Desire & Ice: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family) (4 page)

"You saw me hanging out on the bleachers one day during lunch. You said you knew I was avoiding the other kids 'cause they were all flapping their gums about my dad. And then, do you remember what you said? You said I should spend my life trying to find people who judge me for ––"

" ––what you do," she finished for him, suddenly remembering the moment clear as day. "Not who they think you are or where they think you came from or where they think you're headed, but what you
do.
Who you are in that moment. For them. For everyone."

"That's it," Danny whispered. "That's what you said."

"Well, I'm glad they were meaningful to you, Danny."

"Not just meaningful. Important.
You
were important to me, Miss ––Eliza."

"I don't know, Danny. I have to say, my life now probably doesn't measure up to the expectations I set for you when you were younger."

"Yeah, well, we were both younger," he said.

"That's true, I guess."

"I know it's true," he said. "Age is a fact."

"The passage of time is a fact, Danny. Age is more subjective."

"Here's hoping," he said with a devilish grin.

The desire in his expression lit a fire inside of her. She wanted to believe its fuel was stress and anxiety. And of course, the terrible reality that was still waiting for them just a few yards uphill from the house. But this fire, it kept burning. Maybe because she couldn't bring herself to look away from Danny Patterson's intense stare, from the seeming purity of his want, his need.

He'd flinched when she'd first referenced him being her young student. That meant he wasn't just hoping to act out some old fantasy by coming to her aid like this. If anything, he seemed to want to forget the power deferential that had once separated them. And he wanted to forget it because his feelings for her were still there, still real, and now as fully grown as he was.

"I have a confession to make," she said.

"I'm all ears," he answered.

"Out there, when you startled me, I remembered…"

"Remembered what, Eliza?"

"I remembered that you used to have a crush on me and I was going to try to use it to distract you."

"Oh, yeah?" He didn't sound the least bit offended. "How?"

"That's not the point. The point is, it would have been wrong of me."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Danny. Be good."

"Do I have to?"

"I may not be your teacher anymore, but you're on duty, mister. Unless this uniform and badge are a costume."

That seemed to do the trick. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his broad chest. But his smile was lingering, and he cocked one eyebrow as he studied her. And the fact that he took the job seriously enough to respect the uniform only made him more attractive.

"Interesting," he said quietly.

"What's interesting?"

"Interesting that you'd bring that up. Your little plot to flirt me into distraction."

"I wouldn't call it that exactly. But I'm glad you find my confession interesting, I guess."

"What's interesting is you didn't actually do it. Not for one second. And you told me about it anyway. I mean, call me crazy, but why confess to something you didn't actually do?"

Lord
, she thought, now
who's the teacher?

"Unless you want me to know you were thinking about me in that way. Or thinking about
pretending
to think about me in that way so that…you know, you'd have an excuse to think about me in that way."

"Danny. Focus, please."

"On how hard you're blushing?"

"The point, Danny, is that I've told you the truth about everything. But my situation's still the same. I need that money. Now."

"Even if you dig it up in twenty minutes, which you shouldn't with your hand the way it is, you're not getting out of Surrender anytime soon in this storm."

"I could get a picture of it on my phone and send it to them. It might hold them off."

He considered this for a minute. His hands were clasped on the table in front of him, big, veiny hands that were more than capable of digging a hole through icy ground if he wanted. They could do lots of other things, too, those hands. Lots of things.

"You really think these guys are gonna kill Lance?" he asked, jolting her attention back to his face.

"I don't know. I only talked to Lance."

"So these guys might not even exist?" he asked.

"Of course they exist," she snapped. "Why go to all this trouble just to get a bag of cash? He'd just come and get it himself otherwise."

"He could be in some other kind of trouble, just not the kind he said. Not the kind that would convince you to get on a plane for him. Maybe the cops are watching him and he can't leave L.A. The money you're bringing him could be his escape plan."

"Is this your way of saying you're not going to help?"

"Oh, I'll help. But I'm going to help
you,
Eliza. Not Lance."

"Much as I hate to admit it, they're one and the same right now."

"See. That's what I'm not sure of. If we just take a minute to look at the facts, maybe call Coop—"

Eliza shot to her feet. "Cooper MacKenzie? Are you out of your mind? I can't involve the
sheriff
in this."

"You already involved a deputy?"

"A deputy who barged his way into the situation!"

That got Danny on his feet.

"Well, you weren't exactly inconspicuous, running through Rawley Beamis's store like you were getting ready for the zombie apocalypse."

"Be that as it may, you are
not
calling Cooper MacKenzie!"

"Eliza, what you said to me that day, about finding people who judge you for what you do and not what they think you are. That's Cooper."

"I don't care, Danny. I can't–– "

But she never got to finish the sentence because just then the window above the sink exploded.

4

First Danny threw the breakfast table out of his way, then he threw his entire body at Eliza, knocking her to the floor.

When he shoved her toward the gunfire and not away from it, she screamed even louder. But the counters just behind her were the best barrier he could try for, even if the window overhead looked like a bomb had torn through it.

There'd been two separate blasts, both from a shotgun, he was sure of it. Both desperate, wild shots that stank of panic. One had torn through the window above the sink. The second had come in much higher, punching out the top of the window frame and lacerating part of the wall just above.

Kickback had sent the second shot way too high, he was willing to bet. If this guy had aim that bad he was either a full-on amateur, or he was running and firing at the same time. Which suggested he was an amateur.

Maybe his aim was for shit because he'd been coming downhill too fast, counting on the slope to give him a good shot into the kitchen.

That meant he was behind the house. For now.

Danny grabbed Eliza by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. She screamed again but didn't resist. And that was fine. Screaming was fine as long as she could run.

