by Jodie Bailey
Jenna pressed closer to Wyatt, fear tightening her throat. Grant Meyer knew where she was. She was trapped. There was one way into the apartment and there was no way they could go waltzing out the front door without being seen.
Agent Nance held a hand up to Wyatt. “If you’d listened instead of walking away, you’d know there’s a team outside, ready to intercept the moment they arrive.”
“The grounds crew two buildings over? You really think such a diversion will work?”
“Yes. Ms. Clark is perfectly safe. We’re all perfectly safe staying right in this apartment where we are. If Meyer is with them, this will all be over as soon as they choose to make a move.”
“And if he’s not?” Wyatt’s voice was ice-cold, sending a shiver along Jenna’s skin.
“If he’s not, we look at a more permanent solution for keeping him from getting to Ms. Clark.”
Enough. They were talking about her as though she wasn’t right in front of them, as though her life no longer belonged to her and she no longer had the freedom to make her own decisions. “Wait. Stop.” Three pairs of eyes turned toward her. “You think Grant Meyer is here? Nearby?”
“Yes.” Agent Howell spoke from behind Nance. “We lost him in Tennessee but we believe he was headed here to confront you—well, your sister—personally.”
“So if I let him get close, you can catch him? This will all be over? And Amy will be safe? She can come out of hiding?”
Agent Nance nodded, but Agent Howell’s gaze kicked to the left, avoiding Jenna’s eye.
The look crawled across Jenna’s skin. Something was wrong. She let go of Wyatt’s hand and stepped in front of him. “What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing.” Agent Nance held her gaze, and this time she didn’t look away.
“Where is my sister?” Jenna forced all of her fear, her grief, her frustration into the question. The words came out heavy and threatening, a voice she’d never heard from her own mouth before.
Even Wyatt stiffened behind her before he found her hand and twined his fingers with hers, urging her to keep asking.
Agent Howell pressed her lips into a tight line and had a silent conversation with Agent Nance before she spoke. “We don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Wyatt took the lead now, moving to stand beside her, a united front. “You told me not five minutes ago you’d moved her for her own safety.”
Nance exhaled loudly and motioned to the hallway toward the front of the apartment, urging them to move into the living room before he started to walk that way. “Yesterday, she vanished.”
“You lost my sister?” Jenna let go of Wyatt’s hand, squeezed past Agent Howell and followed Agent Nance into the living room. “How do you lose track of a person? You weren’t watching her?”
“Your sister was living much the same way you were, under an assumed identity in a different state until Grant Meyer somehow located her. She was moved into protective custody briefly, given a new identity and moved again. Yesterday, she vanished.”
Jenna wavered and collided with Wyatt, who laid his hands on her shoulders, supporting her. “Do you think—”
“No.” Nance shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “If Meyer had her, he wouldn’t be targeting you. Her home was processed. She deliberately packed a bag and left. There have been no hits on her credit cards or her identity since.”
“Why would she leave?”
“We don’t—” A rapid succession of pops from outside made Agent Nance whirl toward the window above the table.
Agent Howell turned to Wyatt, who’d pulled Jenna against him. “Get her into the bathroom. Into the tub. Lock the door and keep her out of sight until one of us comes for you.”
Jenna’s throat went dry. Her heart pounded. They were here. They really had come for her.
Wyatt’s hands dropped from her shoulders, and he reached around her, tugging her with him. “Let’s go.” He dragged her up the hallway as the noises from outside stopped. “Move, Jen—”
The door exploded inward and bounced off the wall.
Wyatt grabbed Jenna, shoved her into the first bedroom on the left, pushed her into the walk-in closet and threw himself in front of her, dropping to one knee and drawing his pistol as shots roared in the apartment.
Stillness.
Silence.
Low voices and footsteps.
They’d kill Wyatt. Whoever was in the apartment would shoot him before he could fire a single round.
She couldn’t let them. He couldn’t die protecting her. She’d never be able to live with herself if she was responsible for the death of the man she loved.
Because she did. She’d never have imagined she could, never imagined her heart was even capable of that kind of trust, but she did. And because she loved him, she had to save him. He’d thrown himself between her and death more than once.
Wyatt had been right earlier. She had value...to the men outside the door.
It was her turn to make the sacrifice.
* * *
Wyatt kept himself between Jenna and the closet door as cautious footsteps rang up the hallway, loud on the hardwood. The eerie quiet following the flurry of gunfire and the faint smell of gunpowder told the tale...
Howell and Nance were either incapacitated or dead.
Whoever had killed them knew Wyatt was here. They wouldn’t go easy on him, especially once they realized he was the last thing standing between them and their target. He wasn’t sure how many there were in the apartment, but he’d take every single one of them down before he’d let them take Jenna.
Or he’d die trying.
The footsteps hesitated in the hallway outside the bedroom and Wyatt leveled his pistol at the closed closet door. More footsteps. Two sets, heavy and methodical, as though they were clearing the room, which meant they were likely highly trained.
