Page 100 of It Happened on the Lake

L evi sprinted to the edge of the alley.

Heart thudding, he saw the struggle.

No!

He raced forward.

Saw Dawn start to break free.

Her frantic scream echoed down the alley as the trash cans fell over with a loud crash.

“Hey!” he yelled, running and reaching into his jacket for his sidearm and coming up empty. His gun was tucked safely in the glove box of his car. But even without a weapon he was determined to save his daughter. “Stop!”

His voice was drowned by the clattering of trash cans.

The attacker caught her by the arm, pulled out a gun, and jammed it to her temple.

Oh. Jesus.

Levi stopped short, stunned. Afraid the assailant would shoot. He flattened himself against the side of the building and breathed deeply, trying to come up with a plan to end this madness.

Who would do this? Why? Not that it mattered at the moment. He couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let the daughter he’d just met be taken down by this monster.

As Dawn’s assailant forced her toward the end of the alley, Levi followed, staying in the shadows, using trash bins and piles of junk as his cover but silently closing the distance. The attacker’s attention was focused on Dawn, struggling, fighting despite the muzzle of the gun against her head.

Don’t , he silently warned. He couldn’t imagine watching his daughter die. Oh God, no!

He was accustomed to violent death, had seen it often enough in his line of work, but this was different. Gut-wrenching.

Ice-cold fear clenched his heart.

Moving stealthily, he glanced around his surroundings, trying vainly to come up with a weapon, something other than the element of surprise to gain an advantage.

He’d been in tight, dangerous situations before and lost those close to him.

Never again , he’d vowed when he left the government’s service.

And not now.

He wouldn’t lose his kid.

He’d save Dawn or die trying.

As he passed by the upturned trash can, he saw the glint of glass. A broken jar. He picked up the glittering piece, cutting himself as he did, but holding onto the shard just as he spied a small sharp rock near a fence post. He scooped it up in his free hand.

His weapons were rudimentary.

Useless against a gun.

But they were all he had.

Now it was his wits against those of the attacker.

Jaw set, he scurried forward, watching as Dawn was forced roughly toward a hulking black van parked in a corner of the empty lot.

Levi moved noiselessly faster, risking detection.

He had to get close to them, to somehow get the jump on the guy without the assailant pulling the trigger.

Dawn was still fighting, veering them off course, away from the van.

Cursing, her attacker forcefully wrangled her back toward the vehicle, his face caught in the lamplight.

Levi’s blood turned to ice.

Trick Vargas.

An older version of the blond dealer he’d seen driving past his house when he was a kid. The blackmailing son of a bitch who probably killed Janet Collins.

Levi had no idea why the lowlife had chosen Dawn for his next victim, but it didn’t matter. One way or another, Levi wouldn’t let him get away with it.

At the back of the van Dawn still fought, despite the gun. It seemed as if Trick’s grip on Dawn loosened a bit as he struggled to hold on to her while opening the door to the cargo area.

In a miraculous instant, she broke free.

Spinning, Trick took aim.

“No!” Levi yelled and raced forward. “Run, Dawn, run!”

Trick turned at the sound, his pistol trained toward the noise.

Without breaking stride, Levi hurled the rock, fast and hard.

Bam!

The gun fired.

Levi was knocked back a step, but the rock hit Trick square in his face, sending him stumbling backward against the van.

The gun went flying. Out of Trick’s hands. Landing with a thud and scraping across the broken asphalt. Closer to Levi but out of his reach.

Just as Levi’s knees buckled.

He went down.

Hard. Onto his knees on the uneven pavement.

Pain shot through his body and he collapsed, rolling onto his back, trying to keep his eyes focused, to stay conscious. To fight.

It was no use.

He blinked.

The world spun. “Run!” he yelled at Dawn again, his voice a croak. “Run!”

