Kick Start: Dangerous Ground 5 (15 page)

Will did it again, aimed for the sweet spot, and felt Taylor jump in his arms and give another breathless sob. “
Will
.”

“Oh you do like that,” Will muttered. But then they both liked that.

Third time was the charm. Taylor arched in his arms and went rigid like he was having a seizure, and then he was coming in a hot, sticky mess, shooting white across the wet grass and wild flowers. Over his shoulder Will could see a buck several yards away staring at them in astonishment.

Taylor went boneless in his arms, hanging onto the band of Will’s arms like he needed Will’s support to stay on his feet. Will kissed the damp side of his face, thrusting faster, moving to short strokes. He felt flecks of wet hitting his skin. It was raining now, really raining. He thrust harder, straining to get there, to reach the finish line, stretching out for it. And there it was. The road rising up to meet him and he was home. Homecoming. It was never sweeter.

He hung onto Taylor as release rippled through him, so sharp, so bright, so intense it blinded him for a few seconds. Reaction nearly made his knees give way. He and Taylor clung to each other, which was all that saved him from sitting down in the mud. The rain peppered down harder and harder. Will opened his eyes and Taylor was smiling at him, looking more warmed and relaxed than he had in days, maybe weeks — despite the fact that his hair was plastered to his head, his skin shining.

Will opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but two rifle shots, clear as the crack of doom, echoed through the valley, ringing off the mountains and rolling away into silence.

Hunters.

It could easily be hunters.

But it wasn’t. He could feel it in his bones, in that sick coldness pooling in his gut. That was instinct. The same instinct that had Taylor moving away from him, alert, tense, trying to place the direction of the shots in relation to the house.

“Is the house over those hills?” asked Taylor, watching Will.

Will nodded, already getting behind the wheel. His legs were shaking, whether from recent sex or fear, he wasn’t sure. Taylor ran around the front of the SUV and jumped in beside him. “My SIG is in my knapsack.”

“My backup piece is in the glove compartment.”

Handguns against a rifle. Those were not good odds.

The SUV bumped and bounced over the rough terrain as Will headed for the dirt road that led out of the valley. Taylor was on his cell phone to the Columbia County Sheriff’s Department.

“It could be a hunter,” Will said for the sake of argument, but Taylor did not relay this info.

He disconnected and said, “Your dad might not even be at the house. He was going to drive into Mist Bend for groceries for the Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, remember?”

Will nodded grimly. The thought of Grant there on his own was not a lot more comforting.

“You want me to try and contact the Marshal’s Service?” Taylor asked.

“By the time you get through, we’ll be there,” Will said. He realized that until that moment it hadn’t crossed his mind that this could be anything but Jem Dooley seeking vengeance. But of course Taylor was right. It was even odds that this attack — if attack it was — had to do with Cousin Dennis.

And the idea of Grant trying to deal with mob hit men was even more terrifying than the idea of Grant squaring off against Jem Dooley.

Will stomped on the accelerator and the Land Cruiser slammed onto the road. Taylor had dragged his knapsack into the front and was checking his weapon. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out Will’s backup weapon. His calm focus steadied Will. This was what they did. This was who they were. And the fact that this time it was personal — family — was beside the point.

It didn’t feel beside the point. It felt like the longest drive of his life. The car smelled of sex and rain and fish. Will was sure he would never forget the scent of these seemingly endless miles.

Suddenly the elastic band of road snapped and they were racing up over the final rise.

He didn’t see the red Corolla until it was almost too late. It came flying over the top of the hill and nearly crashed into them. Will jerked the wheel left, the Corolla careened right, skidded off the dirt road and went out of control down the hillside. It shredded the brush and crashed into an oak tree.

“What the hell was that?” Taylor said.

Good question. Will shook his head and pulled off the road into the grass. Taylor passed him his SIG. They got out into the rain. There was no movement inside the Corolla. Steam rose from the crumpled hood.

Will turned. He could see his father’s house in the valley below. There were no lights, but smoke drifted from the fireplace chimney, pale against the stormy skies. He heard the crack of a rifle coming from the direction of the house, but at first couldn’t place where the shooter was. Then he located Grant hunkered down on the back deck with a carbine.

