CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It had been a glorious week.

Even though O’Shea hadn’t stayed at Billboard’s for longer than that one night, every evening thereafter he’d either picked her up, or they’d met for a date. And by date… O’Shea giggled to herself…she meant food followed by nookie.

They’d enjoyed each other in not only Billboard’s borrowed SUV, but also in the Bronco. And one night when Ethan and his mother had some kind of a year-end pep rally to attend at his school, O’Shea and Billboard had even made use of her new bedroom…with the cats shut outside in the hallway complaining, of course.

Looking back, O’Shea was also pleased that there’d been no repercussions from their short stay in the local jail. All charges had, indeed been dropped, and an apology had been issued by the town’s chief. The two arresting officers were out on paid leave, pending a full investigation. But O’Shea figured they’d get off with a slap on the wrist, since it was clear Barnie Jakes would go to bat for them. Until he couldn’t any longer. Maybe it was hard for the man to cultivate new ass-kissers on the various boards and departments around town, because it was clear Jakes didn’t want to let those two go.

O’Shea was having a rare night in with the two nice Jakes’ she lived with. She was going to grill steaks.

Right now, she was doing the prepping, with a little help from the cats and Ethan. Zoe and Cheeto were very interested in the fat trimmings, and Ethan was busy giving instruction on how he and his mom liked things, all the while filching bites of the chocolate chip cookies O’Shea had made for dessert.

O’Shea had already put potatoes in the oven to bake, and Anna had called earlier saying she was leaving work soon, and would pick up a salad on the way home to go with the rest of the meal.

O’Shea glanced at her watch. Speaking of Anna, she should be home any time, so O’Shea went outside to scrape down and preheat the grill.

“Ethan?” she called over her shoulder, just before walking out the door.

“Yeah?” he answered from the living room where he’d settled in a few minutes earlier and was now glued to some video game.

“I’ll be outside for a few minutes. Don’t let the cats eat the steak, and keep your grubby mitts off the cookies,” she added cheerfully.

“Grubby mitts,” he repeated distractedly, then snorted. “Yeah. Okay.”

O’Shea rolled her eyes, but left the back door open with only the screen separating her from the interior so she could glance in and make sure her edicts were being followed. She could see the counter that held the food, and past it, Ethan’s feet on the coffee table.

Opening the cover to the grill, O’Shea groaned. It looked like the thing hadn’t been used since the previous season. She had a lot of scraping to do.

She’d just bent to her task with the tool she’d found hanging on it, when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Expecting it to be Billboard, she was surprised to see Anna’s number pop up.

“Hey, what’s up?” O’Shea answered.

“I’ll be a little later than I thought,” Anna huffed.

“Is everything okay?”

“Peachy,” she answered with a sigh. “But the deli where I normally stop is closed due to renovations, so I’m having to go a little farther afield for our salad.”

“Don’t sweat it,” O’Shea told her. “I have challenges of my own that are putting us behind. Your grill looks like a volcano erupted inside it, and it’s going to take some time to make it right.”

“Oh,” Anna responded, contrition in her tone. “I’m so sorry I overwintered it without scrubbing it down. Would you rather we all just eat out?”

“Nah.” O’Shea wasn’t discouraged. “I have the steaks all prepped, and they look too good to abandon. Just don’t think you have to hurry, is all.”

“If you’re sure.” Anna sounded hesitant.

“Positive,” O’Shea assured her. “The only thing that could go wrong is if Ethan fills up on dessert before we get to our meal.”

Now Anna laughed. “No worries there. He’s a bottomless pit these days. He could eat the entire…whatever it is you’ve made, and still do his part on the steak.”

“Great.” O’Shea blew a hank of hair out of her face. “So we’re all good. Take your time, and I’ll see you soon.”

“See ya,” Anna answered chipperly.

O’Shea once again attacked the grates, but after a short stint where she only managed to scrape half of one, the back of her neck began to prickle. She tried to ignore it. After all, this was a suburban back yard. There wouldn’t be—

A twig snapped not more than twenty feet behind her. Fuck. Was there an animal stalking her? A coyote perhaps? Or was it something two-legged?

She’d bet on the latter.

She’d almost been waiting for the other shoe to drop regarding Barnie Jakes. She hadn’t felt like he was the type of person to let go of a slight that anyone delivered to him. And as for locating her? With having been booked at the police station, it wouldn’t have taken him much to find out she was living with his ex-wife.

O’Shea bent as if to bang out the tool she was using on the flagstones beneath her feet, but in reality, she took a better grip on the scraper while glancing back between her shins.

Her blood ran cold. Two perps were creeping across the yard right toward her, and yeah. This was no random stalking. Jakes was clearly continuing his dirty-work.

