Glancing left and right, all her senses on high alert, she crept between cars and trucks, pausing now and then to listen for the sound of her stalker.
Too bad she couldn't get back in the way she'd exited, but the door was locked from the outside. Tara understood why and had no issue with Nick's decision. Some bastard had entered that way once, hidden in the women's restroom, and then snatched a woman. The fucker had taken her into the adjacent woods, raped and beaten her, and then left her for dead. Nick had locked the backdoor from the outside ever since.
So the front of the building was her goal.
It was a constant struggle to remain as quiet as possible. Between the gravel underfoot and her harsh breaths which sounded like mini-explosions to her, she was sure the man had to hear her.
Her attempt to control her breathing was a battle she was destined to lose. Adrenaline had flooded her bloodstream. Her heart pumped wildly and her lungs followed. Her body was preparing to fight whoever was out there.
Now that her brain was working, she knew the man ahead of her wasn't Miller. Couldn't be. Couldn't have been the shooter on Saturday either.
She'd spoken with Aidan and her other two brothers multiple times since the Saturday shooting and none of them had said anything about Miller escaping before Aidan's call a few minutes ago. Miller would not have had time to get here to stalk her. And even if he could have, he would've gone to her cabin and not come to an area where there were lots of people.
This stalker wasn't Miller, even though it was his style to stalk his prey. And Miller absolutely wasn't the shooter on Saturday, because he was a decent marksman and she and Price would've been dead.
No, whoever was in the parking lot was someone else, although it could be the lame-ass sniper of Saturday. For some reason, that made her breathe easier.
Tara moved on and slithered between two huge SUVs parked so closely together she wasn't sure how anyone could get in or out of them.
Finally, she'd reached the back corner of the diner and stopped. There were cars parked in a single row along the side of the building. They weren't as closely packed together. There was also a bit more light on the side, coming through some glass block windows. Once she rounded the corner, she'd have a higher risk of being seen.
Before moving, she listened and heard nothing. Yet her stalker was still out there. She could feel him.
Had he realized she hadn't made it to the front yet? Was he lying in wait, hoping she'd pass by him and he could grab her?
Her gut was screaming—"get around the damn corner and back inside." Her brain said "be patient and don't fuck up."
So Tara waited and listened. As she did so, she rubbed her thumb over the grip of the Ka-Bar. The motion calmed her and seemed to sharpen her already heightened senses.
Hearing nothing other than the comings and goings at the front of the diner, the occasional car in the lot, and the music now louder since she was on the bar side of the building, she slid around the corner.
With the building on her right, all she had to be wary of was her stalker jumping out at her from between the parked cars and trucks on her left.
Or someone shooting your ass.
Yeah.
So, she moved cautiously, remaining alert to all changes in sound. The footing, a mixture of patchy grass, weeds, and stones, also drove the need to sacrifice speed for safety and stealth.
A footfall sounded. Not behind her, but in front and to her left, just beyond the row of vehicles.
Shit, he was doubling back and was far too close.
She crouched down, below the level of the hood of a classic Dodge Daytona. With the building at her back and the car in front of her, she was as concealed as she could get. Slowly, she picked up an almost fist-sized rock in her free hand. She firmed her grip on the Ka-Bar; the knife, almost an extension of her hand. If she had to fight, she would.
Then Tara went still.
Another footfall. Then several more. Then none. She could hear him breathing.
"Stupid cunt. Where is she?" His voice was filled with so much hatred.
From the sound of his voice, he was directly behind the Daytona.
Her readiness level shot to DEFCON 1. Every muscle twitched and her heart raced. But her fear was under control now, unlike earlier.
Gravel crunched. She prepared to spring up and go on the offensive, then she realized he was moving away—toward the back of the lot once more. She closed her eyes for a split-second in relief, then opened them to peek around the corner of the car. As she watched him move away, she looked for anything unique that would tell her who this man was or help her identify him later.
Really?
Her heart rate and breathing slowed back to near normal levels. Fear had been replaced by irritation—She recognized the damn boots.
