Born Wild (6 page)

Dale Fuckwad waited a beat before following the woman, and Bill could almost feel the asshole's neck in his hands as he silently stalked up behind the scumbag.

This man. This…
vile
, despicable man was responsible for nearly getting Eve killed not once, but three times.

And
we're gonna make the sonofabitch pay
, that little voice whispered gleefully. Now Bill was more than happy to have the bugger banging around inside his head, because they were finally working in complete harmony. Yessir, he was going to do it. He was going to catch Eve's would-be murderer in less than seven hours and,
hell
yeah
, it was times like this he had the overwhelming desire to go all ape-man and beat his chest while yelling out victory.

Black
Knights
Inc. to the rescue! Hoo-ah!

Of course, it was an internal celebration because when the young nurse sat down on the bench at the bus stop, Fuckwad once more darted behind a light post and Bill saw his opportunity. He leapt forward the last foot, slapping a hand over Dale's mouth while simultaneously shoving the scary end of his pistol into the dude's squishy kidney with just enough force to make any future possibility of a transplant questionable.

“Don't move, asshole,” he breathed in the man's ear, ignoring the foul smell of unwashed armpits and greasy pepperoni pizza.

Dale instinctively struggled in his grip. That is until Mac materialized out of the darkness like the Grim Reaper himself. Then Dale went limp in Bill's arms, and Bill wondered if the bastard had fainted. But soon, a pathetic whimper assured him the chubby psycho was still with them, and he sent a small prayer of thanks heavenward—
thank
you, sweet baby Jesus
—because he couldn't quite envision he and Mac carting the tubby sonofabitch back the four and a half blocks to the dude's townhouse wherein the interrogation could commence.

“Now, Dale,” the man whimpered at the sound of his name, but Bill ignored it as he hauled the guy back to his feet, forcing him to support his own substantial weight, “my partner and I have a few questions for you. And we want to ask them in private.” Dale shook his head vigorously, so Bill oh-so-subtly—okay, it wasn't subtle at all—reminded the guy of the Glock shoved into his back. Again a pitiful whimper slipped between the fingers he held over Dale's mouth. Bill barely resisted rolling his eyes. “And if you come with us willingly, if you don't put up a fight, I can promise you, you won't get hurt. Now, be a good boy and nod your head so I know you understand me.”

The man was shaking so hard he was pulling a Santa Claus and jiggling in Bill's arms like a bowl full of jelly. Still, Bill was able to feel the guy jerkily nod his head. “That's good. Now, let's turn around, real easy like, and head on back to your place.”

***

What had snagged Eve's attention was the sight of Billy and Mac coming up the block, frog-marching Dale between them. And the poor man looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

Wait…
poor
man? Poor. Man?
Had she really just had that thought? Good Lord, she should really have her head examined. Because the only reason Billy and Mac would grab Dale as opposed to simply watching him was if he'd been up to no good which,
oh, crap
, meant she'd
once
again
been incredibly wrong in her assessment of someone.

It's strike number two for you tonight, Eve ol' girl!
And strike number one thousand and thirty two in the grand ballgame of her life.

Curses.
Shaking her head at herself, lamenting her terrible judgment when it came to the characters of men, she watched as the trio climbed the steps leading to Dale's front door. Okay, so they were going
inside
to question him? She shivered at the thought, imagining canisters of gasoline stacked against the walls, as well as all other manner of crazy, scary equipment that might be used by the mentally deranged stalker-y sort. Then again, she supposed interrogating Dale inside the privacy of his own home made a lot more sense than continuing to restrain the guy at gunpoint on the street.

Holding her breath, she saw Billy lean in close to Dale, probably issuing instructions for the man to unlock the door. Dale shook his head, struggling to step back until Mac was forced to wrench Dale's arms up high behind his back.
Oooh, ouchy.
That looked like it hurt. Still, Dale shook his head vigorously, and Eve had to give the guy credit. He was obviously smart enough to realize his chances of escaping whatever lay in store for him once they entered that townhouse dropped from
not
likely
all the way down to
not
a
snowball's chance in hell
.

Billy said something to Mac, his teeth flashing white when Mac nodded. She squinted through the tinted window, trying to figure out what he was doing when he reached into a zippered pocket on his cargo pants, pulling out something that he attached to the hinges and locks on Dale's front door. A second later, a muted
hiss
echoed down the street accompanied by a shower of sparks from the door's metal hardware. And, just like that, Billy grabbed the big slab of solid wood and edged it aside, the whole thing having been neatly removed from its frame.

Uh…can you say
holy
schnikes
?

