Hell for Leather: Black Knights Inc. (14 page)

Boots…

Timberlands…

Delilah’s mystery man?
What
the
hell?

Mac’s Glock was in his hand before he made the conscious decision to reach for it. “Halt!” he yelled, pointing his weapon at Mr. Timberlands’ back. “Or I’ll shoot!”

Had he had a
clean
shot, he’d have gone ahead with it without giving Mr. Timberlands a warning. But Delilah’s slack form pressed all along the man’s front prohibited him from squeezing the trigger. He couldn’t chance his bullet slicing through the guy and entering her.

Timberlands swung around, his eyes bugging out of his head like a horny toad trying to shit a chicken bone when he saw Mac drawing down on him. Delilah hung limply in his arms, her head dangling until her fiery hair obscured her face, the red-painted tips of her toes barely touching the grass. Mr. Timberlands held the length of a bloody knife to her throat.

Blood…

Delilah’s blood?

Mac’s pulse roared between his ears, his scalp on fire and feeling as if it was trying to crawl off his skull. But, no. Save for the few crimson drops that had fallen from the knife to stain her pink T-shirt, she appeared unscathed.
Unconscious
—which was bad enough—but otherwise unscathed.

He drew in a shaky breath and whispered a quick prayer of thanks as he tracked the guy’s every move down the length of his Glock’s sights. His finger was on the trigger, ready to pump out lead the very moment he got the opportunity.

“Holy crap on a cracker,” Ozzie murmured, dropping down to one knee beside Mac, his handgun up and aimed. Steady and Zoelner quickly took up positions on his other side, weapons out and at the ready.

“I need satellite surveillance on my location
now
,” Agent Duvall barked into her Bluetooth. She was standing behind Mac, turkey-peeking around his back at Timberlands. “A suspect is in sight and attempting to abduct Delilah Fairchild. I need facial recognition, ASAP. Who is he?”

Mac didn’t give a flying fuck who the guy was. All he cared about was introducing him to the full measure of BKI meanness. Just as soon as he had a clean shot, the dude was dead. Dead as in dead. Dead as in six feet under, dirt-nap dead.

“You shoot me,” Mr. Timberlands called, his accent thick, “and you might hit the woman!” The man was slowly scooting the last few feet toward the open gate at the rear of the yard.

“Anybody have a clean shot?” Mac asked from the corner of his mouth.

“No.”

“Negative.”

“Wish I did,” were the responses he received.
Shit, shit,
shit.

Okay. And like any good card player, Mac knew when it was time to bluff. “I’m a better shot than you think,” he yelled. And in all honesty, he
was
good. All the Black Knights were. But regardless of what people saw on TV and the movies, trying to hit a moving target from thirty yards away wasn’t as easy as it looked. In that split-second from the time he squeezed the trigger until the bullet found its mark, Mr. Timberlands could jerk or move just an inch or two and Delilah could end up hit. Of course, it was always possible Timberlands didn’t know that. “Now either I can put a hole clean through the center of your forehead, or we can skip the bloodstains and you can drop the woman! Dealer’s choice!”

“If you thought you could do it,” the guy called, nearly to the gate, “you would have done it already.”

And,
goddamnit
. So they weren’t dealing with a man a few bricks shy of a full load here.
Talk
about
dumb
luck.
What were the odds this criminal, whoever he was, would have some brains in him?

Mac flicked his gaze to the right, to the left, wondering how in the world this standoff would end. Maybe if he started closing the distance, he could distract the man while the Knights moved in to flank him. Maybe if he—

But then something amazing happened. Fido lunged forward with a mighty heave and sunk his teeth into Mr. Timberlands’ ankle. It was enough to distract the guy into losing his hold on Delilah. She slid down his front, just a bit, but it gave Mac the advantage he needed.

In the blink of an eye, his heart slowed, his vision sharpened, his muscles relaxed, and on a silent exhale he applied three pounds of pressure to the Glock’s trigger. The
boom
was deafening in the close confines of the back porch, but he barely noticed it, too busy jumping from the top step to the yard below.

His bullet nicked Mr. Timberlands’ upper shoulder, and Mac landed on the lawn in time to witness the force of the round’s impact spin the guy like a top. He dropped Delilah in the process, and she crumpled to the ground like a rag doll, arms and legs akimbo. The moment she was free and clear, Mac let loose with all his fear and fury.

