Frost (10 page)

Oh no. "So he tried to get their location from Blankenship and when she refused he killed her—"
 

"And now he's coming after me."
 

"Over my dead body." Crow had already suggested she stay with me and he was sending undercover cars over to watch the house. "Let's go."
 

We drove over and already there were two cars lined up a house down. I caught the eye of one of them and recognized his face which made me feel a bit better. Once inside Sarah took the boxes to the kitchen as I bent down to check my spare gun in the small stand by the door.
 

My phone rang as I knelt down and opened the door. The gun wasn't there. As I reached into my back pocket to get the phone someone grabbed my wrist and painfully yanked it and my arm up as they shoved me forward. I slammed headfirst into the small stand just as something wet and foul smelling was pushed into my face.

-11-

Karate instincts kicked in as I grabbed my attacker's wrist with my free hand (making sure not to breath in whatever was on that rag), tensed my stomach muscles and bent forward. The momentum of their move catapulted them over my left shoulder. And because I didn't let go of their wrist I was able to twist it hard as my attacker landed on his ass.

 
He lost the rag but grabbed a hunk of my hair and pulled it hard, bringing me down to the ground with him. He yelled out as I grabbed the wrist of the hand holding my hair and dug my thumb into it.
 

A good squeeze on that nerve and he let go and I grabbed that wrist as well. "Sarah! Go get the cop outside!"
 

He said something but it was all garbled. That's when I realized I had his neck between my knees and didn't remember doing it. Muscle memory must've taken over—or sheer panic.
 

But when I relaxed just enough to ease the pressure he pulled his wrist free and hit me in the face with his fist. The blow struck my nose and that made me lose concentration enough that he hit again, pulled free and disappeared backward.
 

I spit blood, realizing the second blow slammed my upper lip into my tooth. My nose poured blood onto the carpet in front of the front door. Before I could regroup to get up on my knees and come after him, damn asshat popped up from the floor with a gun in his hand, aimed at my face.
 

My
gun.
 

I moved away until the small of my back hit the first step of the staircase, pretty much a sitting duck on my elbows. I hadn't heard Sarah answer me and I never heard any of the doors open or close.
 

"She's fine. And she's not going to interfere with what I have in store for you."
 

I turned and spit blood on the step. "In store for me? Who the hell are you? What have we go to do with you?" I had a pretty good idea who he was, but I wanted him to identify himself.
 

He stepped forward and banged the barrel end of the gun into my forehead. "No, you're going to tell me who the hell
you
are because I saw you die already. That whack job of a Jesus freak jabbed a knife into your side and twisted it. I watched the whole thing—kinda had to tip my hand to her. But then she saw me and ran. I ran after her."
 

So that's it. Mom saw him there. But I was pretty sure what little remained of her rational mind hadn't bothered to wonder why he was there and ran because
he
saw
her
. I kept very still and spoke very slowly. "You killed Donna Blankenship."
 

He shoved the gun harder into my forehead, so hard I fell back on the step, the back of my neck pressed against the edge of a step. "How did you survive that knife? I saw you die in the street."
 

"It wasn't me. He was my brother."
 

The guy laughed again. "Dude, you got one fucked up family if your mother killed your brother."

I had a better look at him now that he was up close and personal with my own gun to my head and took a chance on something. I needed to get him off balance emotionally so he'd make a mistake. "Yeah? It's better than fucking my own daughter, and then beating the shit out of her so she'd keep quiet."
 

His face turned as red as a ripe tomato. Seriously.
 

I got the cookie.
 

Knowing you're baiting your opponent is better than doing it by accident. Knowing means you're prepared to take even the smallest opening. So when he reared back to start kicking my ass, I inhaled and then exhaled with a shove of the palm of my right fist directly into his nose when he moved.
 

The result was sensational. I felt the bone give, heard the crack. He staggered backward and I moved forward off the step into a roll under and between his legs. I came up behind him. He didn't drop my gun like I'd hoped he would but he
did
hit the floor.
 

There I was above his head, ready to stomp his face with my foot when he flailed and by all accounts got a lucky shot in by knocking my ankle with the barrel of my gun. I hissed at the pain of the metal against my ankle bone. He figured out where I was, reached out, grabbed the smarting ankle and pulled me down on top of him.
 

I grabbed his wrist with the gun and we tumbled a bit, but Bishop was a bit larger than me and I was overheating. That's when I realized my house wasn't at it's usual 40º but somewhere around 70º.
 
As my overheated muscles slowed down he was able to push me face down on the floor, his foot between my shoulder blades. He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. "Premature gray—too bad you won't live to see it go all white."
 

He banged the barrel of the gun into the back of my head and moved his foot, straddling me. I had my hands out to my sides, even with my shoulders. I had thought I'd get them in a position for me to use when I had the opportunity spring up—but he picked up his right foot and slammed his boot down on my right hand. I heard something crack, felt pain lance up my arm as I pulled air in through my teeth.
 

"No scream?" He pulled harder on my hair, and he was still standing on my hand. I had no idea if it was broken or bruised. "Come on—I want you to scream like a little girl. 'Cause you know what I do to little pretty boys like you? I yank them off the street and sell their hairless asses to big mean men who make them scream." He yanked my hair again and put all his weight on the foot pressing down on my hand.
 

All
of his weight.
 

The image of the water frozen on the side of the glass on my desk flashed in my mind. It took my attention off of my hand even as he bore down on it with his full weight. Remembering how I'd frozen the condensation didn't seem as important as the knowledge that came to me just after the memory.

I had to touch him.
 

Jack—if you want to stay human and lead a normal life you're going to have to stop freezing things so Nature doesn't see you…

Winter's words came back to me. Don't use the power for seventy-two more hours. Then she'd leave me alone. But if I didn't I might not live long enough to enjoy even the growth and birth of my child.
 

