Deathmarch (Broslin Creek Book 7)

by Dana Marton

  “That’s fine. I’m not scared of her.”

  “You should file a restraining order, regardless. And while you’re at it, we’ll file one against Zane too.” He paused. “Why are you not mad at Brittany?”

  “I am. But at the same time… She’s stuck in her high-school-mean-girl phase. My life is fine, despite a couple of recent setbacks. What is her life going to be if she keeps this up?”

  Allie made it to the bottom of the stairs and out the door without trouble. She just needed to walk around to the front. Most important thing was not to slip.

  Only a handful of cars sat in the lot, including a brown bread-delivery truck advertising Italian loaves and French baguettes on the side. She stopped for a second to lean against the building, turn her face to the winter sun, and just breathe some fresh, nippy air, telling Harper, “She was a bully ten years ago. She’s still a bully. And now she’ll have an arrest record. I wish she had just one person in her life who would have a serious talk with her.”

  “She’s going to have that talk today. I’ve never seen this side of her.”

  “Yeah. I can guess which side of her you saw.” Allie hobbled forward. “Anyway, I’ll think about the restraining orders. But I really think it’s safe for me to move back to Shannon’s.”

  “Let’s talk about that when I get home.” And before she could argue, he added, “I have to go. I’ve had a development in the murder case.”

  And then she was listening to the dial tone.

  Finnegan’s was mostly empty, only a half a dozen people at the tables, the lunch crowd done and gone, and the time way too early for dinner. Allie hobbled up to the unmanned bar with its rich dark wood, the gleaming copper features.

  The place had a homey feel, probably owing to the fact that it was a family business. As she slid onto a stool, she wondered what it must be like to have something like this, the sheer stability a family represented, roots, people around you who unquestioningly had your back.

  She was not lonely, she told herself then. She was not longing for more than what she had. She was a strong, independent woman.

  Kennan sailed through the door in the back and ran his gaze over her. “Are you all right? Do you need help upstairs? You should have called down.”

  “Just here for coffee.” Allie smiled at him. She didn’t feel comfortable enough with Harper’s family to place orders on the phone. “I needed to get out. Also, I wanted to thank you for the bail money again. If you could tell me what the fee was, I’d like to pay you for that.”

  “No rush.”

  “I’ll be leaving in a couple of days.”

  “Does Harper know that?”

  Allie wasn’t sure how to interpret the question, so she didn’t say anything.

  “How do you drink your coffee?” Kennan asked, oblivious to the attention his wide shoulders were drawing from a handful of female customers at a table by the front.

  He did have that hot warrior vibe about him, Allie thought. Always had, yet Kennan had never gotten under her skin like Harper managed. “Two sugars, two half-and-halfs.”

  He stepped to the pot in the back of the bar and poured, set the sugar and the half-and-halfs on the saucer, then brought it over.

  The scent of strong dark coffee alone was enough to make Allie relax. She reached into her back pocket and put a fiver on the bar. “Thanks.”

  Kennan pushed the money back. “On the house.” He smiled at her, his smile too alike to Harper’s for comfort. “Great performance the other night.”

  “You were there?”

  “Sorry I didn’t stay to say hi. I had to light out before the Q&A. I was supposed to work the bar.” His smile widened. “Nice outfit.”

  The way he said it had some extra meaning Allie couldn’t decipher. She raised an eyebrow.

  “Harper has a thing for the Wild West. He’s seen Deadwood half a dozen times.” Kennan grabbed a dishcloth to wipe a few droplets of water off the bar before leaning a hip against it, a pose that, Allie could swear, made the women around the table at the front sigh. “Every year, we have a Halloween party here. He’s Sheriff Bullock every damn year. It’s getting boring.”

  Allie bit back a grin as she finished her coffee. “I’m going to store that information for later. What else can you tell me about him that’s embarrassing?”

  “He’d kill me.”

  “I’ll protect you.”

  Kennan laughed.

  She tilted her head. “You don’t think I’m tough enough, Soldier Boy?”

