Читать книгу Her Assassin For Hire - Danica Winters - Страница 13

The ride back to the Widow Maker Ranch seemed even longer than she had remembered. She had driven through entire countries faster than she had driven across the state of Montana. The conference had gone well, and she was getting texts and alerts about new orders that were coming through the doors, but her mind kept circling back to Eli. Maybe it was his fault that the drive had seemed to take so long.

He had a way of making everything in her life more complicated. It was a good thing that she was putting hundreds of miles between them.

But it had been stupid of her to take his phone number. She had excised him ever so precisely from her life already, and now she had allowed him to slip back in. What was wrong with her?

She’d always stuck to the Band-Aid breakup model—one quick rip and throw it away. She was too old to make such a stupid mistake and let him reappear. His coming back would only open up all those old wounds. Not that everything had been bad between them. Some days had been incredible, while others—especially at the end—had been pure hell.

One time, when they had been in the belly of Italy, they had taken a contract on a set of twins. The brothers they had been hired to kill had been members of a notorious terrorist organization, in so deep that they had helped establish the group’s core documents and constitution. Thanks to their work, the group had grown to over five thousand international members and was responsible for the deaths of over two hundred civilians—men, women and one child.

During the strike, she and Eli had been forced to camp out under the stars while they waited for the brothers to return to their compound. While she had tracked the brothers’ phones, she and Eli had started out talking about throwaway things—the weather, locations and food preferences. After a few hours, however, something changed and they began talking about those things in life that make a person unique—family, beliefs, culture. He had even told her about growing up in rural Idaho, near Boise, where he had learned to shoot a BB gun and take care of his family’s bevy of animals.

The number one rule of their occupation as hit men was that everything was a secret. To open up, even the tiniest bit meant death.

But as they had talked, she forgot that rule. She was surprised to learn that he was such a sucker for animals. Maybe it was the thought of him holding a puppy, but whatever reservations she had about their growing intimacy quickly disappeared.

Everything between them changed. They became a team. And then that team mentality had taken another turn, and taking aim at killers and thieves had turned into taking aim at each other’s hearts.

She had been a fool to get involved with him. When she kissed him she had stripped her life of one of her best friends and one of just a select few that she had trusted.

The only other person she had trusted in the same way had been her sister. When Trish had been alive, Zoey had been able to turn to her, to talk to her a bit about the things that were going on in her life. Their lives were so unique and challenging that it took someone who had the same lifestyle—one of long nights in bunkers and days spent in the mud—to completely understand what it meant to fall in love.

As she pulled down the road that led to the ranch, her headlights bounced as she hit the obstacle course that had been carved into the dirt by the summer winds and fall freezes. The rhythmic back and forth motion of the car comforted her, knowing that the Widow Maker Ranch was protected by the grounds around it. With potholes and ruts this deep, few would venture down their road; the fewer the people, the better.

After Jarrod and Mindy’s run-in with the Gray Wolves’s—and their leader Bayural’s—hit man, they had been trying to stay out of the public eye. That was, until her reentry into society at the trade show. When it came to protecting the innocent, even if it meant coming out of hiding and putting herself in danger, Zoey had been willing to personally take the risk. Their clothing line would make the world a better, safer place. Women like Trish could use their tac line every day and just maybe Zoey could keep someone else from losing a sister.

She checked her rearview mirror one more time. There was a set of headlights behind her, and in the rural Montana countryside they made her nervous. Though she was sure she was overreacting, she pulled her car to the side of the road and let the person behind her pass by. The sedan was blue and had local plates, but she didn’t get a good look at the driver.

Not for the first time during the drive, she wished she hadn’t gone alone. Mindy had offered to come with her by flying over from Sweden, but Anya—Mindy and Jarrod’s adopted daughter—had come down with a cold and it hadn’t seemed right for her to leave the girl’s side.

Zoey picked up her phone, checking it one more time before she started driving again. As she clicked around her emails and screens, her contacts popped up and front and center was Eli’s information.

Was it a sign that she should call him?

It would be nice to hear his voice one more time—maybe it could provide even more closure and she could put her memories back in the past. She stared at the number and her finger trembled over the green phone icon.

If she called him, for a few moments, it could seem like she wasn’t completely alone. For those few precious minutes, it would be like she could go back in time and fall into the sweet world of flirty banter and the flutter of excitement that always came with hearing his voice.

