by Rachel Lee
A crime of opportunity he couldn’t have foreseen. But foreseen or not, he now had to fix it.
Just then a huge tumbleweed, maybe six feet in diameter, rolled out onto the road. Before he could avoid it, it had stuck itself to the front end of the car, blocking his view.
He jammed on the brakes, cussing a blue streak. With every second, Haley was getting farther away.
* * *
Much as she struggled to think of something, Haley came up with no ideas. She’d have to find a way to do something when they stopped. Glancing over at White Shirt again, she wished she had the nerve to reach over and pull the keys from the ignition. But his left hand was still on the butt of that pistol in his lap, and the barrel was still pointed directly at her.
She’d need a better opportunity. She just prayed she would find one.
* * *
Buck pulled the tumbleweed loose, most of his attention on the taillights that were growing ever smaller. His hands got scratched up on the dried, sharp branches, but he hardly noticed. At last he tugged it free and tossed it. The wind picked it up again and carried it straight into a fence, where it tangled even as he was climbing back into the car.
He jammed the accelerator, the car protested, tossing gravel, then gripping the road. Still, it went. Risking his neck, he pushed it up over fifty on the road he couldn’t really see, willing the distance between him and those taillights to close. It seemed to take forever, but gradually they got larger again.
Then the truck turned. In that instant Buck knew exactly where they were going. Plans began to roll around in his mind. He could do this.
He just had to do it before they hurt Haley.
* * *
The Liston farmstead! Haley recognized it even in the dark and from a distance. The house lights were all off, the family still sleeping, but there was a dim light emanating from the barn.
She didn’t know whether this was bad or if it could have been worse. She did know she was disappointed in Mr. and Mrs. Liston, although she guessed she wasn’t really surprised about Jim. Not with that fancy car. Not with that certain slickness she had detected. No, she guessed she knew how he made his money now, and it wasn’t selling cars.
But some of her calm seeped away as they turned into the drive and bounced toward the barn. She had no idea who would be waiting. Jim? Most likely. Those three guys? Maybe. Whether she could do anything at all depended on who was there, what was available and what opportunities she might see.
Buck had done this kind of thing for a living, and she wished desperately that he was there to guide her. As it was, she couldn’t even tell if he had followed. She’d caught no sight of a car behind them, and given the dubious state of her car, it was entirely possible that even if he had followed it had broken down. Please, she prayed, let it at least make it this far.
As they rolled toward the opening barn door, she decided that her first need would be to delay whatever these guys intended for her. To find some way to put them off, or make it more difficult to deal with her. She had no real experience of fighting, so she’d have to rely on her wits, wits that had never been tested in a situation like this.
Into the dimly lit barn. The first person she recognized was Jim Liston. Then her heart sank as she saw the other three men. Five men, one with a gun on her.
God, what was she going to do?
The truck rolled to a stop. White Shirt set the brake without turning the engine off and pointed the gun at her. “Get out,” he said.
She was about to comply when the door opened. She nearly tumbled into Jim Liston’s arms.
“Haley?” He sounded shocked. Anger suddenly filled his voice. “Dammit, Cal, what were you thinking? She wasn’t involved in any of this! Now we’ve got a problem.”
“She saw me,” White Shirt said, his voice flat and cold. “I don’t leave witnesses.”
“My God!” Jim took Haley’s arm and helped her out of the truck, none too gently. “You can’t do this! If this woman disappears, they won’t stop looking until they roll up the whole operation!”
The three other guys responded to that, straightening. But it was not Haley they looked at, it was White Shirt. And they didn’t look happy.
“You’re going to cost us millions,” Jim shouted. “You damn fool!”
White Shirt was evidently getting the message. He still held the gun, and now he leveled it at the three men. “She’s mine. The rest is your problem.”
“You just made her our problem,” one of the three men said. He was tall and lanky, and a thin scar ran down his cheek.
“I won’t talk,” Haley said quickly. “I promise I won’t talk. I don’t even know what’s going on!” Calm had completely deserted her, but now adrenaline was rising in huge waves.
“Get over here.” Jim grabbed her arm and dragged her over to a few bales of moldy hay. “Sit and don’t move. I swear, Haley, you give any of these guys cause for concern and there’s nothing I can do.”
“I just want to go home. I told you, I don’t know what this is about.” God, for an instant she loathed how craven she sounded.
“Then shut up.” Jim shoved her down onto the hay and grabbed a rope. He seemed to have a lot of experience tying people up, because he quickly bound her wrists and ankles, and then tied them together behind her back.
She would have loved to fight. Would have loved to jump, screaming, at just one of these guys, but even as her heart and mind shrieked a desire for action, a more sensible part realized it would only get her killed.
She lay on her side on the stinking, prickly hay, watching, fearful and furious all at once. And behind her back, she struggled to free her hands. The rope began to bite into her and rub her raw. She hardly noticed the pain.
“Let’s get this damn load down,” Jim said. “Haley can wait.” He turned once more to cuss at Cal—White Shirt—before the five of them went to the rear of the truck and rolled up the door.
