Familiar Showdown Page 16

  Plenty smiled, an action that pulled the scar on his face into a distorted mask. “Maybe we should keep Rory alive, but we don’t have to keep you alive. Can I have her, Boss?”

  Stephanie didn’t move. Pleading would do no good. Carlos Diego wasn’t moved by pleas, and a show of desperation would only excite Plenty. Johnny had been right to caution her about Plenty. He was a dangerously disturbed, sociopathic killer. Johnny had been right about a lot of things. She felt a dull ache in her chest at the thought of him and all she’d given up to rescue Rory. She’d grieve the loss of Johnny later. Right now, she had to survive.

  For a tense moment, Diego considered Plenty’s request. Stephanie watched as two of the gunmen got in one of the vehicles and tore off, heading toward the ranch.

  Now Diego would decree her fate, and if her hand was forced, she’d make her play. Her fingers slipped down to her shin.

  “Leave her,” Diego said. He pointed toward the disappearing vehicle. “When they return, she’s yours.”

  Stephanie inhaled. It felt as if she’d been holding her breath for days. Two down—two to go. But one of the two was the most deadly man she’d ever come across.

  “We should just kill her,” Plenty grumbled. “She’s only going to be trouble.”

  She spoke before Diego reconsidered his decree. “Thank you, Mr. Diego. I can get through to Rory when no one else can.” She ignored Plenty, hoping he would grow tired of hovering over her. She wasn’t ready to take him on. Not yet. But soon.

  JOHNNY WATCHED THE SCENE play out and held his breath. When Rory stroked Stephanie’s hair and face, he ground his teeth, but he never stopped watching.

  He hated that Stephanie had a past with Rory. He hated that she still cared enough for him to risk her life. But he also admired her for loving deeply enough to look beyond Rory’s betrayals. She was a rare person. He’d give a lot to have someone love him that much.

  Stephanie showed such tenderness to Rory, who was obviously injured. Johnny saw her push her hair back behind her ears, revealing the earrings, and he suddenly understood what she was doing.

  The full scope of Stephanie’s plan came to him in a rush. It was, possibly, the only way to save Rory, the ranch and the vital information. If it didn’t work, both Stephanie and Rory would die.

  When the two gunmen left the campsite in a cloud of dust, Johnny had to hand it to Stephanie. She’d evened the odds—two against two. And she had to believe that he and Familiar would be out here, trying to figure out a rescue plan. Did she sense him? She was too smart to look up. But he hoped that she knew he was there, ready to back her play.

  From his vantage point, there was a possibility that he could actually kill Plenty and Carlos before either man fired a shot. It was a slim chance, but it might work. He was a crackerjack shot and had proven it more than once in the field. But never before had the life of the woman he loved hung in the balance. If he missed—if he couldn’t kill both Plenty and Carlos—Stephanie would die.

  Beside him, Familiar studied the scene. The cat had been unnaturally quiet, as if he, too, weighed the odds of any action.

  Suddenly, Stephanie stood and walked to Plenty. She seemed to engage him in conversation. Johnny watched, reading the cock of her head, the way she held herself. She didn’t appear afraid, which was the smartest thing she could do. Plenty fed off the fear he inspired in his victims. But what was she doing?

  When she turned and gave a shrill whistle, Johnny was dumbfounded. She put two fingers in her mouth and let loose a second piercing sound. Johnny heard it clearly from his perch. Familiar even sat up. The sound hit the foothills and bounced back.

  Plenty slapped the back of Stephanie’s head, almost knocking her down. Johnny jumped to his feet, but Familiar’s claws dug into him, reminding him that giving his position away would help no one.

  Damn. He itched to put a bullet in Plenty’s forehead. The man was a brute and a bully. That was the ticket. Just blow him away. Once he fired the first shot, he had to have a clear shot at Diego, too. The first thing Diego would do would be to shoot Stephanie and Rory.

  Johnny forced his body to relax. As he watched, Rory lurched to his feet and stumbled toward Plenty and Stephanie. Even from a distance, Johnny could see how badly injured his old friend was. Yet he was trying to protect Stephanie. A day late and a dollar short, as far as Johnny was concerned. Rory had put Stephanie’s life on the line, and for what? Money?

