Kelly has had girlfriends before, and he’s been with plenty of women over the years. Most women weren’t too thrilled when he told them that he needed to ship out for a year, maybe longer. Those relationships fizzled quickly when the women found “normal” men to date, men who didn’t like traipsing around the world killing people in remote deserts or jungles. He’s just never been around anyone like Hannah, though. She is a confusing mixture of innocence, yet seductiveness; femininity mixed with strength; guileless but intelligent.
The purr and rattle of an engine break her spell over him, for he’s sure that’s what the hell is wrong with him and why he can’t keep his shit together around Hannah. He lifts his head from her, trying not to notice her obvious disappointment.
“Car,” he says as they break apart. “Probably Derek and John are back with Reagan.”
“No,” she whispers on a shaky breath and kiss-bruised lips. “It’s only my grandpa on the tractor.”
After listening another few seconds, Kelly deduces that, of course, she’s right. She’s almost always right, he’s learning. But just mentioning her grandfather, the man who had opened his home to him and his siblings so kindly, makes Kelly feel sick with regret over their too brief kiss. His guilt is like a cold bucket of water to the face, and Kelly takes a few steps away to grab up his shovel again.
“Kelly?” she asks with trepidation.
“You need to go, Hannah,” he tells her as he takes her elbow and leads her from the barn, making sure to grab her walking cane on their way.
“Kelly?” she repeats when they get to the wide barn doors that stand so open and easy for someone to have seen them.
“I have work to do. And you need to help Em,” he mumbles and turns brusquely to leave her.
When he gets back to the stall awaiting its cleaning, Kelly looks over his shoulder and Hannah is standing in the doorway looking confused as her long fingers touch her lips. After another second or so she goes to find Em, but not before he catches the tiniest glimpse of a crooked smile on her naughty lips.
As he shovels the stall, he tries to come up with a plan of action that will get him the hell away from the McClane farm. Unfortunately everything he comes up with seems stupid, irrational or just doesn’t seem like it will work- not with two kids to look after. This would be so much easier to deal with if it was just him. He could leave and find another place to live and take care of himself rather easily. Looking after Em and Cory is another situation altogether. Even if he found another farm for them to set up camp he’d have a difficult time taking care of them, especially if he had to leave them alone to scavenge for food or hunt game. They’d never be completely safe or sheltered like they are here. It’s not something he likes to dwell on, his young siblings being in danger. It leaves him with a sick feeling in his gut, so he shovels harder.
The tinkling, musical laughter of his female arch nemesis and subsequently also the woman he can’t get out of his nefarious mind jolts him from his exit planning. He is going to have to make a decision soon. They can’t continue on like this. The guilt he has every time he just looks at Hannah is bad enough. He is going to have to make a move and soon. He just hopes to avoid Hannah McClane and her delectable body, haunting eyes and saucy mouth long enough to do so.
John
They circle the cul-de-sac, not once but twice just to ascertain the safety of the neighborhood and to look for potential dangers. Reagan touches the butt of her pistol on her thigh nervously, and John tries to offer her a comforting grin that mostly comes off as a grimace. Just because these are multi-million dollar condos doesn’t mean that the neighborhood is safe. Just ask the guard shack employee.
“No signs of life, man,” Derek says with caution as he pulls up in front of a condominium with what looks like landscaping that would’ve cost a fortune. Now the landscape is ragged, overgrown and half dead. His brother cuts the engine but leaves the truck at the curb, refraining from pulling into the drive. There are about a half a dozen Harleys parked on the street and not pulled into any of the driveways. They don’t seem to fit in with the abandoned-looking red Mercedes and the black Lexus parked in front of two different condos. These could be potential squatters in this neighborhood. More importantly, the owners of these motorcycles could pose a potential threat.
“Let’s make this one quick. I don’t like how this neighborhood is positioned back here. Bad area to get back out of quickly with that stupid fence system and the gates at the entrance,” John observes as he peers around and behind them before opening the truck door. He and Derek nod to one another and get out. John waits for Reagan to slide across the seat and hop to the ground before he quietly closes the door. He positions his rifle in front of him. His brother hand signals that he will storm the front again and that John should flank. “Stay behind me, Reagan.”
