Page 27 of Six
“Gavin,” Violetta admonished.
“Get the women to safety, Violetta.”
He didn’t want to take any chances that Violetta or the women would be seen, but his words didn’t galvanize her into action. He was aware of her hesitation even as he kept his attention on the driveway. It wasn’t a long stretch of road, but how fast the car arrived depended on how fast it was being driven. Finally, the shuffle of feet on the small back porch greeted his ears and a few seconds later, he saw all four of them slip into the forest. He still couldn’t see the car, but he could now hear it. Without wasting another second, he tore through the house and bolted out the back door to the woods. Once he was well camouflaged, he dropped to his haunches and watched. A few seconds later, Violetta joined him. They were well hidden, and he wasn’t worried about being seen, but that didn’t stop the adrenaline from pounding through his system with a beat that would make any DJ envious.
The forest had gone silent at the initial intrusion of so many people into its space. But as the seconds ticked by, bugs began to buzz and birds began to call.
“The women are thirty meters back,” Violetta said, keeping her voice low. “Did you see anything?”
“Heard it, but didn’t…” He fell silent when a vintage Mustang nosed its way through the overgrown drive and into the clearing. It was a sweet ride, but what Gavin appreciated about it most was its low-slung carriage. It had slowed the driver down enough so that they’d all been able to clear the house.
The car rumbled to a stop and a few seconds later, the engine switched off. Violetta placed a hand on his back and the two remained crouched, watching. Casually, as if they’d come off a long road trip, two men emerged from the car. On the driver’s side, the side closest to them, stood a tall, thin man—perhaps in his early thirties—dressed in a suit, of all things. He had dark hair that was slicked back and a cigarette hanging from between his teeth. He looked to Gavin like a bad cross between the Godfather and John Travolta’s character fromSaturday Night Fever. The other man was younger, maybe mid-twenties, and had cropped blond hair and a build that could rival a Mack truck.
Thankful for the dampening effect the woods would have on any sounds they made, he reached into his pocket and pulled his key fob out. “Take my car and get the women out of here,” he said. “It’s closer than yours. Follow alongside the driveway and when you get to the road, you’ll see an abandoned house five hundred meters north.”
He didn’t take his eyes from the two men as Violetta slipped her hand into his and took the device. A second later, he felt her hand in the back pocket of his jeans, sliding over his ass. Something he would have quite enjoyed under different circumstances.
“The fob to my car. You know where it is.”
He gave a sharp nod as she started to rise. “Stay safe, Gavin,” she said. “Call me when you’re in my car. I’ll have a plan.” He chanced a glance at her and let his gaze linger as she silently made her way into the depths of the woods, the trees enveloping her form not far from where he remained. When she was no longer visible, he returned his attention to the two men and the cabin.
Just in time to see each of them throw a Molotov cocktail through the front window.
Chapter Twelve
The two homemadedevices the men had hurled through the window exploded into flames. The old timber of the cabin wouldn’t last long, and after watching the curtain disintegrate in less than twenty seconds, Gavin decided that was a good thing. The fire would destroy all traces of the women. Those two morons were doing him a favor.
The sounds of the fire masked any noise he might have made, and he rose from his crouch and watched as the assholes each tossed another device. The front door was already burned away and judging by the sounds that followed the second volley, Gavin would bet that at least one of the bottles had hit the concrete countertop in the kitchen.
As if orchestrated, the two men pulled guns from waistbands and waited, presumably for the inhabitants to come running out. Gavin didn’t fight the smile on his face when no women came rushing out and into their primitive trap.
The men looked at each other and one said something, though what it was, Gavin couldn’t hear over the sound of the flames. Flames that were now lapping at all sides of the small cabin as black smoke billowed up. The area was remote enough that it was possible no one would notice and call the fire department. But even if someone did, it was probably a volunteer department and it would take them at least twenty minutes to arrive, if not longer.
Confident the men wouldn’t leave until the women came out or the cabin was fully destroyed, he left his position and circled back behind the Mustang. His targets were standing at the front of the car and Gavin quickly unscrewed an air valve on one of the back tires, then moved to the other side and did the same with the second tire. Shoving the caps into his pocket, he considered his next move.
He had no intention of letting the men get away, but ideally, they’d get taken into custody rather than, well, something more drastic. He wasn’t opposed to something more drastic, but his desire to know who had hired them outweighed his personal beliefs on the value of their lives.
Studying the men, it wasn’t hard to determine who the leader of their merry duo was. Mr. Saturday Night Fever would be the one who would have the information Gavin wanted. Which meant incapacitating the young Mr. Mack Truck. Damn, but some days were better than others.
With a grin, he crept forward along the passenger side of the car, keeping his gun at the ready. The heat from the fire wrapped around him, and sweat dripped down his back. Ignoring the discomfort, he tossed out a silent thank you to Mother Nature for the wet spring that would keep the flames from spreading too far into the woods.
When he was three feet from his target, he popped up to a standing position. The Mack truck didn’t even have time to complete his turn before Gavin had the man on the ground. A well-placed knock to the head with the butt of his gun was a beautiful thing. The heavy body hit the grass, and Gavin kicked the young man’s gun well under the car.
The fall of Mr. Mack Truck happened so fast that by the time Mr. Saturday Night had his gun trained on Gavin, Gavin had his up as well.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Gavin said. “Although I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
In a move that was no less obvious than a blinking sign, the man communicated his intention with a slight bracing of his shoulder. Gavin had to give him props for not hesitating, but Mr. Saturday Night was a moron if he thought he could outshoot a Special Forces soldier.
Less than a heartbeat later, Mr. Saturday Night lay on the ground. Blood poured from his shoulder and his useless fingers barely retained their hold on his weapon. Keeping his eye on the gun, Gavin approached slowly, then just as slowly, reached down and picked it up. Tucking it into his jeans, he moved far enough away to keep an eye on both men. The knock he gave Mr. Mack Truck should keep him out for a while, but Gavin didn’t feel the need to risk having his back to him.
“You fucking prick,” Mr. Saturday Night said, gripping his bleeding shoulder with his good hand as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position.
“Tsk tsk tsk. You hardly seem in a position to be name-calling, mate. Who hired you?” Gavin demanded.
The man gave him a look that told Gavin to go fuck himself. Gavin raised his gun and fired a shot two feet from Mr. Saturday Night’s hip. The man jumped, then let out a string of epithets that Gavin almost wished Violetta were there to hear. She would have appreciated his inventiveness.
“I’m not sure I know anyone by that name,” Gavin said when the man finally quieted. “Would you care to repeat yourself?”
