Michael hit the button to connect the call and put it on speaker, so the rings sounded out in the quiet of the car. One. Two. Three.
“Come on, Honey,” he muttered, taking a turn on two wheels and praying like he never had before. “Come on.”
* * *
Honey sighed when the door slammed behind Ethan and wiped away a few residual tears. The movie had gone to credits, so she picked up the remote to turn off the TV. She scooped up all the used tissues, balled them up in her hand and headed for the kitchen.
She shivered a little as she tossed the tissues in the garbage; the air coming through the open kitchen windows was decidedly cooler than it had been, and she realized it had started to rain sometime in the last couple of hours.
Unless Milo was holed up on someone’s front porch, he’d be making his way home soon. The dog didn’t like water unless he was on the beach, and even then, he tended to give it a wide berth. Her skin roughened with chills as the wind picked up, cutting easily through the thin t-shirt she’d thrown on with her jeans that morning. Maybe she’d whip up some hot chocolate. She snagged the hoodie hanging on the hook by the kitchen door, and pulling it on, went to the cupboard to see if she had any marshmallows.
She found a bag hiding in the pantry and remembered sticking them way in the back so she wouldn’t eat them. Grinning, she was just turning toward the stove, marshmallows in hand, when she heard the front door open and shut.
“Well, that was fast,” she called out. She set the bag of marshmallows down on the counter and dug out a saucepan. “I was just about to make some hot chocolate. Want to join me?”
She heard the sharp, metallic click of a gun being cocked, and whirled around. Anthony Damico smiled at her with cold, dead eyes, the huge chrome revolver in his hand pointed right at her head.
“Make it a beer.”
HONEY SAT ON her sofa, so tense every muscle seemed to vibrate. Or maybe it was panic-induced trembling, it was kind of hard to tell.
She’d never been so scared in her life. Damico sat on the other end of the sofa, a beer in one hand and her television remote in the other. He flipped through channels, in search of what she didn’t know. The revolver sat in his lap, the chrome-plated elephant in the room.
She swallowed hard and clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking. “What do you want?”
He never even glanced her way. “For your boyfriend to fucking die.”
The fear was so huge, so heavy, it was like a living, breathing thing. She battled it back viciously; her wits were the only thing she had, and she refused to let them scatter. “Why?”
Now he turned to look at her, and the seething rage in his eyes turned her blood to ice. He just stared at her for a moment, unblinking, then his hand shot out, and he backhanded her.
Pain exploded in her head as she slammed into the cushions on the back of the couch. Her vision wavered, a sob strangling in her throat as her hand came up instinctively to cradle her throbbing cheek, and she felt the wet trickle of blood on her shaking fingertips.
Her eyes flew to his and found him watching her once again with those cold, black eyes. “You don’t talk,” he told her. Calmly, as though he hadn’t just hit her. “Understand?”
She pushed herself up slowly, bracing her arm against the couch as her other hand cradled her aching face. She nodded, unable to answer even if she’d wanted to.
“Good.” He took a long drink of beer. “Your boyfriend should be home soon, and then I’ll do what I came here to do. You stay out of my way, maybe you live. Get in my way, and you die ugly, just like him.”
She could see he meant every word. A whimper crawled up her throat, pain and panic threatening to strangle her. She choked it back, not wanting to do anything to anger him. She struggled through the incredible pain in her face and tried to remember everything Ethan had told her about Anthony Damico.
Ethan had described him as prone to violence, and she had to swallow the hysterical laugh as her cheek throbbed a painful beat. Not very rational, she remembered. Focused on the goal: to kill Ethan.
She wished with everything in her that she could stop him. But she couldn't. She had nothing, no weapon with which to defend herself, no clever ruse to use to distract him long enough to get free. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she fiercely blinked them back. They wouldn’t help, and she needed to stay focused.