“Halt, you motherfucker!” he roared, welcoming the burn of his thighs as his long strides ate up the distance. But, Mr. Timberlands didn’t heed his warning. The man managed to regain his balance, and, turning on his heel, fled.

Boom!
Mac squeezed his trigger again. This time his shot flew wide, slamming into the fence, shattering one brittle length of wood into a hundred splinters. A flurry of gunfire rang out behind him, the BKI boys joining the party. And though the fence line was instantly blown to smithereens, reduced to matchsticks in some parts, Mr. Timberlands serpentined his way the last few steps and managed to miraculously slip through the gate.

“Get him!” Mac yelled as his legs churned over those last few yards. He might be slow with his words, but, by God, he was fast on his feet. Then, in a move any MLB player would envy, he slid across the final distance, ending up on his side before throwing his body over Delilah’s inert form. If there was more gunplay, he needed to make sure she wasn’t hit by a stray bullet or flying fence debris. But to his utter dismay, not one additional shot echoed out over the abandoned neighborhood. Which meant the Knights didn’t have a clear bead on Delilah’s assailant.
Sonofa
—

He could hear them charging toward him, but he didn’t dare raise his head until he felt them draw near. Zoelner flew past him first, boots pounding, arms pumping. Ozzie was right on his heels, pistol locked and loaded, up and ready to fire. When Steady pulled even, Mac reached out and snagged his foot.

“
La
madre
que
te
parió!
” Steady bellowed in Spanish as he tripped, arms flailing, legs pinwheeling before his quick, operator reflexes kicked in and he righted himself.

“The dog.” Mac pointed to the animal, lying on its side no more than two feet away, its panting breaths fanning the dirt of the yard. “He may’ve just saved her life. Now you have to try to save his.”

Steady gulped as he looked down at the dog, his expression pitying. Then he nodded and knelt beside the animal.

Carefully, Mac pushed into a seated position, tucking his Glock into his waistband as he gathered Delilah in his lap. She was so still. So pale.

“Delilah.” He gently tapped a finger against her satiny cheek, taking comfort in its warmth. “Darlin’…you need to wake up, now.”

Nothing. Not one move. Not one whimper. His heart hammered hollowly against his ribs.

Letting his gaze slip down to her throat, he noted with intense satisfaction that her pulse was hammering there, and when his eyes slid farther down, to her chest, he wanted to crow with victory when he saw it rise on a shallow breath.
Come
on, darlin’. You can do it. Wake up.

“
Hijo
de
puta
,” Steady cursed, whipping off his shirt to press it to the wound in Fido’s chest. “I don’t know dick about canine physiology, Mac.”

“Just do your best,” he said, softly rocking the woman in his arms, murmuring to her as he continued to caress her dirty cheek.

And you know that soft, gooey center of his? Well, it was melting like a Hershey’s bar left out in the summer sun. Because not only was he witnessing what were probably the last moments of one very valiant dog—was that a goddamn tear in his eye?—but seeing Delilah like this…so limp, so quiet…was like watching a raging inferno sputter and die. All that fiery energy was just…gone.

He ran his hand over her head, trying to feel for bumps or for the warm wetness of blood. Had Mr. Timberlands hit her with something? With the hilt of his knife, perhaps? Was her brain even now swelling inside the confines of her skull, causing her to slip into a coma? But his searching fingers found nothing, nothing to account for the fact that she was still out cold.
Dear
God, I promise you that if you let her
—

His prayer was cut off when her pale lids fluttered open, her green eyes dazed and disoriented. “M-Mac?” she whispered in confusion.

And, sweet Lord almighty, had he ever heard anything more wonderful than his name on her lips? If so, he couldn’t remember. “Yeah, darlin’. I’m here.”

When her gaze finally focused on his face, she slowly reached up to touch the dimple in his chin, the pad of her finger cool against his skin. She smiled bemusedly before her lips curved down in a frown. “Th-the man from Uncle Theo’s house…he’s here. H-he s-strangled me, and—” Strangled? The sonofabitch had probably cut off the blood supply in her carotid artery. It was a dangerous maneuver. Done incorrectly, it could end in death. The hairs on Mac’s arm lifted at the thought. “I think he—”

“Shh,” he soothed, brushing a lock of auburn hair from her forehead—noting how soft and silky it was. “I know.”

