Chapter 8
It seemed like forever until the first gunshot had Avery on her feet, searching the holding cell for cover. It was a fruitless search, because there was no cover. She was a sitting duck. The cops in the outer office scattered, and Vincent was nowhere in sight, hadn’t been for some time. She’d waited as long as she could, but if she didn’t escape now, she might never get another chance.
She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the key. A second, third, and fourth gunshot discharged in the distance, sounding progressively closer.
Three damn years. Why couldn’t Dante move on?
Now the gunshots were constant. Pop, pop, pop-pop-pop. She licked sweat off her upper lip as she scanned the area. Some had taken cover in the sheriff’s office in the back, so they were out of her line of sight when she opened the door and then low crawled out of holding. Hiding behind shelves that separated her from the entryway, she took a moment to gather her courage. The gunshots sounded as if they were closer, though more spaced apart. Was that a rifle? Sniper? She wouldn’t be surprised to discover she was hearing Vincent’s handiwork, and could imagine him lying on a roof, playing hero. Longer intervals of silence between gunshots passed as she continued to low crawl toward the main door, her one known avenue of escape. It made her wonder if the cops and Coppola’s men had reached an impasse, or if attrition was giving one side the edge. Quite selfishly, she rooted for the cops.
She peeked under the shelves to her right, looking toward the door. Three pairs of dress shoes. Feds or Dante’s men? The pant cuffs broke perfectly, and the suit was a familiar New Jersey brand, but that wasn’t definitive enough to make an ID. Poking her head up a bit, she peeked between the shelves and saw men bottlenecking the room’s entryway. They wore familiar pinkie rings. Damn. Unsurprisingly, Dante’s men had cleaved through the cops outside like a hot knife to butter, though they did it faster than she’d expected.
A rifle’s discharge came from the sheriff’s office, and had Avery faceplanting on the cool tile. The bullet splintered a piece of the entryway’s casement, and had Dante’s men fall back. Someone in the sheriff’s office was feeling frisky, she thought, and kudos to them. Even so, it told Avery she needed to find an alternate exit. Dante’s men were probably moments from tossing a concussion canister into the room, and she didn’t want to be here when it happened.
“I’ve got two counties sending reinforcements! Leave while you can!” The sheriff sounded confident enough, but Avery knew those police stations were five miles out. Full throttle, sirens blaring, would they be here in time to help? Avery didn’t think so.
One of Dante’s men, shotgun in hand, dropped to the floor and low crawled toward her. He hugged the shelving on his left, coming right for her. Flat on the floor, afraid to poke her head up, Avery felt around on the shelf above her, desperate to find a weapon. The man had eyes on the Sheriff’s office, so hadn’t seen her yet, though she couldn’t count on that lasting long. She felt a paperweight, grabbed it, and lobbed it at the man’s head. He slumped on contact, out cold.
Avery low crawled to his side and nabbed his shotgun. Firing it would announce her location, so it was a last resort option, but she certainly wasn’t going to leave it behind. Instead, she crawled to the door closest to her, which was open already; a file room, with a small window high on the wall. Increased gunshots outside, and more in the halls, had her twitchy.
“Give us the woman,” said an unfamiliar voice. Avery flipped him the bird, and wished he could see her.
Protected by the file room’s wall, she stood, hoping this was where she’d find her escape route. Dante’s men were evil, and they had one goal: whatever Dante last told them to do. Today, that was kill Avery. A “good” person would stick around and fight that evil, but Avery didn’t have the luxury to cater to her conscience. Millie was out there, alone, waiting for her. Avery needed to live, so Millie could live.
Eyes on the small window across the room, she climbed the filing cabinet below it. As quietly as she could, shotgun in hand, she crouched on the cabinet, and opened the window. Peering outside, she contemplated the two-story drop with dismay. If she survived the fall without breaking an ankle, she’d have a barrage of bullets to dodge.
Avery sighed, glancing around the room. She needed a rope.
“Two minutes before you hear sirens,” the Sheriff shouted, “and then the town will have more law enforcement than citizens. Go, now.” If he was hoping to scare them away, he was wasting his breath. Avery had trained with men like this. Only the kill would stop them.
She hopped off the cabinet, and started lifting things, opening drawers, searching for anything that would ease her fall. She ripped an extension cord off the wall, and decided it would have to do, then climbed back up the cabinet, tied an end around a handle, and threw the other one out the window.