Trained or not, it didn’t matter. There were more of them than him, and he’d have to be ready if he wanted to get them both out of this alive.
Everything he’d ever trained for came down to this moment. Every military exercise. Every moment of police training. He was laser focused on the sounds outside the door, on protecting the woman he loved.
The woman he’d loved for as long as he could remember.
Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to face off in this final battle.
The footsteps, slow and methodical, sounded in the bedroom.
Wyatt slipped his finger to the trigger, heart pounding, sweat coating his forehead.
Behind him, Jenna shifted, then rose.
Panic raced through Wyatt. What was she doing? He couldn’t block her if she was standing. He couldn’t lower his weapon and drag her to safety without dropping his guard and possibly signing both of their death warrants. Had she lost her—
“I’m worth more to you alive than dead.” Jenna’s voice was too loud. It rang out clear and strong, nearly echoing off the empty closet walls.
The footsteps stopped.
“What are you doing?” Wyatt asked.
She didn’t acknowledge him, but simply raised her voice again. “I’m alone and I’ll come out. No fighting on my end. No shooting on yours. I’ll go with you. You get the full price for...” Her words stuttered, wavered. “For me.”
“Jenna, no.” His voice rasped, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He wanted to turn to her, cover her mouth, stop her. But he couldn’t take his attention from the door and the threat on the other side. Instead, he reached around with his free hand, his fingers wrapping around her ankle. “What are you doing?”
She eased around to stand beside him and whispered, “Saving your life.” Laying a hand on his shoulder, she raised her voice again. “No one else dies. If they do, I fight. I fight you all the way. And you lose half of your money.”
<
br /> She was killing him. Literally killing both of them. Even if the men outside agreed to her terms initially, she’d be in their hands and they’d surely return to finish him off. Men like Grant Meyer didn’t leave loose ends.
“Somebody heard those gunshots. There are probably police on their way now.” Jenna raised her voice. “I’ll fight all the way out of here and slow you down, and you know Meyer would rather have me alive after he was fooled the last time.”
The silence was long, causing Wyatt’s muscles to tense. His mind spun through plans. He could shove aside Jenna, burst through the door with guns blazing.
Except he didn’t really know how many were out there, how many reinforcements they had, what weapons they carried. If he died trying to be a hero, there would be no one to protect Jenna.
He had no control. Zero. There was nothing he could do to make this work. Nothing. He couldn’t save Jenna. He was helpless, exactly like the day when he’d frozen outside the Pritchett house and two people had died.
Harsh whispers rose outside, a quick exchange that sounded like an argument.
“Come out slowly, hands up.” A muffled voice came through the door. “You’ve got ten seconds.”
Before Wyatt could lower his weapon and rise from his knee, Jenna slipped from his grasp, edged open the door and went out in a flurry of motion.
Out. Between him and the men trying to take her. No clear line of fire. No clear way to save her except to show himself.
They weren’t going to get her out of this apartment. Not if he could stop them.
Sliding to the side of the door, Wyatt peered out through a crack, then eased out of the closet into an empty room. They were moving fast. Too fast.
Staying on the balls of his feet to keep his footfalls silent on the hardwood, Wyatt edged to the door, the pounding in his ears overtaking nearly every sound from the front of the apartment.
Pistol at the ready, he peeked around the threshold and into the living room. Two men, masked. The lead man had Jenna in front of him, one arm around her and the other hand holding a pistol against her side. He was focused on the door.
The other man was slightly to the right, holding a shotgun, covering the living room where the FBI agents were likely dead or injured.
He couldn’t get a shot off without risking Jenna. They were packed too tightly together.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t follow.
He slipped into the hallway as a soft sound from the living room made the man holding the rifle spin around, his weapon raised...his eyes on Wyatt.
There was something about those eyes...
There was a shout. A blow to Wyatt’s torso, the crack of gunfire. Wyatt dropped, his ribs burning, his breath gone...
And Jenna was screaming.
FIFTEEN
“Wyatt!” His name tore from her throat, raw and painful. She’d surrendered herself. She’d done what they asked, what she’d promised.
They’d killed Wyatt anyway. He’d dropped in the doorway to the bedroom, his hands gripping his midsection, gun on the floor at his side, unmoving.
No.
Jenna screamed again and jerked toward him, nearly freeing herself, but hands dug into the back of her hair, dragging her backward until an arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the ground.
She fought, kicking and clawing, throwing her head back, trying to make contact with something, anything. She had to get free. She had to get to Wyatt. She had to do something, to—
The man holding her lowered her feet as her heel grazed his shin. He grabbed her chin and jerked her head backward so hard her neck cracked, firing spots through her vision. His fingers dug into her cheek and jaw and he jerked her head tight against his, twisting her head painfully to the side. “I won’t hesitate to break your neck right here. Half of the money my boss wants for you is better than me sitting in prison for the rest of my life with nothing because you fought me all the way out of here.”
Jenna froze, a whimper escaping her dry throat, and she hated herself for it. He meant it. He would kill her.
