Bounty Hunters: 03 Stay Hungry (34 page)

The footsteps neared the top of the stairs, and Jake leapt out in front of the two men, not making a sound as he lifted his leg and kicked both of them back down the stairs. It made a terrible crashing sound, accompanied by howling and cursing as they tumbled backward, head over feet, until they crashed at the bottom of the steps. Jake remained at the top of the steps, staring down at them, his hardened expression terrifying, making Angela damn glad he was on her side.

Jake remained where he was, not moving, or looking in her direction but watching, staring down the stairs, until finally, slowly, he walked to where she stood, her backside stuck to the wall.

"They aren't moving. At least one of them is dead. It's apparent by the way he's laying." Jake didn't look remorseful over killing a man.

Angela had shot both men and women before but knew without a doubt she'd never killed anyone. "I wonder why they were here. If Bobby was whispering it seems as if he didn't want anyone knowing he was here. I wonder why."

"That thought crossed my mind, too." They were still whispering, and Jake put his hand in the middle of her back when she stepped away from the wall. "I have a feeling it has to do with flash drives."

"I think there was a plastic case next to Mario's computer in his bedroom," she said, staring in Jake's face as she continued whispering. "I never gave it much thought, but there wasn't much on the desk other than the computer and the case next to it. I'm not sure if those were the backup files or not."

Angela needed to lead the way to Mario's room, which required crossing the top of the flight of stairs. She could point to the closed door at the other end of the hall. Jake would willingly shield her and lead the way. She sucked in a breath, looking past Jake. She was strong, capable of handling terrifying situations to learn the truth and solve a case. Just because she had a man the size of Hercules next to her, Angela wouldn't grow weak and allow him to protect her.

"Do you want to tell me why you knocked two FBI agents down a flight of stairs" she added.

Jake wasn't watching her but staring at the floor, his head tilted, as if he was listening.

"What?" she whispered.

He held his hand up, waited a heartbeat, then shook his head. "Nothing. Trying to tell if Mario is in his room. I'm not hearing anything."

If Mario had been in his room, he would have come racing out the moment he heard the two men falling down the stairs. If anyone were anywhere in the house, they would have heard it and acted. Jake and Angela very well could be alone in the house; in which case where was Mario?

Angela's heart pounded hard enough she doubted she'd hear any small sounds around her. She started down the hall, moving past Jake and stepping into the open so she could see down the flight of stairs. Maybe she shouldn't have looked down, but human curiosity was sometimes stronger than fear.

Her heart swelled into her throat, and in spite of her determination to remain strong and handle any blow this case threw her way, she gripped her throat with her hand, fighting to keep the bile down. Bobby and a man she didn't recognize lay at the bottom of the stairs. Bobby was sprawled out on top of the other man, motionless. The man underneath Bobby was twisted in an unnatural position, which gave her the sensation of fingernails scratching a chalkboard. She shuddered, her insides lurching up her esophagus.

"Keep walking." Jake's strong hands were warm when he gripped her shoulders from behind and guided her past the stairwell.

Angela's body still pumped with adrenaline, and she hated her legs being wobbly. Especially when she felt Jake's strength through his fingers as he continued gripping her shoulders as she led them to the end of the hall.

There wasn't much time to give herself a convincing pep talk, but she tried anyway. It was too important, especially in the heat of the moment, that Jake knew she was strong enough to run the show. If he grew suspicious at all that she might have a weakness or get squirmish when it was most important she remain clearheaded and observant, he would start acting too protective and demanding around her. She'd already decided she liked this guy, liked him a lot, maybe more than a lot, and if he turned into a macho he-man he would turn her off.

Not to mention, she ran the show. She could handle situations like this. Even if the sight of broken bodies lying twisted in impossible positions made her sick to her stomach, it sure as hell didn't mean she needed to be protected from every ugly part of life.

Angela walked without making a sound, moving in on Mario's closed bedroom door. Her pep talk to herself helped a bit, and she reached for Mario's bedroom door.

Jake's grip on her shoulder tightened.

"Stop that," she whispered, looking over her shoulder at him. "Keep your head clear and let's do this."

The look on his face didn't help her stomach settle. She turned, letting go of the door. He looked the way he had before, when he'd been listening to the silent house. Instead of questioning him, Angela listened as well, trying to hear past the blood rushing in her veins from her heart pounding so hard in her chest. There were house sounds, the hum of air-conditioning, but nothing that came across as odd.

She snapped her attention to Jake's when he looked at her. "I'm hearing things," he whispered.

