The Huntress Page 5

  This guy needed to be stopped before anyone else got killed. After lunch, Vega sent Jack out to find her a decent meal. It was a ruse, though. A nasty trick she knew she’d pay dearly for later. She tugged herself from the bed. In the closet, she found the suitcase Jack must have gotten from her motel room. She pulled on her warmest clothes, and stuffed her remaining pair of handcuffs along with the wad of cash she kept in her suitcase into the pocket of her torn and bloody leather jacket.

  A cab ride later, she found herself back at the Broken Cricket. It didn’t take much to find Tommy’s house. It was just down the road from the bar. She’d hunkered down for a good hour, watching with no success. She was just starting to curse herself for being the worst kind of fool to think Grayson might still be in the area when Tommy emerged from his house with a tray in his hands and bolt cutters poking out of his denim overalls.

  That looked suspicious enough.

  She picked her way through the swamp, keeping a safe distance behind Tommy while worrying about snakes, alligators, and any number of unimaginable ghastly creepy creatures as he led her to a wreck of a shack.

  The shack leaned sharply to one side, looking just about ready to collapse. Puffs of white smoke rose from a pipe jutting out of the roof, a stark contrast to the ebony sky. It felt like hours had passed before Tommy left the shack with an empty tray.

  The swamp looked like it regularly poured through that shack. She really didn’t want to step foot inside there.

  Why couldn’t he hole up in the middle of the city? Rats, I can handle any assortment of rats.

  A centipede crawled over her laced boot. She jumped and tossed herself against the wide trunk of an ancient cypress tree. A huge mistake. Her head swam and her arm hurt bad enough to make her stomach pitch. She had no business being out here.

  But Fiona wouldn’t waste time. Her sister would steal her notes, follow the same tracks, and soon find Grayson, too. She couldn’t let that happen. No matter how weak she felt she was determined to stop Grayson before he became a danger to her sister.

  What she lacked in strength, she made up in wits—and surprise.

  She crouched down, just in case Grayson glanced out a window—if he were in fact inside—and began a slow advance.

  She found a loose board on the front porch. It took very little effort to pry the soft plank free from the rusty nails and use it as a wedge to hold the front door shut.

  As expected in a shack this size, she found just one other door in the back, in a direct line from the front.

  That back door would be her entrance.

  She drew up alongside the door and slowed her breathing as she pictured her attack. With one arm in a tight sling, unreliable eyesight, and no weapon, she was at a slight disadvantage. Okay, a big disadvantage.

  No matter, she’d just have to make his strength work for her. Vega closed her eyes and began counting down.

  Eight.

  Forgive me Mom if I don’t survive.

  Seven.

  Fiona why in hell must you insist on following me in everything I do?

  Six.

  Perhaps Jack is right. Perhaps I should settle down.

  Five.

  If only I could find a man who excites me.

  Four.

  Grayson Walker excites me.

  Three.

  Okay, I should find a man who excites me who isn’t also a murderer.

  Two.

  There’s always a hitch.

  One.

  With one swift movement, she kicked in the back door.

  Chapter Five

  Vega stood face to face with Grayson.

  “God, you look like death,” he said. Curiously, he looked pleased to see her. Her father’s Glock, the one he had stolen, was aimed at her head. Somehow, he’d been expecting her. Somehow, he’d bested her—again.

  “Bastard.” She kicked the gun from his grip. Grayson made a dash to the front door. Cursing when he found it blocked, he lunged for her, giving her injured shoulder a good jolt. Too bad for him, the pain just fed her anger and her strength.

  He lunged for her again. She gave the tender area just below his ribcage a good punch. It didn’t stop him. He didn’t even grimace.

  “I don’t have time to play these games with you,” he said, then socked her in the side of her head. She rode the impact as she dropped to the floor, hoping to give herself time to gulp a few short breaths.

  They weren’t to be had.

  Grayson leapt on her, punching her wounded shoulder. She tried to roll away, but he grabbed her arm with a crushing grip and punched her again.

  Escape impossible, she reared up and slammed her head into his chin. She followed with a flurry of cross punches to his temple.

  The attack left Grayson on the ground, dazed, with a bruise forming under his eye. She clamped her backup set of handcuffs over his wrists. The fight finished, she doubled over and threw up all over the floor. She felt terrible. Worse than terrible. As if her head was going to split open and her shoulder was the size of the house.

  While fighting for a smooth breath, she plucked her father’s Glock from the floor. Once again, it sat comfortably within her soft grip.

  “I should pull the trigger,” she forced out between heavy breaths, “just to let you know how wonderful a gunshot wound feels.” She lowered the gun’s aim until it was in line with his chest, just below his heart.

  He didn’t answer. He lay motionless on the muddy, rough floorboards, and stared blankly up at her. Disgusted, she pulled him up by the collar and shoved him into the nearest chair. It creaked.

  She kept the pistol trained on his chest. His eyes stayed locked on the gun. No fear. She wanted to see fear.

  “Pull the trigger,” he said, taunting her.

  Why shouldn’t she shoot the bastard? He had no problem hurting her—just like every other man in her life. Why shouldn’t she start hurting them back? Beginning with this one.

