More yelling erupted from near the hallway’s entrance just as she slammed the door behind her and put her weight against it. She heard one of the men curse as he likely tripped over the fallen painting and then a second later someone tried opening the door. They managed to get the door open a hand span before she thrust her body into it, slamming it back shut.
There was no lock on the door.
Frantic, she looked around the room, trying to find a way to keep the door blocked. To the right was a chest of drawers and she put all her weight into dragging it along the wall. She’d managed to get it in front of the door just as one of the men tried opening it again. The doorknob hit the chest of drawers and the weight stopped it from opening any wider. She kicked the door as hard as she could.
The door slammed and one of the men yelled, “Don’t piss me off!”
“Leave then!” she yelled right back.
“Not without you. Now open this door!”
Before they could try opening the door again, Kasumi went to a tall cabinet-like thing and rocked it back and forth until it came crashing down at an angle against the chest of drawers, knocking the heavy thing back into the doorknob and adding more weight to the barrier. Even that small victory wasn’t enough to offer her some respite. She leaned on the cabinet as the men outside pounded on the door.
“Leave me alone!” she shouted at them.
“Open the door!”
“No!” She tried sounding brave but knew she failed miserably. Her voice was cracking. Without Dent she was defenseless. She knew she needed a way to defend herself, but right now her mind was focused on just keeping those men outside. Her stomach knotted and her chest tightened. She tried controlling her breathing, but found she couldn’t.
Out in the hallway, she started to hear what sounded like an argument between the men. One of them — not the leader — said, “This was supposed to be easy, Terry.”
“It’s a little girl,” came Terry’s reply, “how hard can it be?”
The third man said, “We need to get her and get out before the sheriff gets back.”
“Or that other one, the FBI agent,” said the first voice.
She could hear that two of the voices didn’t sound so tough, like they were ready to run. They were obviously scared of Dent. And she could use that. A wicked grin found its way to her lips. She had her weapon now.
“I’m warning you,” she called out. “If Dent gets a hold of you you’ll wish you never came here.”
There was a moment of silence before Terry stated, “We’re here now. No turning back.” Two hard pounds on the door followed his words.
Each pound against the door shook her, forced her to shut her eyes, frightened her.
And she used it.
These jerks wanted to scare her? Then she’d teach them what it really meant to be scared. They were already feeling the effects of her raw emotions on them, and now she would take those emotions and shove them down their throats.
Forcing her emotions onto others was kind of hard, at least when she tried to actually control it. She had to concentrate on a single feeling, focus on that one emotion and build it up, then let it out of her body. The problem was that pulling a specific emotion out of nowhere was extremely difficult. But when she took an emotion she was already feeling, an emotion that was all she was feeling at the moment, and used that ….
She took her fear, fed it, and let it become so much that it began to spill out of her. She started saying things like, “He’s going to break your legs,” or, “He’ll rip your arms out of their sockets.” She kept thinking of and then shouting out worse and worse ways that Dent could hurt the three men on the other side of the door.
The pounding of her heart was almost as loud as the pounding on the door, but she could hear two of the men really start to argue with the leader of the group. She continued to put her weight against the furniture barrier, but still, with each pound on the door, the barrier scooted forward inch by inch.
Why wasn’t it working? Was her fear making them desperate to get to her or was there someone else they feared more than Dent?
The room became bleary and she had to wipe her eyes to see again. She was throwing out so much fear that those guys should have to be changing their underwear.
One more jostle then the pounding stopped.
Two men yelled at each other and a third kept mumbling something indecipherable over and over.
“Shut up!” the leader yelled.
“We need to get out of here, Terry.”
“No, we stay. We can’t go back empty handed.”
“If that Dent guy gets here, comes back and catches us—”
“Won’t happen if you help me with the door!”
There was a sudden silence and Kasumi strained her ears. She continued to force her fear on the three men, bolstered as their resolve was starting to break.
Finally, she heard, “Screw you, Terry. I’m gone.”
