CHAPTER SIXTEEN
OWEN AWOKE WITH A START.
He’d had a nightmare about running away from Jeb. He’d gotten shot instead of Don. His knee had exploded in a violent burst and his leg collapsed beneath him. But no one had dragged him to safety.
It was still pitch-dark outside. A crack of light shone under the bathroom door, illuminating the space. Penny was sleeping with her back to him. She’d switched the baby to her other side. Although he felt like he’d just closed his eyes, he sat forward, listening for a disturbance.
Garrett’s knock sounded at the door.
He took a deep breath, pressing a palm to his galloping heart. Penny didn’t rouse at the noise. Little Cruz must have fallen asleep nursing, because her dress was unbuttoned, exposing her lush breasts.
Owen studied her with unabashed interest, his pulse thickening. He should have been ashamed of himself. She’d invited him to share her bed, and felt comfortable enough to feed her baby right next to him. It was clear that she’d elevated him to “friend” category, and trusted him to act the gentleman.
But he was no gentleman.
Garrett knocked again, interrupting his crude perusal. Owen covered Penny with the edge of a blanket and rose to his feet, pressing the heel of his palm against his fly. If he’d had any saliva left, he’d have been drooling on her.
He opened the door for Garrett, who carried in a drowsy Cadence. Lauren followed him, her blond hair mussed. After Garrett set Cadence down on the bed next to Penny, he rifled through the cabinet, grabbing a soda and some peanut butter. They stepped outside to share the meager breakfast.
Lauren locked the door behind them, her eyes sharp with worry.
It was well before dawn. Owen had probably slept for two hours, total. His arm muscles were sore from the hard work yesterday, his stomach ached with hunger, and he’d kill for a glass of f*cking water.
“I have to take a piss,” he mumbled, walking toward the designated corner with Garrett, who used a penlight to navigate the space. They didn’t want to turn on the lamps and draw too much attention.
Owen stood as far away from Garrett as possible and unzipped his pants. His balls hurt from lack of release, and his stream was an unsatisfying dribble. Garrett seemed to be experiencing the same trouble, wincing as he shook it off.
The west side of the cavern smelled like death. They were lucky the weather had cooled down, because the stench of urine and rotting corpses would have been even worse in the heat. As they returned to the ambush zone, Owen recognized the same stench on Garrett. To escape Jeb yesterday, Garrett must have hidden among the bodies.
Gross.
They checked the tar pits and trip wires, making sure the traps were ready to go. Owen gathered some weapons and stacked a pile of rocks near his hiding place. Then he watched Garrett pour muriatic acid and gasoline into plastic bottles, his tension rising.
They were getting into some serious shit here. Owen had been involved in violence before, but the gang fights and armed robberies paled in comparison. This was a full-on terrorist attack. Last night, their makeshift bombs and deadly traps had seemed like a game. Now it was real, and Garrett’s expressionless face was freaking him out. He was mixing dangerous chemicals without breaking a sweat.
Was the man made of stone?
“Some people freeze up during survival situations,” Garrett said in a near whisper, twisting a cap on one of the bottles. “They can’t save themselves, let alone help others. I’ve seen it happen in Iraq. Even the smartest guys with the best training can choke.”
Owen smoothed a hand over his hair, about to crack under the pressure. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know I can count on you. You threw a rock at Jeb yesterday, which was stupid, but brave. You saved Don’s life by tying a shirt around his leg. You’re able to think on your feet, make quick decisions and take action.”
“No,” he said, disagreeing with Garrett’s assessment. He wasn’t brave or smart. Running and hiding were his two favorite strategies.
“Do you want to stay in the RV with the women?”
“Yes!”
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Go on, then. I won’t think any less of you.”
Owen didn’t move.
“You can’t go later,” Garrett warned. “No matter what happens, you can’t run toward the RV for cover.”
“I know.”
