by Joan Swan
And that, he knew, was the way it should be. The only way it could be.
Just as he reached down and offered Hannah a hand getting to her feet, headlights swept over the truck’s rear entrance, darting beneath the partially open door like knives.
Teague shoved the supply bags to one side of the truck and turned to watch. Waited for them to either go off or retreat. But they remained on and focused on the truck.
Apprehension crept under Teague’s skin. He shifted toward Hannah, put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. Outside, a car door closed. Footsteps neared the lift gate.
His heart kicked into high gear. He pressed his mouth to Hannah’s silky-soft, floral-scented hair and murmured, “Do the smart thing here.”
SEVEN
Acid swirled in Teague’s stomach. This was it. Faced with the very confrontation he’d planned to avoid at all costs. And the question remained, did he have what it took to use the Glock if push came to shove?
“Follow my lead.” He took a breath and forced out the remaining words. “Or I’ll shoot him.”
Several raps on the metal door made Hannah jump. Teague tightened his arm around her.
“Hello?” a voice called. “Police. Anybody in there?”
“Yes, sir.” Teague lifted the rear door, then shaded his eyes against the headlights. The cop was young, early twenties with a face so clean-cut fresh he’d have been on the dessert menu in prison. No partner sat in the passenger’s seat of the unit, no additional unit hovered as backup. “Evening, officer.”
The cop’s hand hovered over the butt of his weapon. “Can I see your hands, please?”
Teague removed his arm from Hannah and held his hands out, palms up. Hannah lifted hers as well.
“Okay,” he said, hand easing away from his gun. “Just leave them where I can see them, please.”
“Yes, sir.” Teague relaxed his arms, but turned his hands so the clovers on his knuckles wouldn’t show.
“What are you two doing here tonight?”
“We’re moving this weekend.” Teague softened his voice into an eager-to-please tone. “Just stocking up on some supplies. Am I parked in a bad spot or something?”
“No.” The cop’s serious eyes assessed Hannah, who had her head turned to avoid the light, which, luckily, also hid the healing bruises on her other cheek. “We had a report of a possible abuse situation. I’m just checking the area. Are you all right, ma’am?”
Hannah lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the light and hesitated long enough to push bile up Teague’s throat. Finally, she said, “I’d be better if those lights were out of my face.”
Someday, he’d look back on this moment and laugh. Although this wasn’t the best time for her to show it, he had to admit, he liked this girl’s spunk.
“I’m sorry, officer.” He offered a contrite smile. “She’s a little ... stressed ... with the move.”
The young man shared Teague’s grin. “My wife and I almost divorced when we moved here so I could take this job. Where are you headed?”
“Keizer, Oregon.” Teague said the first thing that came to mind—his cellmate’s hometown. “Just south of Portland.”
“Pretty country.” The officer took another look at Hannah, then stepped to the side, allowing them to exit. “You two have a good night. Good luck with your move. I’ll wait until you’re safely on your way.”
Teague climbed from the truck and turned to help Hannah down, pulling her close to keep pressure off her injury.
“You can go to sleep now, honey,” he crooned as he walked her to the passenger’s door. “I know you’re tired.” He helped her into the cab and whispered, “Good job, Hannah. Don’t make any mistakes now, and he’ll go home to his wife.”
“Shut up.” The angry words scraped out of her throat. “I hate your manipulation. I hate what you stand for. I hate you.”
Her opinion shouldn’t sting, but it did. “You hate what you see. You don’t know anything about me.”
She laid her head on the seat and turned away, a clear gesture of disgust. Teague shut the door and waved to the officer before rounding the hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. When he reached over Hannah and cuffed her hand to the door, she turned her head the opposite way and pushed back into the seat as if she couldn’t get far enough away from him.
Better, he decided.
Teague kept his eyes on the cop in the side-view mirror as he dug beneath the dash and restarted the truck, connecting the wires by feel alone.
Hannah didn’t say a word as Teague slowed in the lousy neighborhood where he’d dropped Taz and slid up next to the curb where the man paced the gutter. No girls stood beside him. In fact there was no one on the street at all. Teague set the parking brake and slid into the center seat, leaving the driver’s spot open for Taz.
