The Huntress

by Dorothy McFalls

  An M249 fell from a high branch and landed near the fire. “Don’t fall for it,” Whitfield moaned from his fetal position in the sand. “We’re dead men. I suppose we were dead the moment you botched Greg’s murder. It was supposed to look like an accident.”

  “Shut the hell up!”

  Whitfield wiggled around in the sand. It looked like he was trying to get up. “Lenny, help me get to the boat.”

  The second guard rushed to Whitfield’s aid. The two men were nearly on the boat when Grayson stepped into the clearing with his arms stretched out, his hands empty.

  “This doesn’t involve the women, Butch. Even Whitfield admits that.”

  Jasper, the nervous guard who was holding his gun on Fiona, regained much of his courage at the sight of Grayson looking harmless without a gun. He turned the weapon’s aim to Grayson’s chest. But from where he stood, Butch and Vega were within the line of fire.

  “Get me out of here,” Whitfield was shouting at the guard helping him. “I know his military history. We’re dead men.”

  Butch tightened his hold on Vega, maneuvering her so she shielded him from Grayson. With her chest pressed against his, she didn’t have many options.

  Fortunately, she only needed one.

  “Grayson, you asshole,” she shouted as loud as her lungs would let her. “I had the situation under control. What the hell were you thinking? I can’t collect a bounty on a dead man.”

  The way Butch was holding her, she could no longer see Grayson. She could see Jasper pointing his gun at them and Whitfield struggling to get into the boat. But she could imagine that Grayson was still advancing at a steady pace with his arms held wide.

  Everyone’s attention was on Grayson, which meant Fiona was in no immediate danger. That was important.

  Vega couldn’t overpower Butch. The best she could do at the moment was give Grayson an opening—she prayed he had a gun hidden somewhere on him—and then get Fiona to safety. It wasn’t exactly suicidal. Though the pistol pressed to her temple didn’t help paint a rosy future.

  She stopped yelling at Grayson long enough to whisper to Butch, “I don’t feel right.” Her body dropped as every muscle relaxed. Butch tried to hold onto her and refocus the aim of his gun at the same time. In the confusion of movements, she slipped out of his hands.

  BAM. BAM. BAM. The shooting started almost immediately.

  She kept her head down and tumbled into a flip. There was no time to worry about the gunfire or the shouts and confusion. Grayson could take care of himself. Fiona was her goal. Besides, this mess was his fault. What kind of cooperation was he expecting, coming blasting into the boat dock like that? He got Fiona shot and made those guards with the guns cranky. That military training of his must have prepared him for situations like these. He should be able to take care of himself.

  “Fiona,” her sister’s name whooshed out of Vega’s lungs as she landed in Fiona’s lap, and knocked her off the Palmetto log she’d been sitting on.

  “You okay?” Fiona asked through a grunt of pain. She instinctively grabbed her injured arm as she crashed into the sand. The question struck Vega as backwards. She should’ve been asking Fiona if she was okay, not the other way around. Vega nudged her sister to the far side of the log for additional protection.

  “If you can manage...in my pocket is a key.”

  Fiona’s slender hand slipped into Vega’s pants pocket. .

  “The handcuffs.” Adrenaline pumping. Gunfire thundering. Time moved twice as fast while eternity compressed itself into the space of a heartbeat.

  With very little fiddling, Fiona managed to unlock the handcuffs on Vega’s wrists. Vega drew her Glock while Fiona released the shackles from her ankles. She peered over the log.

  Silence. She hadn’t noticed when that silence had started.

  Grayson was running toward them, blood smeared across his brow. One guard was laying face down in the sand. Whitfield, Butch, and the third guard were gone.

  Vega lowered the Glock and sat up. “What happened?”

  “You okay?” Fiona asked Grayson.

  Grayson jammed the Beretta into his pants and felt the side of his head. He frowned at the blood on his hand. “Damn bullet grazed me. I’ll live.”

  Vega had already figured that out. She took Fiona’s arm and began binding the wounds to slow the bleeding. Fiona’s skin had paled several shades and was coated with a sheen of perspiration.

