by Jaycee Clark
If anyone looked at a large man carrying a woman in his arms across the lobby of the hotel and out the front doors, Brayden didn’t notice. At the long black car, Aiden held up a little white bag. “Laurence gave me this. Painkillers and a new inhaler.” He tossed it into the interior of the limo, then said something to their driver, Tom, while Brayden maneuvered them both into the car without releasing Christian.
Doors shut and the car pulled away from the hotel. Brayden held Christian in his arms as the lights of D.C. slid past their windows.
She was burrowed into him. At a light, he leaned over and retrieved a bottle of ginger ale. Without moving her, he jostled one of the white oblong pills out.
“Here, baby. You need this.”
“Can-can’t. Doctor said four hours. Drugs in my system. Concussion.”
Why in the hell wasn’t she in the hospital?
“You should be at Sibly.”
“No!” Her hand shook as it covered his with the pill. “Please. I hate those places. Please.”
“Okay. Okay, whatever you want.” Since Mom was a doctor and so was Gavin and he figured they were both out at the house, he wouldn’t press her.
He put the pill back in its bottle and held the ginger ale up to her lips and watched as she took a drink. Pulling back, hissing, her tongue darted out to lick the cut on her lip.
“He knows, he knows everything,” she murmured, curling up in his lap.
“It doesn’t matter.” Brayden held her close, yet loosely. “It doesn’t matter. He’s never getting near you again.”
Let the bastard come. Brayden wanted the man. Wanted to rip the monster apart piece by slow piece. It didn’t matter how damn long it took. One day, he’d find the son of a bitch, and when he did, he’d make the bastard beg for mercy long and hard before he finished with him.
No one, but no one hurt the woman he loved and got away with it.
Chapter 9
Aiden Kinncaid, the eldest of his brothers, tapped the steering wheel and waited for his phone to ring. He’d left in front of the limo, driving Brayden’s Hummer.
Come on, Ian, call.
Ian Kinncaid was their disowned brother, though still for reasons unknown to Aiden. As far as most knew, Ian had no contact with the family. But Aiden knew differently, and had for years. There was a number to call when things came up. Never names given, at least not until Ian called back.
Aiden didn’t ask exactly what his brother did; he figured he was probably better off not knowing. But he had a feeling, maybe something in the government, or even, God forbid, as a mercenary. Occupation aside, Ian was a Kinncaid, and Kinncaids stuck together.
The phone rang. Aiden jabbed the TALK button and spoke into the hands-free headset while he maneuvered through traffic heading out of D.C.
“Yeah.”
“What the hell is going on now?” Ian’s resigned voice asked.
“It’s pretty bad,” he told him, taking the Seneca exit.
“What? Who? Dad?”
“No, Christian.” Aiden sighed, ground his teeth. “Someone broke into her condo and tried to rape her.”
“What?” Ian asked.
He took a deep breath. “Some son of a bitch almost raped our sister.”
Ian cursed. At first Aiden heard French expletives, but then he thought there might have been German and Russian thrown in. The last of the obscenities was muffled and beyond him.
“Explain,” Ian said, his voice different, cold and hard.
“I don’t know that I can explain. She’s been acting off lately. None of us thought much of it, what with her and Brayden’s . . .” How to explain that one? “Relationship thing.”
Trees were a darkened blur on the roadside. Headlights came and whizzed past.
“Anyway, she’s been getting some strange phone calls. I don’t know what all went on, but apparently the guy . . .” He bit down.
“Is she okay? I mean, he didn’t . . .”
“No, she’s not okay, he roughed her up pretty bad. Granted, it could have been worse.” He flicked on the blinker and turned into his parents’ drive. “Then the bastard called the hotel room. Left a message. All hell broke loose. I’ve never seen Bray like this. Not even with the Fisher incident.” And that had been bad. For over a day they couldn’t find Tori or her cousin Ryan when they’d been kidnapped. Brayden and Gavin, the twins, had been beside themselves trying to find their kids.
A sigh came over the phone. “Tell him I’ll call. I need some more details. I’ll call in the morning, or later tonight. Hell, I don’t know. I’ll be in touch.”
“Ian, he wants this guy found.” Aiden pulled to a stop in the drive and checked the rearview. It wouldn’t be long before Brayden and Christian got here.
A harsh chuckle spiked through the earpiece. “Oh, I’ll find him.” Ian’s voice held no quarter of doubt. “I’ll find him.”
With that, the line went dead in his ear. The front door stood open and light flooded out, outlining his mother and father.
How the hell was he going to explain this? He’d called Gavin’s cell earlier so he wouldn’t have to risk Mom or Dad answering the phone. At least one doctor of the family, Gavin, was still here, though his brother had had Taylor take the kids home with her. He had no idea if his own wife, Jesslyn, was still there with the twins or if she went home.
Wearily, he climbed from Brayden’s Hummer.
Kaitlyn Kinncaid watched as Brayden’s SUV parked in the circle drive. Her heart thumped against her ribs, and Jock’s hands on her shoulders were a comfort.
“Something’s wrong. Something is very, very wrong,” she whispered.
