Shit. He’d chosen his cock over May’s safety.
He gripped his head in his hand, trying to think. May had the snowmobile. They had two dog sleds and a truck with a plow blade—none of them anywhere as fast as a snowmobile. And even if he could catch up with May, what was he going to do? Hand over the diamonds and hope Beridze would suddenly grow some morality and give back both May and her uncle?
Fuck. He was just fucked.
“Breathe, Sam,” Becky murmured, kneeling at his feet. She’d brought over another batch of warm towels.
“Sam?”
He looked up at the croak. Doc was in the doorway to the spare room, leaning hard on Dylan. “Jesus, Doc, you need to be lying down.”
Doc looked pale as death, but a corner of his mouth twitched up. “Kind of hard to sleep with all the commotion out here. What’s your plan?”
Sam stared at him, his mind blank.
But Doc simply nodded his head, no trace of worry in his face. “You can do it. You’ll make a plan, save Maisa and George. Town’s counting on you, son. I am, too.”
And with that Doc turned and limped back into the spare room with Dylan.
Sam inhaled and glanced around. They were all looking at him, Karl, Molly, and Haley Anne. Stu, Walkingtall, and Jim were on the other side of the kitchen island, Ilya was still huddled in his chair, and even Doug was propped in the doorway to the spare bedroom. They all expected him to know the answers, to save them from catastrophe, to get them out of the hopeless situation.
You play afraid and you’ll never win, Doc had said so long ago at Ed’s.
Sam stood. “Okay. We’re going to toss these assholes out of our town once and for all.”
Relief swept Becky’s face, but Walkingtall merely grunted. “How?”
Sam stared him in the eye a beat and then looked one, by one, at everyone else. He needed them all behind him for this. “We need to find a way to surprise Beridze. Something he won’t expect.”
Jim cleared his throat. “Would explosives help?”
Everyone turned to stare at him.
Sam blinked. “Yeah, Jim, I’d say explosives would be very helpful.”
Chapter Forty-Six
She was small and dark, this niece of George Rapava, and what was more, George was very fond of her.
Jabba watched as the old man tried and failed to hide his anxiety over the woman. Of course George was most likely in quite some pain, which may’ve made it harder for him to conceal his emotions. Jabba had amused himself the night before tracing the tattoos on George’s chest with his knife. Shallow cuts, not deep enough to do any lethal harm. And then he’d cut off George’s little fingertip, and George had screamed and Jabba had thought that perhaps he should stop there.
It would not do to kill him too soon.
But now he had this niece who had so kindly walked into the middle of the town street and shouted that she had the diamonds. He had had her brought to him and she stood defiantly before him, her gaze calm and unafraid.
“So,” Jabba said, lighting a cigarillo. “You have the diamonds.”
“Yes,” the niece said. “Send my uncle out and I’ll give them to you.”
“Or—” Jabba sucked on the cigarillo “—I have my men kill you and I take the diamonds from your dead body.” He exhaled smoke through his smile.
She shook her head. “I’m not stupid. I don’t have them on me. Let my uncle go and I’ll lead you to where I hid them.”
Jabba thought about torturing the niece to find out where the diamonds lay. It would be simple enough with his men here. But he grew bored easily. More torture—even of a woman—seemed tedious.
He caught a movement from the corner of his eye, and then he had a new idea. George Rapava seemed truly afraid for the first time since he’d stepped into the police station.
Afraid not for himself, but for his niece.
“Very well,” Jabba said. “You’ve convinced me with your words. I shall let your uncle free.”
“No!” George lunged forward.
Rocky casually kicked him in the hip and the old man went down, groaning.
The niece looked down at the uncle writing in pain on the floor and then up at Jabba. “Are you finished?”
Ah, now this was interesting. She’d risked her life to save the uncle, yet she was uninterested in his pain.
Jabba cocked his head. “Should I be?”
She sighed as if weary of him. “I think so. You do want those diamonds, don’t you?”
“Oh, indeed I do.” He stepped close to her, and raised a hand to trail his forefinger over her cheek. “Perhaps I want other things as well.”
She slapped his hand away. “I bet you already have plenty of women for that. I have something else you need.”
He narrowed his eyes, intrigued. “And what is that?”
She smiled, her lips curving prettily. “You want to get out of here alive, don’t you?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Then you’re going to need a hostage.”
Jabba smiled. “And you offer yourself in exchange for George here? The niece of a notorious mafiya?”
“No,” she said, her eyes hard. “I offer myself. The daughter of a notorious Minneapolis prosecutor.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Maisa was so busy staring Jabba Beridze down and trying not to look at Dyadya that when at first her cell phone rang she didn’t even notice.
In fact, it was one of Beridze’s men, Rocky, the one who’d brought her in who said in a thick Russian accent, “Boss? Do you hear a cell?”
Everyone patted their pockets.
Maisa took the opportunity to glance at Dyadya. He still lay on the floor, but when she looked, he winked at her, which made her feel a lot better.
“It is yours,” Beridze said.
