True Shot Page 28

  A vicious tension infused Mac’s muscles. Bastard wanted to hurt Sam. If he lunged, even from his knees, he thought maybe he could hurt Ford at least a little before Marco shot him dead. But he fought back the urge. He needed to keep it together so he could protect Alex.

  “Flinn, buddy, how you been?” Mac said.

  Ford gave him a tight smile. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Wish I could say the same, but, well, I kind of hate your fucking guts.”

  Ford hopped up onto a counter and let his long legs dangle like a psychotic little kid. He linked his fingers together and let his forearms rest on his thighs, the posture of a man enjoying his game.

  Mac clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He especially hated the speculative look Ford gave Alex, as though considering her many uses.

  “So,” Mac drawled, determined to keep Flinn’s attention away from her. “If you’re looking for Sam, she’s not here. Afraid I don’t know where she is, either. She took off. Left me high and dry. Pissed about it, frankly. So if you happen to see her, could you maybe deliver a message for me?”

  “Shut up,” the big man growled from behind him.

  Mac twisted to look up at the huge man. “Think you could maybe get a Tic-Tac or something? Your breath is—”

  He slammed the butt of his pistol against the back of Mac’s head.

  “No!” Alex shouted.

  “Marco,” Ford warned.

  It took Mac a few moments to get the kitchen’s wild spinning under control before he could look up, struggling to suppress a wince. “Yeah, that was rude, Marco, seeing as how you’re a guest here.”

  “Mac, please,” Alex said softly.

  Ford’s eyes narrowed, but he smiled. “Yes, Mr. Hunter, please. Your foolishness can’t distract me from the knowledge that I’ve found treasure here: two people for whom Samantha would willingly die.”

  Mac’s stomach threatened to heave. “Like I told you. I don’t know where she is. She left. Said she had to meet a friend who could help her out.”

  “Does this friend have a name?”

  “Nope. Sorry.” Mac stiffened when he felt the cold barrel of Marco’s gun press behind his left ear.

  “Marco?” Ford said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Give Mr. Hunter a reason to tell me the name of Samantha’s friend.”

  Mac closed his eyes and braced for the blow. He heard a sharp crack, and then Alex crumpled sideways against him. His eyes shot open, and he wrapped his arms around her to steady her, alarmed at the way her head lolled on his shoulder. The bastard had hit her hard enough to knock her unconscious. Rage and adrenaline spurted into his blood.

  “What the fuck?” he snarled at Ford.

  “We’re negotiating, Mr. Hunter. The name of Samantha’s friend, please.”

  “I don’t know his name.”

  “So this friend is a man.”

  “I don’t know. I assumed.”

  “What else did you assume?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Marco?”

  The big man loomed over them, drawing his gun hand back and taking aim at Alex again. “No!” Mac quickly shifted his grip, leaning over her and cradling her close against his chest to shield her.

  “The name, Mr. Hunter.”

  Mac raised his head to peer up at the other man, careful to keep himself between Alex and the brute with the gun. “Look, fine, we’re negotiating. I’ll give you the name, but you have to leave Alex alone.”

  “You have no power here, Mr. Hunter. I was being polite when I said we’re negotiating.”

  “I have information you want. You give me something in return, and I’ll give you that information.”

  “What I’m giving you in return is the health of Samantha’s sister.”

  “Fine, then, how about this: Take me with you. You’ll have me to use against Sam and the name of her helpful friend.”

  “I could just as easily take you and Alex both to use against her. Why would I agree to such a deal?”

  “Because it’s the only way you’re getting that name. And since you’re so desperate for it, I’m assuming you think that’s the only way you’re going to find Sam. But if Marco touches Alex again, so much as looks at her sideways, I’ll die before I tell you anything.”

  Ford’s lips thinned into a vague approximation of a smile. “Marco can torture it out of you.”

  Mac’s heart thudded hard and fast. “Go for it. The more time you waste, the more time Sam has to defeat you.”

