Love Inspired Suspense October 2015 #1 (47 page)

When she recovered from her shock, she ran to the window and pushed back a curtain.

Oh no! Oh, dear Lord, please help us!

Angelina raced into the kitchen. “Wait!”

Bear was just sitting down at the monitor, stopped in midmotion and looked back at her.

Dylan paused in the open doorway to the backyard, a deep burrowed frown on his forehead as he stared at her. “Angelina?”

“The house.” She cupped the palm of her right hand with her left and looked with surprise at the blisters already forming on it. Fear pummeled at her heart and threatened to steal her voice but she wouldn't let fear win. “It's on fire!”

ELEVEN

B
ear sprang into action. He grabbed the fire extinguisher from beneath the kitchen sink and turned in her direction. “Where?”

Dylan slammed the back door and rushed back into the kitchen.

“There.” With hands shaking so badly she could hardly aim straight, Angelina pointed at the monitor.

Both men swiveled their heads in the direction she'd pointed.

The three of them watched in stunned silence as flames engulfed the bushes in front of the house, climbed the vinyl siding, and rapidly spread along the sides of their building.

Dylan stared hard at the monitor.

“How could this be, Bear? No fire could start this easily and spread this fast. Unless...”

Multiple men dressed in black appeared on different camera angles on the screen. They doused the house with a liquid accelerant. Other shadows stepped out of the gloom on the other side of the house and within seconds fire surrounded the home. The sound of shattered glass and thuds hit the roof.

“They're hitting the roof with Molotov cocktails,” Bear yelled.

Their adversaries continued to douse liquid on the already burning material and the flames shot higher turning the house into a tinderbox.

Bear grabbed his cell phone and instantly dialed Selma.

“She won't hear you,” Angelina said, her voice filled with panic. “I threw her phone in the toilet.”

Bear looked at her incredulously. “You did what?” He took off at a run calling Selma's name on each step as he raced upstairs.

Angelina put her hands against her face. “I'm sorry, Dylan. I had no idea something like this was going to happen. I...”

Dylan's face resembled a carved granite mask. He grabbed her right wrist, clamped one end of a pair of handcuffs to it, and put the other end on his own left wrist.

“Dylan, I—”

“Don't!” His tone brooked no argument. “Don't even try to explain. We don't have time to listen to anything you have to say. I know exactly what you thought you were doing. If you have one ounce of conscience left in your body, you'll do as we tell you to do and help us get out of this mess.”

She nodded and lowered her arm to her side. She didn't mutter a word of protest or make a sound. The tight, heavy metal bit into her wrist as Dylan moved about the room with her in tow yet she offered no complaint.

He called 9-1-1 and reported the fire. He speed dialed his boss and called for backup. He ran to the bottom of the steps just in time to see Selma and Bear racing down.

The smoke that had been seeping beneath the front door rose toward the ceiling and a thick, gray fog formed throughout the house, making it almost impossible to see more than a couple of feet inside the rooms. Flames consumed the door panels and spread through the drywall in the foyer. The acrid smell of smoke scorched their throats and intense heat seared their faces. Fingers of fire crept across the carpeted floor and quickly ignited the draperies and furniture.

Bear drew his weapon, pointed it toward the ceiling and continued down to the bottom stair. Selma followed suit.

“Where are they?” Bear asked.

“Do you know how many?” Selma asked. “Did you recognize anybody?”

“I counted four,” Dylan shouted, also removing his weapon. “But there could be more. I didn't wait around to see.”

A Molotov cocktail flew through the front plateglass window and within seconds the entire living room was a wall of flame.

The four of them, choking and coughing as smoke filled their lungs, crouched low and ran to the kitchen. No sooner had they reached the kitchen when a second Molotov cocktail sailed through the window over the sink almost smashing into Bear.

