Tate's bleached-blond hair glistened in the pale moonlight as he held a tiny pink smoking gun straight-armed in front of him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A second later Maverick came in behind Tate, his own gun drawn—which was distinctly bigger than Tate's and decidedly not pink. His eyes bounced between Tate's gun, Britton on the floor, and Dubois's motionless body gushing blood. He quickly flipped Dubois over, checking for a pulse. "He's alive!" he shouted, a look of relief on his face, before he ran to Britt's side.
I was on the fence on how I felt about that, but mostly I felt numb. Though, it was a pretty safe bet prison food was going to be quite a shock to Dubois's delicate palate and a form of torture in and of itself.
The adrenaline had saturated every cell of my body, and my head was pounding with my erratic pulse. I felt tears streaming into my hair as I sat heavily on the floor, the lamp still clenched in my hands. I heard myself crying, as though I was observing. I heard LeAnna wail about the blood, and Britton moaning as she came to.
Trembling, I tried to stand, but gravity kept pulling me down. I didn't have the strength left to fight. The flurry of movement around me turned into a humming white noise as I pondered our fate if Tate and his tiny pink pistol hadn't come to our rescue. I changed my mind. I loved that thing.
The tears turned into sobs. I clamped my eyes closed, concentrating on my breathing, attempting to calm myself. I felt someone peel one of my hands from the lamp, grasping it firmly within his own, trying to wrench it away. I just wasn't ready to face whoever it was.
Tate's soothing voice pulled me from my hysteria. "You're safe now, sweets."
Opening my eyes, I glanced up into his handsome face. I tossed the lamp to the side and threw myself into his open embrace.
"Your Clint Eastwood impression was pretty badass," I blubbered.
"I was actually going for Jim Carrey in The Mask, but thanks." Tate wrapped me tighter in a bear hug. "Girl, I was so scared for you."
"Thanks for being my Prince Charming," I bawled.
He kissed my head. "As long as I draw breath," he whispered into my hair. "Though one of these days you're going to have to let me be Cinderella for a change."
A laugh escaped through my sobs. "Deal."
Gazing over Tate's shoulder, I smiled through the waterworks at Maverick. "How did you guys know where we were?" I asked.
Maverick pointed to Tate. "It was all his doing."
I could have sworn I saw Tate blush. "Well, when you texted about Britton, I started to worry. So I came down to the Battle Buffet set myself. Only neither of you was there, and it was a wreck. Like something bad had happened there."
"That's when he came to see me," Maverick jumped in. "And I pinged your cell."
"Wait—what do you mean ping?" I asked.
Maverick's cheeks went red. "Er, there's an app that Mr. Malone installed on your phone. It allows us in security to track you at all times."
I narrowed my eyes, mentally preparing the speech on privacy I'd be giving to Alfie when I got back.
"And it's a good thing they can," Tate jumped in. "Because when it came back with coordinates in the lake, we freaked, jumped in a boat, and came after you!"
"Well, one of us freaked. One of us was professional," Maverick corrected. "Not that it was too hard to find you. This yacht is the biggest thing on the lake."
"Well, I for one am glad you did," I said, giving Tate another fierce hug. I looked over his shoulder at Maverick. "Thanks for coming to the rescue. I owe you one."
He waved me off. "I'd do the same for anyone I loved." His cheeks went pink, and his gaze dropped to his feet. "Er, for any of my loved ones." His hands waved wildly. "I mean, for my family and friends." He slapped a palm over his eyes and turned away. "I'm gonna go call the authorities…" he mumbled, trailing off as he walked up the stairs.
Tate and I moved to Britton's side, each holding one of her hands. I wasn't sure just how long we sat there, but it felt like only moments later that uniformed police officers and EMTs started swarming the small room. They descended on Dubois first, clasping a plastic mask over his face and carrying him up the stairs on a stretcher way more carefully than he deserved.
One of the police officers told us that they were waiting to take our statements back at the marina, as the yacht was now a crime scene.
