by Sheri Landry
“How did she get away?”
Jack curls his lip. His sneer tells me he was hoping he wouldn’t have to answer that question. “She said she was going to get some firewood outside, around the back of the cabin. I told her she didn’t need wood because we were leaving soon, and she made a big deal about it.” His eyes stay on my jacket as he uses some tape to patch the hole where the bullet tore through.
“And you let her go out there?” I can’t believe he’d let her walk out of here like that.
“Of course not. There could be a long-range shooter in the woods. I’m not an idiot.”
I raise my eyebrows at his declaration. Right about now, that’s exactly what I think he is.
“I told her I’d go and get it for her.” His head hangs a little lower as he admits she got the better of him. She played him like a fiddle. Chuckling, I secure the gauze while he continues his story. “I got out there and there was no pile of wood. Then I heard a sad excuse for an engine from around the other side of the place. She drove away in a hunk of junk.”
“She could have taken our SUV. She took the keys.”
“Dana is many infuriating things, but stupid is not one of them. She probably knew we could track our vehicle. She won’t want to give away what direction she’s going in.”
“Why run?” I don’t understand why she would choose to run. This last year can’t have been easy for her, and she’s hellbent on doing it for the rest of her life. Whether it was her intention or not, she set down roots here, and they’ve begun to grow. I hoped we made it clear she wasn’t in trouble with us. Yet she’s crossed a line.
“You’ll have to ask her when we catch up with her.” Jack hurls the bag over his shoulder and walks out toward the SUV, pulling out his spare keys and opening the trunk.
By the time I grab my jacket and close the door, locking the padlock from the outside, he’s already in the driver’s seat.
I shift my attention between the phone in my left hand and the tracker in my right as we make our way down the dirt road. There are so many things I want to say, but my train of thought refuses to slow down enough to get something out.
“Michael.” Jack rarely uses my first name. I don’t mind, but I prefer Grizz because it reminds me of my father. My stomach twists, partly because I’ve only eaten an old animal cracker in the last twelve hours, but also because Jack only uses my name when he’s trying to reach me. “She’s going to be treated as a hostile from here on out. It’s for her own good.”
It almost sounds like an apology.
He leaves it at that. He knows we both know what it means.
“Bars.” I hold up the phone and dial the number before hitting the speaker.
“Jekyll.” Logan’s greeting is clipped.
“She’s running. We’re on her six, about ten behind her.” I waste no time.
“Jekyll, we’re now executing this as a hostile extraction,” Jack adds, keeping his eyes forward.
There’s a long pause on the line, followed by a resigned sigh. “Why is this not surprising?”
14
Dana
It feels like I haven’t been to the coffee shop in weeks, let alone less than twenty-four hours.
Parking my car around back, I unlock and pull the door to the kitchen open and hurry inside, locking the door behind me. Jack said we couldn’t come back here because there would be people watching the place, so I’m staying off the front street.
The sun is high enough that lights aren’t necessary, so I am able to move around without telling anyone I’m here.
What a difference a day makes.
On a normal day, I’d be in the back, making sandwiches for the kids to take to school. Tyler would be joking around, and Kaley would be asking me if we could add bacon to our next batch of chocolate chip cookies.
Yesterday, I was oblivious. I had become complacent.
Today, I’m grateful no one showed up for a shift, and, judging by the time on the clock, everyone got the message not to come in today before catching the school bus.
I walk a straight line to the shelf I had almost forgotten about. I pull out a metal stool, and the scraping sound makes me wince. I step up and reach above our extracts and food coloring, sliding my hand all the way to the back of the shelf until my fingers brush up against the little box. I’m careful not to let anything fall as I return to the ground. The contents inside are just as I left them. Pulling out the papers on top, I check to make sure the drive is still there before I seal it up and put it back in its spot on the shelf. I’ll circle back for the disk on my way out.
I step down, pull open a drawer, and search for a pen. I scribble a note on the front of the papers before signing my name, and the bell jingles from the front room.
The paper I am holding immediately shakes in my grasp. Only Tyler and Kaley have a key to the place, and the thought of them being here is terrifying.
“Dana, get your ass out here now!” Last night’s comfort in Michael’s voice is gone, and I steal a glance at the box on the shelf before deciding against grabbing it and running out the back door.
They’d be on me before I got back into my car, and they’d have Zane’s program. So I leave it where it is and join Michael in the front of the shop, dropping my backpack and the papers on the table closest to me, hoping I’ll have another chance at destroying the drive later.
“How did you get in?” I already know the answer, but I need to buy some time to figure out how to get myself and Zane out of here.
Tucking what looks like a wallet back in his pants, Jack answers me like I have two heads. “Please, this lock is worse than the one at your place.” He rolls his eyes at me as he walks toward the kitchen, pushing open the swinging door to look inside, while Michael steps closer to the table I am standing behind like it’s my shield.
“Is it just you?” Jack catches my attention and I nod before he pushes the door a second time and steps out of the room.