  “That guard of Butch’s ran into the woods as soon as the bullets began flying. Butch followed not far behind him. I got the guard helping Whitfield.” Grayson explained.

  “And Whitfield?” Vega asked.

  “He’s in the boat, crying.”

  “Damn mess,” Vega muttered. She fastened a sling for Fiona, then took off her leather jacket, and wrapped it around Fiona’s shoulders. “You nearly got us all killed with that Rambo shit.”

  “You’re welcome.” Grayson growled.

  Vega met his gaze. He was still breathing heavier than normal and his eyes were clouded with a lust that had nothing to do with sex.

  “I had it under control,” Vega said.

  “You had it…?” Grayson stomped away. “You were bound up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey...and scared...and at that bastard’s mercy.”

  “I had it under control,” Vega repeated. She was about to blast into Grayson when Fiona doubled over and vomited. Vega’s heart dropped straight to her toes. She wrapped her arms around Fiona and brushed the strands of hair away from her sister’s face.

  “I’m okay,” Fiona muttered. She sounded anything but okay.

  “I know it hurts bad, Fiona. You don’t have to be brave for me. I’ll get you help.” Vega started to lift her sister, but Grayson pushed her aside and took Fiona into his arms.

  “I’m hoping you can navigate the marsh in the dark?” Vega asked. She plodded along in the sand beside Grayson. Fiona had closed her eyes and may have passed out. The bleeding wasn’t heavy, but the pain might push her into shock. She required immediate medical care.

  “Don’t worry,” Grayson said without slowing his stride. “She’ll be okay. The wounds aren’t serious, and I do know my way around this area.”

  “I’m okay,” Fiona muttered without opening her eyes. “I’m not worried.”

  The boat bobbed and jostled Fiona as Grayson lowered her to a cushion in the front of one of Butch’s boats. Whitfield was lying on the fiberglass floor of the boat near the engine, moaning. Fiona remained uncharacteristically closed-mouthed.

  With Grayson and Fiona settled in the boat, Vega untied the rope and gave it a push into the channel. Water swirled around her pants, making the material cold and heavy. She put her hand on the side of the boat to steady herself for a moment.

  Grayson took hold of her wrist. “You’re coming too.”

  “I’ll follow in the other boat.” Her wet hand easily slipped from his grasp. “I’m going to sink the third boat, so Butch and his pal won’t be able to get away.”

  The look Grayson gave her overflowed with mistrust.

  “Go. Get Fiona medical care. I’m like a homing pigeon. Once I take a route, I have no trouble following it back,” she lied smoothly. “I’ll be ten minutes behind you.”

  Vega backed up onto the shore. Her boots sloshed. Another pair ruined. She watched Grayson watching her. He stood in the silent boat as it glided away, caught in the tide’s strong current.

  “Ten minutes?” he called before starting up the engine.

  Ten minutes...give or take however long it would take to find Butch. A lack of transportation wouldn’t stop him from getting back to the mainland. Leaving the island without him would be handing Butch a ticket to freedom.

  She had no intention of doing that.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Grayson steered the boat and steamed. The dangers on Mamma Etta’s island were too great. Leaving Vega alone there, even for a few minutes was just wrong. He kept the engine low and looked back over his shoulder,
watching for Vega.

  Whitfield had finally settled down. It had taken a heavy blanket and several threats to get him to stop crying, but the silence was worth it.

  He flicked a glance toward Fiona. Her eyes shined in the dim light. Her resolve impressed him. Like biting the bullet or taking it all in stride, she embodied those kinds of sayings.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  “I’m dying because of you,” Whitfield moaned. Everyone ignored him.

  “She’s not coming,” Fiona said. Her voice sounded oddly calm in the dark.

  “What?” Grayson asked. He took a quick look over his shoulder again without realizing it.

  “This boat’s going at a snail’s pace and you’re watching for her. But I know my sister. She won’t leave without Butch.” Fiona paused for a long time. “I think she believes she’s defending me.”

