by Lucy Quinn
Hunter shrugged modestly, holstering his gun. “No need to kill the little beast.”
“We’re lucky it worked.” Frowning, Cookie surveyed the mob of orange-wigged men, most of who were now staring at her and Hunter in what was clearly a mix of surprise and terror. “Now it’s time for us to find ourselves a kidnapper.”
Because somewhere in this crowd was Carrottop himself. And she was determined to find him once and for all.
17
“It’s all right!” Cookie shouted at the men in front of her. She pulled her badge off her belt and held it up high for everyone to see. “I’m with the sheriff’s office, and this is Agent O’Neil from the FBI.” She knew without having to look that Hunter was mimicking her motion with his own badge. “Everything is under control.”
The man right in front of her sighed in relief and stopped pacing. Several others visibly relaxed as they sat back down at their tables. A few of the men were still frozen in what could have been fear or hesitation or concern, she wasn’t sure.
But one of the men who was near the right side of the pier turned away from her and edged closer to the railing along the side. Cookie smiled. That was the mark of a guilty man.
“Hey!’ Cookie yelled at him.
He glanced back over his shoulder, locked eyes with her, grinned cockily, and vaulted the railing, taking off at a dead run down the alleyway and toward the main street in front.
A string of curses erupted from Cookie’s lips. If he got that far and managed to get out of sight before she and Hunter could make their way back around, he could be gone forever.
“Go!” Cookie shouted at Hunter. He immediately took off after the guy, following Brad’s same route over the railing. Hunter might be hot on his heels and better at the full-out run than she was, but Cookie had a different idea.
She headed back through the Salty Dog at a near-run, making for the front porch and the main street beyond it. And as she exited the restaurant, she was rewarded by the sound of at least one, if not two, sets of feet approaching her. Bracing for impact, she swung into the mouth of the alley, feet planted, legs apart, and gun up in both hands, held straight out and rock steady.
The runner skidded to a halt, backpedaling desperately to keep from smacking directly into the loaded weapon aimed right at his chest. He barely succeeded, throwing up his hands to halt himself from toppling forward onto her, the gun barrel a scant few inches from him.
A second later he was flat on the ground, his face mashed into the frozen dirt as Hunter straddled him, and the FBI agent was already yanking one of the man’s arms back behind him even as he pulled a zip tie from his jacket pocket. Cookie had just enough time to exhale and lower the weapon before Hunter had the man bound and back on his feet to face them.
But there was something wrong with this picture, and Cookie nearly groaned aloud when she realized what it was. When Hunter had hurled him to the ground, the man’s wig had gone all askew. Now it was shoved way forward, covering one eye almost completely.
This wasn’t Brad. Not even close.
There was something familiar about him, however. Reaching out, Cookie yanked the wig free and studied the man. He was about her height, broadly built but with an oddly angular face that was all sharp planes and edges. Which made her smile at him.
“I remember you,” she said. “You were at my house. You work for him. Brad Werner.” The man visibly flinched at her words. “Yes, we know who he is, and what he wants,” she confirmed. “But right now we only have one question for you—where’s my friend?”
“Look, lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” their captive replied. “Seriously, I just answered an ad like the rest of these yahoos. That’s it.”
“So why’d you run?” she asked, hands going to her hips, the pistol still in one of them.
He shrugged. “So I’ve got a few unpaid parking tickets,” he said, his eyes sliding away from her. “I figured if you started checking people’s backgrounds that could mean trouble for me, so it was better if I just got out of there. That’s it, I swear.”
Hunter grabbed the man by his jacket collar and shook him like a dog shaking a bone. “You’re a bad liar, friend,” he growled directly in the man’s face. “And I don’t like liars.”
“It’s the truth, I swear it!” the man claimed again.
But Cookie knew better. His face was distinctive enough that she wasn’t about to forget it.
