THE MARINE'S LAST DEFENSE (15 page)

Chapter Twenty

Fire.

Jake’s weapon didn’t waver. He didn’t need to cover both men. Larry was the threat.

“Take care of the dog walker before someone else comes around,” Larry commanded.

Jerry disappeared around the back ends of the trucks. He hoped one of his “partners” would think now was a good time to call the cops. Naw, Bree wouldn’t, but Jerry might. They could keep Bree hidden and out of the police questioning.

“Big, tough m-marine fell for...for the stuttering routine.” The kid swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thick neck.

Clearly accepting the orders, the kid dropped clumsily off the orange rooftop and out of sight.

“We got a problem, man,” Larry said. “All we need’s the girl and the money.”

You need this guy alive.
Jake knew why he stood there listening to a criminal, but what was Larry’s reason to talk it up with a cop? What did they hope to gain?

“So maybe you should shoot that gun in your hand instead of treating it like a toy. Or I could shoot you and resolve both our problems.”

Larry shrugged, trying to look tough by smiling, like every stereotypical bad guy Jake had seen in the movies and rarely encountered on the streets.

Jake wanted to punch the smile right off his face, leaving a mark a hell of a lot worse than the one on Bree’s cheek. He’d settle for dislocating the man’s jaw. Then he’d dare
Larry
to try to look like...whatever.

“You think you’re smart? Thing is, ya shoot me and you know you’ll never get her family back. No chance my brother will let ’em go unless you do what I say.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s the one reason you aren’t dead already. So your point, Larry?” It was tempting to pull the trigger and end the smug arrogance of a confessed murderer, but the cop in him was stronger than the shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later.
Alive. You need this guy alive.
He’d keep the man alive and lock him away in jail.

“The point is,” Larry said, “I have what you want and you won’t shoot me. So drop it.”

Barking. A familiar howl. Dallas and Charlie.

“Get ’em off me. Stop.” That had to be the kid. “I’ll kill her, old man. I’ll kill her.”

Larry’s eyes darted toward the sound of the scuffle. Jake stared at the gun barrel as it drooped. Slightly, but that was enough. Jake squeezed the trigger microseconds before Larry. No longer aiming at a stationary target, Larry missed, then dropped flat to the top of the icy silver trailer, dodging Jake’s shot.

Jake jumped to the orange trailer, dug his toes into the ice, keeping his footing on the roof.
Alive. You need this guy alive.
If he hadn’t been repeating the line, he would have emptied his clip. But he didn’t fire. To his right he caught a glimpse of someone with long, dark hair rolling in the snow, fighting with a man in a black jacket. Just a glimpse as he refocused on Larry, to his left, who was getting to his knees and standing.

Jake raised his arms and leaped across the trailers, smashing Larry to his back and sending both weapons flying. The crash thrust them skidding across the trailer. Jake latched on to his opponent’s jacket. He dug his steel-toed boots into the icy silver roof to slow their slide. His feet caught on a roof reinforcement, stopping them from plunging over the side.

Larry threw his arm across Jake’s windpipe, pushing, acting unconcerned that they both might teeter over the trailer’s edge. Hitting the ground headfirst—snow or no snow—could be deadly.

“What now, cop?” he said, clenching his jaw and shoving harder.

Another impasse. They’d have to roll to their sides and let go of each other in order to get to their feet. How could he take this maniac alive?

The double-chinned kid backed around the corner of the semi, shoving Bree. Her arm was twisted behind her back with his gun pointed straight at her temple.

Jerry was nowhere in sight.

“Let him go or I’ll kill her!” the kid shouted. “But don’t drop him. I mean—” Bree stumbled into a snowdrift and the kid began kicking, connecting with her side. She curled into a ball, protecting herself. “I won’t stop till you let him go.”

“Don’t kick her to death. He gets it,” Larry said. His face was too close not to miss the “I win” glare in his eyes. “We need her.”

