One Touch More (25 page)

Damien kept his gun leveled on the other man, his attention divided between Lightfoot and Tabitha. “One of Cavello's buddies. But since you killed him, I doubt we'll be able to find your thief now.”

“I don't need that pissant to find anyone.” His gaze narrowed and he studied Damien as though deconstructing every particle of his being. “You're a fed, aren't you?” he asked with a leering smile. “What are you? FBI? CIA? DEA?” Lightfoot laughed. “Department of Homeland?” He spat to his left. “Seth, you really fucked up this time, hooking me up with a bunch of goddamned pigs.”

It was time to end this shit. Damien took a deep breath and spoke loud and clear. “Bandit.”

Dark forms moved out of the shadows, the U.S. Marshals, Boise PD SWAT, and DEA in full tactical gear, an armory's worth of weapons leveled on Lightfoot. He lowered his revolver and pointed the weapon at Tabitha this time. “You really wanna take me down so bad you're willing to risk her pretty neck?”

“Go ahead and pull that trigger.” Damien could barely get the bluff to leave his mouth, he was so fucking scared. “If you do, you're dead.”

Lightfoot cocked a brow. “So is she.”

“Check your men, Gates,” Damien said. “You copy?”

“I copy,” Gates responded in Damien's earpiece from wherever he was stationed. “No one's going to do a goddamned thing. But you need to secure this situation, ASAP. You know we can't risk him getting away.”

No matter the cost
. Damien filled in the blank without Gates having to say a goddamned word.

Lightfoot was caught and he knew it. Killing Tabitha out of spite would be right up the bastard's alley. If he was going down, he was taking anyone he could with him.

“I hate bullshit, don't you?” Despite the army of law enforcement surrounding him, Lightfoot kept his eyes glued to Damien. “A man oughta know what he's up against when he comes face-to-face with his enemies. So, who are you really? It's all out in the open now. No use bullshitting.”

Damien reached for his badge, tucked into his shirt.

“Careful, son. My trigger finger's twitchy.”

Slowly, Damien curled his finger around the chain draped from his neck. He pulled the badge from his shirt and let it dangle for Lightfoot's inspection. “Parker Evans, U.S. Marshals Service. Fugitive Recovery Task Force.”

Lightfoot's raspy laugher echoed in the quiet. “Tabby Cat, you shacked up with a U.S. fucking marshal?” He kicked at Tabitha's ankle and she cried out.

If he touched her again, Damien was going to kill the motherfucker with his bare hands.

“Well, Deputy. Here's where things are going to get interesting. See, I'm not so keen on being arrested today. And since I know better than to show up anywhere in the States without having my exit plan ready to roll, you're going to call off your fucking pig friends and I'm going to get in my car—with my goddaughter—and you're not going to do a fuckin' thing about it. Understand?”

Damien snorted. “It's not going to happen. You're outgunned and surrounded. Surrender now and let's end this peacefully. I'd think you'd rather live another day than die here in the dirt, Lightfoot.”

The man wasn't even fazed by Damien's threat, and his lack of fear caused the hairs to prickle on the back of Damien's neck. Lightfoot was an escape artist. A ruthless one. He dug into the pocket of his tattered jeans and Damien tensed, ready to pull the trigger if need be. He could do it. He could take Lightfoot out before anything happened to Tabitha . . . He
had
to.

“See this?” Lightfoot held up the palm-sized detonator switch for the inspection of all. No doubt every night-vision scope in the vicinity was zeroed in on the piece of plastic. Damien's stomach bottomed out and adrenaline coursed hot and thick through his veins. Lightfoot smirked at Damien's realization. “There's enough C-4 in the trunk of my car to incinerate everything in at least a mile radius. So unless you want to blow us all to hell, you'll let me get in my car with Tabby Cat and leave.”

“Bullshit.” No way could Lightfoot have had the time to rig the car up like that.

“Believe it, son. Seth,” Lightfoot barked. “Go on over and pop the trunk for the marshal, here.”

The chatter in his earpiece was so distracting that Damien had to pull it from his ear. Gates and his team were on high alert, not taking anything for granted. “Slowly, Seth.” If there were explosives in the trunk of Lightfoot's car, any minor disturbance could set them off. What kind of crazy son of a bitch drove around with a carful of fucking C-4?
Jesus
.

