How to Score (39 page)

It took more than two and a half hours to make the one-hour trek back to the cabin—partially because she stopped every time she heard branches break, partially because she was trying to be quiet, and partially because of a sudden downpour. The rain hadn’t lasted long, but she’d lost her footing three times on the slippery leaves and fallen flat on her backside. Her hair was plastered to her head, her jeans were soaked all the way through, and she was uncontrollably shivering. She’d picked up her backpack at the campsite, though, so she had a towel and dry clothes to change into if she ever made it to the cabin.

She blew out a relieved breath when she saw the cabin roofline. What now? Did she dare go in, or should she just wait here?

A lightning bolt danced across the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Ooh-kay. Decision made.

Drawing a deep breath, she started for the clearing. As she walked past an enormous oak, an arm grabbed her around the neck.

Panic flooded her veins. The arm yanked her backward, snatching her breath away. She turned her head enough to see a swarthy face inside a black parka hood, and then her air supply was choked off. She lost her footing and fell. Her accoster hauled her to her feet, nearly breaking her neck in the process.

She tried to scream, but her efforts were immediately stifled by more pressure on her windpipe. “Make a sound and I’ll kill you,” the man grunted. “Understand?”

Her heart pounded like a jackhammer. He loosened the pressure on her neck, and she nodded.

“That’s more like it. Now turn around.”

He loosened his grip around her neck and yanked her around by the arm. He was a bulky man in his midthirties, with a big honker of a nose, shrubbery-like eyebrows, and a mean little mouth. His breath could have killed a snake at fifty paces. In his hand, he held an enormous gun.

Aiming it at her, he rummaged in her pockets. He pulled out the broken cell phone.

“Who’d you call?”

If he thought the law was on the way, maybe he’d leave her alone and run. “The-the FBI,” she said. “And the sheriff and the police and the—the… ” she thought, fast. They were out in the middle of nowhere. What kind of law enforcement would likely be nearby? “… and the Fish and Wildlife Commission.”

“Hell.” He pursed his lips and frowned. “Those Fish and Wildlife guys are all over the place. They probably heard the gunshot.”

“That—that’s right.” Her teeth chattered with cold and fear.
Stay calm,
she told herself.
Keep your head in the game
. “Th-they s-said they’ll be here any moment. So you-you better go.”

“No way. Call Luke.”

“What?”

“Your boyfriend. Call Jones.”

“I-I can’t. The phone’s dead.”

“I don’t mean on the phone. I mean call out his name. I know he’s out here.”

“No.”

The man shoved the gun in her side. “Do it!”

He had a wild look in his eye that made her think she’d better comply. “Chase!” she yelled weakly.

He poked her harder with the gun. “What the hell are you doing? I told you to call his name.”

“I am. He-he’s Chase. Luke is his brother.”

“What?” The man’s eyebrows inched upward like caterpillars.

“L-Luke isn’t here.” She was shivering so hard it was difficult to speak. “I came with Chase, but he’s n-not here, either, because he w-w-went for help.” She wanted this cretin to turn and run. “He’ll be back any moment. With the—the… ” She grasped at the name that had seemed to worry him the most. “… the Fish and Wildlife people.”

“Why’s his car still here?”

“He-he was taking a shortcut.”

He pulled those wild eyebrows together. “You’re lying. Call his name again, or I’ll kill you.”

The fact that Johnny Lambino had his gun trained on Sammi made Chase’s blood run cold. He’d been in lots of life-or-death situations, but he’d never felt this sense of urgency, this gut-twisting sense of terror. If Lambino hurt Sammi…

No. He couldn’t let his head go there. He needed to focus on getting in position behind Lambino so he could take him out.

Chase ducked behind a boulder. “Drop the gun and I’ll come out,” he called.

Lambino swiveled around, pulling Sammi with him, and scanned the ledge above him, looking for Chase. “You think I’m stupid? I’m not dropping anything.”

