At Any Cost (22 page)

He kept the gun at the ready, his eyes scanning the darkness as best he could for any sign of attack as he eased across the porch and down the front steps. His breath fogged in the frigid morning air and his bare toes and feet went from a tingle to a burn as the cold penetrated his skin. It had to be fifteen degrees or colder outside. Maybe even below zero. With no shoes or socks, and no shirt, it wouldn't take long for Nick to become hypothermic. His house was a mere thirty yards away but as he crept to the bottom of the stairs and across the cleared flagstone walkway, it might as well have been thirty miles.

Nick wasn't going to be worth a damn to either of them if he didn't get some goddamned clothes on. He paused at the edge of the house—still no sign of Livy—and cursed under his breath. His anxiety jacked up another notch and his teeth began to chatter despite his clenched jaw. Where in the hell was she? If any of Meecum's scumbag guys laid even a finger on her, Nick would throw all of his convictions to the wayside. Screw his honor. His badge. Nothing mattered more to him than Livy. He'd make them all pay.

He raced across the lane and hopped up on the steps of his cabin. The snow soaked through the cuffs of his jeans to chill his legs and Nick's free hand formed into a useless claw as he pawed at the doorknob. It was a wonder he could still hold the gun without dropping it. Hell, at this point his hand was probably frozen around the grip. The latch finally gave way and he stumbled inside, going to his knees on the plush carpeting just past the entryway. He used the door to leverage himself upright and stumbled through the dark for the mudroom.

“Livy?” He spoke in hushed tones, not sure what he might find. The house was dark and eerily silent. Nick's boots were at Livy's house but he managed to find a pair of sneakers tucked beneath the bench. He slipped them on, cringing at the shock of pain that raced along the tops of his feet, and grabbed a sweatshirt from a hook next to the washing machine. He was far from warm, but it was a start.

“Livy?” Nick spoke louder this time. He ventured from the mudroom to the kitchen. His cell phone sat on the counter, untouched. “Fuck.” Anxiety pooled in his muscles and Nick stretched his neck from side to side in an effort to ease some of the tension that settled there. She was outside somewhere. She'd never made it to the house.
Goddamn it
. A sense of urgency rose up inside of Nick. She'd been outside longer than he had and though she wore a sweater and pants, she'd been barefoot too.

His fingers were stiff as he snatched his cell from the counter and unlocked the screen. He opened the phone app and dialed 9-1-1. Nick looked to the heavens when the dispatcher answered, “Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?”

“This is Deputy U.S. Marshal Nick Brady. I'm on Cottonwood Drive off of Warren Wagon Road. There is a possible fugitive on the loose and five armed assailants. Three have been shot and two are still unaccounted for with a possible hostage. I need backup ASAP.”

Without waiting for a response from the dispatcher, Nick ended the call. He wasn't interested in coordinating anything, he needed to get back outside and find Livy before Meecum's men did. Already, it might be too late.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Livy watched as Nick sprinted from her house, across the lane, and up onto his porch. She tried to scream, but the hand held tightly over her mouth muffled any sound she might have been able to produce. A muscular arm held her in an iron grip and squeezed the air from her lungs until spots swam in her vision. She struggled to take a deep breath, her nostrils flared and burned from the cold in the air.

“You so much as grunt, I won't think twice about drilling a bullet into your pretty skull.”

The cold of the gun barrel poking into her temple drove the point home and Livy stilled. Nick's front door slammed and it might as well have been the lid to her own coffin.

“Take care of him,” Joel said to a guy standing beside him. “Kari and I are going to have a talk.”

No!
She tried to scream again and Joel shoved the barrel against her head with enough force to coax tears to her eyes. She needed to warn Nick. To do something to make him get the hell out of there. There was no way she was getting out of this alive, but he didn't have to die.
God, please don't let him die.

Violent tremors shook Livy's body as Joel dragged her down the lane toward one of the cabins that was closed for the winter. Her feet had gone completely numb about ten minutes ago and her fingers weren't faring much better. Joel was an idiot if he thought he'd be able to break into one of the several fortresses that lined the lane without triggering an alarm. Did he seriously think a million-dollar summer home wouldn't be well protected? Of course, Livy wasn't about to warn him. She hoped he triggered a motion sensor and the cops showed up and rained bullets down on him. She wouldn't even mind being caught in the crossfire as long as it meant the murdering son of a bitch was wiped from the face of the earth.

Livy tripped as Joel continued to drag her and he hoisted her upright with a harsh jerk of his arm that left her ribs bruised. She couldn't feel her feet, for Christ's sake. She'd like to see him try to take a step without falling on frostbitten feet. Livy swore, if she lost one of her toes over this, she was going to kill the bastard herself.

