Darkest Night

by Megan Erickson

  Sundance, again, seemed to sense her mood, happily trotting off to sniff at a corner of the fence. Fiona found an empty bench under the shade of a maple tree and sat down. She wished she’d brought her book. Maybe she should come here more often, especially at night like this. The air was cooler, the smells of the city less prominent. She leaned her head back, feeling the cool air on her face. A breeze blew through, rustling the leaves above her head. She opened her eyes to see Sundance, nose to the ground, sniffing the fence line.

  A black lab walked up to him, and they did the butt sniff dog ritual before the lab bounded off, looking over its shoulder at Sundance. Sundance glanced at Fiona, and she waved him on. “Go play!”

  He ran off after his new playmate, and she sagged a bit on the bench, watching as the two dogs nipped at each other in the tall grass. She closed her eyes again as her bones melted a bit, the tension in her neck easing.

  She was making a grocery list in her head when something cool and hard touched the back of her neck. “Don’t scream,” said a raspy male voice, “or I’ll shoot that fucking dog of yours.”

  Her eyes flew open. Sundance.

  He was on the other side of the dog park, still playing with the lab, paying no attention to her. That coolness against her neck pressed in harder, and she sucked in a breath. “Please.”

  “I need you to stand up and walk with me, Fiona. Don’t do anything stupid. I just want to talk.”

  “Talk,” she said, only able to form one word.

  “Yep, just talk. Now stand up casual-like, and let’s take a little walk.”

  She swallowed, panic flooding her senses so that her brain wasn’t able to relay to her limbs that they needed to move. “I—”

  “Up, Fiona.”

  Right, up. She stood slowly and turned. The cool metal of the gun left her neck, but the threat was still there. A man stood behind her, dressed normally in jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. He wore no face covering—only a plain ball cap. He wasn’t trying to hide his face. She knew in her heart that he didn’t want to talk. He was going to kill her. Or at least take her to a place where someone else would.

  “Look—”

  “Walk, Fiona,” he said.

  Her feet moved. She didn’t know what else to do. Where was Sundance? Jock? A sob burst out of her lips when she thought of her big blond Viking protector. She knew how much his duty meant to him. His identity was heavily tied into his job. If something happened to her…

  They made it to the tree line surrounding the park, and that was when the man wrapped his fingers around her bicep in a punishing grip and forced her to walk faster. She stumbled along beside him, and when panic hit her again and she tried to yank her arm out of his grip, he turned and brought the butt of his pistol across her face with a crack.

  Oh God, the pain—white hot, like a firecracker across her face. Momentarily stunned, she cried out and stumbled again. This time he dragged her. “Fucking bitch,” he muttered.

  She could barely think; her ears rang and her cheek was on fire. When she drew her hand away from her face she saw blood, the crimson liquid spreading into the grooves of her fingerprints.

  “Don’t know why I can’t just kill you. No, they want to see you. Maybe another fuck for old times’ sake, huh?” He was talking to himself, but his words pierced her like flaming arrows until she was lit up from the inside.

  The basement, the drugs, the hands. No. No way. She wouldn’t go back.

  So that’s when she fought. She fought like a wildcat, twisting in his grip, flailing her legs, screaming.

  The man shoved her to the ground with ease and he pulled up his knee, face snarled with fury, and she knew where that boot was going to go—right into her stomach. She waited for the pain in her ribs, the crack of the bones.

  It never came. A large mass flew into the man above her, and then two figures hit the ground with a thud, dust swirling around tangled limbs.

  She rolled away as Jock’s large body grappled with the man who’d threatened her. Sundance was there suddenly, braced in front of her protectively, lips pulled back in a snarl. Fiona kept her eyes on the men as flesh hit flesh. The stranger grunted as Jock gained the upper hand. He was on his knees behind the man who’d hit her, and Jock’s thick forearm was wrapped around the man’s throat in a headlock. The gun lay five feet away in the dirt like a sleeping viper.

