Deep Trouble: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family) (2 page)

Her boots clattered to a stop on the threshold of the office where Vince’s body lay slumped over a growing puddle of blood, and Kylie’s gag reflex kicked her in the windpipe.

“Oh Jesus.” She sent up a prayer of thanks that her grabby captor had been too busy manhandling her into the room to hear the soft murmur that had barged out of her mouth. It was a small miracle that Vince had fallen on his side, his face mostly obscured from her line of sight. Of course, there were parts of him on the floor that she
could
see, parts never meant for the light of day, and she wrenched her gaze away in a last-ditch effort not to throw up at the sight of the gray matter on the floor.

“Stand right here and keep your eyes on the wall.”

The man jerked her to a stop a few feet past the door, mercifully turning her away from Vince’s body altogether. He released his death grip on her hair, giving Kylie the momentary rush of relief she needed to focus. She metered her breathing as best she could, searching for her older, ex-Army Ranger brother Kellan’s voice in her head.

The first thing you need to do when you get jammed up is get calm and calculate.

Kylie scraped for another inhale. The guy—who she still hadn’t gotten a good look at even though she was certain she recognized his voice—paced behind her, remaining silent. Although she’d only been in the office once before, she knew the only way out was the way they’d come in. Her eyes searched the grimy, dinged-up wall in front of her, mentally counting off how many steps it would take to make a break for it. But even on the snowball’s chance that she’d get lucky enough to try, she couldn’t outrun a bullet, and her captor had proven his trigger-happy tendencies once already tonight.

If she wanted to get out of this alive, she was going to have to disable the man first. Tall freaking order, since not only did he,
hello
, have a gun pointed at her vital bits, but she couldn’t even see him to figure out his weak spots.

Not that he seemed to have any.

Growing frantic, Kylie forced herself to keep looking for something, God,
anything
that would give her an advantage, and her gaze landed on a small mirror propped up against a stack of ledgers on the filing cabinet. Vince’s coke habit might not have done him any favors when he’d been alive, but his penchant for blow—or more specifically, a smooth, flat surface off of which to snort it—might just have saved Kylie’s ass in the here and now.

She squinted, taking in every detail she could as the man moved into her line of sight in the glass. Recognition slammed into her as she took in the brick-end chin, the barely-there neck, the body like a Sherman tank and the flat, lifeless stare that had always reminded her of a shark, poised to go in for the kill.

Xavier Fagan. Sweet baby Jesus, the X Man was notorious for being as dirty as he was slick, getting away with every drug-related crime under the sun.

Including murder, apparently.

The jagged scar that slashed half the distance between Xavier’s left temple and his stubble-covered cheek twitched as his lips bent in a sneer, and Kylie realized a beat too late that those dead, menacing eyes were locked on hers in the mirror.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re looking at?”

She clutched. There was no way she could pop off with the “nothing” on her tongue and get away with it as the truth, but emphasizing the fact that she’d been doing the polar opposite of what he’d told her to seemed like an epically stupid plan.

The second thing you need to do when shit goes sideways is find an exit strategy
, came Kellan’s voice in her head, and Kylie spoke without hesitation.

“I really meant what I said,” she told Xavier, lasering her stare back to the wall in front of her. “All I do is tend bar. If you’re here for what’s in the register, go ahead and take it.”

“The register.” Xavier sneered as if she’d been joking, but she pressed, desperate.

“You can have all the money, the liquor, whatever you want. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Yeah, you look like a regular Girl Scout.” The heavy soles of Xavier’s boots echoed as he eliminated the space between them, the stench of sweat and something else she didn’t want to contemplate pushing all the way to Kylie’s lungs. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his slow, slimy gaze as he took in her skintight jeans and the ridiculously low-cut, midriff-baring T-shirt Vince had insisted would double her tips.

Xavier reached out, the heavily inked tattoos covering his arm from shirtsleeve to wrist rippling with the flex of his muscles. Two meaty fingers hooked around the bright magenta streak in her otherwise black ponytail for another merciless yank. “So what if I take the money and run? You gonna call the cops as soon as I hit the door, Pinky?”

