The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  Smiling, she looked at Darya and said, “Thank you.” She clutched the picture to her and stood, holding her hand out.

  Rori knew the girl probably couldn’t understand her. But she set the drawing on the counter and asked if Darya wanted her to braid her hair. She motioned, then acted like she was doing it on the girl’s head.

  Darya frowned, then her expression cleared and she nodded.

  Rori picked her up and set her on the counter, facing the mirror.

  She picked up the detangling comb they used on the little girl. With her hair, tangles were inevitable. She grabbed the bottle of spritzy stuff one of the aunts had left yesterday. Maybe it was Taylor? Yeah, the redhead.

  Rori carefully combed the little girl’s hair. So soft, and an image popped into her head.

  Sitting just like this, in one foster home, the lady carefully combing her own hair, laughing at something.

  Mrs. Rittlebaum. Rori smiled at the memory. They’d been nice enough, but the husband had died unexpectedly and the kids had been put back in the system.

  Not perfect by any means. Her next home had been hell.

  Shaking off the thoughts, she focused on the hair in front of her.

  It was too quiet in here. One thing, these Kinncaids knew how to keep guests happy. There were stereos in the bathrooms.

  She clicked the radio on and found a country station. She loved country music and this was a George Strait.

  Rori hummed along with the cowboy and then sang the song with him about a man bemoaning the fact his woman had left him.

  She missed a word and her voice faltered. Darya giggled.

  Rori smiled at her and parted her hair, braiding it. So soft. The girl had gorgeous hair, down past her shoulders and full of curls that so many women paid money for.

  As she got to the end of the braid, smaller and smaller, she stopped and dug through the vanity draws until she found a band to put around it. She wondered where they’d come from, but since they’d been here, housekeeping and hotel staff, once cleared, had been in and out bringing packages, food, clothing, more stuff than she could keep track of.

  Looking in the mirror, she wiped both palms along the sides of the girl’s hair, smoothing the flyaways. Without thinking, she placed a kiss on top of the girl’s head.

  Darya frowned.

  Rori frowned, then shook her head. Cute kid, nothing more.

  She helped Darya off the counter and they went to the girl’s room and chose an outfit to wear. In five minutes both were ready to go.

  • • •

  5:04 p.m.

  The sun was setting as they drove through the late afternoon traffic out of D.C. and into the suburbs. Concrete and rising buildings gave way to newer sprawling shopping complexes and discount stores. Homes and housing units.

  He’d spent the day talking to Pete, going over intel report after intel report. Three raids were set up on brothels by several tasks forces thanks to what he knew. Maybe they’d free some girls without anyone getting killed.

  Between what he’d seen and what he knew, what Pete knew, and then after lunch, when John joined them, they’d been able to see how large Elianya’s operation really was. Or what they knew of it.

  Right now, it seemed her newest operation was child porn hidden behind the innocent image of overseas adoptions.

  It made him sick. They handed the tape they’d confiscated from the town house to Pete. He’d had to watch it again.

  The big pale man, raping the young girl, finally squeezing the life out of her, and he knew Darya had seen that.

  Those large male hands hurting that girl.

  That girl.

  Zoy. The image looked so much like Darya for several moments in the viewing room, he couldn’t freaking breathe, felt the ice prickle over his skin, swallowed by the heat, and thought his head would explode.

  God.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he glanced in the back and saw Darya sleeping against the side of the large car seat, her chin resting against the shoulder harness. She clutched the bear tightly in her hands. She hadn’t had any more nightmares again last night. Just that first one. Thankfully the memories left her alone after that. It seemed the girl had nightmares every night.

  He wanted to buy her more gifts. Clothes, toys. Most of all, he wanted to show her life could hold laughter.

  Wasn’t that ironic. He who never laughed wanted to teach the concept of happiness to a child.

  God, he needed help.

  Over an hour later, they were only minutes from his parents. His parents had gone home yesterday, finally. He loved his parents, really, but it had been so long since he’d had any contact with them, he found himself trying to read them. Read the questions in their eyes they weren’t asking, or why they were asking, and tired of the endless questions they did ask of his past.

  The boys had gone home with their wives, and their selective guards. John was watching Aiden and Jesslyn since he’d watched them before. Snake was with Gavin and Taylor, and both Tanner and Roth were with his parents at the family mansion. Since Brayden and Christian still lived there half the time along with Tori, he figured they could use two guards.

  He and Rori drove the Mercedes. A dark unmarked car drove behind them with two more guards. Personally, he thought it was overdone, but Pete was stubborn.

  Fine, so was he.

  “Did she get anything today?” he asked into the silence.

  Rori jerked and looked over at him, her profile tinged green from the dash lights. “Not at first. She put back everything I handed her.” She frowned. “I think I need to learn to speak Russian.”

  He grinned. “I’ll teach you.”

  She muttered something under her breath. “But she finally picked out some drawing paper and crayons. I didn’t know what to get so she’s now set to draw whatever the hell she wants with any instrument known to children.”

  “Good.” He patted his breast pocket and took out a cigarette, cracking the window.

