“I know what I want,” Bobby said and she snapped her attention back to him.
His still-blackened, beady eyes slid over her body. She wanted to retch.
Payback was going to be a big bad bitch.
She edged away while Garrick tried to block Bobby’s approach. Robert pressed the gun to Garrick’s ribs and he froze.
Bobby’s meaty hand clamped around her upper arm.
Fear unlike any she’d felt before clutched at her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Bobby’s rage boiled in his eyes, his intent a blatant mixture of sex and violence written across his face. She wrenched her arm free, only to have it captured the moment Garrick grunted and she turned to see the nose of the pistol drilled into his ribs.
This time Bobby didn’t let go, no matter how hard she fought him. He got his other arm clamped around her waist and dragged her down the hallway and through the ladies’ room door.
Her only consolation was she still had her purse. She’d staple his goddamn eyeball if given half a chance.
As the door shut behind them, she heard Garrick shout her name and she braced, terrified she’d hear a gun shot. Bobby slammed her against the wall, his arm to the back of her neck, her face smashed to the tile. His crotch and growing erection ground against her ass and jammed her hip bones painfully against the unforgiving ceramic.
Her face hurt. Hell, everything hurt, but it didn’t matter a damn when his hand worked its way into her waistband. She thrust herself forward, using his weight against him as she plastered herself to the wall. Bobby grunted. His hand was trapped against her stomach. He jerked his arm from the back of her neck, grabbed the back of her pants, and yanked her back.
“Nice try, bitch,” he spat into her ear, his breath close, his hand wrenching the button of her jeans open.
She waited, desperate to scream, to vomit, to beg him to leave her alone as the zipper slid down. She held her breath until he pulled his hand from her waistband, and as she’d hoped and feared, lowered himself, eager to press his now rigid erection against her ass.
With a mighty heave, she threw her head back. Pain burst across the back of her skull and she felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage collapsing. Bobby’s grip loosened, and she spun around. Howling in pain, Bobby slammed her against the wall with all his weight behind him.
Her breath left her body in a great whoosh, her already sore head striking the tile with enough force to make her see stars.
He pressed his face against her cheek, smearing her with his blood. “I’m going to make you pay for that, too.”
God help her, she believed him.
The door opened and noise from the hallway and the bar beyond poured into the room. She prayed it was help coming. Bobby apparently knew better. He held her up against the wall with a straight arm and a tight hand around her neck as his father and Garrick came into the room.
“What the fuck?” Bobby snarled.
“No time for that now, son,” Robert Kramer said mildly, locking the door behind him. “We have more company arriving out front. You can finish that once we’re away from here.”
Savannah locked eyes with Garrick. He stood holding his hands out with Robert Kramer behind him, doubtless with his gun at Garrick’s back.
Garrick seemed calm, but then his gaze searched her body, eye lids twitching at the blood on her face, the grip on her neck. When he focused on her mid-section and her open jeans, his eyes narrowed. Bobby was either stupid or not paying attention, because Garrick telegraphed his next move as clear as day.
She punched down on Bobby’s bad elbow. He roared as already painful tendons strained. She held on for dear life, forcing his grip from her neck and pulling him off balance as she fell to the floor. Bobby yanked his arm free just as Garrick crashed into him.
She shoved her way out from beneath their grappling limbs and crawled under the sinks. She looked up to search for a clear path to the door and found a gun in her face.
Robert Kramer smiled grimly. “I suggest you ask Mr. LeBlanc to stop, or I’ll shoot you both. I haven’t a thing to lose.”
She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat and croaked, “Garrick.”
The grunting tangle of arms and legs across the room paid no attention amidst the thump of flesh hitting flesh. Carefully, her hands where Robert Kramer could see them, she crawled from under the sinks, stood, and cleared her throat.
“Garrick!”
He heard her. With a shove, he threw himself off Bobby and onto his feet, stumbling back into her. He was in no condition to walk, let alone brawl. She hoped like hell he hadn’t just made his head worse.
Not that it would matter if they didn’t find some way to get the hell away from the Kramers.
She wrapped her arm around his waist and made a show of clinging to him, giving him a chance to get his head cleared and his legs under him. He curled an arm around her shoulders, holding tight, and tucked her face against his chest. She took the opportunity to refasten her pants.
She was terrified, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the button, but it was somehow better with her clothes on properly.
They were in the women’s bathroom in a bar loaded with cops and the backdoor blocked. If they stalled for time, someone would come find them. Jack and Grady should already be looking, shouldn’t they?
“What the fuck are you going to do with us?” Garrick asked.
Robert Kramer watched his son drag himself up off the floor. Bobby hadn’t looked so hot before she’d smashed his face and elbow. Now he looked like a prize fighter who’d gone ten rounds and lost.
Her gaze darted to the door when someone jiggled the handle.
Hurry up!
Bobby snapped out of his staggering confusion at the noise. With a grunt, he stumbled into the handicapped stall. Only then did she notice the heavy wood door beyond the cubicle wall.
Oh shit. They have a way out.
