She smiled at that and then turned to Charles who drew closer to the pair. He pulled a small pistol from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Here you go, sweetheart. I made sure I brought your favourite gun for you.”
Thinking Charles’s statement was oddly affectionate, Ethan watched Zoë’s eyes light up as she took the gun, along with two extra magazines from her father. It was a Beretta 418, known to most people as the gun used by James Bond, at least through several of the earlier books and movies. For a handgun too small to allow a proper grip, it was surprisingly easy to fire, even for someone with hands as large as his. It would never be his weapon of choice, but he had enjoyed firing one at a range years ago. He took comfort in the fact he’d never heard anyone experiencing a malfunction with one. A .25 caliber gun wouldn’t hold up over long distances, of course, but he reasoned she wouldn’t have to engage anyone unless they made it past the men who would be stationed outside the house, an event he hoped wouldn’t occur. At close range, he had no doubt she’d be able to take anyone down with the Beretta.
“Got a little Bond thing going on there?” he teased her.
“I’m a crack shot,” she assured him as she pocketed the magazines.
“I have no doubt of that. Besides, that’s a good little gun.”
“Little gun?”
He grinned at the mock-indignation in her voice. “You know what I mean. It’s small, and easy to wield.”
“Small and easy enough for a woman, you mean?”
“Quit busting my balls, Zoë, you know I didn’t mean anything by that.”
She smiled and then, so swiftly he almost couldn’t follow her motions, ejected the magazine, ensured it was full, slid it back in, secured it, chambered a round, and set the safety.
“Damn,” he gushed, “that might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Charles shook his head and walked away, undoubtedly not willing to hear any more about his daughter’s effect on Ethan’s libido. She slipped the gun in her pocket and then turned a worried look on him.
“If something happens tonight—”
“Don’t,” he cautioned, “just don’t. I’m here because I want to be, just like everyone else. No matter what happens tonight, none of this is your fault.”
“It’s all my fault, and you know it. I chose to come here, to Bison Bluffs, I answered your ad.”
“Thank God you did. I don’t regret any of that and never will.”
“Even though we’re facing this now?”
“Yep, even though we’re facing this now.” He shrugged. “Okay, yeah, it’s not the normal struggle a couple faces, but we’re not exactly a normal couple.”
His attempt at humour fell flat. Her eyes misted, and he cupped her face with his hands. “Zoë, please, I know you’re worried about everyone here. I am, too, but they’re here because they won’t see harm come to you. You’re part of this community and that’s what we do here, protect one another, look out for each other.”
“But someone could get hurt. Someone could die.”
“We’ll get through this,” he assured her, “all of us. Rosati has no idea what this town is capable of, but he’s about to find out.”
At Charles’s call for everyone to take their positions, Ethan laced his fingers through Zoë’s and, holding her hand tightly, they walked to the house, facing the dangerous night ahead. He’d been truthful with her, about how the town would protect its own, but he had told a lie. He’d assured her everyone present would get through the night safely, but he didn’t believe it. People would die tonight, and while he hoped all the fatalities would fall on the attackers, he knew better. Not everyone in his present line of sight would get through the night unscathed.
52
Some distance away from the ranch the Matthews bitch was on, Nino surveyed the vast property owned by Ethan Collins through binoculars. Stupid prairies! While there were buildings and a few trees, most of the acreage was wide open and hardly allowed for a sneak attack. Lowering the binoculars, he looked to Frank.
“We need a diversion, they’ll see us coming from a mile away. You brought explosives, right?”
“Yes, but it’s not the best idea. Sure, his neighbours are some distance away, but they’ll hear an explosion at night in an area this open. We don’t need more cops here.”
That was true. He’d spotted the five uniformed RCMP officers but knew they weren’t there in an official capacity. If that were the case, the property would be swarming with officers. No, they were men who had apparently decided to put their lives on the line to protect Kathryn Matthews. He had no idea how she’d managed to win the favour of so many people during her short stay but had to hand it to her, she was a resourceful little minx. He couldn’t care less about killing cops. If they were foolish enough to back her, they’d end up dead. It was too bad about the explosives though, he would’ve loved to watch one of those barns blow up, preferably with lots of cows inside it.
