Justice Burning (Hellfire #2)(25)

Her heart hammering, Phoebe glanced from one of the men to the other. Audrey was clearly in distress, Jackson lay injured in the storeroom, and these men wanted something she knew nothing about. Eager to do whatever it took to get these men to leave, she asked, “What code? What money?”

“Don’t play dumb, little rich bitch. We know he gave it to you. It wasn’t in the car, and he didn’t have it on his body when we stiffed him,” said the man holding the gun on her.

The one holding Audrey continued, “We searched your suitcases back at the church and it wasn’t in either one.”

“So he had to have given it to you. He planned to take it on your honeymoon to the Cayman Islands, withdraw the money from the bank and disappear.”

Phoebe’s heart hardened. Ryan, the bastard, really did deserve to die. But she refused to be collateral damage to his dirty deal. “That’s news to me. He didn’t clue me in on his plan.”

“He had to have. Otherwise, why did you leave?”

Audrey caught Phoebe’s attention, mouthing the word “one.”

Phoebe tensed when Audrey mouthed the word “two.”

On “three,” Audrey slammed her elbow into the midsection of the man holding her and dove out of range of his gun then scrambled to her feet.

Phoebe put her self-defense lessons to use and threw a sidekick into the other man’s hand, knocking the gun from his grip. She shoved the man who’d held Audrey into the man behind him and ran.

Limping, Audrey made it around the corner, but Phoebe had only gone a couple yards when someone hit her from behind and sent her sprawling face-first into the dirt. A hand grabbed her long hair and yanked so hard, she thought for sure a hank would come loose. The man who’d tackled her leaned close to her ear and breathed fetid breath into the side of her face.

“Move another muscle, and I’ll kill you, like I killed your fiancé.”



Nash straightened with the tray full of broken glass, satisfied he’d gotten all of the pieces so no one would be cut by the jagged shards. Immediately, his gaze sought Phoebe. She wasn’t at the table with her father and his bodyguards.

Turning toward the bar, he didn’t see her with Libby, the bartender, filling drink orders. His pulse kicked up a notch, but he wasn’t too concerned. She could be behind the counter, helping unload a box of whiskey, or she could have gone to the storeroom for a case of beer.

Nash carried the tray to the bar. “Have you seen Phoebe?”

Libby pulled the tap, filling a mug with beer. “Audrey called her to the storeroom, I think. Want me to go look? I could use a case of whiskey.”

“No. I’ll go check.” Nash hurried to the hallway leading to the storeroom. He couldn’t remember it being as dark as it was. He flipped the switch on the wall. The lights came on, and he entered the storeroom. “Phoebe?” he called out. Rows of boxes were stacked high enough he couldn’t see around them.

A moan rose from behind the stack.

Nash’s heartbeat thundered against his ribs as he ducked around the boxes to find Jackson Gray Wolf laying with his face on the ground, a bloody lump forming at his temple. “Jackson?” Nash knelt beside the man.

Jackson rolled onto his back and stared up at Nash. “Where’s Audrey?”

“I was going to ask you the same. What happened?”

“Don’t know.” He pushed to a sitting position and held onto his head. “I was kissing my wife when someone hit me.” He looked into Nash’s face and his eyes widened. “Audrey.” Jackson staggered to his feet.

Nash steadied him.

“Don’t worry about me, find Audrey. Whoever hit me might have taken her.”

She wasn’t in the bar. Not in the storeroom. She had to have gone out the back door.

Nash sprinted for the door.

Hands on hips, Greta Sue stood in the hallway. “You’re in a restricted area.”

“Greta Sue.” Jackson leaned in the doorway behind Nash. “Audrey’s in trouble.”

The big woman’s eyes grew round. “Where is she?”

“We don’t know,” Nash said. “Get Phoebe’s father and his bodyguards and head out the front. Jackson and I are headed out the back.” He darted for the back exit. “And have Libby call 911,” he called out over his shoulder.

Without waiting for Jackson, Greta Sue or Phoebe’s father and his bodyguards, Nash hit the back door and leaped off the landing onto the ground.

A man wearing a ski mask ran toward the side of the building.

“Hey!” Nash shouted.

The man turned, and a shot whizzed past Nash’s head.

Nash dove and rolled to his feet, pulling his Glock from the holster beneath his jacket as he came up.

