“Go get that sweet girl. Please. I’m worried sick about her, I can’t imagine how it feels to have that disgusting and invasive video out in the world, how alone and violated and afraid she must be. I want her to truly know that she’s loved and cared for here, that I support her recovery and rebuilding her life again. I don’t care about her past and I will fight her corner with my dying breath. Please, Keegan… go get Trish.”
“I will.” He turned to go, then paused. “And Meredith?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” He was almost blinking back goddamn tears like a freaking wuss; it had suddenly occurred to him that he was actually being given a second chance. The faith being shown in him was huge right now, and he wondered if he was either deserving of it or capable of living up to it. “Thank you so much for – well. For everythin’.”
“I have her room waiting exactly as she left it, so thank me by bringing her back, safe and sound.”
“I promise,” he told her. Though he couldn’t promise that he’d bring Trish back as his girlfriend, he could convince her to return to this warm, safe, loving and accepting place. Maybe. “I promise to do my darnedest to bring her home to you.” He gave her a tiny grin, in an effort to make them both feel a bit better. “Get the green tea and cookies ready, huh?”
“You want me to think positive, sugar-filled thoughts?”
“Yes, ma’am. Think nothin’ but positive and sugar-filled everythin’.” He grinned at her for real then, his trademark slow, dark grin, and she smiled back almost despite herself. “I need all the help that I can get here. Sugar-filled and divine and everythin’ else on offer.”
Chapter 16
Keegan stepped out of Jack’s car, glanced around the wooded area just off the highway. It was a rest stop, one used by truckers needing a break and families wanting a picnic on long road trips, but it was empty except for the black Range Rover parked a little way back from the road. The door of the other vehicle opened and out stepped a person that Keegan knew only by reputation – and he suddenly knew that everything that he’d heard about the man had been both completely true and utterly incomplete.
He stood there in jeans and a black leather jacket – taller and wider than Keegan by damn miles, his face too hard and implacable to be anything like handsome – and there was no doubt in all that was holy that it was him. From the cold gray stare that crossed and cut the distance between them to the bright silver rings on his thick fingers that probably doubled as knuckle-dusters, everything about this man-mountain was gleaming and sharp, dangerous and watchful. This was not a person to fuck with, not even a little bit. Intelligence and menace radiated off him in equal measure, and Keegan both mentally and physically straightened himself up.
Matt ‘King’ Kingston, as I live and breathe. Good God Almighty and all his angels too.
In the falling darkness, Keegan followed Jack over to his boss, watched King watch their approach. He reminded himself that they were all on the same damn side here and once again, he was relieved that King’s Men had been watching Trish. After all, there was no way that even the Devil himself would take on King and his people – not if he wanted to stay in one piece.
If rumor had it even one-tenth true, then King ate the worst of the worst for breakfast with barely raising his massive baby finger. There was no way on earth or in hell that a sleazy asshole like Callum Decker would be anything but a lazy cakewalk for the likes of King.
The word ‘cakewalk’ made Keegan think of Janie’s sweetness and humour, and he suddenly felt better. Calmer, more centered, back in control. He felt like he’d always felt just before he and his former unit headed out into the uncertainty of a do-or-die mission that probably involved shooting someone in the head.
He felt ready.
Let’s do this.
“Keegan Sinclair,” Jack said to Keegan, then gesturing at his boss. “Matt Kingston.”
“King,” the other man rasped out in a voice that would surely crush concrete to the finest powder. “Nice to meet you, Keegan.”
“You too,” Keegan replied, shaking the massive hand that was extended to him. He felt the sheer power in King’s grip and resisted the urge to try to meet it: crushed knuckles weren’t a good look. “Me and Tex go way back and he’s said some pretty damn great stuff about you.”
“All true,” King drawled. “Naturally.”
Despite himself, Keegan grinned. “Yeah, I thought so.”
“OK, man.” King snapped off the charm, and Keegan now felt the urge to stand at attention. “Your girl is in that farmhouse over there behind you.”
