Page 37 of Fight for You
As they fought, rolling out of the pantry and onto the kitchen floor, the memory of the tiny bean who once promised me freedom caved to the powerfully built man fighting to protect me. A human wrecking ball. The big guy seemed strong but slow as he tried to get up, his body stuck between a flurry of Jamie’s fists and the floor. Jamie twisted the rifle free. Unable to turn it around on the man because of the length of the gun, he worked the sling around the man’s neck from behind. Used it like a garrote and yanked hard.
Airflow cut off. The man’s fist pounded the side of Jamie’shead. His eyes bulged. His hands moved to his throat to claw at the strap until they fell lifeless to his side.
Jamie stood, chest heaving, body shaking. He licked a bit of blood from his lips, pulled the gun free, then shot the man in the head.
From my position in the pantry, still hugging myself, I squeezed my eyes shut. Bigger gun. Bigger bullets. Bigger … hole. I would remember the gaping hole in the man’s head for the rest of my life.
Jamie came into the pantry, crouched down, and removed the gun I hadn’t realized I was still holding. “Rebel,” I moaned.
Jamie lifted me up. As he carried me up to the primary bedroom, he clicked his tongue as if instructing his dog. “Rebel, girl!”
The Rottweiler limped from the shadows, whimpering.
“Och! Really? Who shoots a dog?” Jamie shook his head. He commanded the lights to turn on. Nothing happened. “Forgot they killed the power.”
I climbed out of his arms, and he crouched to his knees, using his phone flashlight to look over Rebel. He hissed. “No exit wound. You’ll have to wait, Rebel. I’m so sorry, girl.”
She licked his hand.
I glanced around the primary suite, the glass wall leading to the beach gone. “At least we can see a little.”
He pressed a button on his G-shock military watch. “We have five minutes. Tops.”
“For what? M-more of them?” I stuttered, but Jamie was already strolling into the walk-in closet. As I followed him inside, he placed a navy blue backpack in my hand. “My neighbors will have called the cops. We still don’t know if Chelomey has a mole on the force. Even if he doesn’t have a cop established in SBPD, we don’t need the publicity of me protecting this place.”
While struggling to accept this was reality, not a movie orbook, I asked, “But this is your house, Jamie. This is a clear case of home invasion, and you’re a Marine. I … I’m the problem. I-I can just leave. I’ve already brought you so much trouble.”
“No! If I have to choose what to protect, it won’t be assets. I will always pick you. Besides, I have a fail-proof plan, so don’t you go thinking you’re at fault. You hear me?” Jamie brushed away a tear.
Throat constricting, I bobbed my head.
“I’m so sorry, JorJor. We gotta go. Just the necessities.”
Why was he apologizing to me? Why was he so … perfect? If I had run away in the past, I wondered what I’d have taken? The necessities would’ve included the latest high heels—and practically any outfit I thought might keep the man willing to run away with me.Pathetic. I opened the backpack and threw in Old Navy sweats—ugh. So not the outfit that would prompt a guy to stay with me.
I tugged into a similar outfit, slipped the hoodie from my head, and then shoved my feet into my only pair of kicks.Oph! On my way to the bathroom for my hair grease and facial serum, I tripped over a fallen chair. Some things I could do without, but these two weren’t among them.
When I returned to the bedroom, Jamie was dumping the money from the steel briefcase into another backpack on the bed. A laptop. Two sets of passports and other forms of identification. He rushed to the closet, returning with arms laden with small, black devices.
“What’s that, Jamie? Spy equipment?”
“Just a wee thing I call a sniper rifle. No. Let me be honest. Once I assemble my .408 CheyTac”—let the record show that Jamie sounded like he’d spoken ofmy precious—“this beauty will be accurate, reliable. Squeeze the trigger, and what you have here is a one-hit wonder.”
A chuckle burbled from my lips.
Jamie looked up at me.
“You weren’t being funny?” My rhetorical question proceeded another maniacal laugh. I didn’t know who I was more afraid of: more of Aleksandr’s rental soldiers, the cops locking me up for life for this misunderstanding, or the Scot before me. And then another emotion triumphed it all.
Exhilaration. That was it. If … we didn’t die, this might be fun.
“JorJor. Move. Please.” Jamie reached for my backpack.
“No. I’ve got it.” I looped a strap over my shoulder.
He nodded.
“How are we—” Oh? We’d use the closest exit, which wasn’t there this morning. Jamie pitched his bag out of the area where the glass wall once was. It sailed over the cement platform that led from the glass sliders in the kitchen below and landed far out into the sand. My attempt mirrored his, although my bag didn’t travel as far.