“You left the coffee shop to those kids?” Michael leans over the table, reading my business documents. “There’s a little more to it than writing a note. This isn’t exactly legal.” He taps his finger on the papers beside my bag.
The words I want to say are on the tip of my tongue, but I leave them there. I want to say it probably doesn’t matter, because it’s me against three more hitmen and any second could be my last, but I only respond with a shrug.
Michael releases a bitter chuckle, and a pang of guilt turns my stomach at the thought that I am the one closing off our communication and we both know it.
“You shouldn’t have run, Dana. I can’t make this easy for you now. Gather what you need. We’re leaving.”
My heart sinks with my shoulders. The only choice now is to tell them I have what they are looking for. It won’t be destroyed, but their hands aren’t the worst place Zane could end up in.
The jingle startles both of us, and we turn in unison as the front door opens. My heart beats hard against my ribs as Michael reaches around behind his back to where I know he keeps his gun.
“Sheriff Talbott.” At my greeting, Michael drops his hand from his waist and nods.
“Kim,” he greets me, then turns his attention to Michael, raising his brows, urging him to speak.
“Good morning, Sheriff. This is Michael. He’s an old friend. Just passing through town.”
The sheriff takes a step forward, extending his hand, and Michael’s smile stretches into a wince. His wound must be bothering him.
“Michael. You’re not by any chance renting the Miller cabin outside of town, are you?”
“We are.” As Michael answers him, I glance to the kitchen, seeing the door open an inch before it closes completely. Jack must have decided not to show his face in here. “I’m out here with a few friends for the week.”
“You’re not hunting, are you?” Panic sets in as I notice the start of a nod coming from Michael, and I interrupt the conversation.
“No, they’re fishing down
the way a bit. Hunting season is over. We were just talking about that.” I smile at Michael, and he catches himself, smiling in confirmation.
“I see.” The sheriff rocks from the balls of his feet to his heels as he looks around the room. “There were some reports of gunshots in town last night. Do either of you know anything about that?”
“In town? No. I was here in the evening, and I heard a couple of shots, but they sounded farther away. I met up with these guys at Dale’s shortly after, and I overheard someone say it was out by Eagle’s Pass.”
“Dale’s,” Sheriff Talbott repeats. I know they don’t get along well, so he won’t check out my story unless he really needs to. “Okay then. I’ll head out that way in a bit. Nice meetin’ you, Michael. You saved me a trip to the cabin. Mind if I take a standard look around before I leave?” His eyes settle on me.
“Sure, Sheriff.” The smile I have plastered on my face feels like a mask as he turns in place before walking toward the kitchen.
I follow behind him, already plotting my excuse for why Jack is back there, and Michael follows close behind me.
The kitchen is as I left it this morning, and Jack is nowhere to be found. The door to the back alley is unlocked. He must have stepped outside; I’m sure I locked it on my way in.
I exchange a glance with Michael before he narrows his eyes at me. His forehead has become shiny, and his eyes dart nervously around the room.
“You didn’t open for business this morning?” The sheriff catches me off guard. Between the questions and Michael’s odd behavior, an urgency to get this over with knots in my stomach.
“No. I’m doing inventory and fixing a few things. I do have some muffins here that’ll go bad before I get to open again. Can I pack some up for everyone back at the station?” I pull out a container, and he nods as Michael leans against the walk-in freezer door, crossing his arms.
“That’s mighty nice of you.” He tips his hat at me.
“You know what? Take the whole thing. I’ll make another batch later while I work.” Sliding the original container across the table, the sheriff’s eyes widen, and he snatches them up with thanks as I stretch my arm toward the door. It’s time to get him out of here.
Michael pauses for a hot minute before walking out, lowering his voice as he nears me. “Eagle’s Pass? You know your way around out here?”
I nod. There isn’t much else to do when you lose cell service and you’re trying to stay off-grid. I’ve been a local tourist for months around these parts, but I don’t need to share that with Michael. If I get another chance to run, he’ll find out just how well I know the area.
“If you see anything suspicious, you call it in right away.” The sheriff walks through the front area, and I absentmindedly answer as my attention falls on an open closet door just off the main area.
I could have sworn it was closed earlier.
“I will, Sheriff. Thanks for checking on us.”
“And you.” He turns to Michael, startling him as he reaches out his free hand. “I hear they’re biting down at the reservoir.”
“Pardon?” Michael meets his handshake, looking puzzled.
“The fishing. It’s a bit of a longer drive, but it might be worth the trip for you boys,” he clarifies.
I smile, patting Michael’s good arm. “Good idea. I’ll tell him where it is. Take care now.” I wave the sheriff out the door with a smile as I catch Michael removing his jacket out of the corner of my eye.
He must have had a spare shirt on him; his bloody white one has been replaced with a black tee. His bandages peek out from below the sleeve on his upper arm. I tap my own arm, drawing Michael’s attention to the light dressing against his dark skin, and he tugs his sleeve down to cover it up before the sheriff notices and decides to ask more questions.
