Fan the Flames (10 page)

The alarm woke her instantly, her body jackknifing into a sitting position before her brain even registered the beeping. After a disoriented second, she shot out of bed, scattering pillows and bedding in her wake. She'd almost reached the bedroom door when it opened, forcing her to stumble backward so she didn't get slammed in the face.

“Which alarm is that?” Ian asked, sounding wide-awake.

“Move, and I'll check,” she snapped, shoving past him into the living area. When she hit the power button on the monitor, the cameras' live feeds filled the screen. A quick scan didn't show anything amiss. She checked the alarm panel next.

“It's the southwest corner,” she said, and began scanning the recorded footage.

Ian paced toward the stairs. “Let's go.”

“Give me five seconds,” she said, her eyes fixed on the screen. “We need to know what we're dealing with before we charge out there, guns blazing.”

Although he made an impatient sound, he returned to watch the monitor over her shoulder.

“There.” She reversed the video and pointed to the shadow that moved in and out of the far side of the frame. Not much of the intruder had been captured by the camera.

Squinting, Ian leaned closer to the screen. “Play that again.” After she did, he shook his head. “What is that, someone's arm?”

“Think so.” She replayed it a third time.

“The resolution on that camera is crap.”

“Yeah, that's why I was hoping the deer cameras would get a better shot.” She straightened and opened the desk drawer, grabbing her revolver. “It does tell us there's at least one person out there, looking to cause trouble, so we're not just dealing with our coyote friend.”

Ian followed her as she charged up the stairs. “Is that a Colt Python?”

“Yep.” After checking the store cameras, she unlocked the door.

“Nice. Can I shoot it sometime?”

“No.” She automatically closed the door and covering shelves behind them, then punched in the code before the store alarm could sound. After jamming her feet into her boots and yanking on her coat, she unlocked the back door and charged into the night. Jack ran in front of her.

“Rory!” Although Ian's voice was low, he managed to pack an entire yell into his whisper. “Wait for me.”

Without pausing, she headed for the trees. They would provide cover for most of the trek to the southwest corner where the alarm had been triggered. She heard Ian swearing under his breath as he followed. Rory was a fast runner, but he was faster. It was just a few seconds before he caught up with her and took the lead. She wanted to roll her eyes at his protective insistence on being the first to encounter any danger, but she couldn't do that and watch where she was going.

They'd just passed the greenhouse and chicken coop when a loud
boom
echoed through the night. Through the trees in front of them, a bright flash illuminated the darkness for a blinding moment. Ian jerked to a halt, whirling around to grab Rory and pull her into his chest, his back to the detonation. With a pained yip, Jack streaked toward them and cowered next to their legs.

“What the hell?” Ian growled. “I thought you didn't have any explosives out here.”

“I didn't say that.” Her voice was muffled, since her face was pressed against his chest. Despite the situation, she couldn't help relishing the comfort and security of his hold. It was a novel feeling to be protected—novel and addicting. “I said I didn't have any land mines.”

“Rory…”

“Relax.” Reluctantly, she tried to push away from him. After resisting for a second, he released his tight grip, allowing her to take a couple of steps back. “It was just one of the flashbangs.”

When she said the words, a delayed realization hit her: something activated the grenade. That meant someone had made it inside the fence. Her eyes widening, she turned and ran, once again ignoring Ian's demand that she wait.

A man was sitting in front of the trip wire, hands pressed flat against his ears. Without pausing, she ran full speed toward the intruder. She would have closed the distance and tackled the guy if Ian hadn't shouted, “Gun, Rory!”

Skidding to a halt ten feet from the crouched interloper, she raised the Python and pointed it at him. The trespasser raised his head, turning a startled face to her, and Rory couldn't hold back a sharp inhale as she recognized him. It was Zup.

“Hands up!” she yelled, too amped to be embarrassed by the cliché. Jack stayed behind her and barked.

“What?” Zup shouted, and she realized he was still feeling the effects of the flashbang.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, biting back a frustrated snarl when he shrugged, pointing to his ears, which were most likely still ringing. “Jack, enough.”

