Terror Stash (8 page)

He found he was grinning back and obligingly rubbed the cat’s chest between the bent paws. He felt old scars under his fingers.

“Put that thing down, will you?” Barbs demanded in her tobacco-abused husk. “It’s probably riddled with fleas and kangaroo ticks, just to start. It’s the meanest tomcat I ever met. For god’s sake, throw it out, will you?”

He looked up at her. “I don’t think so,” he said softly.

She visibly swallowed and shrank back. Then she turned and busied herself with furiously cutting seals on spirit bottles, her back to him.

Caden grinned at the cat again. “So, you’re the meanest one around, huh, mate?” It was the first time he’d ever used the casual Australian endearment. “That makes us a pair, you and me. Scars and all.”

The cat licked his knuckles. He went on purring as his eyes slowly closed.

Caden finished his drink with his left hand resting on the cat’s belly, enjoying a small glow of contentment before he had to turn to bloody business.

* * * * *

It took barely two minutes for Montana to realize that she and Rabbit were at cross-purposes. None of his responses made any sense. Mystified, she held up her hand. “Let’s start again. The reason I was trying to find you, the only reason I sought you out, is because I have information that says that you know, or possibly even work for, a person called Nicollo.”

His jaw sagged almost comically. “
Nicollo?
That’s
what you want?”

“Do you know who Nicollo is?” She held her breath.

“Sure, I know her.”

A champagne fizz of adrenaline exploded in her. She had carefully avoided a gender, yet Rabbit referred to Nicollo as ‘she.’ “You
do
know her.” It was almost unbelievable that a slimeball like Rabbit was her key to finding Nicollo after all these years.

“Well, well, well. Stewart Connie. The rabbit comes back to its hole.” The voice was deep and seemed to rumble.

Montana jumped at the sound and looked up. The big man, Rawn, had managed to step up alongside her without her even noticing. She had been too distracted by Rabbit’s revelation. Now her pulse spiked hard again. Harder. This close, the man’s physical presence was overwhelming. He was staring at Rabbit, his powerful arms hanging loosely at his sides.

Rabbit picked up his beer bottle, took a long drink from it, then wiped his lips. “Rawn,” he offered.

Irritation prickled through Montana. Not only was her inexplicable reaction to Rawn bothering her, but it was clear that his arrival had completely shifted the topic of conversation. She had been so close, damn it!

Montana stood up awkwardly, because the attached bench wouldn’t let her straighten out her legs properly. “Listen,” she told Rawn, straddling the bench. “You’re interrupting. I was in the middle of business here.”

He glanced at her. This time the impact was solid. His eyes were black-on-black. The irises were the same black as the pupil, making them dark windows on whatever soul he possessed, and were framed by thick black lashes. She could almost
feel
the touch of his direct, unflinching gaze against her flesh.

He settled his gaze back upon Rabbit. “Oh, Stew and I have unfinished business that goes back a long way further than yours. He’s definitely at the top of my list of priorities.”

Montana felt the bite of rare temper, exacerbated by the currents surging through her body she was helpless to control. “Wait your turn.”

“You need a fix so bad you’d stoop to dealing with this turd?” He gave a dry smile. “You don’t look the type.”

“She ain’t, you fuckin’ gorilla.” Rabbit pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “Neither of you are offering business I wanna accept, so screw both of you.”

“Wait—” Montana began, alarmed.

“Wrong choice, Connie.” Rawn’s low, deep voice overrode her completely.

“Fuck you!” Rabbit screamed back and the entire bar came to a sudden, throbbing silence, focused on Rabbit and Rawn...and Montana.

She could feel her overstressed heart thudding hard. Things were getting out of control here. Events were moving into territory that was unmapped, unmarked and dangerous. She was a diplomat, trained to advocate. Yet she couldn’t think of a single thing she might do. None of her training or experience gave her the tools to defuse two men who radiated murderous intent.

Then Rawn spoke and her opportunity had passed. “You
do
want to rethink that, don’t you, Connie?” Damned if he didn’t seem amused.

