by Harley Tate
As the two walked down the open-air hallway, Grant followed in the shadows, keeping tight to the wall in hopes they wouldn’t spot him. Clutching the shotgun in both hands, Grant thought about using it. He could rush them and fire before either man got a shot off, but the element of surprise would be gone.
Mr. Unicorn would hear the trouble. More men would come. Grant couldn’t afford to put Leah and everyone else at risk. Not until he reduced the threat. These two would need to go quietly.
The men paused at the first door and fumbled with a set of keys.
“Yo man, gimme a light. I can’t see nothin’.”
A lighter flicked on and both men leaned over the door handle. At last, the door swung open. The one with the lighter held it up and eased into the room.
Grant seized the chance. He ran at them full tilt, rushing the door as the second man stepped inside.
Lifting the gun, Grant hit on instinct, slamming the butt into the back of the closest man’s head. He crumpled to the floor.
The man with the lighter spun around. “What the—”
Grant didn’t give him time to answer. He attacked instead, rage and fear turning him into an animal with a deadly weapon. He slammed the guy in the side of the head with the butt of the shotgun and the lighter flew across the room, plunging the space into darkness.
A fist landed hard in Grant’s side and he staggered back. Pain radiated through his ribs. He struggled to breathe. A shape loomed at him and Grant reacted on instinct. The shotgun fit tight against his shoulder and the trigger pulled with ease.
The man who punched him grunted and staggered back, but didn’t fall. Grant pumped the gun and fired again. His opponent sagged. Something clattered to the floor.
Grant reached into his pocket and found the flashlight. He pulled it out and clicked it on. A Glock 19 sat on the floor, a foot from the man bleeding out all over the threadbare carpet.
A shiver rocked Grant to the core. If he hadn’t fired, he’d be dead. He picked up the Glock and dropped the magazine. Checking its round indicator, it appeared full with fifteen rounds. He eased the slide back slightly to confirm the round in the chamber, slid the magazine home, and then turned to the man he’d hit with the shotgun. Sprawled out and unconscious, he wasn’t a problem now, but he might be later.
Grant aimed the Glock at the man’s head and pulled the trigger. It fired smooth and steady. A well-used gun. He shoved it in his waistband next to the Shield and headed toward the door.
This time, there would be no loose ends.
Chapter Twenty-Two
LEAH
Foothills Motel
Marietta, Georgia
Tuesday, 10:30 p.m.
“You can’t be serious. You’ve lived in Georgia your whole life but you’re an…” Leah could barely utter the words. “Auburn fan?”
Dan raised his empty whiskey glass. “Go Tigers!”
Leah laughed and sipped her vodka tonic. The more she got to know Dan, the more she liked him. “Why didn’t we hang out back in the neighborhood?”
“You were too busy canoodling with that husband of yours.”
“I do not canoodle.” Leah paused and glanced down at Faith where she slept on the mat beside her feet. “Okay, maybe I canoodle a little.”
Dan raised his glass to his lips and frowned when it came up empty. He reached for the bottle and tipped it over. A single drop landed on his tongue. “Damn. Guess they’re out.” He looked around. “Someone should fire the bartender.”
Leah ran a hand down her face. While she’d been sipping, Dan had been full-on chugging whiskey. She didn’t know how many he’d had, but more than enough to call it a night.
She rubbed her neck. Neither one of them should be drinking. Dan’s blistered arm and her black eye and stitches didn’t need alcohol slowing everything down. But she needed to relax. It had been a hell of a week.
Leah reached for the empty whiskey bottle. “Let’s see if we can find some more.” She grabbed the lantern they’d brought into the kitchen and headed out the door to the area behind the bar.
Dan struggled to follow. Leah reached for him and tugged, almost toppling over as they finally cleared the door. Faith darted through as the door swung on its hinges and sniffed around the glasses and bottles beneath the counter.
So far, they’d kept to the concealed parts of the motel, turning off the lights whenever they neared a window, but Leah couldn’t read liquor bottles in the dark. She set the lantern on the floor and searched the stocked shelves. They wouldn’t be visible for long.
