Hardball (39 page)

“Listen, bitch,” he growled. “If you let out even one tiny sound without my say-so, you’ll be dead before anybody but me hears it.” He paused for a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Holly.

“Okay, I’m gonna take my hand away from your mouth now, so remember what I said. You scream, you die. Got it?”

Holly nodded her head as best she could. Arnold slid his hand away from her mouth and took a step back. Holly turned slowly, and found herself face to face with a big, black gun. Arnold, laughing, held the barrel high, just inches from her face. She swallowed the bile in her throat as her head swam.

Taking a deep, shaking breath, she tried the only gambit her terrified brain could come up with. “My boyfriend’s just gone out to the Seven-Eleven on the corner. He’ll be back any minute,” she said, her voice quavering.

Pathetic.

Arnold laughed, his alcohol-flushed face going even redder. “God, you really think I’m stupid, don’t you, Miss High and Mighty Doctor? I know the hero’s been staying here, but he’s pitching up in Canada tonight. Any idiot who can read a newspaper knows that.”

His lips peeled back in a vicious, leering grin, and Holly knew she was dead. She began to sweat heavily, moisture slicking what felt like her entire body.

Arnold butted the gun barrel against her forehead, and she almost puked. Somehow, she managed to hold on.

Think. Delay. Do something!

“What do you hope to accomplish by this?” she croaked. “Other than making your little boy a virtual orphan when you go to prison?”

He pulled the gun away from her face and lowered it to her breasts, shoving it in between them. When his gaze followed the gun down there, her knees weakened, and she had to lean heavily into the counter. His breath came harder now, and he actually licked his lips as he leered at her body. Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She didn’t dare show him any weakness.

“I don’t care anymore,” he finally growled. “My life is shit. It’s always been shit. You know what it’s like to have a kid like mine?”

“Yes, I do. I see it every day,” she said. She might die for it, but she wouldn’t let him off the hook.

He grunted, then ran the tip of the barrel down her left breast and over her nipple. When she shuddered, her gave her a malicious grin.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “You fucking doctors. You screw around with the kid for a week or two, then you dump him back on me and I’ve got to deal with all the shit. When you told me about the valve thing, I thought maybe this time he wouldn’t make it. Maybe I’d finally be free. Maybe the kid and I would both be free.” His expression turned bitter, angry. “It ain’t like it wouldn’t be better for the kid, too.”

The kid.
He couldn’t even call his child by his name.

Holly firmed her voice. “Don’t try to rationalize your sick agenda, Arnold. Tyler deserves every chance he can get to live. You don’t get to make that decision for him.”

Blood rushed to his face. “No, because
you
made it for him.” He yanked her against him, rubbing his crotch against her pelvis. “And now you’re going to pay for that. You’re going to pay big time.”

She jerked and struggled, frantic to get away from the disgusting feel of him, but he brought the gun up and, with a short stroke, slapped the barrel into the side of her head. She screamed and staggered as pain lanced through her skull.

Arnold’s face distorted with rage and he shook her shoulder with his left hand. “Keep your fucking mouth shut! Next time you make a move like that, I’m going to knock you out cold.”

That might be a blessing.
Part of her wanted to provoke him and get it over with. But something stronger made her keep her mouth shut.

“But that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” he said with a sickening leer, pushing his erection between her thighs.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t just stay silent and let him have his way. “You fucking bastard,” she snarled. “I’ll fight you every step of the way. And I’ll kill you if I get the chance.”

His eyes gleamed like an animal’s. “Well, then, it looks like we’re going to have ourselves some fun, Doc. As much as we can before I have to kill you.”

She struggled against his grip, trying to kick out at him even though his body pinned her against the counter. “You son of a bitch,” she shrieked. “You murdering son of a bitch!”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said. “Now, where are your fucking car keys? We’re going for a ride.”

* * *

Nate touched down at North Philly Airport at five to eleven, then taxied at maximum ground speed to the hangar. In minutes, he’d put away the Bonanza, locked up the hangar and jumped in his car. On the semi-deserted freeway, he let the Aston Martin loose. It was risking a big ticket, but it was worth taking the chance. Maybe it was the darkness and the almost empty streets as he raced along, but his gut kept telling him something was wrong. Something with Holly.