The moment he showed himself, Lambino would shoot, and then he’d no doubt kill Sammi, as well, in order to not leave any witnesses. “Let the lady go, and I’ll come out.”

“No way.” Lambino poked the gun at Sammi and eyed her with a nasty leer. “I got a way to make your boyfriend come out of hiding, little lady. Take off your clothes.”

Chase bit the inside of his lip, trying to bite back the red tide of rage surging inside him.

“Do it!” Lambino ordered.

Sammi toyed with the zipper of her hoodie. “The, uh, zipper’s stuck.”

Good,
Chase thought grimly, as he crept through the trees. She still had her wits about her.

“Yeah, right.” Lambino reached over and roughly yanked it down, pushing her to the ground in the same movement.

It was all Chase could do not to charge at the man. But he couldn’t; not yet. Lambino had his gun trained on Sammi. Chase crept through the trees, trying to get into position.

“Listen. I hear a car,” Sammi said.

“Yeah, right,” Lambino retorted.

Sure enough, Chase heard the rumble of a car engine. Lambino heard it, too, because he straightened and looked around. Hope rose in Chase’s chest as he crept closer to Lambino. He’d thought Sammi was bluffing about calling the police—cell-phone coverage was practically nonexistent out here—but maybe she’d actually done it.

Lambino grew wild-eyed. “Get up.” He roughly grabbed Sammi’s arm and jerked her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Sammi staged a deliberate stumble as a black Chevy Impala rattled up the road and stopped in front of the cabin. A humpty-dumpty of a man with a receding red hairline, high-waisted pants, and a tucked-in yellow polo shirt lumbered out of the vehicle. He opened the back door of the car, lifted out something boxy and large, and put a strap around his neck.

An accordion. Good God in heaven—this had to be Horace. What the
hell
was he doing
here?

“Help!” Sammi called.

Horace wheeled around. His mouth fell open when he spotted Sammi.

“Help!” Sammi called again. “This man has a gun!”

Horace squared his shoulders, pressed his lips together in resolve, and strode toward them. “Unhand that woman!”

Lambino stared, his eyes as large as pine knotholes. “Who the hell are you?”

Chase took advantage of the diversion to creep forward on the ledge, five feet above Lambino and Sammi.

“I’m your worst nightmare.” Horace squeezed the accordion. The “Charge” melody echoed surreally through the forest. “Drop that gun, or I’ll drop it for you.”

Lambino’s eyebrows shot skyward. “What are you—nuts?”

“Oh, you want to play it that way, do you?” Horace’s accordion squeaked out a few ominous chords of “Taps.”

Chase heard the click of Lambino’s gun cocking. It was now or never.

Throwing his full weight forward, he pounced onto Lambino. A gunshot exploded as Lambino hit the ground. The gun flew through the air.

It took less than five seconds for Chase to twist the man’s hands behind his back. Lambino bucked beneath him. Chase put a knee in his kidney.

“Oomph!”

Chase looked at Sammi. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He glanced over at Horace. The man was lying on the ground like a beached whale, the accordion on his chest. Chase’s heart nose-dived.

“Sammi—run to my car and look under the front seat. I have a pair of handcuffs, a spare cell phone, and a first-aid kit. Toss me the cuffs, then call 911. Tell them we need the sheriff and an ambulance, stat.”

T
wenty minutes later, three sheriff vehicles poured up the dirt road, sirens shrieking, an ambulance right behind. The deputies piled out and headed toward Lambino, who lay sprawled face-first on the ground, his hands cuffed behind his back.

Sammi sat on the ground beside Horace, holding a piece of gauze from Chase’s first-aid kit over a wound in his hip. “Over here!” She waved as a blue-uniformed medic jumped out of the ambulance.

He raced toward them.

“What happened?” the medic asked as the ambulance driver joined them.

“He was shot,” Sammi said. “He passed out for a moment, and he’s bleeding.”

“My accordion saved my life,” Horace volunteered.

The ambulance driver joined the paramedic, and the two men quickly examined him. “Looks like the bullet just nicked you,” the medic with graying temples told Horace, “but we need to take you in and get you checked out. You might have injured yourself when you fainted.”

