Alistair McIntyre - Shallow Creek

Nothing happened.

Shit. How was he going to call the cops and let them know he was pretty damn sure they needed to get their asses out here?

He patted down the unconscious man and found a radio, but no phone. Who didn’t carry a phone? Maybe the reception sucked so badly that people didn’t bother using cells in these parts. Brendan had been too young to own one back when he’d visited previously. He turned the volume down on the man’s radio and tossed it into the woods.

A secondary search of the man produced a 9mm Beretta in good working order. Stashing the piece in the back of his jeans hadn’t worked out so well for Mr. Lumberjack. Holding the pistol out in front of him, Brendan crept out of the brush and ducked between two trucks.

As he tried to formulate the next stage of his plan, the distant sound of a roaring engine reverberated up the driveway. Brendan hustled around the back of the parked pickup and sprinted to the side of the cabin. No cover readily jumped out at him, so he backed away from the front of the cabin to a small firewood shed. In the shadow of the shack, he waited a few minutes until Michelle’s truck materialized out of the woods and slid to a grinding halt.

A quiet rustle behind Brendan caught his attention as Michelle climbed down from her truck. He looked around for anyone sneaking up on him, but saw no one. Probably just a snake, he thought. Up at the front of the cabin, Michelle had disappeared.

He padded quickly down the length of the cabin to the front, listening to Michelle’s boots boom against the wooden porch floor. She threw the door open right as he poked his head around the corner to see her vanish inside. Holding his position, he heard her screaming at someone he recognized.

“Grant, have you lost your damn mind?”

“Hey, baby. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Brendan’s brother replied cheerily.

“Cut the ‘baby’ shit. You’ve kidnapped federal officers. You didn’t think you should clear this with—”

A violent slap shut Michelle up. Brendan seethed, struggling to stay put. Someone had just made a very big mistake.

“Jim, close the door,” Grant said, the previous cheer replaced with venomous hate.

Chapter 46

Brendan had to move quickly. A quick peek told him that the blinds hanging behind the giant window facing the porch were closed. Not wanting to cast any shadow or disturb the light hitting those blinds from outside, he kept low to the deck and glided to the door on his right as it started to close. He couldn’t let that happen.

Right before the latch engaged, Brendan leapt from the wall, squared himself to the door, and delivered a crushing kick that slammed the door back into the unsuspecting Jim. A roomful of bewildered people all stared at Brendan, and then at the gun in his hand. None of them moved, other than Jim, who toppled backwards ungracefully and crashed to the floor. Brendan quickly identified Grant and drew a bead on his brother, who had Michelle’s hair in a tight grip. The tears on her face left dark streaks of makeup on her cheeks and drove the rage in Brendan’s gut into high gear.

“Let her go.”

A welcoming smile appeared on his brother’s face. “Well, well. Here’s someone I really didn’t expect to see here.”

Keeping his gun trained on Grant, Brendan surveyed the room as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. To his right, next to an empty fireplace, stood a man Brendan didn’t recognize. A shotgun leaned against the wall just beyond the guy’s reach. On the far side of the room, Brendan’s old friend Mohawk sat in a chair at a card table. Of all things, a game in progress lay before him on a cheap chessboard. The empty chair on the other side of the table probably belonged to Jim, who was now slowly standing up.

“Stay on the floor, Jim, or I’m putting two in your boss’s head,” he said. Jim complied.

Grant stood near the center of the room, his hand still stubbornly attached to his wife’s head. Behind them, Special Agents Tyson and Spee sat bound to heavy wooden chairs. Spee looked untouched and alert, albeit distraught, but Tyson was another story. Giant red welts merged together all over his face and neck to form one giant bruise in the making. Someone had obviously had some fun with him.

“Not too smart to hang out at the scene of the crime, Grant,” Brendan said. “When the cops show up, you’re going to have some explaining to do.”

Grant jerked Michelle around, using her as a shield. She screamed and resisted, but a twist on her hair subdued her promptly. Brendan’s aim never faltered, maintaining a consistent bead on his brother’s face.

“I could make this shot with my eyes closed. Just so you know.”

His brother grinned evilly in response. “You wouldn’t try it.”

“You don’t know me anymore.”

The gears churned behind Grant’s eyes. Brendan waited to see what would happen next. None of his brother’s cronies had made a move. The guy next to the shotgun worried Brendan the most. Nothing could ruin a day quite like a gun battle in an enclosed space with no cover. Of course, unlike the rest of these pansies, he’d actually survived a few of those, but then again, he’d had a little more help than he had now.

The guy by the fireplace twitched.

“Don’t you fucking dare, fat boy.” Brendan kept his pistol on Grant. “You’ll be wearing Grant’s brain on your face before I put two into your skull, too.” The man stepped away from the shotgun. “Good boy. Hey, Grant, where’s our buddy Scott?”

“Scott Fisher? Don’t you worry about him,” Grant replied with a knowing smirk.

“Great,” Brendan said, not sure how to take that. He nodded to Michelle. “Let her go.”

With one last defiant scowl, Grant threw Michelle forward and reached behind his back. Brendan swatted Michelle aside and watched his brother draw a Glock from the back of his pants. Michelle scrambled behind him on the floor and slowly rose behind him.

“You’re not the only one with a gun, Brendan.”

Not anticipating their boss’s actions, none of his crew had pulled a weapon yet. Brendan needed it to stay that way.

“If any of you other idiots so much as move, Grant dies.” Unfortunately, Brendan still hadn’t established an escape strategy yet. Michelle’s scream had brought him in here without proper planning, and the police were only coming if his dad had told them where he was heading earlier. It was time to stall.

“You okay, Michelle?” he asked, turning his head slightly, but keeping both eyes on Grant.

“Yes,” she whispered, hugging herself and probing her scalp with one shaky hand.

“You’re a bigger dumbass than I thought if you think that bitch loves you,” Grant said, smirking. “She’s mine and always will be.”

Brendan lost his cool. “I guess that’s why we had sex the other night, then.”

Grant laughed crazily at this, looking around the room to include his crew, who all smiled knowingly. Brendan wondered what trap he’d just walked into. Eventually, after an aggravating minute of cracking up hysterically, Grant calmed down enough to speak.

“You dumb shit. You actually believed that?” He laughed a little bit more. “Jeez, man. We set that little encounter up to help persuade your dumb ass to skip town.”

Confused, Brendan only barely avoided turning to Michelle to see her reaction to all of this.

“You see this little problem we have now?” Grant asked, indicating the general area with his gun. “This could all have been avoided if you’d just let your guilt propel you right back out of Shallow Creek.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I didn’t want to have to kill you, so we came up with a little plan to make you think you’d banged my wife, at which point any reasonable son of a bitch with any kind of conscience would’ve left.” Grant pointed his gun back at Brendan. “But you’re still here.”