by Alicia Scott
“Great,” Josie muttered. “I’m locked out of my own home. Hey, my feather bed is in there.” For a moment, it appeared she was going to bang her fists against her front door in desperation. Jack grasped her hands quickly and dragged her around the side of the house before the neighbors began to peek out their windows at this early dawn display.
They’d gotten up at 4:00 a.m., restored by sleep and instantly tense. After a brief conference in the kitchen, Stone and Jack had agreed Stone would take Jessica up to his mountain retreat and Jack would try to set a trap for the hit woman at Jack’s house. Stone would double back when he thought Jessica was safe and keep tabs on Josie. Jessica and Josie had agreed that Jessica would keep Stone occupied and Josie would assist Jack. It was her life, too. Now they were in search of fresh clothes and supplies at Josie’s place.
“Spare key?” he whispered, trying to keep a low profile. Not many people were up and moving at 5:30 a.m. in Josie’s neighborhood, and he wanted to keep it that way. Just because he believed the assassin would be more likely to be watching his house—he, after all, had guns and essential supplies at his place—didn’t mean he wanted to advertise their movements.
“Beneath the planter on the back porch.”
“That’s original.”
“How was I supposed to know Grand Springs was suddenly going to be hosting a hit women convention? I thought of it as a quiet, friendly place.”
They crept around back, retrieved her key from beneath the planter and attempted once more to enter her home.
“Okay, stand back.”
“Tough guy,” Josie grumbled, but she did move behind his back. In spite of her spirited words, he could feel the nervousness radiating from her. She stood closer than necessary, her hands brushing his back. Her blue eyes were wary in her pale face.
Jack took a deep breath. He had only Stone’s spare gun, a Chief’s Special, and he wished for a nine-millimeter. Or maybe a sawed-off shotgun. God, he didn’t like doing this with Josie at his side. He wished he could’ve gotten her to stay put at Stone’s place.
He turned the key, heard the lock click. He slipped the key into his pocket and gripped the knob securely. “Stay at my back,” he whispered softly. “No sudden movements or unexpected noises. I’d hate to shoot you.”
“I would hate that, too.” Her voice had risen to an unnatural octave. Her fingers curled around the belt loops of his jeans.
He held the Chief’s Special in front of him, safety off, and opened the door.
The entryway was dark and shadowed, the living room opening up on his right. The blinds were slanted shut and the just-rising sun too weak to do anything about it. He waited fifteen seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then he scoured the room for any shapes or shadows that didn’t belong.
The entryway was clear, the living room, as well. In front of them, the hallway leading to the back bedrooms yawned darkly.
Josie snapped on a light, and he was so jumpy he almost leapt out of his skin.
“No sudden movements, remember!”
“I couldn’t see,” she hissed back. “And…and it was dark.”
He took a deep breath, trying to steady both of them. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so edgy, but maybe that’s because he was accustomed to lurking in dangerous places with Stone, who could fire a gun with the best of them. Now he had Josie, strong, stubborn Josie who deserved a helluva lot better than to be led skulking through her own home.
He placed his open palm against her belly and flattened her against the hallway wall. “Like this,” he instructed softly. “Follow me.”
He inched along the hallway, his gun held upright against his chest, his back against the wall, his shoulder brushing Josie’s. There was no sound in the house, no movement. He heard only his own heartbeat and Josie’s ragged breathing.
If the hit woman realized they had escaped, where would she try next? Here at Josie’s house, trying to get the most important person first, or at his place, which was the more logical home for them to go? Or maybe she was already after Stone and Jessica, realizing that getting to them would bring Jack to her.
The sweat beaded up on his brow and trickled painstakingly slow down his cheek. And the end of the hallway, the ceiling light hit its limits and the shadows grew deep. Closer, closer, closer.
Was that breathing he heard in the silence? Was that annoying tick-tock some distant wall clock, or the sound of someone else’s nervous heart beating too fast? Damn, damn, damn, he wanted Josie out of the way.
