Chapter Eighteen
“That’s it,” Mathias announced as they circled the outer perimeter of the small landing field. “In that hangar on the southwest corner.”
Deacon looked over at Wiley. “Set us down at the hangar in the northeast sector. No one will think anything about us being there. Mathias and I will take it from there.”
“You’re going to cut me out of all the fun?” Wiley asked. “That’s cold, brother. Cold.”
“This isn’t your fight.”
“It is if I choose it to be.” When Wiley spoke those words, Deacon saw the man he’d known most of his life, the man who had saved his ass more than once and the man who could kill without batting an eye.
“Then set us down and let’s get to it.”
“What’s your plan?”
“You have ordinance that will take out that jet?”
“You know me too well, my man. Pull the seats out in the back and check the locker.”
“Mathias?” Deacon asked.
Mathias moved the seats and opened the locker, then whistled. “The man has a Stinger and a whole lot more.”
“We need to be able to communicate.”
“He’s got that covered,” Mathias replied. “Latest grade comm units.”
Deacon looked at Wiley, who shrugged. “You never know when stuff will come in handy. Like today.”
“You have a point. And since you came armed for bear, we might as well make use of the toys.”
“I smell a plan about to hatch. Talk to me, Deac.”
“Okay, the way I see it…”
*****
Vitale had been sucking down scotch and talking on the phone for the last half hour. Once he started drinking, his temperament went from bad to worse and the only way to make him believe she was being truthful was to give him something to hang his hat on.
So, Mica gave up one of her clients. He was a nasty piece of work, as far as she was concerned, who’d occupied a seat in government for a long time. He was someone she had enough dirt on to ruin his career and possibility his life, and he was also sailing in the same boat she occupied. He’d testified against Jimmy and had as much to lose as she did.
The reason she was willing to give him up was that she knew if she did, he’d run straight to the Marshals, and once they were alerted, they would make a move against Vitale.
Vitale’s mood turned gleeful, since he now thought he was using her as a weapon to threaten the man. It was clear from his end of the conversation that he was succeeding. Mica prayed that the man’s next call would be to the US Marshals Services.
“Sir?” One of Vitale’s men stepped into the room. “You might want to see this?”
“See what?” Vitale looked at his man who pointed to the bank of windows covering the front wall.
“I’ll be in touch,” Vitale said into the phone, then slid the phone into the front pocket of his jacket as he stood and walked over to the windows.
Mica followed. One look and her knees threatened to buckle. Deacon was walking toward the hangar with another man, one as tall and about the same age. Dear God. What a sight that was. If ever a woman had wished for a hero, it was she and the men she now watched had hero written all over them. Along with something that she had no doubt everyone watching could see. Danger. Those were two lethal men.
If any of the thugs with Vitale had half a brain, they’d run like the devil was after them. “Get someone out there and find out who the hell they are,” Vitale barked.
It would have taken a nuclear explosion to dislodge Mica from her place at the window. She saw Deacon look up and felt something swell inside her. He had come for her. He hadn’t lied. He had come. She blinked back tears and watched as he and the man accompanying him walked to the jet.
Deacon positioned himself at the base of the stairs while the other man climbed the steps, then disappeared inside the plane. It wasn’t long before the door began to close, folding the steps up.
“What the fuck?” Vitale said from beside her.
“Isn’t that your pilot? Maybe he needs to fuel the plane.”
“It’s not my fucking pilot.”
“Then who is it?”
“The fuck I know.” He barked and pulled out his phone. “Who the fuck are those guys?” he bellowed into the phone.
Outside, a man approached Deacon.. The man said something to him and Deacon shook his head. The man made a move to reach into his jacket, but Deacon moved faster and in two seconds time, Deacon was holding the man’s gun, releasing the clip and popping the bullet from the chamber as the man lay unconscious on the ground.
Meanwhile the jet’s engines had started.
“What the fuck?” Vitale looked down to place a call on his phone. “Get someone out there to stop my fucking jet and shoot that old man.” While Vitale talked on the phone, Deacon tossed the gun aside and started toward the hangar.
Ten minutes ago, Mica had been terrified. Now, watching Deacon, the fear receded. What was it about this man that made her feel so safe? Why did she believe he could protect her against all the monsters and demons that lurk in the dark? Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe she was fooling herself because she needed it so badly.
Mica had never had a hero. Her husband Tony was good to her, and he had cared about her, but she’d always known that she came second to his family and she accepted that. She helped him become more powerful and he accepted her help and was even grateful for it, but never in all the time she’d known him had she felt safe with him. She’d always known that at any moment his family might decide she was expendable and she would be killed.
But Deacon? He looked up at her as he marched across the concrete and she was suffused with certainty that he would save her. Or die trying. That thought had a whole new kind of fear laying claim to her.
As she and Vitale watched, the jet taxied out to the runway, stopped, and a minute later the door opened and the man who’d accompanied Deacon got out and ran towards the hangar.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Vitale yelled into his phone. “Hello? Hello?” In a pique, he hurled his phone. “You fucking incompetent—”
At just that moment, the door opened, and Mica’s heart literally skipped a beat. Deacon stood framed in the doorway. “Mathias, now,” he said quietly and looked at Mica.
You came for me. It took every bit of will power she possessed not to run to him. He then looked directly at Vitale. “You have something of mine.”
“I got nothing—” Vitale looked at Mica. “Her? You’re some crazy old fuck, I’ll give you that. You realize I’ve got a dozen armed—”
“Had,” Deacon interrupted.
“Huh?”
Deacon’s chin tilted up in the direction of the window. Vitale wasn’t the only one to turn and look. So did Mica, and what she saw brought a smile to her face. Matty looked up at them, alongside the man she’d watched get on the plane. At their feet were six men.
The man with Matty held some kind of weapon she didn’t recognize, but as they watched, he turned, aimed, and fired. Mica involuntarily took a step back as something sizzled from the weapon and streaked across the tarmac, smack into the jet.
The resulting explosion rocked the building and had Vitale turning red as a beet and pulling his weapon from his jacket as he turned toward Deacon. “I’ll fucking kill—”
He never got a chance to finish his sentence. A spot of red appeared on his forehead at almost the same moment Mica heard the report of the gun. Almost simultaneously, the back of his head exploded, showering brains, bone, and blood all over the window, which was raining shattered glass.
Mica was too stunned to move until Vitale’s body fell and then she jumped back and stumbled. She might have fallen had Deacon not caught her and turned her into his arms.
“I’ve got you.”
She’d never heard anything more beautiful than the sound of those words. Since she walked into the Smithy and found Nellie Mae being held hostage, she’d held it together by sheer will and now that she was safely in his arms, all her strength fled, and her legs, gave way.
“Deacon.” It was all she got out before she succumbed and fainted dead away.