Just as they reached the front porch of the house, the windshield of his patrol car exploded.

He shoved her back through the front door. Whoever this guy was, he'd rounded the side of the house faster than Danny expected. Now he'd taken up a post behind the storage shed, both getaway cars in his sights. Eliza's rental car, a Buick sedan, was parked a few feet away from his patrol car, further away from the shooter's position and partially shielded, for now.

"Back inside," he hissed.

The foyer walls protected Eliza from any window shots. But no way could they stay here.

A shotgun blast took out the front driver's side tire of his patrol car.

Danny drew his weapon. There was a propane tank sitting in front of the storage shed. He aimed at it.

"You got your keys?" he asked.

"Yes, but your radio. Call for help."

"I can't!"

"What?"

"I can't! I left it in the car so I could sneak up on you!"

"
Danny!
"

"I didn't want Coop bugging me."

"You mean by saving our lives?"

Another shotgun blast took out one of the patrol car's rear tires.

His patrol car was officially out of commission.

But this latest shot gave Danny a better read on the shooter's hiding place; the downslope corner of the shed, which forced the bastard to aim between two piles of stacked firewood that now looked like mini icebergs.

The snow was thick as curtains now. If Danny could just throw another obstruction in the guy's way, the son of a bitch probably wouldn't be able to get a good shot at a moving target. Or two moving targets.

"Phone?" he asked.

"Turned off years ago."

"Where's your cell?" he asked.

"Kitchen. Where's yours?"

"Kitchen. In my jacket."

"Well, goddammit, should I go and get––"

"No! Stay right here!"

Best-case scenario was they were dealing with one lone fucker. Worst case was reinforcements were on their way and the house would soon be surrounded. There was no splitting up. Not as long as the house had windows. And now the kitchen had one destroyed window and a gaping hole in the wall.

They had to get out. Now. The patrol car and the radio inside of it were no longer options. That left her rental car.

And that grimy old propane tank in front of the shed.

"Give me the keys," he said.

As soon as he reached back, she pressed the Buick's keys into his palm with a shaking hand.

"I'm going to fire three shots at that propane tank," he said. "After the third one, we run for the Buick."

"The propane tank's been empty for years."

"I don't need it to blow up."

"Well, it won't blow up. Haven't you seen
Myth Busters
?"

"
Stop talking about
Myth Busters
when I'm trying to save your life!"

"You know what would have saved our lives? Your radio!"

"Third shot! Run after the third shot! Got it?"

"Yes."

He turned and fired the first one before she could argue.

Taking aim through the billowing, swirling snow wasn't easy. But he managed to hit one of the propane tank’s struts; he could hear the metallic ding over the howling wind.

He wasn't lying. He didn't need it to blow up. He just needed it to move.

The second shot hit the strut. Maybe, just maybe, the asshole behind the shed didn't know you'd need full-on explosives to make a propane tank blow, because he wasn't firing back. He might have gone into retreat. But that was best case. Too best case.

"Get ready," Danny said.

The third shot knocked one end of the propane tanks sideways off its stanchion. Not far enough. But a good start.

They ran for the Buick. Danny kept firing.

It felt like the only parts of his body that still worked were his feet, his eyes, and his trigger hand; the rest of him felt numb. His shots played music on the propane tank's hull and then finally the tank flew off its stanchion and went rolling into the woodpiles just as he'd hoped, toppling one pile of cut wood onto the other, cutting off the shooter's line of sight.

Eliza plastered herself to the floor of the backseat, gasping. He got behind the wheel.

No radio. No cell phone. Just a fucking Buick.

The car started. No response from behind the shed.

Through blinding snow, tires skidding, he spun onto the access road that led to the highway. And that's when he realized this wasn't going to be a quick getaway.

A set of headlights came bouncing around the opposite side of the house and started downhill.

"Where is he?" Eliza cried.

"Stay down!"

The fear the propane tank might blow hadn't forced the guy into the retreat. Instead, he'd cut bait and gone for his wheels.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed.

The black Explorer crossed the house's front drive behind them and sped down the hill off to their right, trying to beat them to the highway. Trying to block the path back to Surrender.

"This fuck might have shitty aim but he sure is persistent."

"Who is he?" she cried.

"Escape first, ask questions later."

The guy drove with confidence. Was he a local? Or maybe he was just crazy taking to the snowy grass like that. Either way, the Explorer made it to the highway before Danny did.

"Well, if he's driving then he can't—"

Muzzle flare bloomed next to the Explorer's passenger side window. A second gunman, a second gun. The Buick's windshield pocked. Not a shotgun blast this time, but the same shitty aim. Same psycho persistence.

He turned just in time, put the gas pedal to the floor.

"Where are you going?" Eliza screamed.

"You'll see."

"I don't want to see. I want you to tell me where we're going."

No way in hell was he going to do that. He had a plan, but it was a crazy one, the kind you just went ahead and did and then asked forgiveness for later if it went to hell. If you were still alive by then.

A few minutes up the road was the land where he'd helped some ranchers corral their wayward steer during the big rainstorm a few weeks before. After they'd roped the soaked cows, it had taken hours to guide them through the trees, hours in which, he hoped, he
prayed
, a map of those woods had engraved itself on his memory. Because now he was going to have to drive it in the blinding snow. And he was going to travel it in the opposite direction of the one he and some pissed-off cows had walked that night.

"
You are driving in the opposite direction of Surrender!"

He was about to say something to quiet her, but just then the rear window blew out in a shower of tempered glass.

All things considered, he shouldn't have been that excited to see a roadside cross. But it marked the spot where they'd reached the highway with the cows that night. So he turned toward it, praying for forgiveness as it disappeared beneath his tires.