Bullet Proof: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family) (11 page)

When she moved to sit in the chair closest to the window, Amelia tightened her grip on Bianca's arm. The woman had more strength in her slender fingers than expected. The other woman's squared-off nails bit into her skin, setting off all sorts of warning bells and whistles.

"Why don't you sit by me? We can't let Oliver have you to himself right away." The smile curling Amelia's blood red lips didn't reach her silver eyes.

"I've been looking forward to chatting with you, so that works out perfectly." She sat down next to Amelia, her back to the entrance, and watched the other woman pour tea into delicate china cups decorated with pale yellow flowers.

Maybe it was just latent jealousy? Even open couples like the Davies-Smythes had to have insecurities, right?

It was logical, but she couldn't put all of her faith into that explanation. Something was off. Plastering the socially-acceptable smile she'd learned her first year at St. B's to avoid spending a night in the closet, she listened to Amelia prattle on and on about the superiority of English tea to American tea.

Sneaking a peek out of the corner of her eye at Taz, she realized she wasn't being paranoid—or if she was, she wasn't the only one drowning in creepy vibes. His jaw was tight enough to be wired shut and he was drumming the Fifth Symphony on his kneecaps. The way his chair was angled had his back to the door and the sun shining through the window hitting him right in the eyes, but she doubted that was the reason for his strained expression. Something was wrong.

"And that's why one should never microwave tea, but allow it to steep until it is ready." Amelia looked up, a flash of cruelty sailing across her face before her mask settled back in place, and then set down her cup without even a clink of china on china. "There you are, darling. Perfect timing."

Bianca was in the process of turning to look at Oliver when the cool press of metal against her temple stopped her.

Everything went still for half a second before panic-laced adrenaline slammed into her. Her fight or flight instincts had her gunning to move, to fight, to do something, but she forced herself to take a breath and assess. Her pulse slowed, her thinking cleared. It was what Taz had taught her to do at the gym, to find and exploit her opponent’s weakness, because everyone had one.

Before she could exhale, Taz leapt from his chair.

The click of the gun's safety sliding back stopped him from taking a step toward her.

"Don't even think of it, either of you," Oliver said as he wrapped her ponytail around his free hand and yanked her head back hard. "You took Ms. Sutherland here away from us last night before we got a chance to talk with her one-on-one, so it was very considerate of you to bring her back this morning."

"What are you talking about?" Taz bit out the question, his hands curled into deadly fists at his side and barely restrained rage giving him a mad man's edge that must have scared the shit out of his opponents in the ring.

Oliver pivoted just enough to point his nine millimeter at Taz. "Don't take another step. I promise I'm an excellent shot."

He didn't move forward, but he didn't retreat either.

Instead he slid his gaze over to hers and in a heartbeat it was like being in the ring with him as she practiced jabs and hooks. They'd worked together for months, and she'd memorized his body language long before she'd ever gotten to touch him like she had last night. Understanding flashed between them. He was biding his time, waiting for the Davies-Smythes to show their soft pink underbelly. Then they'd strike. Together.

"Please, let's not pretend anymore," Amelia said, all of the cultured formality in her voice giving way to a flat Midwestern twang. "We'll lose the fake British accent and you stop lying about why you're here. She's gone, you know."

"Gidget
was
here." She sat up and snapped forward in her chair, only to be cruelly jerked back by Oliver's death grip on her hair.

"Quite the troublemaker, that one," Oliver said, his own British giving way to a Boston accent. "She proved to be more difficult of a test subject than we expected."

"Where is she?" They had to find her, and the easiest way to get information from the happy-little-psycho couple was to keep them talking.

Amelia shrugged. "They didn't tell us when they took her and since the less we know, the more likely we are to stay alive, neither Oliver or I asked."

"Are those really your names?" Taz asked as he shifted his feet and let his hand drop casually to the table lamp on the end table next to his chair.

"Does it matter?" Amelia laughed. "We'll be Harold and Elizabeth or Timothy and Sandra or some other couple before anyone finds your body or realizes that Kitten here is missing."

