Chasing the Fall (Naughty and Spice)

Seven

Bran

I don’t like this. I don’t like it one fucking bit.

Why the fuck did she bring us here? It’s the perfect hideout for a killer on the loose, for someone who needs to stay under the radar. What did she think was going to happen if we came across him? Was she going to negotiate him into coming back with us and going to jail?

I stifle the rough words that want to spew forth and focus, instead, on keeping watch for trouble.

The hair on the back of my neck is standing at attention when Tallulah leads the way across the clearing and onto the porch that spans the width of the small cabin. It feels like there are eyes on us, hidden ones, which gives them the advantage. I scan the area, and the tree line in particular, praying that the feeling is just nerves and not instinct.

I know better, though. I step onto the porch behind Tallulah, careful to position my bulk in front of her.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while,” Tally murmurs, reaching out to test the knob.

Pfft.

The sound registers a breath after I see a phantom current riffle through the sleeve on her outstretched arm and embed itself in the wall. Apprehension rushes through me on its heels.

Bullet.

“What the—”

“Down!”

Tally’s expression is uncomprehending, and another bullet shatters fragments of the door jamb. I fling myself at her, taking her down to the porch behind one of the large concrete planters and a rusty freezer. My arms curl around her as we fall, taking the brunt of the impact and cushioning her between my body and the unforgiving wooden surface.

Her head pops up immediately and I push it back down. “Stay fucking down!”

I hear a ping, and then a solid thunk, as bullets hit the freezer and the planter.

“What was that?” Her voice is muffled against the floor.

“Someone’s shooting at us.”

Without waiting to hear her response, I lever myself up into a crouch behind the planter and pull my gun from the small of my back. I take a cautious peek around the planter, searching for the shooter. With my back to him, it was impossible to tell where the shots were fired from. Now, the woods are still, none of the foliage moving to give his position away.

“Fuck,” I mutter, retreating.

I’m going to have to do something to draw fire, unless I want to sit here all day. My gaze scans the area around me and lands on a bucket a few feet away. Shifting, I tap it with my boot and send it rolling across the porch.

A bullet pings reflexively off its plastic surface, but I’m not watching the bucket. I’m watching the tree line. The brief flash of sunlight on metal sings a silent hallelujah.

“Gotcha.”

Taking careful aim at the same spot, I fire. Unlike the shooter’s gun, mine is not suppressed. The shot booms through the clearing, sending a flock of birds fleeing from a nearby tree and eliciting a squeak from Tally.

The treeline erupts with a flurry of movement, and more shots beat against the porch and our makeshift cover. I fire again. And again.

And then there’s nothing.

I wait, every muscle tense with adrenaline and my heart pounding, as the woods settle and grow still and silent once more.

Thinking back to each shot, I try to count. If he had a revolver, he would have around six shots. If he was shooting something like a 9MM, though, he could have upwards of fifteen rounds. There’s no way to know.

“Is he gone?” Tally’s whisper is loud against the floor of the porch.

“Shhh.”

I don’t know how long we sit behind the concrete planter, hardly daring to breathe. What seems like hours but is, in reality, likely only five minutes later, I finally deem it safe to rise. “Arm okay?”

Tally nods, but I lift her arm and pull her toward me for an inspection, anyway. Blood is pumping sluggishly through a small rip in her sleeve, and I tear a strip of fabric from my sweatshirt, using it to cinch her upper arm tightly.

“All right, we’re running,” I tell her, pulling her into a standing position. I grasp her shoulders, making eye contact and making sure she understands. “As soon as you hit that clearing, you book it for the trees.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be in front of you. We’ll move faster if I don’t have to turn around and check that you’re behind me.”

She nods, closes her eyes, and exhales through her nose. When she opens her eyes, resolve firms her features. “Got it.”

“Good girl. On my count. One—”

I count us off the porch and launch myself forward, senses split in awareness of Tally behind me, her breath coming in quick pants, and the tree line before us. There was a chance I was running us straight into the sights of a killer, but my gut told me he was gone. If he wasn’t…well, he would have to shoot me first to get to Tally, and the woods would provide better cover.

We make it to the woods with no shots fired, and my shoulders slump in relief. I don’t relax into it, though. Taking Tally’s hand in mine, I begin to tug her swiftly through the woods, just off the trail to let the brush provide us better cover.

