Chapter Fourteen

 

Working together felt comfortable, familiar. This was his team. He had trusted them with his life more times than he could count. Now he was trusting them with Sam’s.

They had all agreed that involving the local authorities wasn’t in their best interests. Not only did Steve have an open warrant out for his arrest, but it would take too long to explain everything. And, since they couldn’t explain where or how they had gotten their information, the chances of being believed hovered between slim and none.

That was fine by him. Steve didn’t have a very high opinion of the ones he had dealt with thus far, and Church seemed to agree. Spend a lot of time with someone and you learned to read them. Steve was certain Church knew a lot more about the Sumneyville authorities than he was letting on.

For now, they were operating on their own with clear goals—rescue Sam and eliminate any further threat.

They drove as far as they dared using unmarked access roads and GPS coordinates provided by Tex. Dressed in black and prepared for any eventuality, they went the rest of the way on foot.

Miner’s Hollow was a ghost town. What were once neighborhoods now looked like a post-apocalyptic war zone. Homes sat abandoned. Weeds and scrub pushed up through cracks in once-smooth roads and sidewalks. Areas of indistinct, red glows along the ground provided the only source of light beyond the waning crescent moon, an indication of the slow burning anthracite veins far below the surface. Occasional tendrils of smoke drifted just above the ground, adding to the eerie feel.

Night vision goggles and years of stealth experience brought them to the childhood home of Anthony Cavatelli. The home was a small, boxy thing, wedged between two others that looked just like it. The windows were boarded up, and the same, faded “No Trespassing” signs were posted on the doors.

At first glance, they saw nothing unusual. Then Heff’s whisper came through their ear pieces. “Do you smell that?”

Steve lifted his nose and sniffed. Smoke. But not the same scent that permeated the whole area. This wasn’t the scent of an underground fire. This was the scent of wood smoke.

With a series of hand signals, Church directed them into positions surrounding the home. When everyone was in place, another predetermined signal closed their circle.

Suddenly, a discordant series of metallic clanks rang out, breaking the eerie silence.

“Fuck,” muttered Mad Dog into the comm sets. “Tripwire.”

* * *

“What was that?” Sam asked, startled by the sudden clanging noise. It sounded as if someone had just dumped a bunch of aluminum cans outside the door.

Anthony shot to his feet, his happiness fading. “The alarm. Come. We have to go.”

“Go where?” Sam asked as Anthony yanked her to her feet and practically dragged her toward an interior door. She struggled and tried to hold back, but he was too strong.

“Hurry!” he prodded.

He shut the door behind them and shot ahead of her, pulling her down the stairs. She slipped in the darkness partway down, causing them both to tumble the rest of the way. Anthony got the worst of it, grunting as she landed on top of him.

She scrabbled to her feet with the intention of running back up the steps, but he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back down. “No!” he hissed. “This way!”

“Anthony, stop!” she cried, hoping whoever had tripped Anthony’s alarm would hear her.

“Shhh!” he commanded. He covered her mouth with one hand and curled his other arm around her waist. Pulling her tightly against his body, he then dragged her backward, away from the steps and back against the wall.

They stood in the silence, listening, her heart pounding against the inside of her ribs. Then she heard it. The creak of a floorboard directly above their heads.

Knowing this might be her only chance, Sam lifted her foot and stomped hard on Anthony’s instep. She followed that up by immediately bending at the waist and shoving her elbow backward with a sharp jab into his solar plexus.

He grunted again but didn’t let go. Instead, he grabbed her by the hair and spun them both around, slamming her back up against the concrete wall.

“I won’t let them take you from me,” he vowed as he pressed his body against hers. “You are mine, and we are going to be happy together. I’m sorry about this, Samantha. I know you don’t understand yet, but it’s for the best.”

She barely had time to register his words before pain exploded against the side of her face, and then everything went dark.

* * *

“In my sights.”

Steve had heard Heff speak those words a hundred times before, but they had never sounded sweeter.

“Copy that. Can you get a lock?”

“Negative. He’s running, got Sam in a fireman’s carry, heading east.”

“Slow his roll, Mad Dog.”

“On it.”

Steve emerged through the now open double doors leading from the basement into the side yard, just in time to see Cavatelli slip through the overgrown hedgerow separating the properties. He put on a burst of speed and followed, emerging on the other side, then hitting the ground when he caught the glint of steel. The shot missed him, but it was close enough for him to feel the breeze.

