“I am not,” Colin protested immediately.
“Not like that,” Leighton clarified with a sideways grin. “Robbie’s talking vampire virgin. You’ve never been bit?”
“No,” he snapped.
“Really? I would have sworn there were sparks flying between you and that Sophia chick. Definite sexual tension,” she added, drawing out the word.
“That was a long time ago,” he responded stiffly. “And she never told me she was a vampire.”
Next to him, Leighton raised her eyebrows, but didn’t make any further comment about Sophia. “So what’s this place we’re going to?” she asked instead.
“Babe’s. It’s what we’d call a good ol’ boy bar back home. Sits just off the highway, the other side of the forest. It’s open five, sometimes six, days a week, but Friday and Saturday are the big nights, just like everywhere else. There’s at least one fight every weekend, and that’s just counting the ones where someone gets arrested or someone else ends up in the hospital. It’s a pain in the butt, but it’s been here a while, since back in the sixties. Strictly speaking, it’s not a part of Cooper’s Rest, but we’re the closest town to it.
He spotted the break in the trees signaling the bar’s parking lot. “Here ya go,” he told her.
The parking lot was full, or nearly so, when they pulled even with the bar. It wasn’t a big lot—just two rows in front, perpendicular to the highway. The rows had just enough room between them to maneuver, with spaces for four or five trucks to park side by side. And trucks were just about the only kind of vehicle anyone ever parked here. Colin surveyed the crowded lot and frowned. It looked more like a Friday night, than a weekday afternoon. One of the logging crews must have shut down early.
He drove past and made a U-turn, then parked his Tahoe in the last space next to the highway, driving right into to it with the front of his truck facing outward, so that he could make a fast exit, if it came to it. It probably wasn’t necessary, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d wanted a quick departure from Babe’s either. Fights were as common as the beer here, and the patrons played rough.
His tires were barely off the highway asphalt, his door opening right into traffic, if there’d been any. A Dodge Ram dually—a big truck with four wheels on the rear axle—was parked next to him, nose in to his tail. A scant few inches separated the two trucks, with the other guy’s passenger side squeezed right up against his.
He checked the highway and slid out of the truck. He went to close the door, but stopped when he realized Leighton was climbing over to his side from the passenger seat, rather than attempting the narrow space on the other side. His momma having raised him to be a gentleman, Colin held the door open while she levered herself onto the console and over with a surprising amount of ease, finally sliding across his seat and out onto the dusty roadside.
She grinned at him as she stepped out, then stood staring up at the rusted and bullet-pocked sign that hung from the top of a lodge pole pine at the edge of the parking lot.
“Paul Bunyan?” she asked, eyeing what had once been a fairly decent rendering of the huge lumberjack in his red plaid shirt, arm draped over the wide shoulders of his blue ox, Babe. She glanced over at the bar and back again, giving him a skeptical look.
Colin grimaced. “Yeah, well. The couple who opened the place back in the day were university professors from down south somewhere. They retired up here and opened this place. You’d think they’d know better, being professors and all. But while they were expecting the bar from Cheers, what they got was a lot closer to Cops. When Leon’s dad bought the place off of them—pretty much for a song, I’m told—he kept the sign. It was cheaper than buying a new one, and the name’s okay. This is lumber country, you know.”
“Who’s Leon?”
“Leon Pettijohn. He and his wife Ellen took over from his dad a few years back. That was before I got here, but word is the old man retired to Mexico for the weather. Leon’s here most nights, but Ellen works at the grocery in town. Far as I know, she never comes to the bar. Most women don’t.”
Leighton shifted her attention, her eyes scanning the nearly full parking lot before moving on to the bar itself. Not that there was much to see. Babe’s was a small, single story, concrete block building, with a satellite dish on the roof. The whole thing was painted black, and Colin knew if you got close enough it looked like the paint had been rolled on thick by someone more interested in getting it done than getting it done right. The only window was a tiny triangle of filthy glass set in the front door. The bar was set well back into the woods, with thick tree trunks crowding around the three sides that didn’t face the parking lot. Those trees blocked out what sunlight there was, leaving the whole building surrounded by bluish-gray shadows. When combined with the black paint job, they gave the whole thing a rather sinister feel.
Colin took another look at the trucks crowding the lot. “Fuck it,” he said and followed Robbie to the back of the Tahoe. Yanking open the cargo hatch, he grabbed his vest and pulled it on with a few swift movements. Robbie met his gaze and Colin shrugged. “Too many trucks in this lot. Could be nothin’, one of the logging crews shut down early. But could be our guys are having an impromptu meeting in there.”
Robbie frowned, then turned to look at Leighton and shook his head. Swearing under his breath, he pulled over the huge duffel, unzipped it and dug out his own vest. Leighton wandered back, her gaze sharpening when she saw what they were doing.
“What’re you thinking?” she asked Colin. Her right hand was resting at her waist, just inside her jacket. Not touching her weapon, but close enough that she could get to it. She felt it, too. Something not quite right.
“I think maybe you should wait here,” he said. “This isn’t exactly a place for ladies.”