As predicted by the sheriff, sirens grew in volume and number as neighboring county’s cruisers neared the building. The cavalry had arrived, and none too soon. From the looks of it, so had a phalange of FBI Special Agents. Avery could tell the difference, because the Feds were in huge black SUVs with tinted windows and sirens on their roofs. Did their arrival cut down on her odds of escape? Probably not. They were dismal even before, so she was no worse off.
Feet first, she squeezed the extension cord between her boots’ treads, and used the friction to slow her descent, while hugging the cord to keep herself upright, but not suffer burns. It was a controlled fall until the cord length ended, and then she just fell, hit the ground, tucked, rolled, and then slapped out just like she’d been trained to do, never once losing the grip on her shotgun.
She hit hard, but didn’t crack her head, or break her wrists, so called it a win. Laying there, staring at the drop she’d just navigated, she told herself to move. Move, Avery. The sirens goosed her into rolling onto her belly and scanning the street. She saw Special Agent Benton, and then Deming, guns drawn and shooting, taking cover around the corner of the building. Gilroy was running up the building’s stairs, arm extended as he repeatedly shot at a man hiding behind a pillar.
Where was Vincent? She glanced at roof lines, but didn’t see any rifle barrels.
More shots fired had Avery crouched, shotgun in hand, running from the building, the Feds, and the sound of guns. A block down, she stumbled upon an idling black sedan, with a getaway driver smoking a cigarette, leaning on the hood, watching the chaos. She huddled behind a tree, careful to stay out of sight. Gripping the barrel of the shotgun, she swung at the man’s head like she was at home base and the ball had been pitched to her sweet spot. Avery hit a home run, and down he went.
His car was gorgeous, and idling. An Audi Sportster with a veritable arsenal in the back seat. Avery tossed the shotgun in through the open back window, and grabbed a Gerber knife from the pile, sheath and everything, tucking it into her boot. Her eye spied a Glock. She grabbed it, too, chambering a bullet, checking that the clip was full. Then she tucked it into her waistband before sliding behind the wheel. Gunshots grew closer; much closer than she’d have liked.
Vincent’s face popped into her mind’s eye, and she worried.
She told herself he wasn’t her responsibility, and yet now that she had her chance to escape, she felt weighed down with a need to make sure he was safe. Stupid man. She’d warned him. But no.
Avery peeled out, hunching low in the seat, hoping to hide that it was she who was driving, and to lessen the odds of a stray bullet to the head. Things were out of hand. People were running toward the building, pointing, shouting. It made her want to stop and tell them to run away.
A black-suited contract killer jumped in front of the car, and everything happened at once. She felt the impact, automatically slammed on the brakes, and the air bags hit her like a ton of bricks. Emptying her lungs. She pulled her knife and deflated the bag in time to see the man’s body slide down the hood. Bullets hit her door, forcing her to duck as she tried to regain her breath. Rounds peppered her fender, and she feared they’d shoot out her tires, so from a slouched position, she lifted her foot off the brake, not knowing what else to do. Coasting, not wanting to step on the gas without a visual, she took a chance and peeked out the window.
That’s when she saw Vincent, off to her left. Both arms straight, firing his Glock, he aimed at something beyond her car, as he ran down the federal building’s stairs at a fast clip. He didn’t get past the sidewalk out front, before he clutched his side, spun in the air, and fell amidst shots peppering the area around him.
Avery was out of the car, laying down cover fire in the space of a heartbeat, emptying her clip behind her as she ran toward Vincent. He’s dying. He’s dying. Was he dying? She didn’t know. Please, please, not one more death because of her. When she reached his side, she grabbed his shoulder, afraid she wasn’t strong enough to drag him to the car, shoot the gun, and not die.
Then he grabbed her hand, hopped to his feet, and dragged her to the Audi, both shooting at Dante’s men who all seemed to converge on them from all angles.
“Go, go, go!” He reached the car first, saw the guns in the back, and grabbed a rifle from the pile. He cocked it, and shot three rounds at the corner of three buildings. One of Dante’s men fell from the rooftop, dead when he hit the ground. Then the second, and third shooter fell from neighboring buildings. Three shots. Three kills.
Avery never stopped shooting as she reached behind her for the Audi’s door handle, as Feds spilled from their black SUVs, laying down cover fire. Then someone grabbed her leg, aimed his gun at her from the ground. Avery aimed back, squeezed the trigger, but her Glock was empty. Panic flushed her system as she saw a familiar face smiling up at her.
