Just a Hint--Clint

by Lori Foster

  Asa tilted his head in a curious fashion. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have my men beat you senseless.”

  Clint shrugged. “They’re of more use to you alive than dead.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I can’t guarantee they’ll survive if they attack me.” Clint looked at the livid man closest to him and shook his head. He was large, muscle bound, and in his late twenties. He would pose no challenge at all. “I know you want to, son, but the humiliation might be more than you can bear.”

  Asa again chose to be amused. His scratchy laugh filled the air until tears ran down his pudgy cheeks. The other men saw no humor. Finally, Asa gestured toward a table. “Sit, sit. I can tell you won’t bore me.”

  This room wasn’t as nice as the game room. A round wooden table and four chairs were in the middle of the floor. A bare bulb hung overhead. The room was small and crowded and as he sat, Clint planned a number of moves in case things turned ugly.

  Asa seated himself across from him, and the other men stationed themselves around the room. “Who are you?”

  “You can call me Clint.”

  “No last names, eh? A wise man. So tell me, Clint, who do you work for?”

  “Myself.”

  “Ah, no, I don’t think so. Someone has paid you to come here.”

  “Actually, someone likely wants you dead.” Clint thought of Robert’s expression whenever Asa was mentioned, and then the panic when he feared Clint might give away his name. Was Julie’s reputation really what motivated him, or was it something else? “That’s not why I’m here, though. I’m looking for a woman.”

  Asa nodded, and his own smile turned patronizing, sarcastic. “I can see why you’d seek my help. You wouldn’t exactly be a prize to the ladies, would you? Not with that face.”

  Clint knew what he looked like: His nose had been broken more than once. A small scar cut through his left eyebrow, another across his chin and one over his upper lip. Too many fights had left his face craggy from abuse.

  He also knew that despite his appearance, women gravitated toward him because they liked the sense of danger. They were silly bitches, but when he only wanted to fuck, the reasons for their interest didn’t matter all that much.

  Cutting to the point, Clint said, “I want to return a certain woman to someone else, someone you supposedly stole her from. And I want to return her unharmed.”

  For the first time, the humor, the indulgent amusement, was gone. Asa turned livid. “I should kill you for that accusation.”

  Well, well, well. What a telling reaction. Clint leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs in a deceptive pose, making it easier for him to roll away from the man closest to him, and to use the table for a shield if necessary. “Here’s the thing,” he muttered. “I don’t know you, so I have no idea what you’re capable of.”

  For a fat man, Asa shot to his feet with surprising speed. He flattened his beringed hands on the table and leaned toward Clint. “I’m capable of anything.” The hatred in his eyes, coupled with his growl, gave credence to that claim. “But I’m not a cowardly monster who would abuse a woman, any woman.”

  Clint contemplated him for a long time before coming to his own conclusions. Damn it, he believed him.

  Why had Robert been so sure Asa had her? “Here, in your element, you’re powerful.”

  Asa held up a large fist, squeezed tight. “Yes. I use my power to crush men who oppose me. I use my power to make a better life for my family.” The fist relaxed. “I have no need of hurting women, and any man who does is an animal who should be permanently removed from this earth. Point him out to me and I’ll gladly have him killed.”

  Clint narrowed his eyes. “I was hoping you could point him out to me.”

  Asa snarled, and Clint hurried to say, “It’s not that I don’t believe you. But seeing as you don’t have her as I was told, I hoped that given your influence and connections, you might have heard something else that’d give me a clue how to get her back.”

  “Who told you I had her?”

  “That I can’t say.” He didn’t want Robert’s death on his conscience.

  Asa straightened in thought. “But you want my help?”

  “I want information.”

  “What do I get in return?”

  Turning his own words back on him, Clint said, “The satisfaction of knowing I’ll take care of the man who took her in the first place.”

  Asa was thoughtful for long moments. “When was she taken?”

  “Twelve, maybe thirteen hours ago.”