  The winter air suddenly hit Grayson. This was his mess, not hers. She’d only gotten wrapped up in it because it had been her job to bring him back into the justice system. The wet cold sank deep into his bones.

  He turned off the boat’s engine and tossed over the anchor. Once he felt the line bite and pull snug, he left it to check on Fiona. The blood was just beginning to seep through the fabric strips Vega had fastened around the gunshot wounds, but she was alert and strong.

  Whitfield was pretty healthy too, if the strength of his lungs were any indication. He started to scream the moment Grayson killed the engine. “Whatever you do, make it fast,” Whitfield finally sputtered.

  “I can’t leave Vega,” Grayson said to Fiona. “You understand that?”

  Hell, he didn’t understand the feelings he had for that spitfire huntress of his. That round of sex with her had only muddied his mind. But he did know he couldn’t leave her to fight alone. Although Fiona and Whitfield needed medical care, their injuries weren’t life threatening—not yet.

  “You’re a much better man for Vega than Butch ever was,” Fiona whispered. The pain was getting to her again. “Butch was an ass from day one. Don’t know what my sister ever saw in him.”

  Grayson didn’t ask. He cranked the engine and pulled up the anchor. There was just enough room in the creek for the boat to circle around. He opened up the engine and roared back toward Mamma Etta’s island.

  Damn, damn, damn. He’d wasted too much time.

  Her arrogance might have already gotten her killed.

  * * * *

  Vega plodded deep into a tangle of scrubby oaks and prickly vines. Butch had been a fool to stay out in the open near the boats. She understood why he had. He’d been worried that she’d do exactly what she’d just finished doing. She’d pulled the drain plugs in the hulls and set the boats adrift, leaving him with no quick escape route.

  But to remain in the clearing only made her too tempting a target. Vega got as deep into the woods as she could before taking a breather to organize her gear and plan.

  Defeating Butch wouldn’t be easy. They were well matched. She’d trained with him a few times. In hand-to-hand combat, he could best her two times out of three. Of course, at the time, she hadn’t been thinking about how he’d just ordered a man to shoot her sister or how he’d played with her emotions.

  Things were vastly different out on this island. She was royally pissed, for one thing.

  Butch’s voice carried in the darkness. She could hear him talking quietly to the other man with him. They were just a few yards away. Vega hunkered down and waited. From the sound of it, they were heading in her direction.

  Perfect. She intended to confront Butch before he stumbled over the other killers Vega and Grayson had left tied up and scattered around.

  “I said don’t worry, damn it. Vega’s rushed off with that stupid sister of hers. You heard the boat. I heard the boat. Everyone’s gone.” Butch must not have been totally convinced though. He spoke softly and kept a cautious stride, stopping every few feet to listen.

  He took another step and stopped again.

  Vega put her father’s Glock back into its holster. She had no intention of killing anyone. The game would play out hand to fist. Her first move would be to get the guns away from Butch and his man.

  She lowered the night vision monocle over her right eye and prepared for the attack. Her heart fluttered in her chest with anticipation.

  Butch took a step and stopped mid-stride. He cocked his head, listening intently.

  “What?” Jasper asked. His voice quivered.

  “Shush.” Butch didn’t move. He was waiting.

  For what?

  Then it hit her, sending cold fingers of dread shooting down her spine. Butch was waiting for her. He knew she was here. Was expecting her attack and was waiting for her to fall into his clutches again.

  Perhaps she should give him what he expected. He tended to get overly cocky when in the winning position.

  A seagull cried out overhead. In the distance, a motorboat engine roared. Something in the air had changed. Night would soon turn into morning.

  Vega felt around the sandy ground until she found a heavy shell. With a quick throw, the shell sailed through the air and bounced off a tree. Jasper spun around and blasted apart the poor tree that had just been smacked by the shell. His M249 clicked. It was finally empty.

  Butch wasn’t as easily fooled. He had the night vision goggles on over his head and had latched his gaze onto hers in no time.

  He smiled.

  Vega kept her focus. His cockiness would hurt him.

