Dakota shakes his head. “No, wired. In case the ATF tries to take me out.”
A chill passes down my spine as I smile brighter. “How would they even know where to find you?”
“Come on,” Dakota ignores my question and motions to a door in the middle of the kitchen. This one doesn’t have a bar or padlock on it. The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up at this point - waving red flags that I’m doing my best to ignore. My heart is jackhammering against my chest. I have two knives strapped to my legs, but I’m not sure I can get to them fast enough if shit goes sideways right now.
The only thing I can do is remain calm and hope my cover hasn’t been blown.
“After you,” Dakota opens the door, which leads to a set of basement stairs.
Woman Instinct 101 - if a man wants you to walk into a dark basement, you say “No, thank you,” kick him in the nuts, poke him in the eyeballs, and run like hell. As this contradicts ATF Agent 101, which is -get the bad guy- I simply nod like an idiot, grip the banister on the wall, and walk sideways down the steps, keeping my eye on Dakota.
He chuckles. “Don’t you trust me, Mellie?”
“I sure as hell don’t,” I roll my eyes. “This is like something out of Horror Movie Central Casting. The only thing worse would be to run upstairs when the bad guy chases you. For fuck’s sake.”
Dakota laughs again, not at all bothered by my answer.
We get to the bottom of the steps. He flips on a light. I blink a few times for my eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. The basement is more like a root cellar with a dirt floor. And in the middle of that dirt floor is Van Buren County Sheriff Mike Fitzwarren, who should be in protective custody with his family right about now.
It’s also right about now - I realize I’m utterly and wholly fucked. And nobody even bought me dinner.
“What is this?” I point to the man tied to the floor joists in the ceiling.
Dakota circles me. “This is betrayal,Mellie. If that is your real name.”
I snort. “Oh, sure. If I was going to make up a name, do you think it would beMellie? You think I love being compared to a weak-ass character onScandal?”
Dakota keeps circling. I turn with him, not wanting to give him my back. As we turn, I look around the basement. Junk is piled everywhere. Old furniture, piles of rusty tools, about three thousand pieces of wood scraps. But, nothing is within reach. There is a loose layer of dirt on the top of the floor. A hint of mildew tickles my nose. I touch the leather bracelet on my wrist to activate my emergency beacon.
The lunatic before me laughs harder. “You think they’ll be able to get here in time? I have jammers set up around this house. There’s no way your little signal will help you now. On your knees.”
I jut my chin in his direction. “Fuck you. I kneel for no man.”
Meth Mouth steps closer and points a gun in my face. “I said on your knees.”
“I realize you’ve smoked a lot of drugs, and it’s probably rotted your brain, but you should understand the concept of - no fucking way, youshitstain.”
In a lightning-fast maneuver, he hauls back and hits me upside the head with his gun. I expected something like this, but it still hurts like a sonofabitch. I land on my knees, hard, scrabbling for the knives strapped to my ankles. I unsnap one with my left hand as I grab a handful of dirt with the right.
There will be no posturing. No allowing the bad guy to give me his freaking Ted Talk of Terror. I pop to my feet, throwing the dirt in his face and slashing down on his gun arm with my knife.
Dakota howls as he grabs his bleeding arm. I bend over, grab the gun, and tuck it into the back of my pants. I search him for other weapons. There aren’t any. Then, I turn to Sheriff Fitzwarren, who looks beat up but will survive. I cut him free.
“Pretty slick move,” the sheriff nods, rubbing his wrists together. “Where did you learn that maneuver? ATF?”
I huff a laugh. “Brother and sisters.”
“Ah,” the sheriff laughs, then freezes as he points over my shoulder. “That’s a bad sign.”
I spin around and see a countdown clock on the wall. “Fuck. Me. That’s definitely a sign we need to get out of here.”
I search through Dakota’s pockets for the keys to the house and jam those into my pocket.
“C’mon. Grab the shitstain, and let’s get out of here,” I motion to the sheriff. I turn toward the stairs, but Sheriff Fitzwarren yanks the gun out of my waistband and shoots Dakota right in the chest.
“What the fuck, Sheriff?”
I brought a knife to a gunfight. Motherfucker.