Robbie coughed and Leighton gave him a dirty look before saying, “I didn’t come all this way to sit in the car. Besides, you’re the one who said to bring my guns. I’m guessing that’s because you thought they might come in handy.”
Colin shot a quick look at Robbie, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me, man. I’ve seen her shoot.” He reached into the duffle and handed Leighton one of the Uzis, along with three thirty-two round magazines, taking the second gun and some ammo for himself.
Leighton tucked two magazines into the thigh pockets of her black combats and slapped the other into the weapon with a practiced ease Colin hadn’t expected, despite her claims of experience and Robbie the Ranger’s endorsement. She glanced up and saw him staring.
“I’m pretty sure that weapon’s illegal,” he observed blandly.
“I’m licensed as a private bodyguard for Lord Raphael in every state in the Union,” she said, grinning. “I can show you my permits back at the compound, if you’d like.”
“I bet. I’ll go in first. You two hang back a couple steps. Most likely, I’ll know everyone in there, or they’ll know me, anyway. I hope you’re not shocked by foul language, Leighton.”
Robbie laughed out loud at that and Leighton muttered darkly, “Yeah, fuck you, Robbie. You fink.”
Colin shook his head at the two of them. Despite their sniping at one another, he got a clear sense of friendship between them. It reminded him of the relationships he’d had with the guys on his SEAL team. Guys like Garry McWaters. He had a moment’s regret that Garry had chosen to leave Cooper’s Rest. Times like this, he could have used someone he trusted. Not that he didn’t trust Leighton and Robbie. But he didn’t really know them either. It just wasn’t the same as working with someone who’d walked into hell with you and come out the other side.
He pulled the combat sling over his head, secured his Benelli and closed the cargo hatch, clicking the locks closed. He’d taken three strides toward the bar when some instinct made him stop and click the remote again, unlocking the Tahoe’s doors. Maybe it was all these trucks making him nervous, he thought, or maybe it was just the Uzis and the level of violence they brought with them. But whatever it was, he went wi
th his instincts.
Leighton had moved ahead of him into the parking lot. She had her cell phone out and was snapping pictures of license plates as she passed them. She looked up as he walked around her, giving him a quick grin before slipping the cell phone back into her pocket.
Colin approached the door, Leighton and Robbie a few feet behind him, and spread out to the right. Robbie was standing slightly ahead of Leighton, his much larger body blocking hers, as if he expected something awful to come boiling out as soon as the door opened. Colin hoped it wouldn’t come to that, hoped he was wrong and there was nothing in there but some hard drinking men taking advantage of an early break from a dangerous job.
Standing slightly left of the door, Colin reached out and closed his fingers over the door handle, pushing against the door first, and then tightening to pull. He caught movement from the corner of his eye as Leighton crossed out of Robbie’s shadow and took two careful sidesteps to the right. Robbie turned to follow her and Colin opened the door.
And all hell broke loose.
Robbie bellowed a warning, “Murphy!” as he grabbed Leighton and shoved her between the nearest trucks on the right. A shaft of sunlight hit the opening door and Colin saw the black barrel of a gun just inside.
“Gun!” he yelled, as the boom of heavy shotguns roared from the trees around the right side the bar.
Colin felt the shock of bullets hitting the thick wood of the door before he rolled to one side, shielded by the solid block walls. The door crashed open and a hail of gunfire spewed out from the dark interior. Leighton and Robbie had taken cover behind a big two-ton rig, and they popped up now, both Uzis firing full auto as Colin scrambled away from his now exposed position next to the building wall and ducked between two trucks on the left side of the lot.
From the open door of the bar came the distinct rat-tat-tat of an M4 carbine on full auto, and all three of them ducked down as bullets sprayed the parking lot full of trucks, zinging off metal and shattering glass. The oily stinky of diesel fuel snuck into the air and then the hollow boom of a big tire deflating punctuated the racket.
Colin saw Robbie swivel around the two-ton’s long bed and fire a quick burst. Someone screamed inside the building and the door slammed shut once again. But the steady barrage of fire from the right side of the building continued, the shooters using the trees and the bar itself for cover. They were concentrating all of their fire on Leighton and Robbie’s position, which made Colin suspect they didn’t know he was across the parking lot by himself.
He considered maneuvering quietly down the left of the building and around the back to come up behind the shooters, but ruled it out almost as soon as he thought of it. There was a back door to the bar. The guys who’d been waiting for him inside seemed to have given up on the front door, but that probably meant they were on their way out the back to join their buddies, and those boys were shooting to kill.
Judging purely by the amount of fire they were taking, the three of them were vastly outnumbered, and this was not a fight they could win. What he, Leighton and Robbie needed to do was get the hell out of Dodge. But how to do that without becoming even more of a target than they already were?
While Leighton and Robbie were right in the middle of a firefight, Colin was taking no fire and had no targets from his current position. He crouched over, maneuvering down the narrow space between the trucks and the trees on the left side of the parking lot. He kept glancing over his shoulder. The parking lot was wider than the bar, which meant he was exposed if someone realized where he was and came around behind him. He stayed as close to the trucks as he could, taking advantage of their bulk. He was hoping to get an angle on the shooters and provide cover for Leighton and Robbie to withdraw back to the Tahoe. He’d then have to cross the open parking lot to join them, but that was for later.