  “Marine Man. At the very least.” Kennan pointed at her with the dishcloth before adding, “I’ll admit, you looked tough enough on stage with that rifle. Do you have that at the schools too, when you do shows?”

  “Not the rifle. No guns in schools. Not after all the shooter drills those kids have been through. If they want Wild West, I usually do Calamity Jane, minus the swearing.”

  “What? The swearing is the best part. Gimme some.” He grinned.

  He was so charming, it was difficult to resist him.

  She pretended to spit some imaginary chewing tobacco into a pretend spittoon at her feet, then narrowed her eyes at him, pulling up her Calamity Jane tone. “Fox-fucking, horseshit-hacking son of a bitch!” And while Kennan bent over laughing, she switched back to Allie. “See? Plenty tough.”

  He shook his head. “Fluffy bunny. Sorry.”

  “Hey!”

  “It’s the hair.”

  She patted down what stuck up. “My hair doesn’t like winter.”

  He ran a hand over his bristly Marine cut, still grinning. “Be glad you have hair.” He shook his head. “Anything with that coffee?”

  “What do you have?”

  “Irish scones.” He turned to the counter behind him and used a napkin to grab one, set the giant scone on a plate, then put it in front of her.

  “It’s not going to make up for the fluffy bunny comment.”

  “You haven’t tried it yet.”

  He was right. A single sweet bite had the power to make Allie a happy woman. “Mmm.”

  He winked. “Irish scones can cover a multitude of sins.”

  Their light banter made her feel comfortable and…at home? God, she was feeling at home in Broslin. At Finnegan’s! She must have hit her head harder than anyone suspected.

  She cleared her throat. “Could you please tell me how much the bail bond fee was? Owing people money makes me feel uncomfortable. I’ll pay you as soon as the transfer for that performance for the Historical Society comes through.”

  “You don’t—”

  She held up a hand. “My father borrowed from everyone and owed everyone. I really appreciate how nice you’re being to me, Kennan. I don’t want to be…”

  “You’re not Tony.” But he grabbed a pen and a napkin. “PayPal?”

  She nodded and watched him write down the dollar amount, and below that, his email address. Then she thanked him again as she stuffed the napkin into her back pocket.

  “Did you like the lunch Harper took up?” he asked.

  Allie nodded.

  “Good. A man takes care of his woman.”

  She slid off her barstool. “Since you bailed me out, and you just gave me coffee, we’ll address the caveman undertones of a man takes care of his woman later. Thank you for the scone.”

  “You’re welcome. But next time, please call down. It’d be no trouble to bring up anything. You’d give me the pleasure of watching Harper’s face when I told him I was up there with you making a home delivery.” Kennan’s eyes glinted with mischief as he slapped the dishcloth over his shoulder. “Want me to carry you upstairs?”

  “No, thank you.” But she smiled at him. “I’m trying to regain my independence.”

  She hobbled to the door and pushed outside, feeling better after the coffee and the sugar kick. Her ankle barely hurt. By tomorrow, she’d be back to normal, she promised herself as she made her way to Harper’s door step by wobbly step.

  She was almo
st there when movement at the bread-delivery truck to her left drew her eyes, a man dressed all in black stepping into view.

  Recognition knocked the air from Allie’s lungs. Aw, dammit. “Zane?”

  She scampered toward the door, but didn’t make it before he reached her.

  “You fucking whore.” He grabbed her by the arms. “Living with some asshole already.” He shook her, then lowered his head to hers until she could smell the beer on his breath. “I. Am. Not. Done. With. You. Yet.”

  “You’re drunk.” Which surprised her. She’d never seen him down more than a can or two. Then again, what did she know about what he used to do when she hadn’t been around?

  She shoved him. “That asshole I’m living with is a cop. I told him about you. He knows your name. He knows where to look if I go missing. You better get the hell out of here before he gets home.”

  Zane pushed her against the stone wall at her back, capturing her right wrist in a bruising grip.

  “Stop it, Zane.”