“Ok,” she answers quietly. It’s strange not to have her argue but not a completely unwelcome change.
He sprints quickly with her to the rear, passes a dead dog along the way and makes it to a set of sliding glass doors that have floor length blinds attached. The blinds are closed which makes John even more nervous. He’d like to at least get a glimpse of the area he’s going to be taking her before running in blind. He tries the knob and finds it locked. He blows harshly through his nose with frustration. He slings his rifle behind his back and slides his combat knife into the door-jam, disabling the locking system. One firm yank and he has the door sliding in its track. Reagan’s eyes are wide with amazement. Of course, being a half pint there is no way she’s going to jerk hard enough on anything to open it. Shoot it open, maybe, but not jerk it with her skinny, little arm. He offers a lopsided grin and takes a tentative step inside to his left so as to not be backlit by the outside light and expose himself, but not before he signals her to stay put.
He is immediately assaulted by a thick haze of nasty, stale cigarette smoke right before he sees the first man come at him. The freak has a pistol, a .38, and he looks capable of using it. One shot from Derek’s .45 disarms and kills John’s would-be assassin, though. His brother is already in the front foyer and closing in on him. Another man lies dead near the front entrance, obviously his brother’s handiwork, as well. He must’ve used a knife on the first guy because John had not heard the report of a gun.
A quick glance around the large living area and John can see drug paraphernalia, empty beer cans and a woman cowering in the corner near an entertainment center complete with a flat screen television and all the newest gadgets for high-tech enthusiasts.
“Please, don’t shoot me,” she begs in fear. She doesn’t look like a threat, but John’s known enough insane women who will do just about anything, even kill themselves for their cause or their bizarre religious beliefs.
“Throw down your weapon,” John warns as the woman’s eyes dart toward the sliding glass door. He’s left to assume that Reagan, damn her, has come in behind him.
“I don’t have a weapon. I promise I’m not armed, sir,” she cries softly, weakly.
“How many more are in this house?” John demands, but not too loudly. He hears Derek moving around the front of the condo which probably holds bedrooms and possibly more than one bathroom. A kitchen should also be on this floor. The woman is about his age, and she is thin, dirty and scared out of her mind, genuinely scared. Her left cheek sports a fresh, purple bruise, and there are matching ones on her right bicep.
“Nobody else. It was just those two,” she tells John who orders her to stand and come closer. He cautiously pats her down and finds no weapons. “My two children are here, too. They’re upstairs, though. Can I just go and get them? They’ll be frightened by the gun shot.”
“No, my brother will get them. Are they young, how old?” John has no wish to be shot by or have to shoot a teenager today. At least he doesn’t want to do so in front of Reagan.
“They’re only six and nine,” she tells him, but nervously eyes Reagan who has come to stand beside him even though he’d not given her an all clear signal yet.
“What the hell were you doing with these dirtbags?” Reagan asks bluntly, of course.
“I wasn’t with them. This is my home. They came in last week and I couldn’t get them to leave and they just... they...,” she can’t finish because what has probably occurred in this million dollar mansion is probably too painful to say out loud. She looks away, and John has to, as well. She has obviously fallen into the abusive hands of two bums, the same type of men who had raided the Reynolds farm.
“Where’s your husband?” Reagan asks. John glances at her, but Reagan seems unfazed by this woman’s plight. Is it because of what she’s already been through?
“He was in California on business when it all happened. I haven’t heard from or seen him since,” she explains more calmly than John would believe possible. “My boys are all I have left now.”
A moment later, before John or Reagan can further question her, Derek strides into the room with the woman’s sons, the smaller of whom he carries.
“All clear,” he tells John and Reagan.
