Cut and Run 09 Crash & Burn (35 page)

“Name,” Nick demanded.

“Fuck you.”

Nick snarled. The anger was just enough of a distraction that he didn’t see the shadow in the doorway to the bedroom until it was too late.

A third dark form materialized in the bathroom door, flanking him as he put his back to the wall. The man on the floor took advantage and kicked Nick’s gun from his hand. It clattered through the banister and down the stairs, dropping to the hardwood floor of the first level. Nick reached for the spare gun at the small of his back and shoved a shoulder into the nearest man, sending him crashing against the wall. But the second man wrapped him up from behind before he could draw his weapon.

Nick used the narrow hallway to his advantage as he slammed the man against the wall, cracking the plaster. He bent forward as the assailant’s arm snaked around his neck, rearing back to slam him into the wall again. The plaster crunched beneath them, a crack skittering up to the ancient ceiling and showering bits of it down on them.

The man didn’t let go, though, merely tightened his grip around Nick’s neck. The second man picked himself up off the floor, pulled out a gun, and held it to Nick’s head.

“Hello, Detective O’Flaherty. Long time, no see.”

Nick stared at him, seeking out his shadowed eyes in shock. “You,” he gasped, struggling for air as he yanked at the arm around his neck. He was getting light-headed.

“You sound more surprised than I’d thought you’d be.”

“You son of a bitch!” he snarled, and he lunged at Jack Tanner, heedless of the gun at his head or of being outnumbered three to one. The man restraining him grunted, fighting to hold on. He was smaller, and the way he moved told Nick he wasn’t extensively trained. Nick could take him if that gun wasn’t on him.

“Money talks, Detective O’Flaherty,” Tanner said almost sadly. “Money talks.”

Nick growled like a tormented pit bull in a cage, the sound turning into one of anguish even as he gained the advantage on the man who held him. He put all his strength into turning, picking the man up, and swinging him around, practically throwing him and toppling Tanner and the third man into the banister as they collided. Nick reached again for the gun at the small of his back, but Tanner kicked at his hand from where he was sprawled against the cracking wooden spindles, sending that gun flying into the darker reaches of the bedroom.

Nick shouted as pain shot up his fingers and arm. He retaliated with a badly aimed kick that caught the first henchman in the thigh as they writhed in a pile of tangled limbs. Tanner was struggling to his feet, raising his gun.

Nick tackled him again, driven by blind rage. They rolled across the landing floor, and wound up teetering on the top of the stairs as each man got in some impressive punches. Then Tanner caught Nick under the chin with his elbow, and his balance went as the stairs opened up behind him. He wrapped an arm around Tanner, intent on taking the man with him.

They toppled down the stairs, the bricks opening up bleeding scrapes, the railing cracking beneath solid limbs. Something snapped like a handful of dry kindling, and Tanner cried out in agony.

Nick hit the ground floor and rolled, trying to fight the dizzying disorientation so he could scramble to his feet. He hit his head on one of the barstools in the kitchen, then got caught in it. He wound up picking the stool up off the ground and chucking it at Tanner.

Tanner cowered at the bottom of the steps as the barstool sailed over him. Nick set himself to defend, crouching low as he desperately searched for either of his lost guns. Tanner wasn’t grinning anymore, but as his two henchmen hustled down the stairs, he seemed to gain a little of that confidence back.

One guy pulled a knife, lunging toward Nick. Nick strong-armed him, twisting to the side as he did so and pulling the kid with him. He threw him off-balance, and then slammed him to his back using his twisted arm. The floor shook with the impact and the knife went sliding off into the darkness.

Nick smashed his boot into the kid’s face, then threw himself at Tanner as the man raised his gun to fire.

Both of them went sliding through the narrow dining room as they clawed and punched and fought for Tanner’s gun. Tanner kept hold of it and rolled away, diving behind the chair in the living room for enough cover to take a shot. Nick leaped on the oversized armchair, heedless of what should have been an obstacle, and batted the gun from Tanner’s hand. Tanner backpedaled, his eyes wide, but then lowered his shoulder and rammed into Nick, sending them both backward and upending the chair with them.