But Trick had recovered slightly. His glasses had flown off and blood covered his face, a gash splitting his forehead. He’d slid down the back of the van, his head bouncing on the bumper and was stunned. Yet he was attempting to stand, trying to get unsteadily to his feet.

He failed and fell forward. Then crawled toward Levi, his eyes hard with hatred. “You,” he ground out, and Levi tried to force his legs to scoot him backward, his free hand scrabbling over the gravel-strewn pavement for the pistol.

If he could just reach—

Trick sprang.

He leapt onto Levi, his weight pinning Levi down, mashing his spine into the tarmac.

Levi groaned, pain radiating through his body. Still he stretched, reaching for the weapon, his fingertips brushing the butt of the gun and sending it spinning away.

Trick, too, grabbed wildly, straining to reach the pistol.

No way.

Despite his pain, Levi was not giving up. His fingers clenched around the jagged piece of glass. It cut into his flesh as he swung upward.

Connecting.

Smashing Trick’s nose, then putting all his weight into the blow and gouging him in the eye.

With a squeal of agony, Trick rolled away. Off Levi. Flailing wildly for the gun. “You fucker!” He found the pistol. Grabbed it.

Just as Dawn leapt from the shadows.

She stamped hard on his hand with a heavy boot.

Bones crunched.

Trick screamed.

And Levi heard the sound of other voices.

Shouts. Running footsteps.

Trick, holding his injured hand with the other, rolled onto his back, then tried to stagger to his feet. “You little—”

She slammed her booted foot into his face, sending him sprawling backward.

“Get the gun!” Levi said, seeing the pistol on the ground. He tried to stand and failed. Then, unable to crawl, he inched forward, scooting, determined to get the weapon. “Run!”

Dawn didn’t hear him or chose to ignore his words. Eyes laser-focused on Trick, she bounced on the balls of her feet, her hands curled into fists. “Don’t move,” she warned through clenched teeth.

The pistol was still ten feet away.

Trick dismissed the command. Tried to get up.

“Mistake,” she said. She spun with amazing agility, cocked her leg, and landed a round-house kick to his face that sent him flying. Crying out, he landed with a thud, skidding on his back.

She wasn’t finished. With a blood-curdling scream, she ran at him and jumped full force onto his crotch.

His scream of pain echoed through the alley, nearly drowning out the sound of the other voices and running feet. Was that the wail of a siren screaming in the distance? Or was Levi hallucinating? He tried like hell to hold on to consciousness, but the world was swimming around him, growing dark.

Through the blur he heard sharp voices.

Commands.

Screams.

“Stop!” a woman’s voice ordered.

A male voice yelled, “Police!”

“Hands over your head!” The man again.

The woman said, “Shit, what the hell happened here?” Then, “This guy is out of it . . . we need an ambulance. STAT. Make that two! I don’t think the other one’s going to make it.”

There was crowd noise, shuffling of feet, the buzz of excited conversation. “Get back,” someone, another guy with a gruff voice, ordered. “Everyone back. Right now!”

“Would you look at that pistol?” the male voice asked. “Jesus, I haven’t seen one of those cowboy guns in . . . well, maybe ever. Just in the movies as a kid.”

The woman again. “Is anyone talking to the girl?”

Dawn.

Levi tried to speak, to make his lips move, but the words wouldn’t pass his lips.

“Ambulance is coming!” someone yelled amid a muddle of comments, orders, and exclamations.

Nothing that made any sense.

Was someone kneeling over him?

“Oh God, this one’s bad, too. Gunshot wound in the gut. Holy Christ, would you look at that. Could bleed out! We could lose him! Where the fuck are the paramedics?”

He blinked his eyes open.

Saw nothing but blackness . . . and a light. Weak but shining overhead.

He heard Dawn’s voice above the din. “His name is Levi Hunt,” she was telling someone, though her voice sounded far off, as if whispering through a tunnel. “Yeah, yeah, I think we’re related . . . what? . . . Oh well, he doesn’t know it yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s my uncle.”