Rabbit was visibly shaking as he held up his car keys, waving them in front of Rawn. “You think I’m so fucking stupid, Rawn? You think I didn’t know you were in town? You’re the one that’s back where he started, but not me, you ignorant moron.” Spittle flew from the corners of his mouth and his face was red. “You think I’m just going to turn up here without preparations?” He pressed the button on what Montana had thought was a remote control for his car and the triumph in his face sent alarm slamming through her.

She felt a sudden claustrophobia. It was too crowded in here. Too hot. Her right leg was jammed between the table and the bench. She tried to pull it free and got her foot up onto the bench when Rabbit spoke again. “You think you’re so fucking tough, big guy?” He was crowing his triumph now, his eyes almost blazing with joy.

The entire population of the bar had surrounded them, backed up to give them room. There was twenty feet of space in the circle around them and into that no-man’s land stepped five men. They were swarthy, three of them with thick beards, the other two with heavy regrowth on their faces.

They all had knives.

All the spit in Montana’s mouth dried up.

It looked like Rawn hadn’t even noticed their appearance. He continued to stare at Rabbit, his face expressionless. “Bad choice, Stewart,” he said softly.

Rabbit laughed almost hysterically. “You put me in hospital for a fucking month and I left there in a
wheelchair
. Well, now you get yours. Only you ain’t going to the hospital, asshole. You’re going to the morgue, with my compliments.”

“Very bad choice indeed,” Rawn concluded.

Rabbit held his right hand up, the fingers poised to click. Then he clicked.

It was only much later that Montana was able to reconstruct all of what happened next in the right order. Some of the gaps she had to fill from others’ accounts.

As soon as Rabbit clicked his fingers and almost before he’d finished, Rawn turned to her, rammed a hand between her upper thighs and landed the other on her shoulder, big and heavy. “Push off with your foot,” he said, low but clear. His eyes really were obsidian black.

Completely bewildered, she pushed off with the foot that was on the bench. She felt Rawn lift her via the grip on her crotch and shoulder. The speed of the lift told her of the incredible power behind it. She was tossed over his shoulder, over the head of one of the five men surrounding them, to fall into the willing, waiting arms of a dozen people in the crowd.

Tossed high. Into waiting hands.

She had been here before. The moment zinged back into her mind, alive and glowing with immediacy, like it was happening all over again.

“You live, Montana. Live!”
Vinnie’s voice, sharp, commanding.

She reached back for him just as the hands grabbed her, pulled her over the fence.
“Daddy!”

Montana was not a lightweight. She was five foot eight and had spent her adult life in athletic pursuits. She braced herself in mid-air, for despite the dozen waiting hands, she landed hard in the dirt and went sprawling, bringing bodies down with her.

But she was out of danger and no one was badly hurt. Not yet.

She scrambled to her feet, spinning around. The circle that had surrounded them had broken up. People were scattering and leaving. Not many of them were stupid enough to hang around to see how a knife fight came out. The stakes, even for a bystander, were too high.

Yet there were two or three people crowded into each of the corners, too fascinated to let good sense rule.

She could see the manager behind the bar, speaking into the phone. He would be calling the cops.

Montana realized she couldn’t bring herself to leave, either.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
. Professionally, she couldn’t afford to be involved in a situation like this. She railed at herself, swore at herself, pummeled her conscience to try and make herself leave, but her feet stayed still.

In her mind, again, she heard Vinnie’s voice as she was tossed through the air.
Live, Montana
!

Rawn had moved away from the table, bringing the circle of men with him like a planet moves its satellites. Rabbit had bolted and left his minions to finish Rawn off.

It was already down to four men. While Montana had been flying through the air and picking herself up, Rawn had already dealt with the first one, who lay very still beneath the table she had been sitting at.

There was a very fine slash across Rawn’s forearm, which oozed pearls of blood. Otherwise, he was untouched.

“The cops are on their way!” the manager called out, leaning over the bar. If he thought the warning would be enough to end the fight and clear his bar, he was wrong. The four men around Rawn didn’t give any reaction at all. They might have been deaf.

Rawn just smiled a little. “Oh, I’ll be finished long before then.” He glanced at the manager. “I’ll have a beer to go, though—would you mind knocking the cap off a stubby for me?”