The arm crushing Jake’s larynx cautiously lifted. Jake rolled and pulled himself back until both of them could grab the side of the truck and catch their balance. They moved apart, rolling in opposite directions and scrambling to their feet. The instant he stood, he saw the challenge in Larry’s eyes. His opponent already had a switchblade palmed.

Jake wasn’t worried about the aggression. He was through treating these men like they were worth any kindness. Every strike he inflicted wouldn’t begin to pay back for what Bree had endured.

Larry thumbed the lever and the blade popped into place. He lunged.

One defensive move at a time, Jake’s years of military training took over. Once let loose, there was no stopping the return of the machine he’d never wanted to evoke into action again.

Chapter Twenty-One

Bree’s side was on fire from the kicks to her ribs. She haltingly unzipped her jacket without anyone noticing and withdrew one of the guns she’d taken from Jake’s black bag. She couldn’t see either man on top of the trailer, but she could see her uncle’s signal telling her it was time. Hopefully, Jake would benefit from the distraction and be able to save himself. And her. She uncurled and rolled under the edge of the trailer. As soon as the bastard who’d just kicked her leaned down to grab her, she stuck her gun in his face.

“Drop your gun.” She spoke softly so only the kid—as Jake had called him—could hear.

When he did, she moved until she could pick it up, then shoved the gun into her pocket. Her uncle came from behind her with packing tape he’d retrieved out of his bottomless pit of road supplies. But her uncle didn’t move fast enough. The kid started running, yelling and flailing his arms.

“Larry! Larry! Larry!”

“I’ll get him.” Jerry came out of hiding. “Find those guns. The cops will be here any minute.” He ran through the snow, gaining on the kid.

Bending to look for those guns, the pain in her ribs shot through her like an ice pick. She’d almost felt sorry for the kid, but not so much while she clenched her jaw and got control of her breathing back. Finding those guns was easier said than done. “I don’t think anyone’s going to find them until this snow melts,” she mumbled.

The trailer rocked at her back. Jake fought with Larry again, just as her uncle had predicted. She backed up in the knee-deep snow until she could see the men on the rooftop. A crowd had gathered outside the store across the street and were headed this way.

“Jake! I can hear the police.” The siren wailed in the distance. She couldn’t be delayed trying to convince them her family was in trouble. They had to get out of there. She looked up in time to see Jake’s boot catch Larry in the chest, rocketing him over the back of the trailer toward her.

He landed on his back at a weird angle. They needed him for answers.

“Bree, stop!”

She was already at Larry’s side to see if he was dead. His eyes popped open, his hand latched to her arm and toppled her to his chest. Before she blinked there was a knife, nicking her throat.

“No playing this time, princ—”

A loud gunshot stopped Larry’s words and knife. Jake tugged on her to get her going. He’d jumped down so fast she hadn’t seen him. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t understand him through the fog. Larry’s eyes were open, a bullet wound to his chest.

“I’m going to be sick.”

“Do it over here.” Jake pushed her behind him into a snowdrift. “As soon as the crowd gets brave enough, they’re going to investigate that last shot. Where’s Jerry?”

As much as her stomach objected to the picture fresh in her mind, she didn’t lose her cookies. “After the kid, who was running toward the freeway.”

She took a step to pass Jake and was enveloped in his arms instead. His gentle touch to her neck was a sharp contrast to the man she’d seen fighting on that trailer. The same man who had shot Larry dead to save her. He tilted her chin, using the pad of his thumb to create those soothing circles.

“Are you okay?” He tilted her head farther. The wet drops of blood where the knife had broken the skin were whisked away.

“I’m fine.”

“If we weren’t in a hurry...”

“But we are. Where’s my uncle and that other murderer?” Bree couldn’t think of him as a young man who’d fallen under the wrong guidance. That was for a jury to decide. Right now, she needed to help her family and he was the key. Their only clue.

They took off. Jake had her elbow securely in his strong hand. She wanted to remember his hands from early this morning—gentle, loving. The firm grip was comforting, but it had also pulled the trigger pushing them farther from getting the money to Griffin.