Hurry, man. Gotta get there now.

He slowed as he took the exit into her neighborhood, but still drove as fast as he dared. When he pulled up in front of her house, he braked quietly and turned the engine off. He got out, grabbed his bag, and strode quickly to the porch and up the wooden steps. Although lights shone from behind her curtains, the porch light hadn’t been switched on and there was almost zero ambient light at her end of the street. The only lamppost was at the end of the block, and the tall trees lining the street absorbed most of that light before it got to Holly’s house.

He decided to knock softly rather than try to unlock the front door with his key. He was sure she would have secured the chain, so she’d have to come to the door to let him in anyway, but at least he wouldn’t startle her.

“Holly, it’s me.” He tapped twice on the door. “I made it back early, babe.”

A terrified scream from inside the house pierced the night, shocking him into immobility.

Holly!

When Holly heard the knock at her door, then Nate’s voice, she didn’t think. She screamed.

“Nate! He’s got a gun!”

With a curse, Arnold slammed the flat of his palm into her chest, pounding her backwards. The back of her head smashed into the kitchen cupboard. Dazed, her vision swimming, Holly collapsed onto the cold ceramic floor.

“Stupid bitch!” Arnold roared. “Now, you’ve gotten your boyfriend killed, too. It’s your fault he’s fucking gonna die.”

He spun around, aiming the gun at the front door.

Holly pulled herself up, gasping in deep breaths to clear her head. She felt little pain, the adrenaline pouring through her body keeping it at bay. For now, all she could focus on was that black killing machine in Arnold’s steady hand. It pointed straight at the front entrance. Straight at where Nate must be standing behind the door.

She rolled onto her side and screamed again. “Don’t come in, he’ll kill you! Call the police!”

Please, Nate! Get out of here or he’ll kill you, too.

Arnold fired three times, each shot a terrifying explosion. The bullets tore through the front door, splintering the wood in their path. Holly flinched and cowered against the cabinets.

“You bastard!” she screamed. “It’s me you want. Not him!” She grabbed the oven door handle and used it to pull herself to her feet.

Arnold snorted, his face contorting into one of those sickening grins. If it was the last thing she ever did, she’d try to wipe it off his wretched face.

“If the son of a bitch gets the hell out of here right now, he lives,” Arnold spat. “If he comes in that door, he dies. His choice.” Arnold grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. “You’re coming with me.”

She stumbled forward with him, pushing aside the pain now blossoming in her injured hip. She had to stay strong. For Nate as much as for herself.

Arnold moved carefully, and as he passed the open door to the garage he poked his head inside, obviously checking it out. He must have been satisfied, since he resumed his careful steps toward the front door, dragging her behind him as she tried uselessly to yank herself free from his powerful grip. She let her weight hang heavily, trying at least to slow him down.

* * *

As soon as Holly’s warning pierced his ears, Nate had taken a dive to the left, hitting the floorboards of the porch so hard it momentarily took his breath away. A few seconds later, a fusillade of bullets had come ripping through the door, leaving him gape-mouthed, stunned beyond anything he’d even imagined.

Arnold
. The fucking bastard must have been stalking Holly all this time, waiting for him to leave her alone and defenseless before making his move. Nate sucked in deep breaths, struggling with a blinding rage, both against Arnold and against himself. He’d opened the door wide open for this to happen by ignoring his instincts. He’d known he shouldn’t leave her, and he’d gone anyway.

That mistake would never happen again.

But that was for the future. Right now he had to get off the porch where he was totally exposed. Arnold could open the door any second and shoot him at almost point-blank range.

Nate ducked below the front window and fast-crawled to the far end of the porch, ready to jump over the side and drop to the ground as soon as he glimpsed or heard any movement at the door. Eyes glued on the brass knob, he pulled out his cell phone and connected with a 9-1-1 operator. Despite his pounding heart, he calmed his breathing enough to clearly whisper Holly’s address and tell the operator she was being held by a lone gunman. The operator started to ask him questions, but he snapped the phone shut.