She wasn’t sure it mattered anymore.
The second man, the one who’d shot Wyatt, spoke. “Lay off, man. You don’t need to hurt her. You got what you wanted.”
“Yeah, well... I did. And Meyer’s getting her alive, so it’s better for me, but I won’t go to prison for a lousy extra hundred grand.” He jerked Jenna closer to him. “Don’t think for one second I trust you, either. You shot that one cop, sure. Proved you’re serious. But there’s nothing to say you won’t flip again and put a bullet in me if it suits your purpose.” Finally, his grip loosened slightly and allowed Jenna a deep breath. “Now, you will walk down those stairs like you have some common sense and you will do exactly as we say or I will shoot you in the stomach. You’ll die slowly enough to watch us put a bullet in every single police officer who responds. Every one. Their deaths will be your fault. Maybe you’ll bleed out. Or maybe you’ll live and know you killed them all.” He gripped her chin harder, dragging out another pained whimper. “Understood?”
Tears stung her eyes from the pain both internal and external. They had her. There was nothing she could do but go with them.
With a meek nod, she surrendered and walked quietly down the stairs, the pistol still digging into her spine. She could run, but it wouldn’t end there. They’d kill others to spite her. Someone else would die as her punishment.
As sirens drew closer, they dragged her along the small lawn at the rear of the building, along a small ditch and into the parking lot of an apartment behind the one where she’d been hiding. The first man climbed into the driver’s seat of a large SUV while the man who’d shot Wyatt jerked open the back door and shoved her to the floor, then climbed in behind her and planted a foot between her shoulder blades to keep her from rising.
They’d driven maybe five minutes, through several turns that further weakened her already rocking stomach, when the SUV stopped abruptly and the driver leaned around to look down at her. “Something to make sure we get you to your destination without any incidents.”
A sharp, stabbing pain pinched her neck, and a burning sensation spread beneath her skin and into her head. “What was...” She blinked, her vision blurring, the words refusing to form.
“Enjoy your ride, Amy.” He spit out her sister’s name as though it was bitter. The sound came from far away, an echo at the end of a tunnel.
Her sister’s name. He’d called her Amy. In the running and the fear and the death, she’d forgotten this wasn’t about her. Grant Meyer had a price out on Amy’s head, not hers. She wasn’t the target.
Her sister was.
Maybe, if she fully surrendered and let Meyer destroy her, then he’d think he’d finally killed her sister. Maybe Amy could finally be free. The thought clung, stuck, swirled in her head until the pressure on her back released and the world faded to black.
Wyatt groaned and tried to roll onto his side, but a wave of nausea overcame him. He fought to surface from the faraway, drifting place his mind tried to take him. He had to sit up, assess the damage.
He’d been shot. They’d taken Jenna.
With a groan that broke through the grogginess, he moved his hands away from his side and lifted them, staring, his vision clearing.
Something was wrong. They felt dry. They were...dry. And clean.
No blood.
No blood?
With another groan, he pushed himself to rest against the wall and sat up, staring at the place the bullet had struck. He’d been shot. He’d heard the shot, felt the bullet hit, but... Nothing?
Voices and shouts penetrated the fog, but he lifted his shirt instead of turning to them. A huge angry reddish-purple bruise was forming on his lower rib cage. Probably a broken rib. But...the bullet?
He shook his head. Tried to breathe. Tried to bring
focus into the world as the pain ebbed slightly and his senses came back online. The smell of gunpowder. The wail of sirens drawing closer.
Lots of sirens.
A shadow fell over him. Wyatt scrambled for his gun, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Stephens. Be still. If they broke your rib, you don’t want to puncture a lung.” Agent Nance kneeled beside him, his brown hair mussed, his own face etched in white lines of pain.
“They got Jenna.” Wyatt tried to stand. “I have to go after her.”
“Not yet.” Nance held him down. “Local law enforcement is close. Someone must have called 911. We need to identify ourselves, let them clear us so we don’t get shot in the process of getting out of here. They’ll have paramedics, too. Let them get a look at you, then you can run off and try to find her.”
“Are they gone?” Maybe Jenna was still nearby. Maybe whoever had taken her had been confronted by the police already.
“They got away. Clean. And we have no idea where they took her. Our men outside...” He stopped and clenched his fists. “Howell and I are fine. Most of them didn’t fare so well.”
Wyatt settled against the wall, willing the ringing in his ears to stop. Men were dead. Good men, killed by ruthless thugs who now had Jenna, and he couldn’t do anything until local law enforcement let them go.
They’d better hurry. He had to get to Jenna before Meyer exacted his revenge on her. But Nance was right. The sirens were right outside. Even if he made it to the door, he didn’t have a badge on him. Just a gun. With shots fired, this could only end with him surrendering and having to sort everything out before he could leave. Better to let the Feds read the locals in quickly so they could move. “What happened?” Intel. He needed intel. “How many? How did they...? What were they shooting? They hit me, but...” His voice was gaining strength, but when he breathed he still felt stabbing pain in his right side.