Hardball

by Sykes, V. K.

  * * *

  As soon as Holly’s warning pierced his ears, Nate had taken a dive to the left, hitting the floorboards of the porch so hard it momentarily took his breath away. A few seconds later, a fusillade of bullets had come ripping through the door, leaving him gape-mouthed, stunned beyond anything he’d even imagined.

  Arnold. The fucking bastard must have been stalking Holly all this time, waiting for him to leave her alone and defenseless before making his move. Nate sucked in deep breaths, struggling with a blinding rage, both against Arnold and against himself. He’d opened the door wide open for this to happen by ignoring his instincts. He’d known he shouldn’t leave her, and he’d gone anyway.

  That mistake would never happen again.

  But that was for the future. Right now he had to get off the porch where he was totally exposed. Arnold could open the door any second and shoot him at almost point-blank range.

  Nate ducked below the front window and fast-crawled to the far end of the porch, ready to jump over the side and drop to the ground as soon as he glimpsed or heard any movement at the door. Eyes glued on the brass knob, he pulled out his cell phone and connected with a 9-1-1 operator. Despite his pounding heart, he calmed his breathing enough to clearly whisper Holly’s address and tell the operator she was being held by a lone gunman. The operator started to ask him questions, but he snapped the phone shut.

  The cops would come soon enough, but he couldn’t just hide and wait for them to try some kind of hostage rescue or SWAT team penetration. He was sure Arnold didn’t want a hostage; he wanted Holly dead. That could happen any second.

  And even if the cavalry did arrive in time, which was a long shot, the cops would first try to negotiate with Arnold. But Nate knew it was useless to negotiate with a crazy son of a bitch like him. A guy who’d probably killed his wife, and maybe even wanted his son dead. What were the chances he’d let Holly go and give himself up? Every instinct told Nate the answer was zero.

  No, both his brain and his gut told him it was going to be up to him. Unless he could take Arnold down and take him down fast, his woman—the woman he loved—would be dead.

  Loved. God, yes, he loved Holly Bell. He’d take on Lance Arnold and a whole damn platoon of armed psychos to save her if he had to. But somehow he had to get inside the house before Arnold could do what he came to do.

  Think fast.

  The back door. Holly would have locked the deadbolt, but he had the key. Still, if he tried to unlock it, however stealthily, Arnold would likely hear the sound. Unless Holly distracted him somehow. But how could she? She might even be tied up.

  Trying to unlock a door would get him a bullet in the face before he’d even stepped inside.

  No, if he was going in through the back door, or maybe a window, it would have to be with one big bang. And it had to be right away, while Arnold was still focused on the front of the house.

  Nate eased himself over the porch railing and dropped quietly down onto the grass. In seconds, he was through the side gate and into the back yard.

  Hang tough, Holly. I’m coming, babe.

  * * *

  Holly didn’t hear any noise coming from the porch. No cries or groans. That didn’t mean Nate hadn’t been hit, though. He could be out there, a few steps away, bleeding to death for all she knew. The thought of him dying was more than she could bear. She struggled again, trying to pull out of Arnold’s grip, but he simply crushed her wrist in a murderously painful grip.

  Gasping, she fought to pull herself together. There was just as good a chance, maybe better, that Nate hadn’t been hit at all. Maybe he’d already called the police. And surely one of the neighbors would have heard the shots and called 9-1-1.

  Arnold slowly cracked the front door open, then peered to his right. Holly itched to do something, but Arnold kept glancing back toward her. If she tried anything, he could blow her head off if he wanted to.

  A powerful rush of relief coursed through her as Arnold cursed and slammed the door shut. Nate must still be alive! He must have slipped away, and would have already called the police.

  She prayed he’d backed off, gone somewhere safe to wait for the cops. Knowing Nate, though, she suspected it was more likely that he was frantically searching for a way to rescue her. The man she loved was hardheaded at the best of times, and there was no way on God’s earth he’d abandon her. She knew that, now. Knew it deep in her bones, with the kind of certainty that could only come from love. He was still out there, watching for an opportunity.

