by Amy Vansant
No sooner had she raised the gun, than Declan slammed the other man’s head to his knee. As the man bounced back to an upright position, stunned and wobbling, Declan side-kicked him through the door. Splinters of wood exploded as the man plummeted to the dance floor outside, landing spread-eagled and unconscious.
Possibly dead.
Charlotte wasn’t sure how anyone survived having their head plowed into a kneecap before being face-kicked through what appeared to have once been a pretty solid door.
Charlotte watched as Declan rushed to the man, checking to be sure he’d neutralized his enemy.
Since when could Declan fight like that?
Declan turned to her, his eyes still wild with intensity, chest rising and falling with the exertion of his battle. She spotted the moment he truly focused on her. The fury in his eyes calmed. His expression relaxed. He appeared almost embarrassed.
“We need to find some rope to tie him up,” he said.
Charlotte nodded. “We also need to talk.”
The sound of a car door slamming echoed from the other room.
Jackie yelped as if she’d snapped from a quick nap. Charlotte jumped. She’d almost forgotten Jackie was there.
Declan grabbed the gun from Charlotte’s hand and ran from the room.
Chapter Sixteen
Declan cracked open the front door and peered outside. A barefooted woman running toward the building stopped and held up a gun.
Stephanie.
He opened the door and pointed his own gun at her. They stood, locked in their stalemate.
“Stephanie,” he said.
“Declan.”
“Are you responsible for this?”
She smiled. “The guy who went in there? Uh, no. That one—” She motioned over her shoulder with her gun. Declan leaned to the left and spotted a man on the ground fifty yards behind her, one hand waving in the air, the other gripping his bleeding gut. “That one was me,” she added.
He lowered his weapon. “Is he armed?”
She scoffed. “What am I, stupid?”
“He’s not going anywhere?”
“He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t bleed out in another five minutes.”
Declan sighed. “Who are they? The one in here was trained.”
“Drug thugs. They work for Louis Beaumont. Sort of. I suspect he works for them, but he doesn’t know that. He’s playing drug lord dress-up.”
“Any relation to Victor Beaumont?”
“His son. Not exactly a chip off the old block.”
“And you? Do you work for them?”
Stephanie hooked her mouth to the side. “Would you believe I’m recently retired?”
He shook his head and glanced at the dying man in the parking lot. His hand still hovered in the air, dropping lower by the second.
“I’ll call an ambulance. I suppose you’d better come in. I have to check on the other guy.”
Declan felt someone approaching and turned with his gun raised. Charlotte stopped and held up her hands.
“Whoa.”
He lowered the gun. “Sorry.”
Charlotte peered out the door and scowled. “What is she doing here?”
Stephanie waved, gun still in her hand. “Hi, girlfriend.”
Declan frowned. “I don’t exactly know yet. I need to get this guy tied up.”
“Already done,” said Charlotte, as Stephanie and Declan entered. Charlotte scowled and craned her neck to peer around them. “Is that a guy in the parking lot?”
Stephanie nodded as she walked past Charlotte. “My bad.”
Declan glanced at the man Charlotte had tied up. She’d tied him to the bar foot rail. It didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere, even if he happened to wake up.
Declan turned his attention to Stephanie, who’d perched herself at the bar. “What is all this? Why does Louis Beaumont want this place bad enough to kill for it?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Something to do with drugs, I imagine. They’re sort of one-minded that way.”
“Who’s Louis Beaumont?” asked Charlotte.
“A drug dealer,” said Declan.
Stephanie held up a finger. “He prefers to be called a businessman, thank you very much.”
Charlotte scowled. “You’re working for him?”
“Not after I shot his guy, I think.” Stephanie blew her hair out of her face. “I was over it anyway.”
Declan glanced toward the front door. “We need to call an ambulance.”
“Oh let me,” said Stephanie grabbing the phone on the bar. She stopped and stared at the screen.
“Is that me?” she asked, turning the screen away from her to face Declan.
Declan looked at the screen and recognized the photo Charlotte had shown him earlier of Stephanie sitting at a bar.
Stephanie didn’t wait for an answer and turned the screen back to herself.
“This angle. I know who took this shot. He’s at Louis’s dry cleaning right now.”
“What?” Charlotte took a step forward. “Ryan Finnegan is mixed up in this?”
“Not on purpose. Last I saw him he was tied to a chair. Unless he’s into that sort of thing and then maybe it is on purpose.”
Charlotte looked at Declan, who turned, scowling at Stephanie.
“You didn’t think to free him?”
Stephanie’s eyes grew wide. “Little ole me? How could I free a kidnapped man from a drug dealer?”
Declan’s jaw tightened. “Stephanie, I swear to—”
She held up her hands. “It was none of my business. I’ve got my own issues. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to take a second to realize that if it hadn’t been for me you’d all be dead by now.” She glanced at the unconscious man tied to the foot rail of the bar. “You might have handled one but you wouldn’t have handled three.”
Declan did the math. “Three? I count two. Him and gut wound out there.”
“You forgot Pirro.”
“Where’s he?”