She swallowed, blinking in consternation. Then her expression changed, becoming alarmed. “Wh—” was all he managed before she sat up so fast the top of her head clocked him under the chin. His jaws slammed together and it was a wonder his back molars didn’t crack. “Ow! Sonofa—”

“Fido!” she screamed, scrambling from his lap in such an all-fired hurry that her hip smashed his nuts into the ground.

“Oomph!” He cupped himself and barely managed to keep from crumpling sideways. The pain shot up from his testicles to radiate out to all parts of his body. He broke out in an instant sweat, his stomach doing flips like it was auditioning for a trapeze act in the circus that used to roll through town when he was a boy. And he really feared he was two seconds away from hurling chunks…

Of course, he felt like a complete wuss when Delilah—barely having regained consciousness—scrambled over to Steady and Fido, holding a hand to her obviously spinning head, and asking, “Wh-what do I do? How do I help?”

Damn, she sure is something
, he thought, only slightly distracted by the agony in his balls when his chest swelled with…what was that exactly? Pride, maybe? And, yessir, since he was in the admitting mood today, he’d go ahead and admit that he was good and goddamned proud to know her. This strong, independent woman. This paragon of wonderful, exasperating, disturbing bullheadedness. And sometimes, like now, he wished things could be different. He wished he didn’t know what he knew because,
damn
, he was sure tempted to take her for a ride. To let their relationship just play out until its inevitable, disastrous end. But, unfortunately, he
did
know how things would turn out. And that meant he also knew that the short-term pleasure wasn’t worth the long-term pain.

“Hold this!” Steady instructed, and Mac watched him press her hand to the T-shirt wadded against Fido’s chest. “I have to run and get my medical bag.”

Mac managed to cowboy-up and drag himself over to Delilah and the dog a second or two after Steady beat feet toward the house. Letting go of his throbbing nads, he helped her apply pressure to the wound and used his other hand to softly stroke Fido’s big, block head.

“You’re a good boy,” Delilah whispered over and over again, uncaring of the tears trickling down her cheeks, leaving dirty trails in the dust covering her face. Fido whined pitifully, but the tip of his tail wagged despite the terrible pain he was in. And, sure as shit, that
was
a tear in Mac’s eye.
Damnit!

The Lab reminded him of his father’s old ranch dog. Dutch had been his name. And he’d studiously kept the coyotes away from Lazy M cattle for fifteen long years. He’d been a big, rangy canine just like Fido here. But where Fido was happy-go-lucky, Dutch had been about as friendly as a bramble bush. Still, there was nothing quite so satisfying as owning a good dog. And nothing quite so heartbreaking as watching a good dog die.

“Wh-what happened?” Delilah asked, her eyes wide when she glanced up at him. “Where’d he go?”

And Mac knew she was asking about Mr. Timberlands.

“Don’t you worry about it,” he told her. “Zoelner and Ozzie have gone after him.” Though, the longer the minutes stretched out with no sound to break the stillness of the neighborhood, the more concerned he became. The only reason the BKI boys would be in stealth mode was if they’d lost the guy and were now quietly hunting him.

“Give me your keys!” he heard Steady demand and looked up in time to see him standing in the middle of the yard, holding a hand toward Agent Duvall. Mac had forgotten all about her. “If I can get the dog’s bleeding stopped,” Steady lifted the medical bag gripped tight in his other fist, “he might just make it to the closest vet. But I’m gonna need your car.”

Chelsea nodded and dug into the hip pocket of her slacks, all the while barking instructions into her earpiece and never taking her eyes off the screen of her iPad. After retrieving a key ring and tossing it to Steady, she jogged with him toward Mac and Delilah and the injured dog.

“Okay,” Steady said, dropping down beside them. He reached into his camo duffel bag and came out with a pack of QuikClot. “Now when I say
go
, I want you guys to remove my shirt and hold the dog down. When I shake this shit into his wound, it’s gonna burn like hell.”

Mac saw Delilah nod hastily, tears standing a quarter-inch thick on her lower lids. But she was holding steady, by God. Again, the thought
she
sure
is
something
whispered through his head. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Steady ripped the foil case of biological sealant open with his teeth, spit out the fragment of packaging, and said, “Go!”

They tossed the T-shirt aside—
Holy
crow, there’s a lot of blood
—and threw themselves over the dog. Delilah held Fido’s rear end in place; Mac kept the pooch’s front legs and head under control.