At the last minute, they parted ways. Owen crouched behind a car on the west side of the cavern while Garrett raised the dummy toward the ceiling. They’d placed a chisel in its gloved hand. Although the decoy didn’t move like a real man, his body language was convincing. He appeared ready to strike the concrete.
After the dummy was in the right position, Garrett tied off the rope and hurried to his lookout point on the northeast edge, near the ambulance. Owen couldn’t see him, so he listened for his signal: three sharp raps against the wall.
They wanted Jeb and Mickey to hear the sounds of concrete chipping, and respond accordingly.
Owen waited in the dark, motionless. The outline of a climber was visible at the crevice, and he had Garrett’s build. At noon, the ruse wouldn’t hold up, but in the eerie predawn light it was perfect.
This was going to work. He could feel it.
The chipping noise would draw Jeb and Mickey out into the open. Jeb couldn’t take a shot from the safety of his truck. He’d have to move closer to hit his mark. Once they were in motion, Garrett’s acid bomb would prevent them from retreating. As the men moved south, toward Owen and away from the fumes, they would encounter a series of traps. No matter which path they took, they’d find trouble.
But there was no such thing as a foolproof plan.
The first problem was that Jeb and Mickey weren’t in their camp. They must have crept away from the truck last night. As soon as Garrett hit the wall, Jeb popped up from behind one of the demolished vehicles in the middle of the cavern. He fired at the decoy, setting the events into motion much more quickly than expected.
His bullet struck the dummy in the back of the neck, almost severing its head from its body. The “climber” showed no reaction. He continued to hold up his right hand, chisel poised. It was a dead giveaway.
“What the f*ck?” Jeb muttered.
The attack hadn’t even started yet, and their enemy already knew he’d been duped. They’d lost the element of surprise.
Owen tightened his grip on the hammer, his pulse pounding. When he squinted, he could just make out Mickey’s shadowy figure crouched next to Jeb. They looked poised for a counterattack.
Garrett was forced to throw the first bomb before he was ready, and it didn’t quite reach the target. Anticipating an explosion, Jeb ducked down with Mickey, protecting his face with the crook of his arm. A gray cloud rose up between the cars. Although the poisonous gas worked to create a barrier, it didn’t come close to crippling their opponents. Both men were able to avoid the worst of the fumes.
Owen cursed under his breath, unsure what to do. This suddenly seemed like a very stupid idea. Instead of crashing headlong into the trip wires, Jeb and Mickey exercised caution as they moved away from the smoke. Garrett advanced with another acid bomb, and followed that up with several gasoline cocktails. Small fires illuminated the space. It was difficult to tell which clouds were toxic.
Panic set in—for Mickey. He started running.
Owen’s heart lodged in his throat as Mickey hit a grease slick, tripped over a wire and landed facedown in a glass-shard-studded tar pit. He screamed in pain, his high-pitched voice shriller than usual.
Jeb kept a cooler head. Aware that he was being directed south, he ignored Mickey’s plea for help and turned to fight. He went back through the smoke, his gun ready, actively seeking a confrontation with Garrett.
Once again, the events had taken an unexpected detour, and Owen was faced with a dilemma. Did he go after Jeb, finish off Mickey or cower behind this car and wait until the smoke cleared?
He wished he’d stayed in the RV.
“Shit,” he muttered, standing up straight. Garrett was counting on him. Hammer raised, he strode toward the pit Mickey had fallen into.
* * *
GARRETT COULDN’T BELIEVE he’d made such a stupid mistake.
He’d never even considered the possibility that Jeb and Mickey wouldn’t be in the truck. It threw off his timing and damned near wrecked the whole plan. If he’d waited another second to throw the bomb, they’d have gotten away.
The good news was that Jeb hadn’t been close enough to spy on them, so he didn’t know about the decoy. He took his shot, as anticipated, and entered the ambush zone. The bad news was that Jeb had a few extra seconds to process the chaos. He smelled a trap. Only Mickey had fallen victim to one of the pits.
Jeb, that crazy son of a bitch, was coming back through the smoke for Garrett. He’d simply held his breath to prevent inhaling the fumes.