"You're not taking her." Concrete was weaker than the conviction in Taz's tone.

"Not us. Someone else wants her. Has wanted her and the others from St. Bernadette's all along," Amelia said. "That Gidget girl was just the first. But our debt will be paid off by handing you over."

Oliver's grip on her hair loosened. She gave Taz the smallest of nods. He dropped his gaze sharply to the floor in an unspoken message before bringing it back to her face. Another tiny, quick nod.

He winked and his fingers curled around the lamp. She slunk down to the floor and ducked. The air whistled overhead as the lamp Taz sent flying cut through the air above her.

Then all hell broke loose.

* * * *

Taz was going to tear Oliver into pieces for ever having the audacity to put a gun on Bianca. As soon as she dropped to the floor, he grabbed the lamp and flung it at Oliver.

The lamp whizzed by the other man's head, missing by millimeters. It would be the only bit of luck the bastard would have today. Taking advantage of the surprise attack, Taz launched himself at the other man, hurtling over Bianca's crouched form and plowing into Oliver with the force of a Mack truck slamming into a ladybug.

They hit the floor and rolled. Taz grabbed Oliver's wrists, slamming the hand holding the gun against the floor again and again until he lost his grip on the gun. It spun away.

"Bianca," he yelled as he fought to keep Oliver pinned to the floor.

"Already on it," she called out.

But she wasn't alone. A flash of purple cut across his periphery. Amelia.

"Watch out!" he shouted.

Too late. Amelia scrambled for the gun at the same time as Bianca.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Oliver landed a hard uppercut to Taz's chin that sent his head back. Seizing the momentum, Oliver rolled so he was on top. He shouldn't have been able to do it. Taz had fifty pounds on him. However, if the other man was sampling his supply of Genie's Wish then his drive to fight would be unmatched. Skill. Strength. Pain threshold. None of it would matter to a man high on rage and Genie's Wish.

Even as he traded punch after punch with the other man, he could hear the grunts and cries from Bianca and Amelia as they fought for the gun. It wasn't a boxing match—it was a do-whatever-it-takes-to-win brawl for all of them.

He and Oliver wrestled for control, landing sucker punches, biting tender flesh, kicking out to make contact with sensitive spots as the floor and ceiling traded places over and over again. Finding himself on the bottom, Taz looked up into the dilated eyes of the other man. That confirmation of Oliver being on Genie's Wish was disturbing enough, but it wasn't what jabbed a poker of fear into Taz's heart. It was that despite the other man's beet-red face, fast forming bruises, and heaving chest, Oliver was smiling as if this was the most fun he'd had in his entire miserable life.

Keir hadn't been kidding about the criminal possibilities for the drug. With an army of Genie's Wish powered thugs, a crime boss would be near invincible.

Taz accepted the other man's blows, knowing he couldn't defeat him with just his fists. He reached out for something—anything—that could knock the other man out. Oliver landed a headbutt that hit Taz square in the nose. The crunch followed by the rush of blood down his face confirmed what the jolt of agony indicated—the fucker broke his nose.

Reaching back to his days on the street, he shucked off the veneer of rule-abiding boxer and tapped into the fury, desperation, and iron-willed focus needed to end this once and for all. His fingers closed around the broken remains of the table lamp he'd thrown earlier. It had a solid mahogany base. He curled his fingers around the neck as if it were a baseball bat and smashed it into Oliver's temple. He went down and didn't get back up.

Taz shoved the other man's unconscious body off his. Pain ricocheted through him as he stood up, but not enough to block out the sounds of Amelia and Bianca fighting.

They were across the room, going toe-to-toe. Bianca was good, but the other woman had a longer arm span and no doubt years of hard-scrabble fighting on her side. She slammed her hard elbow against Bianca's cheekbone, sending her tumbling back and away from the gun that lay on the floor between them. Nothing stood between Amelia and the gun.

He didn't have time to think—not that he needed to. As soon as she secured the gun, Bianca was dead. There had been only one choice.

He dove toward Bianca, putting his body between her and Amelia.

A shot.

