Night Thunder (25 page)

Josy’s heart was in her throat as she squatted on the floor with Ty, the duffel bag in front of her. The two men had taken cover behind a bigger, rectangular table that they’d shoved onto its side, and somehow Ricky had edged into the alcove that led to the exit door. There was now a cautious lull in the shooting as everyone held his position and looked for an opening.

“Give us the diamond, Sabatini, and we’ll let you go,” the ferret-faced man shouted.

“Like hell you will,” Ricky yelled back.

Ty wondered how many of Tate’s men were closing in on Wheatland this very minute, headed to this very bar. He had to get Josy out of here and as far away from the saloon as he could.

“I’ll draw their fire,” he instructed softly, his tone so low only Josy and Ricky could hear. “When I do, Josy, I want you to get back there with Ricky and get the hell out of here. Sabatini, what are you driving?”

“A red Jeep.”

“If I’m not out there in one minute, take Josy and head back to Thunder Creek. I’ll call ahead and have the state troopers meet you on the interstate. Ready?”

“No, you can’t do this, Ty, it’s too dangerous.” Her face was whiter than chalk. “I won’t go without you. I’ll stay here and we’ll call the troopers—”

“I’ll be right behind you, baby,” he said swiftly. “Soon as I nail these guys. Now
go
.”

He leaped from behind the table and sprinted, dropped, and rolled in a blur as rapid-fire shots rang out.

Josy dodged back into the alcove with Ricky, her blood pounding in her ears. But instead of dodging outside in those precious seconds Ty had bought them, Ricky unexpectedly lunged back toward the table and scooped the duffel bag from the floor, then he shoved Josy out the exit door into the cloudy afternoon light.

She glanced back at the last instant and had a final glimpse of Ty, sprinting behind the jukebox, drawing more fire.

“Run!” Ricky ordered, seizing her arm as he sprinted toward the car, dragging her with him. But they never made it that far. As they raced toward the parking lot at the front of the saloon, they both froze.

A helicopter was zooming toward the field, and a deafening clamor enveloped them. The copter was landing, Josy realized in shock, but as she and Ricky spun toward his Jeep, they were confronted by a motorcycle roaring up the road toward them.

Ricky fired at the driver as the din from the helicopter blasted across the field. But his shot missed and the driver braked behind the Jeep. He jumped off the bike, taking cover, a Luger materializing in his hand.

“Drop your weapon, Sabatini,” he yelled above the din. “Or I’ll shoot the woman.”

Behind them the helicopter had set down on the field, and as the motor shut off and the noise died away, she heard another voice, rusty as old nails.

“You heard him. Put your weapon down
now
.”

The pilot of the helicopter, a stocky blond man with sideburns, ran out at a crouch from beneath the spinning blades, an automatic rifle slung across his shoulder.

And suddenly in the complete and utter silence that filled the parking lot, Josy spotted the other car—the car that hadn’t been there before, the big black Explorer that would always be in her nightmares.

It was parked right outside the doors of the saloon and she realized in horror that the men shooting at Ty inside had come here with Dolph. Dolph had waited in the parking lot, in case they ran, hoping they’d run . . .

Her knees wobbled as he slid out of his car and smiled at her.

“So,” he said in a pleasant tone that sent needles of terror ripping down her spine. “Josephine Warner, we meet again.”

Chapter 26

“YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D FORGET YOU QUITE SO easily, did you?”

Dolph’s smile deepened as he saw the terror flash through Josy’s eyes. Realizing this, she fought back the fear. She forced herself to ignore her racing heart and the tightness in her chest, and spoke in a voice that sounded every bit as even as his.

“If you touch me again, I’ll make you sorry.”

The motorcycle guy laughed and came out from behind the Jeep, his gun still aimed and ready. “Oooh, Dolph, you scared yet?”

“Shaking in my boots.” Dolph’s eyes were still riveted on her face. They held a gleam that made her stomach turn over.

The stocky blond man near the helicopter had started walking forward with slow, easy strides, the automatic rifle trained on Josy.

“She doesn’t have anything to do with this anymore,” Ricky said roughly. “Now it’s between you three and me.”

“Think so? Why don’t you hand over the merchandise you stole,” the stocky man suggested. “And then we’ll see.”

Instead Ricky swerved, pointing his gun at Dolph. Josy didn’t know how his arm could be so steady.

“It’s not going to work that way, Len,” Ricky said. “First you let her go. She drives away in my car—I stay and turn over the diamond.”