  The veins in Jock’s arm throbbed, and his eyes were a blaze of blue ice. He looked at Fiona, taking stock of her body, before his gaze settled with a deadly intensity on her face. “He do that?”

  She nodded.

  The man struggled but Jock barely moved, his gaze drilling into her. Jock ignored him and jerked his chin to the gun, five feet away on a patch of grass. “He gonna use that on you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He said he was taking me…taking me to th-them.”

  Jock’s nostrils flared just as something shiny caught the light of the setting sun. She didn’t even get a chance to shout as the man in Jock’s grip pulled a small knife out of his pocket and thrust back, aiming for Jock’s side.

  Jock twisted at the waist to avoid the slash of the blade, which caused his grip on the man to loosen. Fiona knew exactly what the man would do next, and she lunged in the direction of the gun just as the man did. She wasn’t fast enough, and just as the man closed his fingers around the hilt of the gun Fiona knew she’d made a big mistake.

  The man lifted the gun, his lips curled back in a snarl. Fiona heard barking and a shout as she stared at the black hole of the gun’s muzzle.

  Then two hands wrapped around the man—one at his throat and one at his forehead. The hands yanked, a sickening crack filled the small space, and the man dropped to the ground in a heap. Behind him knelt Jock, chest heaving, eyes cold, looking like a predator out of a movie.

  Fiona shrieked and immediately covered her mouth, staring at the man’s now-lifeless eyes as he lay in the dirt path. Jock rose to his feet with a deadly grace. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed a couple of buttons. But Fiona couldn’t take her eyes off the man’s body. She didn’t mourn him. She didn’t know him, and he’d clearly meant to do her harm but Jock had…just killed him. Snapped his neck. Took his life.

  She choked back a sob, the adrenaline draining out of her as Jock said curtly into the phone. “Favor. Cleaning crew needed.” He rattled off the park address and then pressed another button and slid the phone into his pocket. He checked the man’s pockets but came up empty.

  Jock stepped past Sundance and held his hand down to Fiona. “We gotta go.”

  She stared at his hand, the same one that had killed the man in front of her. She hadn’t really thought of all of Jock’s skills, hadn’t let herself go there and imagine all the ways he planned to keep her safe. That would include killing someone before they killed her.

  His hand didn’t have any blood on it, because what he’d done had been cleaner than that. But he still had blood on it. Blood in her name. Oh fuck, she was shaking so badly her teeth rattled. She still hadn’t grabbed his hand, and something passed over his face—Regret? Frustration?—before he shut it down and, with a curse, hauled her to her feet.

  With Sundance on their heels, he led her out of the park toward a large truck. He opened the passenger side door, helped her inside, and even buckled her seatbelt as she curled into herself. Sundance jumped into her lap and she gripped his fur, burying her face into his side.

  The driver’s side door opened, Jock got in, and then they were speeding away. It took her five minutes to raise her head and look out the window. “Where are we going?”

  “Away.”

  “What?”

  “There’ll be more. We need to move. Not safe here. Need my crew.”

  “But my apartment, my things—”

  “Gotta leave ’em.”

  “No!” she shouted, the sound surprising her, Sundance, and Jock. The latter darted his eyes her way, his bro
ws lowering. “Fiona—”

  “No! I want to go back and pack a bag. Goddamn it, Jock, I don’t have a lot, but I have some things, and I want them. I want them because they are all I have, all I’ve had for ten fucking years, and I will take them with me!”

  Jock didn’t stop driving, and his face looked set, determined.

  “The necklace,” she said softly, and at that, he jerked and then stilled as she kept talking. “The necklace you bought me. I want it. It was a gift from you, and I fucking want it. And you will take me back there, Jock, and you will let me pack a bag, and make sure I have my necklace or I’ll jump out of this moving truck, so help me God.”

  He swallowed, and then with a slice of his hand onto the lever of the turning signal, he turned around to go back to her apartment.

