Mountain Man

by H. P. Mallory

  Angel was as white as a sheet with her mouth pressed into a firm line, and barely concealed disgust and fear blending on her face. My heart ached to reach out to her and let her know that everything was going to be okay, but I couldn’t just yet. I had to swallow down the acid that immediately climbed up my throat as I watched her glance down at herself. As soon as she realized she was partially undressed, a pink flush of humiliation crept across her cheeks.

  I felt the uncontrollable need to throw my jacket around her and shield her from the invasive eyes of everyone in the room. As soon as I reminded myself that the prick’s hand was still clutching her breast, it felt as if the blood in my veins suddenly caught fire. I felt my hands fisting as I wrapped my right one around the Glock and silently pulled it from its holster. I held the pistol in low ready, shielded by the display stand that stood directly in front of me.

  The thug forced Angel forward as the man closest to him approached them both, taking the duffel bag away from her and slinging it over his shoulder to ensure his hands were still free to support the shotgun.

  “What are you doing with the girl?” he asked in a low tone. He looked furious with the man who wouldn’t take his hands off Angel. Clearly, he still had his eyes on the main goal of escaping, and he was none too happy with the unexpected turn of events.

  “We’re taking her with us,” the thug in charge answered as a blaze of fire shot through me. Like hell he was taking her with him! His stare seemed to dare the man in front of him to contradict what he said, and it made me wonder about the chain of command.

  “What?” the other man started, immediately shaking his head as if to say that hadn’t been part of the original plan.

  “Collateral,” he barked back.

  But Angel wasn’t collateral. It was obvious the bastard wanted to have his way with her. I glanced down at the front of his pants and noticed he was halfway pitching a tent already—no doubt from when he’d been touching her.

  I’ll kill him, I promised myself.

  “Please,” Angel said as she started to pull away from him. “Please just leave me here,” she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. “My mother is sick, and she’s got no one else but me to take care of her.”

  A weird twinge shot through me. Angel wasn’t begging for her own life but her first thought was for someone else, her mother. Here, I thought, I couldn’t possibly admire or respect her more. I was wrong.

  “Shut up,” the main guy yelled and brandished the shotgun at her as if he was going to strike her with it. In response, she visibly withered, wincing as if she expected the blow. I suddenly wished I didn’t have to shoot him—that I could take my time, make him suffer painstakingly slowly for ever having dared to touch Angel in the first place.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she continued as he thrust her forward. The thug with the duffel bag took the lead, heading for the double doors.

  Meanwhile, the man in charge pulled his hand out of Angel’s blouse and wrapped his elbow around her neck, apparently getting a better hold on her.

  Now, it was apparent who was in charge, and this wasn’t good news for Angel. If it had been the guy with the duffel bag then he could’ve forced his comrade to leave Angel behind. No such luck.

  But as far as I was concerned, there was no way in hell he was going to make it through the doors. Because if he escaped with Angel, there was no telling what fate had in store for her. I’d seen this kidnapping situation one too many times, and I knew what the outcome would be. If he took Angel with him, she was as good as dead.

  And there was no way I was going to let that happen. That meant I’d have to shoot the SOB, even with Angel so close to him. But I was prepared to do exactly that. God knew I’d already had to do the same once upon a time. And I knew I could do it again. I would do whatever it took. I would protect her at all costs.

  “You say one more word, and I’ll shut you up myself,” he spat at her as an image of him hitting her exploded into my head and I nearly shot him right then and there. But then I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down.

  Now was not the opportune moment—not when he was still standing too far away from me. Angel needed me and acting out of desperation wasn’t going to help her.

  The thug with the duffel bag walked past me, and I heard the sound of the doors opening and then the sound of a purring engine—their getaway vehicle. I would have to let the guy with the duffel bag go; I had no choice because there was no way I could shoot all three of them without at least one of them shooting back at me.

  So, the man with the duffel bag was going to escape. It was a shame, but I couldn’t say I cared that much—not when my undivided attention was reserved for the man holding Angel. She was far more important to me than however much money was in the duffel bag. As soon as they were a few feet in front of me, I made my move.

  I yanked the Glock out of its holster, brought it up to my face and aiming with my dominant eye, I focused on the asshole right beside Angel. Angel’s eyes met mine and widened at the same time, then she fainted, dropping straight down and leaving a sizable gap between her and the asshole holding her.

  I wasn’t sure if she did so to give me a clearer shot or if she was actually unconscious, but, either way, it was a fortuitous move, and I wasn’t about to miss the moment I’d been waiting for.

  I aligned the front and back sights of the pistol and then squeezed the trigger. Then I squeezed it again and again once more. One bullet missed him, whizzing past him and lodging itself into the wall. I’d already checked to make sure the background was clear of would-be victims otherwise I never would have fired at him, knowing chances were I’d miss a couple of rounds. It wasn’t easy to hit a moving target.

  The second and third bullets hit him square in the chest, immediately causing him to drop. I heard the sound of screams from around the room, but I didn’t focus on them.

