“Come on, kid. We’re going for a ride.” Ryan reached over and pressed a quick kiss to Elizabeth’s cheek, turned on his booted heel and walked away.
Sarah stared mutinously at her older brother who stood surrounded by strangers in their dead mother’s kitchen. She must have read purpose in Nat’s stance and the stubborn thrust of his chin because she sighed, shook her head and gave in. She walked over to where Elizabeth stood and gave her a quick hug. The move was so natural, so eloquent, and so unexpected that Elizabeth didn’t have time to react before Sarah threw her arms around her brother’s neck and kissed him too.
“Be careful,” Sarah warned with a tight smile before following Ryan down the hall.
Elizabeth watched her go, hating herself for being the cause of such disruption to innocent lives. She noticed the silence and looked around. Nat, Cal, Marsh and the Sheriff were all watching her.
Alarm crawled up her spine and spilled into her mouth like bile. She tried to smile. The poor little orphan had finally found a place to call home and it seemed she was staying—whether she liked it or not.
Unease nudged her conscience as she thought about the assassin she’d hired. He was her back-up plan, her failsafe incase DeLattio or the mob got to her first. Her contract had been simple. When DeLattio was free, kill him. She just hoped the assassin got to DeLattio before DeLattio got to the ranch.
****
Stone Creek, Montana, April 16th
“What the fuck are we doing here?” Charlie rubbed chubby fingers across his balding scalp.
DeLattio hunched down in the seat next beside him, a leather ball-cap wedged tightly on his head. The waistband of his jeans dug into his gut and the leather jacket was stiff with newness. Charlie was dressed in a snappy gray suit and wouldn’t even take off his jacket. He looked like a gangster. Even driving a Dodge Caravan around Montana, he looked like a freaking gangster.
So much for incognito.
Charlie wasn’t happy. He thought they’d be heading straight to the Cayman Isles. The older man figured Andrew should forget about Juliette Morgan—or rather, Elizabeth Ward—but Charlie figured wrong. Rubbing his hands along the length of his thighs, Andrew sucked a breath through his teeth.
Elizabeth Ward. The name dripped off his tongue like acid. Elizabeth Ward was a nice name for a dead bitch.
A willowy blonde struggled with the gas nozzle as she tried to fill a rental car. She was hot and Andrew toyed with going over to help—his dick twitching as she bent over to pick up the gas cap. But someone might recognize him and gas stations always had hidden cameras.
Andrew flinched as Charlie’s cell phone rang and all thoughts of the blonde evaporated as Charlie stuck the phone to his ear.
Charlie pulled out a pen and scrawled across the top of a newspaper that was spread awkwardly over the steering wheel. He thrust the paper at Andrew, started the engine then paused as he too noticed the blonde. “Well look at that.”
“What?” Andrew asked. A fat smile curled Charlie’s lips—the first for some time. Andrew sat up, gripped the edge of the dash. “What?”
“Remember I told you some broad pretended to be Juliette Morgan when she first disappeared? That we whacked her old man, but missed her?”
“Yeah.” Andrew remembered, but still didn’t get it.
Charlie nodded toward the blonde as she headed into the filling station to pay for her gas. “That’s her. That’s the broad.”
****
Elizabeth avoided Nat’s eyes and tucked her Glock into the back of her waistband. Mexican carry. With her luck she’d probably shoot herself in the ass. The Kevlar vest she wore under her sweatshirt meant she couldn’t use her shoulder holster. Dancer had loaned her another SIG, which she wore as a sidearm.
This wasn’t what she’d planned.
Her breath funneled out as she realized the bastard might not even show up. How pathetic was that? But her instinct told her otherwise, DeLattio wasn’t known for his patience.
The light had started to fade. Storm clouds blocked out the last of the rays of the sun. The kitchen clock ticked noisily against the silence that stretched thin between her and Nat.
He watched her, but said nothing.
Adrenaline hummed through her bloodstream, made her edgy and her hands shake. She rested her palms on the edge of the sink, forced herself to calm down and took two deep breaths. The phone rang and her heart damned near stopped.
