The Best Friend Zone: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

He’s known my every move. He’s been setting this up, egging Bat on, making me believe—son of bitch!

  “He killed Justin Franklin. My partner—” I stop mid-sentence, not meaning to say it out loud.

  I have to lay a hand against the wall to hold myself up.

  I’m physically ill.

  “I’m afraid so. When was the last time you spoke to Goode?” James asks.

  “Weeks ago. Wait, hang on...”

  Snarling, I punch up my texts and see one from roughly ten days ago, so bland I’d practically forgotten it. My vision turns red.

  “Almost two weeks ago,” I say. “He texted, told me Bat was still in prison. 'All clear,' was all he said.”

  Bull. Shit.

  And I’d been fool enough to buy it, to believe him.

  “He’s covered all his bases, making sure you can’t connect him to it. That’s why he reached out when he heard you’d grown concerned for your safety,” James says, confirming the worst.

  If Goode wanted to get me bullet-spitting mad, mission accomplished.

  Only thing I hate more than being played is being played by stone-cold killers.

  “We’re not the only ones who were left in the dark. Powers commissioned an undercover team to revisit the killing of your partner, and they’ve uncovered their own suspicions about Goode’s involvement.”

  “Thanks, James. Don’t know how I can ever pay you back. One of these days, you’re gonna bring the whole family up here to little old Dallas. I’ll show you how we party in North Dakota,” I say. “I’d better get off the horn. Gonna be a long night. Good thing I was already planning on staying up.”

  “Someday, Quinn.” Even his chuckle sounds like pure class. “Lay low until law enforcement arrives. Goode doesn’t know we’re onto him yet. He thinks he simply has to get rid of you, but if you can catch him snooping around your property, trying to stage a scene, bingo. He’ll be in custody in no time. Powers’ ETA is zero five hundred. Take care of yourself.”

  “I will, no thanks to you. Peace, man.”

  I hang up with my jaw so tight it’s fit to break. Holding back a hundred restless thoughts, I stomp into the bathroom and splash cold water over my face, willing focus.

  Okay.

  Right on cue, Drake calls, telling me the sheriff’s sent the entire small Dallas PD force to make the rounds by my place. I assure him I’ll call the second the cameras ping anything out of the ordinary.

  It’s close to one a.m. by the time I hang up and my instincts tell me to check on Tory.

  She can hate me all she wants, but I need her in the same room.

  Hell, I need her the fuck out of here like yesterday.

  I’ll call Dean, I think, and get them their own police escort.

  He can pick her up and bring her to the police station, if need be, until this gets sorted.

  She can’t be with me once Powers and the other boys from the FBI show up.

  Christ, Goode might have more helpers in law enforcement, too. It might be a week or more before we can call this place safe again, even if he goes down fast, and so does Bat.

  As all the moving pieces settle in my mind, I exit my room, stepping into the dark hallway.

  Owl isn’t flopped down in front of her door anymore. It’s still closed, so she probably let him in.

  I knock softly, then check the doorknob when half a minute passes without a reply.

  It’s unlocked. I push the door open.

  The room looks dark, but there’s just enough moonlight filtering in through the window to show her bed.

  Empty.

  I flip on the light, my heart climbing into my throat. The covers on the bed are thrown back like she left in a hurry.

  “Tory?” I ask, crossing the hall to the bathroom.

  It’s empty, too, not a drop of water left on the sink.

  I pivot, run down the stairs, searching for any signs.

  “Tory!” Calling her name rips me open like a dagger, panic stabbing through my blood.

  She’s not downstairs, either.

  The second I see the barn lights on through the kitchen window, I’m stone, glaring into the dimly lit night.

  Damn. It. All. To. Hell.

  I don’t know what I’m saving her from, but if I ever want to sleep through another night in my life, I have to.

  21

  Goat Some Bad News (Tory)

  I wake up to the worst hangover headache of my life.

  My mouth tastes nasty, clinical, almost like...the way rubbing alcohol smells?