  Instead, I immediately brought my line of sight to the thug who was just behind them. I aimed for his hips, knowing that a hip shot would make it impossible for him to continue standing. He fumbled with his gun, and tried to take a shot at me, but he missed. Obviously, they were just using the shotguns as an intimidation technique, and not because they actually knew how to fire them properly. Still, my training kicked in, and I jumped out of the way and rolled to the floor. When I was back on my feet, and he was in my line of sight, I fired three times. One bullet hit him in the neck while another pierced him in the chest and the other hit him in the left hip. Three quarters of a second later, he was down.

  Just because both of them were down didn’t mean they both were dead. In general, once someone is shot in a place that counts, it can take thirty seconds to a minute for them to die—ample time to fire back. I immediately strode up to both of them and disarmed them, pushing their shotguns far out of reach. I checked their pulses and determined they both were dead. Had I still been a cop, I would have been expected to perform CPR on them anyway, but I wasn’t a cop anymore so there was no way in hell I was going to. Instead, I turned to face Angel who was already coherent and sitting up, shock written all over her face.

  I immediately reached for her, helping to pull her up to her feet. Her wide-eyed gaze met mine at the same time that the sound of screeching tires hit my ears—the getaway vehicle…getting away. But my attention wasn’t centered on the thug who’d escaped and the money he’d taken with him; it was centered on the fear in Angel’s eyes. She started shaking her head as if she were in disbelief, the thug’s blood spattered across her nose and cheeks.

  Even though she was clearly shocked and struggling with what had just happened, I wasn’t sure what I should do. So, I just stood there awkwardly, watching her. I dimly wondered if maybe I should offer her some kind of physical comfort since that was usually what victims of violent crimes needed. But that part of me was closed off, and I wasn’t sure it would ever come out again. I didn’t have time to consider it much longer because she closed the distance between us and
threw her arms around me at the same time that she laid her head against my chest and began sobbing.

  I wasn’t accustomed to holding a woman and hadn’t done so in longer than I could remember which was probably why I didn’t put my arms around her right away. I just stood there dumbly, feeling completely uncomfortable at the same time that I was very aware that the beautiful creature needed consoling. I put my Glock back in its holster as I lamely wrapped one arm around her and patted her on the back like she was a trusted dog. It was ridiculous, and I felt like a fool, but I wasn’t good at this sort of thing.

  Feeling like I needed a break and remembering my training, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. Once the operator answered, I explained the situation and gave a detailed description of myself to ensure that the police didn’t shoot me once they arrived.

  Then I ended the call, placing my cell phone back inside my pocket, I faced Angel again.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she glanced up at me, tears streaming down her lovely face. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “I would never have allowed that bastard to take you with him,” I answered honestly. “I’m just sorry it came down to what it did.”

  “I’m not sorry you shot him,” she insisted as she shook her head.

  “Neither am I,” I answered bluntly.

  As soon as she gave me a quizzical expression, I realized I needed to further explain. “I hated having to endanger your life by shooting him when and how I did. But I couldn’t allow him to take you with him. Had that happened, the odds would have been stacked against you.” Then something else occurred to me. “Did you pretend to pass out or did you actually?”

  “Pretended,” she answered with a small nod and a little smile. “Once I saw your face, I knew what you were going to do and wanted to make it as easy on you as I could,” she explained.

  “Very good and quick thinking,” I said. I was impressed with her decision-making. Angel was not only a beautiful face, but she was also smart. “You made an already difficult job easier.”

  “You did what you had to do, and I will forever be grateful to you.” She placed her head against my chest again and squeezed me even tighter.

  “You don’t have to be grateful,” I said, rather gruffly, but I didn’t know how else to say it. She didn’t owe me her thanks. In reality, she owed me nothing, and I didn’t want her to go around thinking that she did.

  “Are they always like that?” she asked, quietly.

  “Robberies?”

  She nodded.

  “Most of them, I suppose,” I answered, evenly as a plethora of memories flooded my brain. Sometimes, I thought I missed being a cop and feeling like I was a part of something bigger, but then I remembered what my life was now and how many miles it was from my past.

  Like part of a different life, another life and another me.

  “It’s a good thing you were here,” she said, softly. “And that you have the kind of background you do. You saved a lot of people tonight, not just me.”

  “I did what any good person would have done.”

  “Yet no one else did anything,” she pointed out.

  “They were scared and unarmed, so I can’t fault them for that.”

  “I’m just saying I’m really happy you happened to be here. I’m just sorry you couldn’t get the ones who got away.”

  “It’s okay.”

  I felt the need to say something that might help her deal with the shock of the encounter, and I was about to when the sound of sirens interrupted me.

  The cops were finally here.

  Chapter Seven

  Delilah

  The police arrived, followed by the paramedics. The paramedics checked me over, taking all my vitals as they asked me if I was hurting anywhere. I couldn’t explain to them the way my skin crawled where the man touched me, or how I felt the need to scrub myself raw just to get rid of the feeling. Logically, I knew I couldn’t do that, and that only time would allow me to fully forget the feel of his fingers and the putrid smell of him, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

  It took maybe an hour for me to give my statement to the police. And it wasn’t exactly a comfortable situation because I didn’t recognize any of the uniformed officers.