They drew up to the bedroom doorway. Jack no longer spoke. He straightened his arms, leading with his gun, and stepped into the doorway with a quick one hundred and eighty degree sweep. Left, center, right. Nothing moved, nothing stirred. The feather bed with its riotous bedspread sat alone and untouched. He stepped in quickly, checking behind the door, sweeping the bathroom. He drew back the shower curtain and in a moment of sheer lunacy, checked under the sink. The master bath was clear.
“Stay here,” he told Josie firmly. She stood in the middle of her bedroom, her long blond hair spilling around her shoulders, her delicate features unnaturally pale. In Jessica’s well-broken-in jeans and a long pink sweater, she looked too fragile and feminine for this kind of work. But her shoulders were set and her gaze was steady. His gaze went to her hands instinctively, for his mother’s nervous ring-twisting was always the first sign of a “spell” coming on. Josie’s hands were quiet, knit in front of her and held securely in place. His mother would be quivering with the strain by now. Marjorie probably would be yelling at him for putting her in such a position. Josie simply sized up the situation and helped him one hundred percent.
If something happened to her, he would be forced to violence, he was sure of it.
She let him go with a silent nod, her blue eyes strong and determined in the shadows. He stepped back into the silent hall, approaching the second bedroom with even more caution. They’d split up, the perfect time for an ambush. One quick dart and he would be out and Josie would be left unprotected.
He stepped grimly into the shadowed room, gun held out and finger already tight on the trigger. Come on, dammit. Show yourself and let’s get this over with. Come out and face me!
Nothing moved, nothing stirred. Josie’s house was empty.
He didn’t waste time on relief.
He stomped back to Josie’s bedroom. “All right,” he said briskly. “Grab a few supplies—whatever you feel you need. Then let’s get you into a hotel.”
Josie looked him straight in the eye. “No,” she said firmly. “I have a better idea.”
* * *
“What do you think? Does it simply scream ‘I’m on the run’ or what?” Josie held up a long black raincoat for inspection. She was humming merrily, quite pleased with herself. Jack was gnashing his teeth in her entryway.
“You are not doing this.”
“And sunglasses, of course. Oooh, and a hat. A big, floppy hat. I know I have one here somewhere.”
“You are going to a hotel where you will sit and wait.”
“And a scarf. How about a red scarf? That ought to catch ol’ Super Chick’s eye. I’d hate to get all dressed up and not have her notice.”
“Dammit, Josie—”
She shoved the raincoat, sunglasses and hat into his arms, already bustling down the hall in search of a scarf. She expected him to kick and scream for a bit. Jack Stryker seemed convinced that the rest of the world would never survive without him. But her idea was good, dammit, and she had no intention of sitting in some crummy hotel room, slowly losing her mind as she imagined Catwoman creeping up behind Jack and sticking some poisoned needle in his neck. No, they were in this together and she planned on doing her part. Jack said he wanted to set a trap. Well, no one knew more about traps than a con man’s daughter.
She retrieved the scarf and walked back to him. His gaze had gone almost black with simmering rage and frustration. She simply ignored his mood. He’d get over it. “All ri
ght, here’s the drill. We’re betting she’s watching your place because your place makes the most sense for us to seek out, right? I mean, two people on the run from a rabid hit woman need guns and supplies, not exactly the kinds of things an accountant keeps under her bed. So we scope out your place, waiting until dusk. I make a big production of ‘sneaking into’ your house while you keep watch. Evil Hit Woman, who’s conscientiously keeping watch, will notice and follow. You grab her.”
“What if she isn’t keeping watch?” Jack ground out, his hands fisted at his side. “What if she’s already in my house?”
“Hmm, good point. Okay, we’ll have to scope out your house first and see if it’s clear. I know, pretend you’re a neighbor calling to report a burglary of Jack Stryker’s house. The police will come and check out your house for you, without you ever having to reveal your identity or location.” She beamed proudly, pleased with her idea.