The entire lane wasn't more than a few hundred yards but it felt so much longer. Joel passed up the cabins closest to Livy's house and dragged her to the end of her lane and then over to the next.
Damn it
. Joel was definitely smarter than Livy had hoped he was. Closest to the main road sat one of the only other houses in the area besides hers and Nick's that didn't look like it had a million-dollar price tag. Didn't mean the place wasn't equipped with ADT, though. At least, Livy hoped.

They waded through the two-plus feet of snow as Joel dragged her up onto the front porch. The house was dark, the driveway hadn't been plowed and the deck hadn't been shoveled. Obviously shut up for the winter. Livy's leggings were soaked through and the numbness in her feet began to spread up her calves and into her thighs. If she didn't warm up soon, she wouldn't have to worry about Joel killing her. The cold would get it done.

“You make even a whimper, I'll beat you within an inch of your life, girl.”

Joel took his hand away from Livy's mouth. She filled her lungs with air, fully prepared to defy him when she called to mind the memory of her dad, lying in a bloodied heap on the floor and beaten so badly he was unrecognizable. A sob lodged itself in Livy's throat and the tremors that shook her body now had nothing to do with the cold. The stark realization that she was in fact going to die tonight hit her with the force of an avalanche. She wasn't ready. She'd barely lived her life. She was in
love
, damn it! Maybe for the first time ever! It wasn't fair!

The sound of glass shattering distracted Livy from her personal pity party. Hope soared in her chest as she waited for the wail of an alarm and then crashed to the ground on broken wings as she heard only silence. Why should she think her luck would change now?

Joel reached through the door where he broke out the pane and unlocked it. He pushed it open and sent a pile of snow into the house in the process. The snow wouldn't be half as hard to clean up as her blood that would soon be splattered all over the living room, she supposed. Joel shoved her inside and Livy tried to force any more morbid thoughts from her mind. She might have been up shit creek without a paddle, but on the plus side, maybe now that she was inside the feeling would return to her legs and feet.

A little optimism couldn't hurt, right?

Joel grabbed her by the neck of her sweater—Nick's
favorite
sweater—and hauled her upright before throwing her back down on a long couch in the living room. The breath rushed from Livy's lungs with the hard landing and she turned to glare her hatred at the man who loomed above her.

“You're going to regret it if you rip my sweater.”

Joel leaned down, his lip curled into a sneer. “You got bigger problems than a goddamned sweater, girlie. You're lucky I didn't break your neck the second I got my hands on you.”

Livy bucked her chin in the air. “You're not going to do shit to me until you get what you came here for.”

The show of bravado took more out of her than she expected. Livy was outgoing, sometimes crass, and she tried to be funny whenever she got the chance. She had an epic potty mouth. But none of that equated to bravery. She might have appeared tough, but inside, she was falling apart.

Joel leaned down until his nose almost met Livy's. His breath reeked of beer and stale cigarettes and she swallowed down a gag. “You're right about one thing. You have something that belongs to me, and I want it back.”

The only thing keeping her alive right now was Joel's ledger. Did he seriously think she'd give it up so easily? “I don't have it,” Livy said. “You know that guy you think you're going to get rid of so easily? He's a U.S. marshal. He knows who I am and he knows what I have.”

Joel cursed under his breath. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Livy's hair. A cry of pain escaped her lips as he twisted and pulled. She felt the strands give way and she leaned in toward him to try to slacken his hold. He continued to twist until tears pooled in Livy's eyes and he released his grip with a rough shove.

“That son of a bitch is gonna die, same as you are.”

“That's what you think.” Fear lent Livy's voice a quaver but she willed it to still. “Nick is one of their top fugitive hunters. He's taken down more men than any other marshal in history.” Okay, so she had no idea if any of that was true, but he'd found her, hadn't he? “He doesn't even need a gun to be deadly.” She'd seen that with her own eyes. “You're fucked, Joel.”

The back of his hand whipped across Livy's face with a
crack
! Her tears flowed in earnest as white-hot pain exploded along her jaw and cheekbone. She spoke through her tears this time, in spite of them, and infused her tone with venom. “I memorized your ledger front to back. The marshals know every single person you've ever done business with. You can't run far enough to get away from what's coming for you.”

He hit her again, this time on the other side of her face. Livy cried out—there was only so much she could take—and she tried to breathe through the searing pain that set her face on fire. On the plus side, it distracted her from her frostbitten feet.
Optimism!
But it wasn't enough to quell the fear that shook her to her very core. Despite the fact she was begging for it, Livy didn't want to die. She didn't want Nick to die. Joel . . . ? He could die painfully and violently for all she cared. But honestly, what she truly wanted was for him to rot in a jail cell. Isolated. Alone. Just like she'd been for the past four years.

“That better be a fucking lie,” Joel snarled next to her ear. “Because if it's not, I'm going to give you to the cartel and let them deal with you. The things they'll do to you will make you wish I'd killed you.”

Livy swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat. “Either way, you'll be dead. That's all I care about.”

