Familiar Showdown Page 11

  STEPHANIE SEARCHED THE HORIZON, terrified that she’d see smoke from another blaze set by Diego and his men. But the sky was pale blue, and when they could see the ranch, all the buildings were intact and the horses milled around in the corrals and paddocks.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone was here,” Stephanie said, wondering if she were seeing only what she wanted to see.

  Johnny didn’t say anything, which told her he would check and evaluate the whole ranch before he gave an opinion.

  He pulled the truck up against the barn where they had the most sheltered exit. “Run for the cabin,” he told her. “But be cautious. I don’t think anyone’s in there, but never take anything for granted.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To open the corrals and paddocks.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  He grasped her arm firmly. “Please, Stephanie. Get inside. Let me do this.”

  “Okay,” she said. Without another word, she slipped out of the truck and darted across the open space to the back door. In a moment she was inside.

  Stephanie barely cleared the doorway when she stopped. The cabin felt like enemy terrain. Pressing herself against the kitchen wall, she looked around the room, searching for evidence that someone had been there.

  Or might still be there.

  Her ears were attuned to the slightest noise, and when the refrigerator motor kicked on, she almost jumped. Covert work wasn’t for her. She hated this.

  She took two steps into the kitchen and stopped. The sound of the clock ticking was too loud. She couldn’t think.

  The dishes from breakfast remained in the drainboard, the bowl of apples on the table. She couldn’t tell if anyone had been in the room or not.

  Had she left the silverware drawer askew? She couldn’t remember. She moved into the room, careful to keep her footsteps muffled. If an intruder were in the house, she had to be sure she’d didn’t alert him.

  She tiptoed to the closet where Johnny had put the guns and grasped one. She didn’t like firearms, but she knew how to use them. Rory had taught her. She’d been amused at how proficient he seemed with guns. Now it wasn’t amusing at all.

  She checked the rifle, making sure it was loaded. A handgun would be easier to maneuver in the cabin, but she’d make do with what she had.

  Creeping around the cabin, she surveyed everything. Nothing seemed amiss. She went to her bedroom and stopped. The contents of her jewelry box were scattered across her bed.

  For a second she couldn’t catch her breath. The evidence that someone had entered her home, had violated her security, was like a punch to her stomach. When she could finally draw in oxygen, she checked the bathroom and closet to be sure no one was hiding.

  At last she went to the bed. She wasn’t a woman with a lot of jewelry. She had several family pieces that held more sentimental value than monetary worth. She searched for those, relieved to find the two rings there. She reached up and touched the earrings she wore. Those were the only thing Rory had given her. The earrings were whimsical—wires and beads in a colorful pattern.

  Nothing was missing.

  Whoever had gone through her belongings had not taken a single thing.

  So whatever he was looking for he hadn’t found.

  JOHNNY COLLECTED the remaining weapons in his truck and locked it. Placing most of the guns in the truck bed, he selected a Glock and tucked it into his waistband. Moving out of the protection of the truck, he yielded to his senses.

  The ranch was quiet. Too quiet. The horses seemed peaceful enough, but there wasn’t a bird or any other small creature moving on the property. The acrid smell of the burned barn still hung in the air, a reminder of how dangerous Carlos Diego could be.

  Johnny ran to the first corral. He opened the gate wide, moving on to the paddocks and opening them. Once he got one horse to start running, the others would follow.

  When all the gates were open, he led Tex and Layla out.

  “Be safe,” he whispered to them as he slapped Layla on the rump and sent her running toward the wide-open vista of the range. Tex followed, limping only slightly.

  When the other horses realized that they were free to go, they bolted through the open gate, and in a moment the entire herd was on the run, galloping toward freedom and, he hoped, safety.

  He was heading toward the bunkhouse when the first gunshots kicked dust not two inches from his feet. He didn’t try to determine where the shots were coming from. Instead, he dove headlong onto the bunkhouse porch, rolled, and stumbled through the door as slugs hit the wood beside his shoulder.

