Inherited Threat

by Jane M. Choate

  “Because we needed him to distribute the money.” Jenni-Grace solved the matter by lifting her rifle to her shoulder. “Too bad we don’t need you any longer,” she said to Calzone and shot him in the chest.

  Calzone fell to the ground.

  Laurel gasped.

  Even Dresden looked shocked. “I didn’t mean—”

  “You didn’t mean what? That I should take care of a problem? You said it yourself. He was weak. The Collective needs strength. Keep whining and I’ll wonder if you should be eliminated as well.”

  Dresden backed off. “You’re right. He had to go.”

  Jenni-Grace gave him the same withering glance with which he’d favored Calzone.

  “Killing someone doesn’t make you strong,” Laurel said, unable to hide her revulsion. “It only makes you cruel. Cruel and stupid, because someday you’ll have to pay for your actions.”

  “You’re a fool. Women like you are always trying to compete with a man on his terms. I learned a long time ago that women have their own power. We just have to learn to use it.”

  Ironically, Laurel agreed with her. Too bad that they were on opposite sides. Laurel would always defend those who were weaker and unable to defend themselves, while Jenni-Grace would exploit them for her own advantage.

  “You’re the fool.”

  Jenni-Grace slapped her once more. Laurel’s head snapped back, but again, she managed to stay on her feet. Barely.

  “How do you figure that? From where I’m sitting, I’m the one who holds all the power. I can have you killed with just a word.” A sly smile entered her eyes. “Or worse.”

  Laurel had seen that smile all over the world. It was the smile of predator to prey. Of a warlord ordering the death of an underling who had disobeyed him. Of an enemy soldier who had violated a young girl. It was the smile Bernice had used when she’d told a nine-year-old Laurel that the only reason she kept her around was for the welfare checks. Why else would I keep a whiny brat like you?

  Laurel pushed away the memory, stared into Jenni-Grace’s eyes, and saw that the smile had grown into something even more sinister. A smile born of malice and power. It announced that Laurel and Mace were as good as dead and that she might as well accept it.

  But Laurel refused to cower before it.

  “As soon as I get the ledger, you’re dead.” Jenni-Grace said the words with no great passion, only hard determination.

  Regret washed through Laurel. Not at the idea of her own probable death, but that she had not told Mace how she felt about him. He would never know that she loved him with all of her heart.

  She started to say the words now, even if he couldn’t hear them, but then stopped. Giving voice to her feelings for Mace would only present Jenni-Grace with one more weapon to use against her. A sob filled her throat. She pushed it down.

  Laurel lifted her chin. Her cheek throbbed. Her arms and legs ached from when they were hog-tied in the truck, but she’d never felt so filled with power. “It doesn’t matter what you do with me. You won’t win because there are other people like me. People who believe. People who won’t let you destroy our country and our way of life. They’ll fight you and your so-called soldiers.”

  “People like your friend? He’s no use to you. He’s out cold and may never wake up.” To emphasize her point, Jenni-Grace kicked Mace again. She then spread her arms wide, the gesture both ebullient and mocking at once. “The world is mine for the taking. Your stupid idealism won’t stop it. Nothing can stop it.”

  “You underestimate all the good people who will fight you until you’re beaten.” And you overestimate yourself, Laurel wanted to add, but didn’t. No need to invite another slap from a woman so filled with anger that she wanted to destroy anyone who didn’t believe as she did. “What’s more, you underestimate the Lord.”

  Jenni-Grace laughed, a sound of derision and disgust. “Where is your Lord right now? You’re dead. You just don’t know it yet. But you will. Just as soon as I get the ledger.” The look she sent Laurel burned with hatred. “If you don’t have the ledger, I’m guessing your pals at S&J do. Yes,” she said at Laurel’s shock that Jenni-Grace knew of S&J. “I know who they are. Dresden filled me in. Maybe I’ll cut off your finger and send it back to them. A little proof that we have you. Put them in a tent,” she told Dresden, “and station some men outside.”