The sudden jangling of her cell phone had a cry slipping from her lips before she could bite it back. Her eyes darted quickly to Damico. He’d shot to his feet, the pistol in hand, and leaned over to scoop her phone off the coffee table. He grinned, feral and ugly when he saw the screen, and when he turned to her, his eyes lit with a sick kind of joy.
“It’s him.” He stepped in front of her and with a kick that made her flinch, knocked the coffee table back a foot. He sat on the table, close enough that his knees bumped into hers. The phone continued to ring in his hand as he pointed the gun right between her eyes.
“You’re going to answer it, on speaker,” he told her calmly with that venomous gleam in his eyes. “You’re going to act like nothing’s wrong; you’re going to tell him he needs to come back here right away.”
Her heart was beating so hard it felt as though it might burst right out of her chest. “H-h-how?”
“The fuck do I care?” he said, ice cold. “Just get him here. And don’t fuck it up, or I’ll put a bullet in your gut and watch you bleed out.”
He shoved the phone into her shaking hand and thumbed the hammer back. “Answer. On speaker.”
Her hands were slick with fear, and for a moment, she didn’t think she’d be able to engage the touch screen. She swallowed the terror and bore down and finally made contact. Switching swiftly to speaker mode, she swallowed hard and opened her mouth. “Hello?”
“Honey, are you all right?”
“Of course,” she said, and managed to inject a hint of surprise in her voice. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
A muffled curse came through the line. “Damico wasn’t at the motel.”
She never took her eyes off the barrel of the gun. “He wasn’t?”
“No. It looks like he spotted the Giordanos and sent in a decoy. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. Why?”
There was a slight hesitation, barely noticeable. “You don’t sound like yourself.”
“Oh.” She forced a laugh, the sound too bright and jarringly false. “Well, after you left, I started another scary movie. You know how much I love them, but I guess I sort of spooked myself.”
“You should’ve waited for me to come home, baby.” His voice was smooth, faintly amused. “You know I’ll keep the monsters away.”
She didn’t dare risk looking at Damico. “I guess I just couldn’t wait.”
“Well, I’m on my way back, but I’m starving. I’m going to hit a drive-through for a burger. You want anything?”
“Um.” She risked a glanced at Damico and had to clamp down on the need to stammer at his narrow-eyed stare. “A burger would be good, I guess. But hurry, okay?”
His low chuckle vibrated over the line. “I’ll be fast. See you soon.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she managed.
As soon as the line went dead, he snatched the phone from her shaking hand. “Stupid bitch. Did I tell you to let him stop for a burger?”
“I’m sorry.” She had to swallow twice before she could go on. “I thought it would make him suspicious if I told him not to.”
She thought the logic of that was unassailable, but still, she held her breath.
“How far away is the burger joint?”
“Not far. A mile, maybe.”
He grunted and pushed off the coffee table, stalking to the front door. He peered out the front window, into the rain, the pistol clenched in his hand. “Then it shouldn’t take him too long to get here.”
Honey could only hope Ethan had gotten her warning.
* * *
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck f
uck!”
With a squeal of tires, Ethan pulled the car in a hard U-turn and sped back the way he’d come. Beside him, Michael merely raised a brow. “I take it she was signaling you.”
“She hates scary movies,” Ethan ground out. “He’s there.”
Michael nodded, his face set, and pulled his pistol from under his windbreaker. “He doesn’t know I’m here, so that’s an advantage. What do you want to do?”
Ethan pulled into Winnie’s driveway. “I’ve got some gear stashed here. We’re going to—goddammit.”
“What?” Michael swiveled his head around to look over his shoulder and saw the pickup truck pull to the curb. “Who’s that?”
“Friends.” Ethan cursed under his breath as he got out of the car. Painting a smile on his face, he raised a hand in greeting as Seth and David stepped out of the truck. “What are you guys doing here?”
Seth slammed his door and yanked his ball cap down against the rain. “Saw you fly by, man. Carnival got rained out.”
