back, and this time they’re not going to leave until they finish the job.”
There was a sound of shattering terra cotta, a baseball bat decimating the pots of bougainvillea on the porch. Then they began to batter down the door.
* * *
The bat struck so hard the walls shook.
In spite of the urgency, Jett admired the fire in Sarah’s hazel eyes, the firm tilt of her delicate chin as she’d tried to figure out how to save her patient. He attempted to shake off the ringing in his ears that had roared to life again when he’d taken on the thugs. Great. He’d finally overcome the seizures, leftovers from the grievous injury that had ruined his navy career and reduced him to being the dive master on a rinky-dink boat in Tijuana. Now the ringing was back.
He ground his teeth together. You’ll overcome this, too.
The next crack of the bat against the door sounded like cannon fire. Both women jumped.
Jett tried for what he figured was a reasonable tone. “We’ve got to get him out of here.”
“It’s not safe to move him. He might be bleeding internally,” Sarah said.
“He’s going to be bleeding externally, too, if we don’t move, and so will the rest of us.” Another pot shattered outside.
She trembled, the crown of her blond head barely brushing his chin as they hauled the kitchen table over to join the file cabinet. “Just because Marco sicced you on me doesn’t mean I have to take orders from you,” she fired off.
He tensed. “Marco didn’t sic me on you. He asked me to make sure you were okay during your missionary stint, and since I was in Tijuana, it was easy for me to make my way to this part of the coast for a while.” A partial truth. Even if his bank account hadn’t been down to his last hundred bucks, he still wouldn’t have taken the job so close to Sarah if Marco Quidel, his mentor and a protector to the Gallagher sisters, hadn’t asked him to. He wouldn’t let Marco down for anything. You’re a sap, Jett, for all your tough-guy moves.
One of the men was shouting now, whacking his baseball bat against the walls of the clinic as he looked for windows or unlocked doors.
Sarah went pale. “Will anyone come to help us?”
Jett braced himself against the next blow as boots began to smash against the flimsy door.
“Sorry, Sarah Gal. We’re on our own.”
Jett saw Sarah flinch, her slight frame tensing as if an electric current had passed through it. “The same men?” she whispered.
“Beretta’s guys, all right.” His gaze slid to the unconscious man on the table. Like the cop said, they’d come back to finish the job.
One of the tiny windows set high up in the walls shattered, and a rock clunked onto the floor along with a shower of glass. “Get back,” he yelled. Fortunately, the tiny opening was too small for the thugs to get through, but their message was clear.
Coming for you.
It was just a matter of moments now.
Sarah raced to the back, only to return seconds later. “There’s a guy out there again, too. He’s almost gotten through. I wedged a chair under the handle, but it won’t hold for long.”
“Any other exits?”
Sarah looked at Juanita who nodded. “There’s an underground exit off the cellar, but we’ve never had to use it before.”
“No time like the present,” Jett said.
“What if it’s boarded up?”
“Then we kick it open. Take Young down there and get out. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” Their blows were already causing the heavy wood to shudder.
“I can’t just leave you here,” Sarah said, mouth twisted.
“I’ll be right behind you. Get moving.”
“But...”
One booted foot punched through the wood and slammed against the metal file drawers, the impact vibrating his spine. It was probably the time for calm reasoning and diplomacy, but he had none to offer. Besides, in his experience the best way to combat fear was a commanding officer barking orders at you. “Now, Sarah,” he thundered. “Go now.”
Sarah and Juanita threw a bag of supplies together and loaded Young onto a stretcher, strapping him onto the canvas frame. Juanita heaved open the trapdoor in the floor and crawled down first, guiding the stretcher into a near vertical position with Sarah on the other end.
“Jett...” Sarah said, green-gold eyes wide with fear. He could see now that her hands were shaking. Badly.
“Go on,” he said, trying for a gentler tone that was still persuasive. He wasn’t sure how hard he should push her, how strong she was after being in the hospital so long after the accident that killed her father, but there wasn’t much choice at the moment. She’d always been a strong person, and he had to hope that was still the case. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He could see her jaw muscles tighten. She flashed him a determined, almost defiant look—which he loved—before she climbed into the hole with her end of the stretcher. It couldn’t have been easy, but she managed the thing. Sarah Gallagher, you still got your spunk.
He shoved his back against the file cabinet to make the inevitable breach take as long as possible. The metal slammed against his shoulder blades, nearly taking him off his feet. As much as he longed for a rematch, he was not going to win another fight against these three, not now, when he was still bruised and sore from their last encounter. The thought rankled him. He was going to lose. Again. He detested losing, always had.
Fine, he thought. If he was going down, at least he’d buy time for the women to get out with their patient. He looked around for something, anything useful. No weapons, no tools. What he wouldn’t give for a baseball bat or a shovel.
The jug of hand sanitizer. He smiled. Alcohol based, classified as class I flammable liquid substance with a flash point of less than one hundred degrees. Not as satisfying as disposing of small arms ammo with copious amounts of gasoline and thermite, but it might gain them a few minutes. Of course, Sarah would never condone the damage it would cause, but lives were more important than property and beggars couldn’t be choosers.
He seized the jug and a handful of towels. Throwing the towels down on the center of the floor, he dumped on the gel, two gallons of it. Then he grabbed a box of matches and lit it. It took a few seconds for the alcohol in the gel to catch. When it flamed to life, he dumped on a pile of paper towels, just for some extra oomph, and soon the smoke filled the small building, tickling his nose and stinging his eyes. Excellent.
He heard the creak of metal as their boots finally crashed through the door and started to work on shoving the file cabinet aside. In the back the sound of splintering wood indicated Sarah’s barricade was near failing. One more minute and Beretta’s men would walk right into
