All four doors on the pickup opened and four men got out, the driver and two rear passengers carrying pistols under the jackets they were wearing on a freaking eighty-degree day, with The Bastard wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt and his signature ugly grin. Wanting to get away from the SUV and Niall, Birch walked toward them, even as she semi-hysterically wanted to ask how they’d gotten those guns across the border so she could tell her dad how he could sneak his over.
“I neglected to ask when we spoke earlier. The DVDs are yellow and blue, no?”
“No, they’re both red.”
Birch saw his even uglier beady eyes flair with triumph. “Jean, get the DVDs. Trevor, search her.”
Two men walked up to her; one snatching the case out of her raised hand and taking it back to The Bastard like a well-trained puppy as the other man, giving her a puke-inducing grin, began rubbing instead of patting her down. Birch endured the slow groping by watching Leopold open the case to make sure she hadn’t been lying.
Birch snapped her attention back to The Lecher when his hands stilled on her waist and his grin disappeared.
He lifted her shirt, pulled on the waistband of her linen pants, then pushed his hand inside all three pairs of panties she’d put on to stop the gun from falling down her leg. His hand reemerged holding the pistol, and Birch saw his jaw drop as he held it up for The Bastard to see. “There’s no clip,” he said in French. He pulled back the slide and a bullet flew into the air, pinged off the hood of her SUV, and fell to the ground, making the guy’s jaw snap taut as he looked at her. “Where’s the clip?” he growled.
“Clip?” she repeated in English, frowning at the gun. Still holding her hands in the air, she pointed down with several waggling fingers as she jutted out her left hip. “Is that what you call the thing full of bullets?”
He reached in her pants pocket without even copping a feel and pulled out the pistol’s magazine, his jaw going slack again as he held both items up to show The Bastard—who Birch noticed also looked confounded.
Oh yeah, she’d done more than just work on a story about the ring hoping to buy time, having remembered that easily confounded was on both her lists of men’s traits.
Birch sighed heavily—partly for effect and partly because she was pretty sure Niall would like to be wringing her neck right about now. “Okay, look; apparently someone thought the women’s shelter needed a gun for protection in case an irate husband came looking for his wife, and I didn’t have the heart to tell the committee women that being a city girl, I don’t know anything about them except which end the bullet comes out. And even though the clip thingy kept falling out every time I shoved it in the damn handle, I decided to bring the gun anyway, in case you . . .” She gave The Bastard an apologetic smile. “Well, I thought I could use it to scare you into letting my mother go if you tried to renege on our deal.”
The problem with confounding men she didn’t know very well, Birch suddenly realized, was that she couldn’t guess how they’d react once they started thinking again. But she’d been expecting a thorough and even crude pat-down, which is why she hadn’t tried too hard to hide the gun.
Birch steeled herself for the coming slap when she saw The Bastard’s beady eyes harden again, but wasn’t at all prepared for what came out of his ugly mouth instead. “You have two choices, Miss Callahan. You can undress yourself, or I will give the honor to Trevor.”
• • •
Niall stopped in the middle of his text to Duncan when Leopold’s words—coming in the door Birch had left open—caught his attention. And figuring no one sure as hell was looking at the truck right now, he slowly peeked over the rear seat to see Birch standing as still as a statue several yards away, her hands in the air.
Dammit to hell. Knowing she wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet, he imagined the lass was more worried about the transmitter being discovered than she was about four lowlifes seeing her naked. And even though it burned to the very core of his being to do nothing, he had to concede that no one had ever died of humiliation, whereas being caught in the middle of a gun battle was almost always lethal.
Niall saw Birch lower her hands to the front of her blouse, and he rolled to his side and finished his text to Duncan—capitalizing the word Now—only to grit his teeth to keep from roaring when Duncan immediately replied: ETA six minutes
Christ, in six minutes Birch could be running through the woods naked.