“The hell you are!”
More pounding erupted from the hallway, but this time it sounded like bodies were being thrown against the walls. She could hear more paintings fall and scrape on the walls as the sounds of fighting grew louder. There came a heavy thump on the floor and then silence again.
“Aw, man, Terry, you broke his nose. Aw, man … You’ve gone too—”
But apparently Terry had had enough, and there was a surprised shout, followed by a gunshot.
Kasumi screamed. Ears covered, eyes squeezed shut, she prayed for Dent to get here. These guys had guns, and it was only a matter of time before the one named Terry busted his way into the room.
Kasumi expected the pounding to continue, readied herself for it, but nothing came. She kept praying and, after an eternity, she slowly lowered her hands and opened her eyes. The room was dark, only the back porch light coming in from the one window. She waited.
And waited.
Nothing.
Maybe … Maybe Terry left?
Those jerks wanted to scare her? Ha, she taught them a lesson. Nobody messes with Kasumi Takeda. She forced so much fear into them that she doubted they would think twice about trying to hurt anyone again. Probably had to go home and cry to their mothers. They got what they deserved.
It had worked. But just in case, she crept to the door and put her ear to it. All she heard was the muffled sound of the television. Quiet.
She needed to get to her phone, call Dent.
It took her a while to send the cabinet crashing to the floor and pull the chest of drawers back and away from the door. She decided to play it safe, just for the hell of it, and slowly opened the door.
She slammed it shut when she saw the shoe in the hallway. It took a moment to sink in, but her brain registered that the shoe had been pointed up, not flat on the floor. She opened the door again and found that she was right — the owner of the shoe was lying on his back in the middle of the hallway. It was the dark-haired man. And he wasn’t breathing. He’d been shot in the stomach. She quickly looked away from the blood.
She gathered her nerves and stuck her head out the doorway, looked both ways. The younger redhead was also lying on the hallway, but besides the blood all over his face, he was still breathing. Unconscious, but alive.
She stepped over the redhead with the broken nose and peeked around the corner of the hallway into the living room.
Empty. The television was still on, the front door was wide open.
Door or phone? Door or phone?
Phone, she decided. She tiptoed to over to the couch, relief flooding her as she saw her phone there. She picked it up, unlocked it, and got ready to call Dent. That was when she heard a soft scrape of something on the wood floor and suddenly an arm wrapped around her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides.
“Drop the phone,” Terry said, his voice cold and threatening.
The stupid man hadn’t left the house. He’d been waiting for her to come out on her own. And she fell for it. Dent never would have fallen for such a trick. And
Dent wouldn’t give up easily either.
“Make me,” she said, making her voice as Denty as she could.
He brought his other hand up and around, waving the gun in front of her nose.
That did it. She dropped the phone back to the couch.
“Girl, you are way too much trouble,” he said behind her.
“With your looks I’d think you’d be used to having trouble with the girls.”
Terry squeezed her harder in response to her observation. “You know, he didn’t say you had to be conscious when I brought you to him. Just keep wagging your tongue, see what hap—”
Headlights and screeching tires interrupted him.
Terry sucked in a breath. “Shit!”
“Ha! Damn right, shit!” Kasumi forced another laugh. “You’re screwed now, Terry.”
“Shut up,” he hissed. He twisted around, keeping her tight against his chest as he began to back step toward the wall with the television. They were facing the front door just as Dent came rushing in, the sheriff only a few steps behind.
The sheriff’s eyes were all over the place, but not Dent’s. No, Dent didn’t need to know what had happened here. Dent only needed to know what was happening right this second. He disregarded everything in the blink of an eye and set his eyes on hers.
His face was like a stone, but she saw his nostrils flare just briefly at the sight before him.
Kasumi was going to be safe. Terry had no way out of this. Confidence swelled inside her.
But then something cold, hard, and metal pressed up against her right temple. Her stupid confidence had swelled into Terry as well.