"Quit it," she snapped, trying to give him a stern look, but found new sensations whipping around the tension and nerves already ransacked inside her.

"I'll go in first." Jake stroked her cheek, his gaze warming as he stared at her.

She gave a firm shake of her head. "You're backup, remember?" she whispered, and spun around, gripped the doorknob, and turned it.

Angela wasn't ready for a naked woman to scream and race into her. It took Angela aback, shocked, so she didn't dodge when the woman swung a baseball bat.

"Angela!" Jake howled behind her.

At the same time, a cracking sounded so loud it ruptured her eardrum. Pain erupted in her head, and she staggered, her knees burning against the carpet when she fell. She gripped her head, but the naked woman was trampling her, still screaming.

"Angela!" Jake yelled again.

She wanted to snap at him to shut up. Every time he yelled, it pierced her brain, and she already had the worst headache of her life. In spite of some crazy woman stomping on top of her and Jake ready to fall on top of her, crawling out of their way seemed impossible.

Angela reached for her head and pulled her fingers away, confused as to why they were sticky. Everything was growing darker, but she swore when she looked up she saw Mario standing in his bedroom, grinning cruelly at her.

Chapter Nineteen

Jake grabbed the naked woman, who was still screaming. She had thick, long hair that was damp. He breathed in an array of aromas, shampoo and perfumes, as if she'd just bathed and hadn't bothered dressing when she decided to attack.

"Stop it," he snarled, wrapping his arm around her bare waist and grabbing the baseball bat out of her hand. He almost dropped her when she went limp in his arms.

"They are a pair of feisty bitches, aren't they?" Mario's smooth accent matched the fresh khaki pants and pullover shirt he wore. He looked as if he were getting ready to spend the day on a yacht.

Jake held the woman with her backside pressed against his chest and her feet dangling as he maintained his grip and stared over her at the gun Mario held aimed at him.

"Are you the doting boyfriend?" Mario snarled, moving closer until he stood dangerously close to Angela.

She lay crumpled on the floor in the doorway to Mario's bedroom with her hand touching her head. Whether she was unconscious or not Jake couldn't tell. He prayed if she was just enduring one hell of a headache that she remained still. It would be easier handling this situation without having to deal with two hurt women. If he guessed right, the woman he held against him was drugged on slave juice.

"Is this Marianna?" he asked, staring over the woman's mop of long, black hair at Mario.

"She is
puttana
," Mario spit. "Any other identity no longer matters."

"
Puttana
?" Jake kept his attention on the gun Mario continued pointing at him as he compared Spanish to Italian. "Slut? That is hardly a name for a lady."

"She is a
puttana,
just as this one is." Mario raised his gun, pointing it at Jake's head, and squatted and grabbed Angela's arm.

She moaned slightly when he began dragging her into his bedroom.

"Don't even try it," Jake snarled, lunging forward. He adjusted his grip on the naked woman, prepared to drag her and Angela out of there if necessary.

"Have that one for a while. I would say from what I know of both of them it's a fair trade." Mario's grin was pure evil as he tugged on Angela, yanking her across the floor and dropping her at his feet inside his room. He straightened, aiming his gun lower, so if he fired he would hit the woman and Jake. "
Puttana,
kick! Attack that bastard holding you."

The woman in Jake's arms came to life, flipping against him, swinging her arms and legs while her hair flew madly around her.

"Hold still," Jake hissed, almost dropping her as Mario's bedroom door slammed in Jake's face.

The woman fell, her feet landing on the floor, but not too surprisingly, she didn't try to run. Jake stared past her at the closed door, not liking the idea of Angela being alone in that room with Mario for even a minute.

The naked woman stood, not moving or even bothering to move her thick strands of hair from her face. She looked like a wild woman, crazed and drugged from years of institutionalization. Jake knew his opinion derived from too many movies but didn't have time to learn the woman's story, other than knowing he couldn't leave her standing there naked. Jake knew enough about slave juice to know the woman, drugged or not, could think rationally deep inside her mind, but she was unable to take over her own actions. If she was drugged, she would do whatever she was told to do until the drug wore off.

He ripped off his shirt and pulled it over her head. "Put this on," he instructed, not having time to dress her. "And straighten your hair."

Jake didn't bother watching to see if she'd comply. Already the woman had done as she was told. Jake grabbed the doorknob, giving it a ruthless shake when he discovered the door was locked.

"Open the goddamn door, Mandela!" Jake bellowed, shaking the door harder. "You know I could break it down with little effort."

