Chapter Twenty-one
I couldn’t see my face in the mirror, but I imagined it looked twisted with fright. My heart banged against the walls of my chest as if it would burst any moment.
“Emily,” Cowboy whispered, “open the door.”
I groped for the doorknob in the darkness and unlocked it, shoving it open. Cowboy grabbed my arm and yanked me into the hall. My eyes adjusted to the moonlit room as he shoved a handgun into my palm.
“It’s loaded. I hope you remember how to use it,” he said, shoving his own handgun into his waistband.
“What the hell’s going on?” I said, keeping my voice low like he did, though I didn’t know why. “What happened to the lights?”
“Someone killed the power and phone lines from outside.”
“And I left my darn cell phone in Hank’s truck again,” Floss added, standing next to Cowboy with a shotgun in her hands that was as big as her.
The blood drained from my face, and my body trembled. Another surge of fear ran through me. If anything happened to either of them, Jake would never forgive me. Hell, I’d never forgive myself.
“W-who’s out there?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Cowboy said. “I saw at least two men, but there might be more. We need to get out of here.”
“Aren’t we safer staying here?”
“Not if they set the house on fire, we aren’t,” Cowboy said, glancing at me to judge my reaction. “If they’re trying to kill you, it’d be the easiest way. We’d be safer in the woods. But I’m sure they’re watching the doors, and we’re too high off the ground to go out any other way.”
“Not necessarily,” Floss said, making her way to her bedroom.
We followed her into the dark walk-in closet, where she clicked on one of those stick-it-anywhere dome lights, powered by batteries. We watched as she moved a large tote and threw some shoes out of the way. I wasn’t sure what she was doing until she pulled back the carpet underneath, revealing a trap door in the floor.
“Hank put this in here when we moved in. He didn’t like the idea of being caught unprepared in an emergency,” she said, grinning.
With his gun readied, Cowboy pulled the door open with a good hard tug. A narrow wooden ladder led into a dark area somewhere under the house. He leaned down, gun in hand, and peered inside the hole. Everything must’ve checked out because he shoved his gun in his waistband and began climbing down.
“Once I’m on the ground, toss me the shotgun,” he muttered to Floss. “Then you two come down one at a time as fast as you can.”
He ducked into the hole, practically sliding the rest of the way down the ladder and landing in a crouch on the ground. Cowboy peered around again to make sure he was alone. I doubted he saw much more than I could, which was nothing. He motioned, and I carefully dropped the shotgun to him. Then he waved for us to follow.
I made Floss go first and helped her into the hole. She climbed down slowly, taking one small step at a time until she stood safely on the ground beside Cowboy. Not wasting any time, I stuck the handgun Cowboy gave me in my waistband. The cold metal irritated my skin as I descended the creaky ladder.
It was uncomfortably dark, with a small amount of moonlight seeping through the slats of a gate leading to the outside. With guns drawn, we maneuvered toward it silently.
Cowboy checked to make sure we were clear. “Okay, we need to stay on the edge of the woods. Work our way to the back of the property as quietly as possible. Once we get on the trail, the footing will be easier,” he promised. “Stay low, but keep moving.”
At his signal, we made a run for the woods with Cowboy ushering us through the darkness. We weren’t sure where the two men Cowboy had seen were, and we weren’t waiting to find out.
We stumbled along the edge of the property toward the back fence, staying low to conceal our movements, guided by what little moonlight passed through the thick canopy of trees. The terrain was rough and uneven, which made running more difficult, but we went as fast as we could.
About halfway there, Floss stepped into a hole and fell to the ground, one leg sprawled behind her and the other bent under her in an agonizing shape. She cried out, but then stifled it immediately. It was the first time I’d ever heard a filthy word pass her lips. Her eyes watered as her hands shakily gripped her hurt ankle.
Cowboy tried to lift her, but any small manipulation of her ankle had Floss wailing in pain. It was the equivalent of us wearing flashing, neon signs that had “Yoo-hoo, over here!” written on them.
