A single BOOM from the house snapped her head up. God, she hoped that was Jameson’s signal. There was no longer a choice. She had to act now! As if he were standing right there beside her, his other encouraging words flashed to mind. I like that you’re willing to fight for our lives.
“I’m sure trying,” she told him, her heart pounding so hard that her chest felt ready to explode. She flicked the lighter’s igniter wheel, but her fingers were trembling, and she was breathing too hard, and she blew the tiny flame out the second it sprang to life.
“OhGodOhGodOhGod, help me.” She’d just managed another spark when—
BLAM, BLAM, BOOM! Jameson was in trouble!
Hurry, hurry, hurry! Into the hay went that little, orange spark and—
WHOOSH!
“Oh, crap!” The entire pile of hay ignited into one huge, hungry fireball. Without taking a breath, it leaped straight up into the wooden timbers of the loft overhead, its wicked tendrils jumping from one rafter to another as if they were in a race. Another hissing whoosh sent sparks flying in all directions. She’d created a monster fireworks show that had morphed from a tiny spark into an out-of-control inferno. Even now, long, crackling tongues of fire licked at the roof overhead. The single, tiny flame from a gas station convenience store was igniting every speck of wood it touched. And some it didn’t.
Scared for her life and crab-crawling backward as fast as she could, Maddie scrambled out of the burning barn and made it between two parked cars just as the farmhouse door burst open.
Right on cue, some guy bellowed, “Fire!”
Good grief! She was on fire, too! Her pants were smoking. She patted her thighs and legs, smothering whatever sparks had gotten into the fabric, then she rolled to her knees for a fast getaway. She’d known fumes and dust were incendiary and could explode, seeing the power it held was another thing all together. She had no idea this old barn would burn that fast or so hot. Her face felt sunburned, and that lightning quick ignition had literally sucked the oxygen out of her lungs.
But it was done. No one had yet spotted the flat tires. Most of the guys were running around, looking for hoses. Mission accomplished. One man down. One to rescue. Maddie Bannister, the woman her father had never believed in, had, in fact, never heard or actually seen—not even once—through all her seventeen years living in his house, would rescue the man she cared about. Jameson said he’d wanted a date, well, tonight was that night.
“I’m c-c-coming,” she told him over the roar of the flames behind her, “and you’d better be ready to go when I g-g-get there.”
Chapter Eleven
Jameson turned himself into a radar dish, his senses unfurled like solar panels into the universe of sight and sound, soaking up every last nuance radiating off the men standing outside his door. They were here to kill him. He’d heard them coming, had even startled them with a shot from his pistol. Sure, it brought a shitload of trouble his way, but that was okay. He’d anticipated three shots, but had been surprised when one of those blasts came from a shotgun. That hollow core door was now splintered, and he knew he’d probably die in the next few minutes. But Maddie would live. She was all that mattered.
He’d been here before. Trapped. Outnumbered and outgunned. But he was a different man now. The tiniest smile flickered across his lips. As Walker Judge would say, he had mad ninja skills. But all Jameson really had were two ears that knew how to listen better and quicker reflexes that he’d honed to strike true. Like a pool player knew how to angle his shots for maximum results, Jameson knew how to sense and anticipate movement, adjust momentum, and counterattack. It didn’t hurt that Lucy Shade had probably told these guys that he was just some ‘blind guy.’ Big, tough guys weren’t afraid of blind guys. But they should be.
He waited for Delaney’s men behind the concrete wall to the left of the none-existent door. He was ready, had counted the three sets of heavy boots that pounded down the stairs. He knew these guys were operating with plenty of light, while he was consigned to total darkness. But they weren’t quiet, and he wasn’t stupid. He could smell them and the beer they’d been drinking. He knew precisely how close they were to breaching the already shattered doorway. A bow wave of body odor, cigarette stink, and cheap aftershave had preceded them. The closer they came, the stronger the stench. They meant to assassinate him. He meant to let them think they could.
His nostrils flared as the acrid scent of fire and ash drifted into the basement. Before this standoff, he’d heard some guy yell, “Fire!” Either one of Delaney’s men was an idiot and had started the blaze that had taken everyone outside, or someone else was on the property. Hopefully, The TEAM. It’d be a shame to die on his first day of work.
For now, Jameson stood stock-still with his body angled sideways and his head cocked. The guys outside his door would soon charge in and kill him, but not before he took out one or two of them. Three’d be better. It was the guys outside the farmhouse who were the problem. Whether he killed these goons or not, by the time the rest of Delaney’s men came running, he’d be out of ammo. So he waited and listened as those boots advanced. One cautious step after another until—
He jumped into their view and fired quick successive shots through the bullet-ridden door. Jameson heard one killer groan. To his right, a big body connected
