The Ranger

by Angi Morgan

Right now, he jerked the passenger door open, slugged the goon dressed in black in the jaw, knocking him into the driver. The driver honked the horn twice. Damn it. That probably was a signal for whoever was making a move on the house. He shoved the passenger onto the driver to keep him from putting the car into gear and taking off. Both men went for their weapons inside their jackets.

  “Hold it. You don’t want to pull on me. I’m not used to this SIG. No safety. I’m a Glock man, myself. I hate it when guns go off sooner than I anticipate. Now, push your hands through the wheel and lace your fingers under the steering column.”

  The driver followed his directions. The passenger pushed off his friend and tried to head butt Mitch, but Mitch was faster, shoving the man’s ear into the dashboard.

  “I didn’t give you permission to move. Behave yourself.” He stuck the barrel of the SIG next to the man’s head, tossing him the zip cuffs. “First your friend, then you.”

  Neither man had said a word. Not a complaint or a curse. They were more concerned with watching the house. He grabbed a cell phone, which had landed on the floorboard, and their guns, adding them to his bag. Then he took the keys and yanked the nylon circles tight against their hairy wrists until they winced.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what’s waiting in that house.” Silence. “I didn’t think so.” He took the roll of duct tape from his bag, tore two sufficient pieces and silenced both men. “The sheriff will be here shortly to collect you.”

  Mitch covertly ran the block to the Quinns’ house. He expected the lights and sirens of the sheriff or a deputy at any moment. He was counting on the distraction. As long as he got into the house and prevented any harm from coming to Brandie’s family, he’d feel successful.

  The house had plenty of large windows for him to get a good glimpse of the situation inside. He’d been correct. The car horn had been a signal to let Mr. Fancy Shoes know Brandie had arrived.

  Bud and Olivia were tied to kitchen chairs, blindfolded. Safe. If they didn’t witness him in the house, his cover could be saved. No talking. No contact with the Quinns. He needed to make certain Fancy Shoes couldn’t identify him, either.

  A complicated rescue. Where were the cops?

  Brandie stood just inside the front door. Fancy Shoes held her at gunpoint, but from his position near the hallway he would be able to see movement at both the front and rear doors. If Mitch entered either way, Fancy Shoes could shoot all three adults.

  Where was Toby? Just as he asked himself, he could hear Brandie asking the same thing. He had to get inside that house. He walked the perimeter, looking for an open window. Bingo! He lifted and removed the screen, then shoved the old four-pane window up without a lot of sound or trouble.

  And the cops? Marfa wasn’t big enough to take more than ten minutes to get from anywhere to anywhere. So where were they? Mitch slid his bag to the floor. He could hear a muted argument and pulled himself over the windowsill.

  He cracked the bedroom door open enough to see a hallway and sitting right on the edge of the pool of light from the living room, just beyond the line of sight of a machine pistol, was Toby. His little thumb was stuck in his mouth, something Mitch had never seen the five-year-old do. His bedroom was at the end of the hall where a projection lamp still spun, shooting images of airplanes on the wall.

  Mitch still wasn’t in a position to charge into the room, guns ablazin’. He wouldn’t be saving anyone. He needed the distraction he thought the arrival of the police would cause. Then it hit him. For whatever reason, Brandie hadn’t called 9-1-1. He couldn’t, his phone was in the car.

  He was on his own.

  As he inched through the door, Mitch put a finger to his lips. Hopefully, Toby would see it and remain quiet. When he went past the hall entrance, Brandie would see him. Her reaction could give him away, and Fancy Shoes could react badly.

  “Come on, Zubict. I want to make sure Toby’s okay. Can’t you do that?”

  Fancy Shoes had a name—Zubict. Had to be real; who would ever call themselves that?

  “The kid’s asleep. I ain’t touched him. Don’t mean I’ll keep it that way. So you best behave yourself.” Zubict leaned against the wall.

  “What does Rey expect from me?”

  “Anything he needs. Like getting rid of the new guy. We calls, you tell us what Rey needs to know. Then no more problems and we don’t go through this again.”

