by Rachel Lee
So she looked at Clint, reminding herself of his strength, his confidence, his experience. He was a pillar, and she had to cling to that or slip away into the dark, icy waters of fear.
“You can do it, Kay,” he said with the same calm confidence. “You figured out how to get away from him, and you ran with as much determination as I’ve ever seen. Despite a battered body, despite a concussion. You’ve got the right stuff.”
That, she supposed, was a compliment. It did settle her a bit, and she was grateful. One thing she knew with absolute certainty. “He’s not going to take me alive. Not again.”
Clint’s head jerked a little. “Have a little faith in me, woman.”
“I do.” In spite of herself, a small laugh escaped her. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, that’s okay, but it won’t come to that.”
Not as long as Clint was in one piece, maybe. But if Kevin came armed with a gun… A shudder shook her. “It’s going to be bad,” she whispered. “He must have a gun by now.”
“Probably.” It didn’t seem to concern him at all. “And that’s why you’re going to be under the bed. If I get…momentarily disabled, you be sure to go for his ankles as soon as he gets close enough. Break them. He won’t be expecting that.”
This time it was her hands that clenched, feeling the weight of the tire iron that she would be holding. “I can do that,” she said with conviction.
“Of course you can. And he’s going to find me harder to put out of action than his worst nightmare.”
His tone conveyed such certainty that she absolutely, completely believed him. He would know. He’d been there.
Something like calm passed through her and remained. With its arrival, fear seeped away. “Okay,” she agreed, sounding firm for the first time. “But, Clint?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let anything happen to yourself. We’ve got a few more rocket trips to take.”
He laughed then, a genuine laugh. “Bet on it, lady. Bet on it.”
Chapter 12
Night seeped into the house. Even with the lights on, Kay felt it. Night had always been a fearful time for her since Kevin, and she seemed as attuned to it as a mythical vampire. The thought almost amused her. If only she hadn’t felt the fear seeping in with it.
At ten, after hours of pretending to read, she heard Clint stir.
“Time,” he said. “I want you under the bed. Sorry the floor’s so hard.”
“I can take it.”
And under the bed, perhaps she would feel safe in the darkness. She headed at once for the bedroom, carrying the tire iron with her. It hadn’t been out of her reach all day.
Once there, she waited while Clint turned out lights one after another. Then he reached the bedroom and took her into his arms for one tight hug and a deep kiss. The kiss even managed to bypass her fear long enough to make her toes curl.
“Okay,” he said huskily. “Get under the bed. Do you want a pillow or something?”
“It might get in the way.” Still holding her weapon, she got down onto the floor and slipped beneath the bed. “Hey, Clint?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re compulsive.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Every self-respecting bed needs some dust bunnies. You don’t have any.”
The sound of his laugh cheered her. They were going to do this. Yes. Most definitely.
She had to believe that.
Then the bedroom light went out, too. She could tell he was still standing there for a moment; then he left the room on bare feet. Prowling. Much as she strained her ears, all she could hear was the crackle of the fire in the living room, and he’d even let that burn low.
She wiped her palms on the sweat suit and gripped the tire iron anew. Loosely, so her hands wouldn’t cramp. Then quietly, slowly, she eased out from under the bed. She still lay on the floor beside it, so he couldn’t see her as he walked by. But she knew one thing for certain—if Kevin got in here, Clint was not going to face him alone. She would never forgive herself.
Slowly her eyes adapted to the darkness. The little bit of orange glow that reached the room from the living room was enough. Just enough. If she had to go for Kevin’s ankles, she would be able to see them. And she wouldn’t miss.
She thought she heard Clint’s voice murmuring quietly. Phone?
The floor was hard, especially where she was bruised, but she ignored it. Something filled her, something like a fierce pleasure. This time Kevin wouldn’t catch her unawares. This time she was going to be ready. And if she had to use that tire iron, it was going to be a long time before he walked again.
