Chapter Seventeen Inside the helicopter, gun aimed steadily at the pilot, Mitch ground his teeth as they headed back to the estate. The pilot hadn't offered any argument as soon he'd seen the Glock leveled at his head. On the ground, the agents had spotted him, but Larson, good friend that he was, cut off their dash to the helicopter as the pilot lifted them off the ground.
They flew over a brightly lit city, much too slowly. "Don't you have any way of making this thing go faster?"
"I'm doing the best I can," the pilot said, his face a ghoulish mask lit by the green glow of the instrument panel. "You wanna put those pistols away? We hit an air pocket, I don't want to lose my head."
Mitch grunted and lowered the gun, but didn't put it away.
"Mind telling me what's going on?" the pilot asked, as he banked to the right and headed in the direction Mitch had indicated.
"Yes, I mind." He didn't have the patience for small talk, let alone the nerve to go over his worries aloud. Just the idea of voicing his worst fears were enough to make him want to vomit.
"Okay, but it might help if I knew what I was flying into."
He had a point. Mitch released a breath. "A young woman is alone, right now, with a killer. If we don't get back in time, there's no telling what he'll do."
"What set him off?"
Mitch grimaced. "Her mother woke from her coma and, about twenty minutes ago, named the killer. I don't know if Jess knows or not, but if she does, and the killer knows she knows, it's not good."
The pilot nodded once. "I can see the situation you're in."
We're in, Mitch thought dismally. Why had he left her alone? He'd been leery of Jared all this time, thinking the man too soft, too weak to be true. He had been right. Jared was a hell of a lot tougher than he'd let on. All those moments where Mitch's instincts had told him Jared lied, or pretended to be more concerned than he was, and he'd just ignored them. How could he live with himself if something happened to Jess?
Mitch breathed deep when he saw the estate come into view. Twenty long minutes in the vibrating chopper had left him ready to leap out of his skin. "There," Mitch said, pointing. "Set us down in the back."
From this altitude, he couldn't quite tell, but he thought there should have been more life on the estate. No headlights shown from the guard's vehicles and the two guard shacks at the back of the estate were pitch black. The house itself had a queer, haunted look. His stomach clenched tightly on the thought that he might already be too late.
* * *
Jess groaned. Her arm felt like it was being pulled out of the socket. Jared dragged her by one wrist across the downstairs foyer. Her head felt as if it had thudded down every step of the staircase. She blinked and tried to grab something, anything, to halt their progress down the hall.
Jared raved, out of his mind with rage. "People can't keep their noses out of our life. Beth and I were just fine. Everyone always has to come in and ruin it all."
He didn't realize she was awake. Looking back over their passage, over an upended vase filled with flowers, the water soaking into the crumpled Oriental runner, she saw the door to the safe room. If she could get away from him, she would only need to get those few feet and he wouldn't be able to hurt her anymore.
Over the swish of her jeans sliding on hard wood came the dim sound of thumping and for a moment, she thought it was the noise of a concussion in her head. Then Jared stopped and when she ventured a peek, he was staring at the ceiling, head cocked. Not in her head. No. It was a helicopter.
He swore.
She grinned and managed a dry laugh. "They heard me scream after all."
He glanced down at her, to the door he had been dragging her toward, then back at her again. "It changes nothing."
His grip had relaxed slightly and she used his inattentiveness to yank free. Lurching away from him, she half flung herself, half crawled back the way they had come. Hands clawing the hard wood, knees scissoring as she attempted to run before gaining her feet, she made it past the spilled water.
He stopped her with a fistful of her shirt and the cold muzzle of the Glock on her neck. She cried out, more in frustration this time than real pain.
"We take this outside." He lifted her to her feet, strangling her with the collar of the shirt, as her weight at first didn't want to oblige.
Feet beneath her, the world swam as she tugged the choking collar down and tried to gain her balance. Jess didn't know what he waited for, why he didn't want to finish her off right here and now, but she was glad for the chance to fight him, no matter what condition she was in.