They skirted the oncoming crowd. The police cars made it to the truck stop. She ran, barely keeping up with Jake as he searched for her uncle. Then they both saw the hitchhiker trying to get their attention.

“He’s going to kill him. They’re behind the trash.” His hands were full trying to contain both dogs.

“Stay here,” Jake instructed, looking at them both.

“This is my fight,” she said to his back, following.

Her uncle was pinned on the ground. The kid hit his arm with a pipe. As he raised it again, Jake grabbed it, hurling the pipe into the bags of excess trash spilling from the receptacles.

The younger man turned his anger on Jake. “I’m not going back! They promised.” He pommeled Jake, who kept retreating, leading him farther away from Jerry.

With the hitchhiker on her heels, she ran to Jerry. “Are you all right?”

She helped him sit and listened not to his explanation but for sounds of another fight.

“I think my arm’s busted.” He cradled his left wrist in his thick hand. “The boy caught me by surprise. I turned right into that pipe and went down like a sinker on a fishing pole.”

“Can you stay with him?” she asked the man holding their dogs. She and her uncle had “hired” him to dog sit with the promise of a ride to California when they’d concocted their plan to keep Jake from being shot.

“Take one of these things, will ya?”

Dallas squirmed out of his arms and into hers, licking her hands, glad to see her. She set her on the ground and put her leash back in the young man’s hand.

“I love you, Uncle Jerry.” She rose, ran in the direction Jake had led the fight and listened for sounds. When she didn’t hear any, she backed up to the corner of a small building and waited.

She should have stayed with her uncle. Things had moved so fast. Her first thought had been to help Jake. How in the world could she do that? Screaming for help was the last thing she could do. The police were in the parking lot. People in the crowd had to have seen them running from Larry’s body.

Her stomach lurched at the image of the bullet hole and blood on the snow.

“Where’s the money?”

At first she thought the person was asking her. Then she realized the kid Jake chased was around the corner of the building.

“Man, I told you. She said Amarillo. That’s all I know,” Jake lied.

He knew the money was in his bag of black op equipment. If she could get the gun she had into Jake’s hands, then he could capture the kid. She pulled the gun from her pocket and knelt on the ground.

“I don’t know what to do. Where’s Larry?”

“Want me to take you to him, man? I can do that.”

She looked around the corner, straight into Jake’s jeans. She could almost tug on his hand and place the gun in his fingers. He took a step forward, his hand out of her reach.

She stood, leaning against the stucco building, holding the gun in both hands just like she’d been taught. But she’d also been taught not to point a loaded weapon at a person. Life or death made it different. She’d get the kid to drop the knife, Jake would be safe and they’d find out about her family.

“Hold it,” she said, barreling around the corner, gun aimed at both men.

“Ahhh!” the kid screamed, knife raised, lunging for Jake.

“Stay back, Sabrina!”

Jake’s defensive moves were textbook perfect. He countered the downward thrust of the knife with a sweeping block of his forearm. He caught the kid’s wrist in his hand and shook. Pinned in the snowdrift, their legs barely moved as Jake released the kid’s opposite shoulder to grab the arm with the knife.

The kid pressed forward, wild-eyed and hysterical. He yanked his arm free from Jake’s grasp, violently shoving and wildly wielding the knife from side to side. “I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her.”

Jake growled and blocked the descent of the blade. Bree realized she still aimed the gun at them both. She shoved it back in her pocket, knowing she wouldn’t shoot. They couldn’t risk killing their only lead to her family.

Each assault from the younger man was countered by the more experienced ex-marine. The kid’s wielding of the knife became more frantic and chaotic as he tried to get past Jake.

Their attacker kept crying out, “I have to kill her. I have to kill her.” His words hypnotized Bree at the building corner. She was unable to move or cry out or help. Her uncle came around the corner and darted forward without hesitation, broken wrist and all.