Garrick’s death grip on her arm told her he saw it too. Should they run for the door? Maybe Robert was a lousy shot and wouldn’t hit anything vital before they could escape into the relative safety of the hallway.
The muzzle of the gun drilling into her kidney sent her heart rate higher and answered the question for her. Frantic, she scanned the room, the doors, the cubicles, anything, trying to come up with a way to escape. She wiped her sweating palms down her shirt and found her purse still hung across her chest.
They needed a way out and all she had was fucking tape and a stapler.
The door handle jiggled again. Why the hell weren’t they breaking the thing down?
If they couldn’t get out to the cops, then they needed the cops in here. Now.
Garrick froze when Bobby threw open the door in the stall and revealed a dark hallway. This was bad. There was no way in hell he could let Savannah go through that door. He curled his hands into fists and shifted on his feet. It was hard to find his balance when his head felt like he was on a fucking tilt-a-whirl, but how well he fought didn’t matter as much as getting the gun off Savannah and onto him.
It would be a real pleasure to bury his fist into Robert Kramer’s face, even if it meant getting shot.
Savannah’s fingernails drilled into his arm and he looked down at her. She grabbed hold of him with both hands and let loose a blood curdling scream.
Garrick staggered back, his ears ringing as the sound ricocheted around the tile room, his eyes glued to the gun still pressed to her back. Robert Kramer looked as stunned as Garrick felt, and—thank Christ—didn’t seem to have an itchy trigger finger.
What the fuck was Savannah thinking?
She stared up at Garrick. “Whatever happens, we are not going through that door. I’d rather be fucking shot.”
Who was he to argue?
With what strength he had left, he yanked Savannah to the side, throwing her in the direction of the door to the bar, and lurched toward Robert Kramer.
“Do it again!” Garrick shouted.
She let rip another screech th
at would make any teenage horror film victim proud. Someone outside this goddamn bathroom had to hear it. The sound brought Garrick to the edge of consciousness, but now he had a gun trained on him and that was working to keep him pretty alert. Bobby barreled through the stall door and charged at Savannah.
She was ready for him. With a quick jerk, she unfurled a foot of duct tape and wrapped it around Bobby’s wrist as he reached for her. Bobby jerked back and Savannah followed until his hand slammed into the cubicle wall. It took Savannah less than three seconds to duct tape Bobby’s arm to the stall frame securely bolted into the ceiling and floor.
Robert Kramer’s mouth dropped open as his son was disabled by nothing more than a pissed-off woman and some home improvement supplies. He swung his gun back toward her as she trussed Bobby’s other arm to the other side of the door.
“Get behind Bobby!” Garrick yelled.
Savannah dove under Bobby’s arm and into the stall, then plastered herself to Bobby’s back. He tried to kick her away and got his ankles taped together for his troubles. Then another piercing wail rent the air. The last note still bounced off the tiles, echoing in the room and his head, when something heavy hit the bathroom door with a loud crack of wood splitting.
Finally!
Robert Kramer didn’t seem to know where to point his gun any longer. He looked at the door to their escape route almost longingly, and then at his hog-tied son blocking the way.
The door to the bathroom flew open with a crash, pieces of particle board and the brass lock sailing through the air.
“Freeze! Don’t even think about it!” Grady shouted as he barreled through the door, his gun raised. “Robert Kramer, you’re under arrest!”
Savannah ran towards Garrick as he jumped out of the way of the good guys, but his foot swung through air instead of finding tile floor. His tenuous grasp on his relative orientation to the earth finally failed entirely. He closed his eyes, knowing the moment his head hit the sinks, or the floor, or whatever stopped his fall first, was going to be bad. Really bad. But he didn’t have the will, or perhaps sense, to put out an arm to catch himself.
He grunted when he landed on his ass one second before his head struck the relative softness of someone’s legs. The sudden stop jarred his head, shaking his already loose brain. He smiled up at Savannah, then went under.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Savannah stood in the flashing lights of countless emergency and public safety vehicles on the street in front of the Sugar Shack. If only Garrick were there. They’d been separated as soon as the EMTs had found them sprawled on the bathroom floor. She’d been pulled away to give a statement to the various authorities present, while Garrick had been loaded into an ambulance and taken to the hospital.
Her heart had nearly stopped when he collapsed. She was still worried sick, but tried to be patient. She’d been asked to explain at least three times what she’d done with the duct tape, the last time clearly just for the entertainment of the recently arrived brass. Since she had started a bar fight, among other legally questionable transgressions, she played along for as long as she could stand it.
Now she wanted to find Garrick and be sure he was okay.
Turning in place one more time, she finally caught a glimpse of Jack sitting on the back gate of his truck about fifty feet away. Threading through the police cars parked at haphazard angles along the street, she made her way to him and sat by his side.
“Garrick called and asked me to take you home when all this was over.”
Why hadn’t he called her? She forced herself to smile. “Yeah, a ride would be great. I’m just going to call Garrick before we go, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll wait here.”
“Thanks.”
She walked back out into the sea of flashing lights and official vehicles and dialed Garrick’s number.