Fire burrowed through his shoulder, a white-hot lightning flash of pain that turned the world dark. But he wouldn't let it. He crashed to the floor, blood running down his arm.

Bianca scrambled to her feet and leapfrogged over him, smashing into Amelia and taking her to the ground. She pried the gun from the other woman's hands and trained it on Amelia, her arms steady and her aim sure. In her head-to-toe black, her lip bleeding and more than a few bruises already starting to form, she didn't just look like Ft. Worth's avenging angel—she was that and so much more.

He might not be able to handle it if anything ever happened to her, but he loved her too much to stand in her way. This was the life she'd chosen, the one she was determined to make happen. Looking at her right then, he knew in his bones that he would do whatever it took to help her accomplish her dreams. The city needed her just as much as he did.

"On your knees," Bianca said. "Hands behind your head, fingers laced."

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, Amelia complied.

"Are you okay?" Bianca asked, keeping her gaze trained on the other woman.

He twisted and glanced down at his shoulder. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but the hole torn into the back of his shirt showed the bullet had exited. "I'll live."

She pivoted her stance so she could easily fire off a shot toward Amelia, on her knees, or Oliver, still unconscious across the room. "That's more than can be said for these two."

Amelia jerked her head up, her eyes wide with fear. "Don't shoot."

"Give me one good reason," Bianca said.

Taz curled into a sitting position, his broken nose and bleeding shoulder protesting every millimeter of movement, so he could watch the women. Bianca wasn't about to go assassin on him, even if he wouldn't blame her if she did. It wasn't in her make up, but Amelia didn't know that.

"Your friend." The words rushed out. "I don't know where she is, but I do know some things that may help you find her. They postponed delivery of Genie's Wish, but the testing sessions are still going on. They took her last night, during the party. That's why we had to leave you."

It could be the truth. It could be bullshit to placate the woman holding a gun on her. Still, even if only ten percent was the truth, it was more than they had before, and judging by what she'd said once Oliver showed up with his nine millimeter, she had information to share.

"You said they were targeting Bianca and the women she went to school with. Why?" he asked, ignoring the pain making his body throb with every inhaled breath.

The distinctive blare of law enforcement sirens sounded outside. Vivi promised ten minutes if things went wrong and she hadn't been lying. They'd be here any second.

"I don't know," Amelia cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Get the girls from St. Bernadette's is all he said."

"Who's he?" Bianca asked.

A gunshot boomed in the tiny room.

Amelia went down, a small hole right between her eyes.

Bianca whipped around, her aim true.

"Get down!" Ignoring his own injuries, Taz jumped up, more than ready to take another bullet for Bianca if that's what needed to be done.

Oliver struggled to sit up as blood rushed from the gash slicing his temple. One leg of his pants was pulled up, revealing an ankle holster. He held a small two-shot pistol against his own head.

"We'd die no matter what. At least this way, it'll be fast." He pulled the trigger.

Another loud bang and he crumpled to the floor.

The door flew open. A group of men and one very short woman rushed into the room. Someone yelled, "Federal agents."

Keeping her movements deliberate, Bianca held up her free hand as she squatted down and laid the gun she'd gotten from Amelia on the floor, then stood up again. Standing beside her, Taz lifted his right hand since his left arm was too busy bleeding to cooperate.

"They're friendlies." Vivi kicked the gun away from what was left of Oliver, then gave them both an assessing look before guiding them through the throng of agents out into the hall. "Are you okay? You look like shit."

As if the words were a reminder to his body, the pain crashed into him. He tightened his grip on Bianca's hand but kept his face neutral. After the number of years he'd spent in the ring, he'd learned to deal with pain and get past it. "It was a through and through. I'm fine."

"You sit." Vivi pointed to the nearby bench and clicked on the mic hooked to her Kevlar vest, walking across to stand in the doorway to the room where the agents where taping off the crime scene. "We need a paramedic in here. Gunshot wound to the shoulder, moderate bleeding. Patient alert and a confirmed pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but you're my pain in the ass." Bianca sat down next to him on his uninjured side, her presence doing almost as much as a shot of painkillers to make his world better.