“What’s to stop me from shooting you right now and taking the diamond—and her?” The stocky guy—Len— demanded. The smug smile on his face reminded Josy of a college fraternity jock playing a prank, except that there was something chilling and off in his searing blue eyes.

“This baby right here.” Ricky kept his gun trained on Dolph. The motorcycle guy was edging closer. “Hold it right there, Armstrong, or I shoot him,” Ricky barked.

Armstrong paused.

“Dolph’s top dog here. If you shoot me, he’ll die too,” Ricky promised. “I’ll take him out before I fall.”

“Yeah? And what’s to stop me from shooting the bitch?” Len demanded, keeping the gun level with her chest.

“Same thing. I take out your leader. Tate wouldn’t like that. Dolph’s his number one guy.” Ricky hadn’t taken his eyes off the big man with the shaved head. “Isn’t that right, Dolph? Or are you ready to die?”

“Give me the diamond and the girl, and you can go,” Dolph said softly.

“Not going to happen.” Ricky stared him down.

Her stomach clenching, Josy flicked a glance at the saloon. What was going on in there? She hadn’t heard gunfire in the last minute or two. She prayed that Ty hadn’t been shot. But he hadn’t come out—and neither had the other men . . .

“Seems like we’re at an impasse,” Len said. “Except . . . we’re really not. Armstrong?”

“Yeah?” The motorcycle guy brought the Luger up a few inches, smiling.

“Kill him,” Len ordered. “Now.”

Armstrong aimed the gun—at Dolph—and as Josy watched in shock he pulled the trigger.

Chapter 27

“STAY DOWN!” TY YELLED TO THE PEOPLE crouched with the bartender behind the bar. The bullet in his arm burned like hellfire, but he ignored it, just as he ignored the blood soaking his shirtsleeve, dripping onto the floor.

“I just called 911,” the waitress shouted back. “You bastards are all fried.”

Tate’s hit men answered by pumping more shots toward the jukebox. “Come on out,” the ferret-faced man called. “Or we’ll kill all those nice folks behind the bar.”

“Try it. You’ll be dead if you so much as stick your nose in the air,” Ty said coolly.

But he felt anything but cool. Josy was out there with Ricky and who knew what the hell they were going to find outside. These two shooters might not have come alone. And he sure as hell didn’t trust Ricky Sabatini—not when the stakes were this high. And not when Ricky found out—

The roaring whir of a helicopter interrupted his thoughts. Ty swore under his breath. It sounded like the damned copter was landing right on the roof. He had to finish this and get out there to Josy.

“Hear that?” one of the shooters yelled above the whirring din. “We’ve got company. More of us any minute now—coming through that door. You can’t watch your back and us at the same time!”

“Those are cops, you idiot,” Ty shouted back. “My backup. You’re surrounded.”

Maybe they’d believe him. One instant, one opening, that’s all he needed.

“You’re screwed,” he called out, his tone deliberately arrogant. “They’re coming in those doors and the back exit, and you’re sandwiched in between. And meanwhile, Sabatini’s gotten away with the diamond. All you’ve got here is me. I’m nothing to Tate.”

There was silence from outside then—the helicopter must have landed, Ty thought tersely—and the men waiting to pump him with bullets had fallen silent as well.

“If I were you two dumbasses, I’d cut my losses and try my luck on the road while you still can,” Ty followed up roughly.

He listened, bracing his reflexes to react if Tate’s men came storming through the exit behind him. But no one came through . . . not the main double doors or the exit.

Not yet.

What the hell was going on outside?

Sweat dripped down his neck. In his mind he saw Josy, frightened, hurt . . .

Fear for her cut through him like a dagger.

He had to get out of here.

Then they blinked. The two shooters apparently realized they were wasting their time here with him instead of following the diamond—or maybe they bought his story of the cops getting ready to storm the saloon. For whatever reason, they made a run for it, spraying bullets behind them as they sprinted for the double doors.

It was the opening he’d been waiting for. Using his good arm, Ty fired five shots in rapid succssion. He saw the red-haired man spiral down, screaming, and ferret-face convulsed as a bullet plunged into his shoulder. The impact stunned him into hesitating for a split second, poised just feet from the doors.

Ty fired again. This time the bullet ripped through his back. Ferret-face thumped to the ground with a crash like a tree cut down at its base.

“Everyone stay down behind the bar!” Ty shouted. He raced toward the fallen men. Crew cut looked critical. He’d been hit in the chest; he was moaning, his eyes glazed. He wasn’t going anywhere, but Ty scooped up his gun just the same.

The other guy was gone—a mass of bone, blood, and flesh. Dead as a doorknob.