  Johnny slammed the door shut and drew the pistol at his waist. He’d left the rifles, which would have been far more effective, in the bed of the truck.

  Glancing out the window, he didn’t see anyone. Judging by the angle of the shots that had struck the porch, the gunman was positioned in the west. Now, in the morning, the sunlight would be in the shooter’s eyes.

  But the strange thing was that the gunman had had a number of clear shots. He should have been able to take Johnny out at any time. Yet he’d waited.

  Was Diego playing with them, terrorizing them in an effort to soften them up for when he made his move? That was a favorite ploy of Diego’s, Johnny recalled.

  Johnny scanned the bunkhouse. There was no evidence that anyone had been there, searching. Which Johnny found strange. Letting Black Jack loose had obviously been designed to get them off the ranch. And it had worked. He wondered if Stephanie had discovered any signs of a search in the cabin.

  Johnny heard shattering glass and looked out to see the windows on his truck explode. Next went the tires. The truck was rendered inoperable.

  Stephanie’s truck was parked under the toolshed lean-to roof. How long would it be before they took that out—if they hadn’t already done something to disable it?

  A curtain fluttered in the cabin window, and he saw Stephanie’s face pale with worry. He waved her away from the window.

  As soon as he could, he’d make it to the cabin. Once there, he and Stephanie would have to come to an agreement about what to do next.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stephanie stared at her image in the bathroom mirror. The earrings peeked out from beneath her long chestnut hair. Very carefully she reached for one and then the other, removing them, holding them gently as she examined them in the bright fluorescent light.

  Brilliantly colored gemstones were interspersed with pieces of colored wire, tiny cogs and what appeared to be computer chips. The juxtaposition of natural stone and manmade technology had first drawn her interest at a street festival in Gulf Shores. She and Rory had been walking along, examining the wares in the booths that had been set up with the rushing aqua surf in the background. They’d laughed and held hands as they checked out pottery, drawings, CDs by local musicians, wood carvings, quilts and other artistic and handcrafted goods.

  When she saw the earrings and picked them up, she’d been merely curious, then captivated by the strange beauty of the craftsmanship. Later, Rory had slipped back to the booth and purchased them as a surprise for her.

  Now she knew why.

  There was not one single aspect or action of Rory Sussex that hadn’t been designed to move his plan forward.

  She held the earrings up to the light one by one. She couldn’t see the microchip, but she knew it was there. Implanted by Rory and given to her for safekeeping. He’d really trusted her ability to care for things. It would have been easy for her to accidentally lose the earring. But he knew how she took care of things that had sentimental value to her. He’d seen the way she cared for his letters and the photographs of her grandparents.

  He’d known her so much better than she’d ever known him. She’d willingly shown him her heart and spirit, trusting that he’d do the same. The only thing he’d shown her, though, was a carefully constructed facade, one that had pulled her into a life of danger. She could never forgive him for that.

  The
temptation to grind the earrings to dust on the slate bathroom floor was almost overwhelming. She resisted, though. Whatever was encoded on the chip in the earrings must have great value. Perhaps enough to use as a bargaining tool for her and Johnny’s lives, should it come down to it.

  For the first time, she understood the dilemma Johnny faced. Should she tell him about the earrings? By sharing that knowledge, she was also putting him deeper in danger. And perhaps a lot of other people. Whatever was on the microchip was valuable—to both the forces of good and evil. Lives were undoubtedly at stake.

  She hadn’t asked for this knowledge, or this decision. But she had to make it. Everything that had happened at the ranch had been visited upon her by forces outside her life. First Rory, now Carlos Diego and his henchmen, and even Johnny had taken control of events, and she’d been forced into a powerless position. The horses in her care had been endangered, and everything she’d worked for was in jeopardy. Once Johnny knew about the microchip, he would be forced to take action, and that might mean even more danger. Now, for this one moment, she held the key and she had a choice. Later, if necessary, she would share what she knew with Johnny. But not until there was no other option.

