Rival Forces (20 page)

“On second thought, how about we just check on what's wrong with your truck.”

The guy shrugged but Kye would swear he saw a flash of irritation he quickly locked up behind a chicken-shit smile. “Aside from it's out of gas, I'm guessing the flat tire.”

“You said it broke down.”

“I don't think so.” He suddenly glanced up past Kye's biceps blocking the open space and smiled. “Evening, ma'am. I was just here asking your husband if I could come in and get warm. My truck broke down out yonder.”

Kye didn't need to look back to know Yard had, finally, come out of the bedroom. He did check with the hope that Gunnar wasn't with her. He wasn't. In fact Yardley was closing the door tightly behind her. “He can come in, Kye.”

Kye raised an eyebrow at his about-to-be guest. “She says okay. I say for a short time.”

The man paused to wipe his shoes on the doormat before coming in. Something at least. Kye was more interested in the footprints in the snow beyond the porch.

Gunnar's still unexplained—at least to him—appearance had him edgy. It wasn't yet fully dark, but the world outside seemed closed off. On a good day Yardley's nearest neighbors were a quarter mile away, by the road. In the glow of the NightWatcher light coming to life on the utility post nearest the house, he saw only one pair of footprints coming up the drive. The snow was swirling thickly now, filling in the imprints even as he noticed them. He guessed they were getting close to six inches. Heck of a walk for a man in a corduroy jacket. He would close and lock the gate after the guy was gone.

“Would you like coffee?” Yard's gaze flicked from the man to Kye. “I'm just going to make some.”

“I'd purely love anything hot, ma'am.” He moved forward with a kind of quick, jerky movement and held out his hand to her. “I'm Purdy, like I told your husband.”

That was the second time he'd referred to Kye as a husband. He wondered why.

Yardley took his hand but didn't offer her own name. “I'll put that coffee on.” Kye smiled at her in approval. She got it without him saying it. They needed to be careful, with everything and everyone. He needed to talk to her. Maybe she'd learned something useful.

“Take a seat by the fire, Purdy. I'll be right back.”

The man had already moved to the fireplace. He reached a hand down to Lily, who had been dozing. “Hey there, puppy. How you doing?”

Lily jumped to her feet and gave a “toller scream,” a series of squeals pitched in a key that could peel paint.

“What the—fudge!” Purdy jumped back, stumbling over a floor pillow.

“Careful. She's a killer.” Kye barely got the words out before Lily dived behind his legs, still squealing like she'd been stepped on.

The man wiped his mouth with a hand, watching Lily as if she were rabid. “I don't suppose I could use your facilities?” He jiggled from foot to foot as if needing to emphasize the reason why.

“Top of the stairs. First door on the right.”

“Right. Appreciate it.” He moved quickly toward the narrow staircase back near the front door. As his foot hit the bottom step, Oleg ran up and hit the door of his kennel with his full weight followed by a blood-chilling growl.

The man sprang back from the stairs so quickly he almost fell. “God almighty!” He recovered quickly, meaning he was in good shape, and backed up a few more steps before turning to Kye. “That's some kinda crazy dog you got here.”

“He's the shy one.” Kye smiled. “Didn't you see the sign over the gate? This is a professional K-9 kennel. The mean ones are stashed upstairs. They've been known to tip their kennels and escape. Just keep to the door on the right and you'll be okay.”

The man glanced up the stairs, seeming to measure the need of his bladder versus the need to keep his skin intact. “First on the right. Got it.”

Kye watched him take the stairs, checking him for anything besides his haircut that seemed out of place. And there it was. His jean leg had hiked up, probably when he stumbled over the pillow, revealing a Ka-Bar ankle holster. Kye glanced away before the man noticed him watching.

Mouthing a curse he didn't want heard, he backpedaled toward the kitchen. It had been five years since he'd been military police. He was rusty. He should have just shut the door on the bastard. Could be nothing. Could be that the trouble he'd been wondering about had just boldly walked up and knocked on the front door. And he'd let the devil in.

Yardley came out of the kitchen just as he reached the doorway. “Coffee's—” She paused at the expression on his face. Her eyes went wide as they moved left and right past him.