“Rory.” Ian's sharp tone made her glance at him for a split second before she refocused her gaze and gun on Zup.

“What?”

“Zup didn't plan this. This dumbass couldn't figure out how to break into his own house.” Ian spoke quickly. “He's just the distraction. You didn't lock the back door.”

As she realized the implications, her eyes widened. “Watch him,” she snapped, half turning toward the shop.

“And let you face who knows how many Riders?” he scoffed. “I don't think so.”

Striding to Zup, who cringed as Ian approached, he tucked his pistol in the back of his BDUs and crouched in front of the other man. Rory shifted to the side so she could keep her gun aimed at Zup. From this angle, she could see Ian yanking the laces out of Zup's boots.

“Sorry, man!” Zup was still yelling. “He's lost his fucking mind! I didn't have a choice.”

“Who?” Ian didn't pause his swift movements. Once he had a bootlace free, he jerked Zup's hands behind his back and tied them with the lace.

“What?” Zup shouted.

Finishing his knot with a hard, final yank that made Zup wince, Ian moved around so the other man could see his face. “Who?” he demanded.

“Rave.”

This was not surprising to Rory. Judging by his lack of reaction, Ian was not too shocked, either. He removed the second bootlace and used it to tie Zup's ankles together.

“How many?” Ian shoved his face right up to Zup's.

He didn't even try to pretend like he didn't understand. “Three. Rave, Lester, and Duke. Duke's the only one not carrying.”

With a tight nod, Ian stood and gave Zup a shove that toppled him back onto his bound hands. “Let's go.”

Rory didn't hesitate, turning and running after Ian. Even if Zup managed to get out of his bindings, it would occupy him for a while. The more urgent issue was the three men who were probably in the process of clearing out her shop—her entire livelihood. When they reached the greenhouse, she skidded to a stop and grabbed Jack by the collar. The memory of Ian's comment about how easy dogs were to “subdue” echoed in her head, and she shoved a resisting Jack into the greenhouse and closed the door. As soon as it latched, she took off toward the shop again.

As they got closer, her stomach twisted at the sight of the open back door. Ian cut toward the rear wall, staying close as he moved silently toward the black rectangle of the entrance.

“Where the fuck's the good shit?”

Rory didn't recognize the voice coming from the back room, but the thought of Riders digging through her shop made rage flash through her.

“Keep looking, Les.” That sounded like Rave. “That bitch has to have some hidden compartments or something.”

“What if she comes back?” Les again.

“Blow her brains out.”

Ian was flat against the exterior wall next to the open door. Tucking up behind him, Rory gave his shoulder an “I'm ready” squeeze. He darted into the entrance, and she immediately followed, going left as he went right, her gun up and ready.

It all happened so fast, there was no time for fear.

Something flashed to her right, but her eyes were locked on Rave and the tactical shotgun he was lifting. She reacted before he could take what was obviously intended to be a fatal shot. Aiming for center mass, she pulled the trigger twice—and both the shotgun and Rave dropped to the floor.

There was another body sprawled near Rave's, thanks to Ian's quick response, and she swung around to scan for the third burglar. Ian met her gaze, then jerked his head toward the half-open door to the front room. Staying close to the wall, she moved toward the door until she was pressed next to the opening. There was no one visible from her vantage point.

Ian had taken position on the other side of the doorway. His fingers closed carefully around the doorknob. She couldn't see his face because of the angle of the door, but his index finger tapped once, then twice. Rory grimly adjusted her grip on her gun. At the third tap, he jerked the door open.

Darting through the doorway, she went right this time, aiming toward the corner and then swinging around to check the rest of the room. In the dim glow of the security lights, the shop appeared to be empty.

After a quick glance to see Ian on her left, she padded forward toward the counter. The store had two rows of glass display cases, one on either side of the room. On Ian's side, he would have a clear view of the aisle behind the displays, so the only place someone could hide would be at the far end.