He jumped backward. “We've got to get out of here.” He straightened to lead the way through the smoke to the back door when a bullet slammed into his right shoulder and he dropped his weapon. Scrambling to retrieve it, he pointed the gun with his left hand and aimed out the window in the direction of the gunfire and fired his weapon. A second bullet found a home in his abdomen.

A hail of bullets flew into the kitchen, thudding into cabinets, countertops and doors.

Bear and Selma dropped to a crouch behind the island counter. Selma drew her weapon and returned fire.

Dylan shoved Angelina to the floor next to them. “Stay down,” he warned.

Bullets continued to pierce cabinets and walls. The three marshals returned gunfire.

Dylan shielded her body with his own. He raised his head and glanced at the monitor.

“I see three, no four in the backyard, and they're wearing night goggles.”

Bear sprang up, fired, then crouched back down.

Selma lifted the edges of Bear's shirt. “Let me see.” She glanced at the wound. “You'll live but try not to get another one.”

“Thanks, but I wasn't trying to get the first one.”

Angelina's eyes burned and watered making it difficult for her to see a thing. The crackling sounds of fire roared in her ears. Her throat constricted from breathing in the thick black smoke that was quickly filling the kitchen. She coughed uncontrollably, each cough making it harder to draw in a good breath.

“We've got to get out of here,” Selma said. She tucked a dish towel inside Bear's shirt against his stomach wound to try and stanch the flow of blood.

“If they've got men in the back of the house, they'll have them in the front, too,” Dylan said. “We'll be spotted the second we try to open any of the doors.” He jumped up, yanked open the nearest drawer and grabbed some more dish towels. Keeping his head low so as not to get shot, he drenched them in the nearby sink and tossed two of them to his colleagues.

Crouching back down, he turned to Angelina. “Put this over your nose and mouth. It should help.” He aided her tying the towel behind her head and then tied his own.

“Take Angelina through the garage. Selma and I will try to draw their attention and give you a chance to get out of here.” Bear crawled toward the back door. “I'll take the back. Selma, grab a broom, open the front door with it. Keep out of the line of fire.”

“Bear, you won't stand a chance,” Dylan said. “They have night vision. You'll be a sitting duck.”

Bear gestured to the flames that were quickly engulfing the house. “We're already sitting ducks. We've got to split up. Now move.”

Gasping for air, despite the wet cloth over her mouth and nose, Angelina followed Dylan's lead. They made their way to the garage and slipped inside. The cinder block walls had kept the flames at bay. Both of them lowered their towels and pulled clean, fresh air into their lungs.

Dylan put his face close to hers. “Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“We have one chance to get out of here and it's a slim one.”

Angelina tried not to let her terror show on her face.

“We can't afford to wait for help to get here. We're going to have to try and shoot our way out of the garage and make a run for it.”

Angelina nodded. “Okay. Just tell me what to do.” The fact that her teeth didn't chatter when she spoke surprised her. She'd never been more scared in her life.

The sound of gunfire blasted from both the front and back of the house.

Bear and Selma had made their moves.

“Now!” Dylan yelled. He hit the garage door opener, moved to the front, and as soon as there was enough space, he squirmed beneath it pulling Angelina with him and firing his weapon with his free hand every inch of the way.

Bullets hit the graveled drive beside Angelina spraying her body with small bits of rock that imbedded in her flesh. The handcuff biting deeply into her skin left a raw and painful ring but she didn't dare complain. She'd brought it on herself. Besides, she knew it wasn't punishment. Dylan didn't want to lose her in the chaos.

Within seconds, Dylan was on his feet again, dragging her with him, firing into the darkness.

Sirens sounded in the distance and Angelina looked hopefully in that direction.

A bullet whizzed past her ear. She buried her head in the back of Dylan's arm and they crouched behind one of the cars parked in the driveway. Help was on its way.

But would it get there in time?

* * *

Bear appeared out of nowhere. Bleeding from his head, his chest and his gut, he sank down beside them. “I got two of them. Winged a third. The fourth one got away.”

“Selma?”