“Where's my goddamned ledger, Kari?” Joel gripped her by the wrist and gave it a sharp quarter turn that forced her to twist her entire body to keep it from snapping. “I want it.
Now
. And you'd better fucking give it to me.”

She met his gaze in the dark interior of the cabin and sneered. “Go to hell.”

He jerked her up to her feet. The pain she'd felt from his fist connecting with her face was nothing compared to the razor-sharp pins and needles in her feet. They'd finally begun to regain some feeling and it was about as pleasant as walking on broken glass. Livy's legs gave out from under her and Joel yanked her upright once again, forcing her to stand.

“Where the fuck is it? And don't jerk me around or I'll beat that cocksucker marshal boyfriend of yours to death while I make you watch. Understand?”

Livy could take all of the threats Joel wanted to throw at her and then some. But the second he mentioned Nick, she lost it. Rage, hot and thick, boiled up in her throat. Livy's hands balled into fists and she filled her lungs with air. “If you lay a finger on him, you'll regret it!”

“Who's gonna make me regret it?” Joel asked. “You? Fuck, you hid in the fucking closet while I beat that thieving son of a bitch Owens to death. You didn't seem too concerned about saving his ass, did you?”

Maybe her dad had gotten what he deserved. Joel's words stung, though. She hadn't known her dad and when she finally got the chance to know him she realized that she'd been better off not having him in her life. Still, she'd never wanted anything truly bad to happen to him. And in the end, he'd shoved her into that closet. Tried to protect her. And that counted for something.

“That thieving son of a bitch,” Livy spat, “was my
dad
.”

Joel's eyes narrowed. “You're an even colder-hearted bitch than I gave you credit for, Kari. You just let your old man die while you hid. You gonna do that to your boyfriend, too? Throw him under the bus while you save your own skin?”

“Your ledger is in my cabin. I hid it under the floorboards in my bedroom. Not that getting it back is going to keep you safe from
anything
.”

“Let's go get it then,” Joel growled as he grabbed her roughly by the wrist. “And don't try anything or you
and
your boyfriend will pay for it.”

Livy's heart thundered in her chest. Her mouth went dry and she thought she might throw up. Her legs ached, the cold seeped through her leggings and sweater to turn her skin to ice. Her feet ached as though someone had driven spikes into them and her hands weren't faring much better. Her face felt swollen and it pulsed in time with her heartbeat; little shocks of pain to remind her of Joel's capacity for violence. She couldn't remember a time in her entire life that she'd endured so much abuse. Had hurt so much. She'd endure all of it and more, though, if it meant she could buy Nick a little bit of time. Maybe give him an opportunity for a fair fight with Joel's last remaining guy. With any luck he'd get out of there in one piece. And she hoped that he wouldn't play the hero.

Like her dad, she was getting exactly what she deserved.

* * *

Nick stuffed his cuffs in the back pocket of his jeans before he grabbed his badge and slung the lanyard around his neck. He retrieved his Glock from the closet and checked the clip. He wasn't about to possibly confront local law enforcement, armed and without a badge to identify himself by. That was a damned good way to get his ass shot. He was looking to stay alive tonight. So far, so good.

His gut churned with nervous energy and his brain buzzed as he emptied the remaining bullets from the cylinder he'd taken off the guy who'd barged into Livy's cabin. With one dead and two seriously wounded, Nick had managed to level the playing field somewhat. But there were still two of Joel's guys out there who were unaccounted for and he had no idea where Livy was. He needed to hope for the best and expect the worst. And be prepared for anything.

Anything
barreled through his front door in a blaze of gunfire.

Nick dove for the floor as the first spray of bullets struck the counter bar that separated the living room from the kitchen. A gunfight in the dark and the middle of winter was absolutely his least favorite scenario for the way this had all gone down. Each new complication, each shot fired, only kept Nick from finding Livy. And it pissed him the hell off.

A muzzle flash accompanied each shot and it didn't do much to help Nick see in the dark. It did, however, give him something to aim at. The idiot currently unloading his clip into Nick's kitchen didn't seem to realize that all he was doing was wasting ammo. Guess he figured he'd get lucky with his blind shots and take Nick out before he had a chance to retaliate.

“Police!” Nick shouted. Hey, it was worth another try. Maybe one of Meecum's guys had an ounce of self-preservation instinct. “U.S. marshal!”

Nope. The stupid son of a bitch didn't even pause.

His assailant couldn't have had more than fifteen rounds in his clip and as Nick counted them off, he waited for the opportunity to act. When the sound of gunfire echoed into silence and he heard the distinctive
click
that signaled an empty clip, Nick lunged from the cover of the kitchen counter ready to take his shot.

Only to find the bastard had taken cover.

“Local law enforcement is on their way!” Nick called out. “If you surrender now, it'll be easier for you. Put your hands up and step into plain sight.”