  Jerry and another man carried Mace into a tent, with Dresden pushing Laurel along behind them.

  Laurel accepted that she might well die before the sun rose but felt oddly at peace. If she died in doing what was right, she’d know she had given her best. That was all she could ask of herself. More importantly, it was all that God asked of her.

  That didn’t mean she was going down without a fight.

  EIGHTEEN

  “I’m awake.” Mace spoke softly so as to not attract the attention of the guards stationed outside the tent.

  “Mace?” Laurel’s voice was filled with confusion...and hope.

  “I played dead. I didn’t want them to know I could hear what was going on. I’ve never been more proud of you, Laurel. You stared her down.” Despite everything, Laurel’s faith had never shaken.

  “I managed to get something.” She held out a hairpin.

  Baffled at first, he simply stared at the pin. Then he understood. “That’s why you pulled Jenni-Grace’s hair. You had me wondering there for a minute.”

  “Got it in one. We’re getting out of here.”

  Laurel never gave up.

  He wished he could believe her. He wished he could believe the Lord heard his prayers. He wanted to turn to the Lord he’d once believed in, the Lord Laurel held so dear, but what could he say? Sorry I stopped believing, but I need Your help now. The Lord would most surely reject such a hypocritical plea.

  Mace knew he was the worst kind of unbeliever. He’d been a devout worshipper at one time, but he’d turned away because he couldn’t find forgiveness for himself. What was it Laurel had told him? The Lord forgives everyone, even the very people who crucified Him.

  But love could make a man do the unexpected, and he tried a silent prayer in his mind. The words refused to come, though, having grown rusty with disuse.

  * * *

  Laurel managed to work the hairpin with her bound hands, twisting it in the mechanism of the handcuffs to trip the lock. If ever she needed divine intervention, it was now.

  She maneuvered the pin back and forth. When she heard a small click, she wanted to cheer. The cuffs dropped away. She did the same with those shackling Mace.

  Okay. Their hands were free. That didn’t mean she and Mace could walk away. Still, she flashed a grin at him. “Jenni-Grace and her men are no match for us.”

  “Like I said, you’re Ranger-strong.” Mace’s grin was jaunty, but the glazed look in his eyes said that he was far from being a hundred percent.

  “We both are.”

  Despite the brave words, she wasn’t blind to the realities. Two Rangers against Jenni-Grace and her men. No problem. Except that the bad guys were armed with semiautomatic weapons and she and Mace didn’t have a weapon between them. Except that her shoulder felt like it was on fire, while Mace had a concussion and probably a couple broken ribs from Jenni-Grace’s vicious kicks. Except for all that, sure, no problem.

  Her self-directed sarcasm didn’t help. She had to do something or she and Mace were both dead.

  They had known each other for such a short time, not even a week, but she felt as though she’d loved him forever. He filled the empty spaces inside of her, and she prayed she did the same for him. What if she never had the opportunity to tell him? Did she have the courage to tell him that she loved him? What was she waiting for? Things could not have been more dire for them. She started to do just that when he broke the silence between them.

  “Laurel, if this is it—”

  She d
idn’t give him the opportunity to finish. “Do. Not. Go. There. We’re not beaten. Not yet. Someone told me that the only battles worth fighting were those you can’t win. Well, we’re still fighting.”

  Yes, but for how long?

  * * *

  With his and Laurel’s hands free, Mace judged it time to take on the two guards posted outside the tent. A look-see under the tent’s flap had him motioning to Laurel, who nodded in understanding.

  Both men had AR-15s hanging across their chests. Impressive weapons, but difficult to bring to bear quickly.

  Mace had no desire to give the men the opportunity to fire the assault rifles, thereby alerting the camp, and decided upon a more subtle approach. He slipped from beneath the flap of the tent and took out the first of the men with a chop to the back of the neck.