  Ford stared at Mac with squinted eyes. “You realize that I can order Marco to torture Samantha’s sister until you tell me.”

  Yeah, he’d realized that a long time ago. But he had nothing to use as weapons but promises and words. What he wouldn’t give for a few of Sam’s spy moves. “In that scenario, I’d assume that you plan to kill us both once you have what you want. Why give you information that would also result in Sam’s death?”

  Ford considered him for a long moment.

  Mac didn’t have to try hard to appear patient. Alex had mentioned that Logan would be there from work soon. And when the Lake Avalon police detective saw that his beloved had been injured, there’d be some major-league ass-kicking in store for Ford and his brute. If only he could figure out a way to stall without jeopardizing Alex.

  As if his thoughts had nudged her, she stirred in his arms, her head shifting against his chest. He tightened his embrace, willing her to understand that he needed her to stay still, even as the awkward position began to cramp the muscles in his back.

  Ford hopped off the counter. “We have a deal, Mr. Hunter.”

  Five minutes later, Mac sat in the backseat of Ford’s white rental Impala, hands bound at his lower back by zip restraints. Lake Avalon Beach was behind them, and so was Alex, thank God. As Mac had settled her on AnnaCoreen’s white floor, he’d whispered to her to play possum. She’d obeyed, her fingers briefly squeezing his arm to let him know she was okay. He figured that as soon as Ford and Marco had hustled him out the door, she’d gotten up and called Logan. The cop would be on their tail any minute. Assuming he was in the vicinity. And could somehow know he was searching for a white Impala. Shit.

  “The name, Mr. Hunter,” Ford said from the front seat without turning to look at him.

  “John something. Smith, I think. Or maybe it was Joe.”

  “We can turn around and go back for Alex, if you’d like.”

  Damn. He was so bad at bluffing. “Sledge. Stupid name, but there you go.” He assumed Sam would call the same man she’d thought to call for help when they’d first landed in this mess together. He also hoped like hell that the name meant something to Ford. The last thing he needed was for the bastard to instruct Marco to hang a U-ey.

  “Fuck,” Ford muttered, and gave a disgusted shake of his head.

  Mac relaxed just a tiny bit. So Ford knew the name. Of course, now he’d traded one problem for another. He’d just told Ford how to find Sam. With any luck, maybe he was wrong about this Sledge. Maybe Sam hadn’t sought his help at all. And even if she had, maybe there was no way for Ford to find Sledge quickly. If anything, Mac had bought Sam some time. He could hope.

  Ford flipped open his cell phone and thumbed a button for speed dial. After a few moments of waiting, he said, “I need you to get a fix on Sloan Decker’s transponder.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Sam preceded Sloan into the Sarasota safe house, a small one-level home slathered in faded yellow stucco. It didn’t stand out in the older neighborhood, surrounded as it was by similar homes amid towering palms and narrow streets with sandy shoulders.

  The interior was dim, the kitchen equipped with old beige appliances and an island with sagging cupboard doors. The unmistakable odor of cat urine turned her stomach upside down.

  She didn’t want to be here, not in a dark, only marginally clean safe house with a man she considered a friend but who was not the man she loved. Exhaustion settled arou
nd her shoulders like a heavy cloak, and she continued on into the dining room, intent on finding a bed on which she could take a nap. A small Colonial-style wooden table with four chairs occupied the dining room. An arched doorway to the left led to a living room and the front door, and French doors on the right led to the backyard.

  “Hey, Sam?”

  She paused and turned to face Sloan, one hand braced on the back of a dining-room chair. At one time she’d thought they might have a shot at romance, but the sparks never flew. Not like they had with Mac. Sloan was far more alpha than Mac, though Mac’s alpha came roaring to the forefront when he thought it necessary. Usually to protect her.

  Sloan was clearly uncomfortable. “You okay?”

  Tears pricked her eyes. This was a man who rarely showed his softer side. He did his job, and he did it well, emotion and entanglements be damned. Yet here he was, peering at her with concern that looked incongruous on his hard features.