It still feels as though eyes are on us, though, watching our every step. Playing with us. I don’t breathe easy until we’re back at the truck. Opening the passenger side door, I hand Tally up and into the seat. She’s trembling, her freckles standing out against the pallor of her skin in stark relief.

“Hey.” I squeeze her thigh, my hand covering just about the entirety of it. “You’re okay.”

She turns huge eyes on me. “Please, just get us out of here.”

I hesitate for a second, my gaze searching hers, and then give a brief nod. Shutting her door, I move around the truck to the driver’s seat.

“Let’s go.”

A mile down the road, I pluck Tally’s phone from where it sits in the console and toss it to her. “Call your cop friend and let him know what happened.”

She stares down at the phone in her lap like it’s a foreign object, then picks it up. Instead of dialing, her fingers graze the edges of the device with a featherlight touch. I can’t help but notice the fine tremble in them.

“He was going to kill us,” she says, voice low.

I do a double take. “Tally…”

She shakes her head a little. “It’s not that I didn’t know he wanted to kill me. His intent is obvious. It’s more…that bullet hit my arm. A few inches to the left, and that would’ve been…it. The last thing my brain would know was reaching for the doorknob. Being completely oblivious to the fact it was about to be over.” She shrugs, shoulders rising and falling. “Or I guess it could’ve lasted a little while. Death, I mean. It could hurt.” She focuses on me. “I’m not sure which I’d prefer. Immediate and relatively painless, or painful, but having the chance to say goodbye. And I’m sorry.” Tears brim at the bottom of her eyes, one spilling over to trace the curve of her cheek. “I am sorry. I’m so sorry I took us there, that I didn’t consider your risk—”

“Stop it.” I curse the roughness of my tone and attempt to soften it. “Just…stop. This is not your fault, Tallulah. And we’re okay. We’re—”

“Tally.” She cuts me off with a shaky smile, and I lift an eyebrow. “I like Tally.”

Reaching over, I cover her left hand with my right, swallowing it up against her thigh. She twists it, turning it upward until our palms are aligned, and threads her fingers through mine.

Something settles, warm and full and aching, in my chest.

“I like Tallulah.” I clear my throat. “Now, call your friend Jack and give him an update. They need to get a team out there to search the area.”

Nodding, she thumbs the phone on and dials one-handed, placing the call on speaker. It rings once before a gruff male voice answers.

“Twiggy? Everything okay?”

She opens her mouth to speak, and then she shakes her head, pressing her lips tightly together. I answer. “Jack. This is Bran Kelly. We just had a run-in with your perp.”

“Is Twiggy okay?”

“I’m fine.” She finds her voice. “Just a little shaken up, which is stupid. I took Bran to the cabin—”

“You did what?”

The immediate outrage in Jack’s response makes me feel better. Even if Tally is clueless when it comes to her own safety, the people around her are not.

“I wanted to check for clues!” She exclaims. “See if he’d been there recently —”

“You need to leave that to us, Twiggy. You could’ve been killed if he had been there.”

“Well…”

“What the hell happened?”

“He was there, that’s what happened,” I reply. “He took a few shots, had us pinned on the porch. Fortunately, we got out, but…” I shake my head, recalling those moments where I was uncertain if he was still there, waiting for us to emerge from cover. “It could’ve been ugly, that’s all. You need to get someone out there, comb the area. There’s a chance he’s holed up somewhere in the vicinity.”

“Already on it. What about you? Where are you headed?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Tally. She’s staring out of the window, her free hand curled beneath her chin. She’s subdued in a way I’ve never seen before her before, and I don’t like it.

“Not back to her place, that’s for sure,” I answer. Tally’s head swivels in my direction.

“What? You can’t just take me off somewhere! I need my computers—”

“Where then?” Jack cuts in, silencing her protest.

I suck my lower lip between my teeth and consider my options. I could take her back to Philadelphia. That would be Kael’s preference, if I were to call him and ask. For some reason that I prefer not to examine too closely, though, I don’t want to take her to Philly.

The turn that will take us to the interstate approaches, and I take it.

“I’ve got a place,” I reply. “I’ll keep you looped in.” Lifting my hand from Tally’s, I cut the call.

My eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“What are you doing, Bran?”

“Do you trust me?” She hesitates, then nods, a short, jerky movement of her head. “Good.” I squeeze her hand. “I’ll keep you safe.”