  Mitch wanted the conversation to exonerate Brandie. He wanted her to be an innocent bystander in whatever plan was going on around her. The more he listened, the less it seemed like she was an unwilling participant.

  “Are they at the garage now? Aren’t you worried about Mitch?”

  “The other fellas will take care of that jerk. Don’t worry that pretty little red head about none of it.” The gun relaxed in his hand a bit, drooping, pointing toward the floor. “Just relax. It ain’t none of your business.”

  “Until the next time.”

  Toby stood, acting like he was going to his mother. Mitch put up his hands, indicating for the little boy to stop. He had to get across the wooden floor without making any sound. He inched himself into Brandie’s view. Half his face could be seen before he made eye contact. The woman didn’t miss a beat.

  “If you tell me what you’re looking for, I could tell you where it’s at and maybe they won’t tear my place up. Just like I told you this morning.”

  Mitch cleared the hall entrance and scooped Toby up. He had to cover the kid’s mouth to keep him from talking.

  “That’s up to Rey and he didn’t seem much interested in any deals,” Zubict said.

  Mitch couldn’t see anything as he squeezed through the opening to Toby’s room and continued to the closet on the far wall.

  “I can’t go in there, Mr. Mitch. Gramma Ollie will pank me.”

  “Your Gramma wants you to hide in the sewing closet. No spankings. I promise.” He whispered, then opened the door without a creak, dumped the laundry basket of scrap material onto the floor and set Toby in the basket. “We’re going to hide from the bad man. Okay, Toby? Can you stay as quiet as a mouse?” The little boy nodded. “Great. I’m going to cover you up and it’s going to look like your Gramma’s sewing. Don’t be afraid. I’ll be right back. Promise.”

  He left the closet open a crack so it wouldn’t be pitch-black. Time to kick some bad-guy ass. He was about to swing around the corner and eliminate the threat when Brandie’s tone changed.

  “You know, Zubict, I’ve never said I wouldn’t help Rey,” Brandie whispered. She and her captor had switched places. She was close enough to put her hands behind her and wave her fingers in his direction, as if she’d heard him close Toby’s door. Then she flattened her palm in a signal to stop.

  Mitch was inches from handing her a gun. Conversation ceased and the floor creaked. He knew which board from the couple of times he’d visited the Quinn house. Knew that his opponent was two feet from the hallway. And knew that something had alerted him that Mitch was there.

  He grabbed Brandie’s hand and pulled her into the hall, launching himself into the living room. He landed in Zubict’s chest. The man’s gun fired wildly.

  Mitch caught the gun hand and squeezed until it dropped to the floor. Brandie stood in the hall, searching. He couldn’t tell her to get to Toby. Talking would risk completely blowing his cover. Her parents would hear him.

  “Brandie! What’s happening?” yelled her mother.

  “Untie me, Brandie,” Bud said at the same instant.

  Without his gun, Zubict darted for the door. Mitch had height and weight on the shorter man with fancy shoes. Those same pointy posh loafers slipped like a dog from a cartoon spinning in one place.

  Mitch barreled into him from behind, tackling him to the floor. The little man let out a pathetic squeal. It might have been funny, but he’d held Brandie’s family hostage and threatened Toby more than once.

  He yanked the man’s left hand behind his back. This really wasn�
�t a fight at all. He raised himself to a knee and heard Zubict moan.

  “What the hell’s going on in there, Brandie?” Bud yelled from the kitchen.

  Mitch looked up just in time to see a lamp crashing to the top of his head. Flaming red hair swirled, cool blue nails held on to the base. It took a lot to bring him to his knees. Brandie had managed it twice in one day.

  Chapter Five

  The police had arrived, and Brandie’s guilty conscience was working double time. She was the reason Mitch had not one, but two lumps on his head. The spiraling red-white-and-blue lights entertained Toby and a host of neighbors from a couple of blocks. Marfa was a small town and everyone knew what went on. But she was in the dark.

  Something had been happening at her garage and she needed to get a clue. And it all hinged on Mitch’s timely arrival. Four days after their mechanic of six years just disappeared, Mitch had driven up looking for work. It was also about the time the phone calls from Rey had started. Maybe Mitch was the connection to Rey King that she didn’t know about.