  She was still musing over the earrings when she heard the first shot. Dropping the jewelry into the top drawer in the bathroom cabinet, she hurried to the bedroom window where she had a view of the bunkhouse. She was just in time to see the glass on Johnny’s truck shattered by gunfire and his tires deflated by still more bullets. Johnny had been smart to turn the horses out when he had. And he was right—Carlos Diego had no intention of letting her or Johnny leave the ranch.

  They were in it for the long haul, and they were going to have to fight for their lives.

  She picked up the gun and went to the front of the house. She couldn’t tell exactly where the sniper was firing from. There were several small rises that could hide a careful man. She cracked the door open and eased the barrel out.

  “You can dish it out. Let’s see if you can take it,” she said softly through clenched teeth as she sighted on one of the rises and fired six rounds in rapid succession.

  Once the echo of the shots died away, the silence was almost deafening.

  The door of the bunkhouse opened and Johnny rushed toward the cabin, running and rolling only to come up on his feet still running. He hit the back door with the force of his body and blasted into the ranch house.

  “Get away from the door,” he ordered, as if she were a moron.

  That aggravated her to the point that she swung around to face him. “Don’t tell me what to do.” She held the rifle carefully pointed at the ground, and she saw that he took note of that fact. “Rory taught me to shoot and to handle a gun. I thought it was a hobby of his. You know in the first blush of love how you’re willing to share interests? Well, this was one of his, and I shared it.”

  She started out the door, but Johnny grabbed her and pulled her back inside.

  “Do you want to get killed?” he asked her. He glanced outside.

  “I don’t want any of this,” she answered, her fury escalating at an alarming pace.

  Johnny studied the terrain. “I think they’re gone now. They’re playing with us. When they get serious, we’ll know it.”

  “I’m sick of this.” She stomped into the kitchen. Her anger was so overwhelming that she couldn’t decide where to aim it. She put the rifle on the kitchen table and went to the cabinets. She pulled out Rory’s favorite coffee mug and smashed it onto the floor. The crystal vase he’d brought flowers to her in was next, then the crockery he’d admired.

  She pulled dish after dish out of the cabinets and smashed them. She didn’t realize that she was crying—not silent tears but great heaving sobs of emotion. And with each crash of a dish, she cried harder.

  Johnny stood in the doorway. He made no move to stop her. He merely watched. He put his pistol on the table beside the rifle and waited for the storm to pass.

  Stephanie was halfway through her dishes when she gained control of her emotions. She stopped, a plate held high in one hand. She put the plate down and grabbed a paper towel to wipe her face.

  Before she knew what was happening, she felt Johnny’s arms around her. He turned her in to his chest and held her, one hand stroking her hair.

  This time her tears were quiet, fueled by grief and loss more than anger. Rory had robbed her of something she’d guarded all her life—an innocent belief that people would give their best if they had that opportunity. It was true of horses and dogs—and cats, if Familiar was representative of his species. And she’d believed it of people. She’d been so careful not to allow the wrong kind of folks into her life, those who would use and betray her. But she’d opened her heart to Rory, believing every word he’d said.

  “I’m such a fool,” she said, pressing into the soft cotton of Johnny’s shirt. “How could I be so stupid? How could I have had so many signs and heeded none of them? ‘Oh, let’s go learn to shoot, Stephanie,’” she mocked herself.

  Johnny shushed her, one hand stroking her hair and the other gently rubbing her back. She could feel the warmth through her shirt, and her body responded before her brain could.

  The comfort he gave her so naturally was something she needed. Ever since she’d learned of Rory’s plane crash and supposed death, she’d been totally alone, completely focused on surviving and hanging on to the dream they’d shared. She hadn’t allowed herself a moment of softness, because she’d been afraid she’d break and would never be able to pull herself together again. The horses depended on her to be strong, to carry on the daily routine.

