Amy Fetzer - Alias

“No, you can’t, actually. Legally or morally.”

Darcy inched closer, gripping the knife, point down to slice faster and with greater accuracy. Eli didn’t look the least bit intimidated by the nine-inch blade. Guns were his deal. Darcy didn’t like guns. They were noisy and registered. And though she didn’t really want to stab Eli, he wasn’t looking very cooperative right now.

Dangling in Eli’s grasp, Mary Jo whimpered, her lip bleeding.

Darcy couldn’t spare a look at the woman. She kept her gaze on the man threatening them both as she moved the blade slowly back and forth, waiting for the knife to catch Eli’s attention. When it did, he let his wife go, grinning as he headed toward her.

He charged like an angry bull going after the red cloak. Darcy stood her ground till he was three feet away, then sidestepped out of his path. He plowed past her into the kitchen table and landed hard on it, shattering the table legs and crashing to the floor.

Darcy rushed to Mary Jo. Keeping one eye on Eli, she grabbed the bruised, bloodied woman and tugged her to her feet, then pushed her toward the back door. “Get out of here.”

“He’ll kill you!”

“I’m right behind you. Go!” Darcy put herself between Eli and Mary Jo.

Mary Jo was nearly at the door when Eli rolled over, shaking his head and getting to his feet. “You bitch!”

Oh, no. For a big man, he was fast. Darcy sidestepped again, circling, forcing his attention off his wife stumbling toward the back door. Darcy’d run out the front if she had to and circle back.

Eli charged again, this time with a table leg in his hand. He swung. Darcy ducked. The table leg sang past her head, the impact driving it into the plaster wall. Eli tried jerking it out and with her elbow, Darcy clipped him in the kidney. He howled, arching with the pain, then sank to his knees. She backed toward the door, but not fast enough. He grabbed her ankle and yanked.

She hit the floor so hard her teeth clicked. The knife flew from her grip and spun across the floor.

Oh God.

“Run, Mary Jo!”

But Mary Jo, a slim blonde dressed in shorts and a T-shirt meant for a twelve year old, huddled on the edge of the room, too scared to move.

“Yeah, run, Mary Jo,” Eli taunted, “so I can hunt you, too.” He lunged at Darcy.

As he came down, she drove the heel of her hand up into his nose.

Cartilage shifted, bone cracked. Blood poured.

Eli Archer lurched back on his haunches, swearing and clutching his bleeding nose. “I’m gonna kill you!” he shouted, swiping his sleeve under his nose, smearing blood before grabbing for her.

But Darcy rolled away, springing to her feet, glancing around for her knife. She spotted it, but he was there, lumbering, big and hound-dog ugly.

She dove at the knife, landing on her side, grappling for it as he neared. His meaty hand latched on to her calf. He dragged her.

Darcy kicked out, struggling to reach her knife.

Eli pulled her closer to him. One smack from him and it was over. Her face would be hamburger and the latex mask hiding her identity shredded.

A crash sounded at the front of the house, the door banging against the wall just as her fingers skipped over a piece of wood. She grasped the splintered table leg and with every bit of strength she had, she swung it at his head and connected with a solid thunk.

He dropped like a stone. Darcy didn’t move, breathing hard.

She heard the distinct click of a bullet moving into the chamber and looked up.

Jack Turner stood in the doorway to the living room, a huge .357 Magnum pointed at Eli’s head.

“You’re late.” She tossed aside the wood, then crawled to her feet, annoyed with him, but glad he was here.

“A bounty got loose.” His gaze flicked to her, switchblade sharp and angry. “Why the hell do you have backup if you don’t wait for it?”

“He started early,” she said as she retrieved her knife. Mary Jo was still in the corner, staring at her motionless husband. “You know, that was highly illegal—” she nodded toward the shattered front door “—unless there’s a bounty on him.”

“Oops. Wrong house,” Jack said, deadpan, his weapon still trained on Eli. “That disguise is hideous by the way.” His voice was low, for her ears only.

The short frosted wig and carefully applied latex face mask made her look homely. “Helps to ugly up a bit. People tend not to notice you.”

His gaze moved over her body with an intensity that rivaled static electricity. “Yeah, sure.”

“Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to wake the sleeping giant.”

But Eli still hadn’t moved.

“Oh, hell.” Assault was one thing, manslaughter in self-defense was quite another. She inched close enough to gingerly check his pulse, but Jack stopped her.

“Leave him. He’s breathing like an engine. He’ll wake soon enough.”

Darcy hurried to Mary Jo, pulling her off the floor.

“Who—who are you people?”

“You called me, remember? Come on.”

When Mary Jo started for Eli, Darcy stood in her way. “Look at me. Look at me!” When Mary Jo did, she said quickly, “It’s now or never, Mary Jo. You stay, he’ll kill you.”

Mary Jo nodded sharply, and Darcy pulled her to the door. They ran down the porch, and Darcy directed her toward the woods.

“Go, straight that way.” She pointed, pushing her on. “Run, girl.”

Mary Jo looked back at the house she’d shared with Eli for two years and her expression grew angry. Good, that’s what Darcy needed to get her out alive.

Mary Jo took off, and Darcy backed up, sweeping branches across the ground to cover their tracks. Eli was a hunter, and word from the townsfolk was that he could track anything. His hunting dogs were feasting on some prime, sedative-laced USDA beef right now to keep them quiet. But that wouldn’t last.

Jack rushed to her. “Go! Dammit! I’ll do that.” He took the branches. “He’s waking up.”

Darcy froze, met his gaze. “Already? He must have a head like a rock.”

“So do you.” Jack pushed her toward the tree line.

Darcy ran, snatching up her equipment pack, then ducking under low branches. Mary Jo was only a few yards ahead of her, crying, but moving. Darcy called softly and the girl froze, a ragged silhouette against scrubby trees. Darcy raced past, grabbing Mary Jo’s hand, pulling her along, then pushing Mary Jo ahead of her. She still had to do some fast moving to get the girl safely away undetected. The two women ran, batting dry branches and skidding on crumbling ground. Then they were out in the open, vulnerable.

Darcy and Mary Jo headed straight to the edge of a ravine, stumbling down the dirt hillside to Darcy’s Jeep. Darcy pushed Mary Jo into the passenger seat, tossed in her bag, then slid behind the wheel. The engine started up on the first try and she gunned it, racing away from the Archer place.

“Is he dead?” Mary Jo asked.

“No.”

“Then he’ll find me, I know it!” she cried.

Darcy smothered her impatience, understanding coming quickly. “He won’t find you, Mary Jo.” Even if Eli had the balls to go to the police, with his record, they’d be slow to react to his claims. “I’m taking you someplace safe. Within twenty-four hours, someone will come to you at the safe house and document your abuse with photos and a statement.”

She’d helped a hundred women in the last three years, from women who drove Mercedes to ones who’d never seen the inside of a hospital before and would be scarred for life. Each time, the situation seemed more desperate. More hopeless. Often, Darcy was their last chance. For some, the legal system had failed them, letting wife beaters out on bail to find the women and do it again—often resulting in death. Some were too scared to venture into the unknown without support. Or worse, they’d become so brainwashed by verbal abuse that they thought they needed these men to survive.