by Tami Lund
Chapter Twelve
“Sorry to ruin your Thanksgiving dinner,” Richard said.
Maecie didn’t respond. She stared straight ahead, her hands curled into fists resting on her thighs. She wasn’t even really seeing the scenery as it flew by. For once, she wasn’t interested in making small talk.
Her thoughts were all focused on one person.
Philip.
He’d hoodwinked her, completely and entirely and oh so impressively. Okay, so he hadn’t been a kidnapper.
But he had been a liar.
And she’d fallen for his scheme, hook, line, and sinker.
She was such a fool.
Such. A. Fool.
Hell, she’d hit on him. She’d kissed him. She’d encouraged him. And she’d liked it. A lot.
Too much.
She’d imagined all sorts of things she shouldn’t have considered, like a future together.
But she’d done it.
Because she’d believed him. Believed he was sincere. Believed he cared.
His family had invited her to a private, relatives-only, destination wedding, for God’s sake.
What an elaborate scheme, just to get her to lie low for a few days until the feds were ready to pick her up.
“You’ve done your part. Now let me do mine.”
That’s what the guy sitting next to her in this ancient Jeep Cherokee had said.
“That bit about the handcuffs, I was just kidding. Just messing around.”
He’d said something about handcuffs? She couldn’t even remember, and it happened less than five minutes ago.
Finally, apparently unable to not speak after all, she turned to him and said, “What do you honestly think I’m going to be able to tell you?”
“You can start with the coat.”
“Huh?”
He quickly glanced her way before focusing on the road again. “Frank Charles’s coat. Where is it?”
Frank’s coat? Why was he so concerned over Frank’s coat? “I have no idea.” And then she remembered. She’d been holding it when all hell broke loose at the salon. She’d put it on in Philip’s truck, and he’d freaked, had all but torn it from her shoulders and tossed it out the window.
She was about to tell him as much when he snapped, “Well, someone does. He was wearing it when he entered that salon. And now it’s missing. So where the hell is it?”
“Why is it so important?” she asked.
Richard gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “There was something in the pocket. Something important.”
Something in the pocket? She recalled the Play-Doh-like brick she’d found. When Philip saw it, he’d damn near driven off the road.
“Why is it so important?”
Richard gave her another swift glance. “You sure are asking a lot of questions.”
She shrugged. “Nature of my job, I’m afraid. Everybody loves a chatty hairstylist.” She held her breath, hoping he bought it. It was true, of course, but she was certainly asking for details about something that had him really worked up.
Like Philip when she showed him the small, black brick.
This is part of an explosive.
He works with pyrotechnics.
This isn’t the legal kind of pyro.
“That’s actually why I figured you’d be the perfect second-string patsy,” Richard said with a touch of smugness.
“What do you mean?”
“Just tell me where the brick is.”
“What brick?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Maecie. I’m not in the mood. I had to sleep in my goddamn car last night because I was afraid I might miss something, once I figured out that was Philip’s brother’s place.” He stabbed his thumb over his shoulder.
“I’m not fucking with you. Seriously, I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Oh really? Then why the hell did you leave the scene of a shooting? Without telling anyone. Or contacting the police at any point. People who are clueless about criminal behavior do not do that.”
“Actually, I’ve watched lots of crime shows where they do because they’re scared and don’t know what to do or who to trust.”
Like right now. She was beginning to wonder if she could trust this guy. He claimed to be with the ATF and Philip seemed to know him, but he sure wasn’t acting like one of the good guys. He was way too nervous.
But why?
Richard made a noise, not unlike an animal growling. “Just tell me where the hell the brick is.”
“The brick?”
He slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “The fucking explosive. I know you took it. It was in the goddamn coat. I watched that fucker walk into that salon with the coat on, and he wasn’t wearing it when he was shot. And we did a thorough search. It wasn’t on the premises. Which means someone took it with them when they left. And the only people who left were you and Philip. So either you have it or he does.”