  She leaned back in the seat, staring out the window, clutching Sundance to her chest.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jock didn’t regret snapping the man’s neck. It wasn’t the first life he’d taken, and probably wouldn’t be the last. He hadn’t stopped working as a hitman for moral bullshit, seeing as he’d killed men who were as dirty as those who tormented Fiona. He’d quit because he was tired of the life and liked hacking better. With his skills, he found he could do more damage from behind a keyboard than with a gun.

  Still, he hadn’t intended to kill the man. Even though Jock didn’t think he’d have gotten much information out of the guy, he would have liked to question him. Even if the bruises on Fiona’s face had made him reconsider keeping the man alive. But the man wasn’t giving up, and when Jock had seen that gun swing in Fiona’s direction his instincts took over. End him.

  When Jock had arrived at the dog park, Sundance had been frantic, his nose to the ground looking for Fiona. But he wasn’t a bloodhound and the dog park was a crazy mix of smells.

  Jock had heard something deep in the park, a crack. Like a twig snapping or…a slap. Sundance had heard it, too, and they’d both taken off in the same direction at a dead sprint. When he’d seen that man about to place a boot in Fiona’s stomach while he gripped a gun in his hand…Jock hadn’t taken too kindly to that. The man had probably been a foot soldier, some low-rank piece of shit sent on an errand to retrieve Fiona.

  But it’d been a kick in his own gut to see Fiona’s shock that he’d snapped the man’s neck. So while he didn’t regret it, he still wished the whole situation had gone a different way.

  Going back to her apartment was a bad idea, but he couldn’t deny her. She was hurt, pissed off, scared as shit, and she wanted her belongings. He didn’t quite understand because he didn’t have anything of value, but he got where she was coming from. Since they were going back, he’d grab his clothes and his equipment. Then they’d hit the road for DC, where he could team up with Roarke and Wren on their home turf. He didn’t know this area well enough and had no hideouts.

  He found a shaded parking spot near the apartment complex. “Sundance stays,” he said. Fiona opened her mouth and he cut her off. “Sundance. Stays. We get in, get what you need, and get the fuck out. Do you understand?”

  She pursed her lips and nodded.

  With a soft command to Sundance to stay, Fiona slipped out of the truck. Jock maintained a grip on her arm as they entered the back door and took the stairs. Jock cased her apartment before he let her walk in, and once he deemed it safe, she retreated to the bedroom wordlessly. He grabbed an ice pack from her freezer, and by the time he found her she was filling a suitcase.

  She’d done this before, as her movements were practiced. Clothes, some shoes, a shoebox she pulled from her closet, and then a few toiletries. She pulled the necklace he’d bought her over her neck, taking a moment to finger the stones. His throat closed as he stood holding the ice pack with numb fingers.

  Finally she zipped up her suitcase and turned to him with wet eyes. “Just let me grab Sundance’s things.” Her voice trembled.

  He nodded.

  After she was finished, she took one look at her apartment and followed him out the door. She slipped a piece of paper under Marlene’s door and then allowed him to take her suitcase. After a quick glance out the window at the end of the hallway, Jock confirmed his truck was fine. He took her upstairs to his apartment where she waited in the doorway, glancing around as he quickly packed his clothes and laptop. The majority of his weapons were in his truck, but he slipped his Ruger into his boot. When he straightened, Fiona’s eyes were on the location of his gun. She darted her gaze up to him and then looked away.

  Five minutes later they were in the truck, Fiona’s belongings in the cab, and they were on their way out of New York as night descended upon the city.

  * * *

  He drove with a single-minded focus. Fiona held the ice pack to her face as he’d instructed, but eventually she slumped against the door in sleep. Sundance had settled in the back of the cab, but when Jock glanced at him, the dog’s eyes were open, watching him.

  “Sleep, buddy,” Jock rumbled. Sundance yawned and closed his eyes.

  Jock knew the adrenaline running through his system would take a long time to burn out. He would drive until he couldn’t anymore, until his body was too worn out and he didn’t trust his eyes to stay on the road and keep Fiona safe.