“Yeah, I figured.” Ethan forced his body to stay relaxed, his expression to stay pleasantly curious. “You guys heading home?”
David gave a little shoulder shrug. “My mom and dad are home with the baby, so we’re going to take advantage of the free childcare and do something. You want to grab Honey and join us?”
“Sorry,” Ethan said easily. “Got plans.”
“Yeah?” Seth frowned at him. “You okay, man?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Seth opened his mouth to answer, but the late-model sedan screeching to a halt behind the pickup cut him off. Ethan cursed silently as Giordano’s men got out of the car, looking exactly like what they were; hired muscle. Heavily armed hired muscle, he noted with a sinking feeling as he realized both men had shed their jackets, leaving their sidearms fully visible.
David’s eyes widened almost comically. “What’s going on?”
Shit. Ethan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no idea what to say.
“Ethan.” Michael laid a hand on his shoulder, and Ethan heard what he didn’t say. They were running out of time.
“Guys, I have to go. You should head back home. I’ll get in touch later.”
David narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck is going on, Ethan?”
“Nothing. You should get—”
“Bullshit.” David’s eyes were as flat as his voice. “That’s just bullshit. Something’s up.”
Michael’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “We could use the help.”
“I’m not involving them,” Ethan hissed.
Michael tilted his head to the Giordano goons. “They’re already in it, my friend.”
“Goddammit.” Ethan’s hands clenched at his sides, his control slipping. “Goddammit, all right. Come inside. You two,” he snarled at the goons, “wait out here. And call Marco.”
The tall, beady-eyed one frowned. “And tell him what?”
“Tell him his boy’s got my girl, and I’m going to get her back.”
The goons exchanged glances, and the short, beady-eyed one pulled out a cell phone. Satisfied that Marco would be brought up to date, he turned back to David and Seth. “Come on.”
“Who’s got your girl? Do you mean Honey? Someone has Honey?” Seth trotted after him, shooting questions out so fast they fairly tumbled over one another. “What’s going on?”
“Jesus, Seth.” Dave gave his friend a shove. “Give him a chance to explain.”
“And tone it down, would you?” Ethan opened the front door which was unlocked—he really needed to talk to the women in his life about basic fucking security—and waited for everyone to file inside before shutting it behind them.
“Don’t turn on any lights,” he warned as he strode into the dining room. Honey’s kitchen windows were visible through the dripping rain, glowing softly in the dim light. With the light on he could easily see into the room, noted it was empty. His eyes flicked up to her bedroom window, but no lights were on. In fact, other than the kitchen, no lights were on in any other part of the house.
His mind flipped quickly through the possibilities. She was in the living room when he left, was likely still there. He couldn’t see Damico moving her upstairs; she was bait, a hostage, and he’d need her close.
Even as he thought it, he saw the dining room curtains twitch. The light didn’t come on, but in the spillover from the kitchen, he saw the shadows of two figures move into the room.
Michael moved up next to him, and Ethan spoke in a low, toneless whisper. “He’s moving her into the dining room.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “We need a plan, and we need it fast. It shouldn’t take you too long to grab a burger, and he’s going to know that.”
“Right.” He lowered his voice even further. “What the fuck am I going to tell them?”
“I don’t know,” Michael murmured. “But figure it out fast.”
Ethan reached for calm as he turned to face the two men who, in the last few months, had become his friends. David and Seth stood on the other side of Winnie’s dining table, twin expressions of confusion and alarm on their faces.
He had no idea what to say to them.
“Dude.” Seth planted his hands on his hips. “What’s up?”
A trickle of humor snuck through the panic, and Ethan nearly smiled. “It’s a long story and I don’t have time to get into it.”
“Just the basics, then,” David said with his usual pragmatism, and Ethan nodded.
“Right. The basics are that someone I used to work for isn’t happy with me, and he’s pissed enough—and crazy enough—to take Honey hostage to try to get to me. He’s over there now, likely with a gun to her head.”