Joseph “Fingers” Pinnella. His normally slicked back hair was now in his face, and his brown eyes were bloodshot. He lay on his side, his revolver aimed at her belly. Oh, how she hated his smile, and his tobacco-stained teeth. She’d hit him with the car, and his leg was busted, bone on display. Somehow, the bastard had found the energy to crawl to the side of the Audi. Please, powers that be, please don’t let it be “Fingers” who ends me. He’s such an asshole.
“Never thought I’d see you again,” he said, then pulled his revolver’s trigger. The firing pin hit an empty chamber. His gun was empty, too. Avery stomped “Fingers” in the face. Twice.
“Get in the car!” Vincent was still shooting his rifle, scanning the building, laying down cover. Avery jumped in as Vincent got in the back with the guns. She saw Benton waving from behind a parked car, catching their attention.
“Get out of here!” Benton said.
Avery stepped on the gas as Vincent climbed into the passenger side seat, his rifle discarded, replaced with a Glock. Vincent was a big guy, so the move wasn’t graceful, he knocked her around a bit, caused her to hit a few parked cars, but reinforcements were here, speeding by in the form of big, black, siren-blaring, flashing SUVs, so her errors went unnoticed. Three blocks down, she pulled over, out of breath and nauseous.
Vincent clutched his side, and blood oozed from between his fingers.
“You’re hurt. Get out.” She leaned over him and opened the door, shoving him. “The cops will help you.” He needed a hospital. Vincent grabbed the door and slammed it shut again.
“Just drive.” He pulled his shirt up, wincing as he assessed his injury. Even she could see it was just a graze, but an inch or two more, and the bullet would have blown through his liver. “I’ll live.”
He’ll live. They’ll live, for now.
She drove. Then she started to shake, and then ugly sobs escaped her lips and she was blinded by tears. Furious that she couldn’t control herself, she started slapping him with her right hand, eyes on the road, other hand on the wheel, all the while shouting every expletive she knew.
Vincent didn’t parry her slaps, but instead tugged on the wheel until they were on the road’s shoulder, and then slammed his foot on the brake. Shifting into park, he pulled her onto his lap, holding her so tightly she couldn’t move, and it hurt her neck. She tilted her chin up, to ease the pressure, and found she’d wedged her face into the hollow of his shoulder, just above his T-shirt’s collar. His skin was hot, and wet with her tears. Soon her thrashing died a sad little death and she went limp in his arms.
“It’s okay, baby. We’re okay, baby. Avery, honey, shh.” He kissed her temple, rocking her in his arms. Soon, her sobs quieted, and her brain worked enough to know she should be embarrassed, yet, still she sobbed, swallowing hard, struggling with emotions she couldn’t suppress. “I, I, I was…”
“Afraid. I know. It was scary. You should have stayed with the sheriff. I came for you, and you weren’t there. How did you get out and past the shooters?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She clutched him close, knowing she shouldn’t. She had things to do, and catering to her weakness wasn’t one of them. Millie was out there, waiting for her, and if she needed a reminder of how determined Dante was to destroy her, it was just delivered with the efficacy of a slap to the face. Anyone close to her was in danger. She had to get rid of Vincent, and then find Millie. First, she had to stop holding him. She had to give up his tiny kisses and murmurs of comfort.
Avery pushed off his chest and sat behind the wheel again, wiping her cheeks.
Vincent opened the glove compartment, and rooted around until he found a first aid kit. “Drive,” he said. “Take the first left after that bend in the road. I have a nearby cabin we can hideaway in while things cool down. No one knows it exists but me and the town assessor’s office. We should be safe enough there.” He pressed a large square bandage over his wound, periodically glancing over his shoulder toward the sheriff’s office. The gunshots were escalating now that more law enforcement had arrived. “Now, Avery.”
She reached into the back seat, retrieved a new, full magazine, and exchanged it for her Glock’s empty one. Then she pressed the gun’s muzzle to Vincent’s temple. He went still, lifted his hands, palms front.
“Get out of the car,” she said. He might not know what was good for him, but Avery did. Far from her.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “If you wanted me dead, you would have left me back there.”
“True.” Not wanting him dead was why he had to leave. She lowered the muzzle to his knee, pressing hard enough to make him flinch. “But I need you gone.” And she needed to escape. “So maybe I wound you instead.”
“You need me.” He wasn’t backing down.