“She – what?” Keegan swung around and squinted through the trees at the lights in the distance. “Why? I mean… whose house is it?”
“Doreen Saroni.”
“Uhhh.” Keegan frowned. “Who?”
“Doreen is Trish’s boss at Kay’s Catering.”
“Oh! Oh, right. Sure. Doreen.”
“Yeah.” King exhaled hard. “Trish called her from a café parking lot about ten minutes after leaving Mrs. Carmichael’s place. Doreen and her husband Angelo are away for a couple of weeks on a second honeymoon thing in Aruba, trying to save their marriage after Angelo’s affair with the daughter of one of his co-workers, so Trish is house sitting while she plans her next move – one almost definitely out of state. We’re thinking that she’s headed to Montana soon.”
Keegan noticed that even the great, scary King called Meredith ‘Mrs. Carmichael’. He also noticed that the man knew a whole hell of a lot about people that he’d certainly never met, and seemed up on Trish’s every movement and thought. Surveillance and research were powerful tools, Keegan knew that first-hand since both had saved his life more than once back in Afghanistan, and he had a serious respect for King’s Men’s professionalism.
Oh sure, he’d heard that they were all highly-trained and experienced ex-black ops types with skills coming out of their ears… but he’d also heard that they were borderline illegal sometimes, almost mercenaries for hire. He had no major issue with that, actually, not if King and his people got done things that needed doing and which the police couldn’t get close to without search warrants or legal wrangling or crooked lawyers. Sometimes shit just needed doing, and King and his team seemed more than capable of doing… well. Whatever needed doing at any given moment.
“Montana?” Keegan echoed. “Why Montana?”
“One of her former pornography co-workers moved there about a year ago. They’ve been in touch ever since Trish left L.A. This woman, Cara, was thinking about coming out here for Christmas. Before Trish’s life fell apart, I mean.”
“Oh, right.” Keegan shrugged a bit. “Somethin’ else goin’ on in her life that Trish never saw fit to share with me. I’ll add it to the ever-growin’ list.”
King paused, stared at Keegan, totally unblinking and unmoving. Keegan fought the urge to shift on his feet, or break the silence, or drop his gaze, but holy hell it was hard. It was totally unnerving to be in the x-ray glare of those gray eyes: Keegan was no slouch at standing his ground, but Matt Kingston was obviously an expert at interrogation and intimidation. Not that running a bakery-slash-café had much need for Keegan’s ex-skills: asking someone what kind of coffee they want didn’t usually involve a gun to their head to get a response. Ditto dessert.
But King lived and breathed situations that demanded total mastery and control – and in this exact moment, Keegan was standing in what was nothing less than the path of a heat- and truth-seeking missile.
“Listen up, Sinclair,” King said and Keegan braced himself for impact. “I’m fully aware that you were the one involved with Trish Montgomery and that she was less than honest with you. That sucks and I’m not saying that it doesn’t, but I’m also fully aware what and who that woman was up against. I know better than you, I’m sorry to say. I’m also sorry to say that she did her damn best with what were nothing but shitty options laid out in front of her – she did a hell of a lot better than pretty much anyone tha
t I can think of. She got herself out by paying with her bank balance and her soul, she was forced to sign all her porn royalties and right over to Callum Decker, she moved clear across the country, she put her head down and started all over again. She found a home. She fell in love.” King shrugged. “She kept secrets from you. From everyone. Well, shit, man… who doesn’t have secrets? Find me one person who doesn’t hold back and away. Are you that person, huh? ‘Cause I know that I’m sure as hell not.”
Keegan was silent.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” King looked away, over in the direction of the farmhouse. “Stop keeping track of what she didn’t do or tell you, stop keeping score of her supposed sins and alleged crimes. Start fucking thinking about what she did give you and trusted you with, because I can promise you that this isn’t a woman who ever got rewarded by life for being honest or vulnerable. And if you can’t see what she gave you, then it’s better for you to get the hell back in the car and get out of here this very minute. Just leave her alone. I know that she isn’t my client, but frankly, I’m not going to stand here and let you guilt-trip this woman. Not on my goddamn watch, Sinclair.”