The man furthest from the bar took advantage of Rawn’s momentary inattention. He surged forward, knife swinging in a long pendulum arc. He was going to drive the point up into Rawn’s guts, but when he reached Rawn, almost magically the man melted away and around him, in a graceful spin that turned his back to the knife-wielder.

Rawn gripped his own wrist with his left hand and drove his right elbow hard into the man’s exposed solar plexus. Already falling forward, the man arched in a tight bow, throwing his head back. Rawn swung the same elbow around in a circle so fast Montana could hear the wind whistling from its speed. He pistoned the elbow down into the man’s throat, his left hand still clenched around his fist for extra power.

The man slammed into the ground, his strings cut. He clutched at his throat, making gurgling and bubbling sounds, his heels pummeling the sand in pain and panic.

Rawn’s call to the manager for a drink had been a feint, designed to draw the men into his reach. He’d been ready for them to charge.

Rawn took a stride backwards, slid the toe of his boot under the gleaming knife lying in the dirt and flicked it up into the air. He slapped his hand down on the hilt and spun with the knife gripped in his fist to meet the two who had leapt at his back while he was picking it up. Their knives were up high and they fell upon Rawn with ululating cries.

Instead of backing away from their leap, Rawn dropped to one knee. It was totally unexpected and their momentum sent them past him, unable to adjust in mid-rush. Rawn’s hand whipped around in a flat circle, backwards, to thrust the knife deep into the side of the man on his right. The force of his thrust turned Rawn around and the torque brought him to his feet again.

He was moving so fast that by the time he’d pulled the knife from the first, the second man had barely brought himself to a stop after his abortive leap. As he turned to rush back at Rawn, Rawn had already taken a big stride forward and was right
there
. The man literally ran onto the knife in Rawn’s hands, his eyes opening wide in almost comedic shock.

Rawn pushed at the man’s shoulder and he fell like a tree. Montana could feel the vibrations from his fall through her feet.

Rawn turned to face the last of the five men, who was closest to the bar. His knife was red with blood.

So far, only five seconds had passed since Rawn had ordered his beer to go. No one except Rawn and the men with the knives had moved.

The fifth man looked uncertain. He was glancing around the bar. Looking for Rabbit? If Rabbit had hired them, then Montana didn’t blame him for his doubt. Five against one—they would have been anticipating easy money, not this rout.

The fifth man called out to one of the groups huddled in the corner, a group of three men. Montana translated it even as her stunned mind identified the Arabic.
We weren’t told he was a fighter! Command me! Tell me what I must do now!

Two of the men in the corner looked at each other, clearly puzzled. The third remained quite still, quite silent. He was another swarthy man, but clean-shaven. He showed no emotion whatsoever.

Montana knew him. Oh, she had never met him before, but she knew his face. It was familiar to her and later she would track that familiarity down to its source.

Rawn beckoned the fifth man to him, but the man curled up his lip and spat on the ground instead.

So Rawn threw the bloodied knife away, spread his hands to show he was unarmed and beckoned again. The man smiled. Much better terms, apparently. He started to circle Rawn and Montana heard the faint sound of approaching sirens. The cops, as promised. They would arrest all the fighters, including Rawn, who was the victim here.

“Rawn,” she said sharply, in warning, before she even realized she was about to speak.

He glanced at her and the fifth man took the opening and leapt at him.

Rawn took a casual step to the side as the man rushed past him. It almost looked rehearsed. He spun on one heel, his arm snaking around the man’s neck, the other pushing up against his ear. He took a deep breath and flexed his arms in a sharp, hard movement. There was a muffled, moist crunch. Rawn let him go and the man slid tiredly down to the soil.

“Thanks,” Rawn told her. Montana realized that he had glanced at her for the same reason he’d asked the manager for a beer—to bring the man closer.

She looked around for their leader, the man she knew. He’d disappeared.

She hurried to Rawn, troubled. “Get the hell out of here. You’ve killed five men. They’re not Australians, but—”

“They’re from the Middle East,” he said, peeling off his tee-shirt and dabbing it at the knife wound on his forearm. “That was Arabic he spoke.”