She admired that about him. She admired a whole hellava lot about him. That didn’t change anything. “Nothing personal.” She arched a brow. “Go.” She tilted her head toward his door, sniffing. Her tears were still dampening her cheeks, but her hand didn’t shake. Her goal was clear.
“You don’t want to do this, Avery.”
Like he knew what she wanted. All his talk of “files,” his assumptions, his surety, the man acted like he knew her. He didn’t know her at all. Nor could he know what she was capable of, though one look in the mirror should have told him. His poor broken nose was swelling, and the bruises were migrating to under his eyes. Funny how it didn’t detract even an iota from his beauty.
In another world, she’d want Vincent to know her. Want to know him. His constant courage under fire mixed with his heroic agenda was a powerful thing, a pleasure to witness, and it wasn’t a huge leap to assume the guy was amazing in bed. One kiss and she was a believer, but it wasn’t to be. She ground the muzzle of the Glock into his knee. He grimaced, but otherwise didn’t move.
“You need me,” he said.
“I don’t need anyone.” She loved Millie. Hell, she’d die to defend her, but that wasn’t need. To need was to be vulnerable. “Get out, Vincent.” She steeled herself to pull the trigger. It would be for his own good.
He must have seen her intent, because he tensed, squinted, as if preparing for the pain. “I can help you,” he said. “Let me keep you alive.”
She gouged the Glock harder against his knee, forcing herself not to care that it caused his teeth to clench against pain. “I’m trying to keep you alive. Stop making me hurt you! Get out!” She shoved him with her other hand, but he wouldn’t budge. He kept his hands in the air. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
He flinched as another round of gunfire was exchanged behind them. “It’s my job.”
“I hope your medical insurance is good, because you’re gonna need a new knee.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You can’t run forever, Avery.”
“I don’t need forever.” She told her finger to pull the trigger. “Open your door, so when I shoot you, you’ll fall out. Put your hand up to protect your head. I don’t want you breaking your neck. Can you do that for me?” Still, he refused to move. “Dammit, Vincent!” Aiming the Glock at his center mass, she leaned back, using her door for leverage, and then kicked at him, but still he didn’t budge. “Get out!”
He caught her ankles, ignoring her gun, and pulled her over the center console, forcing her legs to straddle his waist. Then he lunged forward, draping himself on top of her, sandwiching her body with the seat. Then he grabbed her wrist, forcing the gun to aim at the car’s ceiling. Face to face, her knees bent, spirit broke, Avery knew she wouldn’t shoot him, and from the look on his face, she suspected he knew it, too. After a moment where neither of them moved, he sighed, released her wrist, and then rested both elbows on either side of her head, contemplated her. Then he lowered his lips to hers, nuzzling them.
“You can trust me,” he whispered. “Let me help you.” His weight pinning her, and her lost control, should have freaked her out, but instead, she felt safe…and aroused.
“You say help, but you mean use.” She was no person’s dupe.
“Dante Coppola needs to be stopped, Avery. His victims deserve justice. You deserve justice for what he did to you and your family.” He dropped a light kiss on her lips. “I mean to deliver it with your help or not.” His earnestness was a spike to her heart. His head turned, and she saw him glance out the window. He ducked low, his body tensing. “Two more black Audi’s coming our way.”
Dante’s men. If they drove close enough, they might see their car wasn’t empty.
Avery wrapped her calves around Vincent’s, and pulled his chest flush to hers, then she clamped her arms around his neck to keep his head down. He complied with no resistance. She pressed her lips to his ear. “Please stay down. Stay quiet. Please, please.” If he played hero, they’d both be dead quick.
His heat touched her everywhere, and she could feel his erection pressing between her thighs. So, he felt it to, she thought. He wanted her, as she wanted him. Vincent’s hand slid down to her hip, sending shocking tingles through her. Then his fingers bit into her thigh, steadying her, locking their hips, before he took her Glock.
“Loosen your arms from around my neck,” he said. “I need to see if they’ve driven past, or are stopping to investigate.”
Reluctantly, she loosened her grip. He peered out the window, only to duck his head quickly, then his lips were near her temple. “They’re driving by. Almost on top of us.”
She couldn’t stop herself from squirming beneath him, because his arousal was pressing on her sweet spot, making her breathless. “They have to wonder why this car is unattended.”
