Her Bodyguard Page 16

  “Now would be good. Maybe post a car down at the road and send a couple up here.”

  “Sure, if you think you can handle him yourself.”

  There it was. The attitude. The kid brother who’d never gotten over being left behind—twice. First by Robert, who’d gone and gotten himself killed in Afghanistan, and then by Lucas, when he’d headed for Texas after graduation.

  “That’s right kid. I’ve decided I could use some help keeping my—keeping Ange alive.”

  “I’ll call Lessard now.”

  “Have him approach silently, okay? But ready to take the guy down.” Just as he spoke, Lucas’s phone beeped. It was Felton, the bootlegger. He hung up with Ethan.

  “Felton? What’s up?”

  “Lucas, there’s a car behind your house. I went down to feed the girls out back and didn’t see it. Didn’t hear it either. The girls were howling.”

  Damn it! He hadn’t heard anything either. “I got my shotgun, “Felton continued. “We’re on our way.”

  “Thanks. Try not to shoot the good guys.”

  The old man chuckled as he cut the connection.

  Lucas sprinted back toward the house.

  As he started across the short expanse of lawn, a shot ricocheted off the trunk of a tree right beside his head.

  He dove instinctively, reaching at his back for his weapon. Had that shot come from inside the house?

  Angela!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tony Picone heard the rifle shot. Good. Paulie had his sights on Delancey. With any luck, that one shot had taken the big man down. Paulie was the best shot by far, of all Papa’s men.

  He turned back to Angela, who was sitting in a kitchen chair staring at the barrel of his Glock.

  He brandished the roll of duct tape in his other hand. “I said hold out your hands, or would you rather have a matching knot on the other side of your head?”

  “Go to hell.” She shook her head, dislodging a small trickle of blood from the cut where he’d hit her with the butt of his gun. Her brown eyes were filled with fear and hatred.

  He didn’t care. He wasn’t trying to win a popularity contest. His sole purpose was to show Papa that he wasn’t a baby. That he could handle himself in the family business as well as any of his older brothers. Better, in fact. Because he had the brains.

  He holstered his Glock in his side holster and yanked a long strip of tape off the roll. He trussed Angela’s wrists and forearms, winding the tape all the way up to her elbows. Then he wound another long strip around her torso and shoulders, securing her hands tightly against her chest. Finally, he wrapped the end of the tape around her neck.

  He’d demonstrated that method for his older brothers. Paulie had seemed mildly interested, but Milo had laughed and Nikki Jr. had echoed his Papa. Forget about it, Tony. You’ll break Mama’s heart with that talk. You’re not in the business.

  “Now see?” he said to Angela. “My brothers shoulda paid attention to me. See how effective that is? You can’t move your arms or your head. No biting the tape and getting free, right?” He giggled. “Go ahead. Try it.”

  She glared at him.

  “Okay, but you gotta admit it’s a good design. Now, stick out your feet.”

  She sucked in air in preparation for screaming.

  He backhanded her. “You think I’m kidding, or what? See. Now you got matching bruises. It’s what you call symmetrical. I like symmetrical. Now, Angela, if you don’t keep your mouth shut, I’ll cut your tongue out. Do you believe that?”

  “Coward,” she spat. “Who are you anyway? One of Picone’s sons? I’ll bet you’re Tony, the baby. I’ve heard about you. Apparently you don’t take after your father, because you are a pitiful excuse for a hit man.”

  He slapped her openhanded, twice. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your mouth shut. As soon as Paulo is finished with your big convenient bodyguard out there, I’ll get him to come in and hold your mouth open so you don’t bite me when I go to slice your tongue. See this?” He set the duct tape down and pulled a switchblade out of his pocket.

  He pressed a button and the blade sang open. “It’s double-sided. You don’t see many of those these days. Take a look at that stainless steel. It’s sharp.”

  Angela just stared at him without speaking. But her face turned pale and she didn’t say anything else. He knew he’d gotten to her.

  “Let me show you.”

