Serving Up Trouble

“So you started stealing other people’s money.”

“Stealing is rather harsh.” George looked insulted. “Let’s call it borrowing. Used their credit a bit, it’s really just a temporary thing.”

Ellie started squirming again, and George shook his head. “Not for my wife though.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “She’s greedy, folks, and I’m not ashamed to tell you, it’s getting on my nerves. We started this whole thing simply to retire. And then she wanted more. Always more.”

George looked at Angie and made a little grimace. “And you, you just couldn’t let it go. You might think getting held up in that bank was the worst thing that ever happened to you, but in truth, it was the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

Angie looked at Sam, gave him one of those just-for-him looks that had melted him from the very first day. And he gave it back to her, or tried. He had no idea if he was even close, as he’d never tried to tell a woman anything with only his eyes before.

Hers filled, so he figured he came close enough.

“You’re worse than a bloody hound dog,” George continued to Angie. “I never wanted you hurt though.” He took in all the blood and winced. “I just wanted to stop paying my son to dig through people’s trash for credit information. I wanted to be done falsifying and duplicating documents in order to charge against accounts that didn’t belong to me. I had enough money, damn it, but she just wouldn’t stop. Nag, nag, nag. She always wanted more.” He sent another dark look to his wife. “I want to be done living with a shrew who harps on me for every little thing. I want that beach, the books…that’s it. That’s all. Happy ever after.”

“You got more than that on your hands now,” Sam assured him. “You’ve got a record. You’re a criminal, and so is your wife and your kid. You’re going to have to pay.”

“I won’t go to jail.”

“Cooperating would be good,” Luke suggested. “It would help. You can start by letting Angie out of here to get the medical attention she needs.”

“How about you let me out of here. In exchange, Angie and Ellie.”

Behind her bonds, Ellie growled and thrashed around, making George lift his hand to point out she’d proved his point. “See? She’s a night mare. She’s the one who used the gun on Angie. Keep her and let me go. That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.”

And in that moment, Sam knew there wasn’t going to be an easy out. George wasn’t going to give up and surrender.

Luke looked at him and in his eyes, Sam saw the same knowledge. As always, they were on the same page. All they had to do was get George’s gun off Angie long enough that Sam could take him down without risking more shots.

But then Angie’s eyes fluttered, and with what looked like a huge effort, she blinked, trying to stay focused on him.

His sense of urgency, already screaming, increased a mil lion fold.

They were losing her right here, right now.

Angie wouldn’t have agreed. Sure, there were spots dancing in front of her eyes. Large gray spots that made focusing a challenge, but she was all there.

The unbelievable searing pain in her body proved it. She didn’t dare look down, as the sight of blood always made her weak. Just last week she’d given herself a paper cut deep enough to draw blood and, much to Josephine’s disbelief, she’d actually had to sit down with her head between her knees.

Nope, she wasn’t going to look.

But she hadn’t imagined anything could hurt so bad. She almost preferred passing out, but if she did, she couldn’t keep her eyes on Sam. And she did have her eyes on the man, terrified that he’d somehow get himself killed right in front of her.

He was looking at her, too, as if he wanted to both haul her close and yell at her for getting hurt.

That was her Sam.

Then she realized he was silently communicating some thing to her. He needed her help.

He needed her.

She found that a good feeling. Being needed by the strongest man she’d ever known. She could get used to that.

His eyes were still on her, calm and steady, and she nodded. He was going to let her have a hand in their fate. Trusting him implicitly, she waited, knowing they could do this. Together.

But she hoped he acted fast because her body felt as if it was on fire. She wasn’t going to make it much longer. Struggling, she tried to get up.

“Stop,” George said when she was on her knees, weaving wildly. “Don’t move again.”

A dizzy nauseousness rolled through her belly. “Not moving,” she said. She couldn’t move again, at least not without throwing up.

“I mean it,” he said in a light voice that he might have used to chat over tea. “I’ll shoot you in the thigh this time.”

Angie believed him. But at least she was up on her knees now, not helpless, and wouldn’t ever be again.

“George,” Sam said, continuing to look into Angie’s eyes with an expression that made her breath catch. “There’s one thing you’ve for gotten.”

“Of course there’s not,” he said, and for one flash took both his eyes and gun off Angie to glance at Sam.

Now, Sam’s eyes told her, and with every ounce of courage she had, she tossed herself to the side and out of the way. Someone screamed, but then her hearing faded.

Except for the scream, that is, which annoyingly enough, went on and on and on, echoing in her head.

Sam took a flying leap at George. They landed hard, and rolled.

And rolled.

Then the gun went off. Angie knew this because her hearing came back for that one explosion, then vanished again.

Then men were spilling into the room from the door, from the window, and her vision was blocked.

Surreal time took over, just like at the bank. She was jostled when Ellie started to struggle anew, her face red with rage.

Angie thought maybe she cried out because she hurt so badly. Sam. Where was Sam?

A uniformed man knelt by her, and though his mouth was moving, she couldn’t hear him.

Get out of my way, she wanted to say. I can’t see Sam.

But the pain crept up on her now and she couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t speak. Only a few moments before, with the adrenaline pumping through her body, she’d been able to forget the pain for a few seconds at a time. Not now. It clawed through her like nothing she’d ever experienced.

“Sam,” she managed.

Someone, several someones, she thought fuzzily, urged her to lie down. One of them ripped the material at her shoulder, jarring her, and she cried out because, while she couldn’t hear and could hardly see, she sure as hell could feel, and her entire body was on fire.

Why was that again?

“It’s bad.”

“Keep her still.”

“I’m putting pressure on the wound.”

“Lots of blood.”

Then the men hunched over her were shoved aside, and Sam dropped to his knees with the most intense expression she’d ever seen on his face, and she’d seen plenty.

He was looking at her body, doing some thing, pressing in a way that made her stars dance faster, brighter. “Angie.”

Oh, that voice, she thought dreamily, feeling herself smile. She would never get tired of that voice. She closed her eyes to hear it better.

“Angie. God.”