Locked-Down Heart (Combat Hearts Book 3)

by Tarina Deaton

  “Gotta go. Gotta get the dogs out of the barn.”

  “Get yourself out, Denise.” His voice was strained and rose at the end, as if he was suppressing his desire to shout at her.

  “Yup. That, too.” She ended the call and jammed the phone into her back pocket. Wetting the bandana in the utility sink, she tied one around her hair and one around her face. Some goggles would have been nice, but all she had were shooting glasses and those wouldn't stop the smoke from reaching her eyes.

  She considered using the water hose to wet down the doors, but the color and thickness of the smoke made her think they’d doused the wood with some kind of fuel. Pouring water on it would only spread it faster.

  She needed to get the dogs closest to the fire out first. Opening the door to the first stall, she shoved the small pit bull mix away from the dog door leading to the enclosed outside pen. The frantic dog was trying to dig its way out through the concrete floor.

  Lifting the hasp, she slid the bolt back. The dog ran out into the pen when she threw the door wide. If she could—

  A crack rent the air, followed by a sharp bark and whimper.

  No. No. No. She took a step back and bent at the waist to look out the small door. The dog lay on its side, a dark spot growing on its hip.

  Motherfucker shot one of her dogs.

  “God damn it!”

  She stood and laced her hands on top of her head. Panic loomed, threatening to steal her breath and her resolve.

  Think, Reynolds. Think.

  Turning in a circle she looked for another way out. She had to get the dogs and herself out safely, but to do that she had to remove the threat outside. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back. Sprocket lay down on her feet and whined. Whether from the smoke or from the defeat that crept around the edges of her mind, tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

  She snapped them open and stared at the empty hayloft above her.

  Higher ground.

  Dogs first. She hurried to open all the stall doors. Some of the dogs burst out and milled around in the center of the barn while others cowered in the corners of their stalls. She didn’t have time to coax them out.

  A vertical wooden ladder led up to one of the haylofts that ran the length of both sides of the barn. If there was more than one person out there, they’d be set up on either side of the building, waiting for her try to escape. Maybe they thought the dog had been her. Maybe it was a warning. If it was only one shooter, they’d probably circle around, assuming she’d try the other side.

  She paused halfway up the ladder and glanced over her shoulder at the matching ladder across the aisle. Unless they thought she’d assume that and would try again on the same side, instead of crossing over.

  Sprocket barked at her from the base of the ladder.

  “You’re right.” She climbed the last few rungs. “They aren’t that smart.”

  Stepping onto the loft’s plywood platform, she moved directly to the closest of four large windows. Most of them had been replaced when they refurbished the barn and they’d opted for wooden doors instead of glass.

  Pulling her Glock from the low-profile holster, she lifted the window latch up, careful not to let the door swing open. Opening it enough to scan the area around the barn, she couldn’t see anyone near the end of the barn.

  Would they expect her to try the middle of the barn, away from the fires?

  She closed the window and latched it, moving to the second window. Easing it open, she crouched to the side to get a better view. Dark smoke filled the air and she could feel the heat at her back as the flames climbed higher.

  She was running out of time.

  Glancing at the other side of the building, she almost missed the guy in black with a rifle move from behind a tree at the edge of the field.

  She dropped to a knee and her supporting foot kept the door from swinging open. He ran across the field, making no effort to hide his movements. Either he wasn’t worried about getting caught or he was getting the hell out of dodge.

  Adjusting for elevation to hit center mass, she inhaled and paused, fighting the cough that threatened. She paused again at the bottom of her exhale and squeezed the trigger. A coughing fit overtook her, but she kept her gun aimed at the man she’d just shot.

  She counted ten very long seconds to see if he would move before dashing to the ladder. Holstering her weapon, she slid most of the way down, wincing as the splinters dug into her palm.

  Sprocket sat at the bottom of the ladder, howling.

  Denise ran to the tack room and grabbed a set of bolt cutters plus several leashes from hooks on a wall. Racing back to the center stall on the same side she’d fired from, she tried to herd as many dogs as possible into the stall.

  She threw open the dog door and several attempted to squeeze through at once. Palming her gun again, she shoved two out of the way and took her chances as she crawled through the opening, pulling the cutters and leashes with her. Staying on a knee, she raised her Glock and scanned the area.

  Nothing, and no one, moved. She holstered her gun, draped the leashes around her neck, and picked up the cutters. Duck walking to the back fence, she cut the horizontal retaining wires in the chain link. Dropping the cutters, she clipped two leashes to the bottom of the fence, threw the ends over the top bar and used it as a pulley to lift the bottom of the fence, creating an opening for the dogs.

  Once one dog realized there was a way out, they all spilled through, almost knocking her to her ass in the process. She tied off the leashes to make sure the fence remained open.

  She glanced toward where the body was and back at the barn. Damn it. She needed to make sure all the dogs were out. Taking a bracing breath, she crawled back into the barn. Three dogs had to be picked up and carried to the escape route stall and shoved through the door and she earned a few bites for her efforts.

