Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1 (38 page)

He grabbed her head and slammed it down onto
the floor.

**

John and Ben had seen the plane land at the
farm, so they circled around toward a neighboring piece of land.
Ben gripped the rudder. “Hold on!”

The plane lowered. It juddered along the
dirt, tearing the underside of the Cessna apart, but they made it
down in one piece. Nate yelled from the back, while John just sat
sucking in breaths. He looked at Ben. The guy was smiling.

John would’ve thought they’d all perished in
a ball of flames, given the way Nate was carrying on about how
terrible it was.

John unbuckled and got up, shooting his
brother a look. “I’ll spot you the security deposit.”

Ben actually laughed as he and John trotted
down the steps onto the rutted ground of furrowed dirt. Nate
hobbled after them as they sprinted to the farm they’d seen from
the air. It was at least a mile of rough terrain. And the longer it
took the longer Andra was in danger.

The satellite phone rang.

Ben hissed. “Turn that thing off.”

“It’s Grant.” John reached the edge of the
field, crouched and answered it. “What’s up?”

“We found out who took Thane’s offer of money
for Andra. Took some digging, but it’s the same guys who blew up
Alphonz outside the courthouse in Kansas. They’re not after Andra
so Thane can get revenge. They’re using Thane’s money to get to
you.”

John froze. “Alphonz’s boss has Andra?”

“Give the phone to Ben.”

John didn’t have words. He lowered the phone
and Ben snatched it out of his hand without him having to say
anything.

“Yeah?” Ben’s gaze moved to John and his eyes
went dark. “For sure.”

He hung up.

“Grant’s suggestion is I knock you out and
leave you here, then go get your girl on my own.”

John straightened and backed away. Ben would
totally do that. The fact Grant had been the one to suggest it cut
through him with a depth of pain he’d rarely received from family.
Nate stood to the side, same distance from both of them, cautious
enough not to visibly take sides. For once, his usual smile was
absent.

Ben’s jaw worked back and forth. “I’m not
going to. All I want to know is, if it comes down to you or Andra
will you give up your life to save hers?”

“Of course.”

Ben’s expression didn’t change, remaining a
steady focus that gave no indication he was in a high-stress
situation. “You need to understand I’m not going to let that
happen.”

“I won’t let her die, and I won’t let them
take her.”

“And I’m done arguing. I’m not going to let
you die.” Ben turned and strode away.

John followed, trotting after his brother’s
long strides. They climbed a wire fence and jumped down onto a dirt
road. Why did he suddenly feel like a little kid? What made Ben
more trained at this than him?

“You do know I’m a marshal, right? You might
have the super-secret job but it doesn’t give you superiority.”

Ben kept walking. “The simple fact this is
personal for you means I take the lead.”

“Doesn’t work for me, Ben. My town, my
charge.”

“So this has nothing to do with your personal
feelings?”

“My personal feelings are moot if they kill
her.” John took the lead. “Until I know for sure that didn’t
happen, I’m holding them in reserve.”

“Gees, you’re such a romantic.”

“Like you would know anything about being
romantic.”

A flash of something which looked a lot like
pain crossed Ben’s face.

But there wasn’t time. John put out his arm
to stop Nate’s forward motion.

Ben stopped too. “I see it.”

They crouched beside a gate, a turn-off
leading to a farmhouse. In front of the barn was a dirty white
Lexus, two rough-looking Hispanic men with automatic weapons who
were guarding the door and a bigger guy in a suit. Sticking out
from behind the barn was the tail of a small silver plane.

John squinted under the bill of his ball cap.
“How do we approach?”

Ben opened his mouth to reply. A loud voice
boomed across the expanse between the road and the farmhouse. “U.S.
Marshal John Mason!” It was low in tone and had a Spanish lilt
which sounded nothing like Andra’s. “I know you’re out there. I’ve
got your girl and if you want her back then we make a trade.”

Ben snorted.

“You for her!”

“Of course.” Ben shook his head. “Because it
takes too much effort not to be completely cliché.”