  “I need a favor. From Andrea, actually.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “If something happens to me, I need her to help my sister Alex learn how to control her psychic abilities. I need to know that, no matter what, Alex will get the help she needs.”

  “I’ll make sure that—”

  The ring of his cell phone interrupted him, and he clipped it off his belt to answer it. “Decker.” After a beat, he cast a quick glance at Sam. “Flinn, what’s up?” He listened for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as they met hers.

  “What?” she mouthed.

  He pulled the phone from his ear and thumbed a button.

  “Are we on speaker?” Flinn’s voice came through the phone, loud and clear.

  “Yes,” Sloan said, voice low and grudging. He cast Sam an apologetic look.

  “Samantha, are you there?”

  “I’m here,” she said.

  “I’m hosting your lover as a guest, Samantha. I’d like for you to come visit him.”

  Sam’s head went instantly light, and her heart clutched hard in her chest. “Where?”

  “You don’t need to concern yourself with that, Samantha. All you need to know is that the harder you resist, the harder Marco is going to punish Mr. Hunter. And Marco’s quite eager. As you well know, Marco and Mr. Hunter have a rather bloody history already.” Flinn chuckled as though he’d just shared a humorous anecdote. “Are you both listening? Sloan?”

  “Yes,” Sloan said.

  “The house is surrounded. I advise you both not to do anything stupid.”

  Sloan’s face flushed dark red. “Son of a bitch.”

  “I’ll come willingly,” Sam said. “You don’t need Mac Hunter to force me.”

  “It’s too late to negotiate, my dear Samantha, and I’m certain that I require him to ensure that you behave. We’ll see you soon.”

  An audible click indicated he’d disconnected the call.

  “Fuck,” Sloan said under his breath.

  She didn’t get a chance to respond. Two camo-clad soldiers busted through the French doors, sending glass flying, and the front door blew inward, admitting two more huge guys. Sloan yanked his Glock nine mil from his shoulder holster and took out the closest men, the two who’d smashed through the glass doors.

  Sam dove into the kitchen, scrambling behind the island and pressing her back against the cabinet doors while a volley of gunfire rang in her ears.

  Sloan joined her an instant later, swearing under his breath and trailing a stream of blood on the worn off-white tile. He leaned against the island beside her, breathing hard, and reloaded his weapon.

  Scanning him, Sam spotted the hole in the left side of his black shirt, just above his hip bone, emitting a steady rush of blood. He knocked her helping hands away and thrust his weapon at her. “Take my Glock and go! I’ll try to hold them off as long as I can.”

  “Without a weapon?” Disbelief made her voice high and squeaky.

  “They don’t know I don’t have one. I’ve taken half of them out already. They’re going to come through the door with more caution now. You need to go. Now!”

  “They’ll kill you.”

  “I know that,” he growled at her, catching a bloody hand in the front of her shirt and tugging her toward him. Sweat made his unnatural pallor look greasy. “Go and don’t look back. Don’t stop, don’t turn around, don’t let them use me to blackmail you into giving yourself up. Got it?”

  “No, we can—”

  “You’re the one he wants, Sam. Whatever happens here, they’re going to kill me.”

  She knew he spoke the truth. She also knew she had no choice but to let them take her. If they didn’t, Flinn would kill Mac just to punish her.

  She put one hand on Sloan’s shoulder and squeezed. “Stay alive. Do your damnedest.”

  He flashed her a pain-sharp grin, his breath gasping now, his eyes trying to roll back. “You, too.”

  Sam slipped out the back door, but instead of making a run for it, she eased around the side of the house to the front and maneuvered her way through the front door and over its scattered debris. She could see the two remaining thugs consulting each other in the dining room, using furious hand signals but making no move to rush the kitchen. One, a hulk of a man clad in a tight military-green T-shirt, keyed a radio mounted on his shoulder and spoke into it.

  Calling in reinforcements.

  Damn it.

  She didn’t recognize these guys. She’d killed Watson, Deke and Tom, so Flinn had hired some nastier replacements. Mercenaries, more than likely. Not that it mattered. Muscle was muscle. Mean for a buck. Dead for working for the wrong guy.