She checked the number on her cell, relaxed a little as she answered. “Josie?”
“Did you miss me?” His voice was pure malevolence, noxious and deadly, diseased with evil.
Dread immobilized her spine as nausea robbed her of speech. DeLattio’s face splashed through her mind as clear and sharp as a photograph. She sagged against the countertop, watched Nat rise and come towards her.
He touched her arm, a tentative squeeze of support and she drew on his strength, fighting to find her voice and smother the panic that welled up like blood in a wound.
“Where’s Josie?”
“You never told me you had such pretty friends. Tut. Tut.” The bastard’s laugh mocked her—just like it had all those months ago. “And a blonde too. I thought I liked redheads best, but maybe not. But then you’re not a natural redhead are you...Elizabeth?”
She couldn’t move. Her lips cracked open and words spilled out. “You don’t want her. You want me.”
Nat’s grip tightened on her arm, but she ignored him. DeLattio snickered and she didn’t know if she could hold it together.
“You’re wrong.” For a moment she heard nothing but the rough draw of his breath. “I do want her.”
He was touching Josephine. She knew it—could almost feel the slide of his hand—and knew that one wrong word, one misstep and Josephine was dead. Elizabeth gritted her teeth together to stop herself from begging, because begging didn’t work.
“But I want you more.”
Strong arms wrapped around her as if to hold her up. When had her legs stopped working?
“We’ll do a swap. I’m on my way to you right now,” DeLattio said. “Two minutes. If I see anybody else, I’ll kill the blonde.” He hung up, silence echoing his words.
Reeling, she looked up at Nat. His face was grim, distorted.
“He’s got my friend Josie.” Her voice was fragile. She had no time to waste, no time to plan. “He’s here, he wants to swap her for me.”
How had he gotten Josie? How long had he had her? Blood tasted sickly in her mouth. She choked it down and cursed the day she’d met Andrew DeLattio.
Palms damp, heart racing, she dialed Marsh, gave him the update, and told him to keep out of sight. She rang off before he could reply.
Nat lifted his rifle down from the rack and stuffed a box of ammunition in his back pocket before he cycled the bolt. He looked up and met her gaze.
Headlights swept down the hill behind the house, lit up the dim interior of the kitchen as the car swung into the yard. Elizabeth stared at the door stunned. He was here. Andrew DeLattio was right here outside that door. Lightheaded, she swallowed, touched her hand to the hard jut of her gun that pressed against her spine. She flicked a glance at Nat.
“I have to go,” she said.
“No. No!” Taking a step closer, he grabbed her arm. “I won’t let you.”
“I have to!” Her emotions overflowed and she pushed away. She had to save Josie.
Holding her head in her hands for one brief second, she forced herself to stand straighter and look him in the eye. “I got her into this mess.”
Tension crackled towards breaking point.
“You’re not God, Eliza.” Nat’s hand dropped away, his blue eyes bleak and desolate, burnt out, only grim determination remaining. “You’re not responsible for the whole goddamned world.”
The car idled in the yard. She could hear the engine thrum quietly like a drum march to her death. Headlights poured into the main house, dazzling them even as they stood in the shadows looking at one
another. Maybe for the last time.
Nat’s expression turned mean, the planes of his face rigid with bitterness. “Eliza—”
“No.” She cupped his cheek with her palm. Pressed a quick kiss to his unrelenting lips. She didn’t want it to end this way. “But I am responsible for this.”
She turned away and braced herself for goodbye. She couldn’t endure a lingering farewell—she’d already proven she wasn’t strong enough to let him go. Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded towards the rifle. “Just how good are you with that thing, really?”
“Freakin’ deadeye.” He stood for a moment, eyes gleaming in the darkness. He didn’t say another word, no touch, no pleading; just slid deeper into the shadows.
“I love you.” She mouthed the words softly, knowing he couldn’t hear her, but wanting to say them out loud just once.
She gave him a few heartbeats to get into position and then cracked the door open an inch. The air smelled like a storm, rain drumming down, electricity crackling through the twilight like a living thing.
