Inherited Threat. Jane M. Choate
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Mace signaled for the check. He paid it, added a generous tip, and then casually inquired about the shortest route to Washington, DC. The young waitress gave directions to the freeway. He nodded and thanked her.
He made his way to where the restrooms were located and found Laurel. Pushing open the door to the men’s room, he made certain it was empty, then gestured for her to follow him inside.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“We wait.”
It didn’t take long.
The larger man came in first. Mace grabbed him by the arm, twisted him around so that he fell heavily against the sink. The thug reared back, but Mace was ready and slammed the man’s head into the stained porcelain. The man gave a single grunt, then made a “no more” gesture. Mace whipped out flexi-cuffs from his back pocket and quickly bound the assailant’s hands together.
Sammy growled, and Laurel smoothed her hand over his hackles. “Next one’s mine.”
“Go for it.”
When his buddy didn’t return from the restroom, the second man showed up. “Virgil?” He gave the door a cautious push. “Virge, you there?”
Laurel waited behind the door.
Mace nudged his captive with a none-too-gentle kick to the ribs. With the barrel of his gun pressed against the man’s head, Mace whispered, “Answer him. No funny business.”
After a grimace, Virgil called out. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“Hey, Virge, what’s taking so long? I expected you to come back with a couple of war trophies—”
Laurel didn’t give him time to finish. She yanked the door back, sending the second man off balance. When he stumbled, she kicked out with her right leg, catching him in the gut.
He grunted in pain but didn’t topple.
She followed up with a blow to his jaw, then slammed the ridge of her knuckles under his nose. It bled profusely.
“You’re gonna—”
“Pay for that? That’s what they all say.” She hooked her leg under his, and, with a twist of her hips, threw him to the ground. Positioning her foot against his neck, she said, “Tell us who sent you.”
The man twisted his neck to shoot her a look of hatred.
Virgil got his bravado back. “You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from us.” Despite the defiant words, the man looked like he didn’t think for himself and waited on others to tell him what to do. A nose that had been broken at least twice did nothing to offset a mouth that had several teeth missing.
“No?”
“Maybe this will help. Sammy, show ’em your stuff.” The skiff of fur at Sammy’s neck stood at attention, and he gave a grumbling growl.
“I ain’t scared of no three-legged dog,” the second man said even as he shrank away from Sammy.
“Sammy is a decorated soldier. He knows twenty ways to kill you. All it takes is a command from me and you’ll be dead within seconds.”
A man walked inside, took a look at the scene before him and quickly backed out.
“Tell us who sent you or I’ll leave the lady and her dog to finish you two off.” Mace made a sound of disgust. “And maybe I’ll put it out there that the two of you were taken down by a woman half your size and her three-legged dog.”
Neither man said a word. Laurel knelt beside them and searched their pockets. “Nothing. Not even a cell phone.”
Though the men didn’t appear overly smart, they’d had brains enough to leave their phones behind. A phone’s history could yield a wealth of information.
Mace pulled out his own phone and sent a text to Shelley, explaining the situation. She would smooth things over with the local cops who were sure to show up in quick order. A grin pulled his lips up at the corners when he got a reply.
What’s up with you? Can’t you go a couple of hours without getting into it with the Collective’s thugs? Shelley had never held back on voicing her opinion.
After slipping a pair of flexi-cuffs on the second man, he hauled both men into the far stall and dumped them on the floor. “These two won’t be going home tonight.”
Sammy gave a last growl at the men.
“Keep your freak of a dog away from me,” Virgil muttered.
“What? Now you’re afraid of my three-legged friend?” Laurel gave a short command to Sammy, who sat back on his haunches, then aimed a look of contempt at the men. “You’re the worst kind of cowards. Sammy served his country bravely. You two wouldn’t know the first thing about that.”
Mace wadded up paper towels and stuffed them into the men’s mouths.
“C’mon,” he said to Laurel. “If the police get here before we leave, we’re in for a bunch of questions. I want to put a whole lot of gone between us and whoever is after you.”
“You read my mind.”
Mace hustled them out the back door. Rain spat from angry clouds, thin drops sharp with teeth that slashed at the skin.
Laurel climbed into the truck, Sammy on her heels. Once inside the cab, she heaved out a breath.
Mace drove out of the parking lot at a leisurely pace just as two police cars were pulling in.
Her sigh of relief echoed his own feelings. Though he believed in cooperating with the locals whenever possible, he hadn’t wanted to stick around. If it was the Collective who was after her, they were bound to have more men in the vicinity.
“I’d have liked to question those two some more,” she said, frustration ripe in her voice, “but they’re like the others, obviously low-level, probably don’t even know who sent them after us.”
She was right. The men hadn’t appeared to have the intelligence or the initiative to act on their own.
She angled herself toward Mace. “What now?”
“We keep heading for Atlanta.” He slanted a curious look in her direction and asked the question that had nagged at him since Shelley had told him of the assignment. “Why S&J? There had to be other security firms you could have hired.”
“I did some research and liked what I learned about S&J, especially that it’s made up of ex-military and law enforcement. In my book, that says a lot.”
The answer made sense. Yet he had the feeling there was more to it than that. He stored that away.
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Don’t be. We weren’t close.”
It was a cold answer, but he sensed there was more to it than what the few words conveyed. The expression in Laurel’s eyes told him that she wasn’t going to say anything more, at least not then. Another mystery.
None of his business. All he cared about was keeping her safe and learning whatever she knew about the Collective.
“You must be really important to have the Collective send three teams after you in one day.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Her lips lifted in a wry smile. “I’m beginning to think that the Stand was safer than Georgia.”
He grinned at her use of the military’s slang for Afghanistan. “You might be right.”
Mace’s smile died as memories assailed him. He’d returned to the States a different man from the callow boy he’d been when he’d enlisted.
He had watched buddies die, put up with orders that made no sense from politicians who had never stepped foot on a battlefield, and been betrayed by the woman he