Okay, so simply digging in Dale's pocket for the keys would've been easier, but it also would've been far less impressive. And Billy was obviously trying to make a very clear impression on Dale. The impression that Dale had better cooperate, because they had the ways, the means, and the
intent
to get past any and all of his resistance.

It must've worked, because Dale stopped whipping around in Mac's arms and allowed himself to be pushed over the threshold. In a flash, Mac and Billy followed him in, and Eve was left with no recourse but to sit there like a good girl while the big bad men took all the risks.

Um, yes.
So
not going to happen. Because there was an opportunity here. An opportunity to prove to herself and
Billy
just how far she'd come. A chance to take control of her own life and stop being a victim…

Snatching the duffel bag from the seat beside her, she heaved it onto her lap. It was heavier than it looked, and when she dug inside she could see why. The thing was filled with rolls of wire, canisters of powder, and cellophane-covered blocks of sticky stuff that looked like putty but smelled more like industrial cleaning products.

Come
on, come on…
She glanced over her shoulder at the back window and the shotguns mounted there. If left with no other option, she supposed she could use one of those. But since she hadn't had any training with shotguns, that wouldn't be her first choice. Then, in the side pocket of the duffel…victory!

With a triumphant laugh, she un-holstered the little snub-nosed Smith & Wesson revolver from its leather case and flipped out the cylinder to make sure all six chambers were loaded.

“Score,” she whispered into the silence of the Hummer's interior before easing open the door. She slipped quietly from the vehicle, careful to keep the weapon tight against her thigh so as not to draw the attention of anyone who might happen to look out their window.

Scurrying across the street, her heart pounding with fear and, yes, a little bit of anticipation—
woo-hoo! Ladyballs in the ha-yowse!—
she stepped over the crushed body of an empty beer can lying in the middle of the sidewalk and hustled up the stairs. And before she could second guess her decision, or think about how unbelievably
pissed
Billy was going to be, she held her revolver at the ready—just like her shooting instructor had taught her: one hand curled loosely around the grip while the other supported the edge of her shooting hand and the bottom of the weapon—and ran inside.

Dale Pennyworth was wearing some sort of weird bodysuit and an expression of abject horror as Mac watched Bill push him down into a recliner before lowering a Glock at the guy's bulbous nose. Mac actually thought the dude might shit a kidney—a rather
bruised
kidney by the way Bill had had his gun shoved in the dude's back—and wouldn't
that
add the final touch to the stench of cold pizza, stale beer, and inch-thick dust hovering about the place?

Taking at quick glance around, Mac saw shelf after shelf packed with action figures, comic books, the occasional used tissue, and a shitload of empty Bud Light cans. Obviously, it was the maid's week off…Year off? Maybe decade off?

“So, Dale,” Bill growled, looking like nothing less than death on two feet. BKI's explosives expert loomed over the poor schmuck who was now reclined in his leather chair, trying to put as much distance between himself and the terrifying black eye of Bill's Glock as he possibly could. “You want to tell us what you were doing following that poor woman?”

“Wh-who are you?” Pennyworth stammered, swallowing loudly. The man was a day or two past his last shower, sweating like a whore in church, and when he opened his mouth, his breath smelled like a horse fart.

Oh, joy.
And Mac had hoped for a quiet, uneventful Saturday. Although he should've known better. His life had been the opposite of quiet and uneventful since the morning he agreed to wave sayonara to the FBI and instead throw his hat in with the badass boys of BKI.

“Let's just say,” Bill grumbled, “that we're acquainted with Eve Edens and—”

“Eve?” Pennyworth interrupted and tried to push into a seated position. When his nose ran into the barrel of Bill's gun, he decided to stay exactly where he was.
Smart
man.
“Is…is she okay?” Dale wheezed, holding his hands up in front of him, watery blue eyes wide and unblinking.

“She is. No thanks to you,” Bill snarled, and Mac could tell by the tension in Bill's jaw that he'd rather just plug Pennyworth with a couple of slugs and be done with it. Fortunately, Wild Bill was a soldier. And there was a vast difference between a soldier and a killer.

“I t-tried to keep her safe,” Dale blubbered, shaking his balding blond head. “She's so innocent. So gentle and good. But she didn't understand. She took out that restraining order against me, and…Eve? What are you doing here?”

Oh, no. No, Lord, please don't let her be there when I turn around.

Mac peeked over his shoulder, and…
sure
as
shit…
there she was, pointing a snub-nosed revolver straight at Pennyworth and looking like one of Charlie's Angels as she advanced into the room.

“Goddamnit, Eve!” Bill roared, and Mac winced as the words echoed around the space, bouncing off the wood-paneled walls and against all the clutter. “I told you to stay in the vehicle!”