The car idled, steam pouring off its hood. Elizabeth opened the kitchen door wide and stood exposed in the beams of the headlights. He might shoot her now, but she was betting on a more hands-on ending to his little game.
The car’s passenger door was pushed open and DeLattio thrust Josie out ahead of him, using her as a human shield. The car protected his back. He knotted a hand in Josie’s hair and dragged her back against him.
Judging from his bulky frame, the sly son of a bitch wore body-armor. They’d need a head shot to take him out.
But DeLattio wasn’t going anywhere, she reminded herself. He had at least four guns trained on him and he wasn’t going to win this last battle. She’d live or die, but she wouldn’t die in vain.
Elizabeth’s flesh crawled as she looked at him. His handsome face was swarthy and harsh, his wet hair plastered black against his skull. Her personal demon. A laugh bubbled up inside, putting a hysterical smile on her face. He’d always looked like the devil to her.
DeLattio stuck a pistol under Josie’s chin and Eliza’s stomach slammed into her mouth. Josie’s head was forced back, her eyes rolling to reveal a mixture of horror and defiance. Josie threw Eliza an apologetic smile—as if it were her fault they were in this mess. Elizabeth tried to smile back, but it was just a jumbled quiver of lips.
“We meet again,” DeLattio shouted over the rain.
Elizabeth blocked out her fears, blocked out his arrogance and worked on autopilot. She stood with her hands loose at her sides, ready to move. “Let her go.”
DeLattio shook his head and smiled. “I don’t think so. You come out here first, Elizabeth.”
Nausea curled in her stomach, hot and greasy. Hearing him say her name was like giving control of her soul to the dark-side. Shivering, she ignored the tiny pellets of rain that stung her skin as she moved out into the open. Drenched within seconds, she was glad of the excuse to shiver. Water streamed down her face and weighed down her clothes like lead.
Josie staggered and cried out. DeLattio jerked her back against him with a tight fistful of hair.
Striding forward, Eliza forced control over a fear-drenched body. Holding Josie’s gaze she flickered her eyes to the ground on Josie’s right and tried to plant the thought inside her head.
“Let her go,” she said again. “She’s done nothing to you.”
“But you have, bitch. You set me up.” Andrew hoisted Josie closer and she whimpered. “Throw down the gun.” He nodded towards Elizabeth’s sidearm.
Elizabeth shook her head, but he tightened his hold on Josie’s hair and she cried out in pain. The sound cut through Eliza. Why had she ever allowed Josie to become involved in her mess? Elizabeth unsnapped the holster, withdrew the weapon and placed it on the ground.
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat, prayed he didn’t insist on a search before she got close to him.
“Did you miss me, Elizabeth?” DeLattio taunted. “Do you think of that night when I fucked your stupid mouth? When you begged me for more?”
She’d begged him to stop.
Her eyes betrayed her thoughts and his smile reflected her revulsion.
Elizabeth blocked out his face and his words and thought instead of Nat. She needed to give Nat a good shot so he could blow this bastard away. She forced herself past the hood of the car, circling DeLattio to give Nat a clearer target. She didn’t want to die, but it looked like she might have to. DeLattio turned slightly to watch her.
That’s it, you bastard. Just give him a shot.
Andrew didn’t want her dead. Not yet. Not until he’d had his revenge and a repeat performance. It was weird, but it didn’t scare her anymore. She just wanted it to end. And she wanted him dead. Elizabeth inched closer, only an arm’s length away. She could feel the fury vibrating from him so powerfully she could smell it. Paralyzed, her eyes fastened on his.
The bastard shoved Josie hard, kicked her as she went flying down into the mud and then he lunged for Elizabeth. He caught her by the throat with one hand and squeezed. Desperate, she scrabbled behind her back for her gun, her chest burning as her strength faded. But she couldn’t reach it. One more try, Elizabeth. Don’t let the son of a bitch beat you now.