A man’s voice yelled out, “They’re not in the house! Search the property!”
“Darn thing’s snapped like a twig,” Floss said, her voice trembling with pain. “I’ll just slow you down. You two go on without me.”
“We’re not leaving you here. Tell her, Cowboy.” When he didn’t say anything, I realized he didn’t agree. We traded a quick glance. “You aren’t serious,” I said, the shock apparent in my voice. “She can’t stay out here alone.”
“She won’t be alone,” he said, propping Floss against the nearest tree and handing her the shotgun. “Shoot anybody who comes within a hundred yards,” he said, making my eyes widen.
Floss grinned through the pained expression on her face. “You didn’t think the shotgun was for looks, did you?”
Cowboy’s gaze caught mine again, and my eyes pleaded with him. “Oh, come on. Stop looking at me like that. It’s not like I want to leave her. Floss has a bad break. I won’t be able to carry her without hurting her. I’m going to get you to safety, then come back for her.”
“You two quit fussing over me and get a move on,” Floss ordered, grimacing. “I’ll be fine.”
Cowboy grabbed my gun and placed it in Floss’s lap. She started to protest. “We still have my gun,” he told her. “Reloading the shotgun takes too much time, and this will give you more ammunition until I come back. I’ll sound a bird call before approaching.”
“You better, or I’m liable to blow a hole clear through you,” Floss said, her voice wavering. She gritted her teeth together. “Now, you two get out of here before I decide to tan your hides for not minding your elder.”
I hugged her quickly before Cowboy grasped my arm and sprinted off in near darkness, towing me behind him. If walking through the woods barefoot during the day was dangerous, then running through them at night—even with shoes—was damn near suicidal. I couldn’t see the ground. And the risk of falling only worsened by the numerous branches and vines grabbing at me.
Once I caught a bitter whiff of thick black mud and the pungent scent of algae, I knew we were close to the pond. We traveled along the tall weeds at the water’s edge, then ducked behind a cypress tree. Cowboy scoped out the moonlit clearing where I had fallen into the water once before. We had to cross it if we wanted to get to the fence line, but he had reservations.
“Stay here,” Cowboy said.
He sprinted across the opening, but didn’t get ten feet when the sound of a gunshot rang out. His body crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
“NO!” Not thinking, I ran toward him, but stopped dead in my tracks as a man came out from behind a tree.
As he got closer, the moon lit up his face more clearly, and I recognized him from the club and the photos Jake had shown me at the police station. It was Frankie Felts’s cousin, Arnold. He held a dark, sinister-looking gun on me that matched the grin on his face.
“My cousin has been looking for you.” Arnold grabbed me roughly by the back of my hair. “It’s time for you to—”
We heard the growl at the same time.
A flash of white leaped through the air and latched onto his arm, snarling and biting. Thrown to the ground at the bank, I scrambled to my feet as Arnold got a shot off. The bullet hit Dog in his side and knocked him to the ground. He tried unsuccessfully to get up again. Arnold was poised over him with his shooting arm torn up, dripping blood, as he readied himself to shoot Dog again.
I screamed incoherently and barreled into Arnold from behind, knocking him into the pond with a large splash. He surfaced, his gun no longer in his hand. Pissed, he swore at me, threatening me with all the different ways he’d kill me when he found a way out of the water.
I ran straight to Cowboy, who wasn’t moving, and kneeled beside him. He was lying on his side, something dark and wet dripping from his hair onto the dried, cracked mud. He had taken a bullet in the head. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
Then something touched my arm. Stunned, I instinctively flailed to protect myself and hit something solid.
“Ow,” Cowboy said softly, followed by a groan.
I covered my mouth. “Y-you’re alive?”
“You prefer something different?” He touched the side of his head and winced. “Jake would kill me if I died while babysitting you.” He groaned and tried to get up.
I pushed him back gently, which didn’t take much effort in his weakened state. “Don’t get up, idiot. You’ve been shot in the head.”