  Feet braced apart under the arch of the dining room door, she aimed Sloan’s nine mil at the head of the thug farthest from where she stood. One shot, and he toppled over. The last man standing straightened and whirled toward her, gun ready and waiting. Mexican standoff.

  “Hold it,” she said in a steady, firm voice. “Nobody else has to get hurt.”

  His grim, determined expression didn’t change. Nor did the grip on his SIG. His camo pants, tucked into combat boots, hugged massive thighs. Muscle indeed.

  “Call off the reinforcements,” she said.

  His lips twitched. He didn’t have to say what he was thinking: Not a chance.

  “Call them off, and I’ll put down my weapon and come with you.”

  Dark bushy brows furrowed, and he nodded at her gun. “Then drop it.”

  “Call off your men.”

  Black eyes narrowed, assessed. Then he shrugged and keyed his radio. “Cancel that last request. Situation is under control.”

  A disembodied voice responded, “Target is secured?”

  “Target is secured and ready for transport.”

  “Roger that.”

  Sam tossed the gun so that it landed at his feet, praying Sloan would stay put behind the island and not give himself away. Too much to ask for, probably. When he didn’t show himself, she figured that meant he’d passed out from blood loss. That worked, too. As long as help arrived before he bled out.

  Lips curving into a hard smile, the soldier shoved her around to face the wall and kicked her feet apart. He roughly patted her down. She gritted her teeth until his hands paused to fondle her breasts, and then she jerked her hips back, trying to bump him back a step but encountering a wall of hard muscle.

  His hands got cruel, fingers pinching until she threw back an elbow as hard as she could and caught him in the ribs. “Don’t,” she hissed.

  He grasped her arm and hauled her around. “You and your friend just killed three of my buddies,” he said in a gravelly voice, eyes black with hate.

  Her heart kicked into her throat. Oh, crap. “Flinn wants me alive,” she reminded him.

  “He didn’t say anything about a few bruises.”

  He swung a meaty fist at her.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Mac took in as much of the lay of the land as he could as Marco nudged him forward with the barrel of his gun in
his lower back. They had parked in the overgrown parking lot of Caring Paws Veterinary Hospital, based on the sign dangling from one corner on the small, dilapidated building.

  Last summer, a hurricane had swept through the region, flooding this older, less-affluent area of Lake Avalon and leaving most of its buildings condemned. The city council had been arguing for months about whether to level what was left and help reeling business owners start fresh or just let it all rot. It’s not as if the neighborhood drew tourists, and therefore tax revenue, so why bother to hurry with the decisions?

  Inside, Marco gave Mac another rough nudge, into a large, open room with counters lining the walls. Storage for vet supplies. The air smelled of mold and must, and grit crunched under their shoes as they traversed the filthy tile floor.

  Mac’s steps faltered when he saw the shiny new steel table set up in the center of the room, complete with stirrups and restraints. A tray of surgical instruments sat next to it.

  “Keep moving, asshole,” Marco growled.

  “What’s with the OR setup?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  His stomach twisted, and he strained his wrists yet again against the plastic restraints binding his hands.

  Marco said, “Stop.”

  Mac stopped. His head throbbed where Marco had struck him at AnnaCoreen’s. Brutal bastard.

  “On your knees.”

  Mac hesitated. Facing the surgical table? Like it was a stage and he was the audience? “Why?”

  Marco’s hard first slammed into Mac’s ribs. The air burst from his lungs, and as he doubled over, Marco kicked the back of his knee and shoved him down onto his knees.

  Mac gasped for breath, tasting blood and seeing stars. “You don’t have to be so rough, you know. Odds are good I’m going to do whatever you tell me, what with the gun and all.”

  “Shut it, shithead.”

  Mac sat back on his haunches. “Look, I know you’re ticked about the shooting-you-in-the-arm thing. But, honestly, I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been going after Sam. I was feeling protective.”