“Fucker’s got a gun,” Steve said, getting to his feet and following.

“So do we,” commented Cage. “And ours are bigger.”

Anthony might have thought he had an advantage by knowing the area, but that wasn’t going to save him. He had no idea who he was up against, or the lengths they would go to get Sam back, safe and sound. Sam was Smoke’s, and therefore, theirs.

“Let the girl go,” Church said from just ahead.

Steve drew closer to find Anthony cornered in a detached garage by both Mad Dog and Church.

The situation was tense. Cavatelli had Sam held in front of him like a shield, the gun moving back and forth between Mad Dog and Church. Sam’s head and limbs hung limp as if she was unconscious. The pungent smell of gasoline hung heavy in the air.

“Never. She’s mine.”

“Let me hear her say that.”

“Stay back!”

“Can’t do that, Anthony.”

“How do you know my name?”

“We know everything, Anthony. We know about the fires. We know how you’ve been terrorizing Sam.”

“No! I love her. It was all for her.”

“It’s over, Anthony. Put down the gun before someone gets hurt.”

Steve had seen his share of men come to the realization they couldn’t win. They all reacted the same. The moment of desperation in their eyes, followed by blind rage, and finally, acceptance. Anthony was no different.

Except none of those men had been holding his woman when the truth sank in.

“If you know everything,” Anthony said, his voice oddly hollow, “then you know how this is going to end.” A snick sounded in the silence as the hand around Sam’s waist moved, sparking a lighter to flame. The smile on the sick bastard’s face was pure madness as he tossed the lighter onto the floor … the floor drenched with gasoline.

Several things happened in quick succession. Steve charged forward, intent on getting Sam away from the flames. Anthony squeezed off two quick shots, even as Heff took his one. And fire flared to life, filling the space within seconds.

Steve barely registered the burn in his shoulder. All he could see was Sam falling toward the fuel-drenched floor. A sudden sharp pain in his leg, though, caused him to stumble. Regardless, he dove forward, covering Sam with his own body to keep the flames away. Church and Mad Dog were there a heartbeat later, dragging them both to safety.

“Check her out first,” Steve commanded when Doc started poking at him.

Doc didn’t argue, giving her a quick once-over instead of arguing. “Strong heartbeat, good breathing, pupils responsive.”

“She’s okay?”

“Yeah, Smoke, she’s okay. She’s going to have a hell of a headache and a real nice shiner when she wakes up, but that’s it. Mind if I take a look at your bullet wounds now?”

“Knock yourself out.”

* * *

Sam came to with another headache. This one was different than the last one, though. This one came less from inside her head and more from the aching throb along the side of her face.

Sensing movement, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. It was dark, and she was lying on something firm and warm. No, not something, someone. Someone with a large hand who was gently stroking her hair. Someone who smelled like …

“Steve?”

“Yeah, baby,” he said, his voice somewhat groggy. “I got you.”

Baby? She lifted her head from his shoulder, afraid she was dreaming. But she wasn’t dreaming. She was in the back seat of an SUV, tucked up against Steve’s warm, hard body. In the muted lights of the dashboard, she could see his handsome face, see his beautiful eyes as he gave her a tired but very real smile.

“Hey, Sam,” Church greeted, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. He was driving, and Doc was sitting in the front passenger seat.

“You found me.”

“Always,” Steve said.

“But how?”

“Long story.”

“Anthony?”

“Is no longer an issue.”

A sense of relief flooded her, but it was short-lived.

“Why does it look like there are bloody bandages on your shoulder and leg?”

“Because somebody got his ass shot,” Church grunted out.

“It’s all good,” Steve said in a calming tone, though he shot an irritated glance toward the front.

“Good? How can it be good? You’ve been shot.”

He grinned at her as if he wasn’t sporting fresh, bleeding bullet wounds. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Sam turned toward Doc. “You gave him drugs, didn’t you?”

“Had to. He was whining like a baby.”

“Was not,” Steve said, shooting him a lethargic middle finger salute. “At least I’m not the one who got tripped up by a wire and twenty-year-old beer cans.”

“That wasn’t me. That was Mad Dog.”

“Not what he said.”

Sam couldn’t believe they were joking about this. She was just about to say something when Steve tugged her closer, using the arm that hadn’t been shot.

“Later, okay, Sam?” he said quietly.

“Okay,” she agreed, hearing the pain in his voice beneath the teasing. She would get answers, but at that moment, all she wanted to do was feel him next to her, solid and breathing and real.