He grabbed her arm, wrenched it way up between her shoulder blades and ground his hips against hers like a lover. Panic assaulted her, every fiber going rigid with fear. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t suck in a single drop of air. Her fingers were numb and nerveless, her vision began to gray. His grip on the throat eased, allowing the smallest breath. The burning in her throat improved slightly, her arm was painful but no longer straining against its socket. The hand around her throat did a sensuous, stomach curling glide against fragile skin. DeLattio released her wrist and slid the cold muzzle of a Beretta flush against her temple. He smiled. Perfect lips, perfect teeth. No soul.
Elizabeth’s gaze flickered awkwardly to where her friend lay twisted in the mud. “Go to the house, Josie.”
DeLattio glanced over as Josie struggled to her feet.
“Run,” Elizabeth urged. The man in front of her would kill just for the hell of it and the pale glimmer in his eyes told Elizabeth he was already thinking about it.
Josie scrambled towards the house—right into Nat’s line of fire.
Shit.
DeLattio’s eyes turned black with malice and he adjusted his grip on his gun. Elizabeth spat in his face, flinched as raw fury scoured her. He raised his gun into the air for a fraction of a second and she knew he was going to kill her. No reprieve, no repeat performance, no dance.
She grabbed his arm, held the gun upwards and kneed him in the groin so hard she lifted him up off the ground. She wasn’t drugged now, the son of a bitch.
A bullet ripped out, shattered the windshield beside her.
She yanked the Beretta out of DeLattio’s fingers and flung it hard beyond the fence. Still holding his hand, she twisted his fingers in a parody of affection, and kicked him in the kidneys. Hatred filled her as she watched him go down, rolling in agony. Using her boot she flipped him over, straddled him, her knees sinking into the cold wet mud, her hand wrapped tight around his windpipe.
Elizabeth had no trouble retrieving her gun this time. She pulled it free, stuck it in his mouth and DeLattio flinched as the metal struck his teeth. Revenge had never felt so glorious or redemption so far away.
Her lips curled into a smile that stretched her skin tight. “What do you think, Andrew? How do you like it?”
Blood drained from his face and his pale eyes went wide with the knowledge that he was about to die. Why shouldn’t she kill him?
A blur of movement at the edge of her vision caught her attention. Marsh stood watching her.
“It’s not worth it, Elizabeth.”
“Isn’t it?” She never took her eyes off her prey. She could taste his death in her mouth and wanted it so badly it hurt. She just had to squeeze...she just had to squeeze...she just had to squeeze
the goddamned trigger!
Puzzled, she studied her finger.
She couldn’t do it...why the hell couldn’t she do it?
Slowly, reluctantly, she drew the gun back an inch. Her hands shook as she tightened her grip.
She saw the exact moment, the exact moment DeLattio realized she couldn’t kill him. A feral light entered his eyes and he sneered, cruel lips drawn up against pearl white teeth. “Whore.”
She fired a shot, blasted the dirt next to his head. The noise was deafening, but she fired another round at the other side of his skull and hoped his eardrums met in the centre and detonated.
Rolling off him, her ears ringing with a high-pitched screech, she staggered away, stumbling and tripping when her feet didn’t work. Marsh could deal with the bastard, she never wanted to see him again.
She kept moving, breathing shallow pants that grounded her. And an emotion, suspiciously like forgiveness, swelled in her chest. Not for him—but for herself. Nat was ahead of her—illuminated in the headlights, rushing out of the house with his rifle in hand—everything good and right with her world. He smiled, those gorgeous eyes crinkling with relief, before going wide in alarm as his gaze slid beyond her. His face shouted a warning, but no sound penetrated her world.
She turned as if in slow motion, her heart beating so loud in her ears she could hear the precise moment it stumbled. She toppled back from the impact, rising up into the air before plummeting back down into the dirt.
Why hadn’t she searched him for a backup weapon? A basic mistake, one drilled into her at the academy. Stupid, stupid mistake.
Her thoughts dulled, slowed like ice.
DeLattio grinned, mud streaking his face as he lay on the ground. He aimed the gun beyond her to Nat and she screamed, her heart pounding with almighty fury as she tried to raise her weapon.
DeLattio’s face was taken off by a high velocity bullet that shattered his skull on impact.
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