A ramp was pulled out, and Haley peered over her shoulder, watching as Cal and two of the other men pushed the crate down it. She wiggled her hands some more, wondering if she was imagining that the rope was loosening.
Looking around her in the dim light, she hunted for weapons. Any kind of weapons. Because she didn’t believe that after all of this they would be able to let her go, no matter what she promised.
* * *
Buck pulled Haley’s car off the road into a copse of trees about a half mile from the Liston place. On this chilly, dark night, even at that distance he could see light coming from the barn, even though he couldn’t make out any real detail. He pulled on his outer gear swiftly, masked his face and checked his knives and the fine wire he had hidden behind his belt. Two knives and a garrote. It might be enough.
He paused just long enough to try his cell. He got a bad signal, but he reached Gage’s voice mail again. He left his message in as few words as possible.
“Liston place. They kidnapped Haley.”
Then he turned the phone off, jammed it into a utility pocket on the leg of his pants and set out at a dead run.
The rules had just changed. Haley was in danger. Damn the law.
He’d break every single law on the books to save that woman.
Hell, he’d die for her.
Chapter 17
The men were busy inside the barn and clearly not concerned that anyone might be watching. Buck crept up to the back side, away from the open door, and began peering through grimy windows.
Having the light inside made it a whole lot easier to see the interior. No flashlight bounced back at him off the cloudy glass. While the filth on the windows didn’t exactly help, it no longer prevented him from seeing anything.
His heart slammed when he saw Haley tied up and lying on the bales. He could tell she was trying to free her hands without moving too much. He wanted to run in there and scoop her up immediately, but he wasn’t that stupid and he was better trained than that.
Tamping down every bit of patience, se
eking the cold and calculating part of him that would help them both survive this night, he began to prowl around the outside of the barn, learning where everyone and everything was.
There were five men in there, he soon realized. Not bad odds. He’d faced worse in his day and faced men who were better trained than most of these goons. Still, it wouldn’t pay to underestimate any of them.
Jim and another tall man, Scarface, stood to the side and watched as the three others struggled to move the crate out of the way so the truck could back out. It was headed for exactly the spot where he had suspected a crate was hidden under the tarp the other night.
From the pigpens came squeals and other sounds of disturbed pigs, but no light went on in the house. The senior Listons evidently wanted to know nothing about what their son was doing in the barn. Good.
Oddly, only one man, White Shirt, appeared to be armed. He thought about that for a moment and found it hard to believe. Did they really all feel that secure out here? Including the three who had come from out of town?
He was reluctant to believe it.
Coming around to the side of the barn farthest from the road, Buck saw the blue pickup and two black SUVs. He crept up on them and tried the doors. Two were locked, but the third one was not. Standing on the passenger side, he didn’t think he could see a key in the ignition.
While the men inside struggled to move the heavy crate, he quietly opened the door and was grateful the ignition-key alarm didn’t sound. Then he leaned in and began to search.
He found two pistols in the glove box, both Glocks. He pulled out the magazines and tucked them in his pocket. Then he took both guns and emptied the chambers. Useless now. That’s the way he liked them.
Both the other cars were locked, which was fine, and they didn’t have car alarms. Very stealthy, these guys. He found some pieces of metal, jammed them into the door locks and hoped that they hadn’t somehow improved cars so that jamming the locks wouldn’t prevent keyless entry from working.
He checked out the barn again and saw that Haley was still on the bales, still tied up. The men were busy trying to pry the crate open now without doing obvious damage. Five minutes?
He took the time to check Jim’s car. It wasn’t locked either and contained no weapon. He took a moment’s delight in ripping some wires from under the dashboard, putting the car to bed.
He had just moved back to the barn to plan his move when he saw headlights coming down the road. Hell.
He checked out the interior scene again, assured himself that no one was paying attention to Haley yet, then drew back into the shadows, waiting. In a last-minute decision, he decided to grab one of the Glocks from the unlocked SUV and reload it. Quietly.
God knew what was going to happen next.
A white Suburban turned into the Listons’ drive and came bouncing boldly to the door of the barn. An older man, Murdock Bertram, he assumed, climbed out.
“I see things are back on schedule,” he said as he walked into the barn. “Who are these guys?”
“My guy sent them,” Jim said. “I told you he didn’t like delays.”
“Well, obviously nothing is delayed then, is it? Is the shipment okay?”
“We’ll see in a minute.” The men were still prying the crate open, taking forever because they couldn’t damage it.
Then Murdock swore. “What the hell is that girl doing here?”
“Ask him,” Jim said, pointing to White Shirt. “He screwed up.”
“She saw me,” White Shirt argued. “No way I’m leaving a witness.”
“Well, now she’s seen me, too,” Bertram said. “She’s seen all of us. You damned fool! You can’t just disappear someone around here. Not someone like her. She doesn’t even take mountain hikes. They’ll be looking for her before tomorrow night.” He swore again.
“I’ll make it look like an accident,” White Shirt said.