There was a final sweep of Jake’s arm, the knife disappeared, a scream and then the kid threw back his head and collapsed in the snow. While Jake and Jerry looked at his wound, trying to stanch the blood, she ran over and took the young man’s face in her hands. His eyes focused far from her. She shook his coat collar to get his attention, losing whatever bit of decency she had left.

“Who are you working for? Where’s my family? Tell me!” Her uncle could have died. What if Jake had died for her?

“You won’t get—” He coughed. A bead of dark red blood dropped from his nose. “They promi...”

She stumbled back into Jake’s stable body.

Her uncle checked for a pulse and confirmed what was evident from the glazed, open eyes.

“They’re...dead. Both dead?” She started breathing and talking fast, unable to block all the unanswered questions filling her head.

“It’ll be okay,” Jake said, from just above her ear, leading her back toward the truck.

“Can’t you see he’s dead? Did he say where my family is being held? Who he works for? Why did you kill him? You killed them both. It’s all your fault.”

“
My
fault?” Jake answered, leaning on the truck, breathing a little hard. “Damn, why didn’t I stop to interrogate him? Oh, yeah, he was beating your uncle with a steel pipe. Then he was determined to kill you and me with a knife. I saved your uncle. And I saved you. Totally unnecessary if you’d stayed in the truck.”

She knew she was wrong and still the fear bubbled to the surface in the form of spiteful words. “What about my mother, father and sister? What if these two have to report to Griffin? And when they don’t? What happens when Griffin knows his men are dead. It’ll be all over the news before we can possibly get near Amarillo.”

“Try to calm down, Bree. You’re in shock.” Jake pulled her face to his shoulder, muffling the sounds of her sobs. “We’ll find a way. Don’t give up. Right now we’ve got to get out of here.”

“Give her the black dog,” Jerry told the hitchhiker. “Bree, you and Jake need to get out of here before the police head this way.”

“Are we getting out of here, too?” the hitchhiker asked, setting the dogs in the snow.

“All in due time,” her uncle answered.

“Dallas should stay with you,” Jake told him.

She shook her head. “She’s
my
dog. You can’t give her to anyone.”

Burying her face in the dog’s cold fur, she had little faith they’d succeed and paid no attention as she was pushed into the truck. The engine started, Jake barreled through the snow away from the crowds, two dead bodies and the police stuck trying to determine what had happened.

“I don’t know how my uncle thinks he’s going to talk his way out of jail.”

“If you’d stayed in the truck—”

“You’d be dead,” she answered quickly.

“Dammit, Bree. You broke your promise to stay in the truck. Don’t blame me for having to clean up the mess.”

“You really expected me to just sit there and not fight for myself?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m not sure why you’re even trying to get away or continue to help me. It’s hopeless.”

“We aren’t beaten yet, Bree. I’ve seen hopeless, and this isn’t one of those scenarios.”

She tucked Dallas into the dog bed in the backseat. She couldn’t look at Jake, no matter how encouraging he was attempting to be, so she dropped her face into her hands. Yes, he saved her life with his accurate shot, but at what price? “They’re dead, aren’t they? My family. All of my family’s gone and it’s my fault.”

“Never think that. Griffin knows he needs them alive to get the money back.”

“It’s a long way to Amarillo. We can’t just snap our heels together and get there in an instant. And then we have to find them. And rescue them. Driving, it’s three and a half hours on a good day. Just admit that it’s impossible to save them.”

“I promise you, sweetheart, we’re getting to your family before anything happens. It’s only two hours by chopper. They won’t be expecting us. We’ll have leverage and surprise on our side.”

A hint of the look she’d seen while he’d fought crowded the features she adored and had kissed so hungrily less than an hour ago. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to the fighter he’d unleashed on those two men, but she needed those killer instincts to win this battle.

“Just tell me what to do.”

Was there a fighter left in her? She’d been running so long, afraid of failing, afraid of no one believing in her. Had the past years of building her business against the advice of her friends and family meant nothing? Could she remember what it was like to fight for what she wanted?