Ty leapt past both bodies, his attention centered on what he’d find when he opened those doors.

Dolph’s huge, muscular frame lay twisted and still in the gritty dirt. Josy swayed in shock, unable to look away.

They’d shot him—just like that. And he was on
their
side.

Her stunned brain tried to make sense of what had happened.

Ricky figured it out first. He now had his revolver trained directly on Len. “Tate’s orders, right? Because he let Josy get away.”

The blond man’s lip curled. “Mr. Tate doesn’t like mistakes. Or cops who cause trouble. Okay, Armstrong,” he said, flicking a glance at his partner, who looked as unperturbed after shooting Dolph as if he’d merely kicked a rock out of his path.

“Now the girl. Count of ten. Unless Sabatini drops his gun.”

Armstrong aimed at Josy, his expression so coldly nonchalant her heart nearly stopped.

“Len, if she dies, you do too.” Ricky’s voice was a harsh rasp. “Are you ready to go to hell right this minute? If not, let her go.”

Len shrugged. “Okay, Sabatini. She can go—after she brings me the diamond. Is it in that bag?
Is it?
” he demanded of Josy.

“Yes.” Her tongue trembled over the word and she saw him smile. Bastard.

“Good. Bring it to me. Then I’ll let you go.”

“No deal,” Ricky snapped. “Josy, don’t move.”

She knew why he didn’t want her moving toward Len. It was a ploy, a trap. If she got too close to either Len or Armstrong, they’d grab her, use her as a shield, and force Ricky to drop his gun.

But she had to do something to tilt the odds in their favor. And she was desperate with worry about Ty. Somehow she had to give Ricky the upper hand.

“It’s okay, Ricky,” she said quietly. “I’ll do it.”

“No.”

“I’ve been wanting to get rid of this diamond all along. I don’t want it one more second.” She let her voice go shrill, emotional. It wasn’t difficult, considering she felt as if she were going to collapse at any moment. “Besides, he said he’d let me go. Please, it’s my only chance.”

She hoped that would tip Ricky off. At least he didn’t protest again. As she walked quickly toward Len she prayed Ricky was ready for what was coming next.

“Use what you have,” he’d always told her.

Well, she had this duffel.

She held her body rigid as she moved toward Len. But suddenly another barrage of gunshots thundered from inside the saloon, and she stopped breathing, her heart freezing in her chest.

Please God, let Ty be all right,
she prayed. Then she quickened her pace and reached Len, but as he stretched out a hand for the duffel she suddenly shoved it with all of her might into his stomach, knocking him off balance.

As he staggered back, two paces away from her, enough to give Ricky a clear shot, she heard it. Thunder, once, twice—and blood sprayed from Len’s chest. She felt warm droplets on her neck and shoulders, splattering across her tank top as the blond man crumpled into a heap on the weedy earth. Bile rose in her throat and her knees sagged as she half-turned and saw Ricky firing again, this time at Armstong. But Armstrong was shooting back, and as she watched, Ricky sagged to the ground, blood spurting from his thigh.

“No!” she screamed. But Ricky’s shot had gone true— Armstrong was hit, hit worse than Ricky. He twisted with a groan and fell facedown.

He didn’t move. Oh, God, was he dead?

Confusion, fear, and desperation clawed at her—then she spotted the rifle in the weeds near Len’s body.

She sprang forward, grabbed it up, casting a panicked glance at Len’s unmoving form, then at Armstrong’s, before staggering toward Ricky. A hawk screeched overhead and she heard sobs—then realized that they were coming from her own throat.

“How bad are you hurt?” she cried, kneeling beside Ricky.

“Only . . . a scratch.” But his breath was rasping in his chest and pain laced his voice.

“Help me up. Get . . . the duffel, Josy. Let’s get . . . outta here.”

“But Ty—”

“You heard him, he said . . . not to wait. Get the duffel.”

She didn’t want to leave, not without Ty. She glanced uncertainly toward the saloon again, then jumped when Ricky’s fingers closed hard around her arm. Startled, the rifle tumbled from her grasp.

“Get the goddamn duffel, Josy.
Now
.”

“Fine, you can have the duffel, but I’m not going with you.”

Clamping her lips together, she averted her eyes from the scattered bodies and ran back toward the crimson space where Len’s blood soaked the dirt.

She needed Ricky to leave her with the rifle, or one of the guns. For when Ty came out—in case he needed help . . .

Seizing the duffel she dashed back to Ricky, casting an uneasy glance at Armstrong. He hadn’t moved . . . he was still facedown. He must be dead . . . or unconscious.

Where was Ty?