“You know,” she said slowly, “normally we’d just drag you down to the station, lock you up for a bit, run your prints, and see where that got us. But right now? I just don’t have the time or the patience—not when you’re holding my friend hostage.” She stepped forward, raising her gun as she did. “So I’m going to give you a choice.”
“Charlie?” Hunter sounded surprised. “What’re you doing?” But he didn’t let go of his hold on their captive.
“Getting some answers,” she replied, not taking her gaze off the man in front of her. “Any way I have to.” She took another step, so her face was only a few inches from his and pressed her gun against his forehead. “Now, I’m going to ask you this once, and only once,” she warned. “Where is Scarlett?”
“You’re crazy, lady,” the man protested, his face going pale as he shifted his gaze to Hunter. “Come on, man, she’s nuts. You gotta get me away from her! You’re a Fed, you can’t let her do this to me!”
“Who, me?” Hunter replied, frowning. “I’m not even officially here, man. I’m just on vacation. And her?” He studied Cookie a second then shrugged. “She left the Bureau for psych reasons. Totally unstable. You never know what she’s going to do next.” His tone was completely level, even tinged with a little sorrow.
Their captive gulped and glanced away, and Cookie nearly laughed when she caught the wink Hunter aimed her way.
“You’re out of time,” she warned their captive, doing her best to growl like Hunter had, baring her teeth as she pressed the gun more firmly against its target. “Either you talk now or I scatter your brains all over this alley. Which’ll it be?”
For half a second, she thought the man was still going to claim innocence. But then his eyes squeezed shut and he shouted out, “Okay, fine, fine! Don’t shoot! Please!”
“Where. Is. She?” Cookie demanded.
“The Barge,” he blurted out. “We’ve got her at the Barge, okay? Jesus.” He was crying, tears streaking down his face, but Cookie couldn’t muster even an ounce of sympathy for this scumbag who had helped kidnap her best friend.
“The Barge?” Hunter asked.
“It’s an old restaurant,” she answered with a frown. “Apparently it closed down some years back. It was in this old barge that’d been dragged up onto the beach. It’s maybe twenty minutes outside of town and only about ten minutes past Lester’s house.” She holstered her gun.
“So you’re not going to shoot me?” the man squeaked, going limp so fast only Hunter’s grip kept him upright.
“What?” Cookie laughed at him. “Shoot you? Of course not. Do you have any idea how much paperwork I’d have to fill out if I did that? You’re not worth the effort." She patted him on the cheek. “Thanks for being so forthcoming, though. We’ll be sure to let Brad know how cooperative you were.”
The man stared at her. “You’re crazy!” he finally managed to sputter.
“Maybe a little,” Cookie agreed. She glanced back at the Salty Dog’s front door just a few yards away. “We don’t have time to deal with taking him over to Hancock, but I’ve got an idea to secure him, at least for now.”
“Lead on,” Hunter said, wrapping an arm around their captive and forcing the man to walk beside him. “Nice job back there,” he told her quietly as they walked. “For a second, I really thought you were going to shoot him.”
The face Cookie turned toward him was fierce enough that she actually saw him blink in surprise. “I might’ve,” she admitted. “Nobody takes my friends and gets away with it.”
H
er former partner studied her a second then nodded. “Duly noted.” His trademark smirk reappeared. “I just hope I’m back on that list.”
“You are now.” Her smile was warm as she poked him in the chest. “No more stupid posturing, though. Not if you want to keep it that way.”
“You got it,” he agreed, and Cookie felt that he meant it.
18
Cookie led the way back into the Salty Dog. Hunter marched right behind her, leading his captive by a firm grip on the shoulder as they entered and then veered to the left, heading straight for the bar and, more specifically, toward the uniformed man nursing a glass of what looked like Scotch.
“Deputy Swan,” Cookie announced, stopping beside him. Her voice was loud enough to make the few other patrons glance up.
The deputy, however, swiveled slowly to peer up at her. “Hello, Ms. James,” he replied, his words gone even softer and squishier than when she’d spoken to him not half an hour earlier. Apparently he’d been busy. “What can I do for you?”