“You don’t have to worry,” he said, moaning and closing his eyes. “It hurts too much to do it again.” His eyes cut toward the curse words echoing from the pond. “What’s that?”
“Dog attacked the man who shot you, and when he shot Dog, I knocked him into the pond.”
Cowboy grinned crookedly.
“What?” I asked.
“You risked your life for Dog, but you let me get shot?”
“Let you? I didn’t know you were—”
We heard a rush of water and Arnold’s choking scream as something pulled him under. The surface of the pond boiled and bubbled in chaos, then slowly went still as small ripples lapped at the sides of the bank.
“Jesus.”
“No. Charlie,” Cowboy said, closing his eyes again.
“I need to get you help. Tell me what to do.”
He quietly thought to himself while I listened to his labored breathing. “You won’t be able to find your way through the woods in the dark. Not by yourself, anyway. CB radio in my truck. If you can get to it, you can put out a call for help. Ox and Judd both monitor the channel it’s on.”
Cowboy’s gun had landed on the ground near his body. I laid it on his chest and put his hand on top of it. “I’ll be back.”
“Take the gun with you,” he said adamantly.
“But Charlie—”
“Charlie is preoccupied with digesting his snack,” he said, making me cringe. “I’ll be fine. You take it. Chances are, you’ll need it more than I will.”
“I’ll try to hurry.” I gave his hand a comforting squeeze and picked up the gun.
I let my perpetual fear drive me, running faster than I ever have. The closer I came to the house, the lower I got to the ground until I was practically crawling on all fours. Then someone moved in the shadows near the bird pens, forcing me to duck inside the barn.
The barn was dark, riddled with shadows and moonbeams, but my eyes adjusted to the limited lighting. I searched for a quick hiding place, but the stall closest to the barn door belonged to the ornery colt. I didn’t have time to slip into another one. I barely had time to unlock his gate when someone grabbed me from behind, threw me against the railing, and knocked the gun from my hand.
I slid to the ground, but turned enough to see Curtis Manning standing over me with a sneer of sheer pleasure and a large high-caliber handgun. Horses lurched skittishly in their stalls, snorting and clopping their feet. I scrambled backward in a crab crawl as Manning pointed his gun at me.
“Die, bitch.”
I closed my eyes, flinching, as the shot rang out.
I’d always heard pain doesn’t register when you’re in shock. Because I hadn’t felt the impact, I wasn’t sure where I’d been hit. My eyes flew open as Manning fell to his knees, his dead eyes fixed on me. He dropped to the ground at my feet with a single, gaping hole in his forehead. A kill shot.
It meant only one thing. Jake!
He stood behind me to my left, his arm still posed in firing position. My legs wobbled as I ran to him. I threw my arms around his neck as relief washed over me. Overwhelmed, I broke down, clutching him to me and whimpering softly. Jake lowered his weapon, holding it at his side, while wrapping his other arm around me, pulling me tighter against him. When Jake spun me around, I thought he did so out of joy.
But I heard what sounded like an overblown balloon popping. The impact knocked Jake’s body into mine, throwing us both off our feet. Uninjured and stunned, I sat up quickly to see Frankie Felts walking toward us with his weapon drawn. My breath caught in my throat as the last ten seconds dawned on me.
Dutifully, Jake had shielded me from a bullet that had torn into his right shoulder. He was lying next to me, holding his arm as blood seeped through his fingers. His gun had flown several feet away from us.
I scrambled for it and got to it at the same time Felts did. We both struggled for control of Jake’s weapon while he kept his gun trained on Jake, who tried to get up. By sheer accident, Jake’s gun went off and a bullet grazed Felts’s leg. He cursed and backhanded me, knocking me farther away as he snatched the gun from my fingertips. I could taste the blood in my mouth from my busted lip. I scurried closer to Jake.