  Just like she was.

  “Arnold, you know the police will be here any minute,” she said, striving for a calmer, more reasonable voice. “The whole neighborhood will have heard those shots.”

  “No kidding. Now shut the hell up!” He started to drag her through the living room to the kitchen.

  Holly froze when she heard the back door lock click. She recognized the sound instantly. Nate’s coming inside!

  Arnold heard it, too. He snarled as first he pulled her a couple of steps with him, then pushed her away. He swung the gun up, aiming toward the back door.

  He’ll shoot Nate the second he opens the door. Holly screamed again, lunging toward Arnold as she lashed out with her right hand.

  Arnold spewed a curse as her rigid, outstretched palm slammed hard into his gun hand. He flinched, and it pulled his aim to the right as he fired, missing Nate who had dived in the other direction. Without thinking, Holly hammered her fist against the inside of Arnold’s wrist. Her knuckles made solid, brutal contact and he roared with the shock of the blow. Her heart hammering against the walls of her chest, Holly watched the gun drop to the floor and skitter a few feet away.

  Arnold roared again as he gave her a backhanded slap that landed on her cheek with stunning force. Holly’s head snapped around and she tumbled to the floor. As she landed on the hardwood, another piercing bolt of pain lanced up through her elbow.

  Get the gun! You have to get to the gun before he does!

  It was so close. She stretched her arm out for it. But Arnold was faster. He dropped to one knee, seized the gun, and was back on his feet in what seemed like a fraction of a second. Holly watched in dismay as, with an economy of motion, he brought the gun up and aimed it back into the kitchen.

  Holly screamed, expecting the next sound to be another deafening explosion from the gun—the sound that would mean that Nate’s life—and hers—would be over. Instead, she heard a sickening, thudding sound. A splat.

  Pushing her hair out of her face, she swung her eyes up. Blood trickling down his face, Arnold teetered and collapsed, barely missing her as he hit the floor. She lay there, gaping at him beside her. Pain radiated down her left arm from shoulder to fingers.

  What the hell?

  As she stared, dazed, at Arnold—unconscious, his head bleeding—she heard footsteps. Suddenly, Nate’s strong arms lifted her into a sitting position and then surrounded her in a fierce embrace.

  “You’re safe, honey. You’re safe,” his voice said in her ear. He knelt beside her, his arms holding her tight, enveloping her with his strength and warmth.

  Her throat so tight she couldn’t speak, Holly finally let the tears come. She buried her face in Nate’s broad chest, and felt the pounding thud of his heart against her cheek. His hand cupped the back of her head, cradling her.

  “Holly, are you all right? Please, tell me you’re all right.” He sounded out of his mind with worry.

  “I…I think so,” she finally managed to whisper.

  “He hurt you, didn’t he?” he asked in a thick voice. “But it’s going to be okay. The paramedics and the cops are on the way.”

  She inhaled deeply, weak in his arms. He exuded the scent of sweaty, charged-up man, and it was the best thing she’d ever smelled.

  “I banged up my shoulder.” she said. “And my hand is killing me. But I’m sure nothing’s broken. I’ll be fine.”

  She snuggled into his neck for a moment longer, then peered up to i
nspect his face. He looked pale under his deep tan, and his pupils were a bit dilated, but otherwise he seemed okay. “Nate, what about you? Are you all right?”

  He kissed her cheek gently. “Not a scratch. No bruises. Nothing.”

  She slumped back in relief. “Thank God. But you’re completely crazy—you know that?”

  She could hear sirens close by. It seemed like forever since Arnold had fired the first shots, but she knew it had been only a handful of minutes. The police had responded very quickly. But not as quickly as Nate.

  Holly let him hold her, staying still and quiet. Nate rocked her, whispering to her, covering her ear, her cheek, her neck with soft kisses. His arms around her felt so good. So right. And she knew at that moment that everything between them would be fine.

