by Arlene Webb
He halted and licked his lips. “When I saw your picture online, I knew I was a lucky genius. I had a hassle persuading the woman who lived in the apartment in Evans to vacate so I could move in. Stalking and mugging did the trick. Getting you was the only part of this plan that didn’t take a lot of sacrifice and work, but now I’m set for life.”
A short one, if there was any sort of justice. If only she had one of those semi-automatic assault rifles. He wasn’t making much sense, but the longer she kept him talking the longer she postponed the inevitable. Had Ray really deserted her? Wouldn’t he at least have called the closest police? But with Lisbon in trouble, maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly. She could relate. Her head throbbed.
“You re-routed my distiller to Evans Point and guns to our apartment, and now you’re rich? But the police have the guns.”
Pete chuckled. “I only need a couple of guns. Weapons aren’t worth much, not like what my boss normally deals in. I stole his shipments for the East Coast. Big score. Twelve boxes. Uncut coke and heroin, meth, other crap that’ll net me two, maybe three million. All I had to do was change the labels on the boxes. Swap drugs for guns and have them sent to you and the Feds. If those idiot cops haven’t killed Calvin Smith, he’ll be dead soon enough when the hits go out on a dealer who didn’t ship.”
Horror filled her as things began to click. After he’d taken all her cash last night, this man she’d known as Pete had gone out and kidnapped then killed a guy whose identity he’d stolen months before. He’d made sure she’d left an apartment he’d managed to rent with the same street name as a drug dealer and gun collector he worked for in another state, who’d have received the distiller she’d ordered. That scumbag could have learned the address of the apartment in Evans, Colorado from the packing slip.
Pete had been nasty enough to her that he’d known she’d leave him and known his boss would think she’d taken off with both guns and drugs. This Calvin Smith might know the police had found a body, but not whose. He very well could have assumed the body was the guy he employed, while the police matched fingerprints to a guy unlucky enough to look somewhat like the man now reaching for his belt buckle.
Oh God. If she was going to die, the least she could do was not make it easy.
She ran. A frantic dash out the patio door, sharp left to round the cabin and away from the lake, over stones, packed dirt, and pine needles. She’d brace for the impact, but forward momentum was in her advantage.
The angry voice too close behind her carried on the cool night breeze. “Where can you hide, honey? But I do love a game of chase.”
***
Ray’s heart hammered, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He’d figured the danger Lisbon warned him about would have had a text of number eight if their location had been recently compromised, but number nine meant that trouble was here. Now.
He’d hoped anyone watching would see him leave and assume he hurried to Evans Point, or out for some reason like a beer run, leaving their target vulnerable. After parking the car at the office, he ran faster than he’d ever run in his life to begin his hunt around the cabin.
And he’d just become a first-time killer. A killer who didn’t dare spare a moment to throw up. He was afraid of a probable third man who held an assault rifle, unlike the bastard with handgun pulling the mask down over his face, and charging out from the bedroom door after Cassi. Thank God, she’d run away from the lake for the front of the cabin where a body lay dead under a tree, rifle with silencer and scope resting by his splayed fingers.
He’d come up behind the assassin with the rifle in the pines on the road side of the cabin, and without cuffs and rope, little time to think, but he could have knocked the guy out and taken his weapon. Instead, with ruthless instinct, he’d snapped the man’s neck. And he’d taken too long. If he’d been faster, he could have plugged the prick currently after her before the man broke the window and entered the cabin as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
If he’d nailed him in the back before the guy caught Cassi, she’d have a decent chance of reaching the office a mile down the road. Then if three times was the charm it was supposed to be, he’d be able to somehow take out a potential shooter watching in these trees by the lake before the guy popped him. Not like he wasn’t the ass who’d taken the time to snatch the Kevlar vest with big bright letters howling FBI, courtesy of Special Agent Maxton, from his trunk while Cassi was about to lie flat beneath a man who thought he was the only predator in these woods.
Ray darted from the cover of a fat pine. But dammit, here came Cassi back around the cabin toward him and the lake side, with the bastard who actually sounded like he was laughing a few paces behind her.