Chapter 4
Inside Ma's
After Tara left the table, Ren turned toward his wife. "Who did you text, sprite?"
He stroked a finger over the back of her hand and smiled when she shivered in response. He liked how she always reacted to his touch—no matter where they were, no matter when. Later he'd trail his finger all over her naked body before he made love to her. Fee and Trey were babysitting Riley, so Ren had the whole night to drive his wife wild.
"I didn't initiate the text. I was replying to one." She refused to look at him.
"Keely?" Placing his finger under her stubborn little chin, he turned her head to look at him. "You had that plotting look on your face when you were replying. Are you messing in something you shouldn't be?"
The little minx glared at him.
Tweeter snickered. "'Fess up, imp. I recognized the look, too."
Keely narrowed her eyes at her brother before turning to Ren. "It was Price. He's back from the personal security job. Earlier, I told him he needed to come join us. He just texted he'd be here soon."
"Needed?" Ren raised a brow. "He just spent the last twenty-four hours escorting our client to a safer location. Not sure he needs to drive all the way here."
"He likes Tara. I'm fairly sure Tara likes him." Keely had her stubborn face on. "Price is being more subtle than he normally is with women so Tara has no frick-fracking clue he's been flirting with her since he met her."
"Yeah, you're right. He's not using his normal smooth moves." Ren tugged on one of his wife's long blonde curls. "On Saturday, before all the shooting began, Tara was staring holes in Price when he wasn't looking."
"Yeah, it was sort of obvious they're keeping an eye on each other. It's been like that all through Tara giving us Hotshot 101 lessons, right up to last week,” Tweeter said. “I thought Price would take Trent's head off when the idiot put his hand right above Tara's ass. Before all hell broke loose on Saturday, we told Price that he needed to make a move on Tara before someone else did." He'd addressed the latter remark to Keely and DJ.
"See?" Keely pointed a finger at her brother. "You guys poked your noses into their business, so why can't I?"
"Valid point, sprite." Ren leaned over to brush her flushed cheek with his lips. "So, is he coming?"
"He'd have been here sooner," she grinned, "but he wanted to shower and change clothes. Oh, and I just sort of told him about the skeevy guy who put moves on Tara."
Ren blew out an exasperated breath. "You didn't need to mention the asshole on the make. She handled it. Plus, if she hadn't Tweeter and I would've." He gave his wife's shoulders a squeeze.
"I know that, big guy. I just wanted to light a fire under Price." Keely smirked. "He needs to make his move faster."
"Baby, Tara has issues, and you know what they are better than anybody. In my opinion, Price choosing to go slow was the right move in this instance." Ren kissed her temple. "Although, I don't totally disagree with you. He definitely should send some stronger signals. Tara would be receptive."
"Yeah, she would, and she does have some seriously bad history with men, but"—Keely angled her head to look at him—"I had issues, and I pushed you. S
ometimes men can get overprotective in the wrong way. Instead of giving us space, they should be moving in so we women with issues realize we have a safe place to be. Being a strong, independent woman sucks some days."
"It sure can." DJ rested her head on Tweeter's shoulder. "Ace made his interest known from practically the day we met. He didn't push, gave me some space, but, damn, he was always there when I really needed him. Though we may have words if he continues to think I'm helpless just because I'm pregnant."
"You're not helpless, sugar." Tweeter turned to brush a kiss over her hair. "But you are carrying our child and I'm gonna protect what's mine."
"See, what I mean?" DJ widened her eyes at Keely who snickered. "I do love you, Ace, even when you pull that macho bullshit."
"Damn right you do." Tweeter winked at Ren.
DJ snorted. "The point I was trying to make is that Tara, like me, isn't helpless. But she also recognizes the need for teamwork and backup at certain times. So Price being present and supportive is a smart move on his part."