  Laurel did the same with the other guard, then grabbed the handcuffs from which she and Mace had just freed themselves and used them to secure the men’s hands. Together, she and Mace dragged the men inside the tent.

  When they crept outside again, Dresden and Jerry, the driver, were waiting for them.

  “Jenni-Grace says not to kill you,” Dresden said. “Yet. Doesn’t mean we can’t hurt you real bad, though.” He clocked Mace behind the ear with a weighted club hard enough to cause him to see stars. Instinctively, Mace protected his head and managed to put enough space between them to give him leverage.

  The warden slapped the club against his hand. “Makes a nice sound, doesn’t it?”

  Dresden had at least fifty pounds on Mace. Now he wrapped his arms around Mace, lifting him off his feet and slamming him face-first into the ground. Still groggy and not yet back to full speed, Mace didn’t have the luxury of catching his breath.

  His courageous Laurel fought like the warrior she was. She didn’t give an inch in her battle with Jerry, finally throwing him to the ground in a back flip. When he started to get up, she bent over and plowed a balled-up fist at his jaw.

  He stayed down.

  Dresden reared back, leg poised to kick Mace in the ribs. At the last moment, Mace rolled to the side, catching his opponent’s foot and yanking him to the ground. He grabbed the warden’s gun and held it on him while getting to his feet.

  Jenni-Grace stepped out from another tent, took in the situation, and sent Dresden a look of disgust. “All you had to do was keep an eye on the prisoners. Can’t you do one thing right?” The rage-filled words ripped like a scalpel through the night.

  “They got the drop on the guards,” Dresden said, scrambling to his feet and shooting Mace a glare filled with venom. “Guards you chose, by the way.”

  “Give it up, Jenni-Grace,” Mace ordered. “You’re done. And so is the Collective.”

  Jenni-Grace pulled something from behind her back. Metal glinted in the moonlight. A .45. Before she could pull the trigger, Laurel threw herself in front of Mace.

  “No!” She took two shots, one to her shoulder and another to her chest.

  Though Mace had never before hit a woman, he knocked out Jenni-Grace, then kicked her gun out of the way. “I know you have a phone,” he said to Dresden. “Call 911. Put it on speaker so I can hear you. Make a wrong move, and you’ll regret it.”

  Part of him was acting on rote; another part was terrified for Laurel.

  Dresden did as instructed, giving the location of the camp, and, at Mace’s order, asking for a flight-for-life copter.

  Mace then rattled off the number for S&J headquarters. “Call them, give them the location and tell them that Laurel’s down. Then take a pair of handcuffs and cuff yourself to your boss.” He didn’t trust himself to say Jenni-Grace’s name.

  He looked about the camp for any other threats and saw that the few remaining men had scattered. They’d be picked up soon enough once help arrived. With one eye on Dresden, Mace ripped off his sweatshirt, leaving him clad in a black T-shirt, pressed it against Laurel’s chest, then tore strips from it and wrapped them around her shoulder.

  Blood slicked his hands. Her blood.

  The night cold seeped into his bare arms, but he scarcely noticed. All he could think about was Laurel.

  As he stared down at the woman he loved, his heart stopped beating. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

  He didn’t realize he was shouting the words until a part of him registered that someone was shouting and that someone was him.

  Focus, Ransom. His fingers probed the delicate column of her neck, found a pulse. Yes! She was alive. Her pulse was faint, but it was there. Definitely there.

  But it was growing weaker, and Mace felt the life slipping from her. He willed her to live. Laurel was a fighter. Why wasn’t she fighting this? They had fought side by side many times in the past. They could do it again. If only she’d open her eyes...

  The Lord is always there. Laurel’s words filled his mind. There, in the midst of the Collective’s camp, with chaos going on around him, he prayed. He didn’t stop applying pressure to Laurel’s wounds. Nor did he take his eyes off Dresden and Jenni-Grace. He continued to pray and to listen.

  Nothing.