  She tightened her finger on the trigger.

  No one would question her. He was a danger to others, a menace to society. And it was her time to show them, show them all, she was as good as any man. Better.

  Much better than any of those men who had told her over and over how she wasn’t good enough, strong enough...soft enough.

  She heaved a deep sigh and let her hand drop.

  “I’m not like you, Grayson. I’m not a killer.”

  “I didn’t mean to shoot you yesterday,” he said quietly.

  “And you wouldn’t have meant to blow my head off just a minute ago if I’d given you the chance?”

  He shrugged after a long silence. “You’ll be the one killing me.”

  She grabbed the shacks only other chair and moved it a safe distance away. Her arm and head were screaming, and her strength was threadbare. She just needed to sit. Just for a few minutes. Let her strength return before calling for backup.

  “You did yourself in, Grayson.”

  “If you believe that, pull the trigger. Carry out justice. What does it matter? Either way, I’m just as dead.”

  She stared at him warily, tilting her head. “Why are you so eager to have me shoot you? What have you done to my gun?”

  He turned his head away and refused to answer.

  “It’ll blow up in my hand, won’t it?”

  She pulled out the clip to study the damage he’d done to her father’s favorite weapon. She couldn’t believe what she saw. No bullets. The weapon was useless.

  “Why?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  “I’m not a killer,” he said flatly.

  “Tell that to your friend, Greg Harper. He’s pretty dead.”

  “I’m not a killer.”

  “And what about that poor bounty hunter? I don’t know many who wouldn’t gladly give up the reward money and kill you without a second thought just for what you did to him.”

  He blinked.

  “A bullet at point blank range? Not a killer, eh, Grayson? You were simply
protecting yourself?”

  “Which one?” he asked. His voice trembled. It sounded like rage.

  “The third one. Pryor. His name was Pryor.” She drew a deep breath, fighting an urge to yell and scream at him. As if her anger would reform the evil buried deep within a man who could so cleanly profess his innocence. “He had a wife and two kids.”

  He pinched his eyes closed. “Oh, God. I didn’t know.”

  “You didn’t know he had a family? That would have made a difference?” she shouted.

  “No, damn it.” He opened his eyes and stared hard into hers. “I didn’t know that they had killed anyone else.”

  “They, Grayson? A conspiracy against you?” She returned his telling stares with one of her own. “Keep practicing that one. Someone somewhere might believe it.” She scanned the room. The bullets had to be hidden somewhere. “What did you do with them?”

  “With what?”

  “The bullets.”

  He sighed, a long, tired sound. “You don’t need that damned gun, Vega. You probably would’ve gotten the better of me yesterday if you hadn’t been carrying that damn thing.”

  She pushed the useless pistol into her coat pocket and leaned forward to get a better look at him. “And just how do you know my name?”

  The air in the room grew noticeably stiffer. “Your wallet is in that box.” His hands were bound behind his back, so he used his head to gesture toward a rusty tackle box in the corner of the room.

  To look in the box would mean turning her back on him. And since she hadn’t locked him down to anything in the room—not that there was anything substantial enough in the shack, the walls included, to hold even a child much less a fully-grown man like Grayson—turning her back on him would be suicide.

  Curiosity chewed on her as she sat there waiting for the pain in her shoulder to notch down a degree or two. She was literally itching to know what else he had tucked away in that dirty little box.

  Keeping a fierce glare on him, she backed toward the corner, crouched down, and lifted the lid to the box. A wicked stench rose into the room. Just a few quick glances into the interior were all she allowed herself—not much to see really. Her wallet sat nestled in a tangle of rusty hooks, her cell phone in a pile of freeze-dried worms—the source of the pungent stink. No sign of her missing bullets. She plucked the wallet from the hooks but left the phone with the stink. The battery would have been long dead by now anyhow.

  “You robbed me.” She shouldn’t have been surprised her money was gone, yet the fact that he shot her, and then had the balls to rob her, threatened to burn a hole in her chest.

  “Couldn’t help it, I needed time.” A red spot danced on the center of Grayson’s forehead. “The money was just a bonus—”

  She tackled him, knocking him off the chair and onto the floor. The window across from them shattered. A jolt of air slapped her as the bullet sailed passed her ear. The sharp crack of wood splintering on the far wall was followed by an eerie silence.

  “What did you do with the bullets for my gun?” she asked as calmly as she could manage while covering Grayson with her body.

  “I dumped them in the swamp.”

  “Why the hell would you do something as stupid as that?”

  “You don’t need the gun, Vega.” He tugged at the handcuffs binding his wrists. “Free my hands.”

  “Wouldn’t you like me to do that?” She wiggled herself off him and, crouched low, made her way to the shattered window.

  “We’re probably going to have to fight our way out of here if we have any hope of surviving.”

  “I see,” she said flatly.

  “You don’t understand.”

  She rose from the ground to peer out the window.

  “Damn it, get down!”

  “I don’t see anyone,” she said, lingering at the window. Slowly, she sank back to the floor.

  “You won’t. No one ever sees them coming.”