She stood back up and began working on the grill again as if nothing was wrong, but in reality, she was weighing her options. She could run into the house, slam the door, and call Billboard. But if the pair approaching had guns, she didn’t want a shootout of any kind. That would risk Ethan.

Ethan … Shit . She needed to warn him.

If she sounded the alarm, the trespassers would know she was onto them, but Ethan would be able to sprint off into the woods, hide, and call for backup.

O’Shea would fight the pair while waiting for Billboard and the guys to show. The battle might go poorly for her; two against one, but she’d been well trained, and she wouldn’t be pulling any punches.

With every passing second, the two were coming closer. There was no time to second guess herself.

She backed away from the grill, skirted it and took one step toward the door.

“Ethan. Run,” she screamed. “Call Billboard.”

A flying body hit her from behind, and she fell hard to the patio, landing on her knees with a jarring thud, but the man’s forward trajectory worked against him. He sailed over her shoulder as she tucked, but unfortunately the tool she thought might be helpful, went spinning away at the same time.

At least she was still upright. Sort of.

O’Shea scrambled to her feet just in time. The initial attacker had regrouped, and approached again. She aimed a kick into his gut. He gave off a pained grunt.

“You want more?” she taunted, her fists raised. But when he paused, his eyes darting behind her, O’Shea knew the second guy was planning to attack. She waited until she felt his hands close on her shoulders, and… O’Shea sent her head back sharply into his face, hearing a satisfying crunch as she broke the bastard’s nose. It worked only because she was tall, and he was short, but she’d take the win.

“Shit!” her new assailant wailed as he fell back, which gave O’Shea a chance to regain her edge. She darted around her initial attacker, headed for the back steps, wanting to make sure that Ethan had successfully fled, and was able to take one glance inside to reassure herself that the front door was open, before she was grabbed around the waist and hauled back.

The first guy really meant business this time. He wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed.

O’Shea, knowing not to fight it, went with the flow even though it chafed against every one of her instincts. She relaxed her body so the prick ended up supporting all her weight. That’s when she sent a hand back to his junk, grabbed, and twisted.

His high-pitched squeal was just what she was hoping for. He let go, and she took a moment to gasp for air. Her hesitation, however, was not helpful. Perp number one was back behind her, giving O’Shea a vicious kidney punch that sent her back to the ground. He straddled her, wrenched her arms behind her back and bound her wrists with something she knew wasn’t zip-ties. It was more like a stout rope; something she knew she wouldn’t be getting off herself anytime soon.

“Go find the boy,” her captor barked to his accomplice, and O’Shea heard limping footsteps stomp by her to enter the house. Good. His egress sounded painful. She hoped she’d emasculated the fucking asshole.

“He’s not in here,” the reply came after no more than thirty seconds had passed.

Even as she heard the perp confirm it, O’Shea was gloating that Ethan was long gone, and would be able to hide, successfully. It was the only thing about the situation that seemed to be going her way.

“Go after him,” her current assailant ordered, then yanked O’Shea’s head back by her hair.

“Where are the documents, bitch?” He slammed her head to the ground and…fuck. That hurt. But she had some satisfaction, seeing the blood from his nose dripping on the flagstones beside her.

“What documents?” she grunted, and got smacked on the back of her cranium for her troubles.

“You know exactly what documents I mean,” he growled. “Now if you want to live, you’ll tell me where they are.” He planted his knee on the small of her back, and ground it in as if to make his point.

“Okay. Fine. Just stop hurting me,” she wailed as loudly as possible. Even though there were no extremely close neighbors, maybe her perp would spook.

He let up, but not much.

Still, it was all she needed to feel like she was semi-in-charge of things again.

O’Shea had to waste as much time as possible, considering Ethan would hide before he called in the cavalry. He’d been coached on what to do, and he’d follow orders to a T. He was a bright kid.

O’Shea almost grinned, thinking of those bad-ass SUV’s pulling up. She couldn’t wait for these two pricks to get a load of the SOS team. They wouldn’t be quite so ballsy when faced with more opposition. Not that she’d done badly, but two against one was always a crap shoot, and this pair was tenacious, despite their newly sustained injuries.

She wanted to keep them talking. “Who are you and who sent you?” O’Shea asked.

As if she couldn’t guess. But the longer she could draw out the moments before she gave them the safe, the longer SOS had to mobilize, and if need be, the more time she had to plan her eventual escape.

“None of your fucking business,” the man atop her snarled. “Now tell me where those papers are Mrs. Jakes.” He punched her again, this time right between her shoulder blades. It knocked the wind out of her for a moment, and she gasped to regain her breath.

But…

Well, hello. They thought she was Anna?

That was a complete game-changer. Her brain going into overdrive, O’Shea thought maybe she should play this a little differently.

