by Beck, Keira
Then he headed to the basement. It wasn’t an open staircase—it was walled in like a tunnel. Declan could use that to his advantage.
He stopped on the next to last step and peered around the corner. Alana and Blair sat there, bound, gagged. Alana’s nose was bleeding, and Blair had a black eye. She whimpered. One guard, with the same type of weapon, leaned against the wall. He was probably supposed to be watching the women, but he was clearly bored and didn’t even look up when Blair sobbed. “Quiet. Or I’ll kill you where you sit.”
Low voices came from the other direction. Declan crossed to the other side of the stairs and looked around that wall. Anton, Yuri, Dmitry, and Kristina sat around a small table holding a Samovar and four cups. Dec tried to listen, but the conversation was in Russian and their words didn’t carry well.
All the big players. All of them but the gravelly-voiced man.
It would be so easy to spray them with bullets, to make them pay for the horrors they had wrought upon so many. But that wasn’t his job, wasn’t why he was there. He had to stay on mission. Their time would have to come later at someone else’s hand.
They were absorbed in their discussion and not paying attention to the other side of the room. The staircase blocked their view. If Declan could get rid of the guard, he stood a good chance of retrieving the women and getting away.
He crept back across the staircase and peered around the corner. Alana’s eyes widened, and he held his finger to his lips to silence her.
The man was still leaning on the wall, looking down, disinterested. This time, when Declan leapt and tried the chokehold, the man reacted poorly. He clutched at Dec’s arms. Threw a weak elbow. Despite his less-than-valiant effort, he couldn’t shake Dec’s grip and finally collapsed to the ground.
Alana began wriggling in her chair. So did Blair.
Declan hurried over and cut through the zip-ties binding Alana’s hands to the chair. While he freed her legs, she took down the gag. “There’s another one. He’ll be back any second.”
He handed her a knife, and she cut the ties around Blair’s wrists while he cut the ones holding her ankles.
The door at the top of the stairs closed with a bang.
Declan had cleared the ground floor and didn’t know how he’d missed someone else, but that exit was now cut off. Heavy feet stomped down the stairs.
He had no choice but to try the tunnel to Samovar.
* * *
Declan guided the women deeper into the basement. They only had seconds to spare, and if he was wrong, they were done for. He opened the door he suspected led to the tunnel, but all he found was a closet.
“Anatoly? Damn it!” The man started talking into his comm unit
Declan knew no one would answer.
Then the shit would really hit the fan.
He shoved Alana and Blair into the closet, stepped in after them, and closed the door.
More frantic Russian, then thunderous footfalls on the stairs. Everyone ran up to the ground floor, but they’d be back soon.
Unless he came up with something—fast—they were dead.
“We need to get out of here,” Alana said.
“Agreed, but I don’t know where to take you. Our only way out is upstairs, and that’s where half the Bratva is right now.”
“So let’s use the tunnel and take our chances at Samovar,” Blair said.
“I thought this was the doorway to the tunnel. But it’s not, and I don’t know where else it might be.”
“This is the entrance. This is how they brought me in.”
“Then it’s a hidden panel. How to we trigger it?”
“I don’t know.”
Declan holstered his gun and tucked the knife into his belt. The three of them started running their hands over the walls and doorframe. His finger caught on a raised bump on the baseboard, and the back wall slid open to reveal the tunnel. It was sporadically lit with bulbs that cast some of the brick walls in orange light and left the rest in gloomy darkness. The air smelled stale, and the floor was slick with something unidentified. He didn’t want to think about it. He pushed them inside. “Run.”
A mad dash was out of the question in the muck and slime, but they hurried as fast as they could. They were already to the door at Samovar when they heard Bratva soldiers enter the tunnel behind them.
The releases were easy to see on the tunnel side, and Alana triggered theirs. The wall slid open, and they stepped into an identical closet in Samovar’s basement. Blair closed the tunnel entrance while Declan opened the door to the basement and looked around.
Dark. Deserted.
He led them out, shut the door, then jammed a chair under the knob. It wouldn’t stop their chasers, but it would slow them down.
They’d be in the clear as soon as they made it up the stairs, outside, and down the street to his car. Going from his memory of the plans Nico forwarded, he pointed into the shadows. “This way.”
They formed a human chain—Blair holding onto Alana, Alana holding onto Declan. He drew his Glock as he picked his way across the room. They’d just reached the staircase when the closet door started rattling.
“Come on!” He took the stairs two at a time, intending to clear their way before the girls made it up the staircase. Declan flung the door open, gun raised.
Gravel-Voice stood there. He knocked Dec’s gun away and punched him in the face.
He fell down the stairs, taking Alana and Blair with him.
* * *
“Alana? Blair? You okay?” Declan said.
“Fine. I’m fine,” Alana said.
“Blair?” he demanded.
“Yeah. Good.”