Taz hefted himself into the front, revved the engine and took off down the street. He smelled of sweat, sex, booze and something else, something dark and disgusting Teague couldn’t place.
“What the hell took you so long?” Taz asked. “I banged them both twice and still had time to spare. I was about to make that phone call.”
Right. “With what?”
Taz pulled a cell from his back pocket and tossed it in the air. Teague automatically caught it. Small and light, the thing barely registered as a weight in his hand. What did register was the dark, sticky liquid that smeared onto Teague’s hands.
“What the fuck ... ?”
“Sorry.” Taz laughed, low and superior. “She really wanted to hold on to it. Had to beat her unconscious before she let go.”
Teague vaguely registered Hannah’s dismay. He dropped the phone on the floorboard and wiped the blood on his jeans.
“Sonofabitch,” Teague muttered, stomach roiling. “Stop somewhere, man. I need to wash my hands.”
“How about a motel? My homies are going to meet me in Chowchilla tomorrow morning. Then you and I part ways.” Taz let out an extravagant yawn. “I’m tired. Those jigaboos can fuck, man. Those fat lips are the best for blow. They can fucking suck white off rice—”
“Enough,” Teague barked, thoroughly disgusted—with Taz for being who he was, with himself for not making the phone call he should have made to the cops. “We’ll find a motel for the night.”
“Wouldn’t be in such a bad mood if you got yourself some real pussy. That rice-picker ain’t got no meat on her bones and all she uses her big mouth for is spewing shit.”
“There.” Teague pointed to a building not much bigger than a shack, with a neon motel sign. At this point he’d sleep in a hole in the ground just to get away from the bastard. “Stop there.”
Taz pulled in and parked the truck in the back of the lot along a border of trees with an empty field beyond. Teague got out the driver’s side after Taz and rounded the truck to help Hannah down. Just as he released the cuff from the door handle, Taz jerked her arm from Teague’s grasp.
“Get two rooms,” Taz said. “I’m gonna teach her some respect. We’ll need privacy.”
“You’re a disgusting excuse for a human being,” Hannah spat, jerking against Taz’s grip. “I’ll kill you before you touch me.”
Taz’s face twisted in fury. His hand rose, fingers curled into a fist. Before he made contact, Teague knocked Taz’s hand down and shoved the animal away from Hannah. “You know the rules. She’s mine. Period.”
Taz pulled something from his pocket. A familiar shhhhh-click sounded loud in the darkness. An icy mix of dread and fear perked beneath Teague’s breastbone as he stared at the long, serrated blade reflecting in the single light illuminating the parking lot.
Fucking A. Would this night ever end? “And where the hell did you get that?”
“Amazing what whores carry around nowadays. As for the rules—fuck your rules. She’s been nothing but a mouthy cunt and it’s time for some payback.”
“You’re drunk. Don’t do something you’ll regret tomorrow. Go get two rooms, Taz, but she�
��ll be staying in mine.”
“New rules.” Taz stood his ground, twisting the knife in his hand. “Play by them or get your ass out of the sandbox.”
“You’ll have to go through me to get to her.” Teague’s chest rocked with quickening shallow breaths. His skin burned. Sweat trickled down the indentation of his spine. “Without me, you’re SOL.”
“Guess I’ll be taking my chances, because that bitch is going to pay.”
Taz lunged at Hannah and jabbed. Teague dodged, caught Taz’s wrist and twisted. A sense of déjà vu lightened his head. Only this time, he’d make sure Hannah didn’t get hurt for her unsuspecting role in Teague’s plan.
He poured all his energy into the heat sparking through his body like electricity. Taz screamed just as the scent of burnt flesh wafted past Teague’s nose.
“Aaaaahhh! Let go, you fucking freak.” Taz went straight for the dirty fight and dug his teeth into the fleshy palm of Teague’s hand.
“Fucker.” Teague pounded Taz’s temple with his free palm, ending the bite.
