Rescuing Liberty: Perseverance Book 1 (3 page)

He’s just a kid. Can I shoot a kid?

Blood dripped from the knife the boy held. I
focused on breathing as he methodically extracted the apples and
other items of interest from the man’s pockets.

The kitchen was in one
corner, but what was on the other side of the ballroom?
Attempts to escape were unsuccessful. I couldn’t look away as
the child—who should have been enjoying his summer vacation—wiped
the blood from his knife on the fallen man’s shirt.

Not fallen … murdered. He killed him!

The boy was so callous, calm, and
calculating. His big, sweet, trustworthy eyes did not flicker. His
breathing did not quicken and his hands did not shake. He had been
prepared.
Premeditated.
His
posture and his remorse-free expression betrayed the fact that this
boy was perfectly at ease taking a life. I was watching a child
hunter. My head found its way between my knees.

Passing out would be very
bad.
I fought to stay conscious as the last speck of
faith I had in the human race shattered to the beat of the
murderous child’s footsteps as he casually walked away.

When my stomach stopped churning and my
hands quit shaking, I crept out of my hiding spot. Gagging at the
coppery-sweet smell of blood, I tried not to notice the way the
hunter’s right foot twitched when I snuck by.

A blood curdling scream came from the
direction the boy had gone, causing the hair on the back of my neck
to raise. I shuddered, wondering if the scream came from the kid or
another of his victims. It didn’t matter though. There was nothing
I could do about it.

Within moments, the morning regained its
quiet and my loneliness intensified. I ached for the camaraderie I
used to find in the dark, understanding eyes of my German shepherd.
I used to feel so safe with Kiana running beside me. She was a
great listener and I could whisper any of my fears into her velvety
ears and know they’d be safe forever. I’d tried to keep her, but
her rationed food supply hadn’t been enough to sustain her. I
couldn’t bear to watch her starve. I didn’t regret the decision to
take her life. It had been the right thing to do. But during the
lonely times, the selfish part of me wished I would have been a
little more willing to let her suffer.

My sneakers assaulted the silence of the
morning as they squeaked across dew softened grass. The city lay
desolate and abandoned; no longer buzzing from the once constant
hum of electricity and vehicle resonance. I took a deep, clean
breath, longing for the stench of car exhaust and smog to fill my
lungs. A door squeaked nearby. My chest constricted with mixed
emotions, craving human contact, but fearing the consequences. I
kept walking.

In the stillness, his movement should have
caught my eye, but I saw nothing. I experienced no premonition of
being watched and heard no sound of his approach. Only the pressure
of his left hand over my mouth alerted me to his presence, and by
then it was too late.

Breathe.

His right hand trapped mine; pinning my
dagger to my side, rendering it useless. My attacker’s chest
pressed against my back. Several inches taller than my 5’9” height,
his mouth floated above my ear. He whispered for me to be quiet,
then in one smooth motion his strong arms squeezed and lifted as he
carried me into the bushes.

Too startled to struggle, the next thing I
knew, I was balancing on my backpack with the weight of my
assailant on top of me. His attention was elsewhere and the hand
that covered my mouth loosened its grip. I took advantage of the
slack and bit down hard on his middle finger.

“
Don’t!” he spat as he pulled his hand
away. “You’re gonna get us both killed if you don’t hold still and
be quiet.” His whispers came between clenched teeth. “Shh. Here
they come.”

Confusion, more than anything, kept me
silent. He’d passed up the chance to kill me, and he wasn’t trying
to rape me. His anxious heart pounded against my chest as the scent
of him invaded my senses; musk, wood smoke, metal, and
sweat—comfortable and not at all unpleasant. I tried to catch a
glimpse of him, but his whiskers scratched the side of my face and
struggle as I might, all I could see was his chin and the hedge
above him. Patience worn thin, I clenched my fists and was about to
demand answers when I heard it: the unmistakable sound of someone
or something approaching. My body went limp and my breathing grew
shallow and hushed.
I know how to play this
game.

“
You’re sure she went this way?” The
whispered voice was male, coming from just a few feet
away.

“
Yes. But she was moving fast,” said
the feminine-sounding reply between deep breaths. “We’ll catch her
on the next block.”

The slight squeak of their sneakers
disappeared in the direction I had been heading, sending a shiver
down my spine. I closed my eyes and searched for the image of
the
Clue
board once
more.
The living room is on the other side
of the kitchen, but what is on the other side of the
ballroom?

My rescuer adjusted his weight, allowing me
to take a deep breath and get a good look at him. Eyes the color of
charcoal peered down at me under rugged, chin-length brown hair.
His whiskers attempted to hide the faded scar that traced the
outline of an otherwise perfect jaw. The left side of his mouth
twitched up in a lop-sided smirk.

Sudden recognition of the man sped up my
heart rate and dizzied me. I closed my eyes again; confident that
the blackness I sought was much better than confirmation of who I
was looking at.

“
Connor Dunstan,” I breathed his name.
“You have got to be kidding me.”

I could tell my response amused him by the
vibration of his chest. The jerk was laughing at me. I opened my
eyes and stared at the cover-boy for all things corrupt and
impious. I’d never actually met him, but everyone knew Connor. His
face was plastered on the sides of buses, on park benches, and in
commercials with slogans like, “At the law offices of Brayer and
Dunstan, we'll help you get justice for your injustice.” Justice …
right. Even before the fall of the US, the man I was currently
pinned under had been a life-sucking, money-grubbing,
ambulance-chasing, shady-deal-making fiend, aka personal injury
attorney. And that had been while he was at his best. I had no
desire to see him at his worst.

Connor Dunstan stood for everything I
loathed. My knife felt heavy. I closed my eyes and silently
prayed,
My sister’s family is dead and yet
this? This is who you choose to let live?