The shot had spooked the horses, each circling and kicking around in their stalls with sheer panic. As Felts came closer and shoved his weapon in my face, a stall door flung open behind him. The frightened colt bolted from his container. Felts limped out of the way to avoid being trampled as the colt ran out the barn door. Felts again pointed his weapon at me.
“Joseph Keller,” Jake called out, his teeth gritted in pain.
The distraction worked, making Felts pause reluctantly. “What about him?”
Jake smiled proudly. “He was my father.”
The mobster turned his eyes, and his gun, on Jake. Obviously, it was Jake’s intention to keep the heat off me, though it would only be a temporary solution. After Felts killed Jake, I’d be next.
“You damn river bottom country hicks,” Felts said, readying his finger on the trigger. “I have a rule about people who put their noses where they don’t belong. Like father, like son.”
“Nooo!” I screamed. It sounded more like an animalistic growl ripping from my throat, but my voice wasn’t heard over the loud blast.
Jake’s body jerked instinctively to shield me and push me out of harm’s way. But, instead, Felts flew through the air. His body slammed against the stall door and sank to the ground, smearing blood on the wood all the way down.
Hank stood at the entrance of the barn holding a double barrel shotgun. “I have a rule too, you sonofabitch. Nobody messes with my family.”
“Jake!” I scurried back to him, getting there seconds before Hank. I sat him up and quickly unbuttoned his shirt to get a better look in the moonlight. The finger-sized bullet hole oozed with dark blood. Hank handed me a work rag off a nearby table I was sure wasn’t entirely sanitary. But I wadded it over the wound and applied firm pressure.
“Are you all right?” Jake asked, touching my face.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that when you’re the one who’s been shot.”
Hank placed a hand on my shoulder. “Emily, where’s my girl?” he asked, his voice wavering. “Where’s Floss?”
“She’s in the woods, somewhere past the compost pile. She’s okay, but her ankle is hurt, probably broken.”
“And Cowboy? Is he with her?”
Before I could answer, a noise came from behind Hank. He swiveled, pointing his shotgun in its direction.
Ox and Judd froze in the doorway, holding weapons of their own pointed in our direction. “Whoa! Don’t shoot!” they yelled out in unison.
“About time you two got here,” Jake said as Hank lowered his weapon. “I told you to hurry. What’d y’all do…stop for a sandwich?”
“Jesus,” Ox said, looking at the two dead bodies on the ground. “Are those the mob guys?”
Jake confirmed with a nod. “Used to be.”
“We saw Hank’s truck parked on the road next to a black sedan we didn’t recognize. Must’ve been their car, huh?” Judd said. “Guess you all walked in on foot.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “But I don’t know if there’s anyone else with them. You two go check the property. Shoot anyone who doesn’t belong here.”
“Where’s Cowboy?” Ox asked.
Everyone looked back, realizing I still hadn’t answered yet. My lips trembled. “H-he’s out by the pond, but—”
“You boys go get him,” Hank said, rising to leave. “I’ll check the property and find Floss.”
“Hank, she’s armed. Let her know it’s you or she’ll shoot you at a hundred yards.”
Hank got up and set out for the door. Judd and Ox turned to go out as well. “Hold on…I need to tell you…guys, wait.” They ignored me and kept walking. “Cowboy’s been shot in the head!” I yelled to get their attention.
All three stopped in their tracks simultaneously, and Jake’s head snapped toward me.
“I don’t know if he’s…alive,” I said, my voice strained.
…
The driveway overflowed with vehicles and flashing red and blue lights beamed into the nearby pasture. It only spooked the horses more and had the birds on the property squawking. All of Hank’s neighbors and friends came out to offer assistance as soon as word got out about the intruders.
The sheriff and his three deputies had been on the scene, but because the coroner had already arrived and the immediate danger was over, they’d left on another call. It didn’t matter since they’d already taken our statements.
Two ambulances from the tri-county area remained. Floss was in one of them, given a drooling and sleep-inducing dose of painkiller. We sat in the other with Jake’s arm in a sling while listening to Ox and Judd tease Cowboy mercilessly.