“You saw him walk into the salon?” she repeated, staring at him. “And you saw him get shot?” According to Philip, the people who shot Frank had done a piss-poor job of impersonating the FBI. How had someone like Richard, who actually worked for the government, not realized that if he had been staking out the place?
And why had he assigned Philip to watch Frank if he was doing it himself? None of this made sense.
“Why?” Maecie asked.
“Why what?” Richard’s gaze darted every which way, like he was worried about something. Being followed, maybe?
“Why do you need to pin this crime on Frank Charles so badly?”
He narrowed his eyes and gave her a quick glare. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I really don’t,” Maecie agreed. “I don’t know anything about explosives, except what little Frank mentioned in passing. And to be honest, he didn’t talk much about work when he was sitting in my chair. He talked about his kids and his grandkids. Who, by the way, just lost their father-slash-grandfather. A man who, according to Philip, is innocent of all wrongdoing. And yet, you’re still harping on this idea that he’s, what? A terrorist? And the only proof you have—apparently—is a small, black brick that’s actually an explosive that’s apparently in Frank’s coat pocket.”
He abruptly pulled over onto the shoulder and slammed on the brakes so hard, Maecie would have gone through the windshield if she hadn’t been wearing her seat belt.
“I never said the brick was black.”
Shit.
Luckily, Maecie worked well under pressure. She let her gut instinct take over, and it screamed, run!
She snapped the seat belt holder, freeing herself. Richard lunged, but he was restrained by his own belt. With a little shriek, she grabbed the door handle, jerked it up, and practically fell out of the SUV.
Scrambling to her feet, she ran, first toward the ditch running along the side of the road, and then she realized that she and Philip had driven down this street from his house, which was to her left, but his brother’s house was to her right, and it was definitely closer at this point.
So she crossed the two-lane road and ran into the trees, guessing that the lake was this way. All she had to do was find the water and run along the shoreline until she was back at Tommy’s house, where someone could call 9-1-1.
Richard had obviously clamored out of the SUV as well, because she could hear him, pounding across the half-frozen ground, shouting at her to stop running.
Hell no, she wasn’t going to stop. Not until she was far, far away from him. Even if he was who he claimed to be, well, she was going to need a whole lot of proof. Preferably in a public location with lots of armed people around them who she trusted to have her best interests at heart. Until then, she was running like her life depended on it.
She crashed through the ice crust at the shoreline before she realized she’d reached the lake. Quickly, she backed up so that both feet were firmly on sand, and then she started running again, toward the lights she could see in the distance
. Several times she hit icy water again, which sucked because breaking through the ice was noisy and was probably making it easier for Richard to follow her.
Problem was, it was overcast, and there were trees everywhere. The light was so dim it might as well have been twilight, and she was trying to focus on running fast rather than exactly where she was going, so she kept miscalculating and getting too close to the water’s edge.
By the fourth time, she felt the wetness seeping through her boots, which were not remotely meant for this sort of activity. These babies were strictly for looking good. No doubt they were going to need to be replaced now. Of course, if she made it through this ordeal, a heavy dose of retail therapy would be the perfect way to recuperate.
She came upon a thicket of bushes she couldn’t run through. They stretched all the way to the water’s edge, which meant she either took her chances on how deep the drink was or went around them the other way, and she had no idea how far away from the water she’d have to go. Without the lake to guide her, she’d be running blind.
She heard the sound behind her just as she was about to take her chance on the icy depths. Before she could get around the bushes, though, she was tackled, slamming face-first into the sand.
And then she was rolled over onto her back, her hands grabbed and shoved above her head. “Don’t you dare run away from me,” Richard snarled, spittle splattering the sand covering her face. She winced, partially because there were grains in her eyes but also because of the saliva hitting her.
Gross!
“You just sealed your fate, lady,” the guy said, his voice practically a growl.
And she was really afraid of what he meant by sealing her fate.
“All I needed was that fucking brick so I could set up Frank James and settle my debts and get on with my life. But you know what? Screw that. I’m going to make sure you go down for this. Do you hear me?”
He gave her a shake that knocked her head against the hard, damp sand.
