At Any Cost (21 page)

* * *

Nick closed the trapdoor over Livy and shut her in the cellar before spreading the rug back over the floor. Barefoot, unarmed, and without backup to face five possibly armed men, his situation wasn't exactly ideal. Especially when he wasn't sure what direction the ambush would be coming from.

Meecum had evaded capture for so long because he was a smart son of a bitch. Livy's dad had underestimated him and it had gotten him killed. Nick wasn't about to make that mistake. He knew exactly who he was up against and what the man was capable of. If Livy had Meecum's ledger, you could bet the asshole wouldn't stop until he had it in his hands and she was dead. Nick was bound and determined to make sure he didn't get so much as a finger on her.

The sound of muted voices carried through the thin outer walls of the old cabin. Whoever was out there thought they were stealthy, but they'd obviously never ambushed a quiet rural lane before. There were no city sounds or streetlights to mask their approach. Even if he and Livy had been asleep when Meecum's guys rolled up, they would have woken.

On any other night, no one could have gotten into the house without making a hell of a lot of noise. Livy never left or went to bed without making sure every door and window was locked. Nick had distracted her last night, however. He'd closed the front door behind him and they'd made their way up the stairs. As far as he knew, it was still unlocked.
Damn it
. So far all Nick had managed to do was leave Livy more vulnerable. His actions hadn't helped her. If anything, he'd provided the necessary distraction for Meecum to sneak right into her house and take her. Some fucking great cop he'd turned out to be. Everything Livy had accused him of stung with bits and pieces of truth. He'd lost his focus. Let the job—his investigation—take a backseat to his feelings. He'd let her down. But damn it, he was going to make up for it.

The easy access into the house might have been a disaster if they were still asleep, but now Nick could use it to his advantage. Ambush the ambushers. He didn't have a gun, but he could be pretty goddamned dangerous without one. Careful not to make a sound, he padded to the front door. He kept his back flush to the wall and let the dark interior of the house mask his presence. Nick's gut tightened with anticipation and not a little anxiety. He wished that Livy wasn't so close but he was confident that as long as she stayed quiet, Meecum's guys would never know she was right below their feet. Nothing mattered more to Nick than keeping her safe. He was going to make sure that she never feared Joel Meecum or any of his associates ever again.

The snow that dusted the front porch steps muted their approach, but Nick knew that it was only a matter of seconds before his skills would be put to the test. He centered his focus and slowed his breathing. His heart beat a mad rhythm in his chest that he swore battered his rib cage. Adrenaline pooled in his limbs, causing his muscles to burn. Nick's teeth clenched and his nostrils flared. His hands tried to ball into fists but he forced them to remain loose despite the self-preservation instinct that made him want to swing out rather than grab at the first body through the door.

The knob turned and Nick's gut twisted into a knot.

He held his breath. He was more than simply outnumbered and this would be his only opportunity to get a leg up in what was guaranteed to be a violent, deadly fight. He never should have waited so long to wrap this up. He shouldn't have put Morgan off. He should have confronted Livy and gotten her the hell out of here. Because there was no way everyone involved would walk away from this one. He just hoped that he and Livy survived this.

Nick willed his nagging thoughts to silence as the first body eased through the doorway. The door didn't even squeak to betray their entrance but the groan of the aged wood floors gave them away. Visibility wasn't ideal but Nick made out the dark outline of an outstretched arm and, from his hand, a monster revolver cast its shadow.

Nick lunged forward and grabbed the guy's wrist with his left hand while he swung out with his right. Stunned, it didn't take much for Nick to twist the guy's arm behind his back and wrangle the revolver from his grasp. The entire maneuver only took a couple of seconds to execute right before all hell broke loose. Angry shouts preceded the flash and bang of gunfire. Nick's ears rang and spots swam in his already hampered vision. The chaos of wild shouts and shuffling bodies was a distraction he couldn't afford. He needed to neutralize the situation at the front of the house before the rest of Meecum's guys barged in through the back. Nick's only advantage at this point was the deadbolt on the back door. But if they couldn't get in that way, he didn't doubt they'd circle around to help their comrades at the front.

Brothers till the end.

He brought the gun he'd managed to wrangle from the first guy around with a wide sweep of his arm. The butt caught thug number one square in the jaw and he went down like a stone. Another wild round of shots rang out and Nick hit the deck but not before he felt the air from a passing bullet whiz past his face. A fresh wave of adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream and he kicked out with his legs to knock thug number two off his feet.

