Page 56 of Country Mist

In that instant, she knew what he was really saying. “I will make everything okay.”

Fear iced her veins, and she could taste the fear on her tongue. She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. He would play hero again and might get himself killed.

“Hurry up.” Clint prodded her backside with his boot and pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of her head.

Haylee froze at the feel of the cold steel, and a shiver ran through her.

She bound Tyson’s wrists as tight as she could to keep him from doing something stupid, then turned her back to the wall again and put her wrists out for Clint to bind.

She sat and glared up at Clint as he cuffed her, biting her tongue to keep from saying anything and revealing she knew who he was.

Clint moved on to the following four people and the three tellers, his boots hitting the floor with dull thuds, zip ties hanging out of his back pocket.

He pulled out some and tossed them to one of the women and had her bind the others. One woman whimpered, and the man begged for their lives.

Clint growled low in his throat and stood menacingly over them, his back to Haylee and Tyson. “Shut the hell up.”

In the background, Haylee heard the other two robbers shouting at each other, their voices muffled, like they came from a different room.

Haylee turned to Tyson, and to her horror, he held his hands at his abdomen, jerked his wrists apart, and snapped the zip tie.

A flash of the night when she had been told of Danny’s death flashed through her mind. God, she couldn’t lose Tyson to danger like she’d lost Danny.

She shook her head violently and mouthed, “No. Don’t.”

He looked away and eased to his feet.

* * *

Tyson clenched his jaw, scenarios running through his mind. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he crept slowly and moved behind the robber who had been holding them at gunpoint. He was close enough to smell the stink of the man’s sweat, sour like a wet dog kept in a car.

With a lunge, Tyson tackled the bastard and drove him to the floor.

The man’s chin struck the marble hard, stunning him, and the handgun fell out of his grasp. The weapon clattered on the tile and spun away.

Gripping the robber’s collar, Tyson jerked the man around and slammed his fist into his jaw.

The robber went slack and dropped. His head bounced on the marble floor that reflected the fluorescent lights of the ceiling. Tyson jerked a zip tie from the man’s back pocket and quickly bound his wrists. The robber’s skin was slick with sweat.

Tyson turned to the other hostages and put his finger to his lips, meeting their gazes, including Haylee. The man and the women, still looking terrified, nodded.

Haylee’s gaze reflected anger and fear. He knew she was upset with him for risking his life, but he couldn’t sit back and do nothing. He had to protect her.

He retrieved the robber’s gun, the grip rough and warm from being held by the robber. He raised the bar between the teller area and the door to the back room.

Tyson eased around the doorframe, just enough to see the open vault to the left and the manager bound hand and foot on the floor on the right. Her eyes widened when she saw Tyson, but he put his fingers to his lips again, and she nodded.

The robbers were in the vault, talking to each other. “Hurry up,” one of the men growled. “The police will be here soon.”

Tyson moved into the room, the air smelling of dust and lingering coffee. He kept his back against the wall, easing his way to the massive safe door.

With all his strength, he flung himself at the heavy door. He slammed it shut with a solid thunk and spun the dial. He glanced at the manager, who went slack with relief. He used his pocketknife to cut her bonds, then slid the knife back into his pocket.

Police sirens were deafening outside, and tires squealed as they skidded in the street.

With the manager walking wobbly beside him, Tyson returned to the lobby. He set the handgun onto a teller’s window so that he wouldn’t be holding a weapon when the police charged in.

Tyson returned to Haylee, sat beside her, and pulled out his pocketknife.

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