Ten mins me an Ro, Nicholas texted. Dan Mica to mill men at road nomore
Realizing it was hard to text from the saddle of a flat-out galloping horse, Niall concluded Nicholas had read the group message he’d sent out when Birch had been forced to turn off the main road, and that Dante and Micah were continuing on to the sawmill in hopes of finding Hazel. Nicholas and Rowan had obviously left the railroad bed and cut through the woods to the main road, taken care of the lookouts posted at the beginning of the tote road that Niall had warned them about, and were now riding hell-bent for leather toward him. Niall glanced out the windshield again in time to see Birch’s blouse slide down her back to the ground, her hands stilling on the way to the waist of her pants when Leopold said, “The bra, too, Miss Callahan.”
Niall slowly rolled to his knees and pulled his gun out of his holster, gritting his teeth at the sight of Birch staring straight ahead as she reached back and undid the clasp, shrugged the straps off her shoulders, then threw the bra toward Leopold just as Niall aimed at the bastard’s forehead.
“See anything interesting?” she growled.
“Now the slacks.”
Niall moved his finger away from the trigger at the realization Birch hadn’t taped the transmitter under her bra. Okay then, it was in her pants. Show him the goddamned ring. Hell, she should have used it before taking off the blouse.
Niall saw her pants slide down her legs and pool at her feet.
“The panties, too.”
He watched Birch hook the waistband of her purple bloomers and push them down—exposing a red pair underneath them. She then slid the red pair down to expose another, bright pink, pair under them, but hesitated with her thumbs in the waistband.
Not really sure why she was wearing multiple bloomers, Niall ducked to aim at Leopold’s forehead again, but changed his mind and trained the front sight on the head of the man beside Birch staring slack-jawed at her, and could only hope the windshield wouldn’t deflect his bullet.
“Have you twelve-year-olds seen enough to realize,” she said, pushing the pink—and last pair—of panties down to her knees and then straightening, “that I don’t have any knives or hand grenades or ballistic missiles on me?”
Christ, the woman was ballsy.
Wait; where in hell was the transmitter? He’d told her to wear it, not just bring it in the truck. And she was naked but for her . . . well, her shoes. She must have hidden it into the sole of her sneakers. Or maybe she’d sewn it into the hem of her pants.
Aye, his spitfire was as smart as she was ballsy.
Niall lowered the barrel of his pistol but held it resting on the back of the seat as he wiped the sweat off his forehead before it reached his eyes, and watched Birch bend down and grab her blouse. She slipped it on without bothering with her bra or buttoning it, then began pulling up her bloomers one by one.
“Why are you wearing three underpants?” Leopold apparently couldn’t help but ask as he watched her get dressed.
Birch finally pulled up her slacks, then started buttoning her blouse. “Because the gun was heavy, and I was afraid it would fall down my pant leg.”
Leopold stared at Birch as if he couldn’t quite decide what to make of her, and Niall stiffened when he saw the bastard’s expression turn almost sad. “Well, Miss Callahan,” he said, lifting the case holding the DVDs, “it was nice doing business with you. Give my regards to your mother when you see her,” he added as he turned and headed to the passe
nger side of the pickup.
“Wait,” Birch called after him. “Where is she?”
He stopped at the open passenger door. “I’ve given Trevor the honor of taking you to her,” he said, sliding his gaze to the man beside Birch and nodding—making Niall look down the barrel of his pistol and set the sight on Trevor’s head again.
Where in hell was Duncan?
Again proving she wasn’t just a pretty face in a pint-sized body, Niall saw the moment Birch realized what that honor was. “Wait!” she shouted, reaching into her pocket and finally pulling out the ring. “I found something else of Rabideu’s I think you might want.”
That got the bastard’s attention, and he came back around the door. “What?”
Birch jerked her arm out of Trevor’s grip and took several steps forward. “In the woods this morning you said Rabideu had come into possession of something of yours, only you didn’t say how. But while I was searching for the DVDs, I found this,” she said, holding up the ring. “And I remembered you were wearing a ring exactly like it,” she added as Leopold closed the distance between them.
