“Someone’s called 911, not talkin’, just opened the line,” Eric whispered.
“Sweetheart,” a man said over the radio.
“Stay away from me,” Feb replied and Colt’s neck twisted at the fear he could hear stark in her voice, even muted and scratchy over the radio, but even so, relief poured through him that she was speaking at all.
“Come here, February.” the man demanded.
“You just shot at me!” Feb yelled.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sweetheart… but you can’t call me that.”
“Don’t get near me.”
“Feb, I need you to listen to me.”
“She’s hurt!” Feb screamed, so loud they could hear it not only on the radio but from the house and Colt’s eyes opened, the dread in his gut had lifted, not much, because either Susie or Melanie had been hit, but Feb sounded strong and Colt looked toward the house.
“We start again here, we gotta start clean,” the man said.
“By killing Melanie and Susie? Are you nuts?” Feb asked.
“Oh shit,” someone close to Colt muttered but Colt could have said it himself. Denny Lowe was nuts and he didn’t need Feb riling him.
“February…” the man said then he asked, “what’s that?”
“What?” Feb asked back.
“Feb, what’s that? In your shirt.”
Fuck, she had the phone on her and Denny had seen it.
Feb wisely changed the subject. “You just shot at me. I want to go,” she snapped. “I just want to go. And I’m taking Melanie and Susie with me.”
“Lift up your shirt,” Denny demanded.
“I’m going,” Feb declared.
“You can’t go. You’re meant to be with me and to be with me we have to start clean. Now, what’s in your fuckin’ shirt?” The man’s voice was getting agitated, they didn’t have much time. Susie’d already suffered a gunshot wound, God knew the state of her. Melanie was likely up next. And Feb, Feb kept at him like this, Denny would do her too.
Feb stayed on target, keeping his focus off her phone. “Susie’s bleeding, she needs help. You let her bleed to death on her own couch, I swear to God, we’re through, over. You hear me?”
Colt turned to Warren. “Talk to him or I go in,” he demanded.
Warren turned to the house and lifted the speaker to his mouth.
“Dennis Lowe!” he called through the speaker and Colt went around the cruiser to the driver’s side, opened the door, pulled the latch to the trunk then moved to the back of the cruiser, nabbed a vest and put it on while Warren continued. “Dennis Lowe, this is the FBI. We’re outside and we know you’re holding February Owens, Melanie Colton and Susan Shepherd. We know you’ve shot Susan. We don’t want anyone else hurt. Put down your weapons and exit the house immediately. This will be your only warning.”
Sully got close as Colt pressed down the Velcro. “Colt, man, what –?”
Colt didn’t look at him. In fact, he ignored everyone, including the variety of voices shouting his name as he jogged to the house, pulling his gun out of the back waistband of his jeans.
“February, just please, come here,” Denny pleaded.
My eyes went to Susie, her eyes were closed. Either she was dead or unconscious. I’d successfully taken his mind off my phone but I knew I was running out of time.
“Let them go,” I demanded to Denny.
“Why won’t you listen to me?” he shouted.
“Maybe because you’re shooting people and acting crazy!” I shouted back.
For some reason, his eyes went to the door then he lunged toward me.
I was too slow in making a move to avoid him. He caught my arm and pulled me back.
Then the door opened and Colt walked in, carrying a gun, calm as you please. Upon entry, he lifted his weapon, aiming dead on at Denny.
I stared at Colt as I felt the cold steel of the gun hit my temple.
Then Denny said, as if he was hosting a dinner party, “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Let her go,” Colt ordered.
“Drop it,” Denny Lowe demanded in return and he jerked Feb in his hold.
Colt’s eyes went to the gun at his woman’s head and his blood, already boiling, starting singing through his veins.
“I said, drop it!” Denny shouted.
“You won’t hurt her, Lowe,” Colt guessed and he was right.
Denny took the gun from Feb’s temple, turned it on Colt and fired.
I watched Colt’s big, solid body jerk as the bullet hit his vest and I screamed.
Then I turned and threw my weight at Denny. Taking him off balance, we both went to the floor.
My hands circled his wrist, both of them grappling for the gun.
“Get them out, out, out, out!” I shouted at Colt, struggling with Denny.
“Feb, roll away,” Colt demanded, his voice sounding funny, like he was winded as if he’d just run a race.
“Get them out!” I repeated.
“Roll away!” Colt bellowed, obviously getting his breath back.
It would seem I was the kind of woman who listened when a man bellowed because Colt did it twice and twice I did what he said. I rolled away, onto my back. When I did, Denny lifted the gun but Colt was standing over us. Colt fired and Denny grunted in pain before his gun hand fell.
“Get Melanie out,” Colt told me as he kicked at Denny’s hand and the gun went skidding across the room.
“Colt.”
“Feb, now!”
I got to my feet and went to Melanie, pulling her to hers. She didn’t waste time and, still whimpering, ran directly toward the door.
I didn’t see if she made it, wasn’t paying any attention because Denny had scooted back then he was up, unarmed but charging Colt. When he did, Colt south-pawed him, holding nothing back, his shoulder dipped, his torso twisting at the waist building momentum, he connected direct in the wound at Denny’s shoulder.
The sound was sickening as Colt’s fist struck the seeping flesh. Denny let out a rough howl of pain, fell back and then, like the crazy man he was, without hesitation, he charged Colt yet again, growling like an animal the whole way.
Colt planted his feet, lifted his now bloody left hand and caught Denny by the throat, his fingers curling under his chin and around his jaw. With what looked like little effort, he cocked his elbow and flung Denny away.
Any man in normal circumstances would be humiliated by the ease of Colt’s defense. Colt was essentially fighting with one arm tied behind his back as he hadn’t dropped his gun. But Denny just went reeling, several feet, his good arm windmilling, before he righted himself.
“Lowe, it’s over, stop,” Colt ordered but Denny came right back at him.
Colt didn’t touch him this time, he dodged him and Denny flew by.
“Get outta here,” Colt ordered to me, sounding impatient but his eyes never left Denny. He was focused but he knew I was there and not leaving.
Now Colt brought his gun up, his head cocked to the site and he aimed at Denny and I knew he was finished fucking around, even if Denny was no longer armed. Denny was bent double, one hand to his bleeding shoulder, the other hand dangling useless. His eyes, seething with palpable hate, were on Colt and he was panting like a dog.
I didn’t do as Colt asked. I went to Susie and pulled her dead weight up. I managed to get behind her and grabbed her under her pits, trying to be careful and failing because I was panicked. I pulled her around, yanked her down and she thudded against the floor.
I was bent double, dragging her across the floor, still watching Colt and Denny as Denny grabbed the axe with his good hand, not giving up, so insane he didn’t know he’d lost or not caring. His right shoulder was bleeding, even if Colt didn’t have a gun, he could do little harm with a gunshot wound and an axe in his left, non-dominant, hand.