  She punched his arm with her left hand, but his coat took the brunt of the hit and he didn’t even wince. Instead, he grabbed her other wrist too and slammed it against the hard stones.

  “You’re hurting me.” She twisted in his grip in a futile attempt to break free. And she wasn’t steady enough on her feet to kick the flipping idiot, dagnabbit.

  She fought to catch her breath. “Let’s talk about this.”

  He yanked her away from the wall and dragged her along. “Damn right. You and I are going to have a long talk. If you want me to forgive you, it’s going to take a lot of apologizing on your part.”

  He was either that drunk or that crazy. Neither bode well for her, so she fought him, but she only hurt her wrist more and then her ankle when she stumbled.

  “Please, Zane.” She stopped fighting. If she damaged herself, for sure she wouldn’t be able to get away. “Stalking is one thing. This is kidnapping. Let’s talk here. Nobody’s home. Let’s go upstairs.”

  She knew exactly where Harper kept his kitchen knives.

  “Shut up.” Zane yanked her forward and slammed her against the side of the bread truck, crushed her against the painted panel, then reached around her to grab her cell phone from her back pocket.

  Before she could protest, he tossed the phone to the ground at his feet and ground it under his bootheel.

  Dread crawled up her spine as the sudden understanding that she was in serious trouble dawned on her. She’d never seen him this drunk, or this mad.

  “Let’s go,” he said through gritted teeth, eyes burning with anger as he dragged her to his SUV behind the truck. You’re done with this shithole.”

  “Zane!” Allie dug in. “I’m not leaving with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She’d just sucked in breath for a good scream but pain exploded in her face, and she couldn’t make any sound at all. She could barely breathe as blood trickled from her lip.

  He’d backhanded her over her mouth. Hard.

  He didn’t slow, didn’t check to see if she was okay. Even as she struggled, reeling from the sudden escalation of violence, he was yanking the car door open, brimming with rage and manic determination.

  He was going to shove her in there, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Because she hadn’t thought he would go this far. Oh God, how stupid, stupid, stupid had she been? This was exactly how every victim became a statistic.

  “Help!” Allie called out, but there was nobody in the parking lot, nobody to hear, and she was breathless with sudden panic, her voice too weak.

  She gasped for air as she fought, even while she knew she wasn’t strong enough to break free.

  He’s going to take me. The thought slammed into her like a punch in the face.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The pub’s parking lot stood between Finnegan’s and the old farmhouse where Rose and Sean Finnegan lived. Allie watched as, behind Zane, Rose slipped out the back door of her home with a cast-iron frying pan in her hand. She had a fierce concentration on her face, her fingers grabbing the handle tight enough to turn her knuckles white. She wore an apron and house slippers, could have been anyone’s sweet grandma, except for the steel in her eyes that clearly identified her as a woman not to be messed with, a woman who wasn’t holding that frying pan with scrambled eggs in mind.

  Allie snapped her gaze back to Zane so she wouldn’t give away Rose’s presence.

  “Just give me a sec,” she begged to hold Zane’s attention. “I’m dizzy. I have a concussion. You shouldn’t have hit me.”

  “It’s your own damn fault.” He shoved her toward his SUV. “I asked you nicely, but you had to make this difficult for yourself.”

  “Wait! Zane…” She braced against the doorframe.

  She couldn’t stand on her bad foot, not with her full body weight, so she stood on the other one and lifted her right leg. Nothing wrong with her knee, and she had just the place for it.

  She nailed the bastard in the balls, even as she shoved him back, close enough for Rose to swing the cast-iron skillet like a tennis racket at the back of his head.

  Clang!

  Zane went down like the sack of shit that he was, and he stayed down too.

  “Is he the one who hit you with his car? Rose asked, breathing hard, standing fierce.

  Allie had to fight to catch her own breath. “Brittany Wallingford confessed to that.”

  Rose’s eyebrows took wing. “When?”

  “An hour ago?”

  Rose shook her head, then stepped closer to Zane to peer at his face. “Did I kill him?”

