Upper Hand (Cedar Tree Book 5) (28 page)

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F
ucking Beth
.

Should’ve known she wasn’t about to sit there and follow instructions like a normal person. No, not her. I get she maybe feels some responsibility, but Jesus, just yesterday she had her first go at a shooting range and before that hardly ever had a gun fit in her hand. On top of that, she’s been worked over by this guy once already, she looking for a repeat?

“We get out of here, you and I need a meeting of the minds. Or rather, my hand has something to say to your ass. There are times you can throw your independence and attitude around, but babe, this is not one of them,” I whisper in her ear, my hand still covering her mouth, not giving her a chance to talk back. “Serious pain in my ass you’re turning out to be. Are you gonna listen to me?” Not sure whether to trust her when she nods her head, I slowly remove my hand, ready to clap it back over her mouth if she gets loud. Can’t have that, not with the guy holed up in the white and grey Dutchmen trailer a couple of spots down. But she doesn’t make a sound, only turns around to face me and her eyes are fierce. She grabs my shoulders and pulls herself up on level with my ear. Automatically my hands slide around her waist, but I’m pretty positive she’s not preparing to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.

“I swear, if I just wet myself for real when you freaked me the hell out, I’m going to plan a horrible, horrible revenge,” she hisses at me. Before she has a chance to build up more steam, I slam my mouth down on hers, tongue licking at the seam of her lips to gain entrance. She finally relents, after what I’m sure will be permanently scarring on my shoulders with her nails, and her rigidly angry body goes soft in my arms. Satisfied I’ve kissed the piss and vinegar right out of her, I release her lips, but leave my nose touching hers when I get down to business.

“About three or four plots up, Dutchmen trailer on the left. Stay behind me and tuck that gun away. Don’t wanna get shot in the back.” Without wasting any more time and not giving her a chance to respond, I move in front, tucking Beth behind my back.

By the time we pass the next trailer, we can hear muted voices. Two males, maybe three, arguing. Beth slips her hand in the back of my jeans, but doesn’t say anything. The closer we get, the clearer the voices become, and I’m not liking what I hear. When one voice asks, “Where is the baby, ‘
Frajer’
?” in a thick accent, I assume it’s Polish. At least it sounds European to my ears. I can clearly hear the response.

“Wasting your time. I don’t know where he is and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” That’s Jed’s voice. No mistake. Beth hears it too, her hands holding on to my biceps now, squeezing. Then everything happens fast.

“
Bzdura!”
is yelled loudly and I immediately hear the sound of a struggle. Skin hitting skin. Without thinking, I pull myself from Beth’s grasp and bridge the distance to the Dutchmen trailer in just a few large strides, yank the door open, and barrel inside, hoping the element of surprise is on my side. The large frame of a man is bent over and punching something, or someone. With one hand to the back of his shirt, I pull him off, revealing my brother, sitting in a kitchen chair, hands and feet duct-taped to it, and his face barely recognizable.
Bastards
. I swing my hand toting the gun around to aim at the guy I pulled off him, but the element of surprise has shifted. This time it’s me who is blindsided. A sharp kick underneath my gun hand flings the gun up and out of reach. Too shocked at the condition of my brother, I’d delayed in making sure the guy was covered, and now I’d lost my one advantage. Fuck me. The big idiot comes at me with a huge grin on his face, ready to lay into me when he stops and looks over my shoulder. 

“Don’t even think about it.” Mal’s voice is barely a whisper as he steps around from behind me, a gun pointed at the idiot’s gut. “Clint, grab the cuffs from the back of my belt,” he tells me. I do as he says, doing my best to stay out of the way of Mal’s gun, I cuff the guy’s wrists behind his back. The idiot is still smiling, this time at Mal who calmly observes him. 

“
Idiota
. He’s dead already, he just doesn’t know it yet,” he says, and I follow his eyes to my brother, where I just now see the large knife sticking from his gut.

“Jesus, Jed!”

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W
hen Clint takes off toward the trailer, I’m frozen in place just watching him go. Stunned that he’d take off like that. I hear the physical altercation too, but the moment he yanks open the door, the sound stops. The sound of a scuffle propels me into action, but I don’t get further then one step. Blocking my way is the guy from the parking lot a few days ago. The same guy who cut me off in the car. Only difference, this time he’s not wearing his sunglasses and his eyes look black, as black as the barrel of the gun he’s aiming at me.

“Well, well, well. How fortunate you show up here,” he says in a thick Slavic accent, something that hadn’t registered before, but this time I’m not distracted by his hands on me. Not yet anyway and if up to me, never. I put my hands behind me to find the knob on the hitch of the trailer I’m standing behind, leaning back a little.

“How much?” I ask, knowing I’ll probably never get that money together unless I sell my house. But sell it I will, if it puts an end to this. The man just chuckles.

“There is no amount big enough to eradicate your son’s troubles I’m afraid. He has crossed a dangerous man.”