  When she’d quit school, she’d spoken to her former college advisor about what she could do. He’d implied that she might be able to help with a business venture. So it didn’t take much imagination to conclude the reason he was interested now had something to do with drugs if he was involved.

  The paramedics continued working on Mitch. Taking his pulse, attempting to revive him with smelling salts. She had to get closer and fill him in as soon as he woke up so their stories matched.

  Or rather her lies.

  Mitch attempted to sit up on the rolling stretcher. The paramedic lost the battle as he swung his legs over the side, rubbing his lumps. “Again?”

  “Looks like your head came into contact with a lamp. A wrench this morning and a lamp tonight.” Pete stood at Mitch’s side, notepad in hand, bad look on his face.

  “I think it’s heroic how he tried to save me from those horrible men.” She moved from behind Pete, took the cold pack from the paramedic and gently held it on top of Mitch’s head.

  “He doesn’t seem to be very good at it,” Pete said. “Your dad’s sawed-off shotgun was a better weapon than Mitch’s head.”

  Mitch’s eyes narrowed. His wonderful lips compressed shut, the vein in his forehead was prominent so she let the cold pack slip a little. She took the opportunity to move in closer as Mitch’s hand grabbed her wrist.

  “What happened?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t you remember, Mr. Striker?” Pete raised an eyebrow along with a corner of his mouth. Did he have the same suspicions as her? That Mitch was somehow involved with Rey’s men?

  “Brandie needed a ride. I got tired of waiting in the car. I went to the door. Then nothing. Did someone try to break in like at the shop?” It was a question, but his horrible attempt at sounding innocent made her stand straight. Pete faced him again instead of walking away.

  “Just like at the garage.” Pete wrote another note then put his pad away. “You’re lucky they used a lamp instead of just shooting you. Any idea what they were looking for?”

  “I just work at Junior’s, Sheriff. How would I know?”

  The cold pack slipped again.

  “Thanks, Brandie, I got this. Toby? Your mom?” he asked. His eyes spoke volumes. He was going along with her lies for some reason on his own agenda and she’d hear about it later. The grip on her wrist let her know that.

  “They’re fine. Toby curled into a basket and slept through the whole thing. It took a while to find him under the quilt squares.”

  “Don’t worry, Mitch, I showed that SOB who tied us up what’s what.” Her father had grabbed the shotgun as soon as she’d untied him.

  The sheriff was still much too close for Brandie to tell Mitch why she’d hit him.

  “Bud nicked one with his shotgun. We found traces of blood on the porch.” The sheriff crossed his arms and didn’t seem in a hurry to head anywhere else.

  “Pellets, not a real shell. But I yelled at him that a real bullet was waiting if he set foot inside our door again,” her father bragged. “Damn. Now I have to replace the screen.”

  “Can I ask why no one here thought to call me until a shot was fired?” Pete asked.

  “Olivia dialed 9-1-1 as soon as we got to the phone.”

  “Why didn’t you use your cell phone?” Mitch asked her, turning his face up and letting the ice pack fall to the portable gurney.

  She kept glancing at Pete who waited for her answer, pencil in hand, ready to make note of her answer. Should she tell him that she knew who had ordered his gunman to come and threaten her family?

  “I think it’s in the car.”

  “Any clue as to who these guys are, Sheriff?” Mitch asked after an outward sigh and slight shake of his head.

  “Bud took off after the guy and got a partial plate,” the sheriff explained. “Fool thing to do. But it’s a start on catching them and finding out why the Quinns’ place is being targeted.”

  “Did the men say anything to you, Bud, or give a reason?” Mitch asked from just behind her. “Did you get a look at any of them?”

  “I only saw the backsides of those three when they took off. Ha.” He slapped his knee, then slapped his hand in a loud clap. “The last stupid dope isn’t from around these parts if he didn’t think I already had a gun aimed at his privates.”