Stephanie shrugged. “On his way for reinforcements, I imagine.”
The door swung open and Declan and Stephanie both drew their weapons.
“Charlotte, there’s some drunk out in the parking lot—” Mariska covered her head with her hands. “Don’t shoot!”
Stephanie’s eyes rolled in Charlotte’s direction as she lowered her weapon. “I assume she’s one of yours.”
“I think that man might be hurt,” said Darla entering a moment later. She stopped and stared at Mariska, who remained balled up like an armadillo standing on one foot. She looked at Charlotte. “What’s that all about?”
Charlotte sighed. “A misunderstanding. What are you two doing here?”
“We followed you—” Darla pointed. “Is that a man tied to the bar?”
Charlotte nodded.
Scowling, Darla continued. “We wanted to see the club and ask Jackie why she never invited us here. Where is she?”
Charlotte thrust a thumb in the direction of the office. “Hiding behind the desk in there.”
Darla strode past the others, pausing a moment to ogle at the destroyed office door before stepping inside.
“We have to get out of here,” said Declan.
Charlotte walked over to Mariska, encouraging her to uncurl. Mariska peeked from under her hands to find the weapons gone. Her shoulders unbunched.
Darla and a pale, shaky Jackie walked from the office, Darla’s arm wrapped around Jackie’s shoulder.
“What did you do to her?” asked Darla.
Mariska scowled at Charlotte. “Young lady, you tell me what’s going on here right now.”
Charlotte put her hand on her chest. “You think I’m responsible for all this?”
Stephanie wiped the prints from the gun in her hand with her shirt and motioned towards the parking lot. “This is his gun. I’m going to put it back in his hand. He won’t tell the cops anything. Just say you found him out there.”
“How do you know he won’t say an
ything?” asked Charlotte.
“Two reasons. First, men like him don’t talk to cops. There are things in his world a lot scarier than jail.” Stephanie fell silent.
“And the second reason?” prompted Charlotte.
“Oh. Right. He’ll be dead.”
Jackie leaned on the bar, panting, as Darla stroked her hair. “Your dance club is lovely.”
Jackie swallowed. “Thank you.”
“You’re not hurt, are you?” asked Mariska. As she took a step toward Darla and Jackie, she noticed the man tied to the bottom of the bar for the first time.
She yipped, hand on her heart as she gave him wide berth.
“They’re everywhere.”
The front door slammed as Seamus burst in, calling Jackie’s name.
Again, Declan and Stephanie raised and lowered their guns. Jackie dislodged herself from Darla’s embrace and scrambled into Seamus’s waiting arms.
“I just cleaned this thing,” said Stephanie, again wiping her prints from the gun.
“What in the name of St. Patrick is goin’ on in here?” asked Seamus attempting to soothe his frantic girlfriend.
The roar of a muscle car growled outside.
“That would be Pirro,” said Stephanie, picking up the newly cleaned gun once more. “I give up.”
“Everyone behind the bar, now!” roared Declan.
Chapter Seventeen
Mariska and Darla scurried behind the bar. Jackie scrambled to the office. Seamus bolted to the front door, locked it, and dropped a large metal bar across it.
“That’s handy,” said Declan, admiring the thickness of the door’s draw bar. “Is the extra security thanks to these goons?”
Seamus shook his head. “Nah. Jackie worried about kids breaking into the place and cleaning out her booze. They could drink the place dry by the time the cops ever got here. I made sure the place seals up like a castle.”
Declan dialed 9-1-1 and then looked at his phone.
“I’ve got no signal.”
“There’s no tower out here. There’s a landline in the—”
“The phone line’s dead,” wailed Jackie as she stumbled over the splintered office door on her way to join Darla and Mariska behind the bar.
Declan scowled at his uncle. “They thought to cut the line that fast?”
Seamus’s expression belied his concern. “I guess they’re familiar with the place?”
“Did I mention one of them is the nephew of Diego Rodríguez?” asked Stephanie from her seat at the bar.
Declan felt the blood drain from his cheeks. He turned to Seamus.
“Point me to other possible weak spots.”
“There’s a back door. Stays locked as a rule but check it. I’ll take care of the window in the bathroom.”
Jackie’s head popped up from behind the bar like a wild-eyed gopher’s. “Shouldn’t she be back here with us instead of sitting there drinking my bourbon?” she asked, pointing at Stephanie.
Declan glanced at his ex, who’d grabbed a giant bottle of Bulleit and poured herself a shot. He motioned to the bar.
“You have a weapon. Can I trust you to watch over them?”
Stephanie glanced down where the three ladies huddled and shrugged. “Within reason.”
Declan beckoned to Charlotte and the two of them jogged to the small, makeshift kitchen.
“How can I help?” asked Charlotte.
Declan eyed the industrial-sized refrigerator. “Help me push this in front of the door.”
He gave one side a yank to pull it out from the wall. Charlotte took a position beside him and on the count of three, they shoved in unison. The giant metal box moved a few inches.
Charlotte moaned and reached for her shoulder.
Declan instinctively touched her and she jerked away as if in pain. His fingers glistened with blood.