Steady was quick on the draw, pouring the powder into Fido’s wound. But besides a low whimper, the dog did nothing to fight them. In fact, he went so far as to lick Mac’s hand. And damned if that tear in Mac’s eye didn’t up and decide to spill over.

Thankfully, more were stopped from joining the fun when he heard Agent Duvall bark, “Patch me over to Agent Zoelner’s number! Now!”

“What’s up?” he asked, looking away from Fido’s wound only after he noted with gratification that the QuikClot was working. The bleeding had instantly slowed. Fido certainly wasn’t out of the woods. But now, at least, they’d given the fearless animal a fighting chance.

“We’ve got thermal imagery of the guy,” the CIA agent relayed, keeping one hand on her earpiece, listening intently to whatever was happening on the other end. “And I need to let Z know which house he’s hiding in.”

Mac nodded, turning his attention back to the dog.

“Help me lift him,” Steady said, bending to get both hands under the animal. “Careful, now.
Mierda!
We don’t want to jostle that wound.”

Mac and Delilah helped Steady stand, the canine cradled gently in his arms. Fido whined weakly but still managed to bathe Steady’s face with his long, pink tongue. And unless Mac was mistaken, the medic’s eyes were unusually bright.

Yep, the Knights may deal with and deal
out
death on a daily basis, a bunch of hard-nosed, hard-hearted operators, but hand them one dumb-as-dirt, critically injured dog, and they all turned into big bags of mush…

“Okay,” Steady grunted once he’d taken all of Fido’s weight, clearing his throat. “I’ve got him. I’ll get him to the nearest vet.” He turned to Mac. “You keep me informed of what’s going on here,
hermano
.”

“I’m going with Steady,” Delilah declared, rubbing the back of her hand over her cheek, smudging her tears and the dust on her face in a long line as she bent down to grab Steady’s medical bag.

“No.” Mac snagged her wrist when she turned to follow Steady’s careful steps, noting the soothing warmth of her skin against his callused fingers. Crack cocaine. Pure and simple…

“What?” She turned to him, brow puckered. “Why?”

“Because until we have Mr. Timberlands in custody, and until I know what the hell is goin’ on around here, I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight.”

When she jerked out of his grip to catch up with the medic, Mac thought he might have a fight on his hands. But then she swung back to him, shouting, “I’m just going to help him to the car!” She lifted the camo duffel bag.
God
love
her.
Another wave of relief crashed over Mac, and he figured it was a wonder he wasn’t drowning in the stuff.

Of course, when Agent Duvall whispered into her earpiece, “Z, he’s in the garage of the house directly across from you,” any respite he’d enjoyed lit out of him quick as a hiccup. The fact that Mr. Timberlands was holed up inside a house meant Ozzie and Zoelner were going to have to kick in a door. And
that
was a tricky business, especially seeing as how a guy never knew what he was going to find behind that door. It could be Christmas morning or World War III…

***

“You must get out of there,” Haroun hissed the moment Qasim answered the phone.

“Why?” Qasim asked, jerking forward, the plastic chair squeaking in objection.

“I was not able to secure Miss Fairchild, and now I am forced to evade,” Haroun relayed, and Qasim glanced around the darkened, dust-heavy room.
Forced
to
evade…
Never a situation one wanted to find oneself in but a situation Qasim and all the others were used to since joining The Cause. They’d effectively been
forced
to
evade
nearly every Western government for years.

“Forced to evade the motorcycle fanatics?” he asked, motioning and barking at Sami and Jabbar to begin gathering their belongings. He didn’t question Haroun’s orders when it came to something like this. If his second-in-command said it was time to go, then it was time to
go
.

“The heavily
armed
motorcycle fanatics,” Haroun clarified, and Qasim’s blood ran cold. He’d figured as much, but to hear it confirmed was another thing entirely. “They saw me attempting to drag the woman from Sander’s backyard and opened fire. I am wounded.”

Qasim sucked in a ragged breath.

“It is nothing,” Haroun assured him. “A flesh wound only. But plans have changed. This place is no longer safe. If they have not called the police to report my assault already, then they will soon. This town will be swarming with men in badges. You must retreat to our second location.” Their second location…
Praise
Allah, we have one.
“I will come to you once I have secured Miss Fairchild.”