At that moment, Jackson slammed open the back door, drawing attention away from Nash.

The man in the ski mask swung his arm toward Jackson.

Nash fired, hitting the man square in the chest, dropping him where he stood.

A car engine revved at the side of the building, backed up to where the man lay on the ground and then shot forward.

Audrey staggered from around the side of the building, a hand braced against the structure. “The other guy has Phoebe. Don’t let him take her.”

Nash dodged around Audrey, focusing all his energy into catching up to that car and rescuing his runaway bride, yet again. He couldn’t let someone hurt her now. In the short amount of time he’d known her, he had fallen under her spell. He couldn’t let it end here. He wouldn’t.

The sedan pulled away, spitting up gravel as it swerved to avoid hitting a truck backing out of a parking space. As it pulled around the backing truck, the sedan hit another truck’s tailgate then spun sideways, the front of the sedan stuck to the tailgate. The sedan’s driver backed away, but couldn’t shake loose from the tailgate. He dragged the truck a few inches and then stopped, the tires of the sedan spinning in the gravel, going nowhere.

Nash didn’t dare shoot the driver when he couldn’t see where he had Phoebe. Instead, he raced for the sedan and reached for the driver’s door and yanked it open.

Inside, a man wearing a ski mask cursed. With one hand on the steering wheel, he held a gun in his other hand, pointing at Phoebe who was tipped sideways against the passenger door, her arms and feet bound in duct tape. “Touch me,” the driver warned, “and I’ll blow her head off.”

“The hell you will,” Phoebe said. She lifted her bound legs and kicked the man’s wrist, sending the gun flying across the seat. Then she kicked again, landing both of her feet in the side of the man’s face. “That’s for hurting my new friends.” She would have kicked him again.

Nash grabbed the man, yanked him out of his seat and threw him onto the ground. When he tried to get up on his hands and knees to scramble away, Nash dropped on top of him, pressing his knee into the small of the man’s back. He held his gun to the man’s head. “Move, and I’ll blow your head off,” he said, repeating the same words the man had used to threaten Phoebe.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and footsteps crunched in the gravel beside him.

Phoebe’s father appeared with his bodyguards and Greta Sue. They helped Phoebe out of the car and carefully removed the duct tape from her arms and legs.

By the time the sheriff arrived, the entire saloon had emptied, gathering around Phoebe, Audrey, Nash and Jackson. A fire truck arrived, and Chance climbed down and pushed through the crowd to check over the four of them. He pronounced them fit, with the caveat that Jackson go to the emergency room in case he had a concussion and subsequent swelling in the brain.

Sheriff Olson took possession of the prisoner. “I take it these are the guys who killed Ryan Bratton, the man in the trunk of the car Miss Sinclair brought to Hellfire?”

Phoebe nodded and pointed. “This one admitted to killing Ryan.”

“My word against hers,” the man said with a shrug.

Audrey came to stand beside her. “I will testify I heard him say he killed Phoebe’s fiancé.”

Phoebe’s attacker glared at Audrey. “I want a lawyer.”

“Looks like we have a murder suspect.” Sheriff Olson cuffed the man, put him in the back of his service vehicle and then returned to Phoebe and Nash. “Guess your bodyguard duties are done, Grayson.”

Mr. Sinclair turned to Nash and held out his hand. “Thank you for taking care of my baby girl.” He shook his head. “I might be a big ol’ grouch and a bit pushy, but I love that girl.”

Phoebe hooked her arm through Nash’s. “If you love me, then let me live my life the way I see fit.”

Nash’s chest swelled at Phoebe’s demand. She could have everything handed to her on a silver platter if she returned to her father’s house. But she chose independence. And by the way she was holding onto his arm, she was choosing to stay with him.

Her father nodded. “Seems you’re a better judge of a man than I am.” He shoved a hand through his thick thatch of gray hair. “After you disappeared, I had my private investigator dig into Ryan Bratton’s background a little deeper. I also had my team of accountants check into his corporate dealings. What I found scared the crud out of me. I didn’t know if you’d left of your own volition, or if Bratton kidnapped you. I had no idea Bratton was stealing from the company. I thought he was a good match—a forward-thinking young man with a bright future ahead of him. Someone who could give you everything you deserve.”