“You can arrest this man and throw him in jail,” Cookie replied crisply, gesturing for Hunter to bring their prisoner forward. Hunter complied and slammed the man up against the bar for good measure. “He’s a member of a known embezzling ring and party to a kidnapping that took place yesterday morning.”
Swan frowned as he clearly tried making sense of the words that had just barraged him. “A kidnapping?” the drunken deputy managed finally. “Why wasn’t I told about this?” He tried to stand up, slipped, and nearly collapsed onto the floor before managing to latch onto the bar in time to keep his feet.
“You were,” Cookie reminded him, her tone pure acid. “When we spoke earlier, remember? I told you that my best friend had been kidnapped. This is one of the men responsible. I want you to lock him up while we go round up the rest of them.”
Swan shifted enough to stare at the man she and Hunter had brought him. “This guy? How do you know?”
“Because I was there!” Cookie burst out, pushed past her breaking point by this idiot who called himself an officer of the law. “I was there and fought this guy, and he and his two buddies grabbed Scarlett right in front of me. That’s how I know. Now are you going to get off your lazy, drunk ass and arrest this guy or do I have to do everything around here?”
Swan stiffened. Then he stood up quite straight and turned, very slowly and precisely, to retrieve his hat from the chair beside him and set it firmly on his head. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Ms. James,” he stated crisply, eyes focused on some spot a good three feet to her right. “I will take this suspect into custody until such time as evidence can be brought to bear against him.”
“Thank you,” Cookie told him. She stepped back, officially relinquishing the prisoner to Swan’s care, and watched without a word as the deputy reached out and clamped a hand on the man’s shoulder. Anger and shame appeared to have burned away some of his alcoholic fog, and if he wobbled a little as he marched the man out of the restaurant, it was barely noticeable.
“He’s not going to forget this one any time soon,” Hunter warned, stepping in close so no one else would hear.
“I know,” she agreed with a sigh. “But I don’t exactly have time to play nice. We—”
An all-too-familiar sound, sharp and sudden like a hard rain on glass, cut her off and was followed by shouts and screams to accompany it.
Shouts and screams that were coming from outside—in the same direction as the gunfire.
“Let’s go!” Hunter shouted, already on the move. Cookie was right behind him, gun in hand yet again, crouching down to present a smaller target as she passed through the French doors separating restaurant interior from pier outside.
Cookie’s mind raced. Who the hell was shooting?
Outside, it was chaos. Men were running every which way, all of them yelling or shrieking—and all of them with bright orange hair.
But evidently none of them had been trained in how to deal with firearms or with being shot at. Because within ten seconds of holding perfectly still and listening closely, Cookie could be certain about two things. Those were indeed gunshots she’d heard, and was continuing to hear. And they weren’t aimed at her, Hunter, or anyone here on the Salty Dog’s back deck. They were, in fact, out on the water beyond the dock, and aimed at something in the dark waters.
Or someone. And, with that thought blazing its way into her brain, Cookie was back on her feet and charging toward the end of the pier.
“Charlie!” She heard Hunter shout behind her. The shout was followed by cursing and the sound of feet pounding on heavy wooden planks as he ran after her. But she didn’t slow down, didn’t glance back, didn’t spare him another thought. Because every ounce of her being was currently focused on one thing and one thing only, and that was the speedboat racing toward them out on the ocean; the same speedboat currently sending lead at the waves between them, and more specifically at the head bobbing in the water.
Dylan.
They were trying to kill Dylan.
“The hell you will,” Cookie muttered. She’d reached the edge of the pier and planted herself against the railing, using it for added support as she propped both arms upon it and took aim at the speedboat and the men firing from it.
Then she let loose.
Her first shot struck the boat’s front prow, just a few feet below one of the gunmen. He jerked back in surprise then glanced up. Even from a distance, she could see his eyes widen as he spotted her. Her second shot nearly took his head off, and he practically threw himself to the deck as her bullet splintered the cabin wall behind him.