“I don't know. I saw her crumbled in a heap on the front step. I couldn't get to her to check her out.”

Dylan removed his jacket, rolled it in a ball and shoved it on top of the soaked-through dish towel inside Bear's shirt. He applied pressure trying to stanch the continued flow of blood. “Here, press down hard. Help will be here any minute.”

“Are they gone?” Angelina whispered. “I don't hear anybody shooting anymore.”

“Yeah, I think so. They heard the sirens and took off running.”

A bullet crashed into the metal beside Bear's head and he ducked. “Well, most of them did. I guess Malone decided to finish the job.”

“Malone?” Dylan sprang up, returned fire and ducked down again. “Are you sure it's Malone?”

“I'm sure.” Bear coughed, moaning in pain and grabbing his abdomen. “Got to see him up close and personal when he did this to me.”

More bullets flew their way.

“Keep down,” Dylan ordered, pushing Angelina down with one hand and returning fire with the other.

A sickening thud followed by the sound of a “humph” drew Angelina's immediate attention. She recognized that sound. She'd heard it on an Atlantic City beach when her best friend, Maria, had been fatally hit.

“Dylan!” She caught him as he collapsed against her lap. A pool of blood appeared on the left side of his shirt and Angelina experienced a painful déjà vu. Her mind flashed a similar sight of the stain on the front of Maria's dress moments before she'd collapsed dead at her feet.

“Dylan!” Tears streamed in an unstoppable flow down her face. “Don't you die!” She grabbed the shirt material in her hands. “Don't you dare die on me.”

Bear's body shook with one cough after another but he managed to crawl over to Dylan's side. He slapped his face. “Hey, whatcha doing? Open those eyes. We need a superhero right now and that ain't me.” He coughed again.

Dylan opened his eyes.

Angelina threw one arm around him and sobbed.

Dylan tried to sit up. “I'm okay.” He looked at the blood seeping through the left side of his chest. “Just a flesh wound.”

The sirens grew louder.

Angelina's body racked with sobs as she mentally urged the paramedics and firefighters closer.

Bear fumbled in his pocket, took out a set of keys and pressed them into Dylan's hands. “Get her out of here.”

“What?” Angelina looked at him in shock. “We're not going anywhere. Help is coming. Can't you hear the sirens?”

Bear clamped one of his beefy hands on Dylan's arm. “It was an inside job. We have a mole. No way Malone found our safe house on his own.”

Dylan acknowledged his statement with a nod.

“Get her out of here. It's your last chance, man. Take her to my fishing cabin. No one knows where it is but us. You'll be safe.”

Dylan's eyes widened at the sight of the blood drenching through the jacket he had pressed against Bear's abdomen. Pressure hadn't stopped the flow. “I'm not leaving you,” he said.

Bear squeezed Dylan's forearm hard. “Yes, you are. I'm not dying for nothing. Get out of Dodge. Keep her safe. Bring her to trial on Monday.”

“You're not going to die.” Unshed tears scorched the back of Dylan's eyes and seized his throat. “I refuse to let you die.”

Bear's attempt at a laugh ended in a spasm of coughs. When he could speak, he whispered, “You don't make those decisions. Now get out of here. Keep her safe.”

Dylan glanced at Angelina. She shook her head. “No, Dylan. You're injured, too. We have to wait for help.”

He ignored the pleading in her eyes. He ignored the excruciating pain in the vicinity of his heart when Bear's eyes rolled back and finally closed. Not knowing or caring whether the pain in his chest was his own bullet wound or the sight of the broken and bleeding body of his partner didn't matter. It was excruciating and momentarily paralyzing.

But he reminded himself he was a US federal marshal.

He needed his training to kick in. He needed his body to operate on autopilot and listen to his mind and not his heart. Bear was right. Nothing was going to stop him from protecting his witness. With a heavy heart and renewed determination, he yanked his left wrist, pulling Angelina to her feet.

“We're getting out of here. Now!”

Amid a hail of bullets, they ran.

