Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,48
wasting time fumbling. He was ready.
Until he heard a lighter tread coming down the stairs and headed his way. Step by cautious step. Ever so slowly. Could that be Lucy Shade? Jameson didn’t want to kill a woman, even though she was behind the kidnapping. Taking a deep breath, he stood and waited for a clue that would tell him who he was up against.
His nose flared at the lovely scent he’d thought he’d never smell again. “Maddie?” he asked as he stepped forward. “What are you doing down here? You’re supposed to be gone.”
She nearly bowled him over. “I couldn’t leave you! I came back to save you,” she said breathlessly, burrowing into his side and under his arm. “C-come on, Jameson! We have to g-g-go right now.”
Damn. She’d seen the bodies and gore. Might even have seen him kill that last guy. He curled her inside his arm, confused as to why she was there, yet so damned relieved she was alive. His senses surged out from him like a hearing-seeing-feeling sonar wave. Instant data poured back. More heavy footsteps in the yard, coming his way. The thwack-thwack-thwack of a helo flying high overhead and, unfortunately, away. It would’ve been better if that helo was The TEAM coming to his rescue, but he suspected it was more likely Lucy Shade and Pops Delany getting away. Shit.
“It’s too late. We can’t leave now. They’re coming.”
“Hurry,” she cried, slipping one slender hand into his. “We can still make it. I have a car.”
“Where?”
“Down the road with Mr. Vlad.”
“Who’s Mr. Vlad?”
“The other guy I saved. Come on, Jameson. We can make it.”
Other guy? “Wrong, Maddie. We’re out of time.” He pulled her back into the corner, then positioned her behind him, as more of Delaney’s killers thundered down what sounded like a narrow flight of stairs. Thirteen steps to that staircase. A truly unlucky number, considering the incident had happened on the thirteenth of May, five years ago. This night just kept going from bad to worse.
Angry roars went up when the other six spotted their dead friends. Jameson focused on the vibration of all those soundwaves to locate his first two targets. A double-gauge came in handy when faced with mob violence, and the one in his hands could dispense fourteen rapid rounds. He cocked the lever and prepared to get ugly.
“Drop your weapons,” he ordered Delaney’s men.
“Aye, and then you shoot us in the face.” Sweet Baby Jesus. The top dog himself was here with his guys. “Face it, boyo. Me and my boys have you and your little girlfriend outnumbered. You’ll never get out of here alive.”
“Pops Delaney,” Jameson stated for the record. “I’m taking you in for kidnapping, racketeering, money laundering, extortion, tax fraud, and a shitload of other federal crimes. Hands up or die. Your choice.”
The air in the stuffy basement crackled with tension and bloodlust. It’d been a long time since he’d last smelled it. That time, in Iraq.
“Who’s he kidding? He’s that blind guy,” one of Pops’ guys snickered. “Look at him. Look at his feckin eyes. He can’t see us to shoot us.”
“Last chance, assholes,” Jameson threatened.
“Aye, and the one with him’s just a wee girl,” another added. “Look at her, hiding behind her boyfriend like a scared rabbit.”
“I like bunnies and little girls,” a deeply sinister voice whispered salaciously.
“I’m no little girl!” Maddie yelled as she stepped around Jameson and—
BLAM!
She had a gun? Judging by the gangster’s uproar, she’d just shot Pops Delaney. Sweet baby Jesus!
Jameson fired one round from his shotgun, hoping to quell the upcoming slaughter. But vengeance was a hard beast to rein in once unleashed. When Delaney’s gang commenced shooting, Jameson was all that stood between them and Maddie. He unloaded round after round of hell until there was no one firing back at him.
By then, he’d trapped Maddie behind him. She might’ve gotten off that first shot, but beginner’s luck had no place in a gunfight. Only skill. Only quick thinking and faster shooting.
The stink in the basement swelled up like noxious poison in Jameson’s nose. He could only imagine what was going through Maddie’s mind. But another vehicle had rumbled into the yard, and more heavily bodied men in boots were already on the ground. This wasn’t Tombstone, Arizona, nor was it a gunfight at the O.K. Corral. This basement was a kill box.
Like hell.
Chapter Twelve
Maddie held her breath as the farmhouse backdoor creaked open. Her mouth was as dry as a desert, and she was