Keegan sighed. He was getting his ass booted up and down the Rockies and then handed back to him, over and over today: first Dalton, then Meredith, now King. Maybe it was time for him to admit that he was being a prick.
A royal-grade one, man.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. All fair points, man. I promise that I ain’t goin’ in there to rip a strip off her. In fact…” He sighed again, more heavily. “I’m gonna apologize to Trish, though I have no clue if it’ll do me any good.”
“Maybe not,” Jack piped up. “But I’m sure she’d appreciate the apology.”
“Yeah,” Keegan repeated, then saw the black Mustang slow down on the highway, turn into the rest stop. “Oh. Dalton’s here.”
“Who?” King snapped, then looked over at Jack with a look of dawning comprehension. “Wait up – Dalton MacGregor is the guy you told me about on the phone before you had to bolt to Mrs. Carmichael’s to meet Keegan?”
“Yep,” Jack told his boss. “The one from Luke’s group who gave Keegan the heads-up this afternoon at the café.”
Yet again, Keegan marveled at the firm grasp that King’s people had on information about things they hadn’t witnessed between people they’d surely never met. But something about the way that Jack said Luke’s name made him wonder if he and King knew Luke Rhodes at all; he made a mental note to ask Luke at the next meeting. But for now, Dalton was slamming his car door, pulling his collar up against the biting mountain wind, and narrowing those wild green eyes at the men as he crossed the dimly-lit parking area.
“Dalton MacGregor,” King repeated, almost under his breath. “Huh.”
Suddenly, Keegan had the strongest, strangest sense that King knew Dalton, or at least knew of him. It made Kegan wonder – yet again – just what the hell Dalton’s story was and if it was anything that might have caught the attention and interest of Matt Kingston… if so, maybe Keegan actually didn’t really want to know Dalton’s story.
Then Dalton was standing right in front of them, shifting his weight on his feet as he shifted his gaze from face to face.
King extended his hand. “Matt Kingston.”
Dalton grasped the other man’s hand. “Since I know full damn good and well who you are, I know you know who I am. You know everyone, I’m guessing.”
“Yep.” He waved at Jack. “Meet Jack.”
Dalton glanced over and gave a tiny head nod. “Consider Jack met.”
“So we’re all caught up,” Keegan broke in, impatient for something to just fucking happen already. “Niceties done and dusted. Now what?”
“Well actually,” King said almost pleasantly. “What the hell is Dalton doing here? You think me and Jack need back-up for something? Think we can’t handle some run-of-the-mill surveillance?”
“I think you guys can handle the end of the world if it comes rollin’ over the mountains,” Keegan said. “But I didn’t know where Trish was, or if that prick with the dragon tattoo was near her and if there’s gonna be a stand-off, I think more men is better than less. Especially guys with trainin’.”
“Why a stand-off?” Dalton asked with interest. “Is the rapist dickhead skulking around?”
“He is,” King replied. “We’ve got eyes on Callum Decker now. He dropped his good buddy Paul Villiers off at the airport this afternoon and now he’s alone in a low-life bar about ten minutes from the farmhouse, with my man Tank watching him.”
Keegan almost jumped out of his skin. “The farmhouse where Trish is? Where she’s all alone?”
“That’s the one.”
“Jesus Christ,” Keegan said, getting more pissed off and heated even as King got more calm and cool. “So – I’m goin’ now. Goin’ to see Trish and talk to her. Try and make this situation right somehow.”
“And what are we doing?” Dalton asked him. “Hanging around a freezing cold lay-by in the darkness, twiddling our thumbs and waiting on you, on the off-chance that Decker makes a move?”
“Yep.” King grinned. “But me and Jack are doing it while packing. You got a gun, MacGregor?”
“Fun,” Dalton commented. “Glad I came out. And yeah – I’ve always got a gun.”
“It ain’t so bad out here in the bracing fresh air, man,” King drawled. “I want to talk to you anyway.”