Nick hit the floor hard, kicking Tanner up and over his head. But he lay stunned for a moment as Tanner scrambled after the gun he’d dropped. Nick grabbed for his leg and tripped him up, scrabbling for the knife at his own thigh. He’d kill the bastard if he had to cut him a thousand times to do it.

One of the other men, whom Nick belatedly realized must have been Jack Tanner’s newest prize pupils from the academy, kicked the knife from his hand before he could land a blow. Nick rolled to his feet, only to be kicked backward again before he could get his balance. The upturned chair behind him sent him head over heels, and he crashed into the coffee table.

He lay amid the wreckage of broken glass and shards of iron, stunned and trying desperately to convince his body to move before they came after him again.

But Jack Tanner and his two lackeys soon stood over him, guns retrieved and breathing hard. Tanner nodded to one of his men, who handed his gun to Tanner, yanked Nick up by his hair and throat, and held him by his elbows as Tanner threw a punch right into Nick’s gut.

Nick doubled over, unable to make a sound as the stitches on his already bleeding wound failed and pain lanced through his midsection. Anger followed, white-hot anger so powerful it was almost as painful as his physical wounds. They were going to kill him anyway; he’d be damn sure to make a mess of it.

He threw his head back, ramming it into the rookie agent’s nose. The kid gave a bark of pain, but he didn’t let go. Nick kicked up and out at Tanner’s head, and though he caught him in the chest, it wasn’t enough.

Tanner staggered back, then returned even angrier to kick the side of Nick’s knee so viciously it made an audible crack.

Nick howled in pain, his legs going weak. The rookie’s arms were now the only things holding him up. The other one grabbed Nick’s other arm, shoring him up between the two of them.

“Now, Detective, perhaps you can make this quick with some . . . interdepartmental cooperation,” Tanner drawled as he picked up Nick’s gun. He was trying to put up a calm front, but he was still panting, and his bruised fingers were shaking. Nick hoped that whatever he’d broken on the fall down the stairs would get gangrene and kill him nice and slow.

Nick was also gasping for breath, but he was unable to catch his. He closed his eyes, trying to will the pain away. He had to at least kill one of these bastards before they started talking. He just didn’t have the patience for a monologue, not when his friends were out there fighting for their lives.

“You were so close ten years ago, you know that?” Tanner said. He glanced down at the floor, squatted to pick up a photo from a pile of broken glass, and stood, studying it. Then he squinted at Nick. “You didn’t think I recognized you when you knocked on my door, did you? But Richard wanted all three of you. Wanted you desperately. The things he could do with a trained unit like that. When he realized you were going to refuse, he wanted you killed.”

Nick’s body flooded with ice. He hoped the pain covered his reaction.

“He decided to spare you, mostly because he knew your death would devastate the other two and make them useless to him. But if you’d convinced Grady not to join, I was supposed to take you down.” He paused, flipping the photo so Nick could see it. It was of Ty and Nick, grinning, arms around each other, faces covered in greasepaint and blood. “So much potential,” Tanner mused as he looked back at the picture.

Nick sneered at him, but he was fighting just to stay aware.

Tanner examined him speculatively. “I can’t decide if you’re worth keeping around, or if I should leave you for Tyler to find. I’m not sure we want to put that fire under him. Not yet.”

Nick sagged against the men holding him, his vision blurring as the pain began to win the battle for his consciousness. “They’ll kill you. He’ll kill you.”

Tanner narrowed his eyes.

Nick’s strength gave out. He had no more fight in him. His knees buckled. His vision darkened and he cursed himself for giving in, for letting them win. But his body was broken and his mind was tired.

“What should we do with him, Wilkins?” Tanner asked one of his trainees.

“Kill him, sir.”

Tanner smiled at Nick. “He’s the best student I’ve had since Tyler came through.”