He swung her around, using her body to shove open the door to the kitchen. She hit it, arms raised to protect her face from doing the dirty work. With a curse, he came through after her.
"Don't try anything stupid," he said, raising the gun and knocking her between the shoulder blades, sending her flailing toward the back door. "I'll shoot you where you land. I swear it."
She grasped the edge of the marble counter on the island and searched as far as her arms could reach for anything to hit him with. Nothing. The counters and the island were bare.
"Move. Out the door." He shoved her forward again.
"All right, already. I'm going. Stop pushing me." She tried to recall if there was anything outside the door that might serve as a weapon to clobber him. She and Mitch had been in too much of a hurry for her to notice much of her surroundings.
Jared stopped her just inside the open door. The balmy California evening was thick with humidity, and the highpitched sound of a helicopter landing. She couldn't see it, couldn't feel the wind of the rotors, but it was close. And so was Jared.
He pressed against her back, his arm circling her waist, the gun nearly inside her ear. "Move."
He urged her ahead. She could do nothing but shuffle in front of him. Down the few steps and across the lawn, each of them searched for the helicopter and whoever might be coming.
"You won't get away with this," Jess said. "They must know. Someone must know what you've done."
"Shut up. Keep moving. To the stables. You know the way."
Jess shuddered to think how he knew. She had avoided the stables since that afternoon with Mitch. Now, she didn't want him to take her there, to sully that memory. "Why the stables?"
The helicopter noise stopped, only the faint whipping of the rotors could be heard. Mitch, I hope that's you.
"I want you to remember what it's like. I want you to feel keenly what it is to be separated from someone you love. I want you to know what you've put me through. I want you to die on the spot you gave yourself to him."
She wanted to ask him how he could know, but thought better of it. There were some things she didn't want to think about for the rest of her life. No matter how short it might be.
The double stable doors were open, as if expecting them. No light inside to illuminate the path, but even these few yards away she could smell the horses, the hay, the dusty smell of well used leather and animal sweat. Jared had been right, it made her long desperately for Mitch. Not to make love to him again–for him to show up and kick Jared's ass for her.
Jess gritted her teeth and stepped into the darkness. * * *
Mitch jumped from the helicopter and landed on the run. The pilot, seeing his chance to escape the gunman who had taken him hostage, took to the skies. It didn't matter, Mitch thought, he was here, and nothing would stop him from getting to Jess.
He hurried for the house, circling through the back gardens and entering the sitting room. The house was quiet, much too still. The scent of danger lingered in the air–not a tangible aroma, but a psychic aura that bled into his skin through a horrific osmosis.
He cleared the sitting room and headed into the foyer. In the diffused moonlight streaking through the window above the front door, the overturned vase sparkled wetly. The bunched runner hurt him internally. There had been a struggle.
Jess.
He eased toward the hall leading to the kitchen, the
direction the mess pointed. As he went, he checked the door to the safe room. It stood ajar. Jess wasn't inside. Any lingering hope that she might be safe, that Jared hadn't gotten to her, left him on a wave of fearful rage.
Jaw clenched to the point his teeth ached, he scoped the hallway. Nothing. No one. He swore low and hastened his pace into the kitchen. The back door stood ajar.
He rushed forward, certain now that Jared had taken her out that way. Certain Jared had her. Because if he didn't, if the man had left her bleeding, maybe dying somewhere else, there wasn't a God, there wasn't hope and Mitch's life was meaningless. In his gut, he felt that she must still be alive.
He reached the door and shoved it wider, coming out onto the back porch.
There.
A glint of caramel-colored hair shining in the moonlight, then two shadows disappeared inside the stables. They were gone so quickly, he would have thought it was a trick of the night if his gaze hadn't been so sharp and intent on finding her.
From the way they had moved together, he instinctually concluded Jared had some sort of weapon trained on Jess. She wasn't fighting, but neither had she been moving of her own free will.
She was his hostage.
* * *
"There," Jared said, pointing her toward the back of the stable. "Get back there."