Tate scooped me up in his arms, and Maverick helped Britton up the stairs as LeAnna trailed behind on wobbly legs. I honestly didn't know Tate had the upper-body strength to carry me. I'd seen him struggle with a shopping bag full of clothes on several occasions. He was huffing and puffing by the time we reached the top of the stairs.
I slid from his arms. "I'd rather walk," I lied, releasing him from his unspoken duty.
"Are you sure?" he wheezed.
I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself and following him out onto the exterior deck, where a speedboat was tethered to the side of the yacht. A flimsy chain ladder with aluminum stairs had been secured to the railing, clanking against the yacht and stretching as the waves rolled past.
I shuddered as much from thoughts of the knife-wielding lunatic chef as the brisk night air billowing the skirt of my dress. My bare feet throbbed, feeling frozen solid as I padded across the deck to the ladder.
Tate kissed my forehead then waved a hand toward the speedboat to get Maverick's attention. LeAnna and Britton were already aboard, huddled together under a silver emergency blanket, directly behind the driver's area. Maverick smiled up at me from beside the ladder, his hand extended to help me steady myself on the steps. Between him holding the flimsy metal and Tate following me down, my trembling legs didn't collapse, and I made it safely into the speedboat. Tate wrapped me in his arms, keeping the wind off of my face by arching his shoulders in front of me, taking the brunt of the frigid air. He proved yet again what true friendship was. It was a short drive from the cove where they'd anchored the yacht to Lakeside Marina. Just a few blocks from most of the casinos, it catered to the summer crowd, with small boat rentals and wave runners, but stayed pretty much closed in the winter and spring.
Maverick skillfully maneuvered his boat through the water to the end of the pier, and an awaiting officer wove the vessel's rope through the dock cleats. When he was done, he extended a hand to me and pulled me onto the dock. I made my way through the other officers, hoping to find a particular FBI agent milling about. Instead, one of the older policemen escorted me into a water-sports rental building they'd turned into a makeshift precinct. He pulled out a hard plastic chair, seating me at a desk with an attached placard touting the upcoming summer rental schedule and fees.
Sitting across from me in the high-backed rental agent's chair, he opened up a notebook and set a small tape recorder between us. "Are you comfortable enough to give me your statement, Ms. King?" He offered me a forced smile and an awkward pat on the hand.
I slid my feet together in an effort to warm them, but they were so numb I couldn't even feel my toes. I spied a lost and found basket against the far wall. Flipping my hand in that direction, I asked, "Mind if I dig through that for socks or something?"
"Not at all."
I sorted through the hodgepodge of items quickly, more than ready to get the statement over with and return to the penthouse. I could almost hear my jetted tub calling my name. I found a beach towel and wrapped it around my shoulders in a makeshift shawl. Luckily, I also found an old pair of slip-on deck shoes about two sizes too big and smelling of aged cheese, but I was in no place to haggle. I slid them on to my feet and slopped back to the desk.
I recanted every detail to the officer, reliving parts of it as I spoke, feeling the knife grazing my neck as though it were happening. I didn't even realize I was crying again until the tears hit my hands. I heard Britton talking and LeAnna wailing in an adjoining room, pulling me from my inner turmoil and back to the here and now.
Then I heard another familiar voice.
"Thank God you're okay." I looked up to find Ryder standing in the doorwa
y.
I swiped a hand across my eyes before turning toward him. Only I didn't get a chance to answer as LeAnna sprinted from the other room, throwing her hot mess of a self into his arms. "Oh, thank heavens that you're here, Agent Ryder."
LeAnna hung from Ryder's forearms, his hands splayed out rigidly behind her. One finally gave way to lightly pat her back. "Um," he muttered. "I've got to get back to the office. There's a black and white ready to take you to the hotel, though, as soon as your statements are finished."
LeAnna dropped back from his arms, smiling up at his face. She leaned in as if to kiss him, but he expertly bobbed and weaved to avoid her lips. After wearing him down, she finally landed one on his cheek with just a tiny bit of lip.
"Mmmm," she purred when she was done assaulting his face. "I don't want to make a scene here in front of your fellow officers." Patting his chest, she made a kissy face as she returned to Britton in the other room.