The cops would come soon enough, but he couldn’t just hide and wait for them to try some kind of hostage rescue or SWAT team penetration. He was sure Arnold didn’t want a hostage; he wanted Holly dead. That could happen any second.

And even if the cavalry did arrive in time, which was a long shot, the cops would first try to negotiate with Arnold. But Nate knew it was useless to negotiate with a crazy son of a bitch like him. A guy who’d probably killed his wife, and maybe even wanted his son dead. What were the chances he’d let Holly go and give himself up? Every instinct told Nate the answer was zero.

No, both his brain and his gut told him it was going to be up to him. Unless he could take Arnold down and take him down fast, his woman—the woman he loved—would be dead.

Loved.
God, yes, he loved Holly Bell. He’d take on Lance Arnold and a whole damn platoon of armed psychos to save her if he had to. But somehow he had to get inside the house before Arnold could do what he came to do.

Think fast.

The back door. Holly would have locked the deadbolt, but he had the key. Still, if he tried to unlock it, however stealthily, Arnold would likely hear the sound. Unless Holly distracted him somehow. But how could she? She might even be tied up.

Trying to unlock a door would get him a bullet in the face before he’d even stepped inside.

No, if he was going in through the back door, or maybe a window, it would have to be with one big bang. And it had to be right away, while Arnold was still focused on the front of the house.

Nate eased himself over the porch railing and dropped quietly down onto the grass. In seconds, he was through the side gate and into the back yard.

Hang tough, Holly. I’m coming, babe.

* * *

Holly didn’t hear any noise coming from the porch. No cries or groans. That didn’t mean Nate hadn’t been hit, though. He could be out there, a few steps away, bleeding to death for all she knew. The thought of him dying was more than she could bear. She struggled again, trying to pull out of Arnold’s grip, but he simply crushed her wrist in a murderously painful grip.

Gasping, she fought to pull herself together. There was just as good a chance, maybe better, that Nate hadn’t been hit at all. Maybe he’d already called the police. And surely one of the neighbors would have heard the shots and called 9-1-1.

Arnold slowly cracked the front door open, then peered to his right. Holly itched to do something, but Arnold kept glancing back toward her. If she tried anything, he could blow her head off if he wanted to.

A powerful rush of relief coursed through her as Arnold cursed and slammed the door shut. Nate must still be alive! He must have slipped away, and would have already called the police.

She prayed he’d backed off, gone somewhere safe to wait for the cops. Knowing Nate, though, she suspected it was more likely that he was frantically searching for a way to rescue her. The man she loved was hardheaded at the best of times, and there was no way on God’s earth he’d abandon her. She knew that, now. Knew it deep in her bones, with the kind of certainty that could only come from love. He was still out there, watching for an opportunity.

Just like she was.

“Arnold, you know the police will be here any minute,” she said, striving for a calmer, more reasonable voice. “The whole neighborhood will have heard those shots.”

“No kidding. Now shut the hell up!” He started to drag her through the living room to the kitchen.

Holly froze when she heard the back door lock click. She recognized the sound instantly.
Nate’s coming inside!

Arnold heard it, too. He snarled as first he pulled her a couple of steps with him, then pushed her away. He swung the gun up, aiming toward the back door.

He’ll shoot Nate the second he opens the door.
Holly screamed again, lunging toward Arnold as she lashed out with her right hand.

Arnold spewed a curse as her rigid, outstretched palm slammed hard into his gun hand. He flinched, and it pulled his aim to the right as he fired, missing Nate who had dived in the other direction. Without thinking, Holly hammered her fist against the inside of Arnold’s wrist. Her knuckles made solid, brutal contact and he roared with the shock of the blow. Her heart hammering against the walls of her chest, Holly watched the gun drop to the floor and skitter a few feet away.

Arnold roared again as he gave her a backhanded slap that landed on her cheek with stunning force. Holly’s head snapped around and she tumbled to the floor. As she landed on the hardwood, another piercing bolt of pain lanced up through her elbow.