Maisa took her cell out and stared at it. After being a useless piece of plastic and glass for last couple of days it had suddenly come alive again. And she didn’t recognize the number on the screen.
“Answer it,” Beridze said.
She swiped the screen and held it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Sweetheart.” Sam’s voice was rich and deep and oh, so wonderful.
Her heartbeat started doing triple time. He must hate her right now. She didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say, not really.
“Are you all right, May?” His voice held impatience now.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she said. “I’m discussing hostages with Mr. Beridze.”
That earned her a short pause. “Can they hear me?”
“Not right now.”
“Good. Do you know that you don’t have the diamonds?”
“Yes.” She’d made that unpleasant discovery when she’d gotten off the snowmobile in front of the police station, much too late to change her strategy.
“Okay, put me on speaker.”
She blinked, feeling almost hurt that he was so brusque. Silently, she held the phone out and pressed the icon for Speaker. “Everyone can hear you now.”
“Beridze.”
The mobster raised his eyebrows and stepped closer, peering curiously at the phone. “Officer Sam West, am I not right?”
“Correct,” Sam said. “I don’t know what Maisa Burnsey told you, but she doesn’t have the diamonds. I do.”
Maisa felt her blood turn to ice crystals in her veins.
She looked up and met Beridze’s amused lizard eyes. “Oh, yes?”
“Yeah,” Sam drawled, sounding as relaxed as if he were lounging in front of a football game. “You want ’em or not?”
Beridze’s eyes narrowed. “You know I do.”
“Good. Then bring both Ms. Burnsey and George to the lake at noon. I want them safe and I want them alive. I see either of them hurt or if you leave one behind, I’ll throw these lovely pink hearts into the lake. We make the exchange there and then I want you out of my town. Deal?”
“And why should I make any deals with you, Mr. Wes
t?”
“Because the cell towers are back up,” Sam said. “We have reception and soon we’ll have a boatload of FBI and police, all tearing into my town looking for you. And Beridze? You might not like my deal, but I assure you the FBI won’t be making any deals at all. This’s your last chance to get out of my town alive. Take it or leave it.”
The phone clicked and the screen read, CALL ENDED.
Maisa looked up into eyes that had all the humanity of a dead lizard.
“You lied to me,” Beridze said.
“Yes.” Maisa swallowed drily. “And I lied to him, too. I’m like that and so are you. But Sam West? I don’t think he’s ever lied in his life. If he says this is your last chance, then you’d better take it.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
It had been a good long while since Sam had smoked. Maybe once or twice when he’d been stupid and fifteen. A couple more times when he’d been in bars on leave in the army. Not since then.
He fought the urge to cough as he squinted through the thin stream of smoke from the cigarette between his lips. His main worry was that it would burn down before he needed it.
He stood on the side of the lake where Stu had dropped him off earlier. The sun shone blindingly, reflecting white off millions of snow crystals.
In the center of a sheet of white stood four people: Beridze, one of his henchmen, Maisa, and George.
Sam took a breath and started out. He had to have faith that Karl, Molly, Dylan, and Stu could take out whatever of Beridze’s men still remained.
Of course Beridze would expect that, too.
The black suitcase was heavy in Sam’s hand, but he made an effort to carry it lightly.
As if it only held clothes.
“West!” Beridze’s voice carried across the ice. He sounded happy. But then he was a psychopath. “Stop right there. I have men with guns aimed at you.”
Sam sure as hell hoped not, but he stopped as instructed. He could see May, shorter than the men. He couldn’t make out her expression at this distance, but she had to be scared out of her wits.
The odds of them both making it out of this alive were slim.
He should’ve told her that he loved her when he’d had the chance.
“What now?” he shouted at the lunatic.
Beridze actually laughed. “Toss me the diamonds.”
Sam shook his head. “Too far. Let me come closer.”
Beridze nodded and waved him forward.
Even in the cold, sweat was gathering under his armpits and sliding down the small of his back as Sam walked toward the group.
“Tell me, Officer West,” Beridze said, “you have killed eight of my men, wrecked two of my vehicles, and made me very, very angry. Why should I not have my men shoot you dead right there?”
Sam felt his shoulder blades crawl, but he refused to look around for the glint of a gun barrel. “Yeah, well, your men shot Doc Meijers in the leg, and his leg is worth a sight more than all of your men put together, so if anyone ought to be pissed, I think it should be me.”
“And yet you intend to let me go with my diamonds,” Beridze said. “That’s far enough.”
Sam nodded. He stood fifty feet away now. “Let them go.”
“Let me see the diamonds first,” Beridze said.
Sam eyed him. Beridze’s eyes were sparkling and he was showing too much teeth. He sighed. The asshole was going to try and double-cross him. Sam sucked on the cigarette, making the end glow bright orange, and squatted in front of the suitcase. He held the cigarette between his first two fingers as he unzipped the suitcase. The diamonds lay in their bag right on top and he lifted them, pausing only a split second to light the fuse. He rezipped the suitcase with the fuse sticking out where the zip met the corner, not quite shut. The fuse smoldered and Sam felt sweat start at his hairline.