  He pointed the blade at her left nostril and slowly inserted the tip of it.

  Her breath caught, but to her credit, she didn’t move. Her eyes never left his. “You think this little pointy blade could slice right through your nostril?”

  She swallowed but remained perfectly still.

  “Do you?” He smiled. “Oh, that’s right. I told you not to talk. Be sure not to shake your head either. It wouldn’t be a good idea.” He left the blade there for another few seconds. “I wonder how long you could sit there without moving, Angela? A few minutes? A few hours?”

  A tear formed in her left eye and slid over the lid to trickle down her cheek.

  “Good answer.” He removed the knife and snicked it shut. “Now, like I said before. It’s time to do your feet, Angela. Stick ’em straight out in front of you.”

  As he wrapped duct tape around her ankles, he congratulated himself. He’d seen some of the things his brothers had done. Some of their particular techniques. Most of them were crude but effective.

  He’d sat for hours in his engineering classes at the university, sketching out ideas to make their techniques more effective, once Papa made him part of the family business.

  He’d designed the methods on paper, and he’d tried a couple out by himself, like the bombs, but he’d never gotten a chance to use them for real. It was a heady victory to know that this one worked.

  Outside he heard another rifle shot.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. He’d hoped Paulie had taken out Delancey on the first shot. Paulie had the skill, but he was used to working in the concrete jungle of Chicago or in the area around Lake Michigan. This place, this ungodly hot, overgrown marsh, was an entirely different world.

  Then as he finished binding Angela’s ankles, the silence was split by a burst of shots—from a handgun.

  That had to be Delancey.

  “Come on, Paulie,” he muttered as he pocketed his knife. “How hard can it be to take him out with that fancy rifle?”

  “Paulie. Oh, right. Paulo. One of your older brothers? He’s the real hit man, isn’t he?”

  “You shut up!” he shouted. “I didn’t tape your mouth, but I will. Just as soon as you call your ADA brother and tell him to drop the case against Papa. And if you don’t shut up about me and my family, I’ll do a lot more than just cut your tongue out.”

  “You put that GPS locator on me, didn’t you? In the crowd after the car you rigged exploded.”

  “Shut up. Where the hell is your phone?”

  “You were close enough to shoot me with that brand new, shiny gun. Why didn’t you?”

  She gasped. “Like that,” she panted. “You couldn’t, could you? I’ll bet you had the gun out. Had your finger on the trigger. But couldn’t kill me then, and you can’t kill me now. “

  “Shut! Up!”

  “So you called Paulo, didn’t you? He had to come down here to help his little brother, the coward.”

  Tony’s scalp and ears burned with panic and fury. He shoved the gun’s barrel deeper into the soft tissue of her breast. “What’s the matter with you? Do you want me to shoot you?”

  Outside, the unmistakable blast of a shotgun rent the air. Tony jerked upright. What the hell was going on out there?

  Angela tried not to gasp at the sickening pain of the gun barrel bruising her breast. It didn’t take a cop to understand that a scared guy holding a gun represented a very dangerous situation. Tony was scared, but he was also smart.

  Yes, he might have panicked in the crowd and balked at shooting her then. But now…his plans
had changed. Tony had an agenda. He was much more interested in freeing his father than killing her outright. His whole purpose in coming down here had been to prove to his papa that he was as good as his brothers.

  The question remained—was he? She didn’t know.

  What she did know was that all the gunfire from outside was ominous. She’d told Tony that the shots meant that Paulo was hurt, but inside she was terrified that it was Lucas who was getting the worst of it.

  Whatever was going on out there, it was obvious that Lucas had his hands full. She couldn’t count on him to save her. Him or anyone else.

  She was on her own. She carefully tried to strain against the tape binding her wrists and ankles. She had to admit, Tony was right about the way he’d trussed her. There was no way she could move as much as a fingertip to save herself. All she had were her wits and her mouth. So until he got mad enough to gag her or, God forbid, cut her tongue, she had to use them. Maybe if she could rattle him, she could somehow get away, or stall him until Luke get here. If he could.

