Bounty (Colorado Mountain 7)

“Deke,” I said.

“Shush, Jussy,” he muttered, bending low so he could peer through the center of the wreath to see into the front door window while slowly turning the knob and pushing in.

What happened next happened so fast, it was almost like it didn’t happen.

But it did.

Fuck me.

It did.

All of it…

Did.

Deke pushed me off, turned to me, bit out, “Run!” then entered the house, slamming the door behind him.

I heard the lock go.

I stood there, stunned immobile, then I heard the gunshots.

My body jerked in shock, instantly electrifying, and my feet moved without me telling them to do it.

In my cowboy boots, I ran along the snow at the front of the house, dodging pine, naked aspen, my hand finding its way into my bag, curling around my phone.

I took the corner of my house on skid through the snow that nearly brought me down. I righted myself, yanked out my phone and I didn’t think. I couldn’t. The house had good insulation, double-paned windows.

But I heard men shouting.

Luckily, I recognized one of those men was Deke.

Extremely unfortunately, he was unarmed and in my house with someone who had a gun and used it.

Looking down at my phone, running blind, pine boughs fluffed with snow stinging the skin of my face as I ran through them, for some reason, I didn’t call 911.

It seemed too much effort, too much time.

I hit contacts.

I hit “K.”

And I hit Chace.

I put the phone to my ear and heard it ringing as I rounded the far end of the deck by the river, cleared it and started racing up the incline toward my private deck.

“Jussy, hey,” Chace greeted in my ear. “All okay?”

“Deke,” I wheezed, hitting the steps to my deck, starting by taking them two at a time.

Slipping on ice, the sole of my foot went out behind me and I went down hard on my shin on the edge of the step above.

“Justice,” Chace growled in my ear.

“Someone in my house. Deke pushed me back. He’s inside. I’m not,” I panted, righting myself. The burning in my shin not fazing me, I leaped to the top step. “Gunshots, Chace.”

“Get safe,” he ordered urgently. “I’m calling cruisers now. On our way.”

“Deke…has a gun,” I puffed, my hand back in my purse, finding my keys. “I…”

“Get safe, Justice.”

“I have to get it to him,” I finished, pulling out my keys.

I dropped the phone from my ear, dimly hearing Chace call my name. I focused, not about to waste time like I did, freaked out when I was strangled, dropping keys, chasing them around.

I found the key to my house, a master that opened all the locks, and slid it in. I unlocked it, pulled it open and rushed inside.

I tossed my phone to the bed. Pulled the strap of my purse over my shoulder, threw it that way too and darted to Deke’s side of the bed.

I yanked open the drawer to his nightstand, where he kept his gun at the back.

Always close.

Just in case anything threatened his gypsy.

I nabbed it and pulled it out, hearing sinister murmurings in the other room.

I sprinted first to the panic button, not that I didn’t think Chace didn’t have cruisers heading our way about ten seconds after he lost me, just to make sure they knew the situation continued to be critical.

Then I sprinted to the bedroom door and stopped on the wet heel of my boot, sliding a few inches, halting with my hand thrown out to catch the jamb, taking time to pull my shit together.

One breath.

Two.

Get the gun to Deke.

They were armed. He was not.

That was what I had to do.

Get the gun to Deke.

I shoved the gun in my back waistband and bent, tugging off my boots as quickly but as carefully as I could so I didn’t make any noise doing it.

When they were off, I grabbed the gun and slid out on my stocking feet, moving surely but cautiously. I didn’t have a plan. There was no light coming from the great room but moonlight. Maybe I could use shadows. I knew where the rugs were, muffle my footfalls, the furniture, crouch behind it, find my way to Deke, get him his gun.

Or use it if needed.

As the case may be.

Time.

Just time.

That’s all we needed.

The cops would be there soon. They were probably halfway there already.

We just needed time.

My heart racing, I walked into the hall, through the doorway to the great room. Hunkering in a shadow, I stopped dead.

The moon on the snow coming in my window illuminated the scene.

Boxes on the floor, the headstocks and necks of guitars sticking out the top.

A bundle on the floor, halfway from collection room to front door, a human one, not moving.

And my fucking cousin Rudy, standing inside the doors to where now only half of my dad’s collection still stood displayed.

He had a gun aimed at Deke.

And then there was Deke, not far from the human bundle on the floor.

And even in the moonlight, I saw the red stain of blood marring the right upper chest of his white tee.

“Down, man, on your stomach,” Rudy ordered, his voice thin, strained, weak.

The same could be said for his body.

He was strung out.

Wasted.

Half a man, reduced to that through addiction.

Thoughts quickly chased their way through my head.

The last time I saw him, he didn’t look as bad, but I knew by his eyes that he was gone. Lost to that world. Lost to his need.

The last time I talked to him, the last four times, actually, all phone calls, asking me for money, eventually begging for it.

The last time I was there when his name was uttered around my Aunt Tammy, the grief in her eyes, like he was already dead.