TWELVE

M
oving with stealth and speed, Dylan opened the passenger door of his car and climbed inside. “Climb over me,” he ordered. “You've got to drive.”

He pulled her into the car. “Stay as low as you can. Don't be an easy target,” he ordered.

Angelina hurried to do as he requested, banging her head on the ceiling as she scrambled over Dylan and jarring her thigh on the shift stick between the seats.

No one fired at them. That was a good sign, right?

She settled into the driver's seat, took the keys from Dylan and shoved them into the ignition. A quick glance his way spiked an adrenaline rush that pulsed through her body. His eyes were closed. His head hung toward his left shoulder. His wet shirt clung to his chest and for a second she was afraid he was gone.

She stared in horror at his chest, not realizing she was holding her breath until she heard the slight rise and fall of his own.

The wail of sirens drawing closer made her hopes grow.

“Dylan.” She reached over and shook his arm. “They're only seconds away. We should wait. You need help.”

“Drive!”

“But...”

He reached over and turned the key. “For once in your life listen to me. Drive!”

Angelina threw the car in Reverse and hit the accelerator. Their tires squealed and threw up gravel as she pulled out into the street. Their neighbors, drawn by the fire and the commotion, huddled on the opposite curb.

“Where are we going?”

“Get out of this neighborhood as quickly as you can. Do you know how to get to the Garden State Parkway from here?”

Angelina nodded.

“Do it.”

Dylan turned away, watching out the passenger side-view mirror to see if anyone tried to follow them. He placed his drawn weapon on his leg.

The reflection of flashing red lights beamed off the rearview mirror. The first fire truck pulled up to the curb. A police car and second fire engine pulling in right behind it.

A knot the size of a boulder settled in Angelina's stomach.

Help was there—right there, right now—and she was driving away.

With a heavy sigh and heavier heart, she pushed her foot harder on the accelerator and sped in the opposite direction down the street.

About forty-five minutes later and heading north, Angelina spoke for the first time since they'd left the scene.

“Do you think we're being followed?”

“No. I haven't seen anything suspicious. I think Frankie took off when he heard the sirens.”

Sweat beaded on Dylan's forehead. Deep lines etched the sides of his mouth as he grimaced in pain. His breathing appeared shallow and labored.

“Dylan, you need help.”

“I'll be fine. We have to make it to the cabin. That's all I care about right now.”

“But you're hurt. And it doesn't look like the bleeding has stopped.”

He glared at her.

She felt like Daniel in the lion's den and held her breath waiting for an attack. Mustering what little courage she could find, she said, “What happens if you pass out? Or worse, die? What am I supposed to do then?”

“I'm not going to pass out.” His eyes held a determination she'd never seen before and an intense anger.

She shot him a puzzled look. “Why are you so angry with me?”

“What were you doing in that foyer with your coat and shoes on, Angelina? If the fire hadn't stopped you, what would you have done?”

She turned her head and looked back at the road.

“Dylan, you don't understand. It wasn't a betrayal. I was trying to save everyone from exactly what has happened tonight. But I was too late.”

“Drive,” he snapped at her. “Just drive.”

She drove a few more minutes in silence before daring to speak again. “Where are we going? You never told me where Bear's cabin is.”

A flash of pain crossed Dylan's expression at the mention of his partner's name. “It's up in Bear Mountain.”

“Bear Mountain? New York? We're crossing state lines?”

“You have a problem with that?”

She shook her head but her heart sank into her stomach. Once they left New Jersey jurisdiction her hopes of the local police finding them and helping them would be quickly dashed.

“I saw an ambulance pull up behind one of the fire trucks,” Angelina offered. “I'm sure Bear's in good hands.”

Dylan's expression darkened. He remained silent.

“I couldn't see Selma. Did you?”

More silence.

“Dylan, I really think we should go back. You need medical care. The police and the marshals will be able to protect us better than the two of us on the run alone, injured, almost unarmed—you can't possibly have much ammunition left in that gun.”