The layout was a little trickier on Rory's side, since the counter with the cash register turned the row of display cases into a stubby “L” shape. The counter could easily hide their third intruder if he crouched.

When she reached the side of the cash register, she moved quickly, pointing her gun at the inside corner. There was no one there. She paced down the row, checking the blind spot at the end. It was empty, as well.

Raising her gaze to Ian, who had rounded the end of the row on his side, he tipped his head toward the restroom. Rory wanted to smack herself for her stupid mistake. She'd passed right by the closed door without a thought. It would've served her right if she had been ambushed.

Moving quietly back to the restroom door, she moved past it and put her back against the wall as Ian mirrored her on the other side of the door. Holding her revolver ready in her left hand, she closed her fingers around the door handle, careful not to jiggle it and give away their presence. Meeting Ian's eyes, she silently mouthed, “One, two, three!”

On “three,” she pushed down the handle and yanked open the door, rounding it in the same movement. The tiny room didn't allow for the usual entry, so she stopped behind and to the right of Ian.

“Don't shoot! Don't shoot!” The man was crouched between the toilet and the wall, his elbows bent and his hands hovering, palms front, on either side of his head. Rory vaguely recognized him, with his skinny frame and bulbous blue eyes—probably from occasional encounters around town. He'd never been in the shop, though. She was sure of that.

“What the hell are you doing, Duke?” Ian demanded, tucking his gun into the back of his BDUs. Rory kept hers aimed at the cowering man. “This is a big step up from shoplifting and stealing from unlocked cars. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I know, Walsh.” Duke dropped his chin, tucking his hands closer to his head, as if to protect himself. “I know. But Rave told me it'd be an easy score, and he said he'd sponsor me with the Riders if I helped him with this.”

“Shit, Duke.” Ian rubbed his hand over his mouth, looking suddenly tired. “Stand up.” When Duke sent a nervous glance toward Rory, Ian added, “She's not going to shoot you unless you do something stupid. Something
else
stupid.”

Duke shakily pushed himself to his feet, keeping a wary eye on Rory's revolver. She backed out of the doorway, allowing him to exit, followed closely by Ian.

“You packing, Duke?” Ian's gaze ran over the other man's baggy jeans and coat.

“Nah. I never mess with guns.”

Ian's laugh exploded in a sharp crack that made the other two jump. Rory sent him a quick, chiding glance. She made a mental note to mention to him later that it was a bad idea to startle the woman holding the gun. Ian swept an arm to indicate the shop. “What the hell are you doing here, then?”

“I told you,” he whined. “Rave—”

“Stop,” Ian cut him off, frisking Duke quickly and not very gently. He pulled a folded knife out of Duke's pocket and dropped it into his own. “Ror, have you got any duct tape?”

“Who doesn't?” She jerked her head toward the cash register. “Behind the counter, second drawer on the right.”

He retrieved it and quickly returned with the roll. As Rory kept her gun aimed at the skinny man, Ian strapped his wrists together behind his back. After telling him to sit on the ground, he taped Duke's ankles, as well.

“Roll onto your stomach.”

Although Duke gave a protesting whine, he complied, and Ian taped his bound wrists and ankles together, hog-tying him. Rory figured he wasn't much of a threat in his current position, so she slid her revolver into her coat pocket.

“I hate to say it,” Ian said once he finished, “but we're going to have to call the sheriff.”

Although she made a face, Rory said, “I figured. There are two bodies in the back room, after all.” As she said the words, the image of Rave crumpling to the ground flashed in her brain. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed.

“What?” Duke yelped. “Bodies?”

“Quiet,” Ian ordered.

“I'll call on the store phone,” she said, walking on suddenly shaky legs to the counter.

Ian's sharp gaze focused on her. “I'll check on the two in back. You okay?”

“Of course.” The phone rattled against the base as she picked it up, contradicting her words. It took a couple of tries before her shaky fingers could hit the right numbers. As the phone rang in her ear, she met Ian's concerned eyes and tried to force a smile. “Don't be nice to me, or I'll get all weepy on you.”