F*ck!
Garrett was out of acid bombs. They were too dangerous to stockpile. He’d stashed a couple of gasoline cocktails about twenty feet away, but he didn’t have time to grab them. He needed to stop Jeb now, before he escaped, or this was all for naught.
Heart racing, Garrett crouched in front of the last car, holding his crowbar in a death grip. He couldn’t attack from a standing position because Jeb was sure to spot him. A blow to the knee was his best hope of taking his opponent down. He had to disarm him; Jeb didn’t have a chance against Garrett without his gun.
If Jeb kept ahold of his weapon, and his wits...it wouldn’t be pretty.
Everything was riding on Garrett’s ability to obliterate Jeb’s kneecap, so he waited for the perfect moment to strike. His palms grew slick and his pulse thundered in his ears. He couldn’t f*ck this up. Not again.
When Jeb passed by on his left side, Garrett swung with all his might, cracking both of Jeb’s knees with the flat of the crowbar. The impact reverberated along the metal shaft, stinging his hands. He almost lost his grip. Garrett heard a sickening pop as connective tissue snapped away from bone.
Jeb cried out in agony and crumpled to the cavern floor. Unfortunately, he wasn’t stunned enough to drop his gun.
He rolled onto his back and fired at Garrett, point-blank.
Garrett had to act fast. He abandoned the crowbar and dove across the hood of the vehicle, toppling over the edge. Jeb fired twice more in rapid succession. One bullet ricocheted into the undercarriage. The other struck Garrett’s left arm.
It hurt. Really f*cking bad.
He clamped a hand over the wound and kept moving, ignoring the pain. Wetness seeped between his fingers. Staying low, he ducked behind another vehicle. Jeb couldn’t follow him with a busted kneecap, and he didn’t have a clear shot.
How many more bullets were left?
Garrett considered his options. Cornered animals were the most dangerous, but retreating now would be a disaster. The job wasn’t finished. He needed to draw more fire. Once Jeb wasted the last of his ammunition, he’d be helpless.
On the other hand, Garrett didn’t want to get shot again. His shirtsleeve was soaked with blood, and the wound was killing him. Mickey hadn’t been accounted for, either. Garrett had no idea how long the tar pit would keep Mickey occupied.
A woman’s scream rang out from the ambush zone, sending a chill down his spine. It was Lauren.
Goddamn it. She’d promised not to come out of the RV for any reason. He wasn’t opposed to accepting her help, and he’d asked for her input. But he couldn’t put her life at risk. She was the medic. They all needed her.
He needed her.
She’d probably disregarded his instructions because Owen was hurt. Garrett hoped he hadn’t run to the RV.
“Sounds like your bitch is in trouble,” Jeb crowed. “Go save her, hero.”
Garrett gritted his teeth in frustration, knowing that Jeb would take this opportunity to slither back into his hole. “How’s the knee feel?”
“Better than your arm.”
Seething, Garrett pushed away from the vehicle and crept through the dark cavern. Defeating Jeb would have to take a rain check. On his way back, he grabbed a roll of duct tape from his stash of supplies. Using his teeth to get the tape started, he kept walking, winding a tight bandage around his upper arm. It would stanch the blood flow for a few minutes.
Hands free, he went to Lauren.
* * *
ALTHOUGH LAUREN HAD agreed to lie low in the RV, she rose at the sound of gunshots, racing to the front seat to look out the window.
The dummy’s head was destroyed, hanging from its neck at an odd angle.
She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. That could have been Garrett. He was right about Jeb’s intentions.
“What’s happening?” Cadence cried. She was on the bed with Penny, their arms clasped around each other, baby Cruz between them.
“I don’t know,” Lauren said. “I can’t see anything.”
While Cadence’s eyes radiated fear, Penny appeared calm. She cared only about protecting the newborn. As long as he was okay, she was okay.
Last night, when the men had gone to raid the enemy camp, Lauren had followed Garrett’s orders. She’d stayed inside the RV, hugging the girls and listening to the gunfire, her pulse racing with anxiety.