  In question, Asa looked around at his men. They nodded, shrugged. A small, very private conversation took place, ending when Asa belted one man across the face. The man staggered, nearly fell, then straightened as if awaiting more punishment.

  Asa paced back to Clint, his expression livid. “I have information, though I didn’t realize until just now that it involved a woman.”

  Clint’s blood surged; his heartbeat quickened. “Go on.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s anonymous information. I fucking hate anonymity. It’s cowardly.”

  Thinking of Robert’s preferences, Clint said, “I agree.”

  Asa slashed a hand through the air. “Everyone knows I keep track of what happens in my neighborhood. Keeping information from me can prove…deadly.” He smiled and shrugged, as if such a penalty was to be expected. “I knew there was a kidnapping, but my man just told me that it was a woman taken. When I first heard of it, I made the mistake of assuming it was a local job, and that it was a man.”

  “She’s not local.”

  “Not if she’s still alive.” Asa worked his jaw.

  “No one around here can pay a ransom, so if anyone’s taken, it’s to be punished.”

  “She’s being ransomed.”

  “Which makes her not local.”

  Impatience thrummed inside Clint, so it was a good thing he didn’t have long to wait.

  Wearing an air of satisfaction, Asa faced him. “Normally such information would cost you dearly. But considering it’s a woman…” He held out his arms, a king filled with benevolence. “It would be my honor to retrieve her for you.”

  Clint declined that offer with a shake of his head. “Tell me where she is. I can take care of it.”

  “There’s more than one man.”

  Clint shrugged.

  “Yes.” Asa chuckled anew. “I believe you can handle yourself. But you see, I have a personal dislike of those who mistreat women.”

  Clint crossed his arms and frowned, ready to have an end to the meeting. “Yeah? Me, too.”

  There was no time for small talk. At this very moment, Julie Rose could be hurt, suffering abuse. Awareness of her, of her situation, flowed through Clint’s blood with every beat of his heart.

  Asa gave up with a good-natured shake of his graying head. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know, which is the direction they were headed, and the area where they’re likely hidden.”

  It was too easy. The whole scenario seemed far too pat to allow Clint to relax.

  As if reading his thoughts, Asa said, “Yes, it smells like a trap, doesn’t it? I wish I knew the man who shared the details, but I don’t.”

  “Do you at least have a description?”

  Asa gestured to the man who still wore a hand-print on his left cheek.

  Military style, the man stepped forward. “A small guy. Wiry, and like a punk.”

  “A punk?”

  “Long, dark hair, earring. Maybe in his mid-twenties.”

  Asa dismissed the man. “If there was a trap, it was probably against me, not you.”

  Clint couldn’t argue that.

  “Likely, the informant assumed I’d go after her. And I would have, if I’d realized it was a woman. But understand, too, around here, anyone who finds out anything reports back to me. It’s not surprising that I’ve heard about it.”

  “Just tell me what you know and I’ll take care of the rest.” And
if it was a trap, Clint would handle that, too.

  “Fine. But the information comes with a friendly warning—you punish the bastards or I will.”

  Clint nodded agreement. “I’ll hurt them.” And if they’d hurt Julie Rose, he might even kill them, as Robert probably wanted him to.

  Five minutes later, with descriptions and directions and a lot of haste, Clint reached for the door. His reasons were twofold—he felt pushed to get to Julie fast now that he knew where to find her and knew the caliber of the men who’d taken her. They were scum, without the slanted moral code to which Asa subscribed.

  Also, the likelihood existed that Red, having counted out the requisite twenty minutes, would be parked in the living room at any moment.

  Asa bid him farewell. “Trent will show you out. Next time you visit, it will be with a modicum of courtesy.”

  Clint didn’t intend to be back, so he shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”

  Trent kept pace with Clint’s hurried stride. When they stepped onto the porch, he looked down at his fallen buddy, still out cold. “What did you do to him?”

  “Nothing he won’t recover from.” Clint went halfway down the steps, then paused. It was unusual, but curiosity got the better of him. “Tell me why Asa is such a champion of women.”