John moved. “I’m going in.”

Ben held him back. “Give me the jacket. We
look enough alike I can stall him while you get to the barn. Nate,
you disable their plane while John gets Andra.”

Either way it meant John would get to Andra
first. “Okay.”

Nate nodded.

Ben circled the open gate and started walking
down the dirt lane to the farmhouse. His stride made him look like
he was going for a leisurely stroll. Did anything faze him?

John stayed low, climbed between the fence
rails and army-crawled down the field to the plane.

He was alongside the front of the barn when
he heard, “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the man of the hour. Nice
of you to join us.”

Nate gave him a quick nod and continued,
giving the barn a wide arc.

Ben planted his boots, still a distance away
from Alphonz’s boss. “Where is she?”

“Oh, you’ll get your little killer. All in
good time.”

“You think I give a crap about her?” Ben
shrugged. “The woman’s a murder suspect. I’ll be in more trouble if
she goes AWOL. I gotta make my quota of arrests, you know?”

John crawled forward, praying the two
sentries out front didn’t see him approaching. A back way into the
barn would be nice.

The suited man laughed. “Figures cops are
more about the numbers than letting a businessman make some money.
No respect for the little guy, you know?”

“So let her go. She can wait for the FBI. You
and I will be long gone.”

“A man of action. I like it.” The suit
sniffed. “Too bad your girl is not of this earth anymore.”

John’s hand slipped and his face smashed the
dirt.

“Say again?”

The suit’s eyes had narrowed. “Your girl is
dead.” He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Ben. “Why would we
take off when I can kill you right here?”

He fired.

John watched his brother fall, thrown down by
the force of the bullet which slammed into him, point-blank in the
torso. Ben hit the dirt and dust poofed up around his body. John
tried to suck in a breath around the lump in his throat.

Both of them, dead.

John squeezed the grip on his gun and stood.
He fired four shots before they reacted, dropping the two guards at
the barn door before they could return fire. One of the guards must
have pulled his trigger because bullets spurted out.

John crouched and ran, firing in Alphonz’s
boss’s direction. The man fired back. Round after round chased John
as he raced for his brother’s prone body.

Fire cut through his calf.

John stumbled and hit the deck, sucking in a
breath of dust and dirt. He coughed and rolled over, squinting
against the bright blue sky. His hat had come off.

Footsteps on dirt closed in on his position.
“Not so fast, Mr. Mason. You and I have some unfinished
business.”

His face came into view, shadowed by the
sunlight so John couldn’t see his features clear enough to make out
his intentions.

“The resemblance is significant but you can’t
have thought sending your brother to fool me would work.” He
glanced a second to where Ben lay. “Not the director of the
marshals, surely. No. Another brother.”

John gritted his teeth.

“You’ve cost me a great deal of money,
deceived my men and disrupted my business.” He moved the gun until
it was all John could see. The end. “I should put a bullet in you
right here and right now. But I hardly feel it would be satisfying.
Besides, you probably want to know the name of the man who is going
to kill you.”

John took a breath and coughed, his lungs
full of Idaho dirt. “You think I care?” He twisted to look, but
couldn’t see where Ben lay. Was he really dead?

“You’re still going to walk to the plane.
There are many who want a piece of the marshal who brought low
Carmen Santerra.”

The name was familiar, the boss of an
organization with its fingers in some seriously deep dishes. A
South American mobster.

John lifted his chin. “How’d you know I’d be
here?”

The man smiled. “A man with a high-profile
family is easy enough to keep tabs on. Especially when he calls his
brother the quarterback to ask about renting a plane.”

Great. John didn’t think he could walk fast.
If the guy kept talking long enough the cavalry would arrive. Air
Force. FBI. Other U.S. Marshals. Probably local police and
sheriff’s department, too.

He flicked the gun. “So get up.”

John groaned like he was in serious pain. The
reality was adrenaline had his entire body humming. The pain in his
leg was little more than an irritation, but he could feel the
sticky wetness on the back of his jeans. He could play this up a
little, act hurt and distraught. “Give me a second.” He put his
hand to his head and willed tears to form in his eyes. It didn’t
take much. Ben still hadn’t got up.