Lightfoot tossed Seth his keys, and even in the shadows cast on him by the headlights, Damien could see the worry and fear etched into the kid's face. Seth approached the beat-up Toyota Corolla like he was walking up to a grizzly bear. He slid the key into the lock slowly and popped the trunk, easing it open inch by inch.

“What do you see, Seth?”

“A shitload of weird-looking bricks. Like clay wrapped in plastic.” Seth's voice quavered. “A red blinking light, lots of wires and cords. It's all housed in a big black box.”

Fuck
. It sure as hell sounded legit. He popped his earpiece back in and said, “Did you get all of that, Gates?”

“Yeah.” Gates didn't sound any happier about the situation than Damien was. “We've got a DOD bomb squad from Gowen Field on alert. They'll deploy in fifteen minutes.”

“I'll blow us all to kingdom come before I let you fuckers take me!” Lightfoot shouted so everyone within earshot would hear him loud and clear. “So you're gonna let me walk out of here with what's mine, or I'll see you all in hell!”

The Boise Airport was only five minutes away. The task force had suspected for a while that Lightfoot—an accomplished pilot—had been flying in and out of the country in a private plane under an assumed name. But how he'd managed to get his hands on this much C-4 was a mystery. Had the crazy son of a bitch flown it in on his plane?

Every second that Lightfoot had his gun pointed on Tabitha felt like a lifetime, and Damien prayed that he'd have the strength to protect her. To keep her safe, get her out of this alive. He needed more time with her. More kisses, another word from her honeyed voice, just one touch more.

The bastard flashed Damien a superior smile that made him want to rip his lips right off his face. “Come on, sis. It's time to go.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Tabitha's eyes were glued to Damien. What had started out as a cut-and-dried plan had taken such a nosedive that she doubted he'd be able to pull them out of it. Beside her, Joey's body lay lifeless, his sightless eyes staring up at the night sky. A sob hitched in Tabitha's throat. She'd hated Joey for everything he'd done to her, but she never would have wished him dead.

“Come on, sis. It's time to go.”

She stared at Gerald, eyes wide. “My ankle is broken,” she said through the thickness in her throat. “How in the hell do you expect me to go anywhere?”

“Don't get lippy with me.” His tone promised a second broken ankle if she didn't watch out. “It's your own damned fault. You always were the weak one. Your brother knows how to play the game. You went against your family, sis. That's why you're in the mess you're in.”

Of course Gerald would see it that way. His self-appointed title as their godfather let Gerald think that he had some sort of claim on her and Seth. And likewise, he expected her to play by the rules of the life they'd grown up in. Number one: you never go against your family. Number two: you never involve the authorities. Ever. Number three: you are always,
always
loyal to the family, no matter what they do.

“You're not my family,” Tabitha said through clenched teeth. “Go to hell.”

With his gun still aimed at Damien, Gerald reached down and shoved the detonator in her hand. He forced her thumb down on a red button and she felt something click. Oh God, no! Had he just engaged the detonator? He hauled Tabitha up by her hair, the sounds of strands releasing from her scalp sickening her as she screamed from the pain of trying to stand on both feet. She took the weight off her broken ankle, supporting herself solely on her right foot. Tears streamed down her face and there was nothing she could do to stop the flow. Whether or not Gerald managed to escape this situation, Tabitha knew that she was going to die.

“If she takes her finger off that button,” Gerald said to Damien, “we're all fucked.”

Tabitha's chest fluttered with her racing heart. She couldn't do anything to slow the rush of air that hiccuped on each intake, the hyperventilation coaxing stars in her vision. “Damien,” she said through each desperate pant, “I . . . think . . . I'm going . . . to pass out.”

In which case, they were all
definitely
fucked.

Damien put his gun down and raised his hands in supplication to Gerald. He took one slow step forward, and then another.

“That's close enough, Marshal,” Gerald drawled.

“Tabitha, look at me.”

He fiddled with something in his ear and leaned down, forcing her to meet his eyes. He blurred in and out of focus and Tabitha swayed as she tried to steady herself on her good foot. Pain radiated from her ankle, so intense that it made her nauseous. She couldn't do this. She wasn't strong enough. At least if they all died in a fiery explosion it would be quick and painless. Right?

“Tabitha. Look at me.”