Jock squeezed her shoulders. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
At least they were home. She waited, but only one person got out . . .
Aiden. Why was Aiden alone?
Her heart skipped, her stomach twisted, and suddenly she didn’t want to know . . .
His shoes echoed against the stones as he walked up the walk. When he stood close enough, he leaned down and wrapped her in a hug.
“Wh—” She cleared her throat and pulled back. “What’s going on? Where’s Brayden? Where’s Christian?”
He motioned them inside and she got a good look at his face. Harsh, pulled tight, and she knew then whatever it was, was bad. He hadn’t looked like that since Colorado.
“Aiden?”
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I need to tell you all something. Brayden and Christian will be here in a bit and you need to know before they get here.”
Without another word, he turned and walked to the living room.
Jock gave her shoulder another squeeze and muttered, “Why they can never just spit it out is beyond me.”
• • •
The car pulled to a stop in front of the family mansion. Brayden climbed from the car and leaned down, reaching toward her.
Christian shook her head. “No, I’ll walk. I want to walk.”
With his hand on her elbow, he helped her up. She really wished she’d taken the Percocet. Pain pulsed through her body. Letting out a long shallow breath, she grabbed his arm and stared at the lighted house before them. She didn’t want to go in. She didn’t want them to see her like this.
“They’re worried, and will be more so since Aiden came on ahead. They’ll need to see you’re all right,” Brayden said, his voice deep and soft, reading her thoughts.
He was right, but it still didn’t change the fact she wanted to curl up under a mound of covers in a dark room and sleep for a long, long time. Just forget. Pretend it was months ago and life was fine. Pretend it was yesterday morning and do everything over, but she couldn’t.
Finally, she nodded and let him help her along the walk. The night air was cold around them, their breaths clouding in the dark air. By the time they reached the front door, she was trembling. Neither of them had on a coat. Why didn’t Brayden have one? She had to ask him. Some part of her mind told her it didn’t matter, like her b
oots. But she kept focusing on little, unimportant things that suddenly loomed to monumental proportions.
With one hand he opened the door and helped her inside, quietly shutting it behind him. The soft click of the latch seemed to thunder in the silent entryway.
She could hear voices from the living room. Brayden, one arm gently wrapped around her back, walked her along, but she stopped.
“I—I can’t.”
Damn the tears, she could feel them sliding down her cheek. She started to reach up, but Brayden cupped her face, his thumb brushing the wet trail away.
“I’ll be with you.”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
Together they walked down the hallway to see their family.
• • •
Brayden eased her down on the couch. The sky outside blushed with the promise of dawn. Carefully, he tucked the thick blanket around her and stood, simply staring at her.
With one hand, he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. The rage he’d felt all night bit at his controlled temper.
Quietly, he looked up. His mother stood in the doorway with a cup of coffee.
“I thought you might have talked her into lying down,” she whispered as he came closer.
Brayden shook his head. No, Christian had been terrified at the mere mention of lying on a bed. So he’d held her all night on the couch. Tried to calm her and himself as thoughts and images ricocheted through his mind.
His mother sniffled and wiped a tear from her swollen eyes. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“Will you watch her for a minute?” he asked. “There’s something I need to do.”
She nodded and gave him a smile. “Beat the hell out of it.”
His mother knew him too well. Without a backward glance, he left his living room and headed to the private gym at the back of the house.
He didn’t change, he simply ripped his shirt from his pants and tossed it to the side. Nor did he bother to grab a pair of gloves. All he saw was the punching bag, and when he looked at the black leather, all he saw was some faceless bastard. Christian scared, Christian crying, Christian beaten and helpless.
Fury roared through him and he let it loose. His punches sent the heavy bag rolling and spinning and he pummeled it time after time.
Suspicions danced in his head, as they had all night.
She is mine, Mr. Kinncaid. Mine. She always has been and she always will be. I’ll kill her before I let anyone else have her.
Harder and harder, faster and faster. Thump, swing, thump, swing.
. . . Such a luscious body you still have. Still have . . .
He stopped, catching the swinging heavy bag.
. . . always has been . . . still have . . .
The bastard knew her. He knew her, or thought he did.
Muttered voices finally pierced the black-edged cloud that blinded him to all but his fist connecting with a solid object.
He whirled, his chest heaving, his hands fisted at his sides.
All three of his brothers stood in the doorway staring at him. Aiden obviously decided to brave the wrath and stepped further into the workout room.
The other two followed, and Gavin shut the door.
“We were trying to decide which one of us should be stupid enough to draw your attention,” Aiden volunteered. “Quin and I thought it should be Gavin. I mean, with his face identical to your own, you might halt before you reared back and knocked him flat.”
“I told them that never stopped you before,” Gavin quipped.
Brayden didn’t give a shit why they were here. Sweat ran down his back and chest.
He looked down and saw blood on his knuckles and hands.
“How long have you been knocking that thing around?” Gavin asked, coming closer and reaching for one of his hands.
Brayden jerked it back. “Not long enough.”
“Did you break anything?”
He shook his head at his twin. “Always the doctor.” Flexing his fingers, he winced at the pain that was beginning to spread. “No, they’re fine.”