“Got ’em.” He held up the bag of pink jewels.
“Oh, very good,” Beridze drawled. “Now, Maisa and George, run toward your savior. West, throw the diamonds to me. If I don’t have them by the time your friends reach you, Sasha will shoot all three of you.”
May gasped and took her uncle’s hand, hurrying him forward. The old man must be injured from more than just his hand, because he sure wasn’t moving fast.
Sam’s gaze dropped to the suitcase full of explosives at his feet. The fuse had nearly disappeared inside. He was no expert. He probably had about a minute.
Give or take.
May and George were halfway to him now.
Sam took a step back and threw the bag of diamonds at Beridze.
For a moment, the asshole’s attention was in the air, tracking the diamonds.
Sam bent, picked up the suitcase and, swinging it like a discus thrower, hurled it at Beridze and his man.
The suitcase thumped down at their feet just as Beridze caught the bag of diamonds.
“Shoot him!” Beridze said, nearly giving Sam a heart attack.
Beridze’s henchman began to raise his handgun but before he could fire, he staggered back.
A gunshot echoed across the lake.
May. May was in a shooter’s stance. She’d brought the little handgun Sam had given her yesterday. As Sam watched she fired three more times.
The henchman went down and stayed down.
Sam was pretty impressed. As far as he could tell, all her shots hit her targets.
“You… you fucking jerk,” she screamed at Beridze and the gun in her hand began to shake.
“May,” Sam said.
“Tiny-pricked asshole!”
Sam took her arm, trying to drag her back. “There’s a bomb in the suitcase.”
She turned to him, wide-eyed, mouth open. “What?”
He had May’s arm in one hand and George’s arm in the other and started hustling to the shore.
Behind them, Beridze was laughing like a hyena. “Do you think to play the same trick twice—”
BOOM!
The blast threw Sam onto his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs, bruising his hands, elbows, and knees. For a moment he just lay there, wheezing, fighting the familiar panic of not being able to draw breath. Beside him, he could hear May swearing and the sound sent a wash of relief through him. He gasped, the air whistling as his lungs, pain blossoming at his side. He wondered if he’d broken a rib or two.
Sam sat up and looked at George.
The old man was gazing up at the sky with wonder, but as Sam leaned over him, he smiled. “Thank you.”
Sam inhaled painfully. “No problem.”
He looked at May, but she wasn’t waiting to let him see if she was okay. She threw herself against him, knocking him back in the snow and making him grunt with pain from his bruised ribs and lungs.
Not that he cared.
May was kissing him, alive and warm and safe, and frankly he could take a few aches and pains to have that.
He kissed her back, letting her straddle him, not caring about the cold or the fucking diamonds or really anything else but May’s lips and May’s weight and May’s fingers in his hair.
Until someone cleared their throat above them.
May broke away to look up.
Sam tilted his head to see Molly Jasper staring down at him, disapprovingly, her rifle slung under her arm.
Beside her, Karl was staring at the lake. Sam struggled up, May still astride him, and looked, too.
There was a smoking, jagged hole with water bubbling up where both Sasha and Beridze had been.
“Dude,” Karl said in wonder. “What do you suppose happened to the diamonds?”
Chapter Forty-Nine
She had to leave.
That was the one thought that kept running through Maisa’s mind. After the gunfire, after patching Dyadya up, after the hugging and exclamations of relief when they got back. After things began to run down, and Sam had gone to secure the police station and the two remaining mafiya thugs. She couldn’t face him after what she’d done.
It was over and th
e urge to run was nearly overwhelming.
Maisa slowly wiped down Sam’s kitchen table. Everyone had scattered after lunch, either to take much-needed naps or to help with the cleanup of the town.
Everyone but Maisa and Becky.
“Are you going to talk to him?” Becky asked.
“What?”
“Sam,” Becky said impatiently. “You need to talk to him.”
“I…” Maisa shook her head. “I need to get Dyadya to the hospital, and Sam’s busy with all the police work. I don’t suppose we’ll have a chance to talk before I leave. Probably that’s best.”
Becky threw the dishcloth she’d been using into the sink and propped a hand against her hip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Maisa watched her hand going around and around on the already clean counter. She shrugged.
“Maisa Burnsey—”
“I betrayed him, okay?” Maisa threw down her own cloth, frowning fiercely so she wouldn’t cry. “When he most needed me, I left him. I didn’t trust him to get Dyadya safely away, and because of that I nearly got us all killed.”
“Yeah, that was a shit move,” Becky said. “But keeping your worries to yourself isn’t going to solve anything.”
Maisa shook her head. “There isn’t anything to solve, all right? I… I just don’t belong here. I don’t belong with Sam.”
“Bullshit,” Becky snorted. “Me and half the town have watched that man chase you for most of the year. Just stop running, why don’t you?”
“Because he wouldn’t be happy with me!” Otter looked up at her shout. Karl and Molly had taken Cookie to a local vet in the sled, and the little terrier seemed lonely without his bedmate. Maisa lowered her voice. “I just… it’d be better to leave him alone.”