Her Rocky Mountain Defender. Jennifer D. Bokal

the ELD.

      Roman began to sweat. “Yeah?”

      “They need a keg upstairs. Get the beer to the bar and then if you want a break, take one.”

      Silently, Anton and Serge slipped into the office. Like twin pillars of brute force, they took up positions at opposite sides of the door.

      “Sure,” Roman said. “I’ll take care of the beer right away.”

      Roman’s hand remained on Madelyn’s back. Her muscles tensed under his touch. He assumed she was sensitive to the implication of what a break entailed and he hated that she might see him as creep.

      For the first time in months, Roman wanted to explain himself to someone—to Madelyn, specifically. To hell with his undercover work, he needed her to see him as the good guy and not a part of all this, the criminal underbelly of Boulder.

      His hand still on Madelyn’s back, he led her to the stairs. That ELD wasn’t going to stay hidden for long and the best Roman could hope for was another chance to reposition it later in the night.

      But first, he needed to get Madelyn out of the bar and make sure she was safe. She ascended the stairs. One. Two. Three. He followed close behind. As her foot landed on the fourth step, a metallic thunk filed from the office and swept into the corridor.

      The ELD really hadn’t stayed hidden for long.

      “Run,” he whispered into Madelyn’s ear.

      She took the remaining steps two at a time, Roman on her heels.

      “What the hell?” There was a moment of silence and then Oleg began to curse. “Roman!” he bellowed.

      Roman didn’t bother to slow his stride or answer.

      “Get back here.”

      Roman felt an invisible target between his shoulder blades. He imagined one on Madelyn’s, as well.

      “Roman!”

      Roman had very few options. Run, and get shot in the back. Or stay, and be murdered in Oleg’s office. Neither appealed, but he refused to be taken down without a fight.

      With the door just two steps away, Roman reached around Madelyn to grip the handle. A familiar click resounded through the hallway. Such a small noise, insignificant and yet so momentous that it reverberated in his chest. It was the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety being released.

      * * *

      Madelyn’s thoughts were disjointed and jumbled all at once. She could barely comprehend what had just happened. The men. Their guns. Icy terror clawing at her throat. A strong arm pushing open the door. Rushing into the bar, she stumbled on the last step. The same strong arm lifted her and ushered her forward. She ran, stumbling again as she heard a crack, the whiff of sulfur, followed by buzzing in her ears.

      She looked over her shoulder, and the continuum of time began to flow again. The men with the guns were right behind her. One stood, his weapon drawn, a tendril of smoke swirling from the barrel. Roman, the man who’d kissed her—warned her about this bar—turned back. He lifted a bar stool and brought it around. It crashed into the man with a gun. He teetered. The firearm flew from his grasp. The second man lifted his arm, gun in hand. Roman delivered a kick to his knee and the shooter crumpled to the floor. Frightened bar patrons scattered to the corners of the room.

      “Roman,” she screamed.

      The first man had risen to his knees and was reaching for his gun. Roman planted one foot on the outstretched hand. His other foot connected with the man’s chin. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his head snapped back. The second man was unsteady, but up. He leveled his gun with Roman’s chest. Without thought, Madelyn lifted a glass from the bar and threw. It hit the man in the shoulder. There wasn’t adequate force to knock him down, just enough to ruin his aim.

      “Get the hell out of here,” Roman said to her.

      Madelyn didn’t need to be told twice. Pivoting, she sprinted to the door. She pushed it open and took in one gulping breath of clean, fresh air. But then...

      An arm encircled her waist. Her lungs emptied in a gasp and her feet dangled above the floor.

      “Hold on there. You aren’t going anywhere.” The stench of beer breath and cologne washed over her. Acidic fear rose in the back of her throat.

      Madelyn grabbed the hand that held her, wrenching back the fingers. They didn’t budge. She bucked and kicked, swinging out legs and arms. Sweat trickled down her back. The grip around her middle tightened.

      “Let me go,” she said. “You can’t do this. I’ll call the police.”

      “Police?” The man who held her snorted. “I am the police.”

      The door was still so close. If she reached out, she could graze the handle. But even if she did, it would do her no good. Like a pinprick in a balloon, the fight leaked out of Madelyn.

      “Let her go,” said another man. Madelyn recognized Oleg, the guy who found them in the basement.

      The arm around her middle released and Madelyn fell to the floor. She looked over her shoulder. Roman, bloodied and bruised, knelt a few feet away. One of the thugs held his shoulder. The other pointed a gun at Roman’s head. The rest of the people in the bar only stared, not bothering to offer aid or even turn their impassive gazes away.

      “Just a little misunderstanding,” said Oleg with a wave and smile. “We’re going to go downstairs and clear it all up. Until then, the next round is on the house.”

      This pronouncement was greeted with a weak cheer.

      The man who had caught her, grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the basement door. Madelyn searched every face in the bar for one person who would help—do something, anything. Speak up or call the police. Then she remembered, the person who now held her was a cop. Dear God, this could not be happening. All she wanted to do was find her sister.

      Oleg stopped at the door and placed his hand on the middle of the cop’s chest. “Thanks for your help, Jackson,” he said. “I’ve got it from here.”

      “Sure,” said Jackson, “no problem. I’m on duty soon, anyway.”

      Jackson. Madelyn would never forget his name. She studied his face and memorized every detail—his height, six feet three inches, or maybe six foot four, athletic build, the exact shade of his blond hair. How his right eye was slightly bigger than his left, and one tooth on the bottom leaned a little on its neighbor. The more information she had, the better a description she could give later.

      Oleg grabbed her arm, his fingers dug into her flesh. He pulled Madelyn across the threshold and the door closed with a crack. A thought snapped into place and her mouth went dry. None of these men had hidden their appearance. They weren’t worried about what she might say, because as far as they were concerned—she wasn’t leaving The Prow alive.

      Madelyn yanked her arm free. Escape. Escape. Escape. Her fingertips brushed the cold, metal handle. Oleg grabbed her arm again, pulling her away. She pitched back. Her skull slammed into the stairs, turning everything dark and then filling her head with light and pain. Her feet flew up, sending her somersaulting downward. Her shoulder hit the concrete floor and her vision flashed with red. Her body ached with each beat of her heart.

      “Madelyn.” Roman placed a strong hand under her elbow, helping her to sit up. “Madelyn, are you okay?”

      She was as far away from okay as she could get. “What’s happening? Why is this happening?”

      Roman lightly rubbed his hand over her shoulder. “She’s got nothing to do with us, Oleg. Let her go.”

      “Nothing? She shows up and I find this.” Oleg reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small, plastic box. He knelt in front of Madelyn. “Who do you work for? How’d you get him to betray me?”

      “I’ve never seen