No. There was no going back in time, no making things right, and no amount of forgiveness that could right her wrongs.

She clicked off her phone and turned back onto the road. She had to be careful not to lead an attacker back to their hideout.

As she slowed down to avoid another rut in the road, a deer careened out of the darkness, sprinting through her headlights and forcing her to slam on her brakes. The phone went flying in the darkness, flipping to the passenger’s side floorboard with a crunching sound. The screen flashed a rainbow shard of colors from the broken screen and died.

The deer stopped on the other side of the road and looked back at her, like it was some messenger of the fates. Bambi killing her phone was one hell of a sign that she was never supposed to get in touch with Eli.

About a half mile from the ranch, the car that had passed her was parked on the side of the road. It looked to be last year’s Chevy sedan. As she slowed down to look inside, she noticed that the driver was gone.

There wasn’t anything near the car, just pastures that led up to the ranch house. Beyond that was public forest. So why would they have pulled over here and gotten out of their car? She glanced around, but the light of her headlights illuminated only a few yards of grass peeking out from under their blanket of heavy snow.

Maybe the driver had to relieve themselves, or it was possible that they were getting high.

No one knew where her family was hiding. Her paranoia was nothing more than her guilt rearing its ugly head. It had been a risk by coming out of hiding for the trade show, but it wasn’t like she had announced to the world that she was going to be there. It had been quick, and she had tried to fly under the radar before the unveiling.

She couldn’t let her anxiety get out of control.

The car was just a car. Besides, her enemies wouldn’t be stupid enough to even give her a clue that they were coming.

She took one more look at the Chevy. Her brother’s favorite joke came to mind. “How do you find a Chevy owner? They’re always sitting in the repair shop.”

It was stupid and not really true, but it made her chuckle. More importantly, it relaxed her nerves.

Jarrod and Trevor were already at the main house, but Chad had gone to Sweden to iron things out with the members of the parliament who had finally come around and allowed them to start work at their manufacturing plants. Only a handful of people knew about Chad’s whereabouts. She hoped that their being split up would make it harder for any one of them to be located by the people who wanted them all dead. They had been smart and prudent.

We are safe, she told herself.

She peeked back at the car. Still empty.

It’s okay. It’s human nature to feed into fear-based paranoia, she thought, trying to put a name to her feelings in an attempt to get them under control.

There was a long-standing conversation that circulated throughout law enforcement and military personnel about the differences between paranoia and preparedness. It wasn’t crazy or over-the-top to think about the “what ifs” and to take steps to mitigate any dangers. What was crazy was believing that all the “what ifs” were real and out to destroy her.

She considered pulling over and running a scan for any unusual cell phone signals that could be found nearby. But she shrugged off the paranoia and just kept driving.

She sighed, finding more comfort in the vast control that was at her fingertips thanks to technology—her bread and butter.

When it came to tech, she was a badass.

Sitting up a little bit in her seat, she blew off the last bits of fear that wafted through her. The car was nothing.

As she pulled through the gates of the ranch, their newest acquisition, Sir Galahad of Lucktown also known as Sarge, their black gelding, stuck his head over the front fence. He whinnied in greeting as she got out of her car. He threw his head has he pranced around near the fence line.

“Heya, Sarge. Hoping for a cookie, are we?” she said to the horse.

He threw his head again and picked up his pace like he knew exactly what she had said.

“You are spoiled rotten.” She chuckled as she walked over to him and ran her hand down the blaze on his forehead. He relaxed under her hand, moving into her touch.

For a new horse, she and the animal had a surprisingly instant bond. It was as if the horse could pick up on the sadness of her losses and the pressure she felt in keeping the family safe.

The house seemed buttoned up and quiet, with the front curtains drawn and the living room light showing through. Everything seemed fine.

It was good to be back at the ranch.

She paused in front of the barn doors and stared up at the chipping white paint of the doorjambs and the hayloft door. The Widow Maker brand was emblazoned above the hayloft door, a broken heart and crooked slash. Oh, the irony. She had come here to move forward, to find safety and to be with the people she loved, but she was constantly reminded of the heartbreak she had suffered with Eli Wayne.

Sarge huffed from the pasture, reminding her that there was no time to waste when it came to getting him his nightly treats.

The barn door squeaked as she slid it partially open and stepped inside. The place smelled of earth, horse manure and hay. And, as odd at it may have seemed, she loved the scent. It was the aroma of a life well spent, but she wasn’t sure if it or the smell of gunpowder brought her more satisfaction.

