Tim sighs. “Just try to stay out of any line of fire.”
Did he say line of fire? Dear God!
My mind is racing. All the warnings, all the things Tim has said… Was he right all along? I can’t let Austin see me panicking, though, so I nod as we walk behind him, leading my son away from immediate danger. Once in the bedroom, Austin sits on his bed, and I approach the window with caution. I’m terrified of being seen, but I need to close the curtains.
I don’t see anyone on this side of the garden, but that certainly doesn’t mean that no one is out there. The room is dark, but I don’t turn on any lights for fear of advertising our location. Instead, I settle myself on the floor next to the dresser. I hold out my arms towards Austin and say quietly, “Wanna come sit with me?” To my complete surprise, Austin comes over and sits on my lap, leaning his back against my chest. I resist the urge to hug him, which I’m sure will set him to wriggling, if not screaming. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and plant a quick kiss on the top of his head.
I want to tell myself that I’m overreacting. Perhaps they’re peeping toms. Maybe a couple of burglars taking a chance on finding an empty home. Petty crime isn’t unheard of around here.
Only something tells me there’s nothing petty about this crime. I rest my cheek against Austin’s head. He’s still staying remarkably calm, and as I glance up, I look at the poster I bought him. The one of Atticus Colt. In it, he’s staring broodingly from the image, one finger held in a silencing gesture over his lips. It’s as if he’s telling us to stay quiet, and for a moment, I’m astonished. It’s like it’s some sort of sign.
But if it’s a sign, it’s connected to a moment that is filling me with dread. I know more than anything that this is due to my relationship with Sam. The thought makes me shudder. I love Sam, but if this is what my life will be like with him, I don’t think I can handle it. And Austin definitely doesn’t deserve this. Maybe Tim is right. Maybe it’s better to be safe than in love.
Chapter 5
Low
Samuel Foster
The headlights of the SUV flicker on and off again. I see a flash of something from Arielle’s garden. I’m pretty sure it’s an answering signal from one of the guys I saw heading there. The doors of the farthest vehicle open and four burly men climb out. One of them near the front heads over to the car closest to me. As he gets there, the window slides open and a cloud of blue smoke swirls out into the night.
I can’t see the man within, but then a hand extends out the window, and from the sight of the stubby fingers wrapped around the thick cigar, I can hazard a guess. Gregory Buford has come to do his own dirty work this time.
“Motherfucker,” I whisper. With their boss on the scene, I have no doubt these thugs are going to pull out all the stops. They’re not going to go in half-assed with him looking on. And Buford didn’t sound like he was in a mood to show mercy. He sounded like he wanted to turn this into a war.
I have to think fast.
Since there’s still no sign that I’ve been spotted, maybe my Hollywood-style drive-by has actually worked. But there’s only so long you can hide a custom-detailed, black and chrome Mustang out in the open street. I pull to a halt outside the front gate, shoot a quick glance back at the men, then unclip my seatbelt, swing the door open and make a mad dash for the front door.
All hell breaks loose.
“Boss! It’s him!” a heavily accented voice shouts out. There are more shouts and I hear boots thundering down the road as I reach the door, banging on it frantically.
“Get him!” someone yells. They’re closing in fast.
“Ledger! Open up! It’s me, Samuel— Atticus Colt!” I shout urgently, praying that Officer Tim decides to let go of our past grievances. I’m pretty sure he has the hots for Arielle, but him leaving me out here to die wouldn’t be a great way to start off a relationship with her. “Officer Ledger, please let me in,” I say, adding some respect for effect. I’m standing squarely in front of the door’s peephole.
Open up. Open up, damnit!I can hear their boots on the gravel of the walkway now. I aim a glance over my shoulder and see the glint of moonlight on metal. They’re armed. No surprise there. But would they shoot me out here, in full view of passersby?
“For fuck’s sakes, Tim!” I shout. A moment later, I hear a latch rattle, a lock unclicks, and the door opens. And I’m looking down the barrel of a service revolver.
Jesus! Talk about out of the frying pan, into the fire!
All it takes is a fraction of a second for Ledger’s eyes to flash over my face, and then behind my shoulder. Before I know what’s happening, he’s got a handful of the front of my shirt and he’s hauling me through the door. He slams it shut and bolts it before I’ve had a chance to find my feet. I flail past him wildly. I’m not used to being unbalanced. The door is barely locked before the men are thundering on it with their fists. Any attempt at stealth has been thrown to the wind.
“Come on out, Colt!” the accented man shouts. I detect a heavy hint of Brooklyn in it – like something out of an old ‘40s gangster flick. “The boss wants to speak to you,” he goes on. The words come out‘Da Bawz wunts ta speak to ya’and I have an insane urge to laugh. It’s got to be hysteria. There’s no other way to explain it.
All my years of sneaking around in the shadows of these men’s lives has never prepared me for the thought that they may hurt someone I love.
Because I’ve never really had someone to love. Not since Atticus went, all those years ago. Now I’m facing the very real danger of losing everything before it’s even in my grasp.
The hammering on the door grows louder for a minute, then stops abruptly. I don’t know what scares me more, the hammering or the silence.
Ledger has his firearm trained on the door – the first man through is going to get a head full of lead. Though I’m not sure how legal that would be. Can he just shoot someone without announcing himself first?
Why the fuck am I even thinking about this? Where’s Arielle?
I look around frantically, and Tim must realize what’s worrying me. He jerks his head silently in the direction of Austin’s room, and I figure he’s telling me she’s in there. I’ve only been here a couple of times, but if memory serves, there’s a window facing the back garden. And Buford’s men are out there, skulking around in the shadows.