As soon as she found another bottle, they could retire to the gear room and drink themselves into hangovers. As she squinted at the labels, a noise from the front of the restaurant sent Faith off on a barking tizzy. Leah stood up, gripping the counter as a head rush made her dizzy.
“There you are!” Oliver rushed toward her, eyes huge and full of excitement. “You won’t believe what I’ve found.” He waved his computer in one hand and his glasses in the other and he talked so fast Leah couldn’t understand a single word.
She held up the empty whiskey bottle. “Slow down. We can’t understand you.”
Oliver’s eyes bounced back and forth as he took in Dan’s beet-red face and the empty bottle. “You two got drunk?”
Leah stifled a giggle. “I’m tipsy. Dan’s the one who’s drunk. Slow down and tell me what you found.”
Oliver puffed out a breath of air. “It’s everything we wanted to know. I managed to get back online and—” His word cut off midsentence as the door to the restaurant opened and a boom echoed through the bar.
Leah stared in horror as blood sprayed from Oliver’s chest. For a moment, he stayed standing, his lips contorting into an O as he looked down at his chest. But as the gunshot took its toll, Oliver crumpled to the floor.
The bottle slipped from Leah’s fingers. As it hit the floor, a scream bubbled up her throat. She lunged for Dan. “Get down!” She dragged the drunk man beneath the bar.
Dan outweighed her by a hundred pounds or more. It took all her strength to haul him toward the floor. Another shot rang out. It shattered the mirror on the bar’s wall and huge sheets of glass broke and fell all around them.
Leah sucked in a breath and reached for the lantern. She shut it off and plunged the area into darkness. How were they going to get out of there? She pressed her fingers to her temples and tried to think. Damn vodka. If I live through this, so help me, I’m never drinking vodka again.
Faith barked at her feet. She reached for the dog, and held the little fluff ball tight. Without a weapon, all they could do was hide. Leah leaned close to Dan and the stench of whiskey pushed her back. “We need to get out of here.”
He nodded and tried to stand, but fell. “Go. I’ll catch up.”
“No! I’m not leaving you here.”
The sound of boots near the bar shocked Leah into silence.
“I know you assholes are in here, so cut the crap and save me the trouble.”
Leah swallowed. She recognized the voice from the night before. Mr. Unicorn himself. She looked down at Faith and then all around beneath the bar. It was too dark to make out much of anything. Opening the closest cabinet, Leah felt around and found an empty shelf beneath a stack of towels.
She shoved Faith into it before taking the little dog’s face in her hands. “Stay.” She whispered. “No matter what.” Leah shut the door and leaned back. Her heart hammered in her chest and her clammy hands broke out into a full-on sweat.
Mr. Unicorn’s voice grew louder. “Don’t make me come find you.”
At the end of the bar, the door led into the kitchen. If they could make it there, maybe they could get out of the situation alive. She turned to Dan. He still sat on the floor, butt surrounded by glass shards, rubbing his face.
“We need to go,” Leah whispered. “This way.” She tugged on his arm.
Dan lumbered up, half-falling twice before managing to stay somewhat vertical. If he made any more n
oise, they would be found out. Leah sent up a silent prayer and herded Dan toward the door, easing over bits of broken whiskey bottle as she worked her way toward the far side of the bar.
As she pushed the swinging door open, the wood above her head splintered. A bullet lodged in the trim board two feet above her head. Whoever had the gun wasn’t messing around.
They had to get out of there and hide. Leah ducked through the open door, dragging Dan behind her. “Let’s go!”
With one hand pulling Dan by the shirt sleeve and one held out in front of her, Leah scuttled into the dark. She bumped into a metal table and cursed at the pain.
The lantern still sat where she left it beneath the bar, useless now.
Feeling her way, Leah eased down the length of tables and toward the rear of the motel. Every place always had a back door through the kitchen. If they could find it and get outside, there were a million places to hide. She only hoped they could make it that far.