The hostile look Dylan shot her sent a shiver of goose bumps down her spine.

“Now you trust the police and the marshals?” He glared at her. “Do me a favor, okay? Stop talking. Stop trying to justify what you almost did tonight. I can't trust you, Angelina. And I have too much on my mind to worry about it now. Let's just get to safety.”

Dylan spent the next few minutes giving her directions to the cabin.

Angelina had a heavy heart. Dylan was hurt both physically and emotionally and she felt responsible for all of it. Knowing there was nothing else she could say, she turned her attention to the road. They still had a long drive ahead of them.

The remainder of the trip passed in a heavy, strained silence.

* * *

The bumping of the car along an uneven surface and the sound of tires hitting small scattered branches and gravel on the dirt road stirred Dylan from slumber. He raised his head and looked through the windshield.

“Where are we?” It took him a moment to get his bearings.

Angelina pulled the car to a stop. Headlights illuminated a small front porch with two straight back chairs attached to a small wooden cabin.

“Is this it?” Angelina looked over at him. “Am I at the right place?”

Dylan relaxed. “Yes. You followed my directions perfectly.” He looked her way. “I'm sorry I drifted off. Why didn't you wake me?”

“I wasn't sure if you were sleeping or unconscious and I was too afraid to find out.”

A wave of guilt washed over him. He'd been harder than necessary on her and, yet, she'd stayed on task and gotten them to safety. “You did a great job. Thanks.”

She nodded but remained silent.

Dawn claimed the horizon. They'd been driving for hours and were both exhausted.

“Are you sure no one followed us?” he asked.

“Not unless they've been driving for the past thirty miles without headlights. I haven't seen signs of anyone or anything ever since we left the main roads.”

“Good.”

Angelina jiggled her right hand. “Think maybe you could take this cuff off now?”

With a sober expression, Dylan shook his head. “I'm sorry. I just can't take the chance.”

Defiance flashed across her face and then was gone. “Right. I'm going to take off on foot and walk through the woods on a mountain with no food, no water and no weapon. Sure I am.”

She sighed heavily and looked intently into his eyes. “You're hurt. I am not going to take off and leave you when you're injured.”

Dylan wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. But she'd lied to him before and he couldn't afford to let it happen again. After all, she'd been warning him for days that she was looking for the first opportunity to take off and he was determined not to give it to her.

“We'll talk about it later. For now, climb over me. Let's go inside and get settled. I'm sure you're as exhausted as I am.”

She knew he didn't trust her. The saddened look in her eyes was almost his undoing. But rather than protest or try to fight him, she simply handed him the car keys and did as he asked.

She moved as quickly and gently as possible crawling across him and seeming to do her best not to jostle or touch his wound. Still it hurt. Pain seized his chest and made him catch his breath.

She helped him out of the car.

He couldn't throw his left arm over her shoulder for support due to the handcuffs but, still, he couldn't take the chance to remove them. He leaned his left arm heavily against her. She seemed to understand and leaned just as heavily against him, giving him the support he needed to climb the three steps to the porch. He fumbled with the keys to unlock the door.

Angelina took the keys from his hand, unlocked the door and as best as she could encumbered with cuffs, helped him inside.

Dylan collapsed into the nearest chair, pulling Angelina into a seated position on the floor beside him.

Her mouth twisted in frustration. “For a smart man this is the stupidest thing you can do.” Anger laced her words. “I can't sit on the floor for two days. I need to be able to walk around the room. Use the bathroom. Sleep in a bed.” She jiggled the cuffs. “I can't take a look at your wound and help you get cleaned up if I'm chained to your side like an animal.”

A gamut of emotions tumbled inside his aching head. He knew she was right. He couldn't keep her cuffed to him. But how could he trust her after what she had done before?