“N-no,” she stuttered, although it was a lie. There was a huge difference between turning a blind eye to your boss’s drug habit and not blowing the whistle when some thug turned the guy’s brain into finger paint.

Unfortunately, Xavier saw right through her indiscretion. “Nice try, but it wouldn’t matter if you did. I’ve got half the force in my back pocket anyway. Local, state. Fuck, I buy Feds like Christmas presents. Still…I don’t leave loose ends dangling in the breeze.” He stepped in toward her until the cement wall of his chest brushed her shoulder blades, his breath coming faster against the back of Kylie’s neck. “But before I tie them up, maybe I’ll tie
you
up.”

Innuendo dripped from his words, turning her palms cold and slick, and no, no, no. This couldn’t go south. She was tough. She just needed a way out, like Kellan always said.

“I won’t tell anyone you were here,” Kylie whispered, hating the thread of terror wobbling through the words. “I promise. I swear.”

Xavier pressed his mouth against her ear, letting her feel his evil smile on her skin. “Believe me, honey. I know you won’t. When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to say a thing.”

He ran the edge of the gun over her neck, skimming the cool steel against the spot where her shoulder met her throat before replacing it with the clammy press of his tongue. Something loosened, ugly and forceful, in Kylie’s belly, and she gripped her hands into fists at her sides.

If all else fails, find the most vulnerable spot and come out swinging, kid
.

Time slowed like a rubber band stretching out before her. Pure instinct had Kylie gathering all her strength in the very center of her chest, letting it collect and build and burn. With a definitive snap, her will burst upward…

And she slammed her head into Xavier’s nose with all her might.

“Ah! You
bitch
.” The force of the contact made him stumble back, and Kylie didn’t wait to take advantage of his loosened grip. She spun around with every intention to run. But Xavier was already regrouping, his massive body coiling tighter as he hunched forward at the waist to catch the blood running down his face, and she didn’t think.

Just moved.

Her foot came off the floor, connecting with Xavier’s chin in a sickening crunch. His torso whipped back, hanging upright for just a split second before he fell into a heavy heap on the concrete in front of her.

Go. Go go go go go
.

The command pumped through Kylie’s brain, slamming against her throat with every heartbeat as she ran up the stairs two at a time. She barreled through the kitchen and into the front of the house, slowing from warp speed only long enough to put a hasty grab on the purse she’d left on top of the bar. Clutching the black leather to her chest, Kylie flung herself through The Corner Tavern’s front door, not stopping until she reached the driver’s side of her Mustang.

“Oh come
on
.” She cursed, fumbling through the depths of her bag while keeping her eyes locked on the entrance to the bar. Relief sailed through her when finally,
finally
, her fingers closed over her key fob, her tires spitting gravel a mere ten seconds later as she tore out of the parking lot at conservatively ninety-five miles an hour.

“Okay. Okay. You’re tough. You got away. You’re okay,” Kylie babbled, forcing herself to breathe even though each inhale was thoroughly soaked in fear.

She had to call the cops. Better yet, she had to go to the police station herself. Yeah, she’d witnessed a horrific murder—
don’t think about it, don’t think about it
—but if she was surrounded by cops, she’d be safe.

Kylie dumped the contents of her purse on the passenger seat, and for Chrissake, how hard was it to find one little cell phone? Mashing her foot even harder over the accelerator, she snatched up her iPhone, tapping the screen to life with a shaky jolt of her thumb.

…
it wouldn’t matter if you did. I’ve got half the force in my back pocket anyway
…
I buy Feds like Christmas presents…

Oh. God. Xavier might’ve just been talking shit. After all, he didn’t strike Kylie as a trustworthy kind of guy. Then again, he
did
strike her as a dangerous-as-hell kind of guy, who dealt drugs and shot people in the face and threatened to rape and murder innocent bartenders.

Tempted as she was to call in the cavalry, one wrong step could land her in the middle of God’s country with a murderer who was likely furious at having been kicked in the teeth and left bleeding all over his own crime scene.

Getting away a second time wouldn’t be an option. She had to make sure Xavier didn’t find her. As much as she hated admitting that she was in over her head, the stakes were too high for her not to face the hard-nosed reality staring her in the face.