  “What’s Papa going to think of you when you get yourself thrown in prison, Tony?” she taunted. “You might scare my brother to throw the trial and letting your papa out of jail. That’s admirable. A son taking care of his papa. Nobody can deny that you’re a good son. But what about when he’s out and you’re behind bars for kidnapping, attempted murder or even murder? What’s Papa going to do then?”

  She took a shaky breath and wondered if she was wasting it. Tony was barely listening to her. He’d backed away finally and removed that steel-hard bruising barrel from her breast.

  He sidled over to the windows to look outside. Her heart sped up in hope. Maybe Lucas would see him through the window and shoot him.

  Dear God, was she actually hoping that a human being would be killed?

  She was.

  Once he got to the window, Tony crouched down and slunk back to stand in front of her.

  “Where’s your phone?”

  “Don’t you have one?” she retorted.

  “We’re using yours. You’re going to call your brother and tell him to let my papa go.”

  Angela swallowed hard. “Like I said, your papa is going to be free as a bird and you’re going to be locked up behind bars. What do you think he’s going to do then? Is he going to stop his illegal activities and spend all his time and resources to free you, like you’re working so hard to do for him?”

  Tony growled in exasperation. “I said—”

  “He’s not, is he? He doesn’t care a thing about you, does he? You’re just a big mama’s boy. Your mother probably whined and pleaded with him not to let you get involved in the family business. Your brothers probably think you’re a sissy, don’t they?”

  “I said shut up!” Tony swung the pistol around and aimed it right at Angela’s head. His eyes were fiery and black, like smoldering volcanic rock. He stalked over until the barrel of the gun was pressed against the center of her forehead.

  She swallowed bitter bile. Had she gone too far? Was her desperate attempt to rattle Tony Picone going to get her killed?

  “Don’t you breathe another word about my mother. Now where is your god…damned…purse?”

  He pushed the barrel into her forehead with each of the last three syllables.

  “In-in the chair on the other side of the table,” she stammered. Despite how hard she was trying to sound tough and unafraid, her insides were churning and her head was spinning with fear.

  Tony moved sideways and reached for her bag. With one hand he dumped its contents out on the table, never once taking his gun off her.

  Outside, more shots shattered the silence. Different shots, coming from different directions.

  Please God, don’t let Lucas get shot. He was tired and hurt, and she wasn’t sure how long his strength would hold out.

  Tony scattered the contents of her purse until he spotted her cell phone. He grabbed it and pressed a couple of buttons.

  “Here he is. Brad.” He punched the number and listened.

  “It’s ringing.” He held the phone up to Angela’s ear, and sure enough, Brad answered.

  “Brad! Don’t listen to him!” she shouted.

  Tony jerked the phone away and swung at her head again. This time it was his knuckles that impacted with her cheek, rather than the butt of the gun.

  It still hurt. She grunted with pain.

  “Shut up, bitch!” Tony held the phone to his ear. “This is Tony Picone, Mr. ADA. If you don’t make sure my father is back home with no legal problems hanging over his head by tomorrow morning, I’m going to kill your sister.”

  He stopped and listened.

  Angela could make out Brad’s voice, shrill with fear, but she couldn’t tell what he was saying.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re way up there in Chicago with not a lot of options, and I’m standing right here with a gun aimed at your sweet little sister’s head. So who do you think is in charge?”

  He paused, listening. “That’s right. Matter of fact, I’m starting now, with a few cuts and bruises. I’ll get to the bigger stuff later on this evening.”

  Brad shouted something.

  “You just call me back with the exact time my papa will be released. You’d better figure out some way of verifying that Papa’s free, because I’m not letting your sister go until I’m sure you’ve fixed it so he can never be arrested again—for anything!” He paused.

  “I don’t care if it’s impossible. It’s your job to make it possible. Meanwhile, your sister and me are going to get to know each other. Got it?”

  Brad’s frenzied words crackled through the air.

  “My brother Paulie, the sharpshooter, is taking care of him. Lucas Delancey won’t be an issue very much longer.”