  Nate was right. Everything had changed. They’d faced down a madman and survived. There was nothing they couldn’t figure out together, no problem they couldn’t solve.

  Then her eyes snapped wide open.

  ”Shit,” she groaned as her gaze flicked to Arnold’s inert body. “I almost forgot about him. Nate, hurry—get my medical bag. You know where I keep it.”

  Nate got a mulish look on his face, like he was about to protest, but she pushed out of his arms.

  “I hate him, too,” she said. “But I have to try and help him.”

  “Okay,” he sighed, getting to his feet. “I guess that’s one of the reasons I love you so much. You’re a way better person than I am.”

  She stared after him as he hurried from the room, her mouth hanging open. Did he just say he loved her?

  Focus, Holly.

  Shaking off her daze, she rolled onto her knees and held two fingers to Arnold’s carotid. His pulse was a little erratic, which didn’t surprise her. His forehead and face were now a mess of bright, red blood. She got up, ignoring her complaining body, limped into the kitchen, and returned with a stack of tea towels. Folding one into a small square, she pressed it gently against his forehead. With that kind of wound, she suspected Arnold might even have a skull fracture. How it happened, she still hadn’t figured out. Taking no chances, she kept the pressure as light as possible while still trying to stanch the bleeding.

  Flashing lights flooded the street. Seconds later, she heard voices in the yard, and Nate’s footsteps as he thudded down the stairs.

  “Three cruisers and a fire rescue truck,” he said. “I’m going to talk to them.”

  “Yell through the door,” she said. “I don’t want any more bullets flying.”

  “Good thinking.” He set the medical bag down beside Holly and moved to the front door. “The shooter’s down,” he shouted. “Everybody else is okay. Can I open the door now?”

  “Do it slowly,” a gruff voice yelled back. “Put your hands on top of your head, and come out.”

  Nate did as he was told.

  “The gunman’s inside,” she heard him say in a loud voice as the door opened to a rush of cool air. “He needs a medic.”

  Seconds later, two paramedics rushed inside, one carrying a heavy medical kit. “I’m a doctor,” Holly said as they dropped to their knees beside her. “This man has a severe head trauma. Possibly a skull fracture.”

  “Got it,” the older one replied. “We’ll take it from here, ma’am.” His eyes did a quick scan of her body. “Actually, you look like you could use some attention yourself.”

  She shook her head. “Focus on him for now. I just have a few bruises.”

  The younger paramedic started to run a line into Arnold’s thick forearm. As she glanced past them toward the doorway, where Nate was standing talking with the policemen, Holly noticed an odd-shaped object on the floor. On her hands and knees, she crawled a few feet to gingerly retrieve it.

  When she realized what it was, her mouth dropped open.

  She held in her hand the snow globe Nate had given her at the golf banquet. The small but surprisingly heavy souvenir had a chunk missing out of its ceramic base and was streaked with blood.

  She raised her eyes quizzically at Nate and raised the globe toward him. “Nate, my God. You actually hit him with this thing?”

  He broke away from his conversation and stared down at her, handsome and seriously intense, looking like a battle-hardened warrior. Then he gave her a sweet, lopsided grin. “It was the most important pitch I’ve thrown in my life.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Holly gazed up at him, dumbfounded. Nate had saved her with the little snow globe he’d given her on their first date? Talk about quick thinking. Or karma.

  He shrugged and reached down to help her up, frowning when she grimaced. “I needed some kind of weapon. I was thinking I’d have to scramble around for a kitchen knife, or something else sharp. But as soon as I stepped inside, I saw the snow globe on the counter. Not far from the door. So, I just dived inside, and then got up and grabbed it. The rest was pure instinct, I guess. He wasn’t more than twenty feet from me. I couldn’t miss at that distance.”

  “You’re nuts,” she said, shaking her head. And brave and foolhardy. She hated to think what would have happened if his aim hadn’t been true. Then again, this was a man who could easily hit a catcher’s glove from sixty feet away.