He took the ring from her and held it up, turning slightly to examine it in the sunlight, then looked at Birch. “Where did you get this?”
“It was in a small jewelry bag hidden in a secret compartment built into the headboard of my mother’s bed.”
Okay, then; apparently the lass preferred making up her own story rather than going with his. And why wasn’t he surprised?
“It’s a cleverly designed hiding spot, so don’t be too mad at Yvonne/Francine for not finding it,” Birch continued. “Speaking of which, my mother better be holding my dog when I see her. And they both better have all their fingers and toes or our deal’s off.”
Leopold looked momentarily startled. “What deal?”
“You listen, I’ll talk,” she snapped as she raised a hand to her cheek—which Niall only just noticed appeared slightly red, making him break into a sweat again when he saw Leopold’s eyes narrow. “Before you cut out his heart,” Birch went on, “did Jacques Rabideu tell you how he got your DVDs?”
“He somehow managed to get invited to a large party at my house.”
Well now; it would appear the Leopold patriarch was personally retrieving his belongings, suddenly making Niall as curious as Sam as to what was on those discs.
“Then maybe the question you should have asked the idiot before you killed him,” Birch drawled, “was how he knew the DVDs even existed.”
Sweet Christ; she was scary. And just as soon as he got her alone, they were having a little heart-to-heart talk about her recklessness.
Birch gestured at the ring Leopold was still holding up between them. “There was also a photo in the bag; it looked like one of those pictures you get from a carnival photo booth. And in it, the man I knew as Leonard Struthers was kissing a woman I didn’t recognize.” She canted her head. “Two things immediately struck me: Leonard was wearing the wedding band my mother had given him, which meant he was cheating on her, and the woman with her tongue stuck down his throat was wearing that ring.”
Leopold was back to looking startled.
“And I know enough about jewelry to recognize a family heirloom when I see it,” Birch pressed on. “So while I kept searching for your DVDs, I kept thinking about how Rabideu had managed to steal them from you.”
“Where’s the picture?” Leopold asked.
“I destroyed it,” Birch said far too smugly for Niall’s peace of mind. “Because I don’t trust you any farther than I can spit. So if you want to know who in your family is a traitor, you’re going to let me drive out of here. I’ll go sit in the town park, and after I see you drop off my mother and my dog in front of the Trading Post, you can come to the park and show me the pictures of your family I’m sure you keep on your phone, and I’ll point out the woman.” Niall saw Birch shrug. “Then you can take your army of tourists back to Canada, and I can forget you even exist.”
Edward Leopold closed the ring in his fist and stared down at her for several seconds. “Why should I trust you to point out the correct woman?”
“Because I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Birch snapped, “about you, your DVDs, or your freaking family. As far as I’m concerned, that woman is as much to blame for this whole mess as Rabideu, and she can go kiss him in hell for all I care.”
Leopold fell silent again, and Niall could see the man definitely wanted his traitor identified. But then Niall stiffened when he also realized why the bastard was stalling. “Well, Miss Callahan, there may be a problem with my giving back your—”
Because he’d been listening for the rhythmic thump of rotors, Niall was five seconds ahead of everyone else to react when the huge crane helicopter suddenly shot up from behind the mountain ridge to the east. Taking advantage of the noise, he was out the back hatch with both guns drawn and crouching beside the front fender as the helicopter swooped toward the clearing like a hawk diving at prey.
Both Edward and Trevor lunged for Birch but came up empty-handed, as she was halfway to the woods before they’d even righted themselves from falling into one another. And because none of the men knew he was here, Niall moved back behind the rear bumper to keep it that way, certain they wouldn’t shoot at Birch, since the identity of the traitor was running into the woods with her.