She choked back a sob as she took in every detail of Damien's face. If she had known tonight was going to end this way, she never would have asked him to leave her apartment. She would have begged him to stay. Pleaded with him to let Gerald go. She would have told him how she felt about him. That she'd fallen so hard there was no climbing back from it. That he had invaded every pore of her skin, every particle that made up her being. In just a few short weeks, she'd fallen in love with him. And it didn't matter if he was Damien or Parker, or anyone else. She wanted him. Needed him. There would never, ever be another man for her.

Damien was it.

And now, it was too late to tell him any of it.

“I don't think I can do this, Damien.” Understatement of the century. Her thumb was beginning to cramp from the force she exerted to keep the button on the detonator pressed down. She was so tired. Exhausted. She just wanted to let it go and fall to the ground.

“Yes, you can.” His tone was firm but so reassuring. “You're strong, Tabitha. Just hang on. I'm going to get you out of this, I promise.”

“I told you, you shouldn't make promises that you can't keep.” She gave him a sad smile. From the moment she met him, she'd known that he wasn't like anyone she'd ever met. Even when he knew they were all screwed, he was trying to save the day.

“I'm sure as
hell
going to keep this one,” he assured her. “Don't you dare give up. Do you understand me?”

She nodded, unable to respond through the lump swelling in her throat. He'd never give up on her, would he? Tabitha knew that Damien would fight for her. Would do anything in his power to keep her safe. Emotion swelled in her chest, and the frantic rush of air slowed in her lungs until she no longer felt light-headed. So many people had disappointed her, taken advantage of her, neglected and abused her. But Damien never would. He loved her. She felt that love in every determined word he spoke. He'd never let her down.

And she wasn't going to let him down, either.

“Get your ass in the car, Tabitha.” Gerald tugged at her elbow, his gun still pointed at Damien's face. “Now.”

A calm settled over Tabitha with Gerald's words. She wrapped her free hand around her fist, adding additional pressure to the detonator and swung out with her joined fists, catching Gerald in the gut. He doubled over with a
whoof!
and his free hand swung out in a backhand that caught Tabitha high on her cheek. She spun away, her good leg unable to retain her balance. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as she clutched her fists tight to her chest, protecting the detonator button at all costs. Damien dropped to the ground and rolled, avoiding a wild shot from Gerald's gun that stirred up a cloud of dust. He grabbed his discarded weapon and fired three successive shots. She didn't know if any of them had hit, but Gerald flew backward just the same. Time sped up as an army of law enforcement wearing head-to-toe black converged on the scene. Tabitha squeezed her eyes tightly shut and waited for the inevitable explosion. She peeked through one lid at her fists, still clutching the detonator. The switch still pressed firmly down.

“Tabitha!” Seth scrambled through the chaos, going to his knees at her side. “Are you okay?” She'd never heard Seth sound so scared. It broke her heart, but she couldn't help but hope that if they made it out of this alive, tonight would put Seth on the right path once and for all.

Because even though Gerald was down, they were still far from safe.

“Give her some room, Seth.” Damien tugged at Seth's arm, pulling him upright. “The bomb squad is on their way, but I need to get you out of here, do you understand?”

“Bullshit.” Seth disengaged from Damien's grasp. “I'm staying with her.”

“Seth, no.” Tabitha wanted to sit up, but every inch of her body ached and she worried that any shift might loosen her grip on the detonator. “You need to get out of here. If you think I went through all of this tonight just so you could get your ass blown up, you've got another think coming.”

“And if you think I'm just going to abandon you, you're out of your fucking mind!”

“She needs a clear head,” Damien chimed in. “She's not going to be able to focus if you're in danger, Seth. Let Deputy Gates get you out of here. I promise, I'll keep you posted. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to let anything happen to her.”

“Come on, Seth.” Deputy Gates came up behind Damien. “Let us take care of this. Do your sister a favor and give her one less thing to worry about, all right?”

Seth turned to face Damien and stepped up until they were almost nose to nose. “I'm holding you to every single promise you've made to her. Don't you dare let her down.”

“I won't. I swear.”

Tabitha waited until Deputy Gates led Seth away. She watched the darkness swallow them as they left the perimeter of light offered by the headlights of the cars. Damien squatted down beside her and brushed his fingers through her hair, pulling the strands back from her forehead. “I'm going to help you sit up, okay?”

“Damien.” She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I don't want to die.”

 

 

He should have killed Lightfoot. Put a bullet straight into the bastard's brain instead of his shoulder. Death would have been an easy out, though. No matter how badly he wanted Lightfoot to pay for what he'd done to Tabitha, Damien was going to have to settle for letting him rot in prison. Living out the rest of his days in a super max wasn't exactly a cakewalk but still, Damien wanted him to
suffer
. To feel every injury he'd inflicted on Tabitha, experience every ounce of fear a thousandfold.