Seth’s eyes went comically wide. “Bro, you gotta call the cops.”
Ethan shook his head. “No cops. When I say crazy, I mean complete psychopath. He sees a cop within a hundred yards of the house, he’ll kill her on principal.”
Both men went pale, and Seth gulped. “So, what do we do?”
“I’m going over there to get her.”
David nodded. He was still pale, and his eyes were still wide with shock, but when he spoke, his voice was rock solid. “How can we help?”
Michael spoke before Ethan could. “Can either of you handle a gun?”
The beginnings of a grin appeared on David’s face. “Of course.”
“A rifle?”
“You mean like a deer rifle?” Seth still looked a little shell shocked. “I use a Browning BAR 300 Winchester Magnum for hunting.”
“That’ll work.” Michael glanced at Ethan for confirmation.
“Yeah. Yeah, it will.” Ethan glanced at David. “How about you?”
“I’m okay with a rifle, better with a pistol.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Got my nine mil in the glove box.”
Ethan sucked in a breath, feeling the first stirrings of hope since he’d hung up the phone. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”
“Dude.” Seth held up a hand. “We’re friends. Friends help.”
David nodded. “He’s right. I’ll get my pistol.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Michael said. “Just to make sure our other friends don’t get the wrong idea.”
David nodded. “Yeah, I’d appreciate that.”
“You don’t have your rifle with you, do you?” Ethan asked Seth.
The younger man shook his head. “Nah, man. It’s at home. I can go get it.”
Ethan shook his head as Michael and David headed for the door. “We don’t have time. I’ll set you up with what I’ve got. It won’t be ideal, but it should do the job.”
He led the way up the stairs and went to the end of the hall where the attic stairs tucked into the ceiling. He grasped the dangling chain to pull the stairs down, went up about halfway, then reached into the opening and snagged a sleek black case. He climbed back down, shoved the stairs back into the ceiling, and jerked his head at the guest room he’d stayed in when h
e first arrived in Sweetwater.
“Come on.”
He laid the case on the bed and flipped it open. “It’s a Remington 700,” he explained and handed it to a startled Seth. “I need you in this room, keeping an eye on the back of Honey’s house.”
Seth hefted the rifle in his hands. “What am I looking for?”
“Anthony Damico.” Ethan pulled up the photo on his phone. “Five-ten, two-fifty. Black and brown. If he gets past us, out of the house, take him down.”
Seth’s eyes widened. “You want me to kill him?”
Ethan winced. It was easy to forget that not everyone was used to, or comfortable with, lethal action. “No, I want you to stop him. I’m going to do my best to make sure he doesn’t get past us, but if he does, he has to be stopped. Can you do that?”
Seth nodded slowly. “Yeah. For Honey, I can do that.”
He looked back down at the gun, then at the case. “Can I use the bipod?”
“Absolutely.” Ethan took the two-pronged stand out of the case. “You should set up a few feet back from the window, cut down on your visibility. And take the scope off,” he added. “It’s set for three hundred yards.”
“Yeah, I’ll do better with the sights.” With quick, competent moves that soothed a great many of Ethan’s nerves, Seth removed the scope and set it aside. “How am I going to know what you guys are doing?”
“Got an earpiece for your cell?”
“Sure.”
Ethan nodded. “We’ll get everyone on a conference call in a few minutes.”
He turned to go, then paused at the door. “Seth? Thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
I have friends, Ethan thought and managed a nod before he headed out.
Downstairs, he found Michael and David talking quietly in the dining room, and Giordano’s goons standing at parade rest by the front door. He eyed them stonily. “Has Marco been informed?”
The tall, beady-eyed one nodded. “Mr. Giordano wishes to convey his apologies and his understanding that due to the deterioration of the situation, a peaceful resolution might not be possible.”
Honey and the Hitman Page 25