Playing Dead in Dixie

by Paula Graves

Carly ran her finger over the side of the gun and pushed the safety back on before she tucked the it in the waistband of her jeans. She reached out blindly, feeling her way across the darkened cellar until her thigh banged hard against something, making her gasp with pain.

  "I think you found the table," J.B. whispered.

  She ran her hand over the flat surface, feeling a scattered array of metal objects—tools, she guessed. Her fingers finally brushed over something cool and cylindrical. She ran her forefinger up the cylinder until she reached a small button. She gave it a push and a beam of light illuminated the wall of the cellar.

  Nearly wilting with relief, Carly ran the flashlight beam across the room to get her bearings. J.B. hobbled toward her, gesturing toward a row of stairs leading up to wooden double doors set at an angle into the ceiling of the cellar. "That's the exit," he whispered. "Ain't sure if it's locked or not."

  Carly took a deep breath and crossed to the steps, peering up. She'd feel a whole lot better about opening the door if she had some idea where Manning's thug was. But she needed to know if they were trapped in this cellar.

  She climbed the steps, stopping just before her head brushed against the doors. She shined the light at the crack between the doors, trying to see if there was a lock outside.

  "Well?" J.B. peered up at Carly from the bottom of the steps, his good hand gripping the rough wood railing.

  Carly gave a push. The doors were heavier than they looked. They barely budged, gravity giving them added weight.

  At J.B.'s feet, Nate made a soft whimpering noise. Carly shushed him, cocking her head and listening.

  "Try it again." J.B. demanded.

  "I don't know where he is," she whispered. "He could be waiting just outside."

  "What makes you think there's just one of 'em?"

  Carly didn't know. Maybe it was the fact that an armed assault on the house hadn't started as soon as the phone line was cut. "He's being careful. Checking the place out. He cut the phone and the power so we have to go out to get help."

  "How does he know we don't have a cell phone here?"

  "Because he's an arrogant Yankee dumbass who thinks y'all eat dirt for two meals a day." Carly didn't hide her disgust. "He thinks he's smarter than anyone around here. He's wrong."

  "Not about the cell phone," J.B. pointed out gruffly

  "That was a fluke."

  "Look, if he was out there, he'd have already heard us whisperin' like a couple of school girls and he'd be in here by now. Try the door again."

  She pushed up on the storm cellar doors again. They gave a little more, enough for her to see that while there was a padlock hooked to the door, it wasn't locked. "It's not locked, but it's holding the hasp together. I've got to get something to stick between the doors so I can push the lock up and away."

  J.B. let go of the railing and hobbled over to the wall, looking through a metal box lying on the table next to the steps. A few seconds later, he reached up through the railing, holding out a heavy flathead screwdriver. "How's this?"

  Carly took the screwdriver from him and started to push it through the crack between the two doors.

  Then she heard the noise. A tinkling sound.

  Glass breaking.

  J.B. turned his head, and Nate gave one quiet woof.

  "Hush, Nate!" Carly nearly dropped the screwdriver in her haste to turn and silence the dog. "J.B., see if you can keep him quiet!"

  J.B. worked his way over to the dog's side. Holding onto the railing with his good hand, he forced his wizened hand down to the dog's head, forced his gnarled fist open to stroke the top of the dog's head. Nate calmed down, reaching up and licking J.B.'s hand.

  "Next best thing to warm rice," he murmured.

  Carly turned back to the door with a renewed sense of urgency.

  "THE FRONT WINDOW IS BROKEN," Wes murmured into his radio, trying to keep his pulse from barreling out of control. Every nerve in his body was screaming for him to get his ass into that house and save Carly and his father, but he forced himself to stay crouched behind the sprawling oak across the road from his house.

  "Can you see anyone inside?" came Neely's whispered response through the radio receiver.

  "It's dark. I think he may have cut the power."

  "I just got a call from the county sheriff's department." Neely was parked well down the road, out of sight so as not to spook whoever was inside Wes's house. "He's got a SWAT team headed our way. ETA around ten minutes."

  "I'm not sure we have ten minutes," Wes murmured.