"Well,” Keely drawled, “so far the only times they've been around each other is while rescuing Fee, during the firefighting training, getting post-training beers with the guys, and the clearcutting sessions on Sanctuary. But that's like palling around." She gestured with her wine glass. "This evening with you all seemed to be a good opportunity to put them together among friends, but in a more couple-type way."
"But we could've done that at another time," Ren said, "not when Price is probably running on only a battle nap on the flight home from the job."
Keely sipped her wine. "Maybe, but Fee told me Tara called her on Sunday, wanting to know where Price was. She, according to Fee, sounded pissed and a bit hurt. It seems Price had informed her 'they'd talk,'" she gestured quotes with one hand, "after the ruckus on Saturday."
"Okay, that puts your urgency in a different light." Ren hugged her. "You've done what you could in getting them together, let them handle it from here on out. Okay?"
"Sure." Keely took another sip of wine.
Tweeter laughed. "I know that tone of voice." DJ elbowed him. "Ouch, sugar."
"Stop picking on your sister."
"I'm not. I'm just saying she's gonna—"
A text notification beeped. Tweeter stopped talking and reached for his phone.
"It's mine, Tweetie. Might be Price." Keely reached for her phone just as Ren's phone rang.
Ren looked at the number. A Montana area code? Who the fuck did he know in Montana? Figuring it was a robocall, he swiped the phone and growled, "Who is this?"
"Aidan Nightwalker. Tara's in trouble. The guy at Sanctuary told me you're with my sister. Get the fuck outside and help her." Then Nightwalker hung up.
"Shit." Ren slid out of the booth and ran for the door.
Keely was on his heels, and he knew DJ and Tweeter would be also.
"Tara texted an SOS," Keely said.
"Stay inside, sprite," Ren ordered.
"Not on your frick-fracking life," she said.
"Fine. Cover my six," Ren ordered.
The four of them exited the diner and stopped. The front lot was well-lit and at the moment there was no movement, cars or people.
"No trouble here," Tweeter said. "Wait. I heard something."
"The side lot," DJ said. "Sounds like grunts."
"Someone's fighting." Ren led the way as lights from vehicle lit up the four of them. "It's Price. Move it. He's heading into the side lot."
The four of them ran.
* * * *
Minutes earlier
Tara was pissed. The asshole stalking her was Brown-and-Brown. She strode after the son-of-a-bitch. Since Ren had pointed out the guy was armed, she kept her knife in hand. Didn't hurt to be cautious.
Besides, she'd texted an SOS to Keely only a few minutes ago. The SSI gang would be looking for her. They'd check out the back hallway and restroom first. But eventually they'd come outside. By then she should have Brown-and-Brown sorted out. And in her mind, he definitely needed sorting out—he'd been up to no good lurking in the darkened back lot by her car.
"Hey, jerkwad," she yelled as she closed the distance between them. "You looking for me?"
Brown-and-Brown stopped. She could see him clearly as he stood under one of the lights in the side lot. He turned and gave her what she could only call an evil grin.
"There you are, girl." He came toward her, his hands out to his side as if to show her he was unarmed. Yeah, and she was Madonna. "Name's—"
"Didn't ask for your name, asshole." She kept space between them and made sure he saw her knife. "And I told you earlier, not interested. So why were you waiting on me? Maisie wasn't enough for you?"
"That the bitch's name?" He stopped and looked to the side and spat. "She was a disappointment. I like some fight in my prey."
Prey? Fight? The way he said the words sent a chill down her spine. When he turned a soulless gaze on her and smiled, she knew something bad had happened to Maisie. But what? And where was the woman?
"What did you do?" she asked, the words forcing their way past the constriction in her throat.
"The same thing I'm gonna do to you." He angled his head to his left and pulled his gun. "Drop the knife. Go check it out. Then we'll play."
Whatever he wanted her to see, it wasn't good. She began to move and as she did she threw her knife and hit him in his gun arm.
His arm went back and the gun went flying and slid under a car. "You fucking cunt. Ima gonna kill you slow." He pulled her knife from his upper arm and with a shout rushed her.