At the same time he heard the sound of another vehicle racing up the road toward them. Will identified the angry lug of a truck engine in need of a tune-up before he spotted the white pickup hurtling their way.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Taylor dropping down in a speed kneeling position. He stepped out into the road and brought his weapon up.

The pickup crested the hill. Will got a good look at the three men wedged inside the truck cab at about the same instant they got a good look at him. The truck swerved wildly, tried to complete a 360 and drove off the side of the hill. The pickup rolled once and slid on its cab to a stop at the bottom of the road.

Taylor rose, lowering his pistol. “What is this, some kind of demolition derby?”

“Let’s find out,” Will said. “I’ll take the pickup. You take the Corolla?”

Taylor frowned, staring down at the upside down truck. The engine was still running, tires spinning. Shouts and curses floated from the cab. “You sure you don’t need a hand?”

Will gestured to Grant running from the house, carbine in hand. “Under control.”

Taylor nodded and turned, jogging down the hillside to the smashed Corolla.

Will started down the road to the pickup. The Dooleys, bloodied but largely unhurt, were crawling from the wreckage of their truck when Will reached them. He reached in and turned off the engine. A small arsenal of weapons lay scattered around the cab.

As Grant jogged up, Will said, “You okay?”

“Sure. Luckily none of these jerk-offs can shoot straight.”

That seemed to touch a sore spot and the Dooleys began snarling obscenities again.

“I’m going to sue you!” Tobe shouted at Will. At least Will thought it was Tobe. He’d gone to school with Tobe, but it was hard to keep all the facial hair and camo straight. Every one of them looked about a decade older than their natural years.

“That ought to be an interesting court case,” Will replied. To Grant, he said, “Do me a favor and start collecting these guns and knives and whatever else they’ve got stashed in there.” He turned back to the Dooleys. “I want you all prone — that means face down — on the ground. Hands locked behind your head. Do it now.”

“We’re injured,” protested Vin, who was, true enough, bleeding profusely from a cut on his scalp.

“All the more reason to lie down and stop moving around. Help is on the way.”

He’d already picked up the distant wail of sirens through the wash of rain. “Where’s Pop?” he asked Grant.

Grant, holding a Bowie knife as long as his forearm, said, “Pop’s not even here. Cousin Dennis is hiding in the safe room.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. They drove up and started firing at the house.”

“That’s not exactly nothing.”

“I mean, nothing happened to start it,” Grant said. “They pulled up and started shooting.”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Will asked Tobe. Tobe screwed his face up and spat at him. Given his position and the direction of the wind, it was a strategic error.

Will shook his head and turned his attention back to Grant. “How much damage did they do?”

“Probably took ten years off Cousin Dennis’s life.” Grant grinned. “They knocked out some windows and that globe lamp that belonged to Grandma Mills. That’s about it. They turned tail the minute I started firing back.”

Will studied the men lying in the mud. They were using their clasped hands to shelter their sodden heads from the rain. Three more bedraggled and miserable specimens he’d rarely seen. Tobe, Hal — who had somehow managed to hang onto his sunglasses — and Vin. No Jem.

“Where’s Jem?” Will asked. “Did he put you up to this?” The three men stared at him sullenly.

“You do realize you crossed a line, right? You don’t get off this time with a fine or community service?”

They stared back at him with silent loathing. Maybe stupidity wasn’t a crime, but it sure played a role in plenty of crimes. The scary thought was that Jem was — had always been — the brains of this outfit.

“Fine. You want to share the rap with your brother, go right ahead. But Jem is going straight back to prison for this. Maybe you can share a cell. Wouldn’t that be cozy?”

Tobe snarled, “No it wouldn’t and no Jem ain’t. ‘Coz he’s gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“What I said. He’s gone.”

“Where did he go?”

“Wherever he wanted to.”

Hal lifted his head. His sunglasses were askew. He said, “Jem left last week. That’s how much you know about anything.”

“He can’t leave the area without violating his parole.”