She moved slow, casting about for anything she could grab. The horses smelled her, and likely the fear sweating out of her pores. They whinnied nervously as she passed. One struck a gate with his back hooves, the crack against the wood as loud as gunfire. A startled cry escaped her even as her mind tried to catch up with reality. She hadn't just been shot in the head.
"Easy does it," Jared whispered in her ear, his breath hot and close against her skin. His grip went brutal, tightening against her ribs, holding her hot against him. "Horses won't hurt you, but I will if you don't put a lid on it."
"Why?" She asked the question in a whisper, afraid to infuriate him more, but still eager to let those in the helicopter know she was here, inside the stables, with Jared. "My dad says if you're gonna do something no one else should see, chances are, you shouldn't be doing it."
Jared grunted. "Your father is a stupid man. Sending you here. Alone."
Stupid? Her spine straightened between them. "My dad is not stupid. If anything you are. You should have killed me when you had the chance."
"And give up the only leverage I have for getting out of here?" Jared laughed. "You're nothing like your mother. She knows her place, she knows when I say be quiet, it means be quiet."
In his anger, he drew the gun away from her head. She sensed his arm lifting, as if to deliver a blow with the butt of the pistol. No longer caring if he shot her or not, she acted.
Using every trick J.D. had taught her, she stomped on his instep, elbowed him in the solar plexus, and with a scream of outright rage, grabbed his gun hand and bit him as hard as she could.
He uttered a gasping cry, his hand flexing against her teeth. The gun fired. Something hot hit her cheek, burning. She yelled and fell back, eyes stinging from the sudden bright flash from the muzzle in the darkness.
On her knees, deafened and ears ringing from the explosive noise of the Glock firing beside her head, she prayed Jared didn't recover faster than she. Jess prayed she could get back on her feet, run, fight, do anything but wait for him to bury a bullet in the back of her head.
* * *
Mitch dropped to his knees and tried to find them in the dismal blackness at the back of the stable. The spit had dried in his mouth as a bullet bit into the door beside his head, sending a sharp shard of wood into the side of his neck. He plucked it out, his adrenalin too amped to feel any pain.
He didn't know if the bullet had been deliberately aimed at him or not. He only hoped it was, because that meant Jess was still alive, still somewhere ahead of him. In fact, he thought as he tilted his head to the side and tried to keep from breathing hard, he could hear her crying softly now that the horses had stopped their frightened neighs and snorts. A muted gasping sound that was too high pitched to come from Jared filled the deepening quiet.
No longer caring if Jared shot him anymore, no longer worried that he might die before he saved Jess, Mitch followed the sound of her voice. In three strides, their shapes took form in the dark. He leveled his gun on the man who had shot Beth, who had fooled him into believing the real killer was Grady, who had sent hired thugs to murder an unsuspecting and innocent woman.
Jared rose slowly in the gloom. Light from an exterior security lamp glimmered through a small far window, reflecting off the steel of his weapon. He aimed it down, at Jess's bent head.
Jared spotted him. "Don't move, or she dies."
Mitch froze in his tracks, but didn't lower his Glock. "She dies, you die."
Jared reached blindly with one hand and grasped Jess by her hair. "On your feet," he shouted at her. To Mitch he said, "We're leaving. Don't try to stop us."
Jess cried out, grasping the hand on her head as she struggled to get to her feet fast enough. She sobbed. "Mitch."
"He won't hurt you. I promise," Mitch said, following them as Jared dragged her to the back door. "He won't dare."
"I'll do what it takes." Jared shoved her against the door. "Open it."
She grasped the door handle and turned. "It's locked." She slid her gaze to Mitch, then to the light switch by the door, then back at him.
He understood. As Jared took his attention off Mitch for a heartbeat, he nodded slightly. He knew what she planned.
Jared caught the nod and leveled the Glock at Mitch. "Whatever you think–"
At that moment, Jess flipped the overhead lights on. Mitch fired in the sudden, blinding glare.