Apparently the lock on the back door wasn't much of a deterrent for Meecum's crew. Rather than run around to the front of the house, it sounded like they were trying to come through the door with a battering ram. Nick prayed that Livy had done what he'd told her and stayed in the cellar. The shift of Nick's focus won his attackers a moment to regroup. His breath left his chest in a
whoof!
of air as a large body crashed down on top of him. Hands groped through the dark for the gun he still clutched in his hand and Nick swung out blindly with his left fist. The blow glanced off a shoulder, maybe the guy's chest. It was too hard to tell in the dark. He kicked and shoved, putting enough space between their bodies for Nick to bring his knee up and catch his assailant in the soft part of his gut.

With a muffled grunt, Nick managed to throw the heavy body from his. He was still at a disadvantage, whether he had a gun in his hand or not. The sound of the jamb splintering at the back door reached his ears and Nick's nerves jacked up to totally fucked-up proportions. One of Meecum's guys was unconscious but that still left four against one. He was a master marksman, but even so, he sure as hell wasn't that good.

A light flipped on in the kitchen. A second later another flipped on in the dining room. The sudden brightness caused Nick to shield his eyes and he looked up to find the same ratty SOB he'd roughed up at the bar for hassling Livy staring down the barrel of his gun at him.

The bastard turned his attention to the guy Nick had tripped. “Get Z-Dog up off the floor and the two of you get upstairs. Turn everything upside down, you hear me? Joel wants Kari alive.”

“I'm a deputy U.S. marshal,” Nick growled. “Think carefully about what you're about to do.”

The guy pulled back the hammer. “I don't need to think about a goddamned thing.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The inky blackness that permeated Livy's vision to the brink of pain was almost tangible, sensory even in its obscurity. It made her think of licorice and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She could almost smell it, taste it, as the pungent flavor filled her throat and nostrils. Banishing the illusion from her mind, she forced herself to fight the effect of sensory deprivation. She should have mentioned to Nick before he shoved her down into the hole that the lightbulb had burned out a few months ago and since she never used the cellar, she hadn't bothered to change it.

Cold seeped through the thin fabric of her sweater and leggings. Goose bumps rose to the surface of Livy's skin and she tried to rub them away as she remained perched on the steep wooden stairs. No way in hell was she going any farther. God only knew what was down there. Mice. Spiders. She shuddered as the sensation of tiny insects crawled over her flesh. She was going to kill Nick for stuffing her down here. Kill. Him.

The disorientation of not being able to see her own hand in front of her face caused panic to well up in Livy's chest. She commanded herself to stay calm and her trembling subsided as her breathing slowed. How long was he planning on keeping her here, blind and confused? Not knowing what in the hell was going on up there or whether or not he was safe.

“Nick.” The barely whispered word was as good as a shout in the empty dark. “Goddamn it, you'd better not die.”

The quiet was almost as bad as the darkness. Livy strained to hear even the faintest sign of Nick moving around above her but the concrete walls of the cellar insulated her from any outside sound. He was one man against who knew how many others and if Joel had sent them, you could bet your ass they were armed to the teeth. They'd tear the house to the foundation in their quest to find not only the ledger but also Livy.

God, she hoped Simon was okay.

Joel was just the sort of guy who'd go out of his way to kick a defenseless cat. Not that he'd have the balls to come out of hiding and take care of business himself. No, Livy was sure that he'd sent members of the MC to track her down and get his stupid book. She never should have gotten mixed up with her dad. Never should have run.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda. None of it mattered now. Livy was in serious danger. Nick was in serious danger. Rather than worrying about how she could have avoided it in the first place, she needed to figure out how to get them out of it now.

Livy didn't have her cell to call for help. Nick didn't have a gun. Hell, he didn't even have shoes on! Hiding out in the damned cellar wasn't going to do either of them an ounce of good. He couldn't take Joel's guys on single-handedly. He needed help and Livy wasn't going to sit down here like a coward while he put his life on the line for her.

She reached for the trapdoor at the exact moment a succession of loud cracks rent the quiet. The sound startled her and Livy lost her balance. A grunt of pain escaped her lips as she slipped and toppled down the stairs. Each bounce sent a jolt of pain through her body. Her ass made contact with the unyielding concrete floor and tears sprang to her eyes. Thank God she'd been halfway down the stairs already before she fell. Four or five steps was an easy trip compared to ten or twenty. Still, her body felt as though she'd been tumbled through the dryer for an hour along with a bag full of bricks.

