Bait & Switch

by Kendall Ryan

  She forced a chuckle. The little hmph sound was pathetic and snot-clogged, and for a second, I wondered if she’d be okay without me.

  “No, it’s yours, and I shouldn’t hang on to anything from here, anyway. Fresh start, remember?” She pushed herself out of my arms.

  Realizing where she was going, I said, “You don’t have to start moving out right now. Lacey would understand if you stayed another week. Or even through the end of the month.”

  But Daniella was already halfway down the hall.

  I followed her into her bedroom. “Where are you going to stay?”

  “With my little sister.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose with a loud honk. “Delphine’s been thinking about moving out of her current place. I could be her new roommate.”

  “I’m sure she’d love that. You’d get to hang out more,” I replied. Both sisters shared a fondness for ink and piercings. Quite a few of their tattoos matched, commemorating travels, graduations, birthdays, funerals.

  It wasn’t enough for Daniella to live life; she wanted to feel it viscerally, to carry the memories of pain and pleasure on her skin. Would tonight merit a tattoo someday? I hoped it would be a happy one.

  We dug through her closet and desk, sorting all her stuff into Take, Leave, and Pitch piles. Along the way, we uncovered random memories, meaningless to anyone except us.

  Football hats and foam fingers and ticket stubs from stadiums all over Texas. A DVD box set of a TV series we’d once obsessed over. A pair of scarves that one of Daniella’s elderly patients had knitted for us while recovering from surgery. Souvenirs from our road trip when I’d had business in New Mexico: a tiny jar of white sand, a Roswell UFO key chain, a turquoise necklace with an O’Keeffe painting pendant.

  “I never knew you were such a pack rat,” I grumbled after a couple of hours.

  That wasn’t really funny, but Daniella chuckled anyway. “Hey, what can I say? I’m a sentimental slob. Or maybe just a regular slob.”

  I held up a takeout menu with a cartoon chili pepper on it. “Why the hell did you hang on to this? Pepe’s Fire Pit went out of business six months ago.”

  “It was my favorite place; I was sad when it closed down. You know how much I love spicy food.”

  “Yeah, because you’re a masochist.” I found another one of my shirts and threw it in the Leave pile.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Daniella sighed.

  It sounded like she was talking about more than just her kinks. I felt a pang of sympathy; she seemed to keep falling into relationships with men who ended up hurting her. But I needed to focus on the situation at hand and help Daniella get through this, not wallow in my own guilt. I should believe her when she said I wasn’t acting like her ex-Dom. She had always taken my words at face value, so I should give her the same courtesy.

  “Holy shit, is this that party?”

  I showed Daniella a glossy photo whose edges had started to curl. A dozen or so people—mostly women—were grinning and waving in someone’s backyard. The barbecue grill stood open, but empty, and three huge delivery pizzas covered the picnic table.

  Daniella gave a half groan, half laugh. “Oh God. I’d just transferred to the ER. The head nurse invited the whole department to her Fourth of July party, and your fucking dog made me look like an idiot.”

  “You still holding a grudge about that?” I chuckled.

  In a rare burst of initiative, Sutton had leaped up on the table holding the raw meat, knocking everyone’s dinner into the dirt. What little food he didn’t devour was ruined. Daniella and I had apologized profusely and paid for pizza with all the trimmings.

  As we sorted and joked and reminisced, my shoulders slowly unknotted. The tension that had clouded our home started to ease. We were finding our footing again as friends. Just friends.

  Even so, I could still hardly believe I’d done it. I’d actually broken up with Daniella. Paradoxically, taking this huge step made me even more nervous about telling Lacey. It brought the future—that terrifying place where everything changed—one step closer.

  Tomorrow night, I decided. I would invite Lacey out for a nice dinner and tell her the good news there. Almost like I was proposing.

  Before I could explore that thought, my pocket buzzed. I pulled out my phone and my neck prickled when I read the caller ID screen. Jerry Barton. Nobody from Redstone ever called me outside work hours, let alone the big boss himself.