"Please do. It would make my day knowing you would hold the memory of your girlfriend getting her head blown off for the rest of your life."

"You lay one hand on Angela and you will suffer a long time before you beg for your death to come swiftly," Jake roared, shaking the door hard enough he heard the door frame around it creak under the pressure.

There wasn't time to play games with an insane Mafia lord. Jake stepped back, sizing up the door before lunging at it with his shoulder. Mario actually screamed worse than a hysterical woman when Jake and the door went flying into the bedroom.

"You aren't going to take what's mine!" Mandela bellowed, grabbing Angela's shirt and dragging her like a limp rag doll around the side of his bed. He pointed his gun at Jake, pulling the trigger. There wasn't a silencer on the gun, and the explosion in the bedroom was excruciating. "Mess with a Mandela and you die! It happens every time!" he screamed.

Jake felt as if he did an impressive roll when he hit the ground and tumbled around the desk to the other side of the bed. The bullet went into the wall alongside him, missing Jake by a fair distance. Either Mandela wasn't that good of a shot or he'd cracked under the pressure of knowing he was destroyed. That the man had remained quiet in his room with the naked woman, not responding to the men tumbling down the flight of stairs, proved he wasn't reacting to things around him normally. More than likely he knew he was going down, but his ego couldn't handle the knowledge. Jake had seen men, and women, crack under that awareness before.

"Put down the gun." Jake remained on the floor as he reached into his pant pocket for his phone. "You aren't getting out of this one, Mandela. Think about it. You'd do better not to go down with more murder charges against you."

"Fucking prick!" Mandela snarled. "I'm not going down."

"You've already fallen," Jake said, flipping his phone open and dialing 911. An operator answered immediately, asking what his emergency was. Jake rattled off Mandela's address.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mandela screamed, his accent thickening.

When Mandela leapt onto his bed, Jake rolled to the end of the bed and began crawling toward Angela. "Send a squad over here immediately," Jake hissed into the phone, ignoring the excited questions the operator had begun asking him. "I'm being shot at and we have two women down. Hurry!"

The operator insisted he remain on the line until officers showed up. Mandela fired again, missed again, and helped encourage the 911 operator to assure Jake there were officers within a few blocks and they would be on the scene in minutes. He pulled his Glock from the back of his pants, gripping it as he scurried across the floor. Jake hadn't seen them but he felt safe to say the FBI was watching the house. The second they got wind of a 911 call, they would be inside the place in droves.

"Angela," Jake whispered, keeping the line open as he held the phone in one hand and the gun in the other and hurried toward her crumpled body.

"Stay away from her! She's mine!" Mario leapt around the bed, standing over Jake.

Jake hurried to his feet, standing in front of Angela, who was rolled into a ball on the floor near the end of the bed. He faced the end of the gun, wishing to hell local PD, or the FBI, would show up soon.

Jake raised his gun, not surprised when Mario didn't look at it but continued glaring at Jake with eyes so cold and dark it looked as if the man might never have had a soul.

"Better shoot now," Jake said, deciding for a calm, soft tone. He swore Angela groaned from the floor behind him. Even damn near knocked out, she still tried getting her two cents in. Jake hoped he would live to have the chance to laugh over that fact. "You heard me call 911. Cops are going to be here within the next couple minutes. And trust me, Mandela, they hurry to get to a home in this neighborhood."

Jake didn't have a clue whether that was true or not. But they were in a very wealthy part of town. Mandela was renting this home and probably hadn't lived here long enough to know whether Jake spoke the truth or not.

Mandela sneered at Jake, not looking away from his face when he shifted his aim so fast Jake didn't catch him do it. In the next moment, Jake's Glock flew out of his hand as a fierce sting shot up his fingers. He looked long enough to see blood stream down his hand.

"Did you really think I was a bad shot?" Mandela hissed, his accent even thicker. "Move away from Angela. Do it now!" Mandela fired again, this time aiming at Jake's feet.

Jake did a quick dance, leaping backward over Angela. Mandela dove at her, grabbing her hair and tugging her toward him. She groaned louder, moving her hand, although not fast enough to show she was okay and faking it, but Mandela pulled harder.

"Police!" a man bellowed downstairs.

Mandela pulled Angela to him, aiming his gun at Jake. "It's all over, my friend," Mandela snarled, and moved the gun so that he aimed it at Angela's head.

Jake didn't think for a moment Mandela wouldn't pull that trigger. "Upstairs!" he screamed, and leapt at Mandela.