“Hey.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Hi.”
He chuckled, though it sounded like an effort. “Thank god that’s over, huh?”
“I hear they found another office on Sylvio, over by the airport, and that they’re headed to the Kramers’ residence right now.”
“Good,” he said.
An awkward pause seemed to last forever. She wanted to say so much, but couldn’t figure out if any of it was right.
“You should go get some rest,” Garrick said. “The Ice Cats will be begging for you to come back right away.”
She swallowed hard, the tears returning. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
Garrick’s voice cut through the buzzing in her head. “Sav? You there?”
Of all the things she wanted to tell him, this probably wasn’t the best place to start. “I got the job.”
“What?”
“I got the job. The Bruins. I have to be in Boston in a week.”
“That’s great,” he said, his voice hoarse, but he still sounded like he meant it.
Always so damn generous. She looked out over the flashing lights, pointedly ignoring Jack as more tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You’re safe now,” he said gently. “You should go back to your place and start packing.”
“Yeah.” She did need to pack. She had to leave. More silence. It was probably better this way, but when he remained mute, she died a little.
Garrick sighed. “You’ll be okay tonight?”
No. “Let me know if there are any issues with your scan, okay?”
“Sure,” he said.
She didn’t believe him, but she left it alone. She had no right to demand anything.
“Goodnight,” she choked out, barely disguising her tears.
“Goodnight, Savannah.” Garrick hung up.
She stood amidst the hive of activity surrounding the crime scene, her tears unchecked, her breath hitching on silent sobs. When yet another officer looked at her with concern, she stumbled toward Jack.
He held out one arm, and in spite of only having known him for a matter of hours, she gratefully stepped into his embrace and buried her face against his chest.
“Your friend is really stupid,” she muttered.
He chuckled. “Yeah, he can be.”
“I’m really stupid, too,” she said.
Jack wisely didn’t comment.
“I got a job in Boston. Now he’s sending me away.”
“Huh.”
“It’s the Bruins.”
“Wow. I guess you have to go.”
That was the problem. Savannah thought about crying harder for a few seconds, then lifted her head and looked into Jack’s somber face.
She considered what she knew about their mutual friend. “He’s being noble, isn’t he?”
Jack shrugged, but his midnight blue eyes twinkled.
She dropped her arms from around Jack’s waist and stood back. “I’m ready to go home now.”
“And where’s that?”
She gave him the address.
“But that’s Garrick’s house.”
“You bet it is.”
Jack grinned and got into his truck.
Garrick drove toward his beloved farmhouse as the first pale light of dawn streaked across the sky. Getting home would be a relief, he told himself. He couldn’t quite make himself believe it, though.
He rubbed his head gently, wincing when his fingers brushed over the swelling. He’d been cleared by the doctors as having a moderate concussion and given his instructions—rest, sleep, try not to smash his head against anything for a while—and sent home. Jack had come to get him, taken him to his car, and watched him climb in slowly, hovering like a mother hen. He’d offered to drive Garrick home or to follow him, but Garrick had assured him he was fine.
He couldn’t have stood another minute of Jack’s pitying looks.
Fuck. Maybe he deserved it. He’d done the unthinkable and practically chased Savannah off. But god, it had hurt when she’d said she was leaving for Boston within a week. What else could he do? They both knew she had to
leave.
It was her dream job. How could he possibly stand in the way of that?
He scrubbed a hand over his face and stretched his neck, pleased he hadn’t experienced any dizziness since leaving the hospital. His head was going to be fine. The rest of him he was a lot less certain about.
Sighing, he considered waiting to call Reese Lamont, but someone ought to warn him his deal had fallen through, and once Garrick got home, he was going to bed. For a week. He hit the speed dial on his cell phone and brought it to his ear.
Reese answered on the first ring. “Lamont.”
Garrick was momentarily taken aback. “Reese?”
“Yes, Garrick. Are you okay?”
Garrick didn’t know how to answer so he avoided the question all together. “You’re going to get a call from the EHL. The deal isn’t going to happen.”
“I heard. Where are you?”
“On my way home, actually. Long night.”
“So I hear. I also heard Robert and Bobby have both been arrested. Multiple charges.”
Garrick grunted, surprised. “You got spies in Moncton, Lamont?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he answered stiffly. “Contrary to popular myth, I do have friends.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Lamont. I know that.” Garrick rubbed his eyes.
“Oh yes? And how is that?”
“Because I am one.”
Garrick stared out the window at the empty road and waited for Lamont to answer.
“Yes, well, thank you. I believe that is true.”
Garrick almost worked up a smile at Reese’s rigid politeness in the face of Garrick’s blatant violation of the guy-code.
“Listen,” Garrick continued, “I have most of the money together. I have two partners signed on, we just need to find a fourth. Once we do, I’ll make the offer.”
“I look forward to it. Though, with Kramer out of the way, are you sure you really want to own the team?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Garrick asked.
“You could play for a couple more years, at least. I figured that’s what you’d want.”
Was that what he wanted? Two months ago, he’d have said yes, unequivocally. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) Page 24