  Her dad was laughing about a man threatening his life. He seemed to have forgotten all about being tied up when she’d arrived.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She hugged her father, and he hugged quickly then set her away from his chest. But that was okay. The return hug was more than she’d expected. “Do you think they’ll be back?”

  “There’s no way to tell why he chose your parents’ home. Maybe it had something to do with the break-in at the garage this morning. Maybe not.” Pete shrugged. “We may never know.”

  But she knew. Mitch knew. Even though he’d taken care of two of the men waiting in the car, they’d be back because Rey said they’d be back. They’d force her to cooperate by threatening her family. She’d been lucky this round. Just lucky.

  Her mechanic would be extremely angry if he’d seen that she’d slammed him with the lamp. Maybe he hadn’t, but she should explain anyway. If he’d followed the men, he probably would have caught them. And then where would she be? Tangled in another lie.

  Whatever Rey wanted her to do. Whatever he wanted from the garage that he hadn’t told her about. He hadn’t found it and was angry that Mitch had sent him on his way tonight. He would definitely be back.

  “Do you think the highway patrol will find them?”

  “There’s no telling, Bud. They may stay away.” Pete looked at Mitch with some hidden message one man shoots another. “I’d be afraid to face your good shooting.”

  Her dad began to laugh and leaned on the car near him. Mitch’s car. He gave it a long glare, squinted his eyes at her and then Mitch. He must have finally realized they had arrived together. “Something wrong with your car, girl?”

  “I—”

  “Flat tire, sir. I’d already closed the station and offered to just bring her home.” More lies and this time one her father wouldn’t easily believe.

  “See that’s all you do.”

  “Got it.” Mitch leaned closer, his breath a light warmth on her neck. “Right after we discuss who really hit me over the head,” he whispered.

  “Mind if we go, Sheriff? I want to get Toby to bed.” She heard Mitch’s harrumph behind her. He remembered the lamp and wasn’t happy.

  “Go ahead. If we need anything else, I know where you live. And Mr. Striker, don’t think bad about our sleepy little town. Crime isn’t the norm here.”

  “No plans to leave a good job, Sheriff.”

  Brandie hugged her father again, just because she could get away with it. One of the deputies was dusting for fingerprints so she led the way to the back door. Out of earshot, she did an about-face and poked Mitch in the chest
.

  “I do not like lying to my parents.”

  “I didn’t much care for you lying to me this morning. Or lying to the sheriff about who hit me on the head. That might come back to bite you in your tush.”

  “You are definitely a cop. Go ahead and admit it. Anyone could tell by the way you moved in the house during that fight. Both of Zubict’s men complained about you. They wanted to kill you. At least you don’t work for them.”

  “Let’s get Toby and go to a secure location.” He turned her by her shoulders and gently pushed hard enough to get her walking.

  “Really? A secure location? What kind of talk is that for a noncop?” She stopped on the first porch step and faced him again. This time a little closer to his face. Too close not to notice his deep-set eyes that were the perfect shade of brown. “You don’t think my house is safe?”

  “Do you?”

  She wanted to kiss him. To celebrate that they’d survived a hostage situation. She fisted her hands into the sides of her apron. Realizing she still had it on for a reason. A reason shaped like a gun.

  “You’ve got a heck of a lot of nerve coming in here and trying to take over my life. I’ve taken care of myself for a long time and don’t need your help.” She verified they were alone and pulled his gun from under her apron where she’d stuffed it while her dad had scared Zubict away.

  Mitch threw his hands in the air and took a step back. “You don’t want my help, I can understand English. I’ll wait in the car before you shoot me.”

  “Wait. Here. It’s yours. I didn’t think you wanted Zubict to take another one from you.” She handed him his weapon, and he stuffed it under his shirt in his waistband. “Do you think they’ll come back or might already be at my house waiting?”

  “It’s a strong possibility. King has threatened you and your son twice. I’m taking him seriously. I just need an hour for you to hear me out.”

  “Okay. I know I owe you an explanation for this morning, but nothing more.” He rubbed the knot closer to his forehead. “Right, I need to explain why I hit you tonight, too. But my life is my own and whatever agency you work for—since you say you aren’t a cop—you need to remember that my past stays my past.”