{Nauti Boys 5} - Nauti Deceptions (44 page)

She was short, weak, he’d always said, so he’d taught her to be effective rather than powerful. Using the momentum of her body, her shoulders, she slammed the wood into his shoulder, causing the gun to drop as she kicked out.

The heel of her boot caught his chin as she punched back with the end of the two-by-four into his head. Blood sprayed around her before she dropped the wood and ran for the stairs.

Forget the tunnel, she had no idea where it went. Jonesy was bigger than her, faster; she needed corners and furniture to hide behind, not a tunnel to run through.

She raced up the stairs cursing her boots even as she gloried in the blood they had shed. She slammed open the basement door as the blast behind her sent a bullet tearing through the wood inches above her head.

Ducking, she slammed the door closed, locked it, then threw a kitchen chair against it before racing to the back door and into the night.

It was dark and foggy as hell as the mist from the lake shrouded the house and the forest surrounding it. The night oozed a heavy blanket of thick fog, so thick it felt smothering as she stumbled around the house and ducked behind the border of evergreen hedges planted around it.

A quick glance at the bike had a sob choking her. The tires were flat. There wasn’t a chance of escaping on it. For the moment, all she had were the hedges.

It was minimal covering, but it was dark, her clothes were dark. Blinking back her tears, she prayed for a chance.

Breathing in slow and deep, Rogue tried to force
back the panic threatening to rise inside her now that she had escaped the house. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard to hide here for a while. Maybe Jonesy would just leave.

She flinched at the sound of the kitchen door slamming closed.

The night suddenly seemed malevolent and frightening. Fear congealed inside her as a shiver raced up her spine and she strained to see through the thick fog to the land around her.

“Scary, isn’t it, little girl?” Jonesy’s voice was almost conversational as he spoke into the night. “The nights get real dark here in the mountains without the city lights to brighten them. Fog rolls in, and you can’t see what’s behind you, or what’s in front of you. It’s real easy to get lost, or to fall over a cliff. Or even worse, fall in the lake. The water is mighty cold this time of the year, Rogue.”

She shivered at the thought of how cold.

Eyes wide, the breath laboring in her chest, she fought to stay in place rather than to sprint through the night.

“Do you know the direction of the road out of here?” he called out to her. “Have you been here enough times that you’ll be able to stay on the gravel rather than the rocky ground and know where you are?”

She was smarter than that. She knew the difference between a graveled road and rocky ground.

Jonesy chuckled again. “Come on, Rogue. At least I’ll kill you quick. The night will make you suffer.”

God, how could she and her father have been so wrong about him? He wasn’t a friend, he was a monster.

Kneeling behind the thick, heavy hedge, Rogue felt the first tear fall. The night was cold, wet. For the briefest moment she remembered the feel of Zeke’s arms, the warmth of his body. A sob lodged in her throat at the need for that warmth.

She had seen the pain in his eyes earlier when he had realized Gene had betrayed him. Rogue felt that pain echoing inside her. In one night she had lost the man she loved, a friend, and possibly her brother.

“Rogue.” Jonesy’s hiss was filled with amusement as he drew closer to the hedge. “I know this land, this farm. I know every inch of it and of this house. I wonder if I can guess where you’re hiding.”

Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice, so much nearer now. Struggling to move silently, she edged along the side of the house, careful not to brush against the hedges.

Jonesy was a hunter. Her father had told her about the hunting trips they had taken together and how Jonesy seemed to have almost a second sense of where his prey would hide, which way it would go.

She wasn’t an animal, she told herself, but was there really any difference between a human and an animal that knew it was hunted?

Her heart racing out of control, the blood thundering through her veins, Rogue decided there wasn’t much difference. There was an awareness of death hovering, the tingle of hope, the defiance to live. She had to live. She’d be damned if she would let Jonesy hurt her family further.

“You didn’t ask me how I managed to fool your father and everyone else all these years.” Insidious and filled with hated confidence, Jonesy’s voice threaded through the night again, closer than was comfortable.

“Should I tell you?” he asked her.

Yeah, keep talking, asshole, so I know exactly where you are.

His laughter was low, cruel. “Your father is so grateful to me for warning him of Dayle Mackay’s plans regarding your mother that he doesn’t mind a bit to send me a nice fat check every Christmas. He had no idea it was all a very nicely laid plan to get him the hell out of Somerset. See, your father was a troublemaker and your mother was just too damned high profile to just kill. But it worked out, Rogue. Your father proved to be a nice little resource. Why, the law firm he’s established has even defended several of our members and cleared their good names of the evil acts they committed. He’s a fine man,” he drawled mockingly. “Too bad his daughter isn’t as smart.”

Yeah, too bad his daughter didn’t fire you when she had the chance. Too bad she didn’t just shoot you.

Rogue slid around the back of the house, her eyes straining to see past the fog as she fought to figure out which way to go, where the best place to hide would be.

“I know where you are, Rogue,” he sang through the night. “Just around the corner, just around the bend. Searching for warmth before your life is set to end.”

A poet he wasn’t. But he had a point. She was just around the corner. Unfortunately, she didn’t know a damned thing about Zeke’s home other than the fact that the back deck should be within feet of her.

Moving carefully, fighting to stay silent, she managed to find the porch rails. Gripping the wood tightly, she climbed over the banister before hunkering down and feeling her way across the boards.

Would he expect her to be on the porch?

She followed the rails, found the opening that led back out into the yard, and paused there. Her nails dug into the wood as she listened and fought to hear above the racing of her heart. She couldn’t hear Jonesy. Could he hear her? Her heart was like thunder in her ears, her breathing raspy. Fear was an acrid taste in her mouth now as her stomach clenched with panic.