When they had been young, she and her brothers had come to the Widow Maker to visit their cousin and her family until Gwen’s father had died in a haying accident. After that, everything at the ranch and in her cousin’s family had seemed to fall into disrepair until Gwen and her mother had finally decided to sell the ranch to Zoey and her brothers. The sale had been somewhat fortuitous. The opportunity had fallen into their laps at the right moment, just when they needed to get their heads down.

Though she had spent time there, it still felt like they were guests. She had hoped that by getting Sarge, it would help with some of that. If nothing else, she could have something that concretely tied her to the place by needing her almost as much as she needed it.

The lights were off in the barn, and she searched around in the dark for the light switch, wishing she had her cell phone to light it up.

It was childish, but one of the things she feared the most was darkness. Perhaps it reminded her too much of death, or perhaps it was just that illogical, primal instinct that evil hid there. There was no way that she would have been out here in the middle of the night looking for food if she hadn’t loved Sarge with all of her heart. Evil probably wasn’t lurking in the dark, but bears certainly could be.

The horse called to her from the pasture, making her chuckle. “I’m coming, I’m coming... Jeez, you’re such a typical dude, always wanting what you want when you want it.”

As she groped for the light switch one more time and missed, she gave up hopes of finding it. With the days getting shorter she was going to have to figure out a better system if she was going to be spending any amount of time out here in the barn.

Making her way to the corner of the bench by feel, she came to the end and reached down into what she knew was a bag of horse biscuits. She rolled a few around in her hands and stood up.

Her skin crawled as she stared out into the darkness. “So dark that you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face” wasn’t just an adage.

It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m fine.

When was she ever going to get over this fear?

As she moved in the direction of the door, a draft brushed against her cheek.

It’s just the wind. Don’t be a chicken.

She clenched her eyes shut as her fingers trailed along the rough, splintered edge of the plywood top of the tool bench. She could feel every crack and split in the wood, every sense heightened by her blindness.

Unfortunately, they weren’t heightened enough.

A hand wrapped around her mouth from behind. Before she could even realize what was happening, her body hit the ground. She opened her mouth to speak, but only tasted oats and mud as her assailant pressed her face into the dirt floor.

The Gray Wolves had found them.

They were all going to die.

Grabbing her hands, they wrapped them behind her back high and tight, and drove their knee into her back, pinning her in place. She writhed, hoping to break their grip on her hands, but their grip only tightened—the human equivalent of quicksand.

“Where’s Chad?” The voice was tinny and robotic, as though the sound was being emitted from some type of voice-changing tech.

“Get off me,” she said, spitting out the debris from her mouth as she spoke.

The knee in her back drove deeper, making pain shoot down her legs. But her assailant said nothing.

She tried to look over her shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that could help her identify the person on top of her. However, as she moved, a hand grabbed and rolled her face downward. Their touch was rough, likely a man’s hand. But from his clean takedown, she doubted that he actually wanted to hurt her.

In this barn, without anyone knowing that she was home, this person could kill her and no one would be the wiser until tomorrow morning. But they were choosing to keep her alive. There was some hope to be found there, but minimal.

Perhaps they were only keeping her alive to question her.

“Where’s Chad?” the same robotic voice asked—definitely a phone app.

Why hadn’t she run her detection device? She was so stupid sometimes.

Why was it when it came to protecting the ones around her that she was so much more on the ball?

When was she going to learn that the trap of “it won’t happen to me” would get her every freaking time?

She squirmed under the person pinning her to the ground. They drove down their knee, making it hard for her to breathe. As she struggled, her body fought for sweet, sweet air. Her squirming turned to thrashing.

She had to fight. There was no way she could surrender. Not just her life was at stake. Her brothers, their fiancées and Anya...they all depended on her.

For a split second, her thoughts moved to Trish’s last moments. Had this been what she had been feeling? Incapacitated? Unable to save her own life?

The person holding her down grumbled, and the sound was deep and heavy...that of a man.

“Stop moving,” the man said, using the robotic voice app.

It was soul-wrenching that he had taken enough time to type his words out when she had been putting all of her strength into an attempt to break free. It was like she was a grasshopper in the hands of a sadistic boy, a boy holding her down and just watching in sick glee until he was ready to rip off her legs.

She was nothing to this person.

She was powerless.