Wherever She Goes(81)

“Stop!” I shout. “Guns down, or I pull this trigger.”

The first man through the door hesitates. I press the gun into Mama Zima’s head. She glowers at me and doesn’t even flinch. But the thug notices. He sees my expression. And he holsters his gun.

“No,” I say. “You’re going to drop that. Then you’ll go outside. Get your comrades. They’ll toss their guns through the front door. Then you’ll let us leave. All three of us.”

“Do you really think they’ll let you leave?” Mama Zima says.

“They will if I take you with me,” I say.

“Then you’ll need to deal with me.”

“I guess I will.” I look at the man. “Outside. Now.”

He goes, and the other thug follows. Neither looks over at Mama Zima, who’s shooting them death glares and cursing in Russian.

“Hey, they’re saving your life,” I say.

“If they think so, they are mistaken.” She raises her voice so they can hear. “You see that girl on the floor? That will be you.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But this gives them a chance to plead their case with your husband. Otherwise, if you don’t survive this, I suspect they’ll have more to worry about than a bullet in the back of the head.”

“My husband is not the Zima they should worry about. They should know that. I am the one here for my grandson. You understand that. You are here with me, and I see no sign of your husband.”

“Maybe so,” I say as the door closes behind the two men, “but apparently, they don’t dare go home without you. Now, you’re going to roll over and put your hands—”

She bucks. I’m ready for it—I’ve been ready the whole time she’s been talking—but when I go to shove her down, she kicks up instead, and that does catch me off-guard. When I teeter, she goes for the gun. I swing it against the side of her skull. It hits with a thwack, her head snapping sideways, but she only snarls and grabs my ponytail.

She yanks my head back. I let out a gasp and try to jerk free, but she’s got my hair wrapped around her hand. Her other hand goes for the gun. I swing it up, out of her reach. At the last second, her hand chops downward instead, smacking me in the ribs.

I fall to the side. I’m focused on keeping the gun. That’s all I care about. She never goes for it, though. She rolls from under me and lunges for her gun, lying on the floor.

I hear the thud of footsteps. I glance over just in time to see Paul running for her. He’s going for the gun, to kick it away, but he’s not close enough. Her fingers wrap around it, and she swings it up, barrel heading his way. I throw myself on her. The gun fires. With both hands, I grab her gun arm and wrench it back, thudding into the floor.

Mama Zima fights with everything she has, kicking and scratching. Paul has the gun, and he’s staying far from the barrel as he pries her fingers away. She fires again. The shot goes wild, but the sound startles Paul. He relaxes his hold just enough for her to turn the gun his way—

I slam her arm into the floor. Paul wrenches the gun from her hand. Outside, there’s a commotion. Shouting. Running footfalls. I scramble for my dropped gun, and I swing it up just as the door opens—

“Police!” Laila Jackson shouts. “Drop your weapons.”

More officers push in behind her, and I still hear more outside, handling the thugs. I lift my hands and drop to my knees as the police rush in.





Chapter Thirty-Nine





Laila gets Paul and me away from our guns. Then she focuses on Mama Zima and the thugs, letting us slip off to the side.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she says.

I nod. When I turn to Paul, I say, “You did call them.”

“Actually, no.” His voice wavers. He takes a deep breath and shakes it off. “I couldn’t. When I realized I didn’t have cell service, I found a spot to hide Brandon and snuck to the steps to make sure you were okay. You weren’t, so I came down armed with . . .” He points at a broken chair leg, dropped by the fight scene, and gives me a wry smile.

“Thank you.” I put my arms around his neck and kiss him. Then I pull back fast. “Sorry. I—”

He cuts me off with a deep kiss. A moment later, a throat clears behind us. We turn to see Laila.

“Mind if I interrupt?” she says.

“Yes,” I say.

She gives me a hard look and waves for us to follow her.

“Brandon,” Paul says. “He’s hiding in the attic. May we get him? With an officer escort, of course.”

Laila agrees and sends Paul to do it. I’m not going anywhere, apparently. Once he’s gone, she leads me outside. Paramedics are loading Hugh Orbec into an ambulance.

“Is he . . . ?” I begin.

“Alive. For now.” She turns her back on the paramedics and faces me. “Before you ask, it was Ellie Milano. She finally contacted me, and only because she was worried about you. Took me a while to get permission to track your cell to its last location. I’d like to say you’re lucky we showed up but . . .” She glances back at the house and then says, grudgingly, “You seemed to be doing okay.”

“No, trust me, I’m still glad you showed up.”

“I could have helped a whole lot sooner,” she says. “And I’d love to give you hell for that, but . . .” She sighs as she scans the yard, the officers taking the thugs into custody. “We got off to a bad start. I just didn’t want you getting caught up in something dangerous. Glad to see that didn’t happen.”