“We should take out one of the lookouts,” Tommy suggested.
The cop knew his stuff, and was a welcome addition to the team, but Nino valued Frank’s opinion most. He looked to the big man who nodded.
“It’s the best idea. They’re staying in touch with walkies. When the lookout doesn’t respond, the men outside the house will investigate. They’ll want to keep the other lookouts in place, and leave the men inside to protect the woman. We can probably cut their numbers in half using that diversion and take her out in the house.”
It sounded good to Nino. Five men would remain in the house with her. Earlier, when all the men were outside, he’d counted sixteen in total. With the four lookouts, and the seven men stationed around the house, the remaining five were no match for the nine men in total on Nino’s side. Hell, even if not all the men outside rushed to the aid of the lookout, Nino’s side would still be fine. Between Frank, Tommy, and the other skilled shooters Nino employed, a bunch of farmers didn’t scare him. Besides, they’d already conceived of a further plan to ensure everyone in the house died.
Practically salivating with his imminent victory, Nino nodded to Frank when he announced he’d personally take care of the lookout. He hoped the plan unveiled without a snag, and he would be the one to shoot the bitch. She’d been a thorn in his side for long enough. It ended tonight, and he would enjoy watching her die. Pulling his spine straight, he looked to each of his men in turn, taking in the ready expressions they wore with pride.
“All right,” he announced, “let’s do this.”
53
Zoë nervously chewed on her lip as she leaned against one of the small walls that separated the giant windowpanes in the great room, glancing around the wall’s corner often to look outside. She hadn’t needed her father to announce Rosati’s men would attack from that side. It made the most sense for them to do so, as accessing the house through the windows would be easy. However, it also made the most sense for those within the house to take their stand there. It allowed them to see the attackers’ approach and, with any luck, pick them off before they could gain entrance to the house.
Her stomach felt like it was eating itself, burning with her nervousness. She’d made dinner for the men who’d wanted to eat although most, like her, couldn’t. Apprehension ruled the night, and had her in a stranglehold. The dimness of the room didn’t help, the only light available trickled in from the porch lights. The house was dark, better for them, harder for the attacking men, but it did nothing to alleviate her fears. She swore masked men moved in the shadowed corners of the great room, even as she knew that was impossible. The threat was outside this house, not within it.
Ethan kept in touch with the lookouts, and with her father, using a walkie-talkie. Their communication was succinct but frequent, breaking the close to unbearable quiet in the room. As she transferred her gun to her free hand in order to wipe her sweaty hand on her jeans, she caught Cole staring at her. A distance away, only the slight glint of light on his wide eyes allowed her
to pick him out. When she made eye contact with him, he smiled encouragingly, his teeth now reflecting that light. She returned the gesture, aware he was trying to put her at ease, but nothing could accomplish that goal.
Sawyer stood close to her, he too looking out the windows. She swore he’d shot her a less than pleasant look a while back, but could’ve been mistaken. It wasn’t as if she was thinking clearly right now. Like Cole and all the others, his presence had more to do with supporting Ethan than her, she was certain of it, but Cole and the others had been gracious. She remembered Skip’s assessment of Sawyer, a man who meant well but worked too hard, and was lacking social skills. Perhaps that was the case. She hadn’t met him before tonight so, really, she shouldn’t be drawing conclusions about him, despite how doing so kept her mind from the imminent danger she knew would descend on the house.
Two constables, Gord and Terry, were also in the room with them. They remained by the windows, surveying the area outside the house. It would be hard to see dark figures approaching outside the circle of light from the porch, but equally hard for any approaching figures to see them in the darkness beyond the lights. Besides, she doubted Rosati’s men would sneak up on the house. Like her father and Ethan, she expected them to arrive in a bold fashion, guns blazing. Men who fed bodies through meat-grinders didn’t strike her as being capable of subtlety.