He fired.
He fucking missed. Right over the prick’s head. The man halted and drew short to aim his weapon toward Ray, who’d just given away his position to all.
Ray’s second shot took him in the upper chest and the man went down.
Get low, you idiot. Ray twisted to face the lake, and his knees smacked the ground. Silent shots from the pines across the clearing from him hit the dirt inches from him.
“I’m a federal agent.” Ray bellowed the lie at the top of his lungs. “Stop shooting. Don’t hurt her. I promise immunity if you cooperate.” He clutched his Glock, angled down in defeat, with hopes the assassin with assault rifle wouldn’t plug Cassi. At least the guy with handgun stayed flat.
“Toss away your weapon,” the tense male voice called out. Ray couldn’t be sure, but it sounded as if the guy was in a tree.
He flung his Glock a good ten feet away. “Okay. Unarmed. Please.”
“Hands in the air. Don’t move.” This time the voice sounded lower. The guy had jumped from the tree.
Ray flung his arms up. He risked a glance. Cassi was gone. Thank God. Hopefully back into the bedroom, out the front door and running for the office like he’d told her to do, and where his car sat, keys in it.
A tall man wearing a full-face black ski mask stepped into the clearing, a nasty rifle with scope and silencer in hand. He flung a pair of handcuffs at Ray. “Go attach yourself to the end of the dock.”
“Please. Let me take you—”
“Shut up,” the guy snapped. He raised the rifle. “I wasn’t paid to kill a cop, but I’ll make an exception if you don’t fucking move.”
Ray bent, grabbed the cuffs, straightened, and headed for the lake.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. As he suspected, the pair of hit men worked for some drug king in Evans Point whom Lisbon had yet to call him back about. He didn’t have a clue how they’d found them. Maybe led by the third man, the one who’d entered the cabin and now lay still on the ground, not far from the bedroom door. Was he the reason the ones who seemed intent on execution instead of rape and then murder had learned where Cassi was? How the hell had he known? Regardless, Ray fervently hoped he’d bled out.
He heard the hit man following as he went down the rocky slope for the three-by-twenty-foot dock that extended out a couple feet above the dark waters. He stepped onto the planks, dragging his feet, knowing the longer it took the farther Cassi would make it before this man went after her.
“Faster,” the guy behind him yelled. A couple of bullets scarred into the wood inches from his boots. Bastard. Ray picked up the pace. He reached the end and fastened the handcuffs around his wrist and clicked them to the metal rod supporting the structure. It ran from the rail directly down into the water, then through the deep, murky lake and into the ground. He turned and rattled metal against metal so the masked guy at the end of the dock could see he’d fastened the cuff.
“You know for sure if John Weston is dead?” the guy with rifle asked.
His heart stopped. Was that this guy’s colleague he’d just killed? “Maybe. I saw what looked like a man down on the road side of the cabin.”
“That’d be the guy with me. You do him?”
Ray swallowed hard and lied. “No. Who’s John Weston?”
�
��The thief you plugged laying on the ground behind us. Fuck. Sorry. I can’t leave loose ends like this.” The assassin raised his rifle for Ray’s head.
A loud shot rang out, followed by another. Ray stood there as the man’s skull blew out. The guy about to shoot Ray with rifle and silencer toppled forward, the second bullet in his back.
Dammit to hell. He’d have rather had his clock punched by the unknown assailant who’d said sorry than the prick he’d shot. The guy was up and closing in. The man stumbled faster until he halted five feet away from the body. He fired another bullet into the corpse at the end of the dock. “That’s for fucking wishing me dead and being too stupid to kill me yourself.”
He lowered the handgun and clasped his shoulder, glaring at Ray. “You know, this hurts. I thought you’d hustled to help your pretty cop lady in Evans Point. But no, you not only did my girl, you ran her off. Now I’m going to have to go after Cassi in the car. Where’d you park your vehicle?”
Did his girl? Could it be that somehow Pete Deming wasn’t dead, and his real name was John Weston?
