Trust No One (48 page)

When Tasha raised her eyebrows. MJ shook her head, indicating the gun in her hand. No need to give both the men concussions. Tasha shrugged, strolled back to the fireplace, dropped the wood, then held out her hands for MJ to take off the cuffs. MJ passed Tasha the .38, so she could use the key to remove the cuffs while Tasha kept Cantrell covered.

“Better put them on him,” Tasha said.

When MJ touched his wrist, he came awake. He snatched her hand, nearly crushing her wrist with his grip. MJ reacted with a flat palm strike to his nose with her free hand. His head jerked back. He grunted. The glass tumbled off his lap to the floor and shattered. Blood trickled out of his nose, but still he didn’t release his hold. He must have an incredibly high pain tolerance.

MJ prepared to inflict more pain when Tasha said, “No, no, no, let the girl go.”

“About time you helped,” MJ muttered.

Cantrell looked up, saw the .38. His eyes widened. He released MJ, pulling his hands up and away from her.

“Good boy,” Tasha said with a nod.

“Put them behind your back,” MJ told him. She snapped the cold metal cuffs on him, pulled out his heavy .44, checked him for any other hidden weapons, then left him on the couch.

“Don’t bother calling for help,” she advised him. “Johnson’s incapacitated right now.”

MJ passed the .44 to Tasha.

“Got the car fixed?” Tasha asked as they headed toward the door.

“Not yet. Johnson was too chatty, thought he’d never give me a chance to knock him out, so now I have to fix the car, too.”

At the bottom of the porch, Tasha stepped over Johnson’s prone body. “Oh, I don’t think this one is going anywhere.”

“Mechanic work didn’t agree with him.”

“I’d say not. Need help?”

“Just keep watch. It’ll take me ten minutes or so to get this new alternator bolted in.”

“I hope that was the problem.”

MJ tossed her a ‘puh-lease’ look. “You know, if you don’t stop irritating me, I might just leave you here with them.”

She set to work, tightened the last bolt.

“All set.” MJ slammed the hood.

“Let’s get the hell out of here then,” Tasha said. “I’ll drive.”

“Control freak.”

Chapter 28

“Give it a try. The key should be in the ignition.” Tasha slid behind the wheel. The car engine started on the first try.

MJ slid into the passenger side. “Turn on the heater full blast and the radio, let’s see if it drains the power.”

“Everything seems fine,” Tasha said after a couple of minutes.

“At least we’ll be going downhill this time, we can let it roll if we have problems.”

“Ha ha,” Tasha said. “Grab our jackets.”

MJ went back inside, got their jackets, told the man goodbye, then checked on Johnson, who was still showing no sign of recovery. Maybe she shouldn’t have hit him so hard.

MJ pulled on her jacket, stuck the .38 in the pocket. “Tasha, help me drag him inside so he won’t freeze.”

Leaving the car running, Tasha came to help, tugging on her jacket as well. “Sheesh, he weighs a ton.”

With no small amount of struggling, Tasha and MJ managed to drag Johnson up the steps and inside the cabin.

“All right, let’s go. I’ve gotta get to Angelina.”

“What about Ben?”

“I’ll find him and kill him later. Right now, Angelina." With her thoughts on her daughter, she exited back out the front door.

And was grabbed, spun, and jerked backwards against a man’s large body. Cold gun to her head. Damn. Her thoughts hadn’t been on business at hand. Stupid.

Images of being captured by Keith’s man flashed through her mind. Déjà vu.

Tasha had been a step behind her. She stopped cold when she saw MJ penned in the man’s arms.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Tasha said, her face calm and composed.

MJ stared, trying to read Tasha’s mind. Tasha didn’t know the man? So it wasn’t . . . Jeff as they’d thought? Who?

Then he spoke, “You, of course, are Tasha.”

That voice. No, it couldn’t be. A loud humming noise reverberated in her head.

“And you are?” Tasha asked.

“MJ knows who I am. Don’tcha, baby?”

She had to see if it was him. She twisted.

“Careful, there.” He pushed the gun barrel harder into her temple.

It
was
him.
Keith
. He was alive. But it couldn’t be him. Keith was dead. She’d shot him in the head. She’d seen him die.

But those vivid blue eyes. Blond hair, but shaggy. She’d never seen Keith look anything less than magazine cover perfect. A scar on his forehead, disappearing beneath his hair. From her bullet?

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Hard to focus. Dizzy. She tried to draw a breath but her lungs burned. The humming noise blasted her ear drums, her world spun.

“Miss me, baby?” he asked.

And then darkness claimed her.

* * *

Tasha watched MJ lose consciousness. The man seemed surprised, but recovered fast enough and let MJ drop, her head hitting the ground hard.

Taking advantage of the man’s momentary distraction, Tasha pulled the .44 out of the back of her waistband where she’d stuck it as she moved Johnson. She aimed.

The man recovered fast enough, pulled his .45 Storm into aim almost simultaneously with her.

Stand off.

“Keith, I presume?” she asked.

He gave a slight smile which didn’t reach his eyes, but did make the scar on his forehead crinkle. “Back from the dead.”

“And no ghost unfortunately.”

“Afraid not.” He moved the barrel of his Storm toward the .44 she held in her hands. “Put down the cannon.”

Good description, the sucker was heavy as a cannon ball for sure. “Afraid not,” she repeated.

“You have no choice,” he told her. “If you don’t, I’ll shoot MJ.”

Oh, he was not a very nice person, was he? “You’ve already done that once, don’t you think you could come up with something new?”

His body twitched ever so slightly. “I didn’t shoot her, she shot me.”

“Story I heard, you shot her, too.”