For a moment, even Jack looked impressed. Immediately, he wiped the expression from his face and returned to scowling. “Okay. I’ll do that. Now, you go to a hotel and sit tight.”
“Now, Jack, that’s no way to treat a modern woman. Particularly after everything we’ve been through.”
“Josie, I don’t want you in danger.”
“I know, Jack.” She looked at him steadily. “But that ship has sailed. I am in danger. We’ve got an assassin after us. Now, let’s stop arguing and work together to do something about it.”
“I will. You go to a hotel.”
“Jack Stryker.” She actually stomped her foot. “What kind of shallow, simpering female do you mistake me for? Do you think I could stand sitting in a hotel worrying about you any more than you could sit in a hotel worrying about me? Dammit, I’m your partner. Part of loving me means accepting that. Let’s face it. I don’t exactly sit quietly very well. It’s just not a strong suit of mine!”
“Well, I don’t exactly toss the people I love in danger very well. It’s just not a strong suit of mine!” he roared right back.
“Trust me to be tough!” she yelled.
“Trust me to take care of you!” he demanded.
“Dammit!” she cried, and stomped her foot again in frustration.
“Dammit,” he agreed darkly. “And now I’m going to kiss you!”
“I know!”
He kissed her hard and then she kissed him back just as fiercely. The air heated up ten degrees and almost singed off their hair. They were both crazy. His hands shoved her head back, his mouth ate her lips. She suckled on his lower lip greedily and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Just as harshly, he drew back.
“We’ll do it my way,” she stated without preamble, still breathing hard. She could hear her heart thundering in her chest. She felt slightly giddy, almost punch-drunk with adrenaline and fear and passion. In the shadows, she could see the intensity in his own gaze. Jack Stryker wasn’t such a cool, calm Boy Scout anymore. He looked torn between strangling her with his bare hands and making love to her on her entryway floor.
“Face it,” she said at last, “life with me will never be boring.” Her chest was still heaving.
He grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “damn, stubborn, idiot female” before he finally nodded his head curtly. No one ever said Stryker gave in gracefully. Abruptly, she grabbed his cheeks, lowering his head fiercely. She felt him tense, preparing for another onslaught, but she didn’t attack him. She kissed him lingeringly, slowly and with a great deal of meaning. And his body relaxed and his arms curled around her waist and he tucked her against him.
Long after the kiss ended, he remained standing next to her, cradling her body, resting his cheek against her golden hair. “Be careful, Josie,” he whispered at last. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll be careful,” she swore softly. “But it will be okay, Jack. After all, you’ll be there, watching my back. You’ll protect me. We’ll be all right.”
“Let’s move,” he said at last.
“Let’s move.”
* * *
From down the block, they watched two squad cars pull up to Jack’s house after he used a pay phone to report a probable break-in. The sun was up, the sky clear, as the officers got out of their squad cars and perused Jack’s half of the duplex he rented. They knocked on the door of the other apartment, but that owner was gone.
The officers circled the small house one more time. Jack watched them inspect the windows, then try the door. Everything seemed secure.
Eventually, the officers left.
Jack and Josie hunkered down for the afternoon in the back of Jessica’s car, taking turns staring at the house and rolling down the windows to combat the heat. Finally, dusk arrived. The street filled momentarily with cars as people returned home from their workdays. Small, four-door vehicles and family minivans pulled into modest-size homes and disgorged their bundles of children, dogs and sporting equipment.
Sounds of laughter and family conversation drifted down the street. From the third house on the right came the sound of a couple fighting over the newly arrived cell phone bill. Then the sun sank all the way down, the couple made up, and families sat down to dinner.
The street became silent and shadowed once more, sturdy walls insulating the families of the neighborhood until they all lived together and yet remained alone.
It was time. Josie got up gingerly from the back seat of Jessica’s car. She stretched out her legs, looked at Jack wordlessly one more time, then popped open the car door. She stepped out, squashing the floppy hat down onto her head.