  Crawling through after the last dog, she stayed on all fours, panting for breath. Sprocket licked her face and head-butted her shoulder, urging her to move. The faint wail of sirens reached her and she pushed to her feet. There was one more thing she needed to do before the cavalry arrived.

  She low crawled under the fence and pushed back to her feet, stumbling toward the body in the field.

  If he was still alive, he was going to wish he’d died from the gunshot.

  Because she still had to find her kids.

  Chapter 24

  The last of the police and the ambulance finally left with an admonishment that Denise shouldn’t refuse treatment. She’d sucked on the oxygen mask enough to help with the residual cough from the fire, but she needed to finish checking on the dogs and the guy she had trussed up in the storage room next to her office.

  Hopefully, he hadn’t bled out. She’d stuffed some cloth in the wound, but hadn’t had time for more extensive first aid before the fire trucks and police had shown up.

  Chris sat down next to her on the steps up to her old apartment. “I think you should go to the hospital.”

  And she needed to get rid of Chris.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “You’re not.”

  She turned her head. “You’re right, I’m not. But unless you’re going to tell me Kaden and Kimber are there waiting for me, going to the hospital isn’t going to make me better.”

  “Denise—”

  Fisting her hands, she closed her eyes and exhaled through her teeth. “Find. Them.”

  “We’re working on it. Our team is going through all the cameras around the school, tracking where he went after he took them. There’s a BOLO out for the vehicle and an Amber Alert for the kids.”

  She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I need to check on the dogs. I have to stay busy or I’m going to go crazy.”

  “Do you want help?”

  “No.” Her answer was short, even to her. She took a breath. “Please find them.”

  He pressed a kiss again her temple. “I’ll keep you updated.”

 
Nodding, she watched him go to his truck and lifted her hand in response to his wave, then followed his progress until he turned out of the drive.

  Too much time had been wasted dealing with the fire and answering questions from the police and the FBI. She doubled over, her forehead to her knees, when the sob tore through her. It was happening again. Only now was a thousand times worse. She’d promised them—promised Sarah—she’d keep them safe and that bastard had taken them.

  Were they scared? Was he hurting them? Not knowing was the worst kind of torture. She needed to find out where they were.

  Her rage was a palpable thing that she needed to get under control, but it seethed beneath her skin and flowed like lava through her veins. She could only hope she had enough control not to kill the guy before she could get the information she needed.

  Heading into the kennel, she was assailed by barks, howls, and whines from the dogs she’d moved in after rounding them up outside. The noise would help drown out any screams that might otherwise be heard by the firefighters still working on the barn. Sprocket met her at the entrance and followed her to the storage room.

  A twinge of doubt unfurled as she paused with her hand on the knob. She squatted down and buried her face in Sprocket’s nape. Should she have told Chris about the guy? Let him take this asshole for official questioning? She shook her head. No. He’d lawyer up and her chance to get answers would be gone.

  Despite the inferno burning inside her and the tears she couldn’t stop pouring down her face, she was calm. She knew exactly what needed to be done.

  Anything to save her kids.

  Giving Sprocket one last hug, she stood and opened the door. Using her foot to keep Sprocket out, she closed the door softly behind her. The guy was awake and glaring at her. She’d give him one chance. “Where are they? Please. They’re just little kids,” Denise implored.

  “Fuckin’ seriously? You think some weak-ass tears are gonna get me to talk? You ain’t never seein’ those brats again. Fuckin’ bitch.” He tried to pull off an air of superiority. He thought because she was a woman and was crying, he had nothing to worry about.

  She laughed and walked to the small workbench, bending to pull out an old metal tool box she kept there. “You made a lot of mistakes today, Jeffrey.” She glanced at him and saw him flinch when she used his name.

  “I pilfered your wallet while I was searching you for weapons.” She flipped open the rusty clasp locks and lifted the lid. Rummaging through the contents, she kept her tone conversational.

  “Of course, information is a kind of weapon. Cute kids, by the way.”

  A low growl emanated from him. She pocketed a screwdriver and a pair of pliers, then hefted a ball peen hammer in her hand before turning around.

  “Lucky for you, I don’t consider kids to be a weapon.” She pointed the hammer at him and cocked her head. “Unlike some people.

  “Your first mistake, Jeff, was taking my kids at all.” She walked behind him, trailing the fingers of her free hand up his arm and over his shoulder. “Then you set fire to my barn and shot one of my dogs.”

  She continued around behind him, keeping her touch light, almost like a caress. “But your biggest mistake was thinking my tears are a sign of weakness.” From behind, she dug her fingers into the wound she'd half-heartedly bandaged.

  He grunted and let out a low, teeth-clenched scream and his fists clenched and unclenched.

  “But you see, my tears are kind of like a release valve on a pressure cooker.” She leaned forward so her mouth was close to his ear. “The rage needs somewhere to go,” she whispered. “I have to let it out somehow because you have to tell me things. Things I need to know. Things you need to be alive to tell me and if I don’t let the rage out somehow, I’m going to bash your fucking skull in before you tell me where my kids are.” She kissed his cheek before pulling back. “So don’t ever think my tears are a sign of weakness.”