“Yes,” she barely spared him a glance, keeping her eyes and her weapon trained on Pennyworth like maybe the pudgy guy was about to perform some sort of magic trick that would miraculously make Mac and Bill's weapons disappear. It was quite funny when Mac thought about it. Although…he cocked his head…she
was
handling that snubbie like a pro. “And I've decided,” she licked her lips, stepping over the feet of a life-sized Captain America doll as she continued to move toward them, “ to
stop
doing everything people tell me to do.”

“Well, you picked a hell of a time to start that!” Bill shouted, and Mac worried the dude might burst an aneurism. “Jesus! Put down the gun before you accidently shoot me or Mac.”

“Or
me
,” Pennyworth added, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath his double chin.

“Oh, for Pete's sake!” Eve stomped her foot. “I know what I'm doing, so will you just…” she made a little waving motion with the revolver, “get on with it?”

Bill hesitated, his jaw ticking. Then he rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Pennyworth. “Okay,
Dale
,” he sneered the man's name. “I'm going to ask you a series of questions. If you don't answer them honestly, I'll end you. If you try anything funny, I'll end you. If you so much as twitch in Eve's direction, I'll end you. And lest you think I'm bluffing, let me first inform you that I did two tours in Iraq and three in Afghanistan. I killed and maimed my enemies, and I did it all with a song in my heart. So rest assured, I have no problem pulling this trigger and turning your greasy head into nothing more than spatter patterns.”

And holy crow! After that little speech even
Mac
was ready to spill his guts. He glanced over to find Eve blinking rapidly and gaping at Bill. Pennyworth just swallowed, nodding eagerly.

“That's good,” Bill smiled, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes. His eyes said he was tempted to beat the information from the man like candy from a piñata. “Now, you want to tell us where you were the night of August 28th?”

“You mean the night Eve's apartment caught fire?” Pennyworth asked, his gaze not on Bill, but on Eve, a deep frown making his chubby face wrinkle like a Shar Pei's.

“That's the one,” Bill confirmed, the promise of slow death in his tone.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there, Eve,” Pennyworth's eyes were pleading. “I was away at a comic book conference, but if I'd been here, I would've—”

“You weren't in the city that night?” Bill cut him off.

“No,” Pennyworth shook his head. “I was in Detroit, but I—”

“Do you have proof?”

“I—” Pennyworth made a face then pointed toward the messy coffee table. “I think I still have my Amtrak ticket and my hotel receipt. But I don't understand…Wh-what is this all about?”

“Hey, partner,” Bill motioned with his chin toward the papers strewn across the coffee table, “see if our odiferous friend here is telling the truth, will you?”

“On it,” Mac said, grabbing the pen lying on top of the mess—no way was he touching
anything
in this place with his bare hands—in order to dig through the various documents and trash that passed as Pennyworth's filing system. Ten years as a federal agent had given him a bullshit gauge that was damn near unerring. And right now the thing was pointing firmly in the green. Then his instincts were proved correct when he located the railway stub right before he found the receipt for the MGM Grand Hotel in downtown Detroit. He squinted at the dates. “He's not lying.” He shook his head at Bill. “He was in the Motor City the night the fire was set.”

“Wait a second,” Pennyworth said. “I thought the blaze was an accident. I thought—”

“Thoughts?” Bill raised an eyebrow, ignoring Pennyworth.

Mac shook his head and voiced four words Bill
didn't
want to hear, “He's not our guy.”

“Then what the hell was he doing stalking that pretty little nurse?”

“I wasn't
stalking
her,” Dale insisted with a whine. “Why does everyone always
think
that? I was just making sure she made it to the bus stop all right. This isn't the best neighborhood, you know?”

Bill glanced down at the man's perspiring face, looking as if he was trying to see the truth in his words. He must've found whatever he was looking for because he blew out a frustrated breath before holstering his weapon. Digging into his hip pocket, he pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills and thumbed off a couple of Benjamins.

“For getting your door fixed,” he told Pennyworth, dropping the bills on the overflowing coffee table. But when Pennyworth pushed into a seated position, Bill slapped a hand on the man's shoulder and shoved him back in the recliner, leaning down until they were nose-to-nose.

Lord
almighty, dude, you better hold your breath,
Mac thought.

“I don't want to hear about you following Eve anymore, you got me?” Bill growled. “If I do, I'm going to come back here to plant a boot in your ass and a fist in your teeth.”

“I-I won't,” Pennyworth breathed, and Mac wrinkled his nose, wondering how Bill could stand being so close to the man. “I thought she needed my protection. She seemed so fragile, so…” Pennyworth's eyes rolled toward Eve who continued to draw down on him, somehow despite her frilly blouse, managing to look tougher than a one-eared alley cat. “But she's not. I can see that now. She doesn't need my guardianship.”