“I asked you a question,” the man snapped. “Too bad for you that vest doesn’t cover your dick. One second.”
“I parked north,” he lied. “Not far up along the road.” Cassi had better have gone south and be sitting in it right now. Except…who was that figure, rather short to be a male, hesitantly moving out through the patio door of the bedroom?
He kept his face blank, swearing to himself as Cassi’s shadowy form grew clearer. She crept up on them with what appeared to be a frying pan.
“Look.” He shook his hand attached to the pole. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll offer you the same thing I did that man you just killed. Immunity if you cooperate.”
How could he order Cassi to back off and get out of here without the man about to kill him knowing?
The man with the mask took his hand from his shoulder. Hard to tell in the moonlight, but it looked like he glared at the blood on his hand before raising his gaze to Ray. “It’ll be dick, then head shot, Mister Loser in an FBI Vest. Thanks to you, I have to find my girl, whom I should be fucking right now. One you should have never touched.”
If only he held the weapon, he’d blast holes in the guy without wasting time bragging. “You want her? My car and keys. No. Go away. Don’t do this. Please. No!”
Goddamn her. Cassi had understood his coded message to her, but the stubborn girl shook her head at Ray.
“Stop begging. Die like a man, you sniveling cop.” The guy shoved the handgun into his pants. “Might as well make it look like my good friend and coworker Mohan did you. Thanks for taking down one of these goons that miserable boss of mine must have sent. Who knew Smith was smart enough to track my cell or car? Assholes.” He bent for the shooter’s rifle.
Cassi whacked him on the head.
The man fell over the body, howling.
Ray watched helplessly as she readied to hit him again. The man rolled to the side, and her arm didn’t make it down. He kicked out at her feet as he gained his footing, and she lost hers. The man jerked up the rifle and fired at Ray.
A burst of bullets, and two or three found a home in Ray’s protected chest. One took him in the upper leg, all sharp, intense hurts. He had a glimpse of Cassi jumping on the man’s back and knocking the rifle from him. Ray flipped himself sideways, only to fall head-first into the lake.
Cold, the coldest water he could imagine, numbed his face. His damn boots were heavy, his legs flailing, and there went his right foot, tangling around the pole his hand was cuffed to and the crossbeam of the dock. He jerked his leg, and managed to wedge his boot deeper. He hung in place, saved from falling farther down, but unable to rise. He’d drown a couple feet from the surface, while Cassi wrestled with a wounded and furious man.
Chapter Eight
Cassi watched Ray fall and heard the splash as he hit the water. Pete seized her leg, twisting to knock her off the dock, and she hung on, trying to grasp the handgun he’d tucked against his back.
She seized it as Pete shook loose. Her butt hit the ground, the gun flew from her fingers, and he kicked her hard in the side. What little air she had left burst from her lungs in a yelp of hurt.
Pete stood over her. “I know you, Cassi. You wouldn’t go in the water if that cop’s life depended on it.” He pushed up the mask, his smile bitter. “While he drowns, you’ll beg to suck me off but it’s up-the-ass time. I promise, honey. I’ll let you choose. My dick or that pan handle. Take those jeans off.”
Don’t tell me what to do. She shot to her feet and ran for the pines. If he stopped to pick up his gun, she’d have a chance.
“Dammit. I’ll just shoot you.” Pete’s growl came from behind. “I’m tired of running. Try not to die before I throw you in the lake.”
She dropped to the ground, grabbed Ray’s gun, and didn’t have a clue how to use it.
Luckily, point and fire worked. Square in the chest. The full moon shone, sparkling in his dark eyes as Pete toppled.
She didn’t check to see if he was dead. She raced for the dock faster than she’d ever run in her life, down it—and directly into the water.
Fear scrambling along every inch of her body, she barely felt the cold. She twisted, splashing aside as she almost landed on top of Ray, a couple feet down, his eyes closed. Why was his leg twisted like that?
She understood as soon as she grabbed him. His wrist was hooked to the pole, the links of the cuffs slid down it with him, but his foot was wedged. She tugged at him. His boot didn’t move. No time. She kicked to pull him up along the pole and managed, barely, to break the surface with his face before his leg stopped them going any higher.