“Me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yeah, sure. OK.” Dalton shrugged and looked less than wildly enthused. “Always happy to chat to the local badass head of a shady organization.”
“Oh, is that me?” King said in open amusement. “Here I thought that was you.”
Dalton glanced over at Keegan – who was suddenly looking very interested by the conversational turn – and said, “I thought you were straining at the leash to be the big hero and retrieve your fair lady love, Sinclair?”
“Yeah.” Keegan resolved to follow up on this twist of utter weirdness ASAP because it was imperative that he dig a bit, but not really convenient at this particular moment. “Yeah. I am. I’m goin’.”
**
Trish was staring at the paper in front of her on the kitchen table, feeling nothing but crushing despair: the rows of numbers and scribbled notes were bad, bad news about her financial situation. Namely, that she had no financial situation whatsoever beyond the stack of cash that Meredith had forced into her hand as she’d bolted out the door.
Trish had left that house – the one that she had been proud to call home – with zero plan. No clue what to do, no idea where to go, just a vague notion that she had to drive. North, south, east, west, off a mountain edge, it didn’t matter: it was all about pointing the car in a direction that wasn’t where she was and hitting the gas. Not looking back, not ever.
She’d pulled into the parking lot a crap café that served lousy coffee and called Doreen in a panic. In almost a single breath, Trish quit her catering job, then blurted out the whole damn story. Doreen had been stunned into silence for about fifteen seconds, which had to be some kind of record for her, then ordered Trish to her house to hide out and regroup while she and her cheating scumbag of a husband were away. No discussion and no delay.
Now here she was with paper and pencil and calculator – and an aching pit of anxiety in her stomach as she faced the harsh reality.
She had nothing. Again.
She had to start all over. Again.
Fucking again. Jesus.
And she was starting over again with even less than she had last time. At least when she’d left California she’d had expensive designer things and jewelry to sell online. Now it was all gone. She looked at the money from Meredith again, mentally adding and subtracting, her thoughts scrambling like mice in a maze.
Well, there was only one thing to do.
Meredith had given her just over eighteen hundred dollars in cash, just jammed it into her hand as a severance of sorts, and t
hough Trish had been loathe to accept it considering how she was running out and abandoning her duties, she was glad now that she’d taken it. She had another two thousand of her own, so she was standing all alone in the world with $3800.
That wouldn’t get her an apartment lease anywhere decent, that was for damn sure. But it could buy a whole lot of gas and rent a whole lot of shitty motel rooms and buy a whole lot of white bread and peanut butter. She could just leave tonight, just lock up the farmhouse and drop the key in the barn, just leave a note on this kitchen table and walk away. Just drive until she found a place that felt right, where she’d get a waitressing job, where she’d live in a motel until she was able to save up enough for a deposit on a tiny studio apartment where she’d stay hopefully until her dying day, undisturbed and undiscovered.
Just go.
Go where?
Anywhere but here.
There was a map of the U.S. hanging in the living room and Trish gazed over at it, her eyes roaming from state to state, wondering how to pick one. Well, any one but California, Maine or Colorado, obviously.
For a moment, she toyed with the idea of going to Montana and staying with Cara until she got back on her feet. Her friend and fellow former porn star had made the offer over and over, most recently just an hour ago… but Trish was hesitating and she knew why she was doing that.
She wanted a fresh start, somewhere new and surrounded by people she didn’t know. Cara was lovely and a good friend – but she was also a part of Trish’s past, a part of her time as Thalia Flame and as such, she was a constant reminder, a relentless echo.
Trish longed to forget, she ached for silence. And that meant going it alone.
She got to her bare feet now, ambled over to the large map. She narrowed her eyes at it as if taking aim, turned her back on it while squeezing the eraser in her hand. Then – in a sudden movement and without even looking – she turned and threw the eraser at the map totally at random.
It hit smack in the middle of Kentucky and bounced onto the floor.
Keegan (Wounded Hero Book 1) Page 28