Declan had lost his gun on the way down the stairs, and the semi-automatic was caught on something—he couldn’t get it out from under him. His face stung from the punch, and his body hurt all over from the fall. But his only concern was protecting the girls.
He unhooked the gun from the strap around his neck and grabbed the knife from his belt. Then he helped the girls to their feet.
The closet door buckled in the jamb. The other Bratva were almost free.
Gravel-Voice was coming down the stairs, each step slow, deliberate. “You’ve got nowhere left to go.”
Declan whispered to the girls as he stared at the steps. “When he gets down here, I’m going to rush him. As soon as the way is clear, you run.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Alana said.
Blair whimpered.
Two steps to go.
“Go for help. I need you to do this for me.”
Gravel-Voice reached the end of the stairs. He raised his weapon and aimed at Declan’s chest.
At that distance, Dec didn’t have a prayer.
Alana lunged at him, screaming, “No!”
And the bang of gunfire echoed through the room.
Chapter Fourteen
Declan fell on his ass. Gravel-Voice landed on top of him.
All hell broke loose.
The door at the closet gave way, and people poured into the room.
At the same time, it sounded like a stampede on the stairs. But Declan couldn’t see past the man on top of him to assess the situation.
Blair screamed.
Alana dropped to her knees and babbled in Declan’s ear. She was talking too fast for him to make out many of the words, most of which were choked off by strangled sobs and unladylike sniffles.
More shots fired.
Declan squeezed out from under the dead weight and threw himself over Alana, protecting her from any bullets headed her way.
Then…
Silence—the loud kind that was mostly a steady tone where noise had once been.
He rolled off Alana. His body was numb. Better than feeling the bruises from the fall.
He looked around, starting to make out voices, shapes.
A squadron of police officers had descended and was rounding up Bratva members. Not only soldiers. Upper echelon members—Kristina, Dmitry, e
ven Yuri and Anton.
“We need help here!” Alana cried. Tears streamed down her face, and she cradled his head in her lap.
“Are you hurt?” Declan asked.
“Me? No.” She swiped at her cheeks. “You. You’ve been shot.”
“I have?”
“I think you’re in shock.” She placed her hand on his chest.
It felt warm, firm. He looked down. She was pressing on a huge blood stain, barely noticeable on the dark shirt, but the pressure didn’t hurt. “Alana, I’m fine.”
“Shh. Just rest. Help’s coming.”
Declan scrambled up and turned toward her. “I’m fine.”
“But… the blood…”
“It’s not mine. It’s his.” Declan pointed to Gravel-Voice, who lay face down, motionless, a bullet hole in his back. A puddle of blood oozed underneath him, spreading on the floor.
Alana flung her arms around Declan and held tight. “I was so scared. I thought I lost you. And after I acted like such a child. I—”
He pulled back and kissed her to stop her rant. Then he rested his forehead against hers. “It’s okay. Shh. It’s okay.”
Someone cleared his throat.
Declan looked up. Danny, Noah, and a truck-sized guy he’d never seen before stared down at them.
“Mako!” Alana jumped up and flung herself into his arms.
Dec climbed to his feet. Every fucking bone in his body hurt. So much for numbness. He nodded toward the police. “That your doing?”
Danny crossed his arms over his chest. “Yep. You wouldn’t wait, so I had to do something.”
“We were almost free.”
“You were almost dead,” Noah said.
Declan shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Danny said. “It took Mako doing a lot of fast talking and Vaughn Windsor pulling a lot of strings to get the cops to show up here. They thought they had their man in custody already. You owe a bunch of people a world of gratitude.”
“Thanks.” Declan shook Danny’s hand. “But I still think I could have taken him.”
“You’re one cocky son of a bitch, you know that?” Danny pulled him into a man-hug. “I was afraid I was going to lose you.”
Declan stepped back. “Come on, man. I’m much harder to get rid of than this.”
“Does that mean you’re going to stick around this time? This job didn’t scare you away?”
“You seriously worried about me quitting?”
“You don’t really have a track record of staying in one place.”
“But you hired me anyway.”
Danny shrugged. “A guy can hope.”
“I have no intention of quitting. I’m planning on putting down roots.”
“I see.” Danny smiled and glanced at Alana.
Declan followed his gaze. All the what-could-have-beens ran through his mind. “It’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh.”
Alana pulled Mako over to Declan and made introductions.
Dec offered his hand. “Thanks for your help. This could have turned out a lot differently if you hadn’t—”
“Don’t sweat it. Besides, I rode you kind of hard the last couple of days, and I said some things I shouldn’t have.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I was upset, and I talked out of my ass. I’m sorry.”
“Water under the bridge, man. Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
A week later, Declan stood at a country club bar, champagne flute in hand. Josh Morgan, Adam’s new best man, offered a heartfelt toast, then Dec drained his glass.
Alana walked up to him. “I’m glad you came.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. The prettiest girl here promised me a dance.”