  I figured this was a big enough deal that Sheriff Dale needed more officers than he had at his disposal, so he’d probably called for backup from neighboring Mission Oaks. Regardless, I was exhausted. Completely mentally and emotionally drained.

  After telling the police I was fine, and I didn’t want to go to the hospital, they checked in with the other people in the bank. Once deciding everyone was as good as they could be, given the situation, they left but not before telling us how lucky we were.

  Apparently, it was rare not to have any civilian casualties in a situation like this. So, the police and paramedics both agreed that we were all lucky. Their definition of luck was definitely strange in my mind. I mean, yes, I could see that we were lucky that none of us had been killed, but I wouldn’t exactly have called myself lucky to have gone through what I had. I didn’t get to leave the incident behind and detach myself from it the minute I walked out of here like the police did. It would haunt me for months and years to come. To be honest, I still hadn’t been able to fully comprehend the truth of what had just happened. Instead, every time I thought about what I’d survived, it felt like it was something I’d simply watched in a movie, like it wasn’t real. I was detached from it, still in denial that this was my life, that I’d been the one to experience everything that I had.

  Of course, I’d called my mama to tell her I’d be home late. I hadn’t told her why because I didn’t want to worry her. I figured I could update her on all the events later when I was standing in front of her, and she could ask me the mountain of questions she was sure to have. But I hadn’t wanted to do that over the phone. It just didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

  Now that the time had come to head home, I couldn’t say I was ready to leave. Not when the police were still busily interrogating William on the part he’d had to play. I didn’t want to leave him. I felt like maybe he needed me. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt stupid for even thinking it. Of course, I was very aware that William didn’t need anyone, let alone me. But it felt good to think it all the same, even if it was completely ridiculous.

  He’d been sitting just across from me while we both talked to the police. Every time I started to feel like I was going to lose control of myself and give in to the panic and tears that were threatening to take over, I just had to look at William and an odd feeling of serenity washed over me. I didn’t know how to explain or justify it. It just was. It also helped that it seemed like every time I looked at him, he was already looking back at me.

  Also, I hadn’t released the angel figurine he’d made for me, instead clasping it tightly because it reminded me of him and helped calm me down. Maybe I was just imagining it, but I felt like he and I were somehow joined now—that we’d shared an experience that bonded us together. It was probably a stupid feeling considering the same thing would also bond me to everyone else in the bank, but I didn’t look at it that way.

  In fact, I couldn’t say I was even vaguely aware of anyone else. All I could think about, all I could see, was William.

  William Black had saved my life. I’d said as much to the police because I was worried he might be in trouble. I had no idea what the protocol was in situations like this, or if he would be charged with anything considering he did shoot and kill two people, but surely, they’d take into account that it was an act of bravery, that he’d saved all of us. They had to, right?

  And if they didn’t let him go based on his own version of events maybe my backing him up would help. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. The man was a hero, and the thanks he was getting was being interrogated far longer than anybody else? That hardly seemed fair.

  I shifted from one foot to the
other and awkwardly stood off to the side as I darted glances William’s way. For his part, he looked completely unaffected by everything that was going on around him. I wondered if it was because he used to be a cop, so he knew how to respond to the seemingly never-ending questions, or if it was because he knew he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He’d actually saved everyone’s lives.

  Based on William’s poker face, the cops could’ve been asking him about the weather or talking about the game that was on last night. His eyes slid up suddenly, and I was embarrassed at having been caught staring at him, so I gave him a weird little wave. He responded with a slight twitch of his mouth as if to indicate that he saw me before his mouth turned serious once more.

  As soon as he looked away, I allowed myself to feel like a complete and total idiot. He was being interrogated, and I just waved at him? Ugh. There was something about William that made me feel like I was back in high school in that weird phase when you were just discovering boys. Granted, I’d been a late bloomer, so for me, this was a fairly recent memory, but still. I was nearly twenty-one so shouldn’t that phase be over by now?

  I started fidgeting with my hair and running my hands over my clothes just to give myself something to do. Finally, about an hour later, when everyone was done being questioned and only William was left, a police officer came up to me and pointedly told me that I needed to leave. I wanted to argue with him, but there was no point. I wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway. William wasn’t related to me, we weren’t dating, and we weren’t even friends, so there was no reason for me to stay. Of course I realized all that but I felt like I wanted to stay, just to let him know I was there for him.

  I just didn’t want to leave without William. It felt like a betrayal of sorts, turning my back on him and walking out the door even though I really had no choice in the matter. Yes, it didn’t make any sense considering we were still nothing to each other (or I was nothing to him), but I couldn’t help the way I felt. As soon as I stood up and headed to the teller’s station to gather my belongings, I could feel his eyes on me. And when I walked around the counter and put my jacket on, I was somewhat surprised to find him standing by the front doors by himself. The policeman who’d been talking to him was talking to another officer. I was suddenly conscious of the fact that the front of my blouse was slightly torn, and that my bra had come undone, so I shifted and adjusted the angle of my jacket to cover it.