Kye put a finger to his lips and made a pushing motion with his other hand to move her back into the kitchen.

Before she could backpedal, the door to her bedroom opened and David stood there, his face ashen with pain as he leaned heavily against the door frame. He locked gazes with Kye. “I know that man.”

 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Every hair on Kye's neck came erect as he heard a toilet flush overhead. There were only a few seconds before Purdy would appear again. No time to ask questions. Still, it didn't take a lot of brain math to put together the two and two of danger he represented. Even so, Kye's brain was calculating double-time.

Gunnar recognizes Purdy.

Someone shot Gunnar.

Someone followed Gunnar here.

Most likely candidate? That would be Purdy.

He locked eyes with the doctor. “Gun?” His question went out in a mere whisper of sound.

Gunnar barely nodded, his grip on the door frame slipping.

He pointed at Yardley, then the doc, and indicated that they should both move back into the bedroom.

Yardley gave him a defiant look, as if she had something else in mind. But he narrowed his eyes beneath lowered brows, in no mood for a standoff with her.

Gunnar swayed and moaned ever so slightly. It was the barest breath of pain, but it was enough to galvanize her.

As she moved toward Gunnar to help him, Kye leaned in. “Lock the door.”

Yardley nodded and scooped an arm around Gunnar's waist. Gunnar let go of the door frame, shifting his weight onto her, and threw his good arm around her shoulders.

Kye watched them in a combination of frustration and anger sprinkled with jealousy. He didn't have time for number three on his emotional Top Ten. Once he'd pulled that door closed behind them it was about a would-be killer and him, and him without any form of protection.

The squeak of the bathroom door opening sent his thoughts snapping back to attention. A spike of adrenaline sharpened Kye's senses, pouring information into his hypersensitive brain. Even the irrelevant details came pouring in. The asshole hadn't bothered to wash his hands.

The creak on of the second-story floorboards announced that Purdy was in the hallway, about to head downstairs. Then silence. Had Purdy paused, listening before he revealed himself?

Kye's stomach flipped as he heard a soft moan from inside the bedroom. Gunnar might have done himself some damage struggling to get out of bed alone. That knowledge gave him a sense of just how desperate Gunnar was to warn them. Or at least warn Yard.

Yardley.
She was now depending on him, too.

Just the thought her being subjected to more violence after what she'd been through the night before brought every instinct to protect within him roaring to life. He pushed down hesitation and brought up his army MP training, mentally dusting off the cobwebs as footfalls sounded on the steps.

Whipping around from the bedroom door, he lifted his arms and arched his back to stretch as he let out a big yawn. Something to cover himself as he scanned the partially hidden stairwell.

He glanced over in time to see Purdy's pant legs descending the stairs. The right one had been rearranged to cover the knife. Was Purdy wondering if he had seen it? Or was the knife now somewhere handier, like in his pocket? It had been a while since he'd had to disarm a man. Best not to let it come to that. Act first. Control the situation.

By now most of Purdy was visible on the stairs. His corduroy shirt was buttoned and tucked in. Less material to grab in a fight. And then his grinning face, lean with suspicious eyes, was staring at him. Coyote eyes, hungry and feral, and without compassion for its prey.

“You got a nice place here.”

Kye smiled. “It goes with the job. If you like dogs.”

The man gave Oleg's kennel a sharp glance and stepped off early to avoid going past. The dog was watching their guest silently with slanted eyes. “Actually, I don't.”

Lily had made herself scarce. Tollers didn't like strangers or confrontation. Definitely not a fighter.

As Purdy wandered back to the fireplace, Kye wondered if he could free Oleg before Purdy realized he was about to be wolfdog bait. However, if Purdy got to his knife before the dog got to him, he could cut the K-9 to ribbons. He'd seen what a knife in practiced hands could do. A man mortally wounded before he even knew he'd been cut. No. He wouldn't risk an animal like that. There were potential weapons everywhere. The household was full of them. His mind began ticking them off.

Guns. Handguns?

Yardley must have a firearm about the place. Personal handgun in the bedside drawer, maybe. Not a good option from here. At all costs he wanted to keep Purdy from Yardley.

