He Can Fall (She Can... #4.5)(7)

Carl swept a knit cap off his head. “The original plan didn’t involve killing the store manager, the van getting stuck in the snow, our two-hour walk in the cold last night, or an ice storm stalled between us and escape. We made it, but I’m cold and wet and hungry. For now, we secure this place, dry off, and get a hot meal. Then we’ll sit down and figure out how we’re going to get to Canada.”

“Sounds good.” Dennis released Mia. “If you move an inch, I’ll shoot your Grandpa.”

She didn’t.

Dennis slipped off his canvas jacket and shook it. Water droplets sprinkled on the kitchen floor. “You sure you can handle this bunch?”

“No problem. No one is going to do anything stupid. They all want to get out of this alive, right?” Carl’s gaze roved from person to person. No one blinked.

Cold blasted through the room when Lincoln went outside. With their outerwear hung to dry, the two blond men left the kitchen. Their footsteps faded. The kitchen occupants were silent and still. Ten or fifteen minutes later, the door swung open, and a couple in their early thirties stumbled into the room. The woman had long red hair and wore a thigh-length pink flannel nightie that skimmed over a five-or six-month-pregnant belly. The husband was shirtless, dressed only in plaid pajama bottoms. Dark-haired and tall, he curled a protective arm around his wife.

“I didn’t find the husband, but I found these two still asleep.” Win came in behind them, nudging the woman with the muzzle of his gun. She flinched and spun to face him. Win smiled, his eyes slowly taking in every inch of her body revealed by the thin fabric of her nightgown. His gaze lingered on her full breasts.

“I thought you said you had only two guests.” Carl glared at Glenn.

“They aren’t guests. They work here.” Glenn’s voice rose with panic. “My cooks.”

“Then why aren’t they in the kitchen cooking?” Carl raised an angry eyebrow.

“They do lunch and dinner. I cook breakfast,” Glenn answered.

Carl grunted, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

Win stepped closer to the woman, grabbing a handful of her sleep-tousled hair and tugging her toward him. Cringing, she whimpered as he pulled her closer. Pain flashed across her face. Eyes watering, she put a hand to her scalp. Win’s eyes brightened, her distress clearly exciting him.

Her husband stepped in front of his wife. “Let her go.”

Win’s mouth split into a grin. He raised the gun and fired. The bullet struck the husband high in the shoulder. His body jerked, and he sank to the floor as blood flowed from the wound.

In the center of the room, Mia covered her eyes with her hands and screamed.

“No!” the wife cried.

Win’s eyes glittered with pleasure.

Mia’s wails echoed off the hard surfaces of the kitchen. Win’s lip curled. Adjusting his grip on the woman’s hair, he turned his gaze on the child. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to hurt them all. Amanda could see anticipation building in his eyes.

“Win, stop,” Carl shouted.

Win shot Carl an angry, rebellious glance. “What if I don’t want to stop?”

“Remember the plan, Win.” Carl softened his voice, placating the unstable younger man. “Tell you what. You do what your uncle and I say, and we’ll let you have one of the women later. You can do whatever you want with her. How’s that?”

“OK, I guess.” Reluctance shone from Win’s eyes, but he released the redhead. She dropped to her knees beside her husband and cradled his head in her hands.

“Your uncle needs help finding the last guest,” Carl suggested.

“OK, but I’m only doing this for Uncle Dennis. You can’t tell me what to do.” Win stomped out of the room.

Carl jerked the barrel of his shotgun toward Glenn. “You, Grandpa, shut that kid up. My ears are bleeding. Don’t try anything funny, or I’ll shoot someone else.”

Glenn picked up Mia. Her screams muted to soft sobs and whimpers. Carl grabbed a mug off an upper shelf and poured coffee from a pot on the counter. He drank with a deep, satisfied sigh.

“He’s bleeding a lot. What do I do?” The redhead brushed a hair off her face with a bloody hand, leaving red smears down her fair cheek. Her husband had lost consciousness.

Amanda looked at Carl. “May I?”

He shrugged. “Sure, knock yourself out.”

“Glenn, do you have clean towels?” Amanda asked.

“Yes.” With Mia on his hip, Glenn opened a drawer and pulled out a pile of folded terry cloth. He handed it to Amanda.

She dropped to her knees beside the wounded man and pressed a folded towel to the quarter-size hole in his shoulder. She put the redhead’s hand over the towel. “Put plenty of pressure on this. When it soaks through, don’t move it, just put another towel on top.” Amanda touched the man’s bare chest. His skin was cool and looked pasty. She rocked back on her heels. “We need a blanket. He’ll go into shock.”

Carl laid the shotgun on the counter and wrapped both hands around the mug. “Nobody’s going roaming around the hotel. Make do with what’s here.”

“How about some tablecloths?” Glenn set Mia down. “Stay here for just a minute.” He pulled a pile of pure-white linens from a cabinet and helped Amanda spread them over the bleeding man.