  Her cheek had swelled because it’d taken too long to get the ice pack on her face. The sight of it made his hands clench the steering wheel so hard that the leather beneath his hands protested with a squeak. The necklace lay on her chest, and his eyes lingered on the way passing headlights caught the stones. He hadn’t thought much of it when he’d bought it. He knew she didn’t have a lot, and he knew that he did. He could afford it, and he wanted to give her something. It’d meant something to her. More than he’d realized. He rubbed his chest over his heart, where the sharp pain he’d felt as soon as he’d seen her bruised face had now dulled to an ache. She’d lived with this fear her whole adult life. He’d witnessed it for a couple of weeks, and that was fucking enough for him.

  They were in southeast Pennsylvania by the time Jock’s hands became unsteady on the wheel, and the road blurred before him. He didn’t want to stay anywhere close to the highway so he took an hour-long detour on back roads until he found a small motel tucked behind a gas station. The O’Shaw was a one-story building, about twenty rooms all on ground level. They had vacancy, accepted pets, and boasted color TVs with cable. Good to know.

  He jostled Fiona awake. She blinked at him groggily.

  “Need to sleep for a bit before I can drive more. Gonna get a room, some shut-eye, then we’re on our way again.” Fiona nodded, and he grabbed their bags from the trunk. The motel was shaped like an L, and the office sat in the corner. Inside, Jock slammed his hand down on the bell repeatedly until a portly woman lumbered from a back room, glowering at him. He glowered back as Fiona stood at his side, unsteady on her feet, Sundance sitting nearby obediently.

  The woman took one look at Fiona’s face and stopped abruptly. “No.”

  Jock ignored her. “Need a room.”

  “No.” The woman said again, never taking her eyes off Fiona. “No vacancy.”

  “The sign says you have a vacancy, and there are only three cars in the parking lot, ma’am.”

  Finally she looked at him. “We don’t want trouble here. I’m asking you to leave or I’m calling the police.”

  Fiona seemed to snap out of her sleepy state. “Excuse me?”

  “I can call the police now.” The woman picked up her phone. “If you’re not safe—”

  “I’m safe,” Fiona said, her voice firming up. Her back was straight, and she gripped Jock’s hand as she stared at the woman with clear eyes. “I don’t know what I look like. I’m sure I look awful. But I’m telling you, from one woman to another, that however I look is not because of the man standing next to me. He is the reason I’m safe. He is the reason this,” she pointed at her face, “is all I got and there isn’t more damage. All we want is a place to sleep, and then we’re moving on. Please.”<
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  The woman’s eyes darted between them until finally she placed her phone back in its cradle and sighed. “Okay, but I want no trouble.”

  “We’ll be no trouble,” Fiona said, her voice softer.

  The woman accepted cash but wanted a valid driver’s ID. Jock gave her one of his aliases, and she jotted down the name on the card—Joshua Davis.

  “Here are your keys. Room 12. Have a nice stay, Mr. Davis.”

  Fiona didn’t even flinch at the name change.

  Jock grabbed the keys, muttered a thanks, and then steered his small party of three out of the office and to their hotel room.

  When he opened the door, he expected worse, but the room was clean if not updated. The TV was ancient, the carpet beneath his feet was threadbare, and a worn Bible sat on the nightstand between the two beds.

  The locks were new on the door, though, and the chain lock was sturdy. He checked them before turning to find Fiona standing in the middle of the room, looking around with a dazed expression.

  “You want to use the bathroom first? Then sleep.”

  Fiona blinked at him a couple of times before she registered what he’d said. “Right, bathroom. Sleep.”

  She walked into the bathroom and shut the door. While the water inside ran, Jock pulled out Sundance’s food and water dish. He poured water from the bottle he’d brought, and the dog lapped it up. Jock opened Fiona’s suitcase and took out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. When she walked out of the bathroom, he pointed to the clothes on the bed. “Change. I’ll be in the bathroom.”

  She looked at him for a long moment and then grabbed the hem of her shirt. He looked away just as she pulled it over her head. In the bathroom, he splashed water on his face and refused to look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to think about what had happened or what was to come. He’d worry about it all when he woke.