“Is it Halloween?” Judd asked, looking at Cowboy’s mummified condition. “Or did someone toilet paper your noggin?”
“Well, let’s not split any hairs,” Ox said, grinning from ear to ear.
Cowboy shook his head, then winced because of it. “You guys suck, you know that?”
Looking at his bandaged head, I cringed. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“Aw, shit, darlin’, you’ve got to quit apologizing,” Cowboy said. “It wasn’t your fault. Besides, now we get to compare the size of our bullet holes.”
Hank walked up. “You don’t have a bullet hole, you numbskull. All you have is a scuffmark on the side of your head. Floss has a worse injury than you.”
It was the first smirk I’d seen on Jake’s face all night. “If you’re that bad off, Cowboy, we could take you out back and throw you over the fence.”
“For what?” Cowboy asked.
Jake shrugged. “Buzzards got to eat, too.”
I winced as a memory flashed through my mind of me sitting beside Dog, stroking his bloody fur as we waited for help to arrive. Jake must’ve felt my body tense and read my mind.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered into my ear. “Junior’s taking care of Dog like he promised. The paramedics checked him out and said the bullet missed his vital organs. It was a clean exit wound and Junior’s loading him into his truck right now to take him to the animal hospital. Dog’s going to be fine. ”
Before I could respond, Hank stepped away from the ambulance, his interest drawn to the driveway. “Who’s this?” he asked.
We all piled from the back of the vehicle, watching as a convoy of three government vehicles parked nearby. Jake and I exchanged worried looks. Six men stepped out, all dressed in dark blue suits, but I only recognized one of them.
Director Harvey Brockway observed Jake’s friends suspiciously, as did the other five agents. I figured it was probably because they all still held an arsenal of weapons. He scoped out the situation and approached, obviously uncomfortable with the grossly over-armed civilians.
“Agent Ward,” Brockway said, nodding to Jake.
Jake didn’t look happy to see him. “Director.”
Brockway looked directly at me. “Miss Foster, I’ve come to take you into protective custody.”
Jake didn’t give me a chance to say anything. “No,” he said to the director. “She’s already being protected.”
“Yes, apparently by a cavalry of armed citizens,” Brockway said with disgust. “Ward, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. You’re already under investigation as it is. Last thing you need is to cause more problems for yourself.”
“But she’s—”
“Jake, it’s okay,” I said, not wanting him to get in any more trouble than he was already. “We’ll get this straightened out after we all get checked out at the hospital. Right, Director Brockway?”
I hoped it would buy us more time together and give me a chance to figure out how to get Jake out of trouble.
“Oh…well, yes. I suppose so,” Brockway stammered as the coroner wheeled a gurney, weighed down with a black body bag, past us. The director wore a disheveled, stressed out expression that matched his hair and his clothes. “So Felts is really dead?” he asked shakily.
Jake nodded in confirmation, and Brockway’s face washed over with something familiar. Relief. I knew because I felt the same way.
Since nothing had to be resolved right away, Jake relaxed, but something whispered strangely to me. I pushed it away, not letting my anxieties take over and wig me out. But I couldn’t shake it completely.
It was like whittling a piece of wood inside my mind. The more you scraped away, the smaller the object would get, but it’d start to take shape, even if you didn’t know what it would become.
“You look like hell,” Jake told the director.
“What do you expect when one of my agents goes rogue and kidnaps a federal witness? I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“You don’t look like you’ve gotten any sleep since I last saw you,” I said.
I wondered if his eyes were more bloodshot than Dale’s the time Gina and I had dared him to drink— Something snapped. Gina had said the exact same thing about the man who paid them a visit, a man looking for me. But why would…
“Miss Foster, is something wrong?” Brockway asked.
The clarity overwhelmed me. “I…I know.”
Jake and the others were confused, but Director Brockway looked more nervous now than when he first walked up surrounded by armed civilians.