Another shot shattered the glass that protected the boat pilot, and Cookie spared a second to throw a grateful glance at Hunter who was now beside her, firing at the boat as well.
Together they created a barrage of their own, forcing the boat’s gunmen to cower from their assault. Neither of them actually managed to hit anyone as far as Cookie could tell, but they kept the men pinned down so much that they couldn’t get off any more shots of their own.
Dylan didn’t waste any time as he knifed through the water like a barracuda, swimming swiftly and steadily back toward the Salty Dog.
Back to her.
Finally the boat’s occupants gave up the fight. Cookie heard shouting, and then the boat turned and sped back the way it had come. She continued shooting at it even after it was well out of range, stopping only when her gun clicked on empty. She lowered the spent, smoking weapon and took what felt like her first breath in ages.
“Thanks,” she told Hunter, sagging against the rail.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Now go get your guy out of the water, huh? Just seeing him in there is making my teeth chatter.”
She smirked at him then nodded and slipped under the railing. Cookie carefully picked her way down to the water’s edge. She arrived just as Dylan was pulling himself ashore.
“Hey,” he called out as he approached, water streaming off him. His clothes were soaked through, but Cookie was too relieved to spend more than a few seconds admiring the way they clung to his athletic form.
“Hey yourself,” she managed back, trying for an equally casual tone. Then she gave up all pretense and flung herself into his arms. “They could’ve killed you,” she gasped out.
“I’m okay,” he promised, squeezing her for a second before letting go and ever so gently pushing her away. “But you won’t be if you catch pneumonia from getting soaked in this cold. And I won’t be, either, if Rain kills me as a result.”
She laughed with him through the sob caught in her throat. “You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked when she could speak again.
“I’m fine,” Dylan assured her. He turned in a circle. “See? All good. They never even got close, thanks to you.” He grinned at her. “That was some pretty sharp shooting, too. Not sure I could’ve even hit that boat at all from that range.”
“Well, let’s just say I was highly motivated,” Cookie tol
d him. She was finally getting her heart rate back under control. “I’m guessing those were more of Brad’s guys,” she added. “Because it looks like he wasn’t out on the pier after all. He sent one of his guys instead.”
“Yeah, had to be,” he agreed. “And I know what they were after, too. Clearly they heard I was the life of the party,” he quipped before holding up a soaked, nearly disintegrating brown paper bag. “And I always bring the chips.”
“Oh my God!” Cookie groaned, punching him in the shoulder. “Where did you even come up with that?” But she was laughing as she said it.
“What can I say?” he replied, still smiling, his dimples winking at her. “It’s just a token of my affections.”
“Shut up,” Cookie grumbled, her own smile so wide her cheeks ached. “Seriously. I still have at least one bullet left.”
“Well, don’t use it up on my account,” Dylan said, laughing when she winced. “Though I do appreciate the interest.”
“If I’d known you were this into bad puns, I’d have thought twice before rescuing you,” she grumbled as she turned to pick her way back up to the pier. She could already see Hunter standing there watching them, and she gave him a thumbs-up.
“Oh, your days are numbered!” Dylan called out from behind her, laughing gleefully at each groan. “Get it? Numbered?”
“Do me a favor,” Cookie yelled up to Hunter as she climbed. “Shoot him for me? Just a little? Just enough to shut him up?”
“Now that’s not likely to buoy my spirits, is it?” Dylan offered, and she shook her head. Above her, Hunter heard that one and laughed.
“Oh, he’s all yours,” he pointed out, and deliberately turned away.
And despite it all, Cookie had to admit she was still deliriously happy about that fact.
19
“All right,” she said. They were standing inside the Salty Dog, near the big fireplace in the front entry for warmth. “First things first.” She shoved Dylan affectionately in the shoulder. “You, put on some dry clothes.”