He peeked out the window again, surging his hips forward, grinding against her. She gasped, squeezing her eyes closed as a jolt of desire had her trembling. When he ducked his head down again, he rested his elbows on both sides of her head, nudging the tip of her nose with his chin. “Hey. Open your eyes. They’ve driven past, and the shooting has stopped.” Her eyes opened, and saw his lazy grin. “You’re afraid,” he whispered, “but are you afraid of me?”
Terrified. She cupped the back of his head and pulled him to her kiss, threading her fingers through his hair, welcoming his tongue, marveling at his ability to make her lose her mind as he licked and sucked, showing her what a man could do with a tongue when prompted. She moaned into his mouth as his hips slowly moved on her, jean against jean. Her hips rose to meet his, arching upward, creating a glorious friction that had her shuddering with want. The day’s stress, her fear, all the scary emotions that stood between them dissolved with this kiss.
Life. They had it. Maybe not for long, but they had it now, and she wanted to kiss him.
Still resting his weight on one elbow, he tucked the Glock in the back of his waistband and then proved his one hand was more effective than most men’s two. It was everywhere, under her shirt, cupping her breast, and his kisses were heady, enlightening. She’d never experienced the like. Certainly, not with Dante.
When she slipped her hands under his T-shirt, raking her fingertips across his muscular back and then down his side, she felt his bandage, it sobered her instantly. She broke the kiss.
“You have to let me go, Vincent.” He shook his head, bumping their noses. He winced, and sniffed. Though it had stopped bleeding long ago, it was definitely broken. “Find a doctor. Get patched up.”
“Stop trying to get rid of me.” He dropped his forehead to hers. “You’re in over your head. Admit it.” She was having a hard-enough time admitting she liked his weight on her, but she did, so hugged him tightly while she could, because she couldn’t keep him. Vincent could die just like anyone else, and people died around Avery all too often, so she needed to bail on him as soon as she could. For his own good. “You deserve more than the life you’re settling for, sweetheart.” He nipped at her lower lip. “Let’s clean house and give you a chance to live in peace. Don’t you want the killing to stop?”
She went limp beneath him, out of energy and out of fucks to give. “Of course, I do.”
“Then we want the same thing.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s as simple as that.”
“Simple, huh?” She shook her head. It was anything but simple.
“You have information we need,” he said.
If given a gun, she’d have gladly shot him.
Two steps forward and one step back. Vincent didn’t believe her when she said the files didn’t exist. Considering he was still sporting a raging hard-on, and she was wet and swollen for him, the moment was beyond awkward.
“You’re too good-looking,” she said. It was affecting her judgment. “I should have shot you when I had the chance.” She told herself to stop worrying. At the rate he was going, he’d be dead before he discovered her secrets. She pushed out from beneath him and sat behind the wheel, scanning the road before them, and then in the rearview mirror. The other black Audi’s were nowhere in sight, but she couldn’t count on that continuing. “I’m his ex-wife. I know nothing. The files were a fabricated rumor, and I have no information that can help you or the Feds. So, go away.”
“Okay, let’s say all that is true.” He adjusted his pants to sit more comfortably, if that was possible with what he was sporting. “So why is Coppola trying to kill you? You know something, and it scares the hell out of him. Help us. Help me, Avery.” She was convinced he was insane. “Say yes.”
No. But she did need someplace to hide out and formulate a plan, and just before she’d threatened to kneecap him, he’d mentioned a cabin. It would have to do. “Yes.”
Vincent laughed, as if he’d won something, and then leaned toward her, kissing her again. Lots of heat, and no less wonderful for its brevity. “We’re making a commitment here. You and me.”
His excitement was catchy, even knowing it was based on a lie. She’d use him to escape Dante, but that was it. The first opportunity she got to run, she’d run to Millie. “Sometimes, Vincent, a kiss is just a kiss.”
He didn’t seem convinced. “You need me. You don’t want to admit it, but you do.”
She visualized cracking him upside the head, and then dumping him out of the car. Instead, she shifted gears and hit the gas. “Where is this cabin?” They’d already stayed in one place too long. If Dante’s men didn’t find them, the Feds would.
Vincent pointed. “Take that road.”
She drove, and forced herself not to think beyond escaping Dante’s men. Too much had happened in too little time, and she felt fried. Her one consolation was Millie wasn’t here. She was on her way to safety. Grinding her rings against the steering wheel, it was hard to ignore that she’d lost focus. She liked Vincent, liked kissing him. Had, in fact, risked her life more than once to save him. A Fed. Shit. If she died saving Vincent, who would save Millie?
Avery needed to be smarter. She needed to bail on Vincent.