“Like I believe that.”
“I swear,” came Haley’s quivering voice, “I won’t say a word. Who would believe me, anyway?”
A pang pierced Buck’s heart as he listened to her. He hated hearing her plead for her life and hated himself for having put her in this position. Although maybe he hadn’t. Maybe White Shirt had wanted her since he learned she had reported the cargo exchange to the cops. And where would he have learned that? From Claire. The wife of the man who was standing there right now, cussing.
“You freaking idiot!” Bertram said. “I ought to put you six feet under. Nobody would miss you.”
Buck peered in through the window nearest the door. His mind slipped into gear again, figuring sight lines, vectors, stamping himself a mental image of where everyone was standing, including the one guy who had a gun.
They finally got the crate open. Buck judged there was no hope of the cavalry arriving in time. It was just him. Blood flowed to every part of his body as it readied. He was going to need to be explosive, and if there was one thing he’d always been, it was explosive.
He squatted, stretched, shook himself loose.
“You’d better go put those Canadian plates on your car,” Bertram said to White Shirt as one of the others pulled some packing foam loose and revealed a cavity containing two large black leather bags.
Game time, Buck thought as the man headed toward the barn door.
He waited, plastering himself against the wall until the guy rounded the corner. Then, almost faster than the eye could see, he slammed the blade of his hand into the guy’s windpipe, and the fingers of his other into his solar plexus.
White Shirt dropped without a sound, strangling silently, unable to suck any air through his crushed windpipe. The solar plexus had just been added protection.
Down to five. He picked up the dying man and dumped him behind one of the vehicles. Then he resumed the position.
“Go see what’s taking him so damn long,” Bertram finally snapped. “God, how long does it take to screw on a license plate?”
It was Scarface who came this time. He paused at the corner of the barn, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the night. Buck didn’t give him time.
His hand snapped out to grab the guy’s collar and yank him around into the darkness. Again the blade of his hand to the throat, a satisfying crunch.
Four to go.
But he couldn’t wait any longer. In another minute everyone in the barn would realize something had gone wrong. They wouldn’t come out singly, and he wouldn’t put it past any of them to get nervous enough to use Haley as a hostage.
She lay on the bales. Near the edge. He just hoped she was in a condition to obey a barked order.
Hefting the Glock, he made his way to the door.
* * *
Haley heard Buck’s voice, and for an instant she froze in disbelief. Then the words penetrated. “Haley, hit the floor!”
At once she rolled off the bales, getting the wind nearly knocked out of her. She struggled against her bonds and felt one wrist come free. She hardly noticed it was now wet with blood.
Twisting, she tried to work at the ropes and in the process saw Buck, practically a blur because he moved so fast, going after the four guys. God, he was outnumbered! She fought harder against her bonds, trying to pick a knot apart with one hand, and heard a gunshot.
Time seemed to stop. She froze and stopped breathing. Then, lifting her head, she looked and saw one of the men on the floor, a gun nearby.
And Buck. Moving like a ninja or a karate expert or something. She’d never in her life seen a real person move like that. He seemed to be everywhere at once.
The three remaining men converged on him, but at least two of them were next to useless as far as she could tell. A roundhouse kick caught Murdock Bertram in the side of the head. A punch to the gut brought Jim to his knees.
The last guy, though, looked like he knew how to fight. She fought harder against her bonds, needing to help, to do something, and got her other hand free.
* * *
It was alm
ost with pleasure that Buck saw the last guy knew what he was doing. The rest had been almost too easy, and he had a little mountain of fury he needed to work out.
It never entered his head he might lose. He never lost. He’d been trained to take on the best of the best.
They circled each other, getting ready, looking for opportunity. The other guy’s hand flashed toward his belt and a knife came out. A switchblade.
Buck pulled his barong from his own waist and the fight engaged. Jabs and parries, one after another, never holding still, almost dancing like boxers. A flash as the other guy’s knife stabbed toward him. He jumped to the side and the blade met air.
And then he saw his moment. The other guy was slightly off-balance now, his feet out of position. Buck moved to the right and snapped a foot into the outside of the man’s knee, hearing the crackle and pop of tearing ligaments. His attacker crumpled with a scream of pain and rage that ended when Buck drove the heel of his hand into the man’s jaw. The attacker was unconscious before he hit the ground.
Buck waited, breathing heavily, for someone to move, to come at him again. Then he heard the most beautiful sound in the world.
Haley asked, “Need some rope?”
* * *
A week later, Haley sat at the counter at the truck stop, sipping coffee, eating blueberry cobbler and being questioned by Hasty as fiercely as any of the cops who had talked to her. Well, maybe more so.
“I want every detail,” Hasty said. “I knew something was going on, but I didn’t know what. And when that Jim Liston came in here and started asking questions, I called him, you know.”
“You did?”
“You better believe it. I told him I didn’t care what was going on in my parking lot, but he’d damn well better stay clear of you and make sure nothing happened to you.”
Haley felt astonished. “Really? You knew something was going on?”
