sister had come damned close to taking a bullet to the temple, hadn’t she?

  The mere thought of it sickened him--and pissed him off. How could they defend themselves against someone shooting at them in the damned dark? Rafe ruthlessly pushed his fury aside.

  There was too much for
him to do now.

  But damn it, these women were connected to his family, regardless of how he personally felt about them. And that mattered. Made them his, in a way.

  Annie shook her head, removing her gloves and bagging them properly. “Jillian is Lacy’s family. Jillian and Ariella. All she has in the world.”

  Rafe hadn’t realized that. He felt a rush of sympathy—sometimes all he had in this world were his brothers.

  And now this half-sister he didn’t truly want.

  He looked at her again, seeing the tear tracks on her pale cheeks. Tears and blood. Emotion—anger, fear, concern, hatred for the bastard responsible—rushed through him. All of it. Mixed with the strong desire to protect.

  Ariella Avery looked awfully damned young and alone right there.

  “I’ll call Jillian’s brother-in-law. Ariella—come. Let’s get you taken care of. I need answers. And I need to deal with my brother.”

  The dark-eyed girl looked at him. She just always looked so damned vulnerable whenever he saw her. Almost helpless, though he knew she wasn’t.

  “I… You need to call the TSP. Call Elliot. Let him… He’ll know what to do. I can’t breathe, Rafe. I can’t breathe. It’s not the first time someone’s nearly killed the three of us.” Big brown eyes—the same damned color and shape as his own—clouded over and the girl collapsed, right into his arms. He scooped his half-sister up and yelled for another gurney.

  He held her until one came, feeling so damned helpless once again.

  He didn’t want another woman in his life to protect. He just…didn’t.

  It hurt too much when a man failed to do just that.

  66

  Travis paced the waiting room, unsure what he was supposed to do. She’d—they’d—looked so pale, so damned vulnerable. It went straight through a man’s gut.

  She hadn’t been talking, she’d been so hurt. That wasn’t like Lacy at all. He just paced there like an idiot. Until the glass doors open and they rushed her right by. He called her name and fought to get to her. Security held him back.