  What happened? My head hurts so bad I can’t pry my eyes open.

  Why am I on my stomach? Why can’t I move my arms? Why am I bouncing?

  I’m moving, I realize, tucked back in a vehicle.

  I try to focus, to remember, begging my groggy brain to fire again.

  Oh, yeah. I was psycho bitch mad at Quinn—how could I forget?

  Then I couldn’t sleep, especially when I heard him on the phone with someone having one of his hush-hush secret agent man conversations.

  So I’d taken Owl for a walk and my own fine self to the barn to work off some frustration. I’d barely turned the lights on and gotten my bad breakup playlist queued up for the silks when it happened.

  Footsteps.

  The ones I thought I was hallucinating at first, and Quinn second. Then that shadowy figure crept across the window, heading straight for the door, creeping around far too carefully to be anyone who belongs here...

  The last thing I remember is Owl growling. I frantically tried to shush him as I held my breath, grabbing a broom with a thick wooden handle—thick enough to give someone a concussion, I hoped—and opened the barn door.

  A sad moan bubbles up my throat as fresh pain streaks through my head.

  “She’s coming to.”

  My heart stops at the sound of a stranger’s gruff voice.

  “Cheap-ass chloroform. I told you this shitty brand was diluted,” another voice snaps. Also male. “It never keeps ’em under for long.”

  Chloroform? No wonder my head feels like I’ve taken a direct hit from a rock.

  Panic tightens my chest.

  The best part is, Quinn was right all along. I’m in a dangerous situation, in so far over my head I might never come out of it.

  “Should I give her another round or what? Stuff the rag over her face again?” Thing One asks.

  “Nah, we’re almost home. Let the Bat-man have some fun for a change,” Thing Two growls back. “He’s been chewing nails all week, real tense, waiting to hear from his guy. Never seen him happier than when he found out we could make our run tonight.”

  Almost where? I wonder.

  “We’re lucky we had practice fucking with those cameras. Couldn’t just work the batteries out like we did before, but I’m hoping that other trick did the job.”

  I force myself not to open my eyes. They can’t know I’m awake.

  I shift subtly, rolling against my pocket, and find out fast I’m missing my phone.

  Lovely.

  Of course they’ve taken it.

  What now?

  Quinn probably doesn’t even know I’m gone.

  And Owl—what happened to him? Did they hurt him? Did they—

  Oh, God.

  My entire body jerks from the roughness of the road and the fear chewing through me. I bite back an anguished moan.

  From what I can tell, I’m in the cramped back seat of a pickup truck, with my hands tied behind my back.

  “Is she awake?” one of the thugs asks. “Like fully conscious?”

  A hand grips my upper arm and shakes me.

  I force myself not to react.

  “Hm, don’t think so, still feels like a rag doll. She must’ve just been whining in her sleep. Nightmares or somethin’. Go figure.”

  The unwelcome hand releases my arm, and I let the air I’m holding in slowly seep out of my lungs.

  “Damn weird how the dog disappeared, wasn’t it?” Thing One asks his
fellow minion. “I expected it to attack us, or at least bark like hell and wake up Faulkner.”

  “I know. I didn’t expect her to come outside tonight, either. Figured we’d be sitting behind that barn half the night figuring out a diversion, a fire or something to flush them out.”

  The other guy laughs. “Lucky us. This sure worked better than trying to steal one of those stupid goats for bait. Now we just round up Faulkner and call it a day. Coast should be clear for Bat’s guy to plant whatever the fuck he needs to there. Word is he’s a dirty cop.”

  “Yeah. Never, ever fuck with that type,” his buddy says.

  Well, now I know why poor Hellboy was tangled up in rope.

  Rage courses through my veins.

  “I told Pickett we’d find a better way to get her.”

  They continue talking about Pickett, money, and dick-size compensating sports cars I’m sure they’re planning to buy with their ill-gotten gains.

  My mind is stuck on Owl.

  He wouldn’t desert me when I need him the most.

  That means one thing: something awful happened to him, and it’s my fault.