John thought back on Christmases. On
Thanksgiving afternoons where they’d worked off the turkey dinner
with full contact football. No pads, no bandages. Nights when
they’d stayed up late to play pranks on Grant’s girls, laughing so
hard tears slid down their faces.

Sure enough, moisture gathered and ran from
his eyes to the hair above his ears. He rolled over, using a
push-up to lift himself so he could get his good knee under
him.

“Move it. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”

John looked at Ben, curled on his side facing
the other way. John stared at the back of his brother’s jacket. Was
he bleeding out? He couldn’t see any movement which could be
breathing.

The suited guy took a step back, likely
getting out of range of John if he decided to attack. As if that
was going to work.

John stood, holding his injured leg bent as
if he was planning to hobble to the plane.

The guy’s eyes narrowed and he flicked the
gun again. “Start walking.”

John bent his good knee, ready to pounce.
He’d have to push off on his injured leg. This was going to hurt.
He glanced once more at Ben and the suit guy did the same. John
launched at him, by-passing the gun to slam into the gunman. He
wrapped his arms around the man’s girth and used the momentum of
his tackle to throw him down on his back. The gun was tossed aside.
The man’s legs came up and John was flipped, tossed over to land on
his back again.

That went well.

He jumped up and spun around in time to
receive a punch to his cheek. John whipped his head straight and
followed through with his own hit. They traded blows. The suit man
battered John until he had no breath, but John still fought back.
Come on, Grant.
Where was their backup?

His assailant shifted. John moved with him.
The sun hit his eyes and he missed another blow. His whole body
ached and his leg stung, but the brunt of it was on his face. They
wrestled. John glanced around for the gun, saw the suited man move
toward it and jumped. He wrapped his arms around the man’s legs and
they both hit the ground. The suited man scrambled forward, kicked
John and snapped up the gun. His torso twisted and he swung the gun
around. Arms straight, lying on his back, he pointed the gun in
John’s face.

Again.

His finger flexed. John flinched, squeezing
his eyes shut.

Click.

John slammed his palm into the suited man’s
face hard enough his nose crunched. This man wasn’t going to get
him on a plane. John wasn’t going to let the guy get revenge just
because he did the job Grant asked him to do. That was ancient
history now. His life was in Sanctuary, even if Andra wasn’t going
to be there—even if he had to live without her.

John flipped them so he was on top and
slammed both palms into the guy’s ears. Then he lifted the guy’s
head, thumping it against the ground. Andra was dead because John
had decided letting her go was the best course of action. Ben could
be dead, or dying, because John hadn’t been able to do this by
himself. He had to keep something from happening to Nate, too. And
John had to stay alive, because Pat needed his father.

His thoughts whirled like a tornado, out of
control, until they dissipated into nothing but the sensation of
the suited man’s neck in his hands. Squeezing the payback out of
him.

For Andra. For Ben. For all of them.

For all the times John failed.

For not being there for Pat when he should’ve
been.

**

First, she heard shuffling. Then further
away, gunshots. Drifting in and out, Andra tried to take account.
Was she still in one piece? The fire in her chest indicated
otherwise. This was not a good time to puncture a lung with one of
her cracked ribs. That was not something she needed.

Shallow breaths. Low and slow, Andra took in
enough air to build up a store, so when she opened her eyes she
could see. The room had stopped spinning but her head was hammering
like a carpenter at work. The SUV was still by the door and the
guards were gone. Thane was dead.

Where was—

Across the far side of the barn, Palmer bent
over the tablet. Blood stained the side of his shirt, below the
bottom edge of where the wet outlined his vest. A bullet-proof
vest. They didn’t know that when the guy shot him.

What was he doing?

The transfer—the money. He was probably
trying to get it all for himself. It was what he came for after
all; to sell Andra to the one person with the most desire of anyone
in the world to see her dead. But Thane was the one who was dead
now.