“I didn’t faint,” Horace protested. “I passed out from the pain.”

Horace had regained consciousness almost immediately, then talked nonstop in a falsetto voice as they’d waited for the authorities. No wonder she’d mistaken him for a woman on the phone, Sammi thought; Horace’s voice was higher than hers. Sammi learned that Horace, too, was a life-coaching client, who thought Chase was Luke.

“I asked Coach to set up an exercise to make me brave,” Horace had told Sammi as she held the gauze over his wound. “When you called, I recognized the phone number, so I thought that’s what was going on.”

The phone’s numbers had stuck, Sammi recalled. Maybe nine was Luke’s programmed number for Horace—or perhaps she’d accidentally hit redial. Either way, it was a good thing the call had gone through.

“Horace saved the day,” she told the medics now, hoping to boost Horace’s spirits. “He was very brave. If it weren’t for him, we’d probably be dead.”

Horace smiled proudly, showing small, widely spaced teeth. “My accordion saved all of us. I think it was the C-note.”

The paramedics looked at each other. “That’s a first,” the older one muttered.

“He’s a real hero,” Sammi said.

“What were you doing with an accordion out here?” the younger paramedic asked.

“I was pretending to be a superhero. Accordion Man. He wades into danger and stares death in the teeth, armed only with the power of the squeeze box.”

“Make a note that this guy needs a psych evaluation,” the older paramedic told the younger one as they headed to the ambulance to retrieve the gurney.

“Do I get to ride in the ambulance?” Horace asked eagerly.

“Yep. That’s the idea.”

“Oh, wow! This is so exciting!” His smile gave way to a worried frown. “But—but what about my car?”

“I’ll drive it behind the ambulance and meet you at the hospital,” Sammi offered.

“Really? Oh, golly—that would be great!” He reached in his pocket and handed her a keychain with a Playboy bunny on the key ring.

The medic retuned with the gurney. The two men attempted to hoist Horace onto it and failed. “Lift on the count of three,” one said to the other. They counted off and tried again.

“No use,” said the taller one, putting a hand to the small of his back.

“I’ll give you a hand.” Chase strode over and helped load Horace on the gurney. He turned toward Sammi as the medics wheeled Horace to the ambulance. Her stomach tensed as he worriedly searched her face.

“Are you okay?”

She stiffly nodded. “You?”

“Fine.” He raked his hand through his hair and gazed at her, his eyes dark and troubled, their brown depths speaking a million words. “Sammi, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Something that felt dangerously like tenderness unfurled inside her. She fought to batten it down.

No. She no longer had any feelings for him. She refused to allow herself to. He’d lied to her—or at least grossly misrepresented the truth. While she’d been baring her heart and soul, he’d been thinking of her as… what? A pitiful wreck? A challenge? A project?

“I’m sorry about everything,” he said.

You should be
. Hurt and betrayal balled up in her throat. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

He put his hands on her arms. His touch was both unbearably sweet and unendurably painful. “We’ll talk on the way home. It’ll take me a little while to finish up here, but—”

“Take your time.” Sammi pulled away. “I’m driving Horace’s car to the hospital behind the ambulance. After he’s treated, I’ll catch a ride home with him.”

Chase started to protest, then blew out a hard breath and nodded. “That’ll be good for Horace.” His mouth curved in a wry grin. “You seem to make a habit of following ambulances.”

She would have grinned if her heart hadn’t been breaking. “Horace thinks you’re a secret agent as well as a life coach. I covered for you. I told him you go by two names—Chase and Luke—to keep the two compartments of your life separate.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Horace. Now is not the time for him to learn that his life coach is a fake.”

Chase winced. “Thanks.” His Adam’s apple worked as he swallowed. “You and I can talk once we get back to Tulsa.” He pulled her to him and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

Emotion knotted in her throat. The kiss would have been comforting if he weren’t the reason she needed to be comforted.