  "You can't go in alone, Chief."

  Wes knew Neely was right. Intellectually, anyway.

  But his hand tightened on his pistol grip anyway, and the muscles of his thighs bunched, ready to move in a heartbeat if he saw Carly or his father in danger.

  He noticed a flicker of light appear to the side of his house, then extinguish. His eyes, already accustomed to the dark, picked out two figures moving quickly through the trees between his house and the house about fifty yards down the road.

  Carly and his father, he realized, recognizing his father's hitching gait. They must have escaped through the storm cellar.

  He glanced back at his house, wondering if they'd been spotted by the man inside. Suddenly, the floodlights on the side of his house came on, illuminating the grove of pecan trees. Whoever cut the power must not have realized the floodlights ran on battery if the power went out.

  Wes's heart skipped a beat as Carly and J.B. froze, their hiding place stripped away by the bright lights.

  They were sitting ducks.

  CARLY SQUINTED AGAINST THE powerful beams of light slicing through the gaps in the trees, her hand dropping to the pistol tucked in her waistband. "Get behind me, J.B."

  "I ain't hidin' behind a woman," he growled.

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him with her behind the closest tree. "If those lights stay on, we're dead." She pulled the pistol out and disengaged the safety. Then she scooted out into the open and located the brightest light she could see. Aiming, she pulled the trigger.

  The gun kicked hard, sending pain shooting down her arm. Almost simultaneously, the bright light exploded into fragments and disappeared.

  "Good God," J.B. whispered from his hiding place behind the trees.

  Carly ducked back behind a tree and waited until she caught her runaway breath. "Can you see anyone out there?" she hissed.

  "I see someone moving around the front of the house." J.B. peered around the tree. "Little fella. With a big gun."

  Carly looked toward the house, trying to locate the remaining floodlight. Her heart labored in her chest, tight with terror. The first shot had been pure luck.

  She didn't think she'd get that lucky twice.

  "He's heading our way," J.B. warned softly.

  Somewhere behind Carly, old Nate made a soft whining sound.

  She had to get rid of that second light. It was their only chance. Taking a deep breath, she scooted out into the open again and raised her gun.

  But before she could pull the trigger, a gunshot rang out, coming from somewhere to the left of where she and J.B. were standing. The second floodlight shattered into sparks, and darkness swallowed the pecan grove again.

  Carly raced to the safety of the tree next to the one hiding J.B. "Who fired that shot?" she asked softly.

  "I don't know."

  Carly peeked around the tree. As her eyes readjusted to the darkness, she saw the slow, stealthy movement of their pursuer, illuminated briefly by moonlight as he moved from tree to tree. She recognized the hard, cruel lines of his chiseled face.

  Dominick Manning himself.

  She felt a ripple of surprise flow through her. She'd have bet Dominick wouldn't dirty his own hands on this. She'd been expecting someone like Dom's right hand man, Paul Santorini.

  Suddenly, movement behind Dominick caught her eye. A dark figure dashed around the corner of the house and ducked behind one of the trees.

  "Wes," J.B. whispe
red.

  Hope surged through her, quickly tamped down by fear. Thanks to her lies, Wes had no idea who he was dealing with. Dominick Manning hadn't gotten where he was in life by losing fights. He played dirty and he shot to kill.

  Please, Wes, she willed silently, just stay where you are.

  WES HAD TURNED OFF HIS radio before he made his move, knowing that absolute stealth was essential. He'd circled around, hoping to take out the floodlights without being seen, but Carly had beaten him to the first light.

  He'd seen the way her hands were shaking as she took the shot. She got lucky with the first one. He saved her the trouble by taking out the second one.

  Darkness and the gunman's focus on Carly gave Wes the cover he needed to circle around the house and come around from the rear. He crouched behind the camellia bush next to his front porch and watched carefully for an opening.

  Seeing a chance to move, he padded silently forward, slipping behind one of the pecan trees about ten yards behind the gunman. Somewhere ahead of him, he heard a low whimper. Old Nate was out there somewhere. Wes prayed the dog wasn't giving away Carly's position.