Jared flew back, his chest exploding in a terminal wound. He fired his own weapon as he went down. The bullet hit Mitch in the head, knocking him backward.
Jess screamed.
Chapter Eighteen Jess fell to Mitch's side, her knees kicking up a cloud of dirt as she reached for him. Blood oozed from the deep gash that went from the outside corner of his eyebrow across his scalp. His face had gone a strange shade of pale. Heart hammering hard inside her aching chest, she swallowed past her tears. "Mitch, I'm here."
He nodded, and grasped her hand. "Gimme a minute." She wanted to yank him to his feet, to throw an arm around him and force him to the nearest car, to get him to the closest hospital. She settled on cradling his head in her lap, though she wanted to scream for someone to help her, to get an ambulance, to bring the police, the FBI, the Marines, anyone.
The blood continued to flow. Too much. She could hear J.D., lecturing her on the finer points of tattooing, "Nothing bleeds like the head."
"Mitch, don't…you'll be all right." She couldn't stop her tears, couldn't stop crying. She cast around for something to staunch the flow of blood, but could find nothing. She took her shirt off, balled it into a compress, and held it over the wound. "Can you hold this, Mitch?"
He didn't respond, his eyes were closed. She had to get help for him, but she couldn't leave him. His arm was heavy as she tried to encourage him to take hold of the compress. A harsh exhale from him drew her attention. When she looked at him through her tears, his eyes had rolled to the back of his head.
"Somebody! Help me! Please!" She screamed toward the open doors, praying for a response. Knowing none would come. She shook him as gently as she could. "Mitch. Stay awake."
He opened one bleary-looking eye. "Hush, Jess. It's okay. You're okay."
"It's not okay. You're shot."
"I am?"
"Yes. Help me, Mitch. What do I do?"
"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"
She wanted to laugh and cry and cry some more. Of all the things for him to notice, her lack of clothing would be the one. "I took it off to stop your bleeding. Can you hold it?"
He nodded, and pressed a hand, finally, to where she held the already darkening fabric to his scalp. "Gonna leave a scar, you think?"
She ki
ssed his forehead and swallowed more tears. Oh, if it was only a scar and he was going to be all right, she would be happier than any girl could hope for. "I'll cover it with a flying dragon. Or if you want, more black work tattoos."
"Whatever you think, Gorgeous."
She laughed through her tears. "Don't call me gorgeous."
He chuckled, then groaned. She tried to help him sit up. The sound of sirens–far off, but coming closer–came to them from the long drive leading up to the estate.
Help was on the way.
* * *
"I remembered what happened when he called to see if I was doing all right." Beth sat against the sheets, looking stronger than Mitch recalled ever seeing her. "I can't believe he's dead."
Two days had passed since the fatal shooting in the stable. Mitch still had a low grade headache sitting at the base of his skull and the stitches on his scalp looked like something out of a Frankenstein movie, with the bruising and swelling, but even that had started to fade. Thank God he had a tough skull, or the bullet could have done more damage than just leaving a furrow through his scalp.
"I don't know how to thank you, Mitch, for all you've done," Beth said after a moment of silence. "I wanted to leave Jared much sooner, but when my father died…I guess it was just too much to think about. He manipulated me so easily. I feel weak, like I was when I first came home."
Tears stood out in eyes that were just as green, just as beautiful as her daughter's. "It's not really my place, but I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. You're free now. Free from your father and Jared."
She brushed her tears back and smiled. "I guess I am. I don't think it's all sunk in just yet."
"Give it time."
Beth nodded and fingered a fold in the blanket, as if trying to muster up the courage to broach a different subject with him. "I take it they've released you now?"
He nodded and absently touched the wound in the back of his hand where the I.V. line had been removed just that morning. "I guess I'm free, too."
"So you won't be staying on, with us, I mean? Ready to move on to the next job?"
He wished Jess was there, to help him explain. It felt awkward to talk about his relationship with Beth's daughter when the pair had barely had time to get reacquainted. "I'm retiring from the business. I've saved and invested well and I'll…I'm leaving–"
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