  Allie sank back against the black SUV behind her to take the weight of her throbbing ankle. “I’m not sure I care.”

  “Mom!” Kennan came running across the parking lot, pool cue in hand, looking around for more attackers, ready to fight an army. “What happened?”

  “Call your brother.” Rose whipped off her apron and moved over to dab the blood seeping from Allie’s nose. “I didn’t have a chance to grab my phone before I ran out.”

  Kennan was dialing already. “Somebody just tried to grab Allie.” Pause. “She’s fine. Mom’s cleaning up her face.”

  Rose worked gently. “Your lip is split.”

  Allie ran her tongue over the throbbing spot. Flinched. “Could be worse.”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Kennan said into the phone. “Other than I just watched our mother beat a guy unconscious in the parking lot.” Another pause, then he held out the phone to Allie. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “It’s Zane,” was the first thing she said.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “A scratch.”

  He swore. Paused. “I’ll be right there.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  But he’d already hung up, so she handed the phone back to Kennan, who stepped closer to look at her injury, saying, “If the asshole isn’t dead, Harper’s going to kill him. And I’m going to help him hide the body.”

  Allie wasn’t normally a fan of violence, but the unconditional offer of support made her feel better. She gave him a tremulous smile, feeling shaky, a delayed reaction. Danger is over, she told herself, but her body needed a minute to catch up.

  While Kennan called for an ambulance, Rose gave Allie’s chin another pat with the red-stained cloth, and stepped back. “It’s better if Harper doesn’t see you all bloodied up. Are you still dizzy?”

  “I just said that to distract Zane from you sneaking up behind him.”

  “Smart move. Quick thinking. My heart about stopped when I saw you from the window. I didn’t know if I would reach you in time.”

  Kennan grumbled at his mother as he hung up, “You should have called me instead of running out. What if the idiot had a gun?”

  Rose looked sheepish for a moment, for the first time that Allie remembered.

  “If he had a gun, he would have had it out,” Rose said then. “Anyway, there was no time to think. He had her at
his car. I had to reach him before he jumped behind the wheel and took off.”

  Kennan pulled her into a bear hug, held her, rested his chiseled chin on the top of her head. “You’re giving me gray hairs, Ma.”

  Rose huffed, hugging him back. “You gave me half of mine, so there you have it. Payback.”

  Allie watched them, fascinated with the loving family interaction. She envied the bond, the warmth, the sense of belonging, and the sure knowledge that people had your back, would come running if you needed help.

  Although Rose had come running. As if Allie was family. And didn’t that just blow her mind?

  “Thank you, Mrs. Finnegan.” She stepped forward, then hesitated, frozen halfway between a handshake and a hug. A handshake?

  Rose caught her hesitation, and her eyes softened. She offered a hug as warm as she had given to her son. And then, after she pulled back, she clicked her tongue at Kennan, snapping her bloody apron. “What are you waiting for? Take Allie upstairs so she can get off her feet.”

  “What about the asshole?” Kennan tilted his head toward Zane on the ground—still out cold.

  Rose swung her skillet in an arc that would have given Serena Williams pause. “I can watch him until Harper shows up. Don’t you worry about that.”

  Kennan stepped over Zane, leaned the pool cue against the bread-delivery truck, then held his arms out to Allie. “May I?”

  “It’s not that bad. Honestly. I can walk.”

  “I have no doubt. But please don’t. Note that my mother is holding a skillet. If I let you risk further injury, she will bean me.”

  Rose definitely looked like she would, so Allie said, “All right.”

  Kennan bent to her without hesitation, and then she was in his arms, long before she had a chance to grow comfortable with the thought. She hung on to his wide shoulders as he maneuvered around the cars. Awkward.

  But not entirely unpleasant. The Finnegan boys had always been sexy enough so that they could have had their own calendar. Not enough of them, but…the father would fit too, Sean Finnegan. And not that Allie was prejudiced, but Harper had always been hot enough to be featured more than once…