The two men rolled backward, Mandela proving to be rather strong for being a man at least half a foot shorter than Jake. Mandela's gun fired, but Jake didn't feel any intense pain and had to believe the wall had been shot again. Although he swore he heard feet pounding the floor as they raced up the stairs, he wouldn't wait for the police to save the day.

"Give it up," he growled, fighting for Mandela's gun.

The man's face was contorted with fury, and he managed to keep his gun in his hand.

"Police!" a man yelled from behind them.

Several hands grabbed Jake, managing to lift and pull him backward. Jake stared down at Mandela, who lay flat on his back, and didn't look away in time to miss seeing the man shoot his brains out.

* * *

Angela sat on her couch, grinning at her half sister. Marianna had a melodic laugh. She sat at the opposite end of the couch, cross-legged, her pretty face glowing as she stared at Angela.

"So the game is over?" Marianna asked, glancing from Angela to Jake when he entered the room carrying three bottles of beer.

"I just got off the phone with Dad." Angela curled her legs, shifting so she could see Jake, who sat in the oversized chair facing her couch. "The FBI took out the other two players in the game. Over thirty kidnapped victims are returning home, or have already returned home."

"I wasn't sure if my life got better, or worse, when Bobby started telling Mario he was giving me my dose of slave juice but didn't really give it to me." Marianna stared at her bottle after accepting it from Jake. "I had to pretend I was under the influence, which was so hard to do when I was terrified I would be found out."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through all of this," Angela said, her voice cracking as she leaned forward and took her sister's hand. "Apparently Bobby was keeping the doses of slave juice you were supposed to get. He was going to argue he was confiscating them, but apparently he confessed while in the hospital he thought he could sell the doses on the black market. It seems he decided somewhere along the line while living with Mario for a year that he wasn't getting paid enough by the Bureau to endure the undercover work he was doing."

"The creep," Marianna muttered.

Jake fought not to look too sympathetic. He'd learned over the past week that Marianna and her sister were a lot alike in spite of having different fathers and spending years growing up as only daughters. Marianna didn't want pity for what she'd endured. She'd shared quite a bit of the nightmares she'd been through during the time she was under the influence of slave juice. All of them agreed the worst part of the drug was remembering everything once the drug wore off. It would take Marianna a while to come to terms with having ordered two men to their deaths.

"There won't be any slave juice showing up anywhere for quite a long time, if ever," Jake said, keeping his expression serious when both women looked at him as he sat in the La-Z-Boy and stretched his legs out in front of him. Both were so incredibly beautiful in their own way. Where Angela glowed with intelligence and determination, her younger sister held on to an aura of innocence and wonder, in spite of the hell she was recovering from. "Evelyn Van Cooper will be going away for quite a few years and apparently was responsible for distributing the drug to dealers around the country. Hopefully none of them tried breaking it down and learning its recipe. Authorities still haven't been able to get out of her how she created the drug."

"May that knowledge rot in hell along with her," Angela said, raising her beer bottle in a toast.

"Here, here," Jake and Marianna said in unison.

"You know you're going to have to keep him in the family." Marianna spoke with a soft, fluent sound that added to her beauty.

"Makes me sound like I'm a pet," Jake grumbled with his beer bottle to his lips.

He already knew he wasn't going anywhere. If he ever did, Angela was going with him.

"I do believe my little sister has a crush on you," Angela suggested.

There wasn't a hint of jealousy on her face. Jake noticed any woman who gave him a second look faced the wrath of Angela, whether she knew it or not. Angela saw no wrong in her little sister and adored her with open and unadulterated love.

"I meant that you'd have to keep in the family any man who meets your sister naked," Marianna explained.

"And swinging a baseball bat," he reminded her, then sipped at his beer, enjoying the glowing happiness on both ladies' faces.

"Lord, yes!" Marianna giggled, shaking her head. "Swinging a baseball bat and knocking out her older sister."

"Don't remind me." Angela gingerly brushed her fingers over the side of her head. She had one hell of a lump that was still detectable, although she wasn't complaining of headaches as much as she had the first few days after they'd returned to her home.

"So you're saying a man who meets my little sister naked and swinging a bat, causing bodily harm to her sister, shouldn't be allowed to get away?" Angela asked, staring at Marianna, although she grinned broadly.

"Yes. Exactly." Marianna brushed her thick hair behind her shoulder and sipped her beer. Even when she made a face she was as adorable as they came. "How can you two drink this stuff?" she complained. "Beer in my country is so much better."