  Denise rounded the front of the chair, the hammer in her hand. “That was your only chance for me to ask nicely. Every time you refuse to tell me where they are, I will hurt you.”

  Please just tell me where they are. She didn’t want to be back in this place. Threatening and seducing answers from a detainee. If he would just tell her they could both—

  “Keep fucking crying, bitch,” Jeffrey said.

  The door on getting out of there easily slammed shut and a terrible calm descended through her. She inhaled, twirled the hammer in her hand, and swung it forcefully down onto his right wrist, eliciting a shrill scream.

  Denise slid the hammer into the back pocket of her jeans. She leaned down and grasped his wrists, squeezing his forearm and forcing the broken bones together. He responded with a sobbing grunt.

  “Weak. Fucking. Cunt,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Denise sighed and stood up. “Oh, Jeffrey. That mistake is going to be a painful one. I know how to keep you in an excruciating amount of pain. I was trained by the best. Or the worst, depending on how you want to look at it.”

  “You think my club is going to let you get away with this? Doesn’t matter if you get your brats back or not, you’re dead.” He turned his head to follow her as she circled around him again.

  Ignoring his threat, she rested her elbows on his shoulders. “That was your throttle hand. It’s going to be incredibly difficult to ride a motorcycle with a shattered wrist. It may never heal right.” She pressed down, putting pressure on the wound in his shoulder. “Tell me where my kids are.”

  “Fuck. You.”

  She gave him credit for holding out. He reeked of fear and sweat beaded on his forehead.

  “Do you know where the phrase, “so scared I shit my pants” comes from? No? See, it’s tied to the body’s fight-or-flight response. Your brain will start diverting all efforts to that response and will cause your body to shut down non-essential functions. Like pissing and shitting. You’ll get to that point eventually.” She released the pressure from his shoulders. “Everyone does.”

  Fucking with his head would get him to share the information as fast as the physical pain she was going to put him through. In most circumstances it was more effective than physical torture, but she didn’t have that kind of time to dedicate to getting what she needed.

  Swinging the hammer from behind, she brought it down on his other wrist. That time he cried out.

  “Every time you refuse to tell me where my kids are, I’m going to hurt you,” she said. “It may be something small. It may be something big. Either way, I’m going to keep you alive while maximizing the pain. Where are my kids?”

  “Suck my dick,” he managed to grit out.

  Sighing, she dropped the hammer and rounded the front of the chair, kneeling on the dick he’d told her to suck, pushing all her weight through her knee. “Gonna be kind of hard to do that when I rip it out by the root, Jeffrey. Bet my dogs would love it though. I wonder what it would be like to watch your own dick be chopped up into dog food. Of course, not being a guy, it’s hard for me to process that image.”

  She lifted the back of her shirt and pulled out her gun, pressing it against the top of his knee. “But first, do you know what a nine millimeter bullet will do to a kneecap at point blank range? Me neither, but I’m willing to find out in three…two…”

  “Alright! Alright! They’re at Eddie’s mom’s house in Fayetteville.”

  “Address.”

  He rattled off the address and she removed her knee and the gun. She patted him on the cheek. “Don’t go anywhere, Jeff. I’ll be back if you’re lying to me.”

  Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and sank to the floor. Sprocket was on her immediately, snout in her neck. Denise wrapped her arms around the dog and sobbed into her fur. Sprocket licked the side of her face and whined. Pulling away from the warm tongue, she wiped away her tears. Someone had to go get Kimber and Kaden.

  She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and dialed Chris’s number.

  He answe
red on the second ring. “Everything okay?”

  “They’re at Eddie’s mom’s house,” she said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I can’t answer that question.”

  Silence for several seconds. “Do you know the address?”

  She told him the address Jeffrey had given her and heard him speaking to someone else.

  “Alright. We’re checking it out. I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Denise.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you need help? With how you got that information?”

  This couldn’t touch him. There was no good way out of that scenario for either of them. He’d either be forced to arrest her or compromise his principles and put his job at risk.

  “No.”

  “You can trust me, Denise. Whatever it is.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed and dropped her head against the door. “I do trust you. It isn’t about that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s about you having a job to do and not being distracted. Get Kaden and Kimber and call me when you have them.”

  Disconnecting, she switched to the keypad and dialed Graham’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “I need help with something,” she said.

  “Fuck, Denise. I’m on it. We’re going through footage from around the school. We’ll find them.”

  “I already found out where they are.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “That’s what I need help with.”

  “Does Nolton know?”

  She scratched Sprocket’s ear. “I told him where the kids are, not how I knew.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The rescue.”

  “Give me thirty.”

  “Park in the back. The fire department is still here.”

  The only thing keeping her mind off Kaden and Kimber was caring for the dogs, which led to thoughts of how much they had lost, and how much it was going to cost to rebuild. Moving around prevented her from shaking with fury. Poor Sprocket finally lay down in front of the storage room door and watched her walk back and forth.