When the fog from her brain cleared, her confusion was replaced with fear. The gunshots sent spears of icy dread through Livy's chest and her stomach twined into a tight tangle that made her sick. What if he'd been hit? What if Nick lay bleeding out on her floor? Livy's concern wouldn't allow for her to stay down in this impenetrable darkness like a total chickenshit. She'd hidden for too long and she wasn't going to do it any longer. Nick needed her and she'd be damned if he died up there alone.

If she could just get to her phone, she could call 911. It might not be much, but at least she'd know that help was on the way. Her phone was on the kitchen counter. Maybe. Or had she left it on the dining room table? Hell, she used the damn thing so seldom, it wasn't a surprise that she might not know its exact location. Still, she had to try to do something. Even if that meant taking a quick dash into her kitchen to call in the cavalry.

Far above her, Livy heard the muted thud of footsteps stomping up the stairs to the second story. If Joel's guys had headed up there to look for her—and the ledger—it would buy her a few minutes to get Nick, maybe get her hands on her cell, and get them the hell out of there. He was a deputy freaking U.S. marshal, for Christ's sake. He had to have a gun stashed somewhere at his place. If she could just get them across the lane to his cabin, they'd at least have what they needed to make a stand until the cops showed up.

If she got her ass in gear, they might have a fighting chance.

Livy braced her palms on the cold concrete floor and tried to push herself up. Every muscle screamed with pain and she was pretty sure she'd be sporting some nasty bruises in a few hours. She groped in the darkness for anything she could use as a crutch and said a silent, hopeful prayer that she wouldn't grab on to anything too disgusting. Her hand found something solid and she wrapped her fingers around what might have been a broom handle. She let her grip slide down the worn wood and found that the shape flattened and grew wide at the base. An oar, maybe? She supposed it didn't matter as long as it helped her get her ass up off the floor.

Every second it took her to get moving was a second wasted. Livy hobbled up the stairs, each step carefully placed so she wouldn't lose her footing in the pitch black and fall again. The oar did a good job of supporting her and maybe it would make a decent weapon if she could manage to swing it. The damned thing was long and awkward but if she put enough force behind the blow, she could probably knock someone off their feet. Maybe even knock them out completely.

She felt her way up to near the top of the stairs. Her hand met the trapdoor and she fumbled around as she searched for the latch. When her fingers found the cool metal of the D-shaped ring, Livy gave it a half turn and she heard the latch give way. Slowly, she lifted the trapdoor and peeked out from under the rug that draped over it.

The cellar had been so dark that the glow of the light in the kitchen nearly blinded her. She squinted against the brightness and did a preliminary search for feet anywhere in the laundry room or kitchen. As assured as she could be that the coast was clear, Livy eased the door up higher. It whispered open without a sound and she said a silent prayer of thanks as she just as silently crept out of the cellar, pulling the oar out with her.

The oar was a hell of a lot more rotted than she'd first thought. The top was broken off, leaving a jagged end of splintered wood. Well, if she couldn't effectively knock someone out with the piece of driftwood in her hand, maybe she could use it to stab instead.

“I'm a deputy U.S. marshal.” Nick's voice carried to Livy from the living room and he didn't sound happy. “Think carefully about what you're about to do.”

A distinctive click filled the silence. “I don't need to think about a goddamned thing.”

Oh shit
. Livy held the oar high in her grip and a twinge of pain raced along her shoulder. From behind her, a sound like someone was trying to drive a pickup through her back door startled her into action. She ignored the pain that flared through her muscles and rushed through the kitchen for the living room. Without even thinking she took a wide swing with the oar and knocked it into the arm of a man who had a large pistol pointed at Nick's face. He pulled the trigger and the shot went wide. So quickly that Livy couldn't process it, Nick brought his arm up, gun in hand, and fired.

A scream pierced the air as the man toppled over. Livy looked around, shocked, before she realized the sound had escaped her own throat. Nick turned to face her, his expression that of barely concealed anger. His brows drew down sharply over his eyes and his lips thinned.

“I told you
not
to leave the cellar, Livy.”

She stood rooted to her spot on the floor, stunned. Nick had just shot someone. With a gun. In her living room. Visions of her dad slumped over and bleeding invaded her mind and a wave of anxiety crested over her. Her breath sped in her chest, her stomach launched itself up into her throat, and spots swam in her vision. Livy swayed on her feet as she became light-headed and she would have toppled over if Nick hadn't gotten up to steady her. The pungent odor of gunpowder hit her nostrils and she stifled a gag.

“Oh my God, is he dead?” The man had been about to kill Nick. Whether or not he was still breathing shouldn't have mattered.