  “You know,” she said. “You really shouldn’t smoke. Secondhand smoke isn’t healthy for her, and even if she doesn’t directly breathe it, the allergens on your clothing can cause allergies later in her life.”

  He narrowed his eyes on the road. God, he wanted a damn cigarette. Fine.

  He tossed the unlit cig out the window and crammed the rest of the pack under the seat, feeling the butt of the other gun he’d shoved there.

  Pete had let him take a few other things with him as well, and they were in the backseat in the black duffel.

  His cell phone rang. Grabbing it, he noted it was Aiden’s home number.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’re always so cheerful when you answer the phone,” Aiden said.

  Ian took a deep breath. His family was going to take some getting used to. Like acclimating to a new location.

  “What?” he asked again.

  “Where are you?”

  He glanced at the next mile marker and told Aiden, “About five minutes from your house.”

  “Good, then we’ll leave. The mood Mom and Dad’s been in, we really don’t care to spend any more time with them than we have to.”

  “Add it to the list,” he said, thinking of his screwups where his family was concerned.

  “List?” Aiden asked.

  “Never mind.”

  “See you at dinner.”

  “Aiden,” he said and shifted lanes, “will everyone be there?”

  “Far as I know. Gavin’s already phoned, he’s going to be late, but Taylor and Ryan are already at Mom and Dad’s. Brayden and Christian are not too far behind you.”

  Ian grunted and hung up the phone.

  He drove on in silence and thought about the tension he was causing between his parents. He hadn’t meant to. He’d never told anyone why he’d left. Never hinted to Aiden why he’d never come home, no matter how many times his brother asked him.

  Well, nothing could be changed. He’d just have to
live with it.

  Rori leaned over and turned the radio on, flipping through the channels until she clicked on a country song.

  “No, too hip-hop. Don’t like them.” She clicked on, seemingly going to a certain station as she passed over several he remembered listening to.

  Slow, waltzing notes twanged through the car as the man sang of lost love. Rori smiled and settled back in her seat. She hummed the tune, one he’d never heard, but then he wasn’t a big country fan, and then softly sang.

  He listened more to her than he did the male vocalist. Learn something new . . .

  She was a bit off-key. He looked at her and grinned.

  “What?” she asked, her voice the normal clipped syllables.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Just enjoying listening to you.”

  She settled back and hummed again.

  As they passed Aiden’s turnoff, he saw headlights down the driveway heading toward the highway. How in the hell Aiden could live this close was beyond him. Never could he live right here next to Mom and Jock. It would drive him up the wall.

  A few minutes later, he slowed and turned into the long drive. Lighted windows winked through the trees from the house. They passed through the gates and he realized he could get Pete to put some guards out here.

  “I don’t understand you when I see where you came from,” she muttered.

  “What’s to understand? I’m still the same person I was when you met me.” Their tires crunched along the drive as they slowly drove up to the house. The car’s headlights behind them cut through the trees and something glinted. He looked but saw nothing. Something prickled along the back of his neck.

  The turn slid his phone off the console and onto the floor at his feet. He slowed even more, almost to the circular drive, and reached down to get his phone.

  His window shattered and something thunked into the dashboard.

  “Jesus. Stay down,” Rori said, pulling her gun free.

  He grabbed the gun wedged between the seat and console. Another shot shattered the back window.

  “Darya,” he said, jerking the wheel, and floored the car toward the house.

  He burst through the hedge, branches screeching down the side of the car, and hoped to hell no one stood in the yard. Rori scrambled over the front seat into the back and unbuckled Darya, covering her on the floorboard. He thought about driving around to the back. But Aiden . . . Who knew if there were more.

  Checking his rearview mirror, he saw the car behind them blocked the driveway.

  Another car pulled in behind that one, the headlights clearly belonging to an SUV.

  Shit.

  Aiden.

  His phone rang.

  “What the hell’s going on?” John asked.

  “Get them out of here. Get them out now—”

  The windshield exploded.

  “Goddamn it.” He slid over the console onto the passenger’s floorboard. “Rori! Is Darya hit? Is she all right?”

  “No, I don’t think she was hit.”

  He took a deep breath. He had to think. Who knew he was coming here? His family, their guards, and Pete.

  Damn it.

  “Rori, hand me the bag. Better yet, get me the damn goggles.”

  John was still yelling at him through the phone. He scanned the trees, but saw nothing.

  Shots peppered across the hood. God, if they hit the gas tank.

  “We’re fucking sitting ducks,” Rori muttered. “He’ll go for the petrol tank next.”

  Weighing his options, he said, “Cover Darya and your ears.”

  He punched out the interior light above him and shot the one in the back.

  “That was helpful,” Rori muttered.

  “What the hell was that?” John asked.

  “Interior lights. We can’t sit here. You know that.”

  Bastard was playing with them. Just waiting.

  “Rifle shots. How many do you think?” Rori asked.

  “Ian!” John yelled.

  Fuck. “Where the hell are our guards? I’ve got to get Darya and Rori out of here!”