“Shit,” she said.
XXVI
Dent had jumped out of the Cherokee, unlocked his SUV, and retrieved his Glock from under the backseat all in less than fifteen seconds. The palm ID scanner clicked the safety off before he even ran through the splintered front door. The numerous scenarios playing through his mind came to an abrupt halt just as he did once inside Bobseyn’s house.
It took less than the span of a few rapid heartbeats to recognize and dismiss everything except the two figures to his right. There, framed by the large screen, was Fifth and an armed man just behind her.
Frederickson’s house all over again. Except this kid had a gun. He hadn’t used it yet, which Dent took to mean the kid was ordered to kidnap Fifth, not harm her. He filed that piece of information in the back of his head.
Dent’s eyes met Fifth’s and he saw her shoulders rise, her chin lift up. The man with the gun had an arm around her and was holding her tight. Dent’s chest pounded and a peculiar sensation suffused his body. She was fine, for the moment.
But then the man put the barrel to Fifth’s temple.
Fifth said something, but the sight of seeing her in trouble played tricks on Dent’s hearing. For some reason his body became flush and all he could hear was a thump-thumping in his ears. Slowly, he took his eyes from Fifth’s and settled them on the redhead behind her.
Dent’s gun came up without his conscious effort. He would put a bullet through the man’s eye if the man hurt Fifth. Dent mentally corrected himself. He’d put a bullet in the man’s eye just for the mere act of threatening the girl.
“Terry,” Bobseyn said firmly from behind Dent.
From the recent experience at the Fredericksons’ home, Dent surmised the sheriff would want to talk the redhead out of this. But after seeing Bobseyn’s reluctance to do what was necessary, Dent wasn’t going to wait for that conversation to play out. Dent straightened his arm, let out a slow, steady breath, and sighted his target. He wouldn’t risk squeezing the trigger until the barrel of the redhead’s gun was pointed away from Fifth’s head.
“Fifth,” Dent said.
Bobseyn whispered Dent’s name, but Dent ignored him, kept his focus on Terry — the man with the gun. His target.
In a steady voice, Dent spoke to the girl, trying to get her to focus on only him. There was no telling what an emotional person would or could do with a gun pointed at their head. All Dent needed was a little room between the gun and the girl.
“Fifth,” he said, “I need you to relax.”
“Calm down?” she said in a voice a few octaves higher than normal. “He’s got a gun pointed at my head, Dent!”
Unnecessary information, and not helpful, he thought.
“No, Fifth,” Dent said, his voice as flat and even as he could manage, which was odd as he found it hard to speak just so at the moment. “I need you to relax.”
Terry shouted at Dent, warning him to stay back. His words barely even registered to Dent.
“Yes, everybody just calm down,” Bobseyn said.
Dent looked into Fifth’s eyes, trying to get her to understand. “Kasumi. Relax.”
Fifth titled her head to the left, away from the barrel of the gun, and her eyes narrowed. Her way of processing information, Dent knew. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened. Her head un-tilted. He knew she knew.
Without another word, Fifth went completely limp. She dropped straight down, pulling Terry off balance, and the gun away from her head. Dent adjusted accordingly, bringing Terry’s left eye into sharp, pinpoint focus. Just as he squeezed, Bobseyn crashed into him from behind.
The large screen exploded just before Terry fired off a round of his own. The wall near the front door sprayed out a shower of splinters. Before Dent could fire a second time, Bobseyn untangled himself and rushed toward Terry.
The sheriff leaped over the couch and hit the edge of the coffee table, tipping it over as he fell forward and slammed into Terry. The two rolled around on the ground, fighting for control of the gun. Fifth scrambled away and tucked into a ball to the side of the grappling men. For a tense second or two, the men grunted in exertion and pain, seemingly locked in an even struggle.
Until the gun went off.