“
You okay?” Connor asked.

‘
Trust me. Trust
him.’
I felt the
call
respond to my prayer.

I nodded to Connor, unwilling to commit to
dialogue. Before me stood a greedy, heinous, detestable excuse for
a human being … who had just saved my life. The world would be
vastly less complicated if the bad guys could just be consistently
loathsome.

Is that really too much to ask?

My muscles were cramping when Connor
finally stood and offered me his hand. I scowled at him and pushed
myself up, refusing his assistance. Dagger clutched in my right
hand, gun tucked in the back of my pants, I gave him my best
apprehensive glare
.

Connor dismissed my scowling, grabbed
my left wrist and started walking. I jerked my hand back, but his
grip was tight and held firm.

“
Where are you taking me?”

“
Quiet. It’s not safe to talk here.”
He pulled me behind him like some sort of puppy on a
leash.

I considered reaching
behind me for my gun, but I couldn’t defy the
call.
When something consistently
saves your life, you learn to just shut up and do what it tells
you.

I really hope You know
what You’re doing,
I prayed.

We walked for a little while, then
Connor told me to stay put, dropped my hand and disappeared into
the busted up window of a vandalized computer parts store. I
scanned the area, preparing to make my escape, when his arms once
again enclosed me and constricted my knife hand to my
side.

This is getting
old.

I kicked and writhed as he pulled me
into a walk-in safe, kicked the door closed behind us, and released
me to spin the dial. By the time he turned to face me, I had my
dagger pointed at his throat.

“
Give me one reason why I shouldn’t
kill you,” I growled, angry that he’d successfully pulled off the
same move on me twice.

“
You don’t know the combination. Kill
me, and you’re going to die in here.” He glanced at me, glanced at
the knife, and with all the cockiness of an overpaid, inflated
attorney winked at me. “Now put that thing away before you hurt
yourself.”

My face burned as his
indifferent attitude riled my temper.
“You
—
”

“
A simple thank you would suffice, you
know.” Connor leaned against the door to the safe.

“
Thank you for what? Kidnapping me and
shoving me into a … a … where are we anyway?” With my free hand I
gestured to the room we occupied.

“
I saved your life.” He shrugged. “Do
you think we could start over? Maybe even in a civilized
manner?”

“
You realize that’s like asking me to
break bread with Adolf Hitler?” I asked.

“
Wow,” he replied. “That has to be
painful.”

I raised an eyebrow at him in question.

“
That stick, shoved so far up
your—”

“
Demon spawn.” I took a step
closer.

“
Pretentious prude.” He leaned toward
me.

He was right. I mentally
slapped myself for being so self-righteous. I was judging
him
with blood dripping
from
my
hands. I
studied Connor. No horns sprouted from his head, and he lacked the
tail and pitchfork I’d always imagined he’d wield. In fact, had he
been anyone else, I would have considered him handsome. Big, dark
eyes with endless lashes, perfectly shaped masculine lips, and
sexy-messy hair in all shades of brown.

Handsome but
dangerous.

“
Okay wise-guy. Enough with the
pet-names. Just tell me what you want,” I scoffed.

Connor looked me over as I searched the
depths of his dark eyes. I dug my fingernails into my palms to
remind myself that he was probably piercing my soul or something
equally evil with that gaze.

He smiled and held out his hand.
“Let’s start with your name.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“LIBERTY COLLINS. I’D shake your hand,
but I’m a bit busy right now.” I showed Connor my teeth and took a
step closer until I was just inches from him. I tapped his neck
with the blade I held to it in affirmation. “See, busy.”

He shrugged. “Liberty, huh? Mind if I
call you Libby?”

I narrowed my eyes and slid the knife
to threaten his crotch. “Mind if I call you stubby?”

“
Point taken.” He held up his hands in
surrender. “You’re remarkably hostile, you know. You should seek
counseling for that.”

“
I apologize.” I flashed him another
venomous smile. “I hate to sound cynical, but if I had a T-bone
steak for every ‘nice’ person who has tried to kill me in the last
three months, I'd need a weight loss clinic. I know about your
flavor of ‘justice,’ and if the reports are even one percent
accurate, you’re never gonna make Santa’s nice list.”

Connor opened his mouth to retaliate
when a soft scuffing sound in the corner drew my attention. I
glanced toward the noise to find a small girl sitting on the other
side of a shelving unit. I did a double take, and then felt
immediately embarrassed about the knife I was holding to Connor’s
nether regions. I raised my eyebrow and ever-so-smoothly restored
the dagger to its rightful place at his throat.

“
Mr. Dunstan, where are we? And who’s
the kid?” I nodded toward the child who was probably about ten, all
elbows and knees. She sported Connor’s shiny, brown hair, and her
big, dark eyes were focused on the dagger, but she did not look
concerned for my hostage. She raised her jaw, staring at me
defiantly. The spirit in her eyes endeared me to her
instantly.

Connor paused, his expression hidden
behind a mask of indifference. I couldn’t tell if he was about to
kill me, or sell me oceanfront property in Arizona.

I pushed my knife a little closer to
his throat. “Trust me or let me leave. Those are your only two
options.”

Connor looked at me thoughtfully.

“
Decide, or you’re gonna force me to
do something we’ll both regret.”

He nodded resignedly, and introduced
the girl. “My niece; Ashley. This is—was—my brother’s
store.”

I looked to Ashley for her reaction,
but she turned away.

“
They’re … gone now. Asked me to take
care of her.” Connor gestured toward the girl.

“
Alright. So, what do you want from
me?”

Connor sighed. “What? Me?
What do
I
want?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Why did you
save me? Why am I here? What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?” It seemed
an easy enough question and I couldn’t understand why he was
struggling with it. “You know, you seemed a lot smarter in the
commercials.”