All Teague’s pent-up hostility exploded, and he directed every flash of frustration right back into Taz. They kicked and twisted. Their heads knocked together. If it weren’t for the damn knife, Teague would have had the asshole pinned in seconds.
Taz elbowed Teague’s ribs. Teague tightened his grip on Taz’s wrist and jerked on his arm, dislodging Taz’s elbow and pounding the other man in the chest. Taz grunted, the sound an eerie guttural wheeze.
“Come on, asshole.” Teague panted through the words. “Give. ”
Taz’s body went rigid a second before he lost all strength. The brunt of his weight fell on Teague, and he staggered.
A sick sensation slithered into Teague’s gut. He pulled back and found Taz’s eyes glassy. Blood streamed from one side of his mouth. In a flash of panic, Teague let go. The other man slumped to the ground and rolled onto his back. Teague’s eyes landed on the knife sticking out of Taz’s chest, the blade buried. Taz coughed. His body jerked. Blood bubbled in his throat and erupted out his mouth.
Teague’s own stomach heaved in response. Fiery terror burned through his chest.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, Chriiiiiiiiiiiist, no!” He dropped to his knees, slid a hand behind Taz’s neck. “Taz, you dumbass. Taz. Shit. Taz!”
Taz’s eyes rolled back in his head. Air wheezed in and out of his lungs in wet, bubbling, labored breaths. He went still. Then limp.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Teague shook Taz’s shoulders. “Taz!”
Teague pushed his fingers against Taz’s throat, hoping for a pulse. If he was still alive, Teague could call for help, then run. But no blood beat beneath Teague’s fingers. He repositioned, searching for the faintest beat. But, again, nothing.
He dropped Taz’s head, curling and flexing his fingers as a mental argument flitted around beneath his skull.
You can’t save him now, you idiot.
But I have to try.
You can’t even heal a freaking cut.
But I have to try.
With a quick jerk, Teague pulled the knife from Taz’s chest and tossed it aside. The residual gurgle made Teague’s stomach flip and fold. With his hands layered on top of each other, he rose up on his knees and used a CPR position to compress the wound. He ignored the warmth of the blood, the softness of Taz’s belly, and leaned into the pressure.
Teague’s entire body staged an uncharacteristic revolt. His stomach rose to his throat. He gagged, and heaved, but managed to keep himself from puking. How many times had he been in this position in his career? How much blood and dismemberment had he seen in his life? Never once had he gone queasy. Yet never once had he been the cause of the injury.
With closed eyes, Teague focused and forced a rush of energy straight from his chest down his arms. He envisioned Taz’s heart kicking to life. Willed him to live.
He had no sense of time, no idea how long he tried to infuse life back into the limp body. Exhaustion was the decider. By the time Teague fell back on his heels in defeat, he was drenched in sweat, his arms shaking, his breathing labored, his stomach swirling like a wild river eddy.
His legs brought him upright, and he staggered backwards until his ass hit the hood of the truck. He’d killed Taz. He’d killed a man. Horrifying reality ambushed him. He looked around, scouring the parking lot for witnesses. The area was empty.
His mind turned to Hannah. Shit. Hannah. Good God. Hannah.
Breathing hard, he wiped the thick, quickly-cooling blood off his hands and onto his jeans. Teague peered toward the passenger’s side of the truck. Empty. His stomach bottomed out. He pushed himself into a sprint toward the other side of the truck. He pivoted around the open door. Empty.
“Hannah.” It was absurd to call to her, but her name burst from his throat anyway. He jogged to the back. Threw open the door. Empty.
Gone. Hannah was gone.
He turned in an arc, his eyes darting through the night, searching the darkness. The office, the parking lot, the tree line on the opposite side of the property. Movement. A shadow. Someone darting into the eucalyptus grove.
Relief, fury and fear mixed with adrenaline, pushing a bellow deep from his gut.
“Hannah!”
With one arm pressed to her injured side, Alyssa sprinted across the parking lot and into the opposite bank of trees. Creek might have called her name, but she couldn’t hear much over the beat of blood in her ears, the raspy pant of her own breath.
She’d only been running for a few minutes, but her lungs burned and her side ripped. She stopped and rested against a smooth tree trunk, peering into the distance but finding nothing but shadows.