  John was barking something in the background. “I’ve called Pete. I don’t know what the bloody hell—thanks, Aiden.”

  “I told you to get them home.”

  “I will.”

  Damn it.

  More shots ripped across the hood. Darya screamed.

  “On three, I’m opening the door and we’re going to try for the house,” he said.

  “All right.”

  “One. You’ve got my goggles?”

  “Yeah, and the rest of the bag with the ammo.”

  “Good. Toss it here and get her.”

  She slid the bag to him. He slung it over his arm. “Two.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “Three,” they both said and shoved their doors open, scrambling out of the car. The lighted windows from the house slashed across the lawn.

  Ian grabbed Rori’s hand and ran. He felt her jerk, slip from his grasp.

  He whirled to make certain they were both behind him.

  He heard the impact of the bullet before the world exploded.

  Chapter 18

  7:39 p.m.

  Fire trucks and ambulances littered the driveway of the Kinncaid home in Seneca, Maryland.

  Ian paced inside.

  He remembered the explosion, but more, the gut-wrenching fear that he’d failed them.

  Rori sat on the sofa holding Darya. As he walked to them one of the cops asked him another question.

  “Why do you have bodyguards, Mr. Kinncaid?” one of the detectives asked.

  He ignored the question as he had the others. He’d evaded answering the policeman’s questions and the paramedics, the fire chief.

  Until Pete Jones walked in—let that bastard clean up the mess.

  Pain slashed ruthlessly through his head. Darya’s hand sported a bandage, as did Rori’s back, where a flying piece of metal scraped her. The paramedics wanted to take them all to the local hospital.

  He wasn’t that fucking stupid. They all declined medical attention.

  The windows nearest the wreckage on the east lawn were gone. Luckily no one was in those rooms.

  Everyone was now here, in the living room. Jesslyn clutched the toddler twins to her as if something would happen to them if she let them go.

  He knew the feeling. He reached down and picked Darya up, closing his eyes as her arms came around him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. God, those moments. He took a deep breath and gently set her back beside Rori.

  The woman had to be in pain, he could see it in her eyes, but she refused to go upstairs. Not that he could blame her. He cupped her face and ran his thumb over her cheek. “You should be upstairs in the shower or lying down.”

  She snorted and grinned at him. “I’ve had worse. Besides, we both know this is going to be a bloody long night.”

  Too true.

  Three of his men were out in the woods—Tanner, Roth, and John—and the locals were not at all happy about that. Snake should be arriving with Gavin any minute.

  What if the bastards had gone for the house? He looked again at Darya, who no longer had her bear. He’d have to get her another one. She picked on the blanket Rori tossed around her small shoulders. Her blue eyes met his.

  God, what if . . .

  Shaking off the thought, he turned and paced back to the window.

  Everyone talked in hushed whispers.

  The night rotated. Red. Blue. White. Red. Blue. White.

  Where the hell was the bastard?

  The woods beyond were dark, as they had been after arriving. He knew his three men wore night-vision goggles and were scouring the area for any sign of whoever it was that wanted them gone.

  He looked over his shoulder, and for a moment his eyes met his father’s, but then he moved on and zeroed in on Pete.

  • • •

  Jock looked across the living room. Kaitlyn was talk
ing to Taylor, who looked ready to pop. Pregnant women didn’t need this kind of excitement. Ryan stood beside her, more quiet than normal, his other hand holding Tori’s. Those two were practically inseparable.

  Both Brayden and Gavin had called, pissed because the road was blocked, but . . .

  He looked into the entryway, where policemen gathered and talked to the men in suits who were quickly filing past.

  Brayden, holding Christian’s hand, and Gavin both shoved through the crowd, scanning the living room until they found who they wanted.

  Jock knew he’d have that frantic look in his eyes as well if he’d been told something happened but had no idea what.

  He hated, hated things like this. This was his home, and he still had not a fucking clue what the hell was going on.

  They’d been in the back family room when an explosion had rocked the house, breaking glass.

  When they’d hurried into the front entryway, it was to see Ian and his family scattered on the lawn, a car on fire, and men with guns firing into the trees and hurrying to them.

  For a moment, his heart froze in his chest. That fear that there lay one of his children dead . . .

  He took a deep breath and rubbed his chest. He never wanted to see that again.

  Kaitlyn had come up behind him and then flown out the door, but their guards, Tanner and Roth, had jerked them back, not letting either him or his wife leave.

  Tanner, brave lad, had picked Kaitlyn up and hurriedly got them both into the bathroom near the bottom of the stairs.

  Tanner had stayed with them and Roth had run back out front, barking into some sort of radio device, a gun in his hand.

  Up until that point, Jock had thought it was all on the dramatic side. Ian pulling some prank or stunt like he had as a boy.

  But this . . .

  He shook his head and watched his son. Arms crossed over his chest, he watched a man who stood talking to one of the policemen.

  There was no boy before him in the man who stood at the window glaring across the way at a man with salt-and-pepper hair, a shoulder harness strapped to his muscled frame.

  If Jock Kinncaid had met this Ian Kinncaid on the street, he would never have recognized him.