Turning my attention back to the sheriff, we both stand still, smiling and waving as he leaves without a sound.
The silence of the room settles around us as my world falls apart in slow motion.
We’re standing in utter silence.
The familiar jingle is absent. My eyes slowly travel up to where the little bell hangs above my front door.
But it’s gone.
15
Michael
I understand why the people in town like to keep their business to themselves. While I don’t think the sheriff is up to anything illegal, there is also that saying about too much of a good thing, and I get the impression this guy walks the straight and narrow with a passion.
“Well, I’m glad that’s over. We need to get go—” My sentence gets lost in the look of terror on Dana’s face.
She was smiling a minute ago. Now she looks like she’s seen a ghost. Her eyes are bugged out and the blood has drained from her face as she stares at me, her arms frozen and her lips parted as she struggles to breathe.
“What’s wrong?” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as a lone tear rolls over her cheek.
Her hands shake as she points past me, over my head, and I follow her finger to the—
“G-gone.”
SHIT!
Someone is already here.
But where?
And where the hell is Jack?
Without another thought, I draw my gun and lunge forward, grabbing Dana in my arms and pushing us toward the kitchen. I kick the swinging door open and try to shield her from the threat I don’t see.
“Jack!” I call into the empty room. No one is in the baking area, and I let go of Dana, backing into the room after her while I keep an eye behind us for a tail.
“Mi—”
“Grizz,” I bark. No one hears my real name out here.
“I— I’m…I have a g-gun.” Stuttering, she catches her breath and bolts to the freezer, and that’s when I remember I was supposed to tell her about the bodies.
She pulls back the large doors, and her hands instantly whip up to her face, clamping together over her own mouth as she muffles her screams with her fingers, her hands shaking as her knuckles go white.
“Dammit.” Gritting my teeth, I reach out to pull her back from the freezer, as if that would somehow erase the sight of the two dead bodies frozen stiff in her kitchen.
“Is that—” She chokes on her words before she gets to the part where she asks me if the covered body is her friend Stan.
“It is. I’m so sorry. There’s no time to explain. Just don’t look.”
When I grabbed Dana’s arm earlier, she was pliant. She allowed me to corral her into the kitchen, but now she’s stiff, unforgiving.
She settles enough for me to think. Jack went out the back, so we’ll need to follow, but he’s the one holding the keys to the SUV.
“Do you have our keys?” I get into Dana’s face to focus her attention on what I need to get us out of here alive.
“In my backpack.” She points toward the swinging door leading to the front.
“Your keys?”
“Same.”
Going that way isn’t an option.
On instinct, I pat my chest, looking for my phone in my jacket pocket, and anger rises from deep inside me. Why the hell did I take off my jacket? It’s sitting out front, almost right beside the car keys and backpack.
We’re going to have to take the chance and run. Before I can push Dana toward the back alley, the swinging door moves in an inch, and I pull Dana hard, pushing my finger to my lips and hoping she’ll stay quiet.
The door closes flush to the wall, but I know someone is on the other side, waiting.
Jack would have come in. He knows we’re in here.
There’s no more time to plan. If we make it to the door, then we are outside, and Dana will be vulnerable. There are still three more shooters out there.
“Stay,” I whisper. I release my gun and turn it, placing the grip in her hand before pointing it down to the ground, and I move Dana off to the side. Stepping a few feet in front of the door, I haul my foot up, kick it wide open, and the door bounces back before swing
ing all the way open.
I made a connection.
I waste no time moving out of the kitchen and toward the man as he stumbles back, taking a glass display case with him. I follow him down. I let him hit the floor hard, and the case shatters around him. Then, grabbing his shirt, I haul him back up before he catches his breath and he joins me, fists swinging.
He lands an uppercut, and the crack ricochets in my ears as my teeth lock together and my head whips back. I connect with the table behind me, breaking my fall, and roll off, trying hard to stay on my own feet. He’s close to my size, so we’re evenly matched. This is going to come down to who is the better fighter.
Legs shuffle as we move, crouching and assessing each other. There’s no point in talking out our differences; we don’t have any. This isn’t personal for him at all. This is business, and I’m standing in his way of getting paid.
Before we lock into each other, he takes a step back, pulls out a blade from behind him, and points it directly at my heart. We’re the same height, so disarming from this angle is difficult but not impossible.
As he lunges, I drop down and push his arm up, then snap my hands together. One hits the inside of his wrist, the other pushes the back of his hand hard, and the blade goes flying across the room. With my angle, I push all my weight up and into him from below, lifting him and tossing him backward, with both of us flying over and destroying a table.
I jump back to standing, trying to get ready for the next attack, and he rolls back, getting into his own position. His eyes drop to my shoulder briefly before locking on my own, and a sharp pain registers where his eyes just landed. Without looking, I know my wound is bleeding again.