She couldn’t do that again. She wanted to know what was happening. If Garrett got shot, she’d be devastated. Her heart dropped as she realized how deep her feelings for him went. She was tempted to go outside and risk her life for a man she couldn’t even have.
“Don’t move,” Lauren said to Cadence, focusing her attention on the driver’s-side window. She flinched as a series of small explosions lit up the cavern. Mickey ran into one of the traps and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Jeb didn’t pause to help his fallen comrade. He turned and went the opposite direction, gun raised.
She clenched her hand into a fist, biting its edge. This wasn’t part of the plan. Garrett had told her that Jeb and Mickey would be choking on acid fumes, disoriented. Jeb didn’t look disoriented. He looked pissed off.
After Jeb moved out of her line of sight, Owen emerged from his hiding place. He wasn’t supposed to approach until Garrett subdued the prisoners, but clearly they were improvising at this point. Mickey thrashed on the ground, struggling to free himself from the tar. Covered in black goo, he rose to his knees and yanked a large shard of glass from the pit. He gripped it like a dagger, ready to attack.
Owen crept closer, holding up his hammer. His face was pale in the flickering light, and his stance appeared hesitant. The tar pit was between cars, so Owen couldn’t see Mickey. He didn’t know what danger awaited him.
“Damn,” Lauren whispered, glancing around the RV. She had to do something. She had to warn him.
Don’s baseball bat rested on the passenger seat. Picking it up, she strode toward the door and unlocked it.
“What are you doing?” Cadence asked.
“I have to help Owen,” she said. “Lock this door as soon as I go out.”
“No,” Cadence wailed. “Don’t go out there!”
Lauren glanced at Penny, who gave a short nod of cooperation. She’d take care of Cadence, and lock the door, if necessary.
Taking a deep breath, she rushed outside and ran toward the pit. Three gunshots rang out in the distance, sending a chill up her spine.
Oh God. Not Garrett. Please, not Garrett.
Spurred by the sound, Owen advanced on Mickey, swinging his hammer. Mickey ducked to avoid the blow. The hammer struck the hubcap and bounced back, leaping from Owen’s surprised hands.
Mickey took advantage of the misstep by stabbing Owen’s calf with the glass shard. Lauren screamed at the sight.
Although Owen stumbled sideways, yelping in pain, he didn’t lose his balance. He was also quick to retaliate, delivering a roundhouse kick to Mickey’s chin. His head crashed into the car door and he collapsed facedown.
Lauren came forward, her hands clenched around the bat handle. Owen made a gesture for her to stay back. Mickey wasn’t done fighting. When Owen tried to kick again, Mickey reached out to grab his ankle. With a rough jerk, he pulled Owen off his feet. He fell against the side of the car and slid down, into the pit.
They rolled together in a tangle of glass and tar and flying fists. Although Owen landed several hard punches, Mickey had a weight advantage. He ended up on top of Owen, straddling his waist. He snatched up another piece of glass and pressed it to Owen’s throat.
Lauren rushed forward, intent on braining Mickey with the bat. He looked up at her the second before she struck.
“Drop it or I’ll kill him,” he said, grimacing. His teeth were covered in blood.
She wavered, bat hovering over her shoulder. Garrett snuck up behind Mickey, signaling her to comply. Mickey couldn’t see him. Trying not to give away Garrett’s presence, she retreated and lowered the bat.
Mickey kept his eyes on her as he sat upright. The bandage on his face was askew, revealing his ruined nose. His breathing sounded labored. He removed the glass from Owen’s throat and held it up, rising to his feet.
In a flurry of motion, Garrett grabbed Mickey by the wrist and wrenched his arm behind his back, forcing him to release the weapon. Then he slammed Mickey’s head against the passenger window. The glass cracked in a spiderweb formation. A thin line of blood dribbled from Mickey’s scalp into his eyes.