  He made the first move. With his head low, he charged like a football player. She held her crouched position until he was nearly on top of her.

  She then sprang up with a flying kick to his face, which Butch easily blocked. She followed up with a roundhouse kick aimed for his midsection. Again, he had no trouble blocking her. She tossed a few punches, telegraphing them far in advance of the actual blow. She moved quickly, not giving him time to do anything but block moves he’d expect her to toss his way.

  Frustrated by the lack of progress, Butch ducked a right cross and jabbed Vega in the ribs with a bruising upper cut. She staggered back, but since she’d kept her abs tight, the air stayed put in her lungs.

  “Give me a hand, damn it,” Butch shouted as he worked hard to block another round of punches.

  “He’s run away, I think,” Vega said between panting breaths. She scanned the area just to make sure. If he was still around, the kid was doing a good job hiding.

  “You can’t win.” Butch kicked, the execution sloppy. His frustration was getting the better of him. “I always let you win at the dojo.”

  “Funny, I thought I’d been letting you win.”

  Vega got blindsided with a quick left jab for that smart remark. She closed her mouth. Her energy was beginning to wane. She’d been running on high for too long and needed to take Butch out before his helper found himself a fresh dose of courage or another gun.

  She feinted a blow to Butch’s kidney, getting him to block low. That gave her an advantage. Her right jab to his nose hit home. He stumbled back, but she didn’t give him a chance to recover before swinging a left jab to the stomach that bent Butch slightly over. A spinning kick to his face finished him off.

  A heavy cloud moved and the stars brightened the night as she stared down at Butch’s crumpled body on the ground. Now that it was over, rage bloomed like a poison in her veins.

  He’d professed his love and proposed just to get her to find Grayson for him. When that failed, he’d tried to kill Fiona. He’d used every emotional trap he could to trip her up...and had damn near succeeded.

  “It’s a good thing you’re unconscious, Butch,” Vega managed to get out from behind her clenched teeth.

  “Vega!” Grayson’s voice carried through the trees.

  He was the last person she wanted to see right now. This emotion business was fraught with too many landmines.

  “Vega!” Grayson charged through the forest and pulled her into his arms. “Damn you, I was so worried.�
� His lips found hers. The kiss was hard and demanding. He squeezed her till she thought she might break.

  It felt rather nice.

  “Oh hell, you do something to me. If we’re not careful, this attraction could lead somewhere...to love even,” he said as he peeled his lips away.

  Love? Go figure.

  Vega gave Grayson a friendly punch in the chest and wiggled out of his embrace. “Wait till the adrenaline wears off. I’ll be plain old Vega to you again.” She laughed. It was do that or cry. Her emotions were bubbling up all over, now that her worries were gone.

  Butch groaned.

  “Jasper,” Vega said, pulling herself together again. How did she manage to have forgotten Jasper?

  “I’ve got him tied up at the dock. Found him drowning in the water. Guess he thought he could teach himself to swim while trying to get away from you.”

  * * * *

  A half hour later, Vega sat perched on the edge of the crowded boat. Grayson had dropped Butch and Jasper next to Whitfield at the stern of the boat and had told the three of them to keep their mouths shut. He seemed to have known that she needed the silence. Her phone had picked up a signal twenty minutes into the ride, and she’d been able to arrange to have an ambulance and the police meet them at the dock in McClellanville. She’d also called Jack to let him know that it was all over.

  She closed her eyes and leaned back to enjoy the cool air blasting against her face. Grayson pushed the boat to its limit, slowing only for the sharpest corners.

  “I still have to turn you over to the police, you know,” she said without opening her eyes. She tried to imagine her father beaming with pride at the news of her successful capture of Grayson and of the men trying to frame him.

  Fiona got hurt in the process. You should’ve protected Fiona first and worried about work second. Her father’s scowl wrecked her fantasy—old habits were hard to kill.

  She peeled her eyes open long enough to check on Fiona, who appeared to be sleeping. Her chest rose and fell with deep regularity.

  “The feds will have a lot of questions, too,” Vega added.