Skip and the Carson brothers were stationed on the four cardinal directional points of the property, the first line of defense. The plan was for them to call in when they saw vehicles approaching, and the men outside the house, her father, Boone, Rory, Chase, Myles, and two more constables, Nick, and Henry, would then intercept the attackers. It was a solid plan and she knew the best shots were outside the house, well perhaps except for Ethan, but she knew he wouldn’t leave her side. As she wondered if the two constables should be outside as well, perhaps switched out with two of Ethan’s friends, she figured her father had wanted them with her in the unlikely event Rosati and his men got past the men outside the house.
“Check in,” Ethan said into the walkie, “Kit? All clear?” After receiving the all-clear from Kit, he repeated his questions to Zeke, and then Shane.
“Skip?” There was no answer. “Skip? All clear?”
When he still didn’t receive an answer, Ethan scowled as he looked to her. She saw his concern for Skip, along with the fear Rosati’s men had penetrated that side of the property. As her chest tightened, she knew they had. They were coming.
“We’re going to assume that side is compromised,” came her father’s voice over the walkie. “Both Bukowskis, Patton, and I will check it out.”
“Understood,” Ethan returned, and then blew out a loud breath.
He was visibly anxious, but she could see how he tried to keep a steady countenance, for her benefit no doubt. How could she have denied her love for him, held him at bay, pretended she didn’t want to be with him? He was all she wanted. Now that she had him, she could lose him in an instant. A single bullet, a tiny piece of metal, could snuff out his life as quickly as he’d doused the lights in this room.
Biting her fingernails now, a habit she hated seeing and had never before done, she glanced at Ethan occasionally as her stomach churned. It would take several minutes until her father and the others reached Skip’s location, and each second that passed stretched out almost painfully. If anything happened to Skip, she didn’t think she’d ever forgive herself. What if something happened to Ethan? As the realization she’d rather die with him than live without him slammed into her, she swallowed against the enormous, hard lump in her throat. No, they wouldn’t die. They deserved a life together. Did they, though? Did she deserve anything after being deceitful with so many people, many of who were here now to protect her? What had she done to deserve their caring for her, so much that they were willing to put their lives in danger for her?
The walkie crackled, and then Kit’s panicked voice sounded from it. “Ethan, two cars are barreling up your driveway.”
“Do not engage,” Ethan barked, “you, Shane, and Zeke, head to Skip’s location.”
“We’re coming back,” her father’s voice issued again, “get those other men inside the house now!”
Her heart pounding ferociously, she realized that whatever had happened with Skip was a ruse to draw men away from the house. The three who remained out there were sitting ducks. Cole raced to the door to unlock it. Movement outside the windows caught her attention and she turned to see two cars race up and come to a screeching stop before the house, no more than ten feet from the windows.
“They’re here!” Sawyer bellowed. “Get down!”
As she and Ethan took cover behind one of the small walls, her peripheral vision caught Sawyer duck behind the next one, and Gord and Terry the next. Gunfire erupted, and she covered her head. Shards of glass flew all around her as bullets tore into the room. She heard them hitting objects, walls, floors, and furniture most likely, not that she’d chance a look. The sound was deafening and hurt her ears. It went on for long minutes, bullets tearing into the room, pinging off items, the flashing of muzzle fire lighting up the darkened room. She saw bullet holes in the furniture, a pillow spun to the floor, holes appeared in the wall opposite her. They looked huge and she wondered what ammo Rosati’s forces were using. Would the thick logs that formed the walls be enough protection? Could bullets penetrate them, or maybe work their way through the small spaces between the timbers? They had no other cover and certainly couldn’t seek out any.
The comfort of Ethan beside her was all that kept terrified tears from erupting. She concentrated on the warmth of his body, the security of him being so near. If anything happened to him—Stop it! Keep your shit together. Get ready to return fire when you have the chance. She embraced that voice, the one that sounded like her dad. Survival was paramount, and everything else was dealt with after the danger passed.
When the barrage of bullets ended suddenly, she reasoned all Rosati’s men outside had fired collectively and were now all reloading. Peering around the edge of the wall, she focused on a man, took aim, and fired. He fell back. Hearing shots from her side, she knew Ethan and the others were returning fire. She winced with how much louder these shots were, her ears screaming their protest at such noise, especially in the wake of what they’d already endured. Spying a man in dark clothing ramming a magazine in an AR-15 style rifle, she leapt back behind the wall. Gunfire from outside started up again. Ethan grunted loudly as he banged into her retaking his cover, and she knew he’d been shot.