  Now wasn’t the time for anger, though. Johnny sighted the rifle on Plenty. Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, Plenty grabbed Stephanie by the hair for the second time and pulled her into his arms. One beefy forearm circled her waist, and he lifted her.

  The blood pulsed in Johnny’s temples as he aimed. If he was off by a hair, he would hit Stephanie. Where the hell was Bevins and the backup? He needed a show of force. Johnny eased off the trigger. He didn’t have a clean shot.

  Carlos Diego leaned against the remaining SUV, watching the struggle without taking part. He waved a hand at Plenty, who dropped Stephanie as if she were a sack of oats.

  Now Johnny had a clear shot at the big man, but just as he started to squeeze the trigger, Diego pulled a gun and pointed it at Stephanie.

  And with that, the odds changed out of Johnny’s favor. Somehow Stephanie had gotten rid of two of Diego’s men, but he couldn’t risk a shot. Not with her life hanging in the balance.

  As he lay on the ground, his whole body tensed to take a shot, he felt a rumble. His first thought was that a mild earthquake was rumbling through the Black Hills, but that was ridiculous. It took him a moment to realize what he was feeling, but when he did, he turned to Familiar.

  “It’s the horses,” he said.

  The black cat was already focused to the west. Familiar had sensed the approach of the herd before Johnny had even felt it.

  The thud of the hooves grew stronger. Carlos and Plenty hadn’t yet felt it—or if they had they didn’t recognize a stampede. Johnny looked to the west just in time to see the first horse top a rise.

  Black Jack, as wild and free as any range stallion that had ever run, came over the hill. The morning sun struck his black coat, creating the effect of lightning rippling along the horse. Behind him were Flicker, Layla and the rest of the Running Horse Ranch herd. And behind them came twenty head of wild mustangs.

  Johnny was speechless. He watched in awe as the horses poured over the rise and aimed straight for Stephanie and Rory and the others. It was as if Stephanie had called them to her in her moment of need.

  Diego was caught off guard and momentarily distracted. Both he and Plenty stopped, focused entirely on the herd. Neither had yet comprehended the danger. But Stephanie had. She grasped Rory and forced him to his feet. Half carrying and half supporting him, she moved toward the SUV.

  She opened the back door and shoved Rory inside.

  Johnny waited for her to get in, but she didn’t. Instead, she reached into her boot and brought out something that glinted in the sun.

  Johnny found himself rising to his feet. He wanted to yell, to tell Stephanie to get into the SUV, but she couldn’t hear him.

  The horses bore down on the campsite. Too late, Plenty and his boss recognized the danger. Plenty raised his pistol, aiming directly at Black Jack. Stephanie dove at him, the knife she held flashing in the morning light as she slashed across his arm.

  There was the sound of a gunshot and then another as Johnny jumped up and ran toward Stephanie. And then the campsite was covered in horses and a cloud of dust.

  RUN, JOHNNY, RUN! I’m right behind you even though that horseback ride jarred every bone in my body. No time now to sing the cow-cat’s complaint. This is our moment for action.

  The horses are the perfect cover for us to get in there and take care of Carlos Diego and his right-hand man. Whoever would have thought that black demon horse would show up when he was needed most. I take back all the bad things I thought about him in the beginning. He is not the spawn of Satan. He is
not a rogue. He is not destined for a dog-food can.

  He is, in fact, a godsend.

  But who can see anything in all that dust? Where is Miss Cowgirl? And more important, where is that big man with the lust to kill? I want him for my own. If I were the kind of cat to take trophies, I’d consider putting him in a cage in the backyard as an example of a biped gone bad. But my fondest hope is that he ends up in a cage and the South Dakotan government will have to feed and shelter him. I have better things to do with my time.

  The horses have created such a ruckus, I’m not certain where to go. My best thought is to hide under the SUV until the dust clears. Then I have a fantasy of jumping on that lowlife’s head and tearing his ears off. Talk about ride ’em, cowboy!

  Johnny disappeared in the mayhem. The only thing I can do is wait for a chance to help. And hope Miss Cowgirl isn’t hurt.