  If only we hadn’t gotten into that stupid effing fight, I would’ve went to bed with Quinn, and they would’ve never breached the property. He’d have known it right away with the cameras and his own good sense the nanosecond these savages started messing around. Especially if they had to light a fire to get his attention.

  The truck stops a short time later, jerking to a halt and interrupting my self-pity.

  I stay limp when the back door opens and someone grabs my legs. A heavyset man reaches inside, grabs around roughly, and tosses me over his shoulder like a feed sack.

  I’m lifting an eye to see if I can make out where we are when a bearish snarl rips through the night.

  My eyes fly open, just in time to see Owl leaping out of the back of the truck.

  Holy hell. He’s been hiding the whole time!

  The man fumbles and drops me as Owl slams into him headfirst, knocking him down.

  I hit the ground hard, rolling out of the way as shouts, growls, and furious barks fill the air.

  Between the darkness and the tall grass around me, I can’t see anything.

  But I can hear people roaring, running, and then louder noises that stop my heart.

  Gunshots.

  At first, I flinch, afraid to call out, but I’m more scared for Owl, afraid he’ll get killed.

  “Round up! Round up!” I scream into the inky sky.

  It’s the only command I know that he’ll listen to no matter what.

  I wonder if he even hears me over the chaos, the blackness exploding like a battlefield.

  Someone grabs me by the arms and lifts me off the ground.

  There’s another shot that echoes, a loud skittering sound, and then nothing but the merciless drumming of my own heart.

  Upright again, I stumble around, no thanks to my arms being pinned behind my back.

  My wrists are still tied and it hurts—hurts—but I barely keep my balance as they shove me forward.

  It’s so dark out here, except for a sliver of moon shining down.

  I see trucks, a couple old buildings in the distance. And...is that water?

  I hear it a second before I smell it. A damp, musty odor rolls up my nose.

  Definitely algae water.

  We must be near a good-sized lake, meaning this has to be the abandoned Maddock farm on the other end of Big Fish Lake.

  Swallowing my panic, I tell myself it’ll be okay. It has to be.

  Quinn will—

  No, he won’t. It’s the middle of the night. He’s in bed, probably still pissed at me, or busy talking to whoever called so late.

  I have no clue whatsoever if the thugs made enough noise to wake him. And if they were quick to disable the cameras, and smart enough to stay hidden from the others on the barn roof...

  God.

  There’s so much going wrong tonight, and inside my head.

  I don’t even know how Owl got in the back of the truck. He probably jumped in without them noticing, but I couldn’t tell you when or where.

  Please, just let him be okay.

  “Put her over there,” a man orders. “I’ve called Pickett, he’s on his way.”

  With another hard shove that doubles me over, his sidekick drags me up to an old house, onto what feels like a rickety wooden porch. A rough blow to my shins from his boots forces me to sit down, wincing.

  Owl is nowhere in sight, and it’s too quiet to mean anything good.

  I don’t know how long I’m there, kneeling in misery. It could be ten minutes or it might be an hour.

  It’s a miracle I don’t break down sobbing then and there.

  But I’m not giving them that. I force myself not to cry at the thought that Owl might be lying in the grass only a few yards away, bleeding and lifeless.

  If I can’t make myself be brave, then I’m definitely toast.

  Why didn’t I heed Quinn’s warnings? All this time, in the back of my mind, I just didn’t take this nightmare seriously enough. I thought I could fix it.

  Now, I have to, what little way I can.

  Have to find a way out of here. Out of these ropes.

  My wrists are skinny. I’m used to twisting them, and do so now, bending them around and around, working the rope looser very slowly, counting seconds in my head for calm.

  Four men are standing near the trucks. I recognize that creep, Marvin Heckles, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen the others. No sign of the tall, strange man with the cherry-red Chevy, either.

  My heart stops the moment the rope on my wrists goes slack. Looks like Edison the horse isn’t the only one in this town who can play Houdini.