“Guardianship?” Bill straightened, eyes narrowed at Pennyworth.

In response, the man pointed at his weird body suit then toward the corner of the room where a rubber face mask that resembled Batman's without the pointy ears sat on a wire rack. “That's what I call myself when I patrol the streets at night.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bill shook his head like a dog shaking off water. Then he dragged in a breath like he was praying for patience…or maybe just perseverance…and slowly spread his lips in a smile that Mac figured was
supposed
to put Pennyworth at ease. Unfortunately, in Mac's opinion, all those white, shiny teeth just looked feral. Pennyworth must've agreed with his assessment, because the man shrank farther into his recliner. “I'm going to give you some free advice,” Bill told Pennyworth. “You going to listen to what I have to say?”

Pennyworth hesitated then vehemently nodded.

“What you're doing, your
intentions
are good,” Bill stressed. “Misguided, but good.”

Pennyworth sat up a little straighter, his chest puffing out with hope and maybe a touch of pride.

Then Bill's next words deflated him quicker than a tire punctured by a five-inch nail. “But you're liable to get yourself and these women you think you're protecting killed.”

“But, I—”

“No.” Bill held up his hand. “No buts. You don't have the training or the physical stamina to fight off an attacker if one were to actually go after any of these women. If you tried, you'd undoubtedly just make a bad situation worse. You want to be a real superhero?”

Again Pennyworth nodded.

“Then lose some weight. Take some defense classes. And volunteer at a shelter for abused women.”

Pennyworth recoiled, frowning fiercely. “But I want to wear the suit,” he pointed down at his ridiculous outfit. “And I want to—”

Bill cut him off by shaking his head exasperatedly, turning to Mac and saying, “I tried.”

“I know you did,” Mac replied, fighting a smile.

“Now let's get the hell out of here before I sock him one just for being a smelly moron.”

Mac rolled in his lips, nodding for Eve to precede them out the front door. He'd just stepped over the threshold when he heard Bill add, “And if I were you, Dale, I wouldn't waste my time calling this in and reporting it. Not only am I best buds with some pretty powerful folks in the police department, but I also have a clean record. The same can't be said for you. So let's not get into a your-word-against-my word thing, huh?”

“N-no,” Mac heard Pennyworth sputter. “O-of course not.”

Tromping down the stairs and piling into the Hummer took barely a minute, but the three of them were silent for a long time after Bill cranked over the big engine and put the vehicle in gear. Then, finally, while stopped a red light, Bill muttered, “For shit's sake, is it just me, or is that guy more than a French fry or two short of a McDonald's Happy Meal?”

And Mac couldn't hold it in any longer. He started laughing so hard he had to grab his stomach. “No, no,” he shook his head when he could finally speak, wiping away a tear. “It's not you. I have a feeling there's a manifesto hidden somewhere in all his junk, but instead of rantings and ravings, it's filled with stories of him roaming the streets of Chicago, saving helpless damsels in distress from imagined fiends.”

“It's not funny,” Eve muttered from the back seat.

“Yeah,” Mac nodded. “It really is.”

“No, it's not,” she insisted. “Because this means my would-be killer is still out there.”

And
that
sobered him instantly.

***

Black Knights Inc. Headquarters

10:24 p.m.

“What fresh hell is this?” Bill grumbled as he pulled up to BKI's big iron gates only to find a Chicago Fox News van blocking the way.

Why in God's name hadn't Toran warned them of the waiting ambush so they could reenter the compound through the secret river tunnel? He glared at the man sitting in the guardhouse even though he knew Toran couldn't see him through the Hummer's tinted windows. And then it occurred to him…

He and Mac had set their phones to “silent” before following Delusional Dale down the block. Digging into his hip pocket, he yanked out his iPhone and…sure enough. He had three missed calls and two waiting text messages. All from Toran…

Can't a guy catch one friggin' break today! Is that too much to ask?

Apparently. Because Kristin Avery, Fox's bottle-blond news reporter turned in their direction and began marching toward the Hummer with a microphone in hand and cameraman following close on her designer heels.

“I thought you said Samantha Tate gave up when she couldn't convince you to have Eve come out and answer her questions,” Mac muttered, as Bill slammed a palm down on the Hummer's horn. The loud
hooonnnkkk
didn't do much in motivating the news van to move.

“I guess she was just gathering the troops,” he growled, suppressing the urge to jump out of the SUV and shove that microphone straight into Kristin Avery's ear. Rolling down the window, he yelled at the approaching television reporter. “Get the hell out of the way! You can't block entry to a place of residence!”