  He took her in his arms. “Well, it worked, right? Thanks to you, since you had the guts and the brains to go for the bastard’s gun hand. You gave me the time I needed.” He shook his head as he gazed down into her face, his eyes warm and rueful. “Man, what you did was batshit crazy, but you saved us both.”

  Holly clutched him fiercely, burying her face in the warmth of his broad chest. “We saved each other.”

  They stood, locked in a tight embrace, until someone cleared his throat.

  “Sorry to interrupt, folks,” said one of the cops. “The Crime Scene Unit will be here in a few minutes, so we have to get everyone out and secure the scene. Unless you need to get medical attention, ma’am, we’d appreciate it if both of you could come back to the station with me now.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” Nate asked, carefully running his hands over her shoulders.

  “I won’t be wearing any swimwear until the bruises fade,” she said with a wince. “But yes, I’m ready to go. Let’s do it.”

  Nate grabbed her purse in the kitchen and then came back for her. Leaning against him, secure in the clutch of his strong right arm, Holly managed to get herself to the police cruiser. Less than ten minutes later, they were at the town police headquarters, drinking industrial strength black coffee from paper cups. At that point, she thought it tasted as good as any cup of coffee she’d ever had.

  Mercifully, it took little more than an hour to give their statements. The detective who had been called in to meet them couldn’t have been more understanding, repeatedly asking them if they’d prefer to come back tomorrow. They thanked him for his kindness, but Holly wanted to get it over with. The detective efficiently wrapped things up, telling them he’d call Detective Rich for further details on Lance Arnold.

  A uniformed officer drove them home, and they arrived just as the Crime Scene Unit was packing up. Together, they surveyed the damage. The front door was well-aerated but still functional, so after the crime scene guys departed they stuffed the bullet holes with wadded-up newspaper and covered them with duct tape. The door to the garage was trashed, unfortunately. Nate started messing around with it, muttering under his breath.

  By this time, reaction was seriously setting in, and all Holly could do was stand there, swaying a bit on wobbly legs, watching Nate work. As he tried to wrestle the door back onto its hinges, he paused to look at her face. He obviously didn’t like what he saw, for a heavy frown descended on his features.

  “Babe, go take a bath,” he ordered. “I’ll bring you up a glass of wine.”

  She nodded wearily and trudged up the stairs.

  “Call me if you need help,” he yelled up after her. She was too tired to answer.

  Holly stripped off her clothes and stared at herself in the mirror as th
e bathtub filled, wincing as she checked the ugly bruises forming on her hip and shoulder. They would likely fade before the mental ones did. Little shudders kept rippling through her body, and she knew it would be a long time before she could put Arnold’s attack behind her.

  But she was alive, thanks to Nate, and she would get past it. She had a second chance at life, and she had no intention of wasting it.

  As she lowered herself into the tub, she couldn’t help thinking about poor little Tyler Arnold. Mother dead. Father on his way to prison after he recovered from his injury. Surgeries and long hospital stays an inevitable part of his future. But at least he had a chance at life now—just like Holly—and Mrs. Crump would see to Tyler’s care. Maybe the other relatives in Maryland could even take the boy in, and his follow-up care could be transferred to Johns Hopkins. Holly would talk to Nate about raising money. Whatever it took, she would do everything she could to help. She and Tyler had an unbreakable bond, now, and she wouldn’t abandon him.

  Nate brought her the promised wine, kissing her with sweet tenderness as he placed it carefully on the edge of the tub. She sighed and leaned back as he left, letting the hot water soothe her aches and release the last of her tension.

  She almost dozed off several times, but wouldn’t let herself. After twenty minutes, she toweled off and wrapped up in her comfy cotton robe. Sliding her feet into the flip-flops she’d left by the door, she went back down to find Nate. He’d stretched out on the sofa, shoes off, and was blowing on a cup of steaming coffee. A full glass of wine rested on the table in front of him, waiting for her.