  Whatever Brad said next infuriated Tony. “Don’t count on it. You better spend your time getting my papa out of jail. If you don’t call me back here on your sister’s phone no later than nine o’clock this evening and tell me what’s been done, your sister is going to be a lot worse for wear. By ten o’clock, she’ll never be able to talk to you again. Then by eleven—well, I think you get the picture.”

  Tony flipped the phone shut and turned his black eyes to meet her gaze. “Your brother seems to be sufficiently scared for your life.”

  He grinned. “While I wait to hear what your brother’s gonna do to make sure Papa is set free, I’m going to cut the tape on your ankles, because you and me, we’re going into the bedroom. It’ll be a lot more comfortable to wait in there until Paulie takes care of your bodyguard.”

  He leered at her. “A lot more comfortable.”

  LUCAS CRINGED AS THE BULLET ricocheted off the tree next to his ear. He darted out, fired off three rounds, then ducked back.

  Another loud crack, another bullet zinging past his head. Whoever was shooting at him was good. Damn good. And that rifle was no pea-shooter, either.

  Of course, neither was Felton Scruggs’s shotgun, he thought, as a deep boom reverberated through the air. As far as Lucas could tell, Felton was east of the house. He had to be close, and he had to have a bead on the sniper. Felton had never wasted a shot in his life. So the sniper wasn’t inside the house.

  Lucas didn’t know what that meant, and not knowing was eating him up inside. Was the sniper Tony Picone? Was he alone?

  Lucas was sure the answer to both questions was no. Someone who’d rather plant a GPS locator on his target than go ahead and shoot her wouldn’t be able to handle a long-range rifle so competently. And Brad had told him Tony’s brother Paulo was the expert sniper.

  Another shot grazed the tree trunk next to his shoulder. Lucas angled out and shot again. That had to be Paulo shooting the rifle. And that meant Tony was inside.

  Bile churned in Lucas’s gut. He’d left Angela alone. He’d failed her. The very thing he’d tried to prevent had happened.

  Tony Picone had Angela. To get to her, Lucas had to get the sniper out of the picture.

  Felton’s s
hotgun boomed again, and as the thunder faded, Lucas heard something that turned his blood to ice.

  A scream. From inside the house.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Angela’s scream ripped through Lucas like a sniper’s bullet. His fingers went numb and his heart stopped dead in his chest. Angela wasn’t a screamer. She never had been. He couldn’t imagine what Tony was doing to make her scream like that.

  At least she was still alive. But that thought didn’t reassure him. He flexed his hands. Then with a growl he whirled and emptied his magazine in the direction of the rifle shots.

  He ducked back behind the tree and ejected the empty magazine. He refilled it as quickly as he could and slapped it back into his Sig Saur. Then he turned and fired again.

  Another cry reached his ears, this one muffled and pained. That bastard was hurting her, while he and the sniper and Felton were playing shoot-’em-up. This standoff could last for hours.

  Angela didn’t have hours.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead and his gut clenched in impotent rage and frustration. He had to get to the cabin, even if it meant taking a bullet.

  At that instant, Felton’s hounds howled, and the plan that had eluded him now flashed in front of him.

  Dogs. That was it! He dug into the pocket of his khaki shorts and retrieved his phone.

  He hit the button that dialed the bootlegger. “Felton,” he whispered.

  “Luke, we ain’t getting nowhere,” Felton whispered.

  “Can you see the sniper?”

  “Yep. He’s on this side of the house, having a ball with that fancy rifle.”

  Lucas heard the sound of Felton spitting tobacco on the ground.

  “What if you let the dogs have a go at him?”

  “My girls?” The bootlegger paused. Lucas knew he was thinking about that rifle and those penetrating bullets. “That pretty little girl—you like her, I reckon.”

  Lucas’s eyes stung. “I like her a lot,” he said, his voice choked.

  Felton sighed. “Awright then, son, I believe you’ve got a plan. Just say when you’re ready.”