“Across the cul-de-sac is another group of these men. I think there are four of them that took over my friend’s house. She and I used to have coffee every morning after we got our kids off to school,” she laments with a glassy-eyed expression as she retrieves her youngest son from Derek. The woman holds her boy close to her, his black, unruly curls smashing against the dark mocha skin of his mother’s cheek.
“What’s your name?” Derek asks patiently. Her dark eyes refocus.
“Anita, my name’s Anita and this is Robert,” she tilts her head toward her youngest son who has buried his face in his mother’s neck. “My other boy here is Joshua.”
John kicks it into high gear and hands off his rifle to Reagan who takes it without question. Then he drags the dead body of their would-be assassin out the back door and across the yard where he rolls it down into a ravine that backs up to a golf course. This home reminds him of his parents’ place where he grew up. His father also liked living on a golf course, though he worked so much that he barely had time to make use of it. Derek joins him a moment later with the other man’s limp body, and together they heave it down the hill to join his fallen comrade.
“Go check on the coffee friend?” John asks easily to which Derek nods twice.
They go back inside the house where John and Derek fire a quick barrage of questions at Anita to ascertain information about her friend with whom she used to enjoy a morning cup of Joe.
“Which house is hers?” John asks.
“The one with the red door. She has the condo on the right like mine,” Anita explains as she pulls her other boy close to her side.
“Anyone else with her? Husband? Kids?” Derek demands more firmly. John can tell that his brother is getting pissed at the idea of women and kids being overrun by thugs.
“Her husband was killed three months ago. He went to Nashville to try to bring back supplies for those of us who were left and was shot. He died at her house, and she and I buried him. The rest of the neighbors fled after that. It’s just she and I still here. But she does have a teenage son, Kyle; he’s fourteen. She also has two little girls, Maya and Marie. They’re six year old twins.”
“What’s her name, Anita?” John asks more calmly than Derek can seem to manage.
“Her name is Selena,” she tells them. Derek turns away.
John needs to explain the situation to Reagan. He leads her to the front foyer as Derek explains to Anita what they have planned.
“We’re going across the street to take care of business. If her friend is living in the same situation, we need to help her,” John tells her to which she nods.
“I agree. They need our help,” Reagan concurs.
“Not your help, our help- as in me and Derek. Not you, half pint,” he informs her to which she scowls like he knew she would, so he jumps in before she can reply. “I need you to stay here, upstairs. Find a window facing the street and work from there. You can snipe anyone that might escape. But, Reagan, mostly I need you to stay here and look after this woman and her kids, ok?”
Hearing this new responsibility, her eyes become more serious and focused on her assignment. She doesn’t try to dissuade him but nods in agreement.
“Got it. Shoot assholes that try to get away,” she confirms so eloquently, her green eyes fierce with determination.
“Right,” he smirks. “Try not to shoot me, though.”
“Mm hm, right,” she gives him a rotten smirk of her own. Sometimes he’d like to turn her over his knee. He glances sideways at her and turns to leave. “Good thing you specified which assholes not to shoot.”
John turns back, smiles broadly, chucks her under the chin, and he and Derek split through the sliding glass doors again. Reagan follows and places a broom in the frame to prevent the door from being opened again. John quickly salutes her and sprints on a path opposite of the one his brother just took. This isn’t the first time they’ve fought together, and unfortunately it doesn’t seem like it is going to be the last, either.
They cross through a landscaped area that divides the road and lends more privacy to the community with a miniature park area complete with a gazebo and overgrown, decorative grasses. They hand signal and split up. John will take the rear as usual, but this time Derek will follow. They don’t know what exactly they are going into and need to stay close together. They do, however, flank opposite sides of the house and meet in the rear. This condo is laid out exactly like the one Anita lives in, but there is an in-ground pool and barbeque pit in the back yard. Derek bobs two fingers in front of his face, signaling John to move in.
He uses his knife again to open the locked sliding glass door. Derek slips inside, pushing the drapery aside and moving to his right. John mimics his brother and moves left. His brother has already moved into the kitchen area, leaving John to cover the living room which is empty. The telltale pop of Derek’s M16 alerts John that his brother has found someone.