  Laurel had been wrong. The Lord might answer the prayers of others, but He wasn’t going to give Mace the time of day. He thought of her faith and her certainty that the Lord would never desert him, no matter the circumstances.

  Okay, I get it. You have better things to do than to talk with me. I’m about as far from perfect as you can get. But Laurel... Laurel’s good and decent and she’s in trouble.

  “I love her, Lord. Please save her. You’re the only one who can.”

  Love. Tentatively, Mace tasted the word on his lips. He’d used it without thinking, but it tasted right. Felt right. He was in love with Laurel. She was infuriating. Courageous. Loyal to a fault. She was all that and more. And he loved her with his whole being.

  If he lost her... No. He refused to go there.

  Guilt lapped at him, a nagging reminder that he’d failed to tell her of his feelings. If he had, would it have made a difference?

  NINETEEN

  Laurel was drifting. Waiting, she supposed, for the loss of blood to overtake her and drain the life from her. Red mist, edged with black, crawled across her vision. Regret whispered through her. She’d found the man she hadn’t known she was looking for, and now it was too late.

  In the last days, there’d been little time for personal exchanges, or for anything except surviving.

  Aside from the sorrow that Mace would never know how she felt about him, her biggest regret was that she had too few memories of their time together. They’d had only several brief days with each other, and those days were packed with taking on bad guys multiple times, having their truck rammed into a river and facing Jenni-Grace and her henchman in a final showdown.

  But there had been sweet times as well, such as Mace kissing her outside the prison, the moment shimmering with color, sound and taste. She held on to that image, but it kept fading. Why did it insist upon disappearing?

  Was it because another question was pushing itself forward?

  The question took center stage. Had anything she’d done in her life mattered? Yes, she’d served her country to the best of her ability. Yes, she’d served the Lord, once more to the best of her ability. Perhaps that’s all that really mattered.

  Never give up.

  But how could she fight the inevitable? She was bleeding at an alarming rate. Already, she could feel her heart slow, her mind shutting down, the life leaking from her.

  “Laurel!”

  She heard Mace’s voice from a great distance. Or had she? How could she know when her mind kept taking detours? There was something she wanted to tell him. She remembered now. She wanted to tell him that she loved him and always would. Maybe she already had. She couldn’t remember.

  After a moment’s consideration, she decided she had. He’d been unconsci
ous then, but she’d said the words. Strange to think that uttering those few words had taken more courage than staring down Jenni-Grace.

  With the part of her brain that was still functioning, Laurel held on to that as well as the fact that her faith hadn’t faltered. Even with the knowledge that she would probably die from the gunshot wounds, her belief had remained intact. The Lord would be proud of her. He would greet her with open arms. He would...

  “Laurel. Come back to me. You have to come back. Now!”

  Was that Mace’s voice again?

  Why was he yelling at her? What had she done to deserve that? She tried to tell him that she didn’t care for it, but she couldn’t find the words.

  “Don’t leave me.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t deserve you. But I need you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything or anyone.”

  It’s okay, she said. But the words failed to materialize. She tried again. And once again, couldn’t get the words out.

  Gentle arms cradled her.

  Yes, that felt good. So good. She wished she could tell him that. She hoped he knew.

  “I can’t lose you.”

  Oh, my dearest Mace, I can’t lose you either. And Sammy. Maybe they’d take care of each other. With that thought, she allowed the beckoning blackness to claim her.

  * * *

  “No!” Mace shouted the word. Or he thought he did. He could barely hear it over the roar of his heart. “Laurel...” Fear got a chokehold around his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. He forced out a breath, looked at Laurel.

  Her eyes had glazed over, her mouth slack. He felt for a pulse. Couldn’t find one. He’d gladly trade his life for hers. He registered the arrival of vehicles and heard a helicopter hovering overhead. “Over here,” he yelled. “I need help. Now.”

  Hurried footsteps. Hands prying him away from Laurel. Urgent voices.

  “Mace, let us help her.” Mace tried to place the voice. Jake’s?