Fifth’s scream pierced through the house, driving Dent to level his gun at the two men. One of them had fired. They were still in a jangled mass of bodies and limbs and Dent was more than willing to shoot into that mass until both men stopped moving. But that course of action was taken from Dent when, somehow, Bobseyn managed to work his way atop Terry to then deliver a stunning one-two combination into his jaw.
Terry immediately stopped squirming.
Dent let his gun lower as Bobseyn shook his head, the movement seeming to travel down his entire upper body.
“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you,” Dent said as he skirted the couch, fully intending the words to be a threat.
Bobseyn rolled off the unconscious body, his left hand going to his right arm. “Well, I managed to get shot anyway.”
“Oh my god!” Fifth yelled out and rushed to the sheriff’s side.
“It’s not that bad.” The sheriff smiled over at the girl.
“Bull!” she said, squatting down near him. “I thought it was just Dent, but apparently all men think getting shot is a normal thing.”
Bobseyn patted Fifth’s knee with his left hand, but the movement made him wince. To Dent he said, “Help me up, will you? Got to get him cuffed, sort this out.”
Dent offered his hand and, when the sheriff grasped it, pulled the man up. Dent may have accidentally pulled too hard, and Bobseyn sucked in a pained breath. Served the man right. He’d kept Dent from killing the bastard who dared to put a gun to Fifth. Bobseyn may have come to that same conclusion and he stared into Dent’s eyes.
Dent stared right back.
“There are two more,” Fifth said.
Dent and Bobseyn ignored her, continued to stare each other down.
“I said,” she tried again, this time louder, “there are two more. In the hallway. I think one is … is dead.”
This got Bobseyn’s attention and looked down at her. “Did you …?”
She shook her head. “They got into an argument. The other two wanted to leave once I locked myself in a room. This guy wouldn’t let them.”
Dent looked at her, and when she returned the favo
r he saw her lower lip trembling.
“They came here to kidnap me, but found more than they bargained for. I was scared, Dent.”
He nodded in understanding. She was telling him that she forced her fear on them, that they’d turned on each other because of her. Too bad they didn’t all have guns. They could have killed one another and saved Dent a lot of trouble.
“I didn’t mean to … be that scared,” she said in a small voice.
Bobseyn said, “I know, Kasumi, I know. We all were very scared.”
“No, you don’t understand, Sheriff. I’m the reason one of them died.”
“They argued,” Bobseyn told her. “You had no control over that.”
“But—”
“You did what you had to, Fifth,” Dent stated. He didn’t understand why she was acting so, so, what? Apologetic?
Bobseyn looked from Dent to Fifth, a strange look settling on his face. After a moment, he said, “I’ve got to call this in. Dent, secure the others—”
“Other,” Dent corrected.
Bobseyn closed his eyes briefly. “Other,” he said flatly. “Secure the other. Kasumi, how about you get some coffee going. Go on to the kitchen and we’ll be right in.”
Fifth nodded once and walked away, pausing enough to give Dent a look. Narrowed eyes, jaw clenched, lips tight. If he had to guess, he’d say it was anger. Why, he had no idea. If anything, she should be mad at the fool of a sheriff. The man had made things harder for Dent tonight. Dent could have killed Terry as soon as Fifth dropped out of the man’s grip, ending this all that much sooner.
When the paramedics arrived minutes later, Dent was hard-pressed not to notice how Fifth had paid more attention to Bobseyn and his injury than she had himself while they had waited in the kitchen.
For some reason that had made Dent want to leave the kitchen.
XXVII
The fluorescent lights did nothing to make Bobseyn look any better, and the steady beeping of the multiple machines crowding the room did nothing to defeat the silence. Dent stood at the foot of the hospital bed while Fifth had scooted the single plastic chair in the room up to the sheriff’s left side. She had her hands on the blue blanket, fingers a twitch away from the sallow man’s left hand. The nurses and doctor had forced Dent and the girl stay outside until the sheriff was stabilized, a good three hours, and Dent had used the time to run the recent events through his head.
Hard Wired Page 12