Chapter 7
Quinn pointed the gun at Dirk and Billy.
Dane took the moment granted by the unexpected move to shove Shana back into the booth. He gave Cap a quick look that said sit on her. Cap was already on that page.
As he studied Quinn’s haggard dead-eye face, Dane’s blood cooled as if he’d swallowed a chunk of dry ice. His mind sharpened into focus like he’d put on his super-goggles to make the universe slow down. The thudding of his heart was loud, strong and steady.
He concentrated on everything at once. His breathing, the position, the movements of everyone in the room. Quinn’s face, the efficient gun he had pointed at Dirk, the small shake of his hand, the condition of his battered body. The flat resolve of hate in his eyes.
And Shana. Dane was most aware of Shana. Her shock, her outrage, the determined warrior princess lift of her chin, the pluck and courage in her as Cap pushed her back into the booth where she stumbled and fell under the table.
She hadn’t gone willingly or gently. Even with the commotion she’d created, Quinn’s gaze hadn’t flickered in her direction. He’d remained fixed on Dirk. Maybe he was so far gone he thought Dirk was Dane. He hadn’t said a word and after several throbs of tension, Dane knew he had to act fast.
In those few beats he’d noted that Tom had turned on the camera he had mounted in the ceiling at the two ends of the bar.
He’d noticed that Cap had engaged the radio on his belt as he’d shoved Shana from view.
He’d noticed Billy looking out for his sister Shana and standing firm by his friend who had a gun pointed at him.
Dane also noticed that Dirk looked scared shitless.
He was slack-jawed and trembling, his knees bending, almost like he was trying to duck and hide from the gun.
Sweat had popped out on his forehead. The man might normally be considered handsome, but in that telling moment he looked like a weasel.
Dirk did not look like Shana’s kind of man.
Waving the gun at Dirk, Quinn spoke.
“Looks like you’re an enemy of my enemy.”
What the hell did that mean? Dane feared that it could only mean that Quinn had observed them and heard their conversation, that he knew the score.
Dane looked at Dirk. The man darted his eyes at Dane then looked back to Quinn with less fear now.
Quinn waved his gun again. “Come over here.”
Dirk took a step but Billy grabbed his arm.
“What the hell are you doing, man?”
Dirk stopped and turned to Billy. Shana struggled to her feet behind Cap, shoving her way out of the booth where she’d been pushed.
Quinn aimed his gun at Billy.
“You’re with her.” Then he arced his arm up and around until his gun was aimed at Shana.
Dane’s worst nightmare.
With this heart slamming against his chest and his soul screaming, Dane made his move.
Billy gave him the perfect opening when he dove in Shana’s direction. Quinn’s hearing might still be good, but his hand was unsteady and his reflexes weren’t what they used to be.
Six feet would be a challenge, but Dane threw himself into the air feet first, left foot leading, and slammed Quinn’s gun arm.
He shot at the ceiling. His right foot followed, clipping the man under the jaw.
Not exactly where Dane had planned it, but Quinn stumbled back, falling to the floor.
Dane crashed to the floor with him. The bastard still had hold of his gun.
Dane lunged and grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the floor with two hands while shoving his knee into Quinn’s chest. But the scraggly man who looked strung out on heroin found a surge of strength likely borne of hatred and sheer meanness.
He bucked and struggled. Dane didn’t see the punch coming from the other side until Quinn’s fist hit his mouth, knocking Dane from his position.
Quinn scrambled to his knees, holding the gun and taking aim again.
All this time there had been shouting and commotion going on, but in reality, only three or four seconds had passed during which he hadn’t kept track of the others.
In the time he took to blink his eyes he surveyed the room and saw Tom at the bar with a bat in his hand coming their way, Shana and Cap moving in, and Billy right there. Dirk was nowhere to be seen.
The blink had been enough time for Billy to surprise Dane when he bulled in hard and fast in a rugby-like move and booted the gun from Quinn’s hand.
Shana was right behind Billy and grabbed the gun from the floor.
Dane lifted Quinn to his feet by his shirt front as he rose and shoved the scrawny mess of a man against the wall face first, pinning him there. Cap moved in with plastic cuffs.
“I called the cops. They’re on the way.”
“You are a cop. Aren’t you going to take him in?”
“My night off.” Cap smiled. “You have a bloody mouth. Looks like this wreck of a man got to you.”
Quinn grunted. “We’re not through, Blaise.”
“I’m afraid we are, Quinn. You’re going to rot until you die in the slammer for this escapade of yours. Illegal possession of a weapon, parole violation, assault—”
“Shut up.” Quinn sounded beaten.
Dane let Cap hold the soon-to-be prisoner against the wall since it was more in his wheelhouse. Dane didn’t tend to take prisoners.
Shana held Quinn’s gun on one finger and gave it to Cap. He pocketed it. Then she leaned into Dane. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks for the assist.” He reached his arms around her and held on.
“Don’t thank me. We owe my mostly useless brother for saving your skin tonight.”
Dane dragged his eyes away from her angelic face, flushed with excitement from the fight, and looked for Billy. He was at the bar and Tom was treating him and his worse-than-useless friend to a couple of shots of something. Looked like a good idea.
But Dane didn’t get to have his shot of tequila or whiskey or whatever Tom was serving because the door flew open and three state troopers in full uniform rushed inside.
They were closely followed by a pair of plainclothes detectives from the town of Tisbury.
Dane knew them all. Of course they knew him. They headed straight for Cap.
Cap handed Quinn over to two of his men who read him his rights. The other officers started taking statements and pictures.
“I’ll see you at the station later,” Cap said. “Put him in the holding cell and watch him. He doesn’t look too motivated to experience the rest of his sorry life.”