And he deserved it. He was going to deserve everything he got when he came into this cabin. Because he had hurt her. Because he wanted to kill her. Because a man like that didn’t deserve to walk around free.
Oh, yes, the anger was building. Slowly and surely, she was getting mad enough to seriously hurt someone.
She saw Clint’s bare feet as he came into the room. “Clint?” she whispered.
“Yeah.” He kept his voice low.
“Do you have your armor on?”
“Yes. Just put it on.”
Something in his voice alerted her. “What happened?”
“I called Sarah.”
“And?”
“The cops are close. Very close. They’re tightening the noose right now.”
“Oh, God…”
“Shh.”
“Clint…”
“No more talking.” His whisper was firm. “Not a sound, hear me?”
So she didn’t make another sound. When she had to move, she did so as stealthily as she could, rising slowly to her feet, grasping the iron rod as she moved silently across the floor to stand just inside the bedroom door. If Kevin came this way, he was going to lose his face.
God, the waiting was endless. If the minutes crept by any slower, she would die of old age before dawn.
What was that?
She thought she’d heard a scratching from somewhere outside the room, but she was unable to tell any more than that. It could have come from anywhere. She held her breath and strained to hear, but the night was silent save for the distant crackling of the fire.
And then she thought she heard it again. Oh God. Her heart climbed into her throat. Dimly she saw Clint pad silently past the door, on his way toward his den—and the back door.
He’d heard something, too. Her heart nearly stopped. Once again she wiped her palms dry and gripped the tire iron. And once again she wished Clint had trusted her with a gun. What if he got hurt? What if she couldn’t hit Kevin hard enough?
Clint’s promises that nothing would stop him sounded weak now, even exaggerated.
But he would know, she reminded herself. He’d been wounded multiple times. If anyone could know what he was capable of, it was Clint.
She forced herself to quiet her breathing. To stand perfectly still. To wait, when waiting seemed impossible and every nerve in her felt stretched to the point of snapping.
Another sound, more like a snick. A lock? Her mind threw up images of Kevin slipping through the back door, invisible in the dark, bigger than Kevin had ever really been, some mythical, indestructible creature….
Stop! she screamed at herself silently and fought down the fear. Don’t let the fear use you. Use it.
Good advice. The best advice. Adrenaline began to thrum through her, winding her tight. She could do this. She would do this. Because never, ever again was Kevin going to come after her.
“Over my dead body,” she promised herself under her breath.
There it was, the faintest squeak of a hinge. The back door must be opening.
Why didn’t Clint act? She squeezed her eyes shut for an instant, remembering the layout of the house. Of course, Clint wanted Kevin all the way inside, at least as far as the den door, where she suspected he was waiting.
Then he could take Kevin from the side.
It seemed li
ke a brilliant plan. As long as Kevin didn’t get off a shot. Because the idea that Clint might get hurt scared her more now than fear for herself.
The anger was strong in her now, making her ready, clearing her head until every sound, every sight, every thought, was as clear as if it were etched in glass.
Another squeak. The hinge? The sole of a shoe on the wood floor? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that the threat had entered the sanctuary of this house.
She bit her lip, barely daring to breathe.
Then it happened, so fast that her impressions were impossible to sort through. A thud. A grunt.
She stepped out into the hallway, weapon at the ready, and could make out two struggling figures, the bigger one undoubtedly Clint. She stepped closer, determined to hit Kevin with all her might the instant she could do it without hitting Clint. That man was going to pay.
Then the most fearsome sound of all—a gunshot.
She pressed closer, looking for an opportunity, but they were struggling together, both so close….
More grunts. Another shot.
God in heaven! She gripped the tire iron as tightly as she could, then watched in horror as the larger figure began to sink toward the floor.
He’d hurt Clint. The thought filled her with fury. Just a little closer, she thought. A little closer, you bastard. A little closer.
“There you are,” said the all too familiar voice.