  And where in hell is the backup that Johnny called for? I’m going to write a letter about how my tax dollars aren’t working for me!

  STEPHANIE FELT THE BLADE of the knife strike the bone of Plenty’s upper arm. Because of that she wasn’t prepared for the backhand he struck her with. Obviously impervious to pain, he hit her so hard that she spun, and in the dust raised by the horses she lost her bearings. She couldn’t see anything, while all around her were the thundering bodies of the horses.

  She’d meant to call them, but she’d never imagined that they would come into the camp and actually storm Diego and Plenty. But they did, Black Jack at the lead.

  Rory was safe in the SUV, or as safe as he could be with the serious injuries he’d sustained. Now she had to find a weapon and finish what she’d started with Diego and Plenty. If she could stay alive another five minutes, Johnny would come. She felt him close. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew he was trying to help her.

  Given her druthers, she’d collect Rory and the horses and leave, but Diego would never let her. She knew that. In the hour or so she’d spent in the company of Carlos Diego, she’d come to believe everything Johnny had warned her about. Diego was a cold-blooded killer, just like his burly hired hand.

  Somewhere in the melee of horses and dust were weapons, and she needed something more than a knife. Plenty had taken the Glock and the rifle from her, but she couldn’t remember where they were. In her mind she retraced the sequence of events until she recalled that the guns were in the backseat of the SUV. They were there with Rory. All she had to do was get there, get her hands on one of them and kill Diego and Plenty. Then she could drive Rory to the hospital.

  She turned slowly, straining to see through the dust. At last she saw the vehicle, and she went toward it. The back door opened easily, and she reached inside and found the Glock on the floorboard.

  Rory lay slumped in the seat. For a moment she thought he was dead, but she touched him and felt warm skin. Too warm due to the fever. But he was alive, and if she got him to the hospital fast enough, he might make it.

  Grasping the Glock, she eased out of the car and closed the door. Flicker whizzed by her, almost knocking the gun from her hand and her into the dirt. When she recovered, she turned to search for Plenty—and found herself looking right into the barrel of the gun he held at her forehead.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Johnny was two hundred yards behind the horses when they swept into the campsite. From that short distance, it looked to him as if the herd was staging an organized charge against Diego and Plenty. Impossible, but that’s what it appeared to be. And Black Jack was the ringmaster of the show.

  The stallion was magnificent. He spun and reared and whinnied, and the other horses clustered around him, hooves stamping the ground hard enough to create chaos and confusion.

  Though Johnny was amazed by the stallion’s actions, he had no time to ponder them. He had to get Stephanie safely out of that campsite. And Rory, too.

  And the earrings.

  Somehow, the microchip had fallen to his last priority. Which told him it was time to leave the business. Even though Stephanie still loved Rory, she was Johnny’s primary focus. Maybe he would never have her, but he certainly wasn’t going to let her die. If she chose to forgive Rory and stay with him, so be it.

  All that could be dealt with later. For now, he had to concentrate on his goals and on staying alive and rescuing Stephanie.

  The camp was a whirlwind of dust, stirred by the horses as they ran madly back and forth. They could easily have swept through the camp and continued on, but they were running in circles, moving in and out, creating confusion and a cloud of dirt that was impenetrable.

  Johnny entered the clash with his handgun in one hand and the rifle in the other. Familiar darted ahead of him, disappearing into the fracas.

  Stephanie had been moving toward the SUV when Johnny last saw her, and he dashed in that direction. He couldn’t see anything. He ran blind.

  When he finally discerned the outline of the car, he slowed. The hulking frame of Plenty came out of the dusty fog, and Johnny saw the deadly gunman moving toward the SUV—toward the place he’d last seen Stephanie.

  Johnny couldn’t stop the surge of concern that swept through him. The only thing that kept Plenty in check was Diego, and Diego had disappeared in the stampede. There was a good chance he was dead, and if that was the case, Plenty would have no compunction about hurting Stephanie.

  Three shots came from Johnny’s immediate right. The scream of an injured horse sounded close, but Johnny couldn’t tell which equine had been hurt. “Damn,” he muttered, galvanized into action by the shots. Johnny didn’t think Plenty had fired, so that meant his boss was alive and he had a gun. The criminal mastermind had injured one of the horses. As soon as Stephanie was safe, Johnny vowed he’d find Carlos and make him pay. For a lot of things.

