by V.K. Sykes
* * *
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.