The night itself whispered with dread. The breeze coming off the lake was a hiss of deadly intent. The shift of branches, the creak of the trees. Which was nature, which was a killer waiting to strike?

The fog danced slowly around her, shifting and thickening, thinning and moving through the night with hollow grace. Shadows twisted within the dense mist, came together, then drifted apart, giving her no hint to who was near and who wasn’t.

How could a man of Jonesy’s size move so silently? Surely she would have heard something.

Biting her lip, she remained in place, stiff, still, waiting. Watching. Praying. If only Zeke would get to her in time.

*****

“He has to be bat-shit crazy to think he could get away with this, Zeke.” Alex sat beside him in the Tahoe as Zeke cut the lights to the truck and made the turn onto the graveled road leading to his house. “He’s a hunter, a fighter. He’s had military training. Dishonorable discharge for striking an officer though his fellow officers testified that the officer struck first. If nothing else, he’s a tough son of a bitch. If he has Rogue, getting her out won’t be easy.”

“Rogue will be watching for me.” He had to believe that. She wasn’t weak; she wasn’t stupid. She would know he was coming for her, no matter how angry she had been when he left.

“Listen to me, none of these men that were in the League are operating with a full deck here,” Alex warned him as he slid ammo into the rifle he carried.

He wore a night-vision device on his head; a handgun was strapped to his thigh. Dressed in camo with a matching cap covering his hair, the chief of Somerset’s police department looked like the Special Forces soldier he had been six months prior.

Zeke eased the Tahoe over, aware of the other men in the backseat and back cargo area. They’d loaded up after dragging on gear they’d packed in their own vehicles. The Mackay boys believed in “just in case.” They kept everything they needed on hand just in case something went from sugar to shit in a heartbeat.

Dawg, Natches, patched but still bleeding, Rowdy, limping but still walking, Cranston, a little worse for wear, but he was in one piece. And Gene. His deputy carried a sniper rifle similar to Alex’s and his expression was as cold and forbidding as Alex knew his own was.

Shutting off the engine, he pulled his weapon from its holster, checked it, then shoved it back in place before taking the extra clips from Alex and shoving them in the large pocket of the dark camo jacket he wore.

“We’re a quarter mile from the house,” he said. “Natches, Rowdy, and Cranston will take the tunnel entrance, Alex, Dawg, and Gene and I will take the two entrances to the house.” He stared at Gene through the rearview mirror. “You’re with me.”

Gene nodded, his eyes meeting Zeke’s, his expression tight with controlled anger. They were going to have to deal with each other, and with Cranston when this was over. But for now, nothing mattered but Rogue.

“Maynard, give me that sniper rifle. He’s had time to get here; that means one of us has to be in place to take him out at a moment’s notice,” Natches informed them, his voice rough, dark with the threat of violence as Gene handed him the sniper rifle.

Trusting no one, Natches began breaking it apart quickly and effectively. Within seconds he had it down, checked, and clicking everything back into place as Dawg stored ammo in the pockets of his own jacket.

“She’s alive,” Zeke stated. “That’s all that matters.”

He was aware of the looks the other men were giving each other.

“If she were dead, the house would be in flames.” He nodded to the silent shadows ahead. There was no sign of light, no glow of a fire. “Jonesy wouldn’t leave any evidence. He’s been too careful so far; he would continue to be.”

“Unless he took her out of the house,” Cranston suggested.

Zeke ignored him.

“He wouldn’t take her out of the house,” Gene said. “Jonesy would make it look like a suicide or he’d set fire to the place. Dad told me once that the League had a silent exterminator. He never said who it was, but my money’s on Danny Jones.”

So was Zeke’s.

“Let’s move.”

They exited the vehicle silently and moved quickly along the graveled road with the night-vision devices in place. The murky green visual displayed in front of his eyes gave Zeke a moment’s pause. He rarely used night vision. But now, with the fog from the lake thickening around the mountains and hampering regular sight, Zeke thanked God for them.

With Alex, Dawg, and Gene at his back he set a fast pace toward the house. He could feel the prickling of danger now, the awareness that time was running out.

He had to get to her. God help him, he couldn’t let her be hurt, or worse, taken from him forever. At that moment, nothing mattered but Rogue. Thoughts of her twisted through his head, rage and regret and blinding pain twisted and tangled together until rage bloomed from his inability to change the danger she was in.

He shouldn’t have left her. He shouldn’t have hurt her. He should have taken more time, explained more, made things clear. He should have assured her he was coming back for her, and that they would deal with the future then. He should have told her he loved her.

*****

Rogue could feel the danger, it washed over her skin with an oily sensation and left her shuddering to the point that she had to lock her teeth together to keep them from chattering and giving her away.

She couldn’t hear Jonesy anymore. How could a man so big move so quietly? Or was he moving? He could be doing as she was, waiting, watching.

Her muscles were cramping with her efforts to remain completely still. A tear spilled from her eyes, tickled her chin, but she refused to wipe it away.

Where was Zeke? He had to be coming. He had to be close. He wouldn’t let her be hurt. She was only going to be able to do so much to save herself here. It wasn’t as though she carried a gun or had even borrowed one of his. And she sure as hell wasn’t strong enough for a fight against Jonesy.

Damn him. She hoped he knew he was fired now. The bastard had burned her bar? Blown it up? How could he blow up her bar?

Son of a bitch.

God, she was scared.

She clenched her teeth tighter and hoped she was out of sight. Of course in this fog, he could be standing beside her and she wouldn’t know it.