  Wondering if our office building had caught fire, I answered, “Yes, sir?”

  “I’ve got a job for you, Maxwell. Top priority,” Barton snapped, his tone making it clear that refusal wasn’t an option.

  I had heard that no-bullshit bark plenty of times before. But there was also an unfamiliar urgency in his gruff voice. It almost sounded . . . frantic.

  What the fuck was going on here? Barton had never revealed the slightest hint of fear to his men, not even in the worst battlefield situations. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was scared shitless right now.

  I started to reply, “Of course, whatever you—”

  “It’s my daughter, Lucky. She’s in trouble.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lacey

  I had to pee.

  As I shifted to my side, pain seared through my hip and up my spine, making my stomach roll with nausea. I gasped aloud—only to choke on the stench of mildew in the air.

  What the hell? My eyes flew open.

  I wasn’t at home in my bed. I was lying on a cold cement floor, still dressed in the red tunic and leggings I’d worn yesterday in my attempt to win over Nolan once and for all. When I tried to lift my arm, I realized my hands and ankles were secured with plastic zip ties.

  The darkened room around me was cluttered with sagging, dusty boxes, and an old washer and dryer were tucked into the far corner. A five-gallon bucket stood overturned several feet in front of me. As if someone had sat there watching me, I realized with a shudder.

  Was I in someone’s basement? How long had I been lying unconscious here? The dim light filtering in from the one window told me it was daybreak . . . or maybe sunset. I wasn’t sure which.

  My mind spun sluggishly to catch up. The last thing I remembered was preparing my apartment for Nolan to come over. I’d lit candles and then changed into a figure-hugging outfit¸ hoping we’d have the talk and figure everything out between us.

  At the knock on the door, I’d opened it with a smile, assuming it was Nolan. A man in dark clothes had grabbed me. Shoved something over my nose and mouth until I was close to passing out.

  The memory blurred at the edges, my mind still foggy so the details were just out of reach. My heart galloped at the memory. I’d struggled with a man much bigger and stronger than I was, trying to scream, trying to make a scene so that one of my neighbors would notice. But it had all happened so fast. Before I knew it, I was being shoved into the back of a car in the parking lot. The white sedan I’d seen a few times before. A second man in the driver’s seat had sped off just as I lost consciousness.

  Studying my surroundings, trying to gather up every detail I could, I strained my eyes in the gloom, ears pricked for the smallest sound. But there was nothing.

  A chill of dread crept down my spine. This had to do with Troy; I just knew it. And this time, there would be no running away. I had a horrible feeling I was going to die here.

  No, no.

  I fought back a wave of tears and nausea, forcing myself to calm down and keep listening. My captor was probably upstairs. But I couldn’t hear any movement or talking. It was dead silent, only the whoosh of my heartbeat thudding in my ears.

  I checked myself over for injuries. Lifting my bound hands, I felt a lump under my hair on the back of my head. Ouch. I winced and pulled my hands away from the tender skin. But other than having to pee terribly, I seemed to be fine. For now.

  God, I’m such an idiot. Why hadn’t I told someone—my dad, Nolan, anybody—about what was going on? Thinking of Nolan
made my chest ache and my eyes sting. I wanted him to hold me so badly.

  My stupid goddamn plan had failed. He had no idea where I was, and even if he could somehow figure it out, did I even deserve for him to rescue me? I’d fucked everything up beyond belief. One way or another, our relationship was almost certainly over. His life with Daniella would go back to normal, our whole brief affair forgotten.

  Heavy footsteps thudded overhead and I froze. My heart pounding, I sank back against the wall, bracing myself for whatever came next.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nolan

  It’s my daughter, Lucky. Those four simple words had sent adrenaline surging through me.

  Barton had lost too much, seen too much action, and buried too many men over the years. If it was me he trusted to save his daughter, I was sure as shit bringing her back alive, and not in some body bag. At least I’d do my best, and if I died trying, so be it. It was a fair trade, as far as I was concerned. I didn’t know much about his children, only that he had two grown daughters he was immensely protective of.

