SHELBY (Second Chance Novels Book 4) (15 page)

"We probably got it cheap. Budgetary constraints."

"I guess," he says, still concerned. "Anyway, keep yourself vigilant."

"Always do," I return. I don't like the implications of his line of thinking, but I have to believe in the security of our system. Regardless of the house we choose, our system is nearly fail-proof. We have yet to be breached. Like with Shelby, most of our problems come from the witnesses, not their security.
 

The following afternoon, the remaining trepidation over our location nags at my gut. I will simply be thankful the trial is soon. No longer than my thought of thanks, a sharp pang of dread hits when the lights flicker twice, then shut down completely. All of us are on high alert, even though this is most likely the result of squirrel-meets-transformer down the street. Still, another possibility is deliberate sabotage. Cutting the power is often the first strategy of any attacker: cripple the prey and the predator has a greater advantage. The hairs on my neck stand up.

"Banks," I bark out. "Other houses out?"

He moves to the window and peeks through the edge of the curtain. A quick move for his gun tells me everything I need to know. Shit! How the fuck did anyone find her? Guns drawn, all of us blur into action. Banks keys a few strokes into his phone to notify our headquarters. Shaw moves toward video surveillance to assess the extent of the threat. As for me, I nearly sprint for Shelby…who is not in her room. Damn it! Whose goddamn idea was it to secure such a large house?

I can't shout for her, so I move quickly and quietly throughout the house, panic pinching my chest. I pray she's alone, unharmed, and ready to lock herself in the safe room. I check my room, both bathrooms…and I know she's not in the kitchen or living room. Please let her be safe…

My feet rush me to the basement, where Shelby has fallen asleep on the couch with her Kindle. I run to her and shake her shoulder roughly, then cover her mouth when she tries to angrily protest.
 

"Shh," I whisper, my eyes darting around the room, resting briefly on each ceiling-height window.
 

The panic must be evident on my face. Shelby is instantly awake, reflecting my panic and is coiled, ready to spring. I motion for her to follow behind me, ready to lead her upstairs to the safe room or to the car.
God damn it!
When we nearly reach the stairs, I hear gunshots from upstairs.
Shit!

Shelby jumps and covers her own mouth this time, complete terror tightening her eyes. Blocking her body with my own, I back us quickly away from the stairs.
 

"Window," I whisper and point.

Shelby nods through her trembling, and brings herself together enough to help me move a table to the window. As quietly as possible, I climb up and scan the grassy area around the window. A single shrub to our right blocks half my view, but will also block us as we exit.

"Blanket," I whisper and point again. Confusion creases her brow, but she brings me the blanket anyway. Not only will the blanket shield us from broken glass, the noise from the impact of my gun handle may be muffled somewhat.
 

"You ready?" I mouth silently.

Still trembling, Shelby nods again, then cringes as another gunshot rings out from upstairs.
 

"Ok," I barely breath, "I'll break the glass, then climb through. When I see we're clear, I'll help pull you through. Leave the blanket on the sill so you don't get cut."

Another nod. One deep breath later and the grip of my gun is temporarily repurposed as a hammer. The shattering makes more noise than I'm comfortable with, but I can't do anything about that now. Adrenaline and physical training push me through quickly. A quick survey of the area shows no immediate threat, so I motion for her to follow. I help a still-silent Shelby through the window.

I cringe as I see a shard of glass from the side of the window cut into Shelby's arm as she goes. Her face demonstrates the pain, but she manages to keep herself quiet. Another gunshot sounds from inside the house. The sporadic nature of the gunfire indicates one assailant playing hide-and-seek with my team members, and I have to assume they are fine. Their training will stand.

"Dade…" Shelby whispers desperately as we crouch behind the single shrub. I know every possible exit from the property, and I mentally scroll through my options while I listen intently for any threats. Shelby's cut is bleeding down her shirt.
Damn it!
I'll have to deal with that next, but priority number one right now is keeping her alive. Her gash may be ugly, but isn't life-threatening.

Finally deciding to skirt the house until we reach the corner, my escape plan is to move quickly behind the neighbors' yards until we're far enough for me to figure out our next move.

I point and gesture to Shelby, hoping she can follow the plan. She nods her understanding and I motion her forward. Right before we reach the end of the house, I hear a rustling behind me. With snake-strike reflexes, I swing my gun around while I simultaneously push Shelby aside. I get two shots off before the attacker takes shelter behind one of the damn trees I wish I could have removed.
 

"Go," I mouth to her, but she shakes her head. "Go!" I emphasize. She shakes her head harder. Stubborn fucking woman.
 

God damn it all to hell.
I move her behind me and back up, watching the goddamn tree. One flinch and I'll drop that bastard. Sure enough, he moves. I shoot…and I tag his shoulder. He jerks behind the tree again. We could play this game all day, but my priority lies in getting Shelby away from the imminent danger. I panic because my teammates aren't part of this gunfight. I grit my teeth and herd Shelby backward, all the way to the corner of the house. I quickly take shelter there, peeking around in time to see the assailant sprinting closer, taking cover behind another very-large fucking tree.

Who the fuck chose this house?

"Run," I glare at Shelby as she remains beside me. "Fucking go!" I whisper.

"I can't," she whispers through her fear. She's frozen behind me. I now regret every time I promised to be her stability and take care of her no matter what. The best way to take care of her right now is to get her to fucking run, and she refuses to leave my stable, protective side. I've fucked up so royally. There's a goddamn reason we're not supposed to get close.

Another grit of my teeth and I asses the situation enough to know Shelby won't go without me. "Let's go," I finally give in.
 