Ty sat in the passenger seat, eating a chicken sandwich he wasn’t entirely confident in, staring through the falling snow at the expanse of deserted parking lot around them.

They’d used a map to pick a town that seemed like it might be halfway for everyone, deciding to meet up in Winchester, Virginia, at a place called Apple Blossom Mall. It was big enough that their group wouldn’t look too suspicious, and Ty and Zane had managed to find a corner of the parking lot that was out of the way of the security cameras.

“Heard from Cross yet?” Zane asked after a few minutes of silence.

Ty had to fight to swallow, and he shook his head. “I told him we were scattering, we’d be in touch when we hit the ground again. So I called him when we left the house, told him to meet us here. He should be here soon with a shitload of supplies.”

Zane nodded, eyes on the moonlit parking lot. Ty wrapped up his questionable sandwich and stuffed it into his bag, placing it on the floorboard. “If I die, the chicken did it,” he grumbled, earning a snort from Zane and nothing more.

Kelly sat in the backseat, bundled in a coat with a furry lining he was apparently having issues with, because he’d been threatening to hack it off with his knife all day long. “Told you to skip the fast food.”

Ty rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. Kelly had been damn near impossible to deal with on their trip to Bluefield, and Ty just wasn’t used to him being like this. Owen, sure. Hell, even Nick sometimes. Himself? Yeah, Ty was usually the one sitting in the backseat making people murderous with his comments. But he didn’t know how to handle Kelly like this. They needed him, though. The house is Bluefield was a proven risk. Ty had made the call and Zane had backed him.

Ty glanced at Zane. He had assumed a position of leadership with their ragtag little band, whether it was giving orders himself or backing Ty’s, and that suited him beautifully.

Zane obviously felt eyes on him, because he turned and winked at Ty, a smile flitting across his lips.

“They uploaded the photos, right?” Kelly asked. “Both teams?”

“Yeah, and we don’t have any distress signals. We’re okay, Doc,” Zane assured him.

Nearly an hour later, headlights pierced through the snow, aiming toward them. The car came into view and pulled up beside theirs. Ty rolled down his window, raising an eyebrow at Owen and Digger. “You good?”

Both men nodded. “You?” Digger asked.

“We ran into leftover issues, but we handled it.”

“Damn,” Digger snarled, and he dug around in his pocket, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill and slapping it into Owen’s waiting hand. “Why can’t you assholes ever do nothing easy? God damn, son.”

Ty grinned, glancing over to find his husband with his head lowered, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

Digger and Owen both got out of their car and climbed into the back of the SUV with Kelly, huddling in the chilly night.

“We get all three?” Owen asked.

Zane nodded, holding up his iPad. They’d forwarded the photos to Preston’s contact at the CIA, and they were being graced with a live stream of the decoding so they could run with it if they figured it out before it was done.

“This fucking code word of his better not be ‘password’ or some shit; I’ll throw down,” Digger grunted. Kelly snorted as he huddled between them, arms crossed, looking mutinous.

“So far, we know it’s six letters. That’s as far as they’ve gotten,” Zane told them.

“Hey Six, you knew the guy. You got any ideas yet?” Owen asked.

Ty shook his head forlornly. “I didn’t know him at all.”

Headlights blinked from several sections over, and Ty could feel Kelly shifting around in the backseat, peering through the window. The car came to a stop on Zane’s side, and he rolled down the window so they could see past the ice accumulating. Liam was in the driver’s seat, his head lowered. He was alone.

“No,” Kelly snarled. “No!”

Liam rolled his window down, sighing as he shook his head. “There were men waiting in the house,” he told them. “We thought it was one, I went outside to get the transmission through, Irish stayed in to handle it. Turns out there were three.”

Ty’s breath left him in a rush so painful he had to grab at his chest.

“I saw them carry him out,” Liam continued solemnly. “He wasn’t fighting.”

The backseat was as quiet as a crypt. The only sound in the car was Zane breathing.