“Let me up,” she finally was able to gasp. “I’ll show you.”

Bracing herself—because she knew the asshole wasn’t going to carefully lift her from the ground—the man removed his knee, grabbed her bound wrists, and yanked her up. If she hadn’t been ready, he might have dislocated her shoulders, but she’d firmed up her joints, so it was just hella uncomfortable.

He shoved her forward. “Move.”

Slowly, as if dazed—when in actuality O’Shea was pissed and simply burning time—she stumbled toward the steps, aiming her foot at the first one to miss.

She got thumped in her ribs for her troubles, but it seemed like the guy was taking it easy on her for now. Probably until he got his hands on what he wanted, then all bets were off. She had no idea what his orders were, but she’d be ready.

O’Shea clumsily climbed the two steps then paused as she heard the front door squeak open.

“Do you have the kid?” her captor called out from behind her as he pushed her through their portal.

“No. He disappeared,” the groin-damaged man hissed, walking gingerly in through the front.

O’Shea dropped her head and stared at the floor, letting her dark hair swing in front of her face. The guy holding her hadn’t recognized that she wasn’t Mrs. Jakes, but she’d hedge her bets with the man she hoped she’d neutered. Right now, the last thing she wanted was to be recognized as the woman who’d confronted Jakes at the town meeting. That would probably up the beating factor by about a gazillion.

“We’ll leave him for now,” Mr. Bloody-nose barked. “The bitch is about to show us where the papers are.”

“Good,” Limpy agreed. “If the boss gets two out of the three things he wants delivered, maybe he won’t be too pissed.”

Two out of three things delivered , O’Shea speculated.

That had to mean her and the papers, now that they understood they couldn’t get their hands on Ethan.

O’Shea paused to think. Dammit. She had a dilemma. She could cooperate, give these guys what they wanted as quickly as possible, then Anna might not walk in on a debacle. Or, she could waste time, hoping Ethan had called his mother to stay away, and that SOS showed up first.

But Anna…

It was a no-brainer. She couldn’t risk her new friend. She had to get these jerks out of here, fast.

At least she knew now that they weren’t going to kill her right away. They had orders—believing she was Anna—to deliver her to Barnie. That was a plus.

Then, once she was in Jakes’ hands and Barnie got a gander at who his lackies had kidnapped, she could probably buy herself even more time. She’d taunt them that she knew the combination to the safe—which she did—and let them beat her up for a while before giving it over.

It was the best plan she could come up with on the fly.

“Which way, bitch?” Her current aggressor asked, giving her a shove.

“The…the garage.” She managed to sound pitiful rather than furious.

He grabbed her bound wrists and propelled her forward, slamming her into the new door that separated the garage from the living room.

“Ow. Please. Don’t hurt me anymore,” O’Shea fake sobbed. “I’ll do what you want.”

Her aggressor opened the door without acknowledgment, then shoved her through.

Goon two followed behind.

She could still hear him hobbling, which did her heart good. He deserved every bit of his pain. Still, she’d have to watch out for that guy when they got to their destination. He’d want revenge, and most likely cause her maximum suffering for having put his jewels in a vice.

“It’s…over there,” O’Shea fake-blubbered in a small, defeated voice. “In the corner. A square of concrete lifts up. There’s a safe underneath.”

“You better be telling the truth,” her captor muttered.

O’Shea kept her head low, but watched as the perp not herding her tottered toward the hidey-hole, grabbed the crowbar Anna kept nearby, then not so carefully pried away at one edge until he had the block askew.

He gazed down into the shallow hole.

“The bitch is right. There’s a safe in there. A small one.” He gingerly reached forward and extracted it, cradling it in his arms.

“Combination?” he grunted.

“Never mind that,” the asshole behind her sneered. “We need to get out of here. If the boy called for help, we don’t want to be around when they show up, even if it’s one of ours. We’ll let the boss worry about putting out fires, then he can get the safe open.”

O’Shea felt herself tugged backward again, but this time a jute bag went over her head.

“Hey.” She sneezed as the dust of the ages went up her nose. “I have allergies.”

Her malefactors both laughed, and the one in charge answered.

“Aww. My heart bleeds,” He kicked her in the back of the knee and she crumpled. “When we get you to where you’re going, cunt, that’s going to be the least of your worries.”

She felt herself being lifted over his shoulder as they emerged into the yard, then she was tossed roughly into what she believed to be the back of a utility van if the metal floor where she landed was any indication.

The thunk of the safe followed her in, and she heard the doors lock behind her.

The engine roared to life and she lurched on her hard berth as they sped off.

“Come on, Billboard,” she whispered into the ether. “If ever I’ve needed an overprotective boyfriend, it’s now.”