Still nothing moved.
“Be careful!” Jack warned behind her one more time. She nodded, squared her shoulders and set out. She had Jack’s key in her pocket.
From the car, Jack watched her round her shoulders and duck her head, imitating a thief skulking back to her lair. He held the Chief’s Special on his lap, the safety off, his finger on the trigger. Sweat beaded down his cheek maddeningly slow, but he didn’t wipe it away.
His attention was focused one hundred percent on Josie’s approach of his house.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on. Show yourself.”
He raised his gun until the muzzle just rested on the top of the open window.
“Come on, dammit. I’m ready.”
Josie looked from side to side. Her fingers dug into the deep pockets of the raincoat. She hunched over the door, a shadowy figure in black. After a moment, he saw the door crack open. She slipped through the opening as if she had no substance.
He waited. The assassin would show herself now. He would be ready.
The door closed behind Josie and she disappeared from sight.
* * *
Inside the house, Josie stopped long enough to take a deep breath. Jack’s home smelled musty, and after a moment, her eyes adjusted enough to make out dark carpeting and dark furniture. It was not a cheery or comforting apartment. It was a space a cop rented so he would have a place to hang his gun at the end of a long day.
She kept her back to the wall, her ears alert for sounds of disturbance. The street seemed unnaturally silent. Her nerves stretched a little tighter.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Come on, Super Chick. We’re ready.”
Nothing moved outside. Nothing moved inside.
After a moment, Josie moved deeper into the stale room. She wove in and out of the furniture. She wondered if she should go through the motions of gathering supplies, then make a big production of sneaking back out. Maybe that would make the assassin show.
Straight Arrow Stryker, however, probably kept his guns locked in a gun cabinet with the ammunition locked in a separate container. He hadn’t given her keys for either, and she didn’t have the talent to pick serious locks. She wandered into the kitchen.
And then she saw the note, hanging from the refrigerator in big, block letters.
DETECTIVE STRYKER:
LET’S MAKE A DEAL. I HAVE YOUR PARENTS. YOUR MOTHER SENDS HER REGARDS. COME TO T
HEIR PLACE. BRING YOUR FRIEND. IF YOU FOLLOW THE RULES AND DON’T CALL THE COPS, PERHAPS I’LL LET YOUR PARENTS LIVE.
There was no signature, the note didn’t require one. Josie read it once, then twice, and then a third time before she could draw a breath. Dear God. Ben. Betty Stryker. Jack would go ballistic when he saw this.
And he would do exactly what the hit woman ordered, even though it would surely cost him his life. For his parents, he would do that. For Jack, love and honor and duty were too intertwined to ever be separated. He was everything her father hadn’t been and the results could be just as tragic.
Josie had had too much of tragedy.
It only took her a minute to make up her mind. She knew where Ben lived. She found a back window of the duplex, knowing Jack was watching the front, and crawled out into the night.
“Think Josie, think. What would your father do?”
* * *
Jack hunkered down lower in the car, his eyes still peeled on the front door of the duplex. Slowly his gaze moved up the street, then back down. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Seconds turned to minutes. A quarter of an hour passed. Was the assassin waiting for him to show himself and then she would move? What if the woman was somehow already in his house and now had Josie?
He made it five more minutes, then he couldn’t take the strain. He had to know what was going on inside his house. He had to make sure Josie was all right.
He stepped outside of the car, gun ready, and approached the duplex.
* * *
Betty Stryker whimpered low in her throat, her large, dilated eyes focused on the black-clad woman pacing in their living room. The woman slanted her a sharp, annoyed look.
“Shhh,” Ben said instantly, trying to soothe his wife the best he could with his hands tied around the back of a chair. “It will be all right, honey. Jack will come, it will be all right.”
Betty looked at him. He could see the sheen of sweat on her face and the panic rimming her eyes. Her heart was beating too fast and he saw the pulse at the base of her throat flutter like a butterfly.