“You’re bleeding. Hold still.”
She snorted. “Easy for you to say.”
He inspected her shoulder.
“It looks like you were shot. Grazed. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’ll be honest, with all the commotion I forgot. It only hurt right after it happened. Will I live?”
He smiled. “Just a flesh wound.”
“Oh good. I hear that in the movies all the time. That means I’m fine.”
Declan held his smile a moment longer, though inside he didn’t feel very cheery. They were trapped in a box in the middle of nowhere and his girlfriend had already been shot.
“You look ill,” said Charlotte.
“I’m worried.” He didn’t know why he thought he could hide his concern from her. She was the most intuitive person he’d ever met.
Charlotte put her good shoulder against the refrigerator. “I’m fine. On three. One-two-three!” On three they pushed and the refrigerator moved another few inches.
“I do have a question or two for you, though,” added Charlotte.
Declan grimaced. “I was afraid you’d say that. One-two-three—”
Shove.
The unit slid half-way in front of the locked and barricaded back door.
Charlotte braced herself for the next big push. “How did you fight that guy like you’ve been spending weekends training with the UFC? One-two-three—”
Shove.
Declan swallowed. “There are a couple things I need to tell you. One-two-three—”
Shove.
They gave the unit a last mighty push and it moved into place, blocking entry through the back door as best it could.
Charlotte brushed her hands together, staring holes through him. “You were saying?”
Declan inhaled and released a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was sort of a mess. Angry at the world about my mom’s disappearance and my father leaving. Seamus hooked me up with a job in Miami for a while. Sort of an underground drug task force called The Honey Badgers.”
Charlotte laughed. “The Honey Badgers? Seriously? I thought Stephanie was kidding.”
“It was around the time that honey badger don’t care meme came out. It was silly. Anyway, Seamus figured their training regimen would be good for me. Knock the angry out of me, so to speak.”
“They taught you how to fight?”
He nodded and tried to hold her gaze. He knew if he looked away she’d dig even deeper.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”
Declan stared at the floor and sighed. “I don’t know. To be honest I’ve pushed that part of my life out of my head. It isn’t something I’m proud of and I don’t like to think about it.”
“How long did you do it?” she asked.
“Not long.”
“Something went wrong?”
Declan nodded. “That’s a nice way to put it. The man who ran the program, Mateo, was supposed to combat drugs on our shores, but decided to take things up a few notches and fly us to South America. The Honey Badgers was a civilian shadow organization, so there wasn’t any real oversight. I didn’t like the way he handled things.”
“They sound like mercenaries. Why would Seamus get you involved?”
“He didn’t know how bad it would get.”
“So you refused to go to South America?”
“No. I went. But soon after we scattered and it was over.”
He could tell Charlotte knew a larger South America story had been tossed aside by his one-sentence summary.
“So...Stephanie said the man training Louis’s men is an ex-Honey Badger. You told her about your time there?”
And there it is. The bit he hadn’t wanted to share right now.
Declan’s voice caught in his throat as he croaked his painfully honest answer. “She was there.”
“Stephanie was a Honey Badger?”
He nodded.
Charlotte took a moment to absorb this new information.
“Why can’t I get the picture out of my head of you two running sweaty and half-dressed through the jungles of South America with AK-47s in
your hands?.”
“You really have to watch less television.”
She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “You know, that makes sense. It explains her obsession with you. You’ve been through a lot more than just growing up together and dating for a while.”
“I suppose.” His eye drifted to a first aid kit mounted to the wall. “We need to patch that wound of yours.”
“Is it bleeding?”
“Not bad. It’s just a graze but you don’t want it getting infected.”
Careful to avoid her shoulder, Declan wrapped his arms around Charlotte and held her to him, talking low in her ear.
“You stay near me until we’re out of this, okay?”
She pushed back far enough to plant her lips on his.
“I’d be crazy not to, now that I know you’re a trained assassin.”
He chuckled and pushed away his fear that she’d realize her guess had been close to the mark.
Chapter Eighteen
Charlotte and Declan explored the few offshoot rooms of the disco, searching for weaknesses. Because the building had once served as a shipping warehouse, there were blessedly few points of entry to secure. The structure was built like a giant shoebox.
“We’re getting lucky with the windows and doors here, Rambo,” said Charlotte as she peered into a closet.
“Don’t start that,” said Declan.
“You prefer Mr. Bond?”
Declan tried to flash her a disapproving stare but a smile split his stony expression. “I should know better than to tell you anything.”
Charlotte giggled and glanced into Jackie’s tiny office. It wasn’t difficult, with the door exploded on the ground at her feet. Nerves danced in her stomach. Not only were they under attack, but now she dreaded discovering more about Declan’s past with The Honey Badgers. She knew her teasing and nervous laughter would only distract her from the gravity of the situation for so long.
Office clear, she returned to the main room. As she passed the desk, the strange piece of paper Jackie had found in her parking lot caught her eye. A menagerie of meaningless squares scribbled on it, but...now something about the shapes’ configuration felt more familiar than it had upon first inspection.
Charlotte stared at the drawing. What is it? Something about this grid—