Down Among the Dead Men (Entangled Ignite) by Claire Baxter

grab her purse from the kitchen and if he was still talking, she’d interrupt.
    On the way to the kitchen, the two strangers intercepted her in the passage. They’d moved quickly. She hadn’t expected that.
    “Hi,” she said, looking from one to the other, then gesturing at the kitchen door. “Do you mind?”
    She heard a faint click and went rigid a moment before the bald guy flicked a knife into her line of vision—one with a long, thin, double-edged blade, not the sort she was used to handling in the kitchen.
    “Outside,” Baldy growled. “And don’t make a fuss.”
    Startled, she turned her head, but at the same time, the bushy guy covered her mouth with one hand and took hold of her upper arm with the other, his rough fingers digging into the soft flesh. They hustled her through the door to the yard, one on each side of her, her feet hardly touching the floor and her attempt to scream muffled.
    When the door swung shut behind them, Bushy gripped her arm tighter and forced her along the road to a rusty old truck.
    Baldy opened the passenger door of the dirty truck and Bushy pushed her toward it. She grabbed the edge of the doorframe with her free hand and stiffened her arm, bracing one foot against the step.
    “Get in,” Bushy said through clenched teeth. He kicked the ankle above her braced foot.
    Shock and pain loosened her hold on the doorframe. Bushy took the opportunity to bundle her up into the cab. He climbed up beside her, forcing her into the middle of the bench seat, and slammed the door. The smell of stale sweat assaulted her nostrils as Baldy got into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and the truck took off into the darkness.

Chapter Eight
    “Who are you?”
    Caitlyn’s question met with silence.
    “What’s going on?”
    Still nothing other than a grunt from Baldy as he struggled to change gear. A short distance along the road, Baldy swung the truck to the side. Caitlyn jerked upright, ready for trouble.
    Bushy opened the door and grabbed her forearm, pulling her with him as he got out. She slid across the seat and stumbled as her feet hit the ground, but managed to remain silent. If they weren’t going to answer her questions, she might as well save her breath. She might need it later to save her life.
    Baldy stood in front of her, whiskey breath wafting into her face. “Where’s Wally Bracken?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Don’t bullshit me.” Bushy dug his fingers further into the tender flesh of her upper arm. “We know he’s hiding somewhere.”
    Did they? So they hadn’t killed him?
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only know that he’s gone away.” She sounded calm, but her heart was battering her ribs like a machine gun. “He didn’t tell me where he was going.”
    The two men exchanged glances. She heard the faint click again and Baldy held the knife in front of her face. Her eyes crossed as she tried to focus on it and her scalp prickled with fear.
    Light reflected from the blade. Headlights. A car was coming.
    Baldy dropped the hand holding the knife to his side while he shaded his eyes with the other one and peered over her shoulder. Stones crunched as a vehicle swerved off the road and came to a standstill behind her. Bushy reached into his pocket and she saw the flash of another metal blade as he withdrew it. Then his fingers tightened on her arm and he swung her around so they were both facing the oncoming vehicle.
    The headlights dimmed as the truck came to a stop, the door opened, and Dale climbed out.
    “Is there a problem here?”
    Her breath whooshed out at the sound of his voice. But he was at a disadvantage and she had to let him know. “Dale,” she yelled. “They have knives.”
    Bushy shook her so hard it made her teeth rattle. “Shut your mouth.”
    Dale lifted a shotgun to his shoulder and sighted along the barrel.
    Okay, not such a disadvantage, then. First knives, now guns. Heck of a night.
    “I suggest you two leave