Owen scrambled upright, touching the cut at his throat. His skin was nicked, his boot splashed red.
Mickey twisted out of Garrett’s grip and whirled to face him. He drew back his fist, punching Garrett in the stomach.
To her dismay, Garrett quickly lost the upper hand. He doubled over with a wince, and then sidestepped to avoid another blow. She saw that his left arm was taped, and he appeared to be favoring his right.
Lauren had to act now. If she didn’t, Mickey might win. When he took another swing at Garrett, she stepped in, smacking him over the head with the baseball bat. He swayed on his feet, did a clumsy pirouette and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Well. She finished that, didn’t she?
Garrett didn’t seem pleased with her interference. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
“Helping,” she said, giving him a withering look. Duh.
“I could have handled it. You were supposed to stay in the RV.”
“Oh, shut up.” She tossed aside the baseball bat, her hands shaking. He was already wounded. If she’d obeyed his orders, Mickey might have finished him off. She swallowed hard, disturbed by the thought. Her knees felt rubbery, so she knelt to inspect Owen. The cut on his calf needed stitches, but it wouldn’t cripple him.
“Here,” Garrett said, passing her a roll of duct tape.
As she reached out to take it, their gazes connected. He knew she was rattled; she saw the concern in his eyes. “Where’s Jeb?”
“Over there,” Garrett said, indicating the north side.
“Is he coming back?”
“He could try. He’d have to crawl, though.”
She frowned in disapproval, wrapping duct tape around Owen’s leg as a temporary fix. “What happened to your arm?”
“It can wait,” he said curtly. “Let’s tie up Mickey before he comes to.”
Although he’d planned to restrain the prisoners with rope, Lauren did the honors with duct tape to save time.
“He’ll be able to bite through that,” Garrett said.
“If he wakes up.”
“You don’t think he will?”
She evaluated his condition, deliberating. Mickey had been dealt several blows to the head, and he’d sustained multiple lacerations in the tar pit. If they left him like this, bound and unconscious, he might die. “I should bandage the deeper cuts.”
“It’s your call,” Garrett said, his mouth thin. “I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.”
His lack of empathy didn’t surprise her. Garrett had a soldier’s mind-set. He’d been trained to show no mercy.
The medical field was different. Professional ethics decreed that she treat every patient with diligence and respect. A decorated war hero and a despicable criminal should receive the same level of care, in theory. Her personal feelings were irrelevant. But would keeping Mickey alive put the rest of them in danger?
This man had tried to rape her. She wanted him to pay for his actions. In a court of law, preferably.
Saying nothing, she used duct tape to bandage the worst of his cuts. The tar that covered his skin would help stopper the shallow lacerations. While she was fixing him up, Garrett retrieved a bike chain and padlock from their cache of supplies. Wrapping one end of the chain around a car axle, he encircled Mickey’s neck with the other. Leaving him room to breathe—barely—he secured the padlock and put the key in his pocket.
It was barbaric, but effective. There was no way Mickey could get free. Owen and Garrett exchanged a hard smile over his ingenuity.
Lauren was struck by a sense of kinship between them, along with a disturbing similarity she didn’t want to examine. Yesterday, Garrett had seemed hostile toward Owen, or indifferent. Now they were like...blood brothers. These violent acts had brought them closer.
She felt uneasy about their camaraderie. As a woman of peace, she’d always championed civility and restraint. None of the men she knew used brute strength to succeed. Michael hadn’t even played sports for fear of injuring his hands. He’d worked tirelessly to save lives, but never lifted a finger outside the hospital.
Garrett and Owen looked like a pair of ruffians in comparison. They were filthy, and bloody, and unrefined.
They’d probably enjoy watching Mickey die.
Garrett had claimed he wasn’t much different from the convicts. Owen was a convict. They both had tragic pasts, and were well versed in fisticuffs. What else did they have in common?
She rose to her feet and followed them away, unsettled. Maybe she was a classist snob, prejudiced against blue-collar men. But she had the sinking suspicion that she was missing something.