“Miss Foster, I’ll drive you to the hospital and get you checked out. From there we’ll formalize the arrangements with the U.S. Marshals, and I’ll transfer you to a safe house myself,” Brockway said, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. It only confirmed what I knew.
At first, I thought I should be smart, keep my mouth shut, and not put myself in a precarious position. But my emotional state of mind wouldn’t allow it. After all, it was me we were talking about.
Had Jake’s arm not been in a sling, he would’ve been quicker and could’ve stopped me. I reached out, snatched Jake’s gun from his shoulder holster, and pointed it at Director Brockway. All five of the agents in suits standing behind Brockway drew their weapons and returned the favor.
“Don’t shoot!” Jake yelled to them. When he was sure they were holding fire, he turned to me. “Emily, what the hell are you doing?”
“It’s him! He’s the—”
“Miss Foster,” Brockway interrupted, “I want to express my regrets for the events leading up to your situation. I know you’re under a lot of stress, but if you don’t drop the weapon, my men will shoot you.”
“Wait!” Jake yelled, eyeing the men for itchy trigger fingers. “Emily, threatening an FBI director is a federal crime. Give me the damn gun.”
I kept the gun locked on Brockway with trembling hands, knowing I only ever hit one out of three targets at close range. Chances were good that I’d die. Chances were better that Brockway wouldn’t. For peace of mind in the event of the unthinkable, I wanted Jake to know the truth about this man. A man he trusted.
“Jake, he’s in on it,” I said, my voice straining to get him to understand. “Gina said he went by her apartment looking for me.”
Brockway let out a nervous chuckle. “Of course I did,” he said. “The FBI was looking for their agent and their lead witness. It’s only natural we’d question your friends.”
“Then why didn’t you identify yourself as a fed?”
“I did,” he said, though I knew it was a lie.
“No, you didn’t. Gina had no clue who you were. She’s the only person I talked to. How would Felts know where to look for me unless you bugged her phone somehow?” I glanced over to Jake. “It’s how they found us. He passed the information to Felts.”
“That’s ridiculous. Agent Ward, you have ten seconds to get the gun out of her hand before I order my men to fire.”
Jake tried to be objective, but wasn’t sure what to believe. “Emily, please…” Jake pleaded. “Give me the gun.”
“Jake, you once said people caught unaware made mistakes. Brockway made a mistake because he couldn’t have foreseen you taking off with his only witness. Felts must’ve been pressuring him to find me. He was relieved to learn Felts was dead. The same relief I felt.”
“Okay, enough,” Brockway said. “Ten, nine, eight…”
“Emily, give me the gun. Please…” Jake held out his hand.
Adding insult to injury, I realized Jake didn’t believe me. My heart shattered. I was in love with him—probably had been since I first laid eyes on him. And he didn’t trust me. Hell, I wasn’t even sure he liked me half the time. This person in front of me wasn’t Jake, though. It was Agent Ward. It was the first time I understood the difference.
“Four, three, two…”
I heard the quick shuffling sounds and cocking of guns as Cowboy, Judd, Ox, Hank, and the other neighbors reached for their weapons and aimed them at the FBI agents. The cavalry chose to be on my side.
“Drop ’em, boys!” Hank yelled out.
“You better do as he says,” Brockway called out to our entire group.
“I was talking to your boys,” Hank said, nodding toward the five government men. “Not mine.”
The blood drained from Brockway’s face, and I knew he was a man backed into a corner. He didn’t like being challenged and was starting to unravel.
Unlike Jake, the rest of them believed me. I saw it in their faces. But it only made me question my lingering self-doubt. What if I was wrong? It’s not like it would be the first time. I couldn’t forgive myself if any of them got hurt again because of me. Especially if Brockway wasn’t the culprit.
Jake kept me safe all this time, and it was time for me to return the favor. It was like walking a plank above a man-eating shark, but I handed Jake the gun. I refused to leave him unarmed for what I was about to do.