  Now, though, even if just for a moment, Johnny was holding her. His hands caressed her, moving lower down her back. He kissed the top of her head, his lips moving down to her cheek. Even if it was weakness—even if it was only for this moment—she needed someone to be strong for her.

  Stephanie raised her chin. Her lips met Johnny’s. The fire that was suddenly kindled burned away the remnants of her sorrow. In a split second, she stepped out of her grief and into an overwhelming passion.

  Her arms circled Johnny’s neck and his hands moved down her back, past her waist, pulling her against him with a power that took her breath away.

  The kiss seared through her, and she knew he was feeling the same thing. Whatever the reasons for this passion, she didn’t want to analyze them. Johnny was holding her, kissing her, making her feel things she’d never felt before, reminding her that her life wasn’t over.

  His arm swept beneath her legs and he lifted her into his arms. He carried her into the bedroom and put her on the bed. His hands shook slightly as he worked the buttons of her shirt.

  In a moment he had her undressed, and he removed his own clothes.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  That one question told her, without a doubt, how sure she was.

  “Yes.” She met his gaze. She’d used caution with Rory, had insisted on a traditional time to date and get to know each other before the relationship escalated to intimacy. None of that had mattered in the long run. And there was no guarantee, with Carlos Diego waiting outside the cabin, that they’d have another chance. “Yes, I’m positive.”

  Johnny took the invitation. He was beside her on the bed, slowly exploring her body as she let her hand wander over the long, lean muscles of his thighs and the ridges of his stomach. She noted the scar that ran from below his left nipple to his hip bone. Later, she’d ask about it, even though she probably wouldn’t want to hear the story.

  Johnny was as dangerous and unpredictable as Black Jack. He’d come into her life on a pretext and falsehood, and he’d likely leave the same way. If they were both alive to part ways.

  Whatever the end result, she needed to be loved by Johnny Kreel. She could live with her sorrow for the rest of her life, but for this moment she wanted only the passion that he aroused.

  WELL, OKAY, THEN. Miss Cowgirl has kicked over the traces and gone for broke. I wish I cou
ld say I’m surprised. The sexual tension between those two has been thick enough to cut with a knife.

  Speaking of knife, I wonder if I can get some grub. While the humanoids may be able to live on love alone, this feline needs food.

  I’ll saunter to the kitchen and check out the refrigerator door. Yep. I can open it. And there are some tasty leftovers within reach. I just need to pull out that container with my paw. Not to worry about making a mess. Miss Cowgirl has already pretty much destroyed the kitchen. What’s a bit of salmon on the floor with all the broken dishes?

  I like a woman with a temper well enough, but it can get a little costly. Luckily, that’s not my concern.

  Now that I’ve had a tasty snack, I’ll keep an eye out for invading criminals. While hot sex is great, I want to live to lust another day. Good thing the bipeds have me to watch out for them. I’m sure Johnny knows his business, but there were shots aimed in our direction not so long ago.

  The horizon is clear, it’s true. Johnny may know how this Diego character works. I suppose I can take a little snooze here in the window. Cats, remarkable creatures that we are, can sleep and stand guard. We are masters at multitasking, as long as one task involves sleeping or eating.

  I’ll climb up here on the windowsill where the sun has warmed the wood and doze a little bit. No telling when I’ll get another chance. I’ll dream of being home in Washington with my Clotilde.

  When Stephanie and Johnny finish with the business at hand, we need to see if we can get an Internet connection working and do some research. I know the phones have been down. I’ve seen Johnny trying to call—without success. If we truly are isolated, then we need to come up with an escape plan. The available options sure don’t look appealing to a black cat with an aversion to riding horses.

  THE AFTERNOON SUN SLANTED through the bedroom window and hit the golden highlights in Stephanie’s hair that spread across the pillow. Exhausted and spent, she’d fallen asleep. Now he had a moment to study her without making her uncomfortable.