I grab her wrist and sprint with her to the back of the lot and into the trees behind the neighbor's property. The next few excruciating seconds consist of a steady pattern of run and shoot, the rhythm only interrupted by a change of magazine in my gun.
 

We weave in and out of trees and shrubs, and I become more desperate to kill the assailant or find a definitive way out of this labyrinth of greenery. Finally I spot an older-model car in a nearby driveway and I discretely nod in that direction. I hope to God I can break in and get it started before this guy gets any closer.
 

When we're close enough to the car to sprint as I lay out cover fire, and luck finally plays in our favor. The driver of the car walks out of the house, keys in hand, searching the area with wide eyes. If I had to guess, he heard the gunfire and is ready to get the hell out of dodge.
Sorry, sir, but Shelby's the one getting out.

Aiming three more shots in the direction of the attacker, I shout to the man beside the car. "US MARSHAL, give me the keys!"

Looking more panicked, the man tries to get in the car faster. Fucking coward!
 

"Get in your house!" I shout. "Drop the damn keys!"

I turn toward the man chasing us and shoot once more before we reach the driveway. Ahead of us, the man is still fumbling to get in the car. I reach him in three more running strides, and without any other choice, I lay him out flat with one sharp punch across his face. Asshole. I scoop the keys out of his hand and open the driver's door. I push Shelby in ahead of me. "Crouch down," I bark as I turn the key and throw the gears in reverse.
 

With squealing tires and one hand still on my weapon, I tear out of the neighborhood, checking every window and every mirror as I go. Shelby is cowering on the floorboards, trembling, scared, and most likely in shock. The pain from the cut on her arm hasn't hit her yet, but it will soon. Her heart rate is pushing the blood out faster than I like. With one hand on the wheel and one hand gripping my gun, I need another goddamn hand to put pressure on the wound. With my fist, I keep my gun in my grip, I push the heel of my hand against the blood flow.
 

Quickly I navigate through neighborhood streets, careful to avoid traffic cameras. Whoever is behind this is obviously well-versed in hacking and I have no desire to be tracked by any sort of computer system.
 

"Where are we going?" she asks, panic still lacing her voice.

"I got you," is all I can say. At this point, I'm simply trying to get as far away as I can. I sure as hell can't call in our location. Shit! My phone! I steer the car with my knees, let go of Shelby's arm long enough to smash the phone between my gun and the dash, then toss it quickly out the window in case someone tries to track me that way. Thank God we came across an older car with no computers on board. This clunker may be ugly and loud, but is digitally silent.
 

I know exactly where to take her, and I won't take her too far. I'll be damned if she misses the trial at this point. She needs closure and to find meaning in all this.
 

"Dade?" Her voice comes to me trembling and quiet, her panic waning.
 

"It's ok, Shel. We lost him for now. I'm getting you the hell away from this. I got you now, and not another damn person on the planet will know where you are."

There's a reason I'm the best at what I do. I plan for every contingency in the book, and several that aren't in the book, including this one. For years I've kept a small fishing cabin on Lake Kanovee. The place is rustic, no electricity. Only one road gets near it, but the path to the cabin is dirt, and well hidden with foliage. The key to her safety, though, is that the cabin is owned under a fictitious name.
 

I invented the "Charles Miller" name for several reasons. Mostly, I wanted a place for myself. When I need to truly get away, I go to the cabin in total solitude. Secondly, I always knew this kind of situation was a possibility, and I knew the cabin would be an excellent safe house if I ever needed one. Lastly, I chose the name because both Charles and Miller are two of the most common names, making identifying the owner that much harder.

Now that she is my sole responsibility, she will be completely safe until the trial. Shelby is silent so far, and after several miles I'm able to pull my fist away from her cut. Between her calming down and the compression I held, her blood was able to clot properly. The few glances I've had at the wound shows me I'll be stitching her up tonight. I breathe easy, knowing my cabin is stocked like those apocalyptic survivalists compound. I have everything we'll need.
 

After nearly a half hour, I glance over to Shelby, and her face is too pale. Her eyes remain afraid.
 

"You ok?"

She closes her eyes and nods, forcing herself to calm.
 

"You in pain?"

With her eyes still closed, she nods again. I see her continue to breathe deeply, tapping into her strength. We're in the middle of a seriously fucked up situation, and there's a new spark in her. I've dealt with many witnesses, and when situations get tense, they either step up or crumble. I honestly didn't know what to expect from Shelby, but I'm pretty damn proud to see her bolster herself.

"Ok, here's what we're going to do," I start. She keeps her station wedged between the dash and the front seat, huddled on the floorboard. "We're going to Lake Kanovee."

"What?"

I explain the benefits of going to my cabin, but her nerves return to the surface. "They'll find us."

"If they do, it won't be today. When we arrive, we can tend to the cut on your arm, and take a minute to plan. We only have three days until the trial. I will get you through this, like I promised."

Getting to my cabin takes longer than it should since we have to be careful where the car is seen. I hope the owner of this car called the marshal service rather than the cops. More importantly, I hope he wasn't killed by the man chasing us. The shooter was obviously a professional, which gives me hope he wouldn't leave extra bodies in his wake.

After nearly a half hour on the road, Shelby breaks her haze and asks, "Where are we going?"

Her voice came to me quietly, but her strength comes through in her ability to speak at all.
 

"I own a place no one knows about. Not even the Marshal Service. It's completely off the grid."

"Ok," she says, mostly acknowledging I spoke. I'm not sure she can process much at this point. She adjusts her position and closes her eyes. I can't let her sleep yet. If she's going into shock, I need her to stay awake. I don't know how deep her brain would fall to avoid all of this, no matter how strong she's trying to be.
 

"Come on, Shel, open your eyes," I tell her. Drowsily her lids open.