  The thick dust began to settle as Johnny saw the horses head due east. They’d raced on to the scene, giving him a chance to get into the campsite unobserved. The cover they’d given him would be lost if he didn’t act fast.

  If he could get Stephanie out of the camp, then he could focus on Plenty and Diego.

  His heart thumped painfully when he saw Plenty at the SUV. He held a gun, the barrel touching Stephanie’s head.

  “Plenty!” Johnny bolted forward. “Hey! Plenty!” He never saw Carlos, and he was unprepared for the blow that landed on his temple. He tumbled to the ground, poleaxed but still conscious.

  Shaking his head to clear it, Johnny found himself staring at a nightmare. Plenty still held a gun to Stephanie’s forehead and had an evil smile on his face.

  “She’s a dead woman,” Plenty said, “and then I’ll take care of you and the traitor.”

  It seemed as if everything grew totally silent. All sound fled. Except for the click as Plenty cocked the hammer on the revolver. He meant to kill Stephanie right there.

  Johnny rolled toward Plenty, gained his feet and came up with his gun aimed at the big killer. His finger was on the trigger when Diego stepped in front of him.

  “Put it down,” Diego said. He pressed the barrel of a handgun to Johnny’s heart. “Now.”

  Johnny cast one look at Stephanie, frozen in a tableau with Plenty. The expression on her face told him she realized the desperation of her plight. Once he lowered his gun, they were as good as dead. He looked around the campsite, hoping for some advantage.

  The dust had dissipated, and Johnny could hear and feel the retreating hoofbeats of the horses. They’d all fled, and by now were at least a mile away. Except for Black Jack. The black stallion stumbled toward Stephanie. Blood ran down his front legs and his chest was coated in dust that had clotted in his blood.

  “No!” Stephanie saw the stallion. “He’s hurt.” She tried to move past Plenty toward the horse.

  Plenty raised the gun, ready to bring it across her face. Johnny tensed, prepared to intervene, but Diego pressed the barrel hard into his chest.

  “You can’t save her,” Diego said. “You can’t even save yourself. Soon my men will be back with the mi
crochip and you will die. I think I’ll let Plenty have his fun with you. He’s earned it.”

  Before Johnny could react, a small black form shot out from under the SUV. Familiar took one bounce and landed squarely on Plenty’s face. With a shriek of fury, the cat raked his claws down the killer’s eyes. For good measure, Familiar bit into the man’s earlobe and tore as he jumped away.

  Blinded by his own blood, Plenty raised his hands to his face. Diego was distracted, and Johnny spun and brought a foot up to kick him in the throat. He went down like a sack of bricks, gasping and struggling for air.

  Johnny turned to help Stephanie, but he stopped. She was handling Plenty on her own. She brought her knee up sharply into his groin, and when he doubled over in pain, she used both fists to hammer the back of his neck. He dropped to the ground, writhing.

  Johnny took no risks. He used his gun butt to make certain Carlos and Plenty were unconscious and would remain that way for a while. When the immediate danger was over, he went to Stephanie.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “No. But Black Jack is.” She fought back her tears. “Rory’s in the SUV. He’s hurt, too.”

  “I’ll see to Rory. You help the horse. He saved your life, you know.”

  “I know. He and Familiar.” She frowned. “Where is that cat?”

  They looked around to see Familiar sitting on the ground, his green gaze leveled at Black Jack. The stallion staggered, and Stephanie began pulling off her jacket.

  “We’ve got to help Black Jack,” she said as she hurried toward the horse.

  A distant hum seemed to hover on the horizon. It took Johnny a minute to fully comprehend what the slight buzz of noise meant. The cavalry was finally on the way. It was the sound of a helicopter winging toward them.

  AT FIRST, STEPHANIE couldn’t figure out where Black Jack was injured. The blood seemed to be all over his neck and chest and legs. Her hands moved over him, pressing, seeking the wound with the hope of stopping the bleeding. If she didn’t, he would die.