women while the men were gone. She could be shot for being this daring, but she couldn’t abandon Mary Jo, either. And where the heck was Jack? He should have been here by now to back her up.
She moved to the open doorway, peering inside. Despite what the Archer place looked like on the outside, the interior was tidy and clean. But then how else would Mary Jane spend her time as a prisoner in her own home?
Darcy flinched when another door slammed somewhere inside, shaking the windows. She heard Eli’s voice, harsh and deep as he hurled foul words at the woman he’d promised to love, honor and cherish.
Three days ago, Darcy had been woken by Mary Jo’s call around midnight, the voice on the other end of the line sounding achingly familiar, hushed, terrified. Sobbing. The caller had heard from her only friend, Tomas, a worker at the local grocery store, that Darcy helped women like her. Darcy had driven like a madwoman to get there, to find Tomas and discreetly learn all she could about the Archer household. It paid to be aware of routine.
Eli met his pals at the Bullriders Saloon like clockwork every Friday night, leaving his wife locked inside the house like a punching bag he stored for his rage. He was so terrified of losing her that he’d installed latch locks better suited for a storage shed.
Pig.
That pissed Darcy off more because she understood exactly what Mary Jo was feeling right now. Terror, hopelessness. A loneliness that imbedded itself deep into her bones. And the constant worry over which insignificant detail would provoke another battle for your life.
It ends tonight.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh then a cry of pain came through the open windows and doors. Without a choice, Darcy took a breath, then stepped through the back doorway, into the kitchen. No one noticed.
Mary Jo was on the floor, scooting back out of her husband’s reach, but Eli kept coming, a growling bear intent on his kill. Man, he was a big one.
Darcy slipped her knife out if its sheath. “Touch her again, Eli, and you’re a dead man.”
Eli whipped around, scowling mad. “Who the hell are you? Get the fuck outta my house!”
Darcy stood on the threshold. “Leave her alone.”
He latched on to Mary Jo, holding her off the floor like a limp rag doll. “She’s my wife, I can do what I want with her.”
“No, you can’t, actually. Legally or morally.”
Darcy inched closer, gripping the knife, point down to slice faster and with greater accuracy. Eli didn’t look the least bit intimidated by the nine-inch blade. Guns were his deal. Darcy didn’t like guns. They were noisy and registered. And though she didn’t really want to stab Eli, he wasn’t looking very cooperative right now.
Dangling in Eli’s grasp, Mary Jo whimpered, her lip bleeding.
Darcy couldn’t spare a look at the woman. She kept her gaze on the man threatening them both as she moved the blade slowly back and forth, waiting for the knife to catch Eli’s attention. When it did, he let his wife go, grinning as he headed toward her.
He charged like an angry bull going after the red cloak. Darcy stood her ground till he was three feet away, then sidestepped out of his path. He plowed past her into the kitchen table and landed hard on it, shattering the table legs and crashing to the floor.
Darcy rushed to Mary Jo. Keeping one eye on Eli, she grabbed the bruised, bloodied woman and tugged her to her feet, then pushed her toward the back door. “Get out of here.”
“He’ll kill you!”
“I’m right behind you. Go!” Darcy put herself between Eli and Mary Jo.
Mary Jo was nearly at the door when Eli rolled over, shaking his head and getting to his feet. “You bitch!”
Oh, no. For a big man, he was fast. Darcy sidestepped again, circling, forcing his attention off his wife stumbling toward the back door. Darcy’d run out the front if she had to and circle back.
Eli charged again, this time with a table leg in his hand. He swung. Darcy ducked. The table leg sang past her head, the impact driving it into the plaster wall. Eli tried jerking it out and with her elbow, Darcy clipped him in the kidney. He howled, arching with the pain, then sank to his knees. She backed toward the door, but not fast enough. He grabbed her ankle and yanked.
She hit the floor so hard her teeth clicked. The knife flew from her grip and spun across the floor.
Oh God.
“Run, Mary Jo!”
But Mary Jo, a slim blonde dressed in shorts and a T-shirt meant for a twelve year old, huddled on the edge of the room, too scared to move.
“Yeah, run, Mary Jo,” Eli taunted, “so I can hunt you, too.” He lunged at Darcy.
As he came down, she drove the heel of her hand up into his nose.
Cartilage shifted, bone cracked. Blood poured.
Eli Archer lurched back on his haunches, swearing and clutching his bleeding nose. “I’m gonna kill you!” he shouted, swiping his sleeve under his nose, smearing blood before grabbing for her.
But Darcy rolled away, springing to her feet, glancing around for her knife. She spotted it, but he was there, lumbering, big and hound-dog ugly.
She dove at the knife, landing on her side, grappling for it as he neared. His meaty hand latched on to her calf. He dragged her.
Darcy kicked out, struggling to reach her knife.
Eli pulled her closer to him. One smack from him and it was over. Her face would be hamburger and the latex mask hiding her identity shredded.
A crash sounded at the front of the house, the door banging against the wall just as her fingers skipped over a piece of wood. She grasped the splintered table leg and with every bit of strength she had, she swung it at his head and connected with a solid thunk.
He dropped like a stone. Darcy didn’t move, breathing hard.
She heard the distinct click of a bullet moving into the chamber and looked up.
Jack Turner stood in the doorway to the living room, a huge .357 Magnum pointed at Eli’s head.
“You’re late.” She tossed aside the wood, then crawled to her feet, annoyed with him, but glad he was here.
“A bounty got loose.” His gaze flicked to her, switchblade sharp and angry. “Why the hell do you have backup if you don’t wait for it?”
“He started early,” she said as she retrieved her knife. Mary Jo was still in the corner, staring at her motionless husband. “You know, that was highly illegal—” she nodded toward the shattered front door “—unless there’s a bounty on him.”
“Oops. Wrong house,” Jack said, deadpan, his weapon still trained on Eli. “That disguise is hideous by the way.” His voice was low, for her ears only.
The short frosted wig and carefully applied latex face mask made