I'd used the power twice. Small uses. Nothing spectacular. And Nature hadn't found me yet. So why not this once? Just this once to save Sarah? I had to believe she was alive in the house somewhere. I couldn't die and leave her alone with this sick bastard.
 

I had to be fast as I shifted all of my weight on my chest, lifted my left hand off the floor and managed to twist my chest to the right as I reached across up and grabbed the wrist connected to the hand pulling my hair out by its roots. Once I had contact I thought of the spreading frost on the window in the cafeteria, on the glass, and willed the same thing to happen to his skin, muscle and into his bone.
 

He let go of my hair and tried to pull away as his boot came off my hand. I didn't have any other choice but to ignore the pain in my fingers—forget the fact I couldn't bend two of them—as I used that hand to lift me up enough to pull my knees underneath me. I never let go of his wrist as I yanked that hand down, bringing him forward so his face could smash into the staircase railing in front of me.
 

More cold rushed down my arm as if from some arctic part of my core. My fingers froze around his wrist as I righted myself and pulled him backward, successfully yanking his upper torso under and flipping his ass over his head. He continued screaming as I pulled him from the stairs across the floor. My strength increased with every step. I felt better than I had in ten years, better than I could ever remember feeling. I was invincible and this idiot had dared to attack me?
 

Suddenly my momentum increased as I stumbled forward. It felt like I'd been pulling on a rope and the rope suddenly snapped. I assumed he'd wriggled his hand out of my grip.
 

Only… I saw his hand still in mine when I slammed against the wall opposite the staircase.
 

The hand just wasn't attached to the rest of him.
 

He lay on his side, crying out and writhing as he tucked his handless stub under his other shoulder. "What have you done!" he shouted over and over.
 

I looked at the frozen hand clutched in my own. The light of the late afternoon shining through the livingroom windows glittered off the ice crystals covering the skin of the thing.
 

It was frozen all the way through.
 

I dropped it as if it were covered in fire ants and pressed myself against the wall. What…what in the hell had I done?
 

"Bastard!" my attacker screamed.
 

My gaze came up from the dead hand on the floor to the gun still in his hand as he pushed himself up with his elbow. He pointed it at me.
 

"Die!"
 

He fired.
 

My brain was smart enough to move my body before common sense peered out from the
this-can't-be-happening
banner in my head. The bullet struck my shoulder—I didn't duck down fast enough—and the impact slammed me back into the hallway wall.
 

A part of me assumed he was going to stand and keep firing at me—that's what I'd have done. But he didn't. I watched as he tucked my gun under his the shoulder of his damaged arm, scooped up his hand, and ran out the front door.
 

I had to get up. I had to call Crow. "Sarah!"

Oh God please don't let him have hurt her. Please oh God Please.
 

Holding the elbow of the damaged shoulder against me, I held onto the wall as I staggered down the hall to the kitchen, the last place I'd seen her go. "Sarah!"
 

"Jack!"
 

Crow came through the open door and ran to me. My turning to see who shouted took me off balance and I fell on top of him. My right hand ached, and my left shoulder throbbed. I felt blood run down my back as well as my arm and chest under my shirt. "Gawain…he was here…"
 

"Yeah I know. Benett went after him. Bishop fell into the car at the foot of the steps. Aw fuck, Jack he shot you—"
 

"He's got my gun—Sarah—where's Sarah?" I pushed away from and started down the hall to the kitchen. Crow was right behind me
,
his hand on my back
.
I spotted Sarah on the floor, bleeding from a head wound. "Sarah!"
 

"Jack," Crow grabbed me around my waist and held me back. "Stop it, Jack. Don't go in there!"
 

"No! She's just unconscious. She's not dead!" But I knew the truth. I was lying to myself, thinking she was just unconscious. I saw her eyes staring into something only the dead could see. I sobbed uncontrollably. "The baby…please…let me go to her. Gawain, please…" But I couldn't get away from Crow—I was spent, tired, exhausted.
 

And utterly defeated.

-12-

I was in one of the curtained off sections of the ER where they preformed triage. Two fingers broken, the rest badly bruised. The nurse wrapped the whole hand in a swatch of bandages to prevent movement. The bullet went through my shoulder. So after a round of painful stitches, shot of antibiotics, the doc ordered one of those slings that bound my whole arm to my side. I couldn't get out of it by myself, which I think was the point.
 

Crow was just outside, talking to the doctor. Uniforms paced nearby.
 

The curtains parted and Sarah stepped into the small enclosure. I watched her, my brain buzzing on pain killers and
 
an adrenaline high. "You look better."
 

I smiled up at her. She looked great except for the bandage over her left temple. I was pretty sure she'd needed stitches. When she took my hand a sob caught in my throat and I repeated a litany silently in my head.
I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry…
 
"I thought you were dead."
 

"I know. Crow told me. I'm sorry Jack. You know how clumsy I am in the kitchen."
 

A deep breath. A long exhale. The pain killers made it hard to think. "Are you sure he didn't hurt you?"
 

"No. I did it to myself. When I saw him attacking you by the front door I grabbed my phone and dialed Crow. He called it in and when I tried to get close enough to help—you know, maybe bean that bastard with a frying pan or something," she winced. "I slipped and fell."
 

It'd all been such a relief when I came to and Crow told me Sarah was alive and Bishop never touched her. "I'm glad he didn't get to you." I reached out and touched her stomach. "Everything okay?"

"Yes." She put her hand on mine and pressed my palm flat against her. "You stopped him from hurting us."

"He—he tried to drug me. I don't understand that." Wow it was getting harder to put thoughts together. "He…he stabbed Donna. Why try and knock me out?"