Her cheeks turned pink, but she smiled. “Probably won’t hit the dance floor for another hour. It’s time to eat. You hungry? Or would you like to take a walk?”
He put his glass down. “Definitely the walk. I’m sure someone will give us something later if we come back hungry.”
She led him through a labyrinth of tables and out to the balcony. The air coming off the lake was refreshing, and they stood, leaning on the rail and looking over the water.
The silence was killing him. He had so many things he wanted to say to her. Instead, he fell back on what was comfortable. “Did Mako tell you Kristina confessed to sneaking Dmitry onboard? They were having an affair.”
“Crazy, right? It wasn’t like he could be with her when she was with her husband. Have to wonder why she even married Scott. Or stayed with him.”
“Probably got off knowing she was with someone right under Scott’s nose.”
Alana frowned. “I wonder if Dmitry killed Scott for the Bratva or from jealousy.”
He shrugged. “We might never find out.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
Didn’t it? Declan wanted to know. They’d all been through too much for questions. Especially since the answers could make all the difference. He took a deep breath. “Did you hear the Feds got involved? None of the Bratva they arrested made bail, and it looks like they’re all going away for a long time.”
“Someone came and talked to me and Blair about witness protection.”
His heart sank. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“Are you going?”
“I’ve agreed to testify, but I’m not going into hiding. I’m a security expert. If I can’t protect myself, I can’t expect someone else to.”
“Blair said no to hiding, too. Her dad is increasing security for the whole family. The government told him if she testifies, he’d have to keep it up forever, or at least until Anton Medved dies. Mr. Windsor is more than willing, since that means his daughter will still be in his life.”
“What about you?” His chest felt tight. Declan wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but he needed to.
“We’re well off, but not as wealthy as they are. I can’t afford to hire round-the-clock protection.”
“You know, if you don’t testify, they’ll have no reason to come after you. Blair, too.”
“Then they won’t have a case.”
“They’ll have me.”
“Actually, Blair told them she doesn’t want to testify. Her dad’s just being careful until the trial.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Are you testifying? Entering WitSec?”
“I don’t want to go into hiding, either. I just finished decorating my house in Pittsburgh, and my career is—”
“Pittsburgh?”
“Yeah. I told you I don’t live with my parents anymore.”
“But you didn’t tell me you lived in Pittsburgh.”
“You never asked.”
The pain in his chest eased. He turned around and rested his elbows on the rail. “You know, I live in Pittsburgh. Just moved there.”
“I’m aware.”
“If you feel the need for security, well, that’s my wheelhouse.”
“That’s true.” She looked up at him through long lashes. “Is that a proposition, Declan?”
He took her hand. “I’d prefer to think of it as a promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Alana. Ever.”
Music flowed from the ballroom.
“Sounds like the band’s playing dinner music,” she said.
Declan pulled her into his arms. “And you said we’d have to wait for an hour before I got my dance.” They swayed to the music, the sun setting on the lake, the scent of honeysuckle drifting on the breeze.
“I was tired of waiting,” Alana whispered.
“Me, too.” She fit perfectly against him, and he never wanted to let her go.
“You said the only reason you came today was to dance with me.”
“I did.”
“Well, we’ve danced,” she said. “What do you say we get out of here? We can be at my house in about an hour. Get out of these clothes, grab a pizza. Or wings.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“W
ings sound great.” Getting her out of her clothes sounded even better.
“I’ll race you to the car.”
Declan chased her through the ballroom and out to the parking lot. Forty minutes later, he was pulling into her driveway.
Alana turned to him and smiled. “We’re home. In record time.”
Home. It had been a long time since he’d had a ‘home’ rather than just another place to stay.
Pittsburgh. Alana. Home.
He could get used to that.
Author’s Note
I grew up in Western Pennsylvania, and some of my favorite childhood memories are of family trips to the beach at Lake Erie. In addition to fun in the surf and sand, we sometimes picked cherries and strawberries (some of the best fruit I ever tasted). Other times, we went to nearby amusement parks.
Years later, my husband and I moved our family to Michigan for two years, and we got to experience the other side of the lake—and a second generation of family memories were made.
When I chose the setting for this novella, I thought it would be nice to use Lake Erie. I needed a water locale, and while any large body of water would do, that particular Great Lake enabled me to pay tribute to two areas that provided me with years of treasured moments.
While I had pictures in my mind, I knew things had changed in the decades since I’d been there. I also had a lot of technical questions that I never could have answered on my own, and exhaustive research didn’t yield any results. To make sure I portrayed the setting accurately, I reached out to Captain Jake at Lake Erie Sailing Charters. He answered all of my questions promptly, thoroughly, and cordially. If I ever travel there again and want to charter a boat, I will happily seek out his company’s services. I hope he knows how grateful I am for his assistance in writing this story, and I truly hope residents of Erie, Pennsylvania and visitors to the lake enjoy reading about the area as much as I enjoyed writing about it.
— Keira
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