“They’re behind the bar.” She punctuated her quiet voice by waving toward the wood counter.
“Then go get them, Toots.”
She gave Jake’s hand another squeeze and walked behind the bar. He followed, wanting to keep his body between her and the gun barrel.
“Oh no.” The killer jerked the gun around toward him. “I don’t trust you either. You stay here by me at the end of the bar and you, Sweetheart, go get my stuff.”
Jake’s hands curled into fists. Dependent on what she would do next, he chomped at the bit to make his move. No matter how much he hated the fact, it was too early. He only had one shot at this. He had to wait for the perfect moment. Each second crawled by as she continued toward the keg at the far end of the bar.
“My brothers say I always talk when I’m nervous. I always thought they were full of it, but looks like they’re right.” Claire waved her hands in the air as she spoke and knocked the water hose from its perch. “Clumsy too. Damn. Can’t you point that gun somewhere else? It’s really putting me on edge.”
“It’s supposed to, Baby Doll.”
She clutched the hose as if to replace it on the handle. Instead, she whipped the spout toward the gunman and let the water rip.
The shot caught him right in the mouth. Startled, his head snapped back.
“She’s got wicked aim with that hose,” Jake snarled as he smashed the killer’s gun hand onto the bar. He let out a satisfying grunt, but hung on to the gun.
Determined to take the asshole out, Jake landed a solid elbow to the nose. The man screamed and dropped the gun on the bar with a thunk. It spun on the slick surface and fell to the floor.
Jake followed with a right hook to the guy’s cheekbone. A crunch greeted his ears.
Claire stopped the water flow, but Jake didn’t slow his attack. He grabbed the tweaker’s shirt and pulled him in close.
The maniac had killed Kendall and terrorized Claire. He’d destroyed the sense of safety and comfort she’d fought so hard to create. Jake planned to enjoy making him pay.
Blood leaked from the man’s nose, droplets dotted his green shirt. Jake leaned in until they were nearly nose to bloody nose. “Nobody messes with Claire. Got that?”
“It’s mine. She was supposed to give it to me. It’s mine! That stupid bitch Kendall promised to give it to me, but she reneged. She couldn’t be trusted, just like her mother.”
The man spit blood into Jake’s face. He brought his arms up and broke the hold. They faced off and circled each other.
“I think a broken promise is the least of your worries right now.” Jake wiped the glob of spit and blood off his face with the back of his hand. This wasn’t his first fight against someone who didn’t play by the rules. Fine with him. Jake tried to keep himself between the killer and Claire behind the bar. He wouldn’t leave her vulnerable. One way or another, he’d take this psycho out. He brought up his arms in a wrestling take-down position and charged.
Oh. My. God.
Claire tossed the hose into the sink. Her stomach twisted as the two men slugged it out. When would Hank get here? She’d pressed the panic alarm on the hostess stand five minutes ago. Dread made her body heavy. What if the Voice of Doom had cut the alarm?
The men crashed to the floor with a bang. The killer came out on top and pummeled Jake. Her heart stopped. It revved up again when Jake pushed the Voice of Doom off and assumed the dominant position. She couldn’t wait any longer.
She grabbed the first weapon she found—a heavy glass beer pitcher from the drying rack. The only problem? What in the hell was she supposed to do with it? If only she…
The gun.
Grunts and groans filled her ears. She dropped to her knees to find where the gun had fallen. Frantic, she felt along the floorboards. She cheered silently when she saw it near the bottom of the ice machine.
Exalted, she swiped it off the floor. She stood, spread her feet shoulder width apart and bent her knees slightly. The gun felt cold when she gripped the handle with both hands. Her first impulse was to shoot, but she couldn’t risk hitting Jake. She raised the gun toward the ceiling. Her heart hammered as she waited for the Voice of Doom to separate from Jake.
She hurried around to the front of the bar. The fighters seemed evenly matched. Jake was a bit bigger, but the maniac had enough meth-fueled crazy in him to negate the weight advantage. They grappled on the floor, turned into a small round table, knocked it down. The killer rolled on top of Jake, but he flipped the other man off his body and the men separated. Both breathing hard, they sized each other up like boxers at the beginning of the tenth round.
Doubt seized her. The gun trembled in her hands. What if she missed? What if she hit Jake instead? Her heart pounded in her ears. There may not be another chance. She had to do it now.
Claire lowered the gun and aimed at the Voice of Doom. Willing her hands to calm, she eased the trigger back. The gun cracked to life and bounced her arms back.
The killer shrieked. A warm serenity soaked through her body as blood spread across the seat of his jeans. She’d hit him in the ass.
It was just a flesh wound so the