  My assignment was simple. Barton had been tracking these assholes for a while. Apparently they were connected with that same Oklahoma City drug ring I’d assisted the police with a few weeks ago. His informant said the kidnappers drove a white sedan and were at a house in North Dallas, near Ridgecrest and Hemlock.

  I grimaced; the Five Points area was one of the city’s worst neighborhoods. But with a little help from a friend, I’d be more than up to the task.

  Daniella had been confused at the sudden interruption, but she understood why I couldn’t always share the details about my job. After she wished me luck and resumed packing, I called Greyson to tell him I needed backup. Barton trusted me to build my own team, and Greyson was the best choice. Having spent so many years working closely together, we operated as each other’s shadow. I picked him up at his house and debriefed him while we drove to Redstone.

  We checked out a pair of handguns and bulletproof vests from the company’s armory. Barton had pulled some strings to equip his employees with firearms identical to those they had used in the service. It wasn’t just for sentimental value; even after retraining, operating a different gun from the one you were used to could cost precious milliseconds or crucial accuracy. So I got a shiny new SIG P226 Navy pistol. Small enough to conceal, but big enough to kill anything that moved. I could only pray this assignment wouldn’t come to that.

  Once Greyson and I were fully outfitted, we headed to the intersection of Ridgecrest and Hemlock. From there, we drove in widening circles, keeping an eye out for a building that fit the informant’s description. It didn’t take long to spot a small, dilapidated ranch house with a white sedan parked out front.

  Keeping low, I crept across the overgrown yard to look in the window. I saw a mostly bare living room with mold-stained walls. The single naked light bulb on the ceiling cast more shadows than it banished. A man sat on the couch, hunting knife in hand, watching the front door. The skin on the back of my neck prickled.

  This was definitely the right place. I turned my attention to the layout of the room. Its only access points seemed to be the front door and the kitchen. If they had a hostage here, I was guessing she and her guard weren’t the only ones present, since Barton had told me the kidnapping was gang-related. More people were probably waiting elsewhere in the house. But how many, I had no idea.

  I signaled to Greyson and we moved to the front door. We weren’t the police; we had no obligation to announce ourselves or give the enemy a chance to come quietly. We would use the element of surprise to get in and out as fast as possible.

  With Greyson close behind me, I shot through the lock and kicked the door in.

  The guard jumped to his feet. He took one look at our gear and bellowed, “Cops!”

  His warning shout confirmed the presence of his allies. No intimidation tactics, then. Even if I managed to threaten him into dropping his weapon, it would just waste enough time for his buddies to show up. But I also didn’t like killing people if I could help it, and I wanted some answers from these assholes.

  The guard rushed at me, knife brandished in his fist like an ice pick. How sloppy. He pulled back his arm to stab downward, and I spun to let the blade pass in front of me. I grabbed his wrist in one hand and pistol-whipped him in the back of the head. He thrashed and cursed in defiant rage. I slammed his face into the floor, forcing him to his knees, his knife arm twisted painfully behind his back. His snarling quickly transformed into incoherent screeching.

  I must have dislocated his shoulder, which meant his knife arm was thoroughly disabled. Unless this prick was ambidextrous, it was time to stop screwing around with him and get what we came for. I holstered my pistol, yanked his knife away, and hauled him onto his feet.

  I pointed to a spot along the wall near the kitchen door. “Stay there,” I growled under my breath.

  He bared his bloodied yellow teeth and spat on my vest. I just stared hard at him, eyes narrowed, and pointed again—with the knife this time. After a moment, he accepted that I wasn’t bluffing and obeyed my order.

  I flashed Greyson a quick sequence of hand signals to tell him I’d search for the hostage while he stayed behind as a lookout. Grey gave a nod of approval and faced the kitchen, pistol at the ready. The former guard seemed willing to stay down, but Grey still kept one eye on him.

  I crept through the kitchen and found a set of stairs that led to a basement. It was rare that Texas homes had basements, but maybe that was why these perps had chosen this house in the first place.