Hal shrugged, then winced, rubbing at his shoulder.

“If he left last week, what was all this?” Will asked. “All this driving around, raising hell, claiming Jem was coming for revenge?”

Hal and Tobe stared sullenly at him. Vin stared down at the mud.

Will gave a disbelieving laugh. “You’re saying this was all
your
idea?”

Well,
idea
was probably an exaggeration.

Taylor whistled sharply from up the hill, and Will turned at once. “Grant, if any one of them moves, shoot him,” he instructed, and switchbacked up the road at a brisk jog.

“My pleasure,” Grant called from behind him, which started the Dooleys snarling and swearing again.

Will topped the hill and looked down the gully. The driver of the red Corolla leaned against the side of his car, talking to Taylor. Taylor turned as Will approached.

“Look who it is,” Taylor told him.

“Who?” As far as Will knew, the driver, a big man in a black leather jacket, was a stranger to him. He was taller than himself or Taylor. Beefy but well-groomed with one of those geometrically precise beards that nobody besides actors and male models bothered with. There was a cut above his eye where the airbag must have caught him, but otherwise he seemed unhurt.

“I keep telling you, I didn’t have anything to do with this,” he said as Will reached them. Will’s boots skidded a little on the wet weeds. He steadied himself on the hood of the car.

“You do,” Taylor agreed. “But you’ve yet to convince me.”

“Who the hell are you?” Will asked.

Brown eyes met Will’s briefly. “I was parked in the trees over there when that truckload of rednecks arrived and started shooting up the place.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. And those trees where you were parked are private property. So who are you and what were you doing parked over there?”

“Nothing. I was taking a little rest stop.”

“Resting on your way to where?”

“Look, I don’t know why you’re hassling me. I had nothing to do with anything that happened here. Those hillbillies opened fire and I tried to leave the area as quickly as possible.
You almost
crashed into
me
.”

“You didn’t think about maybe calling for help?” Will asked. “Your only thought was to flee the scene?”

“I figured help was on the way.”

“That’s convenient.”

“What happened to the Porsche?” Taylor asked.

The man blinked. He looked from Will to Taylor. His expression changed. “Hey, wait a minute. It’s not what you think,” he said quickly.

Taylor said, “I think you’re a PI by the name of Stuart Schwierskott and you’ve been hired to run surveillance on us.”

Rain pattered down on the ground around them.

“Okay, it is what you think,” Schwierskott admitted. “But listen, you can read my reports. I don’t have anything on you. I’m no threat to you.”

No threat to them? Did he think they were going to shoot him? Who did he think they were?

“What is it you think there would be to have on us?” Will asked.

“I don’t understand the question.”

“You understand
my
question. Who hired you?” Taylor asked.

“I don’t know,” Schwierskott said, a little desperately. “That’s the truth. I don’t know who hired our firm, and I don’t know what they hoped to uncover.”

“There isn’t anything to uncover.”

“I want to see these reports,” Taylor said.

“Go ahead. Be my guest. My notes are in my briefcase on the front seat.”

Taylor yanked open the car door, lifted out the briefcase, and set it on the hood of the car. He shuffled through the sheets of notes, glancing over the reports, frowning.

“Well?” Will asked.

Taylor rifled through the papers again. He raised his head and stared at Schwierskott in disbelief. “Are you supposed to be for real? People are paying you for this? Listen to this, Brandt.
Due to extremely poor visibility and dangerous driving conditions, Investigator was forced to suspend mobile surveillance
. This is last night when Grant and I went on our beer run.” He turned to Schwierskott. “You got lost, didn’t you?”

Schwierskott looked uncomfortable. He didn’t answer.

“I don’t think he was even here for half the stuff he’s reporting.”

Taylor looked at Will, and Will said, “Okay. He’s not good at his job. Is that really the p —”

“Well, it’s one point. Schwierskott & Associate is a big firm. A big, profitable firm. If they can make it, we sure as hell can.”

“You’re PIs?” Schwierskott asked.

“You don’t know?” Taylor questioned. “You’re running surveillance on us and you don’t know what we do for a living?”