“I’m going to set you up and send you to prison. That’s right. If you’d just cooperated, you would have been home by midnight. Now? I’m gonna make sure you don’t get to see your home for twenty year—ompf!”
Richard went sailing, shoved a good five feet before he landed, another person on top of him. She blinked rapidly and wiped sand and spit off her face.
“Philip?”
Without glancing at her, he flipped Richard onto his stomach and made quick work of securing his arms behind his back. “Thanks for the use of your handcuffs.”
Somebody reached down and helped her to stand. “Uh-huh,” the person said. “Took him about two seconds to realize he’d made a mistake by letting you go with that guy.”
Maecie looked up at the person helping to keep her steady on her feet. “Tommy?”
He grinned. “Yep. Elliot and Kyle are here, too.” He nodded at his brothers, who were hovering behind him. “We got you. You’re going to be okay.”
“H-how did you find me?”
“Philip got a call from someone who informed him that this asshole”—he pointed at Richard standing a few feet away, his head hanging, his arms behind his back, Philip behind him with his hand latched onto his arm—“was actually the bad guy. So we immediately took off after you. Found the Jeep pulled over to the side of the road with the engine still running. Philip guessed that you’d figured out a way to escape, and he said you’d be smart enough to run toward the water because that would be the quickest way to get back to my house. Pretty cool that you proved him right.”
“Yeah, pretty cool,” she repeated faintly, and then her legs turned into Jell-O and Tommy swept her into his arms instead of letting her drop to the ground.
Chapter Thirteen
It took the cops way too long to get there. Of course, “there” was in the middle of a state park, along a stretch of shoreline that wasn’t easily accessible by motor vehicles. Leave it to Maecie to realize that if she just followed the water, she’d get back to Tommy’s place.
She was fucking brilliant.
And Philip was madly in love with her.
Oh yeah, and she also thought he’d used her for sex while holding her hostage until the government could collect her. How the hell was he going to convince her that wasn’t true?
Actually getting to her, to speak to her privately, would be a nice start.
Unfortunately, investigating federal employees suspected of setting up innocent people to take the fall for crimes they didn’t commit took quite a lot of time. Bonus that the federal employee was likely going to be tried for murder as well. Allegedly, Richard was the one who masterminded the fake FBI raid. Who actually shot Frank Charles was still under investigation, but it was possible Richard did that, too.
Tommy had handed over the explosive Maecie discovered in the pocket of Frank’s coat, and even though it would have both of their prints on it, he was confident they’d pull Richard’s off of it too. The evidence was piling up against his friend—ex-friend—and the guy’s future was definitely looking bleak.
If there could remotely be a silver lining in all of this, it appeared that none of the accomplices in the raid at the salon were actual FBI or ATF employees.
Richard, Philip had learned, had his own connections in the criminal underworld.
It was after three in the morning before he, Tommy, Kyle, Elliot, and Maecie trudged back to Tommy’s place.
The entire household was still awake. Even Grandma Bryant.
“Well, what the heck happened?” she demanded when they walked in and one by one collapsed onto the brown leather couches. Maecie, he noted, sat next to him but didn’t touch him. She hadn’t said anything directly to him since they’d found her and Richard on that beach.
How the hell was he supposed to explain this?
“Just tell them,” Maecie said. “No one is going to condemn you. They’re your family.”
He wanted to hug her or at least reach out his hand and try to twine his fingers with hers, but she’d said it without looking at him, so he guessed she wasn’t quite ready to make up yet. Soon. But first, she was right.
He needed to be honest with his family.
Elliot, who had disappeared into the kitchen, returned carrying bottles of beer in both hands. He passed them out, even to Grandma. And Camila, who normally didn’t drink beer.
After taking a refreshing pull, Philip finally started talking.
“When I left the marines, I planned to apply to the ATF,” he said. “But then I got a contract to be a security guard, and the amount of money being offered was so high, I couldn’t resist it. So I took the job. And that job turned into another. And then another. And pretty soon it was a full-time gig, and I was making way more money than I ever imagined I’d make.”
“And this