Ricky was starting to limp toward the car. Blood drenched his pants leg, his shoes, puddled in the dirt as it flowed from his wound.

“We should wrap that, stop the bleeding—”

“Later.” He kept on walking, his stride uneven. When they reached the car, he put the rifle on the floor and holstered his gun. “Give me . . . the duffel.”

“Here.” She thrust it at him, not caring about anything, certainly not that stupid diamond, not when Ty was still in the saloon and she had no way of helping him—

Suddenly, more gunshots boomed from the saloon, a burst of them, and cold fear surged through her.

“No,” she breathed, “please, no.” A tremor rocked her body, but suddenly, beside her, Ricky let loose a stream of oaths.

“What the hell! Where’s the damned diamond?” he yelled.

He was squeezing the brown wrapping paper in his fist and staring furiously into the duffel. “There’s nothing but a few bottles of water and beer and ammo and junk in here! And this goddamned brown paper. What did you do with it?”

“It was in there.” In shock, she stared into the duffel. “I saw Ty put it in there myself . . . oh, God.”

Ty. She had seen him put the wrapping paper in the
duffel bag—but he must have already taken the diamond
out,
she realized dazedly.
He must have done it when I
was in the restroom.

And then it hit her. Why hadn’t she thought of this earlier? He had given the diamond to Roy.

When she’d come outside, the two of them were already standing by the car. It wasn’t until Roy drove off that he’d removed the wrapping paper from his pocket and stuffed it into the duffel. But by then, the diamond was no longer wrapped inside . . .

“It doesn’t matter, Ricky,” she said hurriedly. “You don’t need the diamond anymore—you have to turn yourself in. After all that’s happened, they’ll believe you—”

“Damn it, Josy, I trusted you. You betrayed me too!”

“No! I didn’t. I didn’t know—”

“I can’t go back,” he snarled at her, his face twisting with fury. “I know too much. They’ll find a way to kill me, I have to get out of the country. The diamond was my one hope—you just signed my death warrant—”

Suddenly, there was a rush of sound behind them and Josy turned in time to see Dolph springing at her.

She tried to leap out of his reach, but he moved faster, grabbed her with arms like iron bands. One arm snaked around her throat and held her tight, nearly cutting off all her air. She gasped, struggled in vain, and then felt the butt of a gun against her temple.

“Hold still, Josephine, or I’ll give you something to squirm about.”

Ricky was staring at Dolph in shock. His bruised face had gone gray as dust.

“Kevlar,” he said dazedly. “You’re wearing . . . a Kevlar vest. I should have known.”

Dolph’s black eyes glinted. “I know how Tate operates. He doesn’t give many second chances. Do you think I’d get within one hundred yards of his men after everything that’s happened and
not
wear a bulletproof vest? Len’s been drooling to take me down—and to take my place.”

He tightened his grip on her throat even more and Josy’s vision turned black. She struggled uselessly, slammed her foot against his instep, tried to elbow him, but nothing seemed to touch him. Red spots danced. She heard his laughter as if from a great distance.

“You’re killing her—let her go!” Ricky yelled.

“Drop your gun, Sabatini. Kick it over here. Now, or I’ll snap her neck.”

Ricky set his gun down and kicked it. It skidded through the dirt, landing inches from Dolph’s feet. “Now let her go, damn you!”

Dolph laughed. He loosened his grip suddenly and threw Josy to the ground. She fell heavily, a rock scoring her cheek as she hit the hard-packed dirt.

“Now I’m going to shoot her—and you get to watch. Then it’s your turn, Sabatini.”

Josy lay stunned, trying to catch her breath. She smelled the dirt, saw an ant crawling over her finger. Her throat felt as if it had been pulverized. She couldn’t move. And couldn’t speak.

“The diamond is what you’re after, Dolph.” Ricky was talking fast. “Forget her, it’s that bastard sheriff holed up inside the saloon you want. He snatched the diamond from under her nose—and mine. If you want it, you’ll—”

“I want her dead more. And you too. I’ll get the diamond, don’t you worry. But it’s for me now—Tate will never see it again.”

He pointed the gun at Josy and she felt a faintness wash over her. She tried to brace herself, wondering if she could roll aside at the last moment, somehow avoid the inevitable. But how would she know when to move? Dear God, how?

“Don’t!” Ricky cried hoarsely.

“You’re next.” Dolph smiled. He held the gun and watched Josy’s terrified eyes for a moment longer, savoring the moment. The bitch had cost him his job, but he would take her life. He only wished he had time to do it slowly. A bullet at a time . . . a finger, limb, organ at a time.