The door behind her slammed open on its hinges and a light spilled into the kitchen. Leah choked back a sob and ducked beneath the counter.
Mr. Unicorn held the lantern up high, sweeping it back and forth in one hand while he held a handgun in the other.
We’re not going to make it. She turned back to Dan and whispered, “Please, we need to go faster.”
“I can’t.” He shoved her hand off with a sloppy slap. “Go. I’ll hold them off.”
“No!”
“Do it.” He heaved up and plastered on a smile. “I’ll be okay.”
Leah knew that was a lie. She stared at Dan as the lantern light hit her square in the face. It was too late. She scrabbled backward as Dan turned around.
Mr. Unicorn walked past the counter, staring straight at Leah. “First, you shoot me in the arm.”
He pointed a handgun at her chest. “Then, you kill two of my guys.” He stepped forward until no more than ten feet separated them. “Then, you steal my truck.”
Dan moved to block Leah from view. He motioned for her to run. She shook her head. He wasn’t going to die so she could get away. Not today.
Mr. Unicorn leveled his gaze on the pair of them. “How d’you think I feel today?”
Leah eased around Dan, despite his best efforts to push her back. “Like you’ve got a hole in your arm and your feet are tired from all that walking.” She glanced at Dan. “But he didn’t do any of that.” She thumped her chest. “I did.”
“Leah!” Dan chastised her, but she ignored him.
Mr. Unicorn lifted his chin. “Is that right?”
“Damn straight.”
He pointed the gun straight at her. “Then you deserve to be punished.”
She swallowed. Visions of Grant finding her dead body filled her mind and bravado gave way to fear. She looked around for a weapon.
Mr. Unicorn laughed. “Not so brave now, huh?” He snorted. “Lucky for you I have a thing for pretty chicks with no hair.” He turned toward Dan and fired.
The gun jerked and a round hit Dan in the gut. He grabbed at his stomach and blood coated his fingers.
“No!” Leah reached for him as he slid to the ground. She spun around, searching for something to stop the bleeding. A stack of kitchen towels caught her eye and she yanked them all toward her. Leah placed a wad of them on the wound and pressed Dan’s hand on top before scowling at Mr. Unicorn. “You didn’t have to shoot him.”
“Didn’t I?” He snorted. “What d’ya think this is, play time?”
Anger welled up in Leah and she stood up. “You could have taken your truck and left.” She reached into her pocket and fished out the truck keys. She threw them at Mr. Unicorn’s feet. “We aren’t armed. We can’t give you anything.”
He looked her up and down and goosebumps rose across her arms. “Oh you can give me somethin’, that’s for sure.” He bent and picked up the keys, ogling her as he rose back up.
She stepped back. “Never.”
He grinned and two gold teeth came into view. “Good thing I like a challenge.”
Leah bolted for the back, running as fast as her sneakers could manage. She reached the door when a burly guy with a tattoo covering his neck pushed it open. He had a gun of his own in his hand.
Leah backpedaled, but Mr. Unicorn blocked her in. She swung her head back and forth in a panic. I can’t die here. Not like this.
She reached for a knife stuck in a butcher block on the counter. Long and sharp, it would do the job.
Mr. Unicorn laughed. “Put the knife down or I’ll have Rocky shoot you where it hurts.”
Leah swallowed and looked back at the other man. A bullet wound from a handgun might not kill her, but it could sure make her miserable. The knife blade wobbled in the air.
“I’m not going to ask again.”
She set the knife on the counter.
Mr. Unicorn reached out and grabbed her by the wrist before forcing her arm behind her back. “Frisk her.”
Rocky leered as he came closer, his hands roving up her thighs. Leah screamed and pulled her leg back. He reached for her and with all her might, Leah shot her knee up. It hit his chin square underneath. His teeth smashed together, he fell back, and his head slammed into the wall.
Before Mr. Unicorn could do anything, Leah lunged for the knife with her one free arm, scrabbling for the handle as her captor yanked her back.