Aye, he could love a woman who was as quick in her thinking as she was fast on her feet. Niall backed toward the woods as the four men—three of whom had drawn their weapons—scrambled for cover behind several large pine trees, then holstered one of his guns and pulled out his cell phone. Hover clearng Birch me south in woods don’t shoot us, he told Duncan, although he sent the text as a group message to bring everyone up to speed. Do u see Nich—
He stopped tapping letters when it came to him that Edward Leopold had been one of the men holding a gun and Trevor had not. Niall hit the send button, then opened the tracking app as he moved deeper into the woods. Birch must have grabbed the pistol out of Trevor’s holster as she’d pushed away from him, making Niall break into a cold sweat as he wondered if she knew different models had different safety mechanisms.
Best case—she shoots herself in the foot; worst case—she decides to circle back and shoot Leopold for killing her mother but the bastard shoots her first because she can’t click off the safety. Niall zoomed in the satellite photo of the surrounding area and started running toward the pulsing blue dot moving away from the clearing—as relieved as he was surprised that Birch was doing exactly what he’d told her to do if things went to hell in a handbasket.
Except he noticed the dot was actually making a wide swing to the right, which would bring her out on the tote road just short of the clearing. He stopped when he saw the dot stop at the sudden burst of gunfire—aimed at a helicopter hovering an inch out of pistol range, Niall assumed—and it was all he could do not to roar when the blue dot started moving back toward the clearing.
Seeing his little heart-to-heart with Birch growing longer by the minute, Niall headed at an angle to intercept her. But he stopped again when the dot stopped again, this time at the sound of returning gunfire that was all but lost in the nearly deafening thump of the rotors. Could Birch tell the difference between handgun and rifle shots?
Estimating they were a good couple hundred yards apart, Niall saw the dot moving again, now in an easterly direction instead of south like he’d goddamned told her to, and wished he knew what she was thinking. He was fairly confident Birch wouldn’t risk her life going after Leopold simply to avenge her mother’s death, partly because despite having a temper she really wasn’t a violent person, but mostly because she would realize he in turn would risk his life charging to her rescue.
How the hell much ammunition did the Leopolds have? Better yet, did they honestly think they could bring down a chopper with handguns?
The shooting finally lessened to inter
mittent salvos, though mostly rifle shots, which Niall assumed was Duncan keeping the men from reaching their truck. He looked down at the pulsing blue dot to see it had stopped again, even though he’d specifically told her to run as fast and as far as she could until she collapsed from sheer exhaustion.
Christ, maybe she had shot herself in the foot.
Hearing a twig snap to his left, Niall dropped the phone and drew his second gun as he crouched down, knowing it had to have been damn close for him to hear over the helicopter. But he holstered his gun when he caught sight of a dark gray horse moving through the trees at a brisk walk, picked up his phone and straightened, then let out a single sharp whistle.
He heard another whistle—he assumed from Nicholas to Rowan—then saw Nicholas veer toward him. Niall noticed both warhorse and warrior were soaked with sweat, and although Phantom was also sporting a fair amount of lather, the mythical beast appeared ready to flat-out gallop another ten miles.
Nicholas, however, just looked hot and bothered and royally pissed off.
“Those idiots out at the main road are damn lucky,” he said as he dismounted, “that Rowan and I speak French, or they’d both be polluting the stream they were pretending to be fishing instead of becoming intimately acquainted with the trees they’re tied to.” He looked toward the clearing when another round of gunfire cracked over the thump of helicopter blades, then down at the phone in Niall’s hand. “Is there a reason you’re here and your woman’s there?” he asked, tapping the pulsing dot on the screen that still hadn’t moved.
“She stole one of the men’s pistols just before she ran into the woods, and I’m concerned she might shoot first and then realize it’s me.”
“Take Rowan’s mount,” Nicholas said as Rowan wove through the trees toward them. “Unless the Leopolds had a horse in the back of their truck, she’ll know it’s you.”
Niall shoved his other gun in its holster, took the reins from Rowan when the man dismounted, and vaulted into the saddle.
The Highlander Next Door Page 33