She had to find someone to help her. Someone to trust with her life.

Kylie scrolled through her contacts, the white noise of her own heartbeat pressing against her ears as she pushed the
send
icon below the only number she knew by heart.

“Please…please…please answer…”

“It’s four o’clock in the morning here on the East Coast, kid. This had better be a doozy.”

She fought the urge to laugh, along with the even stronger urge to cry. “Kellan? It’s me. I’m, uh—I’m in a little trouble. How fast can you get to Montana?”

Chapter Two

Devon Randolph rolled over in the darkness, cursing up a blue streak at his cell phone. More accurately, he was cursing whoever was on the other
end
of his cell phone, making the fucking thing ring loud enough and long enough to yank him out of the first REM sleep he’d managed to snag in weeks.

There had better be grave goddamn danger attached to this call, otherwise he was going to kick someone’s ass halfway to China.

“Randolph,” he grated, his mind and body both on full alert by the time he’d finished the exhale. Zero-two-thirty. SIG Sauer P229 under his pillow. Graphite-bladed KA-BAR on the night stand. Empty motel room, empty bed.

Business as usual.

“Hey, Dev. It’s Walker. Sorry to wake you, but I’ve got a situation on my hands, and I need your help.”

Devon read the seriousness between the lines of his fellow Ranger’s words, digesting them in a blink. Kellan Walker was a friend, a brother. If the guy needed backup, Devon was in, no questions asked.

“You straight at the fire house?” he asked. Kellan had channeled his adrenaline into fighting fires after they’d gotten out of the Army three years ago. Funny, really, that Devon put out fires, too—just that the heat he dealt with while freelancing private security jobs was a lot more figurative than literal.

“Yeah. This is actually a family thing. Not about me. Well, not directly, anyway.”

Devon took in the intel, keeping his surprise to himself. “Copy that. What’s going on?”

“Please tell me you’re still out there in BFE.” Kellan’s voice stretched thin, barely covering the words.

“I’m crashing in Montana, not outer Mongolia,” Devon said for the sake of clarity. After all, he and Kellan had done no less than a dozen ops in places more remote than Surrender, Montana, and Devon couldn’t help it that his sister Cat had ended up marrying the town doc here. There were worse corners of the world to kill time between jobs with MacKenzie Security, and he and Kellan had been to most of them. “But if that’s what you mean, then yeah, I’m still in the zip code.”

His buddy exhaled a hard breath. “Thank fucking God. You remember my sister Kylie, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Probably five years had passed since Devon had met her when he’d hung with Kellan on R and R, but between her smart mouth and her tough-girl demeanor, Kylie would be difficult to forget. Especially since she and her brother were tight, to boot.

“I just got a phone call from her. She’s been working at some dive bar in Grant’s Pass for the last six months.”

Devon’s mind spun in calculated thought. “I passed through the town on my way here a few weeks ago. It’s about an hour from Surrender.” Not much to write home about, if he remembered right. And he always did.

“Well, that puts you a hell of a lot closer than me.” Kellan paused. “She’s jammed up pretty bad, Dev.”

Shit
. “How bad?”

“Bad enough to call me and ask for help for the first time in our lives. She witnessed a local drug dealer by the name of Xavier Fagan murder her boss, and then the guy came after her.”

“Jesus,” Devon breathed. “Where is she now?”

“Safe,” Kellan said, and didn’t
that
explain why the guy hadn’t gone completely over the edge in the re-telling. “She managed to get away from Fagan, but she says the guy is no joke. Apparently he’s really well connected, all the way up to the Feds.”

On second thought, “shit” wasn’t even in the same hemisphere as this. “So she can’t call the cops.”

Kellan murmured an affirmative, followed by a couple of nasty curse words. “Exactly. I got her about fifty miles from Grant’s Pass, and she’s safe for now, but the first flight out of North Carolina doesn’t leave until oh-seven-forty my time.”

“Which won’t put you in BFE until nightfall.” Commercial flight across the country was a bitch and a half. The drive from the airport to Surrender? Even worse. “So how do you want to run this?”