  "Who taught you to shoot like that, Lottie?" The intruder slipped out from behind the pecan tree, zigzagging forward a few yards to another tree. "Your new cop boyfriend?"

  Please don't answer, Carly. Wes slipped forward as well, stepping with care to keep his noise to a minimum. He tightened his grip on his Glock.

  The gunman made another move. Moonlight illuminated his body, giving Wes a clear view of the added bulk around his slender middle. Body armor. It would make him a much harder target.

  Wes would have to aim for the head.

  "If you'll come out, I'll let the old geezer go, Lottie."

  Wes's heartbeat ratcheted up a notch. Would she sacrifice herself for his father? She'd run all the way here from Atlantic City and lied her head off to get away from Dominick Manning. Surely she knew whoever this man was, he wouldn't let anyone escape alive.

  To his relief, Carly remained silent. Wes crept forward again, keeping his eye on the gunman's back.

  CARLY DUG HER FINGERS INTO the rough bark of the pecan tree and took another quick peek, holding her breath. Dominick was twenty yards away, peering through the trees for movement.

  Wes was about thirty yards behind him, moving with much more stealth than Dominick.

  "Come on, Lottie. I'm going to find you sooner or later. But if it's later, I'm not going to be as nice."

  He wasn't going to be nice either way, she knew. She slipped quietly back behind the tree.

  Behind her, there was a rustle of movement. An explosion of gunfire split the air from Dominick's direction, muzzle flash lighting up the grove.

  LARGE CALIBER HANDGUN, Wes thought, his heart in his throat. Something big and deadly, like a .44 Magnum or a .45 ACP. Three shots in quick succession, aimed toward rustling sounds about fifty yards away. There was a soft yelping sound and the rustling went silent.

  Wes's heart squeezed. Old Nate.

  "You're next, Lottie." the gunman laughed. "You hear me?"

  The gunfire would probably be audible for miles, Wes knew. Neely surely heard it. If the SWAT team had arrived, they'd have heard it, too. Cops would be converging from all directions, adding to the growing chaos of the unfolding situation.

  Wes was going to have to make his move. Now.

  He stepped out into the open, his gun drawn. "Drop the weapon. Police!"

  The gunman turned, just as Wes had expected. His gun came up, moving into position to fire.

  Wes ducked and rolled to the side as the other man sent three rounds toward where he'd just stood. He landed hard, pain lancing through his side. Gritting his teeth, he repositioned himself, staying low to the ground, aimed at the shooter's head and squeezed off four rounds of his own.

  Three hit the gunman. The fourth smacked into the tree behind the shooter as he slumped to the ground.

  The echo of gunfire faded, swallowed by silence so deep Wes thought he'd gone deaf. Then, slowly, sound returned—the rustle of leaves in the light evening breeze, the low hum of cicadas in the trees slowly revving back up after going silent when the gunfire rang out.

  Wes kept his Glock aimed toward the crumpled body, thumbing on his radio. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his side and called for back-up, outlining the situation in terse code words. He shut off the radio again, uncertain the gunman had been alone.

  In the distance, he heard the low growl of approaching vehicles. Back-up already on the way.

  A wisp of white flickered in the darkness about fifteen yards beyond the man's body. Wes shifted his gun toward the movement, his heart jumping in his throbbing chest. He almost wilted with relief when he realized it was Carly, peeking around the edge of one of the larger trees in the grove to see why everything had gone silent.

  "Stay where you are, Carly," he called out, keeping his voice as low as he could. To be safe, he immediately shifted positions, taking cover behind a different tree. His ribcage burned like fire, but he didn't want to take time to check what was causing the pain. He focused on his surroundings, alert for any sign of movement. After a few seconds, he searched the darkness in front of him until he caught sight of the gunman's body again. He held his breath, watching carefully for any signs of movement. He thought his shots had been true, but in the darkness, he couldn't be completely sure.

  Though the body remained still, Wes saw something moving around the body. It slowly spread, slithering in the grass around the head and shoulders.

  Blood, he realized. It glistened in the pale blue glow of moonlight filtering through the trees.