He cast a fleeting look as he ran along the tree line and saw Robbie go down. His stomach twisted and he paused, slipping alongside a beat-up F-150, but he quickly realized the big Ranger hadn’t been shot. He had dropped into a combat crawl and was using the vehicles and ground for protection as he maneuvered closer to Leighton who was no longer sheltering behind the two-ton rig. While Colin had been positioning himself to join the fight, she’d managed to get away from the two-ton and was now crouched alongside a big Century wrecker, which was probably the heaviest thing in the lot and only two trucks away from Colin’s Tahoe. If she could hold there until Colin got into position, he could provide covering fire while she retreated safely to—
He swore softly as Leighton pulled herself up onto the back of the wrecker and started firing, using the body of the tow arm for protection.
He heard Robbie cursing, heard the splintering crack of safety glass and the sharp ricochet of bullets as they struck the heavy metal of the wrecker’s body. But Leighton stuck to her position like a tick on a hound, her slender frame tucked in behind the thick tow arm as she kept up a steady hail of fire.
Robbie caught Colin’s attention, holding up a hand with five fingers. Colin nodded, watching as the fingers dropped one by one. When the countdown ended, Robbie stood up and started shooting, joining his fire power with Leighton’s, pinning their attackers beneath a wave of death.
Colin dashed across the lot and dove beneath the dually which was snugged up against his Tahoe, belly crawling under the dually first and then his own truck. His back scraped on the Tahoe’s skid plate, but he blew out a breath and came out on the other side, right next to the highway. He stepped up onto his truck’s running board.
“Leighton,” he yelled. “Fall back.”
He thought she shouted an acknowledgment, but couldn’t be sure as she ducked down and the back window of the wrecker blew out when someone cut a line of fire right across where her head used to be. Colin held his breath as she seemed to fall off the big wrecker, swearing in relief as she appeared next to Robbie who dragged her to the ground and shoved her under the next truck in line.
Colin pulled the Benelli up and fired a couple of rounds into the trees. He couldn’t see anyone, but someone gave a cry of pain, far enough away that he knew it wasn’t from the Benelli’s fire. Shotgun in hand, he crouched down, back-stepped along the side of his truck and opened the rear passenger door.
“Robbie,” he shouted. “Let’s go!” Moving back to the hood, using the engine block for cover, he swung the Benelli away and took up his .9 mm, firing steadily. The sound of a second .9 mm joined in and he glanced over to see Leighton had rolled out from under the Tahoe and taken up a position near the rear end of the Tahoe. As he looked over, she ejected the magazine from her Glock 17, slapped in a replacement and resumed a steady, methodical rate of fire with a speed that spoke of a hell of a lot more than just target practice.
Robbie dropped to the ground on the far side of the dually, but he was too big and the truck was too close to the ground for him to crawl under, even if he blew out every ounce of air in his lungs. The front end of the dually was snug up against the trees and fully in the line of fire from that side. He duck walked his way to the back end instead, pausing long enough to slap the spare magazine into his Uzi.
Colin saw what the big man had planned and yanked his Benelli up again, stepping up on the Tahoe’s running board and firing over the roof. It wouldn’t hit anyone at this distance, but it would keep their heads down. Robbie took the advantage offered, rushing out of cover and backing toward the road, his Uzi spitting fire all the way. He reached the relative safety of the Tahoe, ducked beneath the windows and ran toward Leighton who was still shooting her Glock in a steady double tap rhythm—bang bang, bang bang.
“Leighton!” Colin shouted. He glanced worriedly at the open highway behind them. It was time to leave. Leighton nodded and kept firing.
The Tahoe tilted as Robbie jumped onto the running board behind the passenger compartment, putting Leighton between the two of them. Firing his Uzi on semi-auto in the general direction of their assailants, he roared at Leighton, “In the truck, C
yn. Now!”
Fresh gunfire erupted suddenly from a new direction, coming from the other side of the parking lot, where Colin had been hiding earlier. Colin dropped to the ground as Leighton stepped out and began firing, covering his back while he yanked the front door of his truck open, and began to return fire. He felt more than saw Robbie drop off the running board and glanced over to see him reaching for Leighton, trying to pull her out of her exposed position and into the protection of the truck.
Colin heard a soft grunt and a gasp of breath, heard Robbie’s horrified shout of denial.
He spun around, a wordless protest choking him as ice water filled his veins. “Goddammit!” he swore. Leighton was slumped on the ground, blood already drenching the front of her combats and soaking into the dirt.
“Get her in the truck, Robbie. Get her in the fucking truck!”
“Last magazine,” Robbie shouted and threw his Uzi at Colin who caught it one-handed. He tucked the .9 mm into its holster and started firing the Uzi on full auto, not even trying to hit anything. His only thought was to force their enemies to take cover long enough for Robbie to get Leighton in the truck so they could get the hell out of here.
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