It was almost as if she could read his mind. Gently she reached up and cupped the side of his face in her palm. “I understand, Dylan. I do. I betrayed you once before. You're afraid that I'm going to do it again, especially since I told you I was going to try and get away and then did try. I would have been successful, too, if it hadn't been for the fire.”

A bittersweet smile laced her mouth and she pulled back her hand. She gazed at him intently, a deep sadness in the depths of her eyes. “But there's no reason for me to run now. It's too late. All I wanted to do was to protect you and the other marshals. The worst has already happened.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I'm so sorry, Dylan, about Bear and Selma.” She took a deep breath. “But you have to trust me. It's just us. We have two days left before we have to be in Camden at the Federal Courthouse for the trial. We need to work together. We need to help each other.” She moved closer to him, placing her hand on his leg. “Please. Try to trust me. You're injured. Let me help you. I promise I will not leave you.”

His heart ached at the sound of her words, at the look in her eyes. He was exhausted, in pain, grieving the loss of his best friend. His jumbled thoughts mixed with his emotions. He wasn't sure any decision he made right now would be the correct one.

But what choice did he have?

He needed help. He needed his wound cleaned, the bullet probably dug out. He knew he was fighting with all his might to stay conscious but had already nodded off in the car. If he fell unconscious, or worse, died, he couldn't have her chained to him. He fished the handcuff key out of his right pocket and released the cuffs.

“Please, Angelina, don't make me regret this.” He watched as she pulled her hand back and rubbed her wrist. It looked raw and sore and he felt a pang of guilt.

“Thank you.”

He nodded. His chest hurt so much he almost couldn't feel the pain anymore. His head spun. A dark curtain filled his peripheral vision and his stomach roiled. Was this what it felt like to be on the brink of death? What was going to happen to Angelina if he couldn't hold on?

She leaned closer to him. Wetness welled in her eyes. She kept her voice soft and soothing. “I'm going to look at your wound. I don't have any medical training but I am going to try and help you.”

They were the last words he remembered hearing before he lost his battle with the blackness that chased him.

* * *

“Dylan.” She shook his arm. Unable to rouse him, she put her fingers on his throat to feel for a pulse. She almost cried with joy when she found one. She opened the buttons on his shirt. Blood had dried around the far edges of the wound, sealing the material to his skin, but fresh liquid seeped from the center against her fingertips.

How much blood had he lost? How much more could he afford to lose? If she tried to pull the shirt away from the dried blood on his skin, would it reopen the wound? But she had no choice. She couldn't help if she couldn't see how badly he'd been wounded.

First, she needed supplies.

Angelina stepped back from Dylan's chair and took a few precious minutes to familiarize herself with the cabin. Not unexpectedly, Bear had shut off the electricity in his absence. Thankfully, it was almost dawn and enough light seeped into the cabin, making it possible for her to see.

Her eyes swept the room. The cabin lacked a woman's touch. It was utilitarian, stark and screamed “man cave” in every direction from mismatched furniture, fish mounted on plaques on the walls, an unadorned stone fireplace in the center of the room, fishing gear mounted on the right wall and a gun rack on the left one.

She found gauze bandages in the bathroom cabinet and a fully stocked first aid kit including a suture kit. She even found a men's grooming kit with tweezers that she could use if she had to dig out the bullet in his chest. Just the thought that she might have to do that turned her stomach and her hands shook.

She finished searching the bathroom cabinet and vanity. Knowing she couldn't delay any longer she did something she didn't think she would ever do again but found she was doing with regularity these past few days—she bowed her head and prayed.

She offered a prayer of gratitude that they were still alive and had reached the safety of the cabin. She told the Lord how sorry she was for having been so distant, like a spoiled brat who wanted to control her life rather than give that authority to the only One capable of controlling life. Then, she prayed that if it was His will, that He give her the strength and the skill where skill didn't exist to help Dylan.

Please, Lord. Please spare his life. All he is doing is trying to spare mine.

An inner peace filled her being. Whatever the future held, Angelina knew they would not be facing it alone and tears streamed down her face. She had come home.