“Damn, girl, dontcha know when to quit?” He twisted her off-balance and pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder. The knife skittered away.
Leah sucked in a breath, ready to try again, when the butt of his gun came flying at her face. It came down hard and fast and before Leah could duck, it hit her temple.
Leah dropped to the floor, unconscious, again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
GRANT
Foothills Motel
Marietta, Georgia
Tuesday, 11:00 p.m.
With both men down, Grant grabbed the room key and pulled the door shut. He locked it and hurried toward the gear room when another gunshot stopped him still.
It came from the bar side of the motel.
Grant changed course. Shots meant action and danger and the real threat that something might happen to his wife. Blood whooshed through his veins to a frantic beat and Grant wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
The motel lobby sat empty and Grant ran toward it, shotgun ready at his shoulder. It still had one shell left and he refused to waste it.
He eased through the lobby, past the front desk, and on toward the door to the restaurant and bar. With his left hand, he leaned forward to push the swinging door open. As his fingers touched the faded red paint, the door swung the opposite way.
Wood and glass smashed into his face and a sickening crunch sent a shooting pain through his nose and on up into his brain. His vision blurred and the tang of blood filled his mouth. Grant staggered back.
A man filled the space the door used to occupy. Grant swung the shotgun and fired the final shell. A shout tore from the man’s throat and his shoulder jerked back, but he didn’t go down. Most of the buckshot went wide.
The man yanked the shotgun toward him and dragged Grant off-balance. Pain made him slow and awkward. He stumbled and fell, barely getting a hand out to brace his fall.
His shoulder slammed into the ground and a boot plowed into the side of his head. Grant saw stars. The shotgun racked. His opponent didn’t know it was empty.
Grant rolled across the floor as the man fired. Nothing happened. Grant reached behind his back for a gun. His fingers found the Glock first.
As he tried to pull it free, the man attacked, kicking him in the ribs. Grant curled up into a ball, sweat and blood loosening his grip on the gun. He faltered as the man kicked him again.
He could barely process, barely think. Visions of Leah dying in the other room swam before his eyes. I can’t save her if I die like this. But he was only one kick away from unconsciousness and failure.
A frantic barking snapped Grant out of his daze.
A ball of white fur jumped in the air as his attacker turned around. Faith’s teeth sunk into the man’s calf and Grant rolled onto his back.
With two hands wrapped around the Glock, he fired. The first shot went wide.
The man screamed and shook his leg, trying to rid himself of Faith. The little dog hung on.
Grant fired again. This time he didn’t miss. The bullet pierced the man’s left eye and the socket exploded. The man crumpled to the ground.
Grant fell back on the filthy tile as Faith climbed over his chest. He winced as she yipped in his face. “Thanks, girl.” He gave her a pat with a blood-soaked hand and tried to sit up.
Three down, two to go. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked, trying to focus his mind and his vision. The blow to his head was brutal and he probably suffered a concussion. He leaned forward and searched the dead man for a gun.
He found a 20-gauge shotgun leaning against the wall. What had the guy called it? A sissy gun? Grant snorted and blood gushed out of his nose. Bet he’d like to go back and use it now.
As he reached for the shotgun, a scream snapped him to attention. Faith jumped up with a snarl. There was no mistaking that voice. It was Leah and she was in trouble. Grant hoisted himself up and wiped at the worst of the blood.
His nose was broken and a few ribs, too, but his legs still worked. He could still shoot a gun. Grant grabbed the shotgun and edged past the dead man with Faith on his heels. He spit a wad of blood and phlegm on the floor as he crossed the restaurant.
As he moved into the bar area, the sight turned his stomach.
Oliver lay on the ground, a gaping wound in the center of his chest, face pale from lack of blood. It coagulated around his torso, soaking into the fifty-year-old carpet.
These men weren’t after gear and weapons anymore. They wanted to hurt. Grant swallowed. The pain in his nose was no longer a distraction. It gave him focus, instead.