Armed and Famous

Chapter 2

The next afternoon, Lincoln settled down on his sofa with a turkey sandwich and a football game. A bark at the back door was his daily signal to get back up. Maddie stood on the other side of the sliding-glass door, beyond the nose smudges he’d given up cleaning. A toy was on the step between her paws, her tail wagging excitedly.

He opened the door. “You’re early.”

She trotted past him, going to the pantry. Facing him, she sat, tail wiggling away.

He chuckled and gave her the requisite treat.

When she finished, she jumped up onto the sofa with him, curled up with her head on his leg. He rubbed her ears and watched her eyes slide closed.

Any minute Remy would be here to get her. He was looking forward to it. More conversation. Picking through her secrets. Why he was inclined to involve himself in those secrets put him in check. People with secrets had a tendency to lie. What did he want from her? Her mystery or her body? Her body might not be worth the mystery. She might be the kind of person he hunted for bail jumping. He hadn’t called the cops because he still wasn’t sure she fit into that category.

After a while, it dawned on him that Remy wasn’t coming over. Standing, he went to the front door and opened it. No sign of Wade’s car. Remy’s house was quiet.

Where was she?

He glanced back at Maddie, who still lay on the sofa, content as could be. If Remy was in trouble, the trouble had come after Maddie had left.

Something wasn’t right. Going to the closet near the door, he opened the small safe he kept there and retrieved his pistol. Maddie jumped off the couch and was ready by the door.

“No. You stay here.” He left her inside and hurried to the broken gate.

Moving slowly toward the back door, which was left open as it had been last night, he heard a crash inside.

“Where is it?” a man’s voice growled.

More crashing.

Lincoln peered through the open door. Remy sat on her sofa, one man standing off to the side aiming a gun. The other swiped items off the shelf, searching for something. Both were in suits, as though they’d been on their way to dinner when they’d stopped by here. The one aiming the gun at Remy was slightly heavyset with a receding hairline in an otherwise thick head of hair, the other muscular with dark, curly hair.

They must have just arrived, or Maddie wouldn’t have come over to his house, and if she’d known they were there, she’d have been more agitated. Entering the house, he quickly moved out of sight into the kitchen, and then put his back to the wall separating the kitchen from the living room. At the edge of the wall, he emerged into sight and fired at the man pointing a gun at Remy, taking out his knee. The heavier man went down as his partner charged. Pivoting, Lincoln blocked the swing of the other man’s hand just in time. They sparred a few more times before Lincoln caught him open and rammed his fist into his larynx. As the man choked for air, Lincoln kicked him off his feet and kept him there with the sure aim of his gun.

Checking on Remy, he saw the heavier man held his bleeding knee, and she had picked up his gun. She was resourceful, and he was glad she could overcome fear.

Lincoln turned back to the curly-haired man. “Who are you?”

The man didn’t answer. Lincoln hadn’t expected him to, but he hoped to at least glean some idea of why they were here.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

Still the man didn’t respond, merely looked up at him, waiting for a bullet. He wasn’t going to get one. Lincoln didn’t kill that way. He’d let the law do its job.

“Lincoln!” Remy called, but her warning was too late.

A third man rushed into the room from behind Lincoln and grabbed Remy before he could react. The third man hooked an arm around her neck and pressed a gun to her head. Another suit. Dark, short-shaved hair, pale-gray eyes.

Two more men entered from the back door, both in suits, one taller than the other by just a couple inches, both lean in form, one blond and the other brunette.

“Drop your gun,” the man holding Remy said against her ear.

Remy’s eyes closed briefly, her renewed fear palpable. She knew these men, especially the one who had her. She dropped the gun she held, tossing it out of reach of the man still at Lincoln’s feet.

“You, too,” the man said to Lincoln.

Lincoln was outnumbered and outgunned, but he controlled his fear. Best to wait for his next opportunity. Whatever they were looking for, Remy had it. They had time, but probably not much.

“Give your gun to my friend,” the man holding Remy said calmly.

After flipping on the safety, Lincoln gave the curly-haired man his gun. The man took it and stood.

“Search the house,” the one holding Remy said. “And make it quick.” He was the lead thug. He exuded a false sense of power that stemmed from his gun and the team he had with him.

The man shot in the knee stumbled to his feet, and one of the tall, lean men helped him out the door. The other two began to tear apart Remy’s house—the curly-haired man and the other tall, lean man. A few minutes later, both came out from the hallway, one of them carrying a manila envelope.

Lincoln checked Remy. Her eyes met his before she blinked long and slow, full of dread.