  I slip one hand out carefully, not wanting anyone to see my movements, but then slide it back in, and keep them behind me. Let them think I’m still tied up.

  I also don’t know what I’ll do for sure, but the rope is all I have for a makeshift weapon.

  Do I run for it?

  The dairy farm isn’t far from here, a few miles, less cross country.

  Drake and Bella’s place is even closer, but I’m lost on how to get to either place.

  All I know is this is the south side of the lake.

  I think?

  Minutes feel like hours. An eternity passes by the time the headlights finally appear on the road leading to the house.

  A pickup chugs up the road and rolls to a stop. Newer than the other trucks.

  I watch as a freakishly tall, horribly familiar man with tattoos along his neck unfolds himself and climbs out.

  My stomach flips at the way he glares at me, walking toward the porch. I’d get friendlier eyes from a starving wolf.

  “Faulkner’s girlfriend, huh?” Bat Pickett spits Quinn’s name like a curse. “You ever get a primer on what happens with Feds’ women?”

  I keep my mouth shut. I’ve already made enough mistakes. I’m not going to mouth off and let this monster backhand me into another mini coma.

  He leans down, nostrils flaring as he reaches for my chin, tipping my face up.

  For a second, I’m forced to gaze into his blue eyes. Nothing like my own, they’re weirdly pale, even in the darkness. Grey, soulless, and angry.

  Straightening up, he drops my chin.

  “Gotta say, I like that you mind your manners. He’s taught you well. You’re perfect bait,” he says coldly. “We’re gonna have ourselves a big old slice of justice tonight.”

  “Justice?” I whisper, wishing it hadn’t slipped out.

  He turns, looking at me like I’m just another bug in the night.

  “Old school justice, little lady. I’m talkin’ real old, like Babylonian style.” A cruel smile pulls at his lips. “You ever hear of Hammurabi’s Code? This history professor told me all about it, a real degenerate, loved to run his mouth about all sorts of wild shit while I was just a street grunt, keeping him in crystal.”

  I look do
wn because I took ancient history at college. I know what he’s getting at before it’s even out of his mouth.

  “Those were some smart fuckers back then. You ask me, we’d all be in a better place if we left the laws real simple. You know what I’m talking about?” He pauses, drowning me in that wicked gaze. “No? You ever heard the phrase 'an eye for an eye?'”

  Before he can reach for me again and force an answer, I nod. It feels like my head weighs a ton.

  “Thought so,” he says, his smile getting wider. “See, this whole beef with Faulkner happened because he murdered my brother. I ain’t the kinda fuck who gets hard for messing up women and burying them in pits but...well, you understand. I don’t have no choice. Don’t take this personally. To make things right with the universe, right with the law, I’ve gotta kill Faulkner—but first, I’ve gotta kill you.”

  I’m just as surprised as anyone when I look him in the eye, beaming pure hatred, refusing to shudder.

  I just wish defiance won more than brownie points.

  The evilness oozing off this towering beast turns my blood ice-cold.

  22

  We’ve Goat Trouble (Faulkner)

  I stomp my foot on the gas and wrench the wheel, cutting the corner onto the gravel road leading to the Maddock farm so hard my truck sprays rocks.

  Those bastards made quick work of the cameras out front—hitting them with black paintballs before they had a chance to capture anything.

  Too bad for them they missed one.

  The frames from the camera on the barn showed me everything I needed to know about the men I’m about to dismember. I also know exactly where Tory’s been taken.

  The pictures showed her walking out of the house with Owl at her side, entering the barn, then two soon-to-be-very-sorry minions slinking up to the door.

  My heart spills into my gut, recalling the frame where she went limp.

  They picked her up like a kitten and carried her around the building to their truck.

  They put their hands on my woman, signing their death warrants.

  The images showed how they’d kept the Chevy parked down by the pond, which is why I hadn’t heard it while I’d been on the phone.

  I wish to God I had. I would’ve heard her leaving the house, if my dumb ass wasn’t so caught up in getting her to safety while she was already in peril.