What now? Her brain wasn’t working. Couldn’t ever remember being so panicked. So damned scared.
Get yourself together, Alyssa.
Alyssa took one long, steady inhalation to quell her nerves. The pungent scent of eucalyptus cleared her head and invigorated her system. She couldn’t say she’d been through worse, but she could get through this. She didn’t have a choice, did she?
Careful to keep her hands out in front of her, she dodged trees as she made her way ... somewhere.
Just keep going. Just keep going.
An arm wrapped around her waist from behind.
“No!” She pried at his fingers, elbowed at his arm. Her wound tore and burned and stabbed. “Let me go. Let me go!”
Her mind flashed with violent images. Knives, fists, teeth, blood. She twisted out of his grip and ran. Harder. Faster.
Creek came after her again. Caught her again. This time his momentum took them airborne. When they hit the ground, the blunt force ripped through her from shoulders to knees. Pain swallowed her whole. She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, unable to draw air. When her lungs kicked in, the expansion of her chest stabbed pain through her torso.
“Goddammit, Hannah.” Creek knelt over her, his hands pulling at her shirt. “Why do you have to make this so impossible? Lie flat. Hold still. Let me check your stitches.”
She blocked his hands, panting through the pain. “Don’t you dare ... touch me with ... all that blood ... on your hands.”
He stopped probing and sat back on his heels, chest heaving with hard, fast breaths. “You’re right.” He swiped at his face with his forearm. “You’re right.”
Fresh fear had her hands digging into the earth beneath her. She pushed herself into a sitting position and scuttled away from Creek. “You ... you ... Did you kill him? Is he d-dead?”
Creek’s eyes darted around the darkness. “We have to get out of here before someone finds him.”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. You did. You killed him.”
Creek’s hand snaked out and grabbed her ankle. “We don’t have time for you to freak out.”
She kicked her foot from his grasp and tried to crawl away. He yanked her back, dragging her along the rough ground until she lay at his feet. With one click he’d connected the dangling cuff to her free hand, imprisoning her
once again.
“If you’d just do what I tell you to do, if you’d just keep your damn mouth shut, this never would have happened.”
Creek lifted her into his arms, quickly and easily, but not gently. The movement sent another slice of pain through her belly. She slapped a hand at his face, but didn’t have any strength behind the hit, and Creek simply shook her off with a growl. He was on fire, his body as hot as she’d ever felt it, burning through clothes and along her own skin.
When they reached the truck, he dropped her feet to the ground and fisted the back of her shirt. He lifted the rear door of the truck with one hand and shoved her in with the other. Her knees hit the metal floor. Her hands followed. The door clamored down, then slammed shut.
Alyssa collapsed onto the cold surface beneath her, torn between relief and fear. The space was completely black. No light eked in from beneath the door. She slithered to the side of the truck and put her cheek against the cool wall, catching her breath.
Taz’s face drifted into her mind. Then Teague’s words. Maybe she should have known better than to antagonize Taz as she had, but that wasn’t why the scum was dead. He was dead because Teague had a deep, compulsive urge to protect.
He doesn’t need you like I do.
More than ever she wanted to know what it was about this Kat woman that drove Creek to such lengths and what possible leverage Hannah could have over this Luke guy. Why didn’t Creek just run? Cross the border and disappear, for Christ’s sake? And why would Creek want Kat if he knew she’d been with Luke? Why would he want to be with a woman who would want a man who, by Teague’s own admission, jumped from woman to woman?
Alyssa just didn’t get it.
The truck’s engine ground, coughed and kicked over, and all Alyssa’s wondering faded. All that mattered was getting away. Getting out of this alive.
The metal rumbled beneath her as the truck moved backwards. She worked herself into a corner, bracing her back on the walls, her feet on the floor and found some stability.
With her elbows settled on her knees, Alyssa rested her head in her hands as morbid thoughts traipsed through her mind. Maybe he was taking her to some remote location to kill her and dump her. Maybe he would abandon the truck somewhere and leave her inside to suffocate or starve to death.