Panting hard now, she watched as he stepped over Clint. Oh God, Clint was dead.
Something in her snapped in that moment. She raced toward Kevin, screaming. Apparently her reaction startled him. He must have been expecting her to turn into the usual bundle of terrified passivity. But she didn’t care anymore, didn’t care about a damn thing except that was Kevin and he’d hurt Clint.
She swung the tire iron with all her might, wielding it with the power of all the terrified nights, all the anguish, all the pain, all the hatred she felt for him and what he had turned her into.
The iron bar connected with his forearm just as he was raising it, recovering enough to aim at her. She heard the satisfying crunch of bone, the yowl of pain, but, still maddened, she went after him again, this time catching him on his shoulder. She heard something heavy and metallic hit the floor, and then Kevin sagged, falling.
But just as she would have struck him again, Clint rose up behind Kevin and hurled himself at Kevin’s back, knocking him over completely, driving the breath out of him.
Kevin shrieked as Clint rose up again, straddling him, lifting his head and banging in on the floor.
Clint and Kevin. Struggling on the floor.
“Light,” Clint gasped. “Now!”
She ran a couple of steps down the hall and flipped the switch. And by the illumination of the overhead light, she could see that Clint was blood-soaked. His arm, the side of his face.
The fury that erupted in her went beyond anything she’d ever felt before. In an instant she became something more, or less, than human herself. She hardly felt the snarl that twisted her mouth. She had one aim and one aim only as she closed in on the men, waiting for her moment.
“Clint,” she said in warning.
He pulled back just a bit, getting out of the way as the tire iron came down on Kevin’s shoulder again. Hard. Kevin screamed. She raised the weapon again, ready to strike, but Clint’s warning stopped her.
“No,” he barked. “No. Stop.”
She stood there, ready to kill, but Clint grabbed Kevin again, this time wrestling him onto his face. Kevin shrieked as if his shoulder were broken, but Clint ignored the sound. He shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a plastic tie. Ruthlessly he wrapped it around Kevin’s wrists and locked it tight enough to evoke another howl.
Then, rearing back, he pulled out another tie and wrapped it around Kevin’s ankles. Kevin howled again.
“Kay?” Clint’s voice sounded a bit thin.
“What?”
“Call the cops now. The emergency number.”
“But you’re bleeding!” The true horror of that was beginning to penetrate, and rage began to give way to fear. A new kind of fear.
“Just call them!”
She dropped the tire iron and ran for the phone in the living room. 911 answered immediately, and she told them Clint was shot. A reassuring voice said, “They’re on their way.”
Message delivered, she went to unlock the front door. Then, numbly, she hurried back to the hallway. And Clint.
She didn’t care about anything else right then.
He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, knees up, staring at Kevin, who cried out every time he tried to struggle against his bonds.
Kevin saw Kay. “You bitch!” he spat. “You’re going to pay for this!”
“Say that one more time,” Clint growled, “and I will kill you with my bare hands right now.”
The tone was so steely, so hard, that it left no room for doubt. Apparently even Kevin heard the death sentence there, and with an inarticulate sound of rage, he fell still.
Clint looked at Kay. “My belt. Now.”
She knelt beside him swiftly, fought her way under the body armor and unbuckled his belt. Pulled it off.
“Wrap it around my arm above the wound and pull it as tight as you can. Now.”
Her hands had begun to shake, making the task more difficult, but she managed it, even managed to ignore his groan when she yanked the belt tight and held it. “They’re coming,” she said breathlessly. “Clint, hang on. They’re coming.”
“My God!”
Kay turned and saw a woman with beautiful black hair, like a raven’s wing, and wearing a deputy’s uniform, standing in the bedroom doorway. Behind her was Micah, and beside him a man with a scarred face who looked as if he’d visited hell but had returned.
The woman immediately came over to Kay. “Are you all right?”