The sound of urgent footfalls headed toward the top of the stairs above them and both Livy and Nick raised their heads to the sound. “Get out of here, Livy, now.” He pushed her toward the front door and she took a stumbling step. “Run to my place, my phone's on the counter. Dial nine-one-one and tell them a deputy needs assistance and shots are being fired.” He gave her one last push and she reached out for the door. “Go!”

Any remaining rational thought had left her brain the minute she watched that man fall to the floor. Livy was operating on autopilot now. It was survive or die.

* * *

Nick shoved Livy out the door just as two of Meecum's guys came flying down the stairs. He brought the gun up and waited. Shooting someone in self-defense was one thing, cold-blooded murder another. Nick stood by his convictions. He wouldn't fire unless fired upon. If his life wasn't in immediate danger, these two would get the opportunity to have their day in court. He still wasn't sure how he was going to arrest four men when he was only one cop with one set of cuffs. The details could be worked out later, after Livy called for backup and he knew the situation would soon be under control.

“Police! U.S. marshal!” he called out. Right before both men opened fire.

Marshals were trained to identify themselves as police due to the fact that most people didn't believe that the U.S. Marshals Service existed outside of westerns. Either way, his declaration didn't stop Meecum's guys from trying to drill a bullet or two into his dome. Nick dove beneath the kitchen table. Bits of wood flooring flew up around him and chunks of the table scattered around him. He shielded his head—as though that would do him a whole hell of a lot of good—and scooted until his back was to the wall and his right shoulder rested against the rear leg of the table.

With his elbow braced on the floor, he used his left palm to steady the heavy revolver. The lighting was dim and the dust stirred up by the barrage of bullets wasn't doing shit for the visibility, but Nick sighted as best he could and aimed for the closest man's shoulder. He gently squeezed the trigger. The report of the shot was like a cannon, which only helped to renew the ringing in his eardrums. His aim was true, though, and the bastard toppled down the stairs with a shout and crumpled to the floor as he rolled from side to side, clutching the hole Nick had made to the upper left quadrant of his chest. He'd probably missed the guy's heart by four or five inches but it was still a wound that could be fatal without immediate care. Nick didn't want him dead, but he did want him out of commission. Maybe he'd finally managed to tip the odds in his favor.

God, he hoped Livy had made it to his house all right.

His worry for her nearly stole his focus. The way she'd reacted to seeing the man he'd shot laid him low. She probably didn't realize that she'd been so deeply affected by what had happened in her dad's office so many years ago. That shit stuck with you. Nick knew that. He had his own not-so-great experiences to prove it.

Another rally of shots peppered the wall above him and the floor beneath him. Nick flinched with every shot and he tucked his head between his shoulders as he waited for the asshole to run out of ammo and take a break to reload. Nick was all about quality versus quantity. He didn't need to let his bullets fly like a scene out of
Scarface
to have the impact he wanted.

His next target was farther up the stairs than the first guy, which posed a problem. Nick sighted the revolver and aimed for the guy's thigh. The slats in the bannister might deflect the bullet but he squeezed off the shot anyway. Wood splintered and the bullet hit its mark. Black Death alum number two went down hard on the stairs and skidded down on his ass until the wall stayed his progress. They were down, but not out. It was enough of an opportunity for Nick to get the hell out of there and find Livy.

Nick scurried out from beneath the table. Sounds came to him as though he were underwater. He hoped the hearing loss was only temporary but for now it meant that he needed to be even more on his toes. With one of his senses dulled, he was vulnerable. Meecum's men didn't share Nick's sense of honor. They shot to kill. If he didn't keep his guard up, one of them was bound to put him in the ground.

He pushed himself up from the floor with a grunt. The inside of Livy's cabin looked like a war zone, the walls peppered with bullet holes, the floors as well. Splinters of her dining room table lay around him and the stuffing from her couch and one recliner littered the living room. Glass pebbles from the framed photos that hung on the wall glinted on the floor. The bastards hadn't even managed to spare her fireplace. Chunks of broken brick lay on the hearth and floor. Either these guys were shitty shots, or they were determined to destroy everything in their path. Probably both.

Nick headed for the front door. Darkness permeated his vision; the sun wouldn't begin to rise for another couple of hours yet. His gaze searched out any sign of light—or life—from his cabin but its still, dark facade didn't fill him with hope that Livy had made it across the lane. Fear rose in his throat. It choked the air from his lungs and caused his limbs to quake. He might have sent her straight toward danger. Right into the arms of the men who wanted her dead.