  Trent grunted. “It’s not a secret. His mother was killed trying to fight off three men who beat and raped his sister.”

  Clint went still in surprise. “His sister?”

  “She was in her early teens when it happened, and now she’s all the family he has left.”

  Chapter Two

  A bead of sweat took a slow path down his throat and into the neckline of his dark T-shirt. Pushed by a hot, insubstantial breeze, a weed brushed his cheek.

  Clint never moved.

  Through the shifting shadows of the pulled blinds, he could detect activity in the small cabin. The low drone of voices filtered out the screen door, but Clint couldn’t make out any of the slurred conversation.

  Next to him, Red stirred. In little more than a breath of sound, he said, “Fuck, I hate waiting.”

  Wary of a trap, Clint wanted the entire area checked. Mojo chose that moment to slip silently into the grass beside them. He’d done a surveillance of the cabin, the surrounding grounds, and probably gotten a good peek in the back window. Mojo could be invisible and eerily silent when he chose.

  “All’s clear.”

  Something tightened inside Clint. “She’s in there?”

  “Alive but pissed off and real scared.” Mojo’s obsidian eyes narrowed. “Four men. They’ve got her tied up.”

  Clint silently worked his jaw, fighting for his famed icy control. The entire situation was bizarre. How was it Asa knew exactly where in northern Kentucky to find the men, yet they didn’t appear to expect an interruption? He didn’t doubt Asa’s power, but this was just a bit too pat for Clint. Had Robert deliberately fed the info to Asa, to embroil him in a trap, so Clint would kill him? And why would Robert want Asa dead?

  Somehow, both he and Julie Rose were pawns. But for what purpose?

  Clint’s rage grew, clawing to be freed, making his stomach pitch with the violent need to act. “They’re armed?”

  Mojo nodded with evil delight. “And on their way out.”

  Given that a small bonfire lit the clearing in front of the cabin, Clint wasn’t surprised that they would venture outside. The hunting cabin was deep in the hills, mostly surrounded by thick woods. Obviously, the kidnappers felt confident in their seclusion.

  He’d have found them eventually, Clint thought, but Asa’s tip had proved invaluable. And a bit too fucking convenient.

  So far, nothing added up, and that made him more cautious than anything else could have.

  He’d work it out as they went along. The drive had cost them an hour and a half, with another half hour crawling through the woods. It was a little after ten at night. They’d had Julie for almost sixteen hours.

  But now Clint had them.

  The cabin door opened and two men stumbled out under the glare of a yellow bug light. One wore jeans and an unbuttoned shirt; the other was shirtless, showing off a variety of tattoos on his skinny chest. They looked youngish and drunk and stupid. They looked cruel.

  Raucous laughter echoed around the small clearing, disturbed only by a feminine voice, shrill with fear and anger, as two other men dragged Julie Rose outside.

  She wasn’t crying.

  No, sir. Julie Rose was too busy complaining to cry.

  Her torn nightgown hung off her right shoulder nearly to her waist, exposing one small pale breast. She struggled against hard hands and deliberate roughness until she was shoved, landing on her right hip in the barren area in front of the house. With her hands tied behind her back, she had no way to brace herself. She fell flat, but quickly struggled into a sitting position.

  The glow of the bonfire reflected on her bruised, dirty face—and in her furious eyes. She was frightened, she had to be, but she hid it beneath bravado.

  “I think we should finish stripping her,” one of the men said.

  Julie’s bare feet pedaled against the uneven ground as she tried to move farther away.

  The men laughed some more, and the one who’d spoken went onto his haunches in front of her. He caught her bare ankle, immobilizing her.

  “Not too much longer, bitch. I’ll be making that call in just a few minutes. They’ll send the money for you in the morning.” He stroked her leg, up to her knee, higher. “After that, who cares what I do with you, huh?” He laughed. “You getting anxious?”

  Her chest heaved; her lips quivered.

  She spit on him.