“Clint,” Kay said. “Clint.”
Then the man with the scarred face and Micah were pulling her to her feet and easing her away, then kneeling beside Clint. And Clint was looking pale, sweat beading his brow.
“Damn fool,” Micah muttered as he yanked the belt even tighter.
“I’m okay,” Clint said.
“Brachial artery,” Micah said. “You could bleed out.”
“I’ll be fine, dammit!”
“Yeah, sure,” said the man with the scarred face. “Just as soon as the bleeding stops and we get you a transfusion, then get the bullet out.”
Kay sagged, and only the female deputy’s grip saved her from collapse. “Clint,” she said.
And somehow she managed to break loose and take two steps toward him. When she fell to the floor, she didn’t care. She crawled the last few feet and pressed her head against his leg. “Clint.”
A hand touched her hair. “I’ll be fine, darlin’. I’ll be fine.”
“You better be, or I’ll kill you.”
Somebody laughed. She didn’t know who, nor did she care. Because for some reason she seemed to be sinking into darkness.
She wasn’t out for long. She woke to find EMTs checking her out. “I’m fine. The injuries are old. Clint?”
“He’s being transported by air to the hospital,” the man said. “He was still kicking and complaining when we took him out.”
“Thank God.” Her voice shook, and tears began to run down her face. “I need to get to him.”
“I’ll take you,” the female deputy said. She squatted down beside Kay and smiled. “Hi, I’m Sarah Ironheart. You already met by brother-in-law, Micah.”
“Yes. He’s nice.”
Sarah smiled. “I’ll second that. And that scary guy over there?”
Kay turned her head and saw the man with the scarred face standing over the bed where EMTs were checking out Kevin.
“That’s our sheriff, Gage Dalton. He takes it personally when someone like Kevin hurts someone in this county. I think he’s already called the Feds in, too.”
&nb
sp; “I wanted to kill him,” Kay admitted, looking at Kevin and realizing he no longer seemed mythically powerful. In fact, he looked downright puny.
“I’m not surprised,” Sarah said. “There are a few of us who would gladly have done it for you after we heard what he’d done.”
“Clint wouldn’t let me.”
Micah turned and looked at her with ebony eyes. “Clint’s a wise man. You don’t want to live with that.”
He would know. She remembered him saying he’d killed his wife’s ex-husband to protect her.
Assured that Kevin was well-guarded now, Kay let her eyes close, let go of one terrible tension and gave in to a new one. “Clint,” she said again.
“Come on,” Sarah said. “Let’s see if you can stand. Then we’ll follow them to the hospital.”
The drive to the hospital seemed endless, though of course it wasn’t. Sarah understood her need for quiet, though, and didn’t try to converse.
Kay herself was wrapped in the memory of those nightmare minutes from when Kevin had entered the house to when she had crawled to Clint’s side. He had to be all right. He had to. Her fists clenched on her lap, and she willed the car to fly.
But even at the hospital, she couldn’t see him. He’d already been taken to surgery. Sarah waited with her, bringing her coffee.
“Clint’s tough,” the other woman said at one point. “He’ll make it, Kay.”
“He’s human,” she answered. Her eyes felt swollen with unshed tears, hot and burning. “He’s only human.”
Sarah squeezed her shoulder and let it lie. “We’ll need to talk to you in depth. Later. When you’re ready.”
Kay managed a jerky nod. At the moment she doubted she could manage a simple coherent sentence. All she wanted to know was that Clint was all right.
Dawn was just breaking through the windows in the waiting room when a young doctor finally approached. He looked tired, but not upset, and Kay felt the first ray of hope in hours.
“Clint’s fine,” he said before she could ask. Then he sat beside her and looked at her. “I’m going to treat you as next of kin, because that’s what he was demanding when they brought him in. He’s in recovery. The bullet nicked the brachial artery in his arm. The blood loss was bad enough, but probably not as bad as it looked, okay?”