Shotguns. Rifles. Flares. Flash bangs.

Harmonie Kennels used guns to accustom K-9s to the sounds of pistol and rifle fire, and other things they could be exposed to on the job. But he knew that those guns were kept in the locker in the classroom building on the other side of the bunkhouse. They might as well be in Mumbai for all the good they would do him at the moment. He was going to have to get the drop on Purdy before Purdy realized he'd been made.

“Heard from your friend?”

Purdy wagged his head and half reached for his phone. He was right-handed. Good to know. “Shit—oops. He ain't answering his texts. Hope he ain't got himself in a ditch somewhere on account of the snow.”

Had the man's accent changed to more folksy than before? Maybe he wasn't even a southerner. Not that it mattered. A hired killer's point of origin was fucking useless knowledge, at the moment.

“Interested in the game?”

“Sure. Who's playing?'

“Damned if I know.” Kye moved with a deliberately easy stride to turn on the TV. It would cover more sounds of movement coming from the bedroom. Every shift or sigh from within scraped along his nerves.

He reached for the remote. Punched it on and then turned up the sound louder than need be, as cover.

Purdy remained by the fire, as if his whippet body could never absorb too much heat. Kye's gaze ranged beyond him.

Stacked logs. Fireplace poker.

He supposed he could say something like,
Excuse me. Need to stir the fire.
And then grab up the iron poker. But he wasn't sure he could carry off a strike with enough power to disable Purdy with one blow. A man with a gun and a Ka-Bar wasn't going to give him many chances to get it right.

Overwhelming force.
That's what he needed. And to give Yardley warning time to defend herself, if need be. Please, God, let there be a loaded gun within her reach.

“That coffee smells ready. Still want a cup?”

Purdy looked up from the TV, all easy manners. “I surely do. Thanks.”

Kye hated to turn his back on the man. But he called over his shoulder. “Come on in.”

“Where's the wife?”

When Kye glanced at the man coming into the kitchen arch, his expression was still mild. Had he mistaken the edge in his voice?

“Primping.” Whatever the hell that meant. “Have a seat. Cream and sugar?”

“Black. Thanks.” Purdy sat down at the kitchen table, spreading his legs wide and resting an arm on the tabletop as though he didn't have a care in the world. But Kye noticed he'd positioned himself so he could see back into the living room.

Kye eyed the knife set as he looked in the drawer for spoons. Knives weren't his thing and if Purdy saw him draw one out, he'd guess it wasn't for cutting cream.

A faint cry of pain, cut off in mid-voice, managed to penetrate the sounds of a cheering crowd on the TV. Pretending he hadn't heard a thing, Kye set a mug in front of Purdy and began to pour.

A second deeper groan—unmistakably male—jerked Purdy's head in the direction of the kitchen door. “That doesn't sound like—?”'

The shit had just gotten serious.

Purdy moved an arm as if to reach behind himself. That action had only one possible purpose. Gun.

No time to think, Kye swerved the stream of hot steaming fluid into Purdy's lap.

Purdy cried out as the scalding coffee soaked his crotch. Before he could jump out of the way, Kye swung the full metal pot up, catching Purdy just under the chin, a fully caffeinated uppercut. As Purdy grunted in pain Kye threw his full weight on the man, letting the force push the chair over as he used both hands to grab Purdy's right wrist.

They went over in the chair together. The crash splintered the chair back. Purdy cried out in pain. Maybe the broken wood had gouged him. But the man wasn't going down easy. He was a seasoned fighter even if he'd been caught completely by surprise. Kye delivered a fist jab to his throat. Purdy got in a blow of his own, to the face, smashing cartilage. Kye felt his nose give. Hot stabbing pain shot through his facial bones. Not enough to stun Kye into freeing his opponent but enough so that for a split second Kye saw that black dark sky twinkling with stars that people write about. He swallowed and tasted blood. It didn't matter. He grappled with the man beneath him, the difference in their weight alone enough to keep the man pinned. If only he could find the damn gun. But he couldn't let go of the man's arm or Purdy might beat him to it. Kye knew his advantage. He was bigger, heavier. All he had to do was keep the guy's hands off his weapons until he wore himself out.