While he’s talking, my right hand lifts away from the hitch and finds its way to the small of my back and under my coat, where the butt of my gun sticks out from my waistband. I had tucked it there when Clint told me to put it away. The guy doesn’t even seem to notice, so full of himself and thinking too little of me. I bring my left hand forward and fiddle with the zipper of my coat, trying to get him distracted enough so I can pull my gun on him. The distraction comes a moment later, when I hear Clint calling out his brother’s name and a chill settles over me. The second the guy turns his head, I have the safety off and pointed right at him. When he turns back, I see his eyes widen slightly, but before I even have a chance to pull the trigger, a red dot appears on his forehead and in the next instant he is on the ground, missing a good chunk of his head.
Oh my God, oh my God
. This is nothing like the shooting range. People don’t get hit at the shooting range, and it’s generally noisy. Yet I never heard this. I heard
nothing
. Just one minute he’s standing and then he’s not. Bile starts rising and I’m on hands and knees, puking out the goulash Seb made. I’m still dry-heaving when I remember Clint’s voice. I don’t think, and I try not to look at the dead man I jump over but continue to run toward the trailer, with only Clint on my mind. It’s Gus who catches up with me at the door. He takes one look at me and grabs me by the shoulders.

“Beth.
Jesus
. Where are you hit?” His hands start to move over my head, unzipping my coat and running his hands over my torso. “What the...” That’s when his eyes move beyond me to the shapeless form on the grass. “Honey...” With careful movements he slides his hand over mine and gingerly pries my fingers off the gun I’m apparently still holding. The crunch of gravel announces the arrival of both Joe and Neil, who stop in their tracks, staring at me then looking beyond me at the man in the grass. Both immediately turn around and start scanning the surroundings, the three of them forming a barrier between me and the outside. 

“Ambulance is on the way. So is the sheriff and tribal police,” Neil speaks first, his back still turned to me.

Gus hands my gun off to Joe, who bites off a curse. I’m confused and I just want to get to Clint, so I start moving, but Gus holds me back.

“What the hell, Gus, let me go. Clint needs me.”

I struggle to get free but his arms just wrap around me tighter. “Honey, he sees you like this, he’s gonna lose it.”

I stop fighting long enough to turn and look at him. “Like what?”

“We need to clean you up, you’re covered.”

With my heart racing I reach a hand up to wipe at my face. When I see the blood on my hand, I twist out of Gus’s arms and start heaving again.

In the distance I hear the sirens approaching.

“B
eth?”

Clint’s voice comes through the curtain pulled around my bed. Don’t really know why they want me to stay after the nurse cleaned me up and gave me a pair of clean scrubs to wear. I mean, it’s not like I’m injured or anything, so I’m sitting on the edge, waiting for them to give me my walking papers.

As soon as the ambulance had arrived, the EMTs came straight for me. After I’d assured them I hadn’t been hurt, that it wasn’t my blood, they went inside the trailer. Mal had come out with a guy in handcuffs, who looked a little the worse for wear, but I still hadn’t seen Clint. From what I could tell, things weren’t good in there, but Mal quickly told me Clint was unharmed. Unfortunately, it turned out Jed was hurt and badly. Neil went and got the Yukon and Gus hustled me in the back, while Joe dealt with law enforcement, claiming I needed to go to the emergency to get checked out. Which is how I never got to see Clint. Until now.

His face looks haggard as he pulls aside the curtain and steps through, not pausing until he’s wedged in between my legs, and cups my face in his hands.

“Baby, you okay?” he asks in a tired, soft voice.

“Fine, just fine. I tried to come to you, but they wouldn’t let me. How’s Jed?”

“In surgery. God, he was bad, Beth. So bad I thought he was gone a few times,” his voice croaks. I wrap my arms and legs around him, trying to hold on as best I can while he dips his head down to rest his cheek on the top of mine. We’re wrapped around each other like that for a few peaceful minutes, when I hear the curtain drawn back once again. Clint releases his grip on me but keeps his back to whomever’s come in. I notice why when I release him and sit back. His cheeks are wet with tears and without taking my eyes of him, I address whoever stepped in, “Please, could you give us a minute?”

“I’ll wait.” I recognize Drew’s voice coming from behind Clint and listen to the curtain closing behind him again.

From the table beside the bed I grab the box of tissues, and with a handful I carefully wipe the tears away. Clint lets me, his eyes never leaving mine, without saying a word.

“You good?” I whisper, my hand resting against his cheek and I feel him nod before his head dips and his mouth covers mine. A hard but meaningful kiss, and with his lips still touching mine he says, “Love you,” before straightening up and calling for Drew to come in.

That part is less pleasant. Especially since this was the first Clint apparently hears about what happened outside. I’m still not even sure what happened. First thing Drew tells us that they were able to identify the dead man as Sam Blazek. I’m not surprised at that, but what I am surprised at is what he tells us next.

“Blazek was shot with a M1A tactical rifle or something very similar from a fair distance.”

Clint sits down beside me on the bed, clutching my hand in his so hard, my fingers are about to lose function, but I’m not about to let go.

“We’ve yet to sit down with the other man, although we’ve identified him as Bogdan Lozinski, muscle for Blazek apparently. We’re waiting for the FBI to come in on the interview. At some point, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you two as well, but for now you just have to deal with me. I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”

For the next half hour, Clint and I alternate giving our respective accounts of that night’s events. It isn’t until we get to the end, when I’ve already cried over Clint’s version of what happened inside that trailer, that I recount my experience outside. Clint abruptly gets up, moves to the end of the bed and bends his head, his knuckles white as he clenches the foot of the bed, releasing a litany of profanities under his breath. When I try to reach out for him, he shakes his head sharply. “Don’t,” he bites off and I retreat, hurt.

Drew observes the interaction and smiles at me gently. He’s always been a good kid, even when still working as a deputy for Joe, he’d come into the diner and have such an even-keeled pleasant demeanor. He hasn’t lost that gentle touch now, having worn the sheriff’s badge for only a couple of months. I hope he never does.