With heart-pumping speed, she retraced her steps and stabbed tires. All of them. Her dealings with Nash’s loan sharks had taught her well. Why flatten one when four ruined tires sent a scarier message?
Okay then. The night was warm and she was sweating up a storm. Before she went any further, she sheathed the knife and secured it in the waistband at her back. Setting the tire iron and pistol on the dirt beside her boot, she wrapped her hair into a long ponytail, tied it off with a couple strands of loose hair, and shoved it over her shoulder and out of the way. She pulled out the lighter. What these guys needed was a nice big bonfire, and…
Oh, look. A barn. If burning that down didn’t get them out of the house long enough for her to rescue Jameson, it would certainly raise an alarm among the neighbors and bring the fire department.
Keeping an eye on the rear door of the house, she skittered between the parked vehicles to the old barn with her assorted weapons. She hesitated just inside the open barn door until her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The interior was dark, really dark. This had to be how Jameson felt every day, feeling his way around a pitch-black world.
At last, she could make out the wide, barren, wooden floor, a couple empty stalls to her right, and a big mound of hay piled against the back wall. No horses or cows, though. No farm equipment, either. Just a big empty barn and…
Whoa. A shiny limousine had been backed into the far-right corner behind the stalls. Well, well, well. Want to bet that belonged to Lucy Shade? Which begged the question: where was that maniac?
Maddie hid the heavy tire iron in the hay now that she had a killer knife and a loaded pistol. Stepping lightly and quickly toward the limo, she second-guessed herself all the way, wondering if stabbing all those tires had been a smart idea. The men inside the house needed to see just the burning barn when they ran out and investigated the fire. She expected they’d all vacate the house, because that was what people did when someone yelled fire. It’d give her the time she needed to sneak back inside and break Jameson out.
But even if she made it all the way back inside the farmhouse and to Jameson, there was no guarantee she could get him out alive. And if even a single one of those men noticed the flat tires first… If someone stayed inside the house instead of running toward the fire…? Good grief. Actual covert operations were scary, dangerous things.
Finally at the limo, Maddie licked her lips at all the ways rescuing Jameson could go wrong. But she was determined. That counted for something, didn’t it?
Biting her lower lip, she smoothed her fingertips over the sleek hood on her way to the driver’s door handle. So far, so good. The door opened without setting off an alarm. Which she hadn’t remembered until she’d sprung the latch, and by then, it would’ve been too late.
Focus, Maddie! Settle down. You can do this. Save Jameson. Save the day.
She leaned one knee on the driver’s seat, weighing her options. Darn, this was a long vehicle, but she knew she could drive it. A key fob with no keys lay on the center console. Well, that was stupid. Decision made.
Thinking like a real covert operator now—she wished—she climbed in and fastened her seatbelt securely. Then, with her eyes closed, she risked everything and pressed her index finger to the button that relied on the low-frequency signal coming from the fob to start the engine. It purred to life. Oh, my gosh, without any of the noises her much cheaper, economy car made.
She opened her eyes and blew out a low, congratulatory breath of ‘I did it!’ This time, she made sure the headlights didn’t come on. Parking lights, either. But by then, she’d also thought twice about leaving the tire iron behind. Sometimes, more really was just that, and what woman didn’t need a heavy-duty weapon when face to face with ruthless killers?
Braking to a slow, soundless stop at the barn door, she put the car in park, unfastened her seatbelt, and quickly retraced her steps. She’d been smart not throwing the tire iron willy-nilly. It was out of sight and under the hay, but it had to be close by. She’d just delved both arms up to her elbows into the dusty pile when—a great big hand grabbed her ankle. Good Grief! Maddie scurried backward, but she was caught.
“Let me go!” she nearly screamed, she was so scared.
Whoever he was, the guy held on tight. His hand was so big that it shackled her entire ankle, making getaway impossible. And it was black. Dark, dark black. Like ink. And big. But his voice was weak when he asked for, “H-h-help.”
“Who are you? One of those k-k-killers?” There was no way she’d help one of Pops Delaney’s men.
“Vlad...” he groaned.
“What are you doing out here?” She truly wished her voice would stop quavering.
“Shot. She… she shot me,” he wheezed.
“Who? Lucy Shade?”
“Yeah. She’s insane.”
Maddie sucked up her courage and crawled back to the man under the hay. She brushed it off his long arm, then off his shoulder and face. He was a big African American with a funny name for a Black guy. But the gooey, bloody hole in his side, under that long arm in the sleeve of a
