Sweepstakes: Mail-Order Husband

Chapter 7: Showdown in the Stairway

An armed man stood outside the heavy emergency door. The man gripping Sam's arm stopped beside him. With a nod, the first man rapped quickly on the door.

The door opened, the third uniformed man bracing it. "He went this way. I managed to duck in behind him before the door closed, but he shot my leg. I returned fire, but he was too fast. We decided to wait for your orders."

Sam looked down and saw the red splotch on the man's beige pantleg and swallowed, lips compressing into a thin line. She shut her eyes, mentally pleading to wake up from this nightmare.

Scowling, the man stepped through the doorway, still pulling Sam along beside him. He eyed the concrete stairs winding up and down, the paint on the metal railings chipping. The third man followed close behind, leaving Sam trapped with an armed man on either side of her and at her back.

"Which way did he go? Down?"

The man with the shot leg shook his head. "Nah, Ricky. He went up."

"Up? How does he think he'll get away going up?" Ricky asked, hand on Sam's arm squeezing tighter. "If he'd gone down, he could've been two blocks away by now."

The injured man merely shrugged.

"You heard any doors open and close up there?"

"Nah."

"So, he thinks he's smart, hiding out in the stairway, waiting for us to go the wrong way and then he'll sneak behind us," Ricky muttered. He pulled Sam forward, closer to the stairs. "Hey! Bobby! I know you can hear me!"

Sam swallowed and tried to focus on slowing her breathing as her heart beat rapidly in the silence. The hand squeezing her arm provided a focus for her thoughts racing faster than her heart.

"Hey! Bobby! You'd better get your ass down here! Unless you want your lady to resemble swiss cheese!" Ricky shoved his gun in Sam's cheek, then pointed it down, toward her feet. "What should I shoot first, Bobby? Eh? Where should I start?"

Sam jumped as the gun in the man's hand went off. She stood, shaking, waiting for the pain to register, then looked down. Spying a dark divot in the floor and no blood on her feet, she gave a shaky sigh.

Cursing echoed down from above them. All four people on the landing looked up to see Zayne glaring at the man holding Sam hostage.

"Ah, there you are," Ricky said, smirking. "Ya know, Bobby, the don doesn't appreciate you turning your back on him. After all he's done for you."

Zayne slowly began walking down the stairs, eyes locked on the men surrounding Sam.

"Would you rather have stayed the glamor boy, nothing better than a pretty face? Only worth how many people he could do a night?"

Zayne stopped on the level above them, looking down across the turns in the staircase to where they stood. "Let her go," he said lowly. "She has nothing to do with this."

Sam looked up at Zayne, chin quivering, tears pouring from her eyes. She mouthed, "I'm sorry," but couldn't force the words out of her constricted throat. She swallowed, hardly able to reconcile this hard-faced, impassive Bobby with the smiling, laughing Zayne she'd known.

"Ah, but she has something to do with you," Ricky replied, grinning wickedly. "And if you like her to stay above ground, you'd better do as you're told." He looked Zayne up and down. "Where's your gun?"

"It was out of bullets, so I left it up there," he replied, pointing several floors above.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"No," Zayne replied simply. He shrugged, showing his empty hands. "I'm here and unarmed—now let her go."

"Come down here first," Ricky demanded. "I'm no fool—you don't get to be the number two hitman for nothing, Bobby."