As soon as she looked away, he emphatically shook his head while making his way to my side. He dropped to his knees, taking my hand in his. He cast a wary look at the officer. "Can you give us a minute?"
"Sure. We're pretty much done anyway." He slid the report over to me. "I just need your signature. You can leave this with Agent Ryder."
I nodded my head in response as he left, scribbling my name at the bottom of the paper.
Ryder let out a sigh. "I'm so glad you're alive. I have to admit I was worried as hell." His hands framed my face. He leaned in closer and closer, our lips almost touching.
Then another officer slammed through the door, bellowing to the guys in the other room.
Timing.
Abandoning the almost-kiss, Ryder rested his forehead on mine. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." I nodded, feeling my bottom lip quiver, contradicting my response. With a couple of deep breaths, I wasn't lying nearly as much. "So, Gerald really was dirty?"
"No. Where did you get that?"
"Dubois said that it was Mr. Taylor's idea to launder the Gambias' money through the winery. Why would he lie?" It felt good to talk, to get some questions answered and try to make sense of what had happened.
Ryder grinned at me, pulling back just a little. "It was. Just not that Mr. Taylor."
"Shut the front door." I swatted Ryder on the chest. "You mean Jerry?"
He nodded.
"And you knew this all along?" I narrowed my eyes at him.
Ryder cleared his throat, but for once the fed face didn't cover his expression. "We knew that there was some connection between the Taylors' winery and the Gambia family. Exactly what that was? No. But there were things that pointed our suspicions in Jerry's direction far more than his father's. At least until Mr. Taylor Sr.'s death."
"So, when Gerald suspected that Dubois was the father of LeAnna's baby, and he started asking questions about Dubois…"
"Dubois needed to shut him up before he exposed all of them," Ryder finished for me. "We've already picked up Jerry, and he's singing like a bad lounge act. The truth is, Gerald found out about Dubois's connection to the Gambias and told Jerry that he had to stop doing business with him immediately. Only when Jerry told Dubois, he found out that the chef didn't take no for an answer. He claimed he had no idea what Dubois was going to do until after his father turned up dead."
"But how did LeAnna fit into all of this?"
Ryder shrugged. "She was an innocent bystander."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Bystander? Yes. Innocent? That's a word that would never apply to LeAnna."
He chuckled. "Point taken. But from what we've gathered from Jerry, when LeAnna took an interest in Dubois, the chef encouraged her as a way to keep close to the Taylors. He never realized that decision would blow up in his face when she decided to fake the pregnancy."
"That's Hurricane LeAnna for you," I mumbled, kinda liking my new nickname for her. "So how did Dubois get involved with the Gambias in the first place?"
"Well, that's where this story gets fun. Bastien Dubois is an alias. When we ran his prints, we found out his real name is Bernard Roche. He's got quite a rap sheet, often being arrested alongside various Gambia family members. He used those connections to finance his show and his restaurants, which in turn have all provided various covers and tax shells for the Gambias' less than legal dealings. I'd imagine he ditched the name because of his past."
I did a little giggle-snort combo without thinking. "And who would want to watch a cooking show when the star's last name sounds like roach?" I shuddered at the thought of little roaches crawling across his elaborate meals. Chances where that Dubois would be seeing a few of those where he was going.
"What about Hammerhead Hank?" I asked. "Did you arrest him yet? He's the one who lured Britton onto the set!"
Ryder's expression turned dark. "You know that woman's body that was found earlier tonight?"
I nodded, not liking where this was going. "The one we thought was LeAnna."
His nodding cadence matched mine. "Turns out that the victim was Jerry's personal assistant. She'd provided Gerald with the final clue to what his son was really doing with the family's winery business. When we were able to trace the murder weapon, in this case a 9-millimeter Beretta, back to Jerry, he admitted that he gave it to Hank to 'take care' of the problem."
I shivered, feeling sorry for the poor woman. "So he's in custody?"
Ryder nodded. "We caught him at the marina. Turns out he was supposed to meet Dubois on the yacht to take care of you girls too."