“You're not going to die, honey. I'm not going to let that happen.”

Tabitha's humorless laughter did little to lighten the mood. “You might be used to getting your way, but there's a first time for everything. I want you to leave, too, Damien. Get out of here before something bad happens.”

“I already told you, I'm not going
anywhere
. Now hang on to that detonator. I'm going to lift you up.”

As though she were made of bits of glass held together by cobwebs, Damien eased his arms around her and lifted Tabitha into his embrace. Her hands shook as she held the detonator button down with both thumbs, and he pulled her close to his chest, steadying the tremor that passed through her, into him.

“Where are we going?” She tucked her head into his shoulder, and it was one of the best feelings in the world. “I was thinking Cabo might be nice right about now.”

Damien chuckled. “That might be a little too far at the moment, but once this is over, I'll take you wherever you want to go.”

In the distance, flashing lights sped down the freeway toward the Federal Way exit, a procession of ambulances, additional law enforcement, and several fire trucks. Boise PD was in the process of evacuating everyone within a five-mile radius, and additional support was in place to create roadblocks and divert traffic.

“Honestly, if we make it out of this alive, I'd be pretty damned happy with a trip to the ER.”

Damien's gut burned with churning acid. The Marshals Service had better pray he never wound up in a room with Lightfoot. “Where do you hurt?”

Tabitha snorted. “I think the more appropriate question would be, where don't I hurt? We've gone through the wringer this week, haven't we?”

In the harsh glare of the multiple sets of headlights arriving on scene, Damien could see Tabitha's bruised and swollen face more clearly. Her jaw was bluing and her lip was split and caked with dried blood. Her left cheek didn't look much better, swollen and purple and darkening under her eye. And that was just the injuries he could readily see. “How's your ankle holding up?”

“Oh, it's broken,” Tabitha replied matter-of-factly. “I just hope it's not shattered. A clean break will be easy to fix. I don't really want surgery.”

“Deputy Evans,” a voice said in his earpiece. “The bomb squad is here and they've requested that you take Miss Martin to the command center they've set up at the north quadrant of the scene.”

“Copy.”

“What?” Tabitha searched his face, her brow furrowed.

“The bomb squad is here.” He changed course and headed toward the north side of the property. “They want you at their command center.”

“How do you know?”

“Earpiece.”

“Oh.”

Silence settled over them and it made Damien twitchy. He needed the sound of her voice to reassure him, to keep the fear he'd stuffed to the soles of his feet from surging up to overtake him.

“Damien, stop for a second.”

He looked down at her and slowed his pace. “It's going to be okay, Tabitha. These guys know what they're doing.”

“It's not that. I need to say something and I don't want to say it in front of an audience.”

Damien stopped dead in his tracks. He braced her against him with one arm and with the other he disconnected the wireless mic connecting him to the rest of the personnel on scene. His breath stalled and he swore his heart froze mid-beat. “I'm listening.”

“I . . .” Tabitha's tongue flicked out at her swollen lip and she cringed. “Earlier today . . . I didn't want you to leave. I thought that—”

Damien put his lips to hers, careful to make the contact featherlight. He kissed her jaw, her bruised cheek. “That's not important right now,” he said against her ear. “Let's get you out of this mess first. We'll talk about everything else later. Okay?”

Her eyes drifted shut and she let out a slow breath. “Okay.”

As they approached the incident command post, a flurry of activity swarmed around them. Damien was reluctant to let Tabitha go, but they transferred her to a gurney with paramedics on scene ready to take care of her as soon as the bomb in Lightfoot's car was disabled. Everyone was outfitted in thick protective gear: Kevlar, thick padded vests lined with space-age shit meant to protect their bodies from damage in the event of an impact. Damien was given a vest that he slipped into, and another was draped over Tabitha's shoulders.

“Parker, I need a minute.”

He all but ignored the chief deputy's request as he lost sight of Tabitha in a sea of explosives experts. She was scared, exhausted, stressed . . . “Later, Chief.” She needed him.

“Evans, now.”

Callihan's tone brooked no argument, and unless Damien wanted to be brought up on review for insubordination or some shit, blowing a superior off wasn't a good idea. “Yeah. Sorry. What's up?”