He frowned, and the scar really made him look Frankenstein-ish all wrinkled like that.

“I planned to shoot her, we heard the helicopter, next thing I know I was shot, and. . .”

“You must’ve pulled the trigger, shot her on the way down. Your aim was off, she survived.”

“She won’t survive this time,” he promised.

“Damn, I think you should be on the worst-of-all-time boyfriend list.”

He moved the barrel of his pistol again. “The gun? Lie it down, butt first, real gentle and scoot it this way.”

Focused son-of-a-bitch, wasn’t he? She sighed, flipped the weapon around to lay it down as he ordered. She wasn’t ready for MJ to die. There would be a chance later. Tasha always believed that, and her belief never failed her so far.

MJ moaned.

He glanced down, and Tasha decided
later
just became
now
.

If she tried to flip the .44 back around and aim and shoot, he’d have more than enough time to shoot MJ, so Tasha tossed the gun. One more momentary distraction bought her a second of time. She ran toward him, jumped over MJ and kicked his wrist hard. She shoved him as she landed. Both he and his gun went flying.

He landed on the ground and did a back roll to his knees. He scrambled after his weapon.

Tasha stomped on his hand.

“Ouch, bitch.” He used his other hand and her momentum and knocked her backward.

She stuttered a few steps, regained her balance. Using an old trick, he tossed dirt in her face. Shit, that hurt. She blinked, tears flooded her eyes.

He surged to his feet. Taking advantage of her distraction, he landed a right hook on her jaw, the force knocking her to the ground.

Holy God, that really fucking hurt. The pain exploded through every bone in her face. That punch had to have broken bones. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to use her jaw again.

He lunged after his .45 which had landed close to MJ. Must stop him. Tasha fought through the blinding pain, scrambled on hands and knees after him.

But MJ had come awake and thank you, dear Jesus, she was pulling what Tasha hoped was Johnson’s .38 out of her jacket pocket. She had to slow Keith down, let MJ get the gun out and a shot off.

Tasha threw herself forward, managed to catch his ankle. He spun and kicked her, the bottom of his hiking boot caught her temple. Her whole body went numb and refused to follow any frantic commands from her brain to move. She sank into the ground. Blackness threatened.

No!

She blinked, breathed. Her vision returned, along with it the pain. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Damn, shit, fuck. The refrain set a tempo, she forced herself to move to the beat.

But wait, now that she could see, MJ did have a gun, she’d rolled to a sitting position and–

“Stop right there,” MJ ordered, aiming the .38 squarely at Keith. She pulled back the hammer.

Even with that threat, Keith didn’t slow down.

Tasha froze, watched.

MJ fired.

Keith staggered backward, scrambled for footing, but didn’t go down.

Damn, he was wearing a vest! MJ realized it at the same time and adjusted her aim but Keith, obviously deciding there was no time to grab his weapon from the need to eliminate the immediate threat, jumped MJ. He wrestled her for the gun, another shot sounded, Tasha pancaked and rolled.

When she looked, the gun had been knocked out of MJ’s hand, and Tasha’s .44 wasn’t much further away. But Keith’s .45 Storm was closer. Tasha fought through her pain and crab crawled to the weapon.

A grunt pulled her focus momentarily off the gun. She looked in time to see MJ slump unconscious again, this time not from fainting but from Keith’s right hook. Tasha’s jaw throbbed in sympathy.

But when she saw Keith reaching for the .44 which was closer than the .38, Tasha scrambled forward, only a hand away from his Storm, she stretched . . .

A bullet threw up dirt in her face. She rolled, reaching for the gun at the same time.

Another bullet broke apart the ground just in front of her, she stretched, stretched, the .45 just out of her reach.

“Give it up, Tasha,” Keith ordered. “The next bullet is in your head.”

Tasha froze. Better to live and fight another day. She slumped, the pain pounding her body, dragging her down to the ground in defeat.

Keith walked over and picked up his Storm. He pocketed the .44 and Tasha presumed the .38 as well.

“Get up.” Keith aimed his .45 at her.

Score for the bad guy. And where the hell had this bad guy come from, she wondered, as she dragged herself to her feet.

“Get MJ. Get her in the car.”

* * *

MJ woke up being dragged toward the car.

“Good, you’re awake. You look skinny but all those muscles, you’re damned heavy.”

“What?” Yeow. MJ groaned and grabbed her jaw; it hurt to move her mouth and say what she was really thinking.

“It looks as bad as it feels.” Tasha helped MJ to her feet.

“Thanks for cheering me up.” MJ looked at Tasha, surprised to see the left half of her face swollen and bruised. “Does it look as bad as yours?”

“Probably.”

“Hey, you two women. Quit gabbing. This isn’t a social meeting.”

MJ’s heart stuttered and she tried to speak without moving her mouth much. “Is it really him?”

Tasha let MJ lean on her as she guided her to the car. “I never met him, but it seems like him. It would appear when you kill ’em, they don’t stay dead.”

“Shut up,” MJ muttered, each step painful. Everything about Keith had been one big fuck up, and now she was going to be faced with killing him again. She knew without a doubt killing was going to be involved.

“We’ll take care of it,” Tasha assured her.

Lot of confidence from a woman who appeared to be more injured than her, MJ thought. She slid into the car, Tasha following behind.

Keith shut the door, the police cruiser minus any handles on the back door and the bars between the front and back seat firmly in place.

They were prisoners once again.

MJ sighed. This was getting old.

Keith slid in behind the steering wheel and started the car. “Glad you got this fixed, makes it easier to transport you. Easier on me, too, I followed you up this overgrown hill on foot.”