I shivered even deeper.
An officer appeared in the doorway. "Sir? We're ready to take the ladies back to the hotel."
I turned in my chair and saw Britton beam at me from beside the officer, waving me toward her.
Ryder slid a finger under my chin, pivoting my face back toward his. "I'll be by to check on you in the morning. Please call me if you need anything."
I nodded, fighting back those damned tears again.
He stood, holding out a hand for me, which I gladly accepted. I wasn't entirely sure my trembling legs would support my weight. He glanced down and then back up at me with a single brow arched high. "Nice shoes."
"Thanks." I wiggled my toes. "I saw them in the box and just had to have them."
* * *
During the short drive back to the hotel, I shared the information Ryder had given me with the girls. LeAnna just stared out the window. I couldn't tell if she was upset or melancholy. I'm sure it was a lot to process, since it all hit close to home for her.
Britton reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm just glad we all made it out okay." She bit her bottom lip, concern morphing her weary features. "There's…well, there's something I have to tell you."
"What is it?" I asked, turning to face her.
"Well…it's sort of hard. I totally thought I was going to die without coming clean back there. I've been keeping a secret, Tess, and it's totes eating me alive."
I patted her arm. "I'm sure it's not that bad."
"No." She shook her head wildly, hair flipping across her face. "It is. It's really, really bad."
Now I was worried. "What is it?"
Her big blue eyes looked at me, brimming with tears. "I've been cheating on your father," she whispered.
"What?" I felt as if someone had punched me. "You cheated on Dad?"
She blinked rapidly. "No! I mean…not like that. I mean…I've been seeing someone. For a couple of weeks. Secretly."
My turn to blink at her. "Dad's been dead for a year."
"I know! Only a year," she wailed. "I feel so guilty."
I patted her arm. "Britt, it's okay. My dad would have wanted you to move on." I paused. "Was this guy the 'plans' you had the night LeAnna went missing?"
She nodded. Then Britton looked up at me through her lashes, guilt still marring her perfect features. "That's not all though. It gets worse."
"Worse?" I wasn't sure I could take much more after all we'd been through that night.
She nodded. "It's not just that I'm moving on…it's who I'm moving on with." Her teeth bit into her lower lip.
"It doesn't matter," I said, shaking my head. "I'm happy for you." I slid a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at me again.
But her eyes welled with tears. "It does matter."
"Seriously, it's okay."
"It's Alfie."
I froze at the mention of my father's good friend and right-hand man. Alfie?! Seriously? This was the blonde that someone had spotted Alfie making out with in the back of a cab?
"I can see it on your face. You're upset!"
I shook my head, tying my best not to picture her and Alfie lip-locking on their way up to the tower suites. "I'm…surprised. But I'm not upset."
"Really?" The hope in her teary eyes was actually kinda adorable. And I'd meant what I'd said. She did deserve to be happy. I guess if she had to move on with anyone, my Dad couldn't have complained about her choosing his most trusted ally. Though I still had my doubts about Alfie having a single romantic bone in his body.
"Are you one hundred percent sure?" she asked.
I dropped my head on her shoulder. "One hundred and fifty percent, as long as you're happy."
The police car pulled to the back parking garage entrance. Alfonso Malone himself greeted us, stone faced, menacing, and surrounded by backup. I turned a knowing smile to Britton.
"Thank you," she muttered. Turning toward the doors, she practically pushed LeAnna from the car in her haste to exit. The moment she hit the pavement, Alfie pulled her into a hug that would have signaled to anyone just how they felt about each other. I felt myself smiling, hoping Alfie enjoyed his personal time off.
I looked away, pulling myself out of the car as I spotted Rafe pushing through the security team.
"Tessie," he breathed, pulling me into his arms. I finally felt warm and safe for the first time since the nightmare had begun. I sighed, melting against him, my head resting on his firm chest, listening to his strong heartbeat.
I watched from the safe cocoon of his arms as Alfie escorted LeAnna and Britton through the back entrance, followed by most of the security staff.
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