  With my back to the wall, I silently crept down. The lower level stank of mildew. A quick sweep of the area showed concrete floors and walls, and a shadowy figure huddled in the corner. It was so small I almost missed it. Even facing the wall, though, it was clearly female.

  Shit, the hostage.

  She’d better be alive or these assholes were going to answer for this. But as I crossed the room, she gave a small murmured groan, and I released a relieved breath.

  I knelt behind her and used the guard’s knife to cut through the plastic zip ties securing her wrists and ankles. She made a groggy noise and struggled weakly on her side. She seemed awake, but very disoriented; maybe her kidnappers had sedated her. Or just given her a concussion.

  “Don’t worry, Lucky, you’re safe now,” I murmured. Her name had probably never been more appropriate. Once her limbs were free, I rolled her over. “I’m one of the good guys. I’ll get you out of . . .”

  The words died in my throat. Even in this dim, sickly light, her face was unmistakable. It was Lacey.

  Terror and relief tore through me at the same time, leaving my knees weak and my heart pounding. Lacey had been kidnapped by drug-dealing psychos. That realization was instantly followed by another—Lacey was Barton’s precious little girl. Any relief I felt was instantly boiled away by anger.

  She’d lied to me this entire time? She was Jerry fucking Barton’s daughter?

  Alerted by the sounds of combat and thundering footsteps overhead, I lifted her limp body and slung her over my shoulder. We reached the top of the stairs just in time to hear Grey’s pistol boom. A man tumbled over in a heap, screaming and clutching his knee. The first man reached out to help him, but stopped when I aimed my pistol at him.

  “I told you to stay still, motherfucker,” I growled.

  Keeping his sights trained on the injured man, Greyson crept close and plucked the gun from his belt. He ejected the magazine onto the floor and threw the empty weapon across the room.

  With one arm balancing Lacey’s dead weight over my shoulder and the other hand on my gun, I forced myself to stay cool. Whatever I might feel about her deception, this job wasn’t over yet.

  I reevaluated our tactical situation. Two men, both disarmed, one with a busted shoulder and the other with a busted leg. All this fighting had made one hell of a ruckus, but nobody else had shown up. If any reinforcements were on their way, they would have alre
ady arrived. So either these two guys operated alone or their allies had bailed at the first sign of trouble.

  Seriously? What a fucking joke.

  I holstered my pistol, letting my hand linger on the stock. I knew I could draw it faster than these guys could close the distance between us. Cocking my head at the girl draped over my shoulder, I barked at the men, “Do you know who her father is?”

  I was wondering what their motivation could be, and exactly how stupid they were. Had they been trying to hold Lacey for ransom? Did they have some kind of grudge against Barton? Or did they just abduct pretty girls and . . . ? I fought down another surge of anger.

  Both men just gave me a surly glare. I slowly drew my pistol again, giving them plenty of time to imagine what might happen if they didn’t cooperate.

  The second guy stayed tight-lipped; his face was white with pain. But the first one muttered, “Who gives a fuck about her daddy? She was Troy’s bitch; s’all that matters.”

  I opened my mouth to ask, Who the hell is Troy? Then I remembered. I had come across that name before. Just last week, when I helped the FWPD investigate the collapsed Oklahoma City drug ring.

  Jesus Christ. Lacey was a crime lord’s girlfriend? No, she used to be; Troy had come to a grisly end. But still, I never could have imagined this. When she’d told me that she was running from something, I’d assumed it was a broken heart she’d left back home. Nothing that a bottle of tequila and a rebound fling couldn’t fix.

  Damn, how wrong I’d been.

  I’d assumed these guys were either small-time thugs, attacking randomly, or using Lacey to target her father. But it had been neither. They were after Lacey herself. She knew something, owed them something—or at least, they assumed she did.

  The longer I thought about it, the more this entire situation stank. When these guys snatched Lacey, Barton had instantly found out about it; he wouldn’t have kept such a close eye on them if he hadn’t expected trouble. He must have had some personal experience with this gang in the past.