One of the men handed the dark-haired one the envelope, and took over with a gun at Remy’s head.

“Take care of them,” the dark-haired man said. “Then meet me at the OneDefense store.”

“Yes, sir,” the man with the gun at Remy’s head said.

The other jabbed Lincoln with his gun. “Try anything and my friend here will shoot her.”

He believed him. Remy’s frightened eyes met his. These two were going to kill them. He winked at her. She had no idea what he was capable of, and humor could disarm fear. The best news was that dark-haired bastard had left only two of his men in charge of the task.

She eyed him quizzically as they were forced outside. He imagined her thoughts. How could he joke at a time like this? They were about to be killed, and he was winking at her.

He grinned, glancing from her to the man behind him. That man gave him a shove, a reaction to Lincoln’s smirk.

Remy mouthed, “Stop it.” He was well aware of the danger, but succumbing to hopelessness would do them no good.

Outside, he searched for signs that anyone would see them being taken. No cars drove by. No one stood in lit windows. The two armed men were careful. They checked first before guiding them to a parked SUV. It hadn’t been there when he’d gone over to Remy’s house.

Remy was shoved into the back, and he was led to the front passenger seat. He wouldn’t risk her being shot by trying anything just yet.

The man drove toward the foothills, turning off on a two-lane highway and then off onto a dirt road that led to open space near the foothills west of Denver. It was dark. Even darker near the trees, where the driver stopped.

He could hear Remy’s breathing.

“Get out,” the driver said, “or she dies.”

He highly doubted they’d off her in the car and leave all that evidence, but Lincoln indulged the man. Remy looked at him wide-eyed, as though she couldn’t believe how calm he was and how easily he did as he was told.

He got out and waited for the man in the backseat to do the same, forcing Remy to get out after him. The driver got out, too, and Lincoln saw that he’d left the keys in the ignition. That would come in handy in a few minutes.

When Remy left the car, he hit the backseat man’s gun hand at the same time he grabbed Remy by the arm and tugged her down. She fell onto her hip. Lincoln used his foot to knock the backseat man’s wrist. The gun fired and dropped from his grasp. Fisting a handful of the man’s hair, Lincoln rammed the man’s head down against the top edge of the car door, then drove his knee into the man’s sternum.

He grunted in pain while Lincoln retrieved the gun and used it to bash the back of the man’s head. The man went down as gunfire from the other side of the car sent bullets through the windshield.

Staying low, making sure Remy was still protected, Lincoln waited for the driver to reach the front fender of the SUV and then fired, hitting the shoulder of his gun arm. The gun dropped. Tactically moving in on the opportunity, Lincoln charged for the man. Around the front of the car, he knelt and picked up the gun, his gun. The driver sat on the ground grimacing, blood oozing from the gunshot wound.

“Get in!” he yelled to Remy.

She did, while he aimed both pistols at the fallen man and ran around him to the driver’s side, getting in and then reversed the vehicle enough so he could spin it around. The back passenger door flapped wildly before slamming shut. Bullets hit the side and back of the car as they raced away.

Remy’s breathing eased from frantic to just trying to keep up with her heart. She was scared.

“First time they’ve ever come after you?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Who are they?”

Swallowing, she glanced over fretfully and didn’t answer.

A man who wasn’t her boyfriend was threatening her, and now a group of strange men dressed in suits had just tried to kill her. Why?

“What was in the envelope?” he asked.

She kept her face forward. She still didn’t reply.

Sighing, Lincoln drove back to town. “I’m taking us to the police, then.”

“No!” She sat ramrod straight in her seat, eyes bright with renewed adrenaline, her hand tight on the door handle and the other clenched in a fist.

“No?” he replied mockingly.

“No. I can’t go to the police.”

Can’t go to the police? “Whenever I hear people say that, it usually means they’re in trouble with the law.”

A few strained breaths passed before she said, “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Good. Then let’s go tell the police about all of this. And while we’re there, you’ll tell them what was in the envelope.”

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I’m dead. They won’t stop until they find me.” She lifted her head. “And you now.”

“Why me?” Would they assume he knew what she’d done? Or had his mere presence at Remy’s house been enough? He’d seen them take the envelope.

Her head fell back against the seat again.

“If I’m in danger, then you should tell me everything you know,” he said. “I’m better equipped to deal with matters that way. You’re an HR assistant...or so you say.”

Her head came up once more. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer. But his silence was enough for her. He glanced over and saw her shrewdly assessing him, picking up on the accuracy of his suspicion. She may even be a little awed. He didn’t let her in on the fact that his investigative ability was part of his job.