  Bile rose in his throat, catching him by surprise. He swallowed hard, fought the nausea, tamped it down into a hot little knot right in the pit of his stomach, next to the hard ache in his ribs.

  He'd been to a dozen hot spots around the world during his six years in the Marines. He'd pulled over scores of speeders and drunk drivers and drug runners, broken up bar fights and domestic disputes as a cop. But not once, as many times as he'd carried a gun in the line of duty, had he ever killed a man.

  Until now.

  "WE'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR you, Ms. Sandano." The FBI agent from the Savannah office was a soft-spoken, sandy-haired man who looked like he was fresh out of high school. He introduced himself as Special Agent Craig Miller.

  Carly glanced at the I.D. he flashed. "I want to talk to Chief Hollingsworth before I talk to anyone else." When the SWAT team arrived, she and J.B. had been whisked away from the scene so fast that Carly barely managed a glance at Wes.

  "He's being debriefed."

  Carly didn't like the sound of that. "He shot Dominick Manning in self-defense."

  "We know."

  "Then why can't I see him?"

  "He's being—"

  "Debriefed. Yeah, got it." She frowned at him. "Can I see his father?"

  "Mr. Hollingsworth is giving his statement to another agent." Agent Miller took her elbow and guided her toward the open passenger door of his car.

  "Is he okay?"

  "Seems to be doing well."

  Carly's hands began to shake as she pushed her hair out of her face. The trembling began to spread over her, until her whole body began to rattle in wave after wave of spasmodic shudders. Delayed reaction, she realized. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  Agent Miller looked at her with growing alarm. "Do you need to see an EMT?"

  She wrapped her arms around her shaking body. "I'll be okay in a minute. Just let me have a minute."

  Miller helped her sit down sideways on the passenger seat of the car. He crouched at her feet, looking up at her with worried blue eyes. "Sure you don't want a blanket?"

  Carly looked past him, trying to catch sight of Wes or his father. Police swarmed the grove next to Wes's house, stringing yellow crime scene tape around Dominick Manning's body, picking through the leaves on the ground for shell casings and other bits of evidence. Off to one side, sh
e saw a police officer gently carrying old Nate's body out of the grove. To her surprise, she saw the old dog's tale give a feeble wag.

  He wasn't dead.

  Tears filled her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She sniffled, trying to stem the tide of emotion lumping in her throat, choking her.

  Since there was no stopping the storm of emotion rioting its way through her trembling body, she decided to use it, reaching out to grab Agent Miller's arm. She curled her fingers in the fabric of his jacket sleeve. "I want to see Chief Hollingsworth. Please."

  Agent Miller pressed his lips together, looking at her with an expression somewhere between consternation and sheer male terror. "I'm not sure they'll—"

  "I'm here." Wes stepped into the circle of light shed by the dome light in the roof of Agent Miller's car. Miller scooted aside, looking so grateful to be rid of the responsibility for the weeping woman that Carly almost laughed through her tears.

  Wes crouched in front of her. "You okay?"

  "Now I am." She launched herself into his arms, pressing her tear-stained face against his collar. He made a soft grunting noise deep in his throat. She pulled back, cradling his face with between her hands, looking him over through her tears. "Are you okay? When you dropped after he turned the gun on you—"

  He pressed his fingertips against her lips. "Just an evasive maneuver."

  She closed her eyes, fighting against the queasy memory of that harrowing few seconds of silent terror when the gunshots died away and neither man moved. If Wes had died at Manning's hands, Carly didn't know if she'd have been able to live through it.

  She'd brought evil into this town. With her lies and her selfishness. She didn't know how Wes could even bear to look at her, much less wrap her up in his strong arms the way he was doing now, pressing comforting kisses against her temple.

  "We just have to get through a little more debriefing, sugar," he murmured into her hair. "Then it'll all be over and I can take you home."

  Home, she thought, her throat tightening. A fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. It would be nice to believe that after all these weeks of tangling herself up in Wes's life, in the lives of his family and friends, she could finally relax. But the danger wasn't over.