Her heart pounded so hard her chest ached. Surely not as much as his, beneath that heavy vest battered by bullets. She balanced him in one arm, brushed water from his ashen face, and held him with both hands as water rippled too close to his mouth.
Ohgodohgod. How could she do CPR at this angle with that vest on?
Ohgodohgod. Why wasn’t she even sure how to do CPR at any angle?
She kicked up over him, raised her arm, and shoved the heel of her palm into his chest. Water sprayed, hitting her in the face, and she barely managed to take his mouth with hers before his head went under. Cold lips, unmoving. She gasped into his mouth, panicking as she went beneath the surface as well.
She pulled them up.
She tried again, and sobbed in defeat. For all she knew, she was sucking air the wrong way and killing him. She hadn’t felt his chest move or seen water spurt out his mouth.
She paddled her feet harder. Even if his foot wasn’t caught, she doubted she could heft him onto the dock.
Please, please, he can’t be dead. Should she let him go under, and dive back down to try again to free his leg? It didn’t seem like a good thing to do to someone who had pretty much drowned because she’d run for the gun instead of him. At the time, getting Pete, or whatever his name was, down and dead seemed the priority.
She clutched Ray and fought the sobs welling inside her. Selfish of her, but she would much rather have died from bullets hitting her on land. I hate, hate, hate the water. Looked like the slim chance of killing Pete and then getting to Ray in time hadn’t been the right option.
But even if he was dead she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let go of him. She’d held a dead brother in her arms for a good while, it seemed the least she could do was hold her lover until her legs gave out and they both went down for the fish, crabs, slime to feast on.
It wouldn’t be long. Her teeth would’ve chattered if she’d loosened her jaw. Her arms trembled, and her legs were so tired, and then it dawned on her that she was an idiot.
The support beam the pole was attached to, if she pulled Ray with her and under the dock, she might be able to wedge her back against it and still keep their heads up.
It took all she had, but she did it. Her butt and back against the beam that had hold of his foot, she clasped Ray with both arms a
s far around his chest as she could reach. She couldn’t tell if his chest rose and fell, but in order to watch she’d have to look away from his face, and she’d be dammed if another drop would enter his mouth.
Perhaps with his injured leg caught between some stupid crisscross of wood, he wouldn’t bleed as badly when in the water. Hypothermia aside, the cold was a blessing. Her side and ribs where Pete had kicked her were numb, and maybe if Ray was alive he didn’t hurt either. But maybe he did, and some sort of distraction would help before the inevitable.
Too bad she’d never been prepared to either die or comfort the dying. What would he do if he were the one holding her?
“Once upon a time, a brave and strong hero fell into an evil lake…and…then…what?” Tears burst free. “I suck at storytelling. I’m sorry.”
She had to do something. Find some sort of control, order, and at least pretend she wasn’t totally helpless to make an impossible situation better. She couldn’t bore a man already dead to death, right?
“Um…sweetheart…you want to know about the periodic table? The periodic table is a masterpiece of organized information and quite the scientific achievement. A chart of the chemical elements arranged by order of atomic number so that the chemical periodicity is clear. The standard form includes periods horizontal on the chart and groups which are vertical. Elements in groups have some similar properties.
“H, hydrogen, is number one and the lightest element. Mass of one point zero zero eight, it’s the most abundant element in the universe. Added to oxygen, it makes a binary molecule that’s essential to life and present in all organic compounds. You know, frickin’ water, like what’s filling your lungs…um…sorry, where was I? Yes. Helium, a noble gas. Capital H with lower-case e, is the symbol for element number two.”
She’d made it to twenty-nine, copper, by the time her teeth were chattering too hard to continue out loud and she went on in her head. Even if she had lost her grip on reality, she’d never lose her grip on Ray. She’d come to accept the fact that as long as she didn’t make a single error, and made it to the end of the known elements, he’d not be dead. Prepared for catastrophe or not, that was how the universe worked. Bad things didn’t happen if she had a ritual to hold it together.