She side-kicked her knife out of his hand and danced away. He missed cutting her by inches. He stumbled, cursed, pulled his knife, and then like a crazy man rushed her again. And, again, he missed, but she tagged him with a kick to his ass, knocking him to his knees.
He grunted and growled like an animal, like a crazy person. What had he done to Maisie?
She couldn't worry about that now, because he was up and charged her like an enraged bull. She moved out of his way and managed to punch him on the side of the neck.
So far, she'd managed not to take a hit. He wasn't taller than her, but he outweighed her. She'd have to keep her feet. Once on the ground, she'd have less of an advantage against the deranged male.
When he rushed her this time, she caught him with a side kick and put him on the ground again. She moved away. His idea of fighting was to run at people and try to take them to the ground. From his labored breathing, he was also out of shape. Eventually, she'd tire him out or Ren and the gang would show up and take over.
Breathing deeply, Tara took up a defensive position near where Brown-and-Brown had glanced earlier. It placed a line of parked cars and trucks at her back.
Then she smelled it. Blood. Lots of blood. Maisie?
Keeping him in her peripheral vision as he picked himself up off the ground, she glanced to one side and then the other. And saw her.
The formerly vibrant redhead looked like a broken doll. A bruised, cut, naked doll.
Tara tasted the sharp copper of the dead woman's blood all around her. She mewled as her vision began to tunnel and her stomach cramped with remembered pain and degradation.
No. No. Not now.
She shook her head, forced herself to focus on the here and now. But failed when she glanced at Maisie's almost accusing eyes. A sense of fear and pain lingered in the atmosphere, calling to Tara's shamanic sense. So much so it was as if Maisie's spirit was there, pleading for vengeance.
Movement pulled her back to the present, but it was too late. Maisie's killer tackled her. The force of the hit propelled them away from where Maisie lay and into the parking lot aisles—and took Tara to the ground. He landed on her and knocked the breath out of her. Then he cut her side with his knife as he tore at her clothes.
"Gonna fuck you. Cut you. Then cut your insides out." The man grunted as she slapped her hand hard on his ear. "Gonna enjoy every second of it, cunt. You won't."
No
, not this time. Never again.
Grunting with pain from the cut and the gravel digging into her back, she dug in and used the ever-present rage lying just under her surface to fight for her life…for the sanity she'd managed to find since another murderous raping animal had attacked her.
At least this time, she had her hands and legs free to do so. She began by gouging his eyes.
* * * *
Looking forward to having some quality time with Tara, Price pulled into the lot at Ma's. The small front lot was full, so he headed for the side lot. He braked. Someone was fighting in the drive. A man and a woman.
Slamming the vehicle into Park, he got out of the Hummer and ran to intervene.
The man screamed. "My eyes. You fucking cunt."
"You killed Maisie, you fucker." That was Tara's voice; it was high and almost unrecognizable with pain, rage, and something else he couldn't identify. And what the fuck did Maisie have to do with anything?
Then his warrior woman raised her head and bit at something on her attacker. The man screamed.
"Tara!" he called out, letting her know help had arrived.
Spouting unrecognizable gibberish and filth, the fucker on top of Tara raised his arm. The light from parking lot glinted off a blade.
Price moved even faster, faster than he ever remembered moving in his life. When he reached the struggling bodies, Tara had managed, somehow, to stop the downward motion of the knife.
He took over and grabbed the fucker's arm and twisted it, dislocating the elbow. He pulled the knife from the man's now useless hand and tossed it to the side. Then he picked up the man and tossed him aside as well. The man rolled on the ground and howled as he cradled his arm.
"Tara?" He chanced a glance at her as he placed his body between her and her attacker. "You okay?"
"Yes…mostly. I did okay until…" She blinked and looked away. Her breath hitched and she coughed, holding an arm over her diaphragm. Holding back something he sensed she was embarrassed about. Finally, she gave a half-assed shrug and said, "Ground fighting is not my thing."
Firestorm (Security Specialists International Book 6) Page 6