  Clint was on his feet in an instant, striding through the tall grass and into the clearing before Mojo’s or Red’s hissed curses could register. The four men, standing in a cluster, turned to look at him with various expressions of astonishment, confusion, and horror. They were slow to react, and Clint realized they were not only young and foolish, but more than a little drunk, too. Idiots.

  One of the young fools reached behind his back.

  “You.” Clint stabbed him with a fast lethal look while keeping his long, ground-eating pace to Julie. “Touch that weapon and I’ll break your leg.”

  The guy blanched—and promptly dropped his hands.

  Clint didn’t think of anything other than his need to get between Julie and the most immediate threat. But without giving it conscious thought, he knew that Mojo and Red would back him up. If any guns were drawn, theirs would fire first.

  The man who’d been abusing Julie snorted in disdain at the interference. He took a step forward, saying, “Just who the hell do you think you—”

  Reflexes on automatic, driven by a blinding rage, Clint pivoted to the side and kicked out hard and fast. The force of his boot heel caught the man on the chin with satisfying impact. He sprawled flat with a raw groan that dwindled into blackness. He didn’t move.

  That galvanized another man into action. He leapt forward. Clint stepped to the side and, like clockwork, kicked out a knee, following with a punch to the throat. The obscene sounds of breaking bone and cartilage and the accompanying gurgle of pain split the night, sending nocturnal creatures to scurry through the leaves.

  Clint glanced at Julie’s white face, saw she was frozen in shock, and headed toward the two remaining men. Eyes wide, they started to back up, and Clint curled his mouth into the semblance of a smile. “I don’t think so.”

  A gun was finally drawn, but not in time to be fired. Clint grabbed the man’s wrist and, with a sharp movement, twisted up and back.

  “I think you broke my arm,” the man yelped.

  Clint said, “No,” and twisted once more. “Now it’s broke.”

  Still holding him, Clint pulled him forward and into a solid punch to the stomach. Without breath, the painful shouts ended real quick.

  Robert Burns had said not to bring anyone in. Clint couldn’t see committing random murder, and that’s
what it’d be if he started breaking heads now. But in an effort to protect Julie Rose and her apparently already tattered reputation, he wouldn’t turn them over to the law either.

  That didn’t mean he’d let them go. He had a plan, one that would give retribution without involving Julie Rose. For now…Clint, fed up and ready to end it, turned to the fourth man. He threw a punch at the man’s nose and another at his ribs and finally one to his kidneys. He watched the guy crumble to his knees, then to his face, wheezing for breath.

  They wouldn’t be up and running anytime soon.

  Behind Clint, Red’s dry tone intruded. “Well, that was efficient.”

  Clint struggled with himself for only an instant before realizing he had no one else to fight. He jerked around, saw Julie Rose held in wide-eyed terror, and his stomach tumbled. Mojo stepped out of the way as Clint lurched to the bushes.

  Anger turned to acid in his gut.

  Typically, at least for Clint Evans and his weak-ass stomach, he puked.

  Julie could hardly believe her eyes. One minute she’d known she would be raped and probably killed, and the fear had been all consuming, a live, clawing dread inside her that made rational thought impossible.

  Now…now she didn’t know what had happened. Three men, looking like angelic convicts, had burst into the clearing. Well no, that wasn’t right. The first man hadn’t burst anywhere. He’d strode in, casual as you please, and then proceeded to make mincemeat out of her abductors.

  He’d taken on four men as if they were no more than gnats.

  She’d never seen that type of brawling. His blows hadn’t been designed to slow down an opponent, or to bruise or hurt. One strike—and the men had dropped like dead weights. Even the sight of the gun hadn’t fazed him. He moved so fast, so smoothly, the weapon hadn’t mattered at all.

  When he’d delivered those awesome strikes, his expression, hard and cold, hadn’t changed. A kick here, a punch there, and the men who’d held her, taunted her, the men who had seemed terrifyingly invincible to her, were no longer a threat.

  He was amazing, awesome. He was…throwing up.