Quinlan handed him a towel.
“What do you want?” he asked without preamble.
“Hell if I know,” Quinlan said. “These two knocked on my door and told me to get my ass down here. As the youngest, I’ve learned to please or face the consequences.”
Brayden glanced at his watch. Damn, he’d been down here for almost an hour. “Is Christian awake?”
“No.” Aiden, dressed in what looked like fresh clean clothes, lounged on one of the workout benches. “We need to talk. And let little bro here in on some things.”
Bray huffed out a breath and collapsed in a chair, which sat against one of the many mirrors in the room. Raking his hands through his wet hair, he looked back up at Aiden and asked, “Did you get hold of him?”
“Who?” Quinlan asked.
Months before when Tori and Ryan had been kidnapped, Brayden and Gavin had learned the value of their absent brother, Ian, and his shadowed life. Brayden still didn’t know what to think about his mysterious brother. The man had a way of solving problems and finding out information. Brayden didn’t care what tactics Ian used as long as he found out what Brayden wanted to know.
And all he needed was a man’s name.
He listened while Aiden filled Quinlan in on their secret, making him swear not to tell Mom and Dad. No one outside the room knew about Ian or any contact any of them had or didn’t have with the black sheep of the family. As far as society and their parents were concerned, Ian had left years before without a glance behind or a word to any of them. Brayden figured it was probably wise to keep it that way.
Questions were answered and Quinlan fell into a brooding silence, for Brayden knew the look on his youngest brother’s face.
Brayden asked Aiden again, “Did you reach him?”
“Ian said he’d call you, or me. Either way he’d be in touch, probably sometime today. He needed some details. Which brings me to topic number two.” Aiden leaned forward, his elbows resting on the end of the bench. “Are the cops coming today?”
Brayden nodded. “Yeah. Becky said Morris called last night and they’ll be here around nine to talk to Christian again. We didn’t exactly finish last night.”
“Okay,” Aiden said. “Listen carefully. Try, if you can, to remember everything she says. Ian, I have a feeling, will be in grilling mode. He was rather pissed.”
Brayden was well accustomed to the feeling. After a few minutes he rose. “Do you think . . .” He stopped, twisted the towel between his hands.
“What?” two voices asked at the same time.
“That phone call, last night.” Bray turned and looked at his eldest brother. “Did you catch what the man said?”
Aiden held his stare, arching a brow. “I wondered if you caught that. And if you did, then chances are Morris did too.”
Quinlan nodded. “He knows her.”
“What the hell are you all talking about?” Gavin asked, at a loss.
Aiden quickly explained how the caller last night spoke as if he’d known Christian for a while.
“Or maybe he just thinks he knows her,” Brayden muttered.
Silence settled around them. Finally, Aiden cleared his throat. “As much as I hate to be the one to say this, we really don’t know that much about Christian. She didn’t want to talk about her past and we never pushed it.”
Abruptly, Brayden tossed the towel away and said, “I’m going to take a shower. I don’t want to be away from Christian for too long.”
As he got to the door, he heard Quinlan ask, “Exactly what does Ian do?”
Aiden chuckled. “I’ve never asked, and I don’t intend to. I’d advise you of the same.”
• • •
Christian sat in the living room on the couch. Everyone, save Brayden, was scattered around the house somewhere and not present.
The cops were here and she was supposed to answer questions. Gabe Morris seemed more ten
se than normal, but then again, what did she know about tension. Let alone normalcy.
“All right,” Emma Laurence said. “We got a bit into this last night before the phone call. We have no way of knowing where it came from, the conversation was too short. Gabe mentioned this man had called you at your residence night before last while Gabe was there.”
She nodded. “I sort of threw the phone and base and parts scattered everywhere. Sorry.”
“No problem. We just like to lay out a schedule, a timeline. And if we had a copy of that recording, we could match the voices.”
Her voice was straight and to the point, yet calm all the same.
“You mean,” Christian asked, “if you find this guy, if you get him to talk, you can match that person to the person who called last night?”
“The one who attacked you, yes.”
Another nail in the bastard’s coffin. She had some of her own. But those might take time. For now, she would give what she could.
“All right, do you want to start at the beginning again, or would you rather pick up where we left off?” Laurence asked.
“I want her to start at the beginning,” Lieutenant Morris interrupted. “She might have remembered something and doesn’t even realize it until she says it aloud.”
Or she could screw up. What had she said last night? She couldn’t really remember. Then again, what she did remember was garbled and hazy at best.
Rubbing her forehead, she nodded and again started from when she came home.
As the events unfolded, Brayden stood and walked to the window. His arms crossed. From here, she could see the tightened cords in his neck shift and bunch, the jump of muscle in his jaw.
Laurence said, “So when you awoke you still didn’t see him?”
She shook her head. “No, my head hurt and I was trying to figure out what had happened, where I was.” She remembered his voice, teasing, calm and daring. She rubbed her hands over her arms. “Then I-I heard him. He grabbed my hair and kissed me. I tried to pull away and that’s when . . .” She trailed off.
“That’s when what?” Laurence prompted.