  Apparently, he was trying out his ‘I’m-innocent-and-someone-is-trying-to-kill-me’ spiel again. She chose to ignore it.

  Vega moved away from the shattered glass on the floor and sat cross-legged to stare at Grayson. She kept her empty gun cradled in her hand.

  Who could be out there with that high-powered rifle? “Could be the police. They’re pretty fed up with you.” She frowned at her Glock a moment, and then shoved it back into her ruined leather coat. A wide bloodstain covered the shoulder. “Wouldn’t be Fiona. Not at all her style.” More like Butch’s. Perhaps Butch or one of his buddies was out there prepared to blast Grayson into tiny bits in retaliation for killing a fellow hunter.

  “It’s someone from Six-Star Enterprises,” he said.

  “Ri-ight.” By the time she handed him over to the police, he’d have perfected that conspiracy story of his.

  Still crouched low, she made her way back across the room. “I don’t know who’s gunning for you. But, seeing how I’ve no desire to get shot again, I’m out of here.” She drew an uneven breath as her strength faded. Adrenaline could only do so much. “Since you’re my prisoner, I’ve no choice but to drag you along.”

  “Give me a fighting chance, Vega. Unlock these.” He worked himself up to his knees. He twisted around and thrust his arms toward her.

  Instead of unlocking the handcuffs, she grabbed the chain that linked his wrists and hauled him to his feet as she rose to hers.

  He cringed, closing his eyes as if expecting a barrage of gunfire to explode in the room. She wasn’t too surprised. Some of the toughest men she’d picked up in the past had turned to jelly in the face of gunplay.

  She gave him a not too gentle shove. “Let’s go out the back way.”

  She stuck her head out the door and peered around the black cypress forest, assessing the situation. Off in the distance, she heard the distinct rustling of winter-dried leaves and twigs. Someone was advancing.

  Without warning, Grayson shoved her aside and barreled out the door, presenting himself as a very tempting target.

  “Are you nuts?” She dove after him, pulling him to the ground as she fell.

  A bullet whooshed overhead, thudding into a tree several feet away.

  She stifled a groan. Pain sparked through her shoulder, shooting numbing tremors down her arm. Her stomach roiled. She felt like she might pass out. Her shoulder burned as if it had been ripped wide open. Gasping for a smooth breath, she tried to concentrate on the situation and push her physical agony to the background.

  She rolled over on her back and stared up into the dark forest. The sharpshooter’s red laser light bounced amongst the cypress trees, searching for its prey.

  “You okay?” he whispered. He was sprawled flat on his stomach right beside her. He wiggled his legs to push himself closer.

  “Um-huh,” she muttered. She couldn’t conjure speech, not with the incredible pain trying to rip her shoulder apart.

  “You don’t sound okay.” He inched closer. “Were you hit?”

  “Yesterday,” she managed between panting breaths.

  He dropped his head to the ground and swore.

  Why didn’t he make his escape while she was powerless to stop him? He could take the keys from her pocket for the handcuffs without too much protest on her part.

  What was he waiting for?

  “I can carry you,” he whispered. He hadn’t bothered to lift his head and the words sounded pretty muffled to her ears. So much so, her pain-seared brain wasn’t exactly sure what he was offering.

  She turned to stare at him. His short, dark hair was shiny, even in the moonless light. Slowly, he lifted his head and their eyes met. His gaze held hers in a powerful grip. “We can’t stay here. That shooter won’t just give up and leave. We’ve got to get out of here before he decides to scout the area on foot.”

  She nodded. She’d already come to the same conclusion. She dug into her pocket and retrieved a key.

  “Move your hands over here,” she said. Her voice was much clearer now as her mind g
ained some control over the piercing pain.

  He rolled over on his side and pushed his wrists toward her. Once free, he shoved the shackles into his pocket and vigorously rubbed his wrists.

  “I’m not granting you freedom.” She felt the need to tell him, especially now that she’d lost control of her last pair of handcuffs. “I’m still turning you over to the police.”

  Drawing a deep breath, she sat up. Unable to speak for a moment while her body protested, she gave a nod toward a large cypress tree not five feet away.

  They both made a quick dash across the clearing. He kept a hand on her back, steadying her as they went. At the tree, they leaned into a deep groove in the ancient tree’s convoluted trunk.

  Vega stared out into the forbidding swamp with no desire to wander into its depths without a gun, a lantern or a map. But, considering the situation, she couldn’t think of any other option.

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  Grayson moved closer. His arms snaked around her waist. Avoiding her shoulder, he pressed against her, using his body to shield her from the hidden shooter.

  “I don’t need your protection,” she snapped. “This tree is between that rifle and us. The laser sight flitting around out there is giving his position away.”

  “I know.” He didn’t pull away.

  His warmth continued to seep into her, irritating her that his body heat was helping ease the pain in her shoulder and feeding her strength.

  “On the count of three we’re going to make a run for it. Keep close to me,” she said, her complete focus turning to the next few seconds. “I’m going to zigzag through the trees about five hundred feet. The darkness should have swallowed any traces of us by then. At least, I hope so.”