Before she could see where or how bad, his arms wrapped around her, protecting her, as the bullets continued to pummel the great room. She heard them hitting the outside walls, certain the men outside targeted them now, realizing it was the only cover she and the others had. Her ears filled with the thudding sounds, she pictured chunks of wood breaking apart. Together, she and Ethan slid down the wall, his body wrapped around hers, his back to the wall. He knew what she did. They were moments from death. Her ears hurt so badly she wanted to cover them but instead she nuzzled her face in the crook of Ethan’s shoulder and clung to him. It was so unfair to die now, just when they’d found each other. The future they could have shared flashed through her mind, years of happy togetherness, raising their children, living out their lives on the ranch. She’d never imagined a life like that before meeting him and now it was all she wanted. It would be denied her, however. The end had come for them both. Unfair, yes, but here nonetheless. As she closed her eyes, she decided that dying in Ethan’s arms wasn’t the worst way to go.
54
Pain tore through Ethan’s side where he’d caught a bullet, but he was about to die so the wound was of little concern. They’d tried their best but, outmanned and outgunned, it wasn’t enough. Zoë trembled in his arms, and he pressed his head against hers. Gunpowder filled his nose but he tried to ignore it to catch a whiff of Zoë. Sure enough, concentrating did the trick. He could detect her scent, the warm, comforting s
mell of her perfect skin, the scent of her shampoo. It hurt his side to tighten his hold on her but he did it anyway. His eyes burned with angry tears. Rosati had denied him a future with Zoë, the ability to marry, have children, and grow old together. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a life partner, he was holding the fruition of his dreams in his arms, and it was all about to end. Although furious at the thought of dying, doing so while holding Zoë suited him just fine, and he squeezed her tighter as he waited for the bullet that would end his life.
Bullets blasted the logs of the house. It was only a matter of time before they penetrated the wood, then his body, and then hers. He wished they’d stop in his, but he didn’t provide nearly the protection the logs did, and their integrity was fading fast. Another few minutes would reduce them to the effectiveness of plywood. He had precious time left with Zoë. Breathing deeply, he wanted his last moment spent with her in his arms, and her wondrous scent in his nostrils.
The gunfire ended with a few sporadic shots and he distantly heard Charles’s voice shouting out orders. Oh, thank God! The others had returned in time to take out the shooters. It was over and, miraculously, they were all safe. Were they? Still clutching Zoë, knowing she was uninjured, he turned to see the other men in the room. Sawyer was unhurt. He looked a little dazed but that was to be expected. Gord, a few scratches on his face, helped Terry to his feet and then inspected a bleeding wound on the constable’s arm. He might have been grazed by a bullet or hit by flying glass. Either way, the injury looked to be minor. Zoë stirred in his arms, and he loosened his hold on her. She looked at him in awe, as if not believing they were safe. His side afire, his ears ringing harshly, he smiled. They’d made it.
“It’s over.”
His voice sounded weird, as did the other noises that reached his ears, those of the men outside responding to Charles’s orders, the soft tinkling of glass as shards continued to fall from the smashed windowpanes, the sounds of the other men in the room drawing closer to him and Zoë, all of it sounding as if he were underwater. He looked around the haze-filled room. Gunpowder was still heavy in the air, feathers, and bits of material from destroyed pillows and furniture floated to the floor. It was a disaster and he didn’t care a whit. Zoë was safe. He grunted as she scrambled back from him, brushing his side. He wanted to grab for her again, to hold her close to him, his wound be damned, but he let her go. Since when could he control her? His lips twitched with humour. His stubborn, forceful, amazing girlfriend always did what she wanted to. She twisted to face him, kneeling in the wreckage that littered the floor, her hands reaching out as her eyes fell on his side.
Done a Runner (Wanted Men of Bison Bluffs Book 1) Page 19