“What makes you better equipped than me? You’re a martial arts instructor, not a cop.”

Again, he didn’t respond, just kept driving.

After a while, she asked, “Where is my dog?”

“She’s safe. At my house.”

“Take me home first. Then we can call the police.”

Was she only trying to buy time? Would going home be a diversion? He wasn’t letting her out of his sight until he knew why a bunch of criminals were about to come after him.

* * *

Remy gripped the door handle of the SUV as Lincoln drove down the street toward their homes. There was a marked police car in the street and another that was unmarked parked in her driveway.

“What are they doing here?” She’d planned to escape Lincoln, take Maddie and make a run for it, but now she was trapped.

Lincoln didn’t respond. He was probably as stumped as her. How could they have found out about their abduction so fast?

“Keep driving,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

“What?”

“Please. I can’t talk to them.” Oh, God, what would she do? She couldn’t be arrested.

“Why not?”

His sharp tone said enough. She must sound like a real fugitive.

He drove to a stop in front of the house.

Remy saw two detectives at the door. One was in tan slacks with a purple dress shirt and tie, and the other wore dark blue slacks with a white dress shirt and tie. The officers were still in the police car, but as soon as they spotted her, they began to get out.

“No.” The whisper emerged before she caught it.

“Why are you afraid of the police?” Lincoln asked.

She couldn’t answer. Her life could be over in a matter of minutes. All that would be left was rotting in prison.

“You don’t understand.” Shaking, fumbling with the door handle, she opened the SUV door and got out.

Lincoln came around the SUV, studying her intently. “Make me understand.”

She stared at him, numb with all-consuming fear. Stark. Terrifying.

“Ms. Lang?” the detective in the purple shirt called, leaving the front porch to approach. He was in his thirties, younger than his partner, taller and thinner, too.

Remy heard her own breathing, hating her weakness, helpless to be strong when the consequences were so great. She was innocent, but no one would believe her.

“Remy?” Lincoln took her hand.

She focused on his blue eyes.

“It’ll be okay.”

Her heart did a flip from the unexpected kindness, kindness she hadn’t had in more than two months. But he couldn’t possibly know it would be okay.

“We’ll put them off for now.”

Because he wanted to know what she was hiding, why men would not only try to kill her, they’d now want him dead right along with her. She owed him the truth. There was no refuting that. But the consequences were unforgiving if he didn’t believe her.

“Come on.”

Keeping her hand, he led her away from the SUV to the waiting detectives and officers. Did they know? Had Wade told them?

She tightened her grip on Lincoln’s powerful and steady hand. Walking toward the detectives made her knees weak. Lincoln hooked her arm with his and supported her on her death walk. She was seldom like this. There was very little she allowed to rock her. She was a strong woman, but going to jail for crimes she hadn’t committed threatened to break her.

“Ms. Lang?” the purple-shirted detective repeated.

“Yes,” Lincoln said. “This is Remy Lang.”

“Who are you?”

“Why don’t we go in and talk?” he suggested.

The detective passed a studied gaze over Remy and then nodded. They went inside; the officers waited outside. In case she ran?

Lincoln guided Remy to the sofa and sat beside her, a stranger and yet someone she could rely on.

The older detective sat in the chair adjacent to the sofa, and the taller one took out a pen and notebook and remained standing.

After the tall detective introduced himself as Baker and his partner Henderson, he asked, “How well do you know a Mr. Wade Nelson?”

She squeezed Lincoln’s hand, only then realizing she held it again.

“Not well. I met him two months ago.”

“How did you meet?” Baker asked.

Her heart was beating so hard, and her mouth went dry. “I...” This was rapidly going downhill. “Why are you asking me about Wade?”

The detective paused, scrutinizing her. “He was murdered last night.”

Remy covered her mouth with her free hand. Shock ripped away anything else she’d suspected. Murdered...

“How? Who?” They were here questioning her. Did they think...

“How did you meet Mr. Nelson?” Henderson asked from the chair.

She had to lie about that. She was a terrible liar, but she had to now. “I ran into him...at a coffee shop.”

“Which one?”

She gave them the name of one near Wade’s gun store. He went there almost every morning.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Baker asked.

Remy hesitated.

“He came to her house around six o’clock last night,” Lincoln said. “He was threatening her.”

“Was that the last time you saw him?” the detective asked her.

“Yes.” The lie left her numb with dread.

He studied her a moment longer. “Why was he threatening you?”

Remy tried to subdue her shaking but sensed Lincoln picking up on it. “He...h-he must be angry that I broke up with him.”

“You were seeing each other?”

Lincoln was watching her as closely as the detectives.

The lies were terrible and getting worse. “Yes. Not seriously, though. Just...seeing each other once in a while.”

The detectives shared a look, and then Henderson said, “We have a witness who says they saw you meet him last night.”

Remy’s heart flew. Panic engulfed her. She was afraid her breathing gave her away.

“One of Mr. Nelson’s managers said he’d been coming to see you a lot lately, and he was on the phone with him when you arrived at his home at 8:30 p.m. He said Mr. Nelson told him he had to go because you’d shown up.”

“I did go and see him. I tried to convince him to stop threatening me.”

“For not seeing him anymore.” Baker spoke with a hint of cynicism. He didn’t believe her.

She didn’t respond.

“Why did you lie about the last time you saw him?” Henderson asked.

“I...forgot I went to see him last night.”

“You forgot?”

Remy swallowed the constricting fear tightening her throat. “Yes.”

“What time did you leave?” Baker asked.

“I wasn’t there long.” Thank God that was the truth. “Thirty minutes, maybe.”

“And where did you go after that?” Henderson asked.

“Home.”

“Can anyone confirm that for you?” Baker asked.

She glanced over at Lincoln, who met her look and said nothing. He hadn’t seen her come home. No one had. Looking back at Henderson, she reluctantly said, “Probably not.” She hadn’t stopped anywhere on the way home. The only person who could confirm the time she left was dead.

Baker closed his notebook.

Henderson stood. “We’ll be in touch.”

* * *

After the detectives left, Remy changed into jeans and an azure-blue boat-necked T-shirt and rejoined him in her living room. It was after seven o’clock. Late but not that late. Lincoln had felt and seen her trembling when the detectives had questioned her. If she preferred to be alone, he wasn’t picking up on that. But he wasn’t picking up on a willingness not to, either.

“I need to get my dog,” she said, folding her arms in front of her, uncomfortable.

He wondered what had her uncomfortable, the detectives or being alone with him. Maybe that was it. She didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t want to be alone with him.

“Right.” He led her out of her house, making sure she locked her door, and then ushered her over to his.

Something dug deep into him to ensure no one who dared to come after them again would harm her. It was a strong instinct, one he could not ignore despite her fear of the law. Those detectives had to have known she wasn’t telling the complete truth. So why was he so intent on protecting her? He needed answers. His life was in danger right along with hers now. Wasn’t that enough of a reason? He couldn’t leave her to her own defenses. If those men were going to go after both of them, it made more sense to stick together.

He shut the door as Maddie bounded to Remy for her trademark exuberant greeting, stuffed burger gently clamped between her jaws, pushing up her furry, whiskery, white cheeks.

“Come on, girl,” Remy said.

She was going to leave. Sleep next door. Alone.

“Wait.” Lincoln stepped in her way. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“What?” One of her hands went to her stomach, not out of dread; Lincoln was beginning to suspect she couldn’t keep her hands still.

“If those men come back, it’s best if you’re with me. I have a guest room.”

Gaze unwavering, she lowered her hand and hooked her thumbs on the belt loops of her jeans. She didn’t argue. How could she? If she slept alone tonight, she might end up dead.

But the nervous fidgeting, the inability to stay still, revealed her discomfort. Was she wondering if he’d press her for information? He would. But not just yet. He wanted her relaxed when he asked her the questions he had.

“I’ll start dinner. We can go back to your place later so you can pack a bag.” Locking the door, he walked into the kitchen, Maddie on his heels after her ears perked with the sound of the word dinner.

Taking his gun out of the front of his jeans, he set it on the counter. Remy was slower to follow. She eyed the gun and then watched him get some things out of the refrigerator.

“Why do you own a gun?” she asked.

“It’s legal.” He wasn’t ready to tell her more about himself. Keep her guessing for now. He needed her to do the talking first.

He started a skillet of hamburger going and began cutting up peppers and onions.

“What are you making?”

“‘Even the Kids Love It’ casserole.”

“A kid recipe?” She grinned wide, his relaxation strategy already going to work. “Are you a good cook?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He chuckled at the idea. Him, a good cook. Ha! “Casseroles are easy, and they taste good. My sister is a real pro at making them for me. She doesn’t know it, though.”

“Which of the eight is she?”

“Arizona. The youngest.” He smiled his fondness. It had been a while since she’d come over to play a board game with him.

“I can see you’re close. Are you that way with all your brothers and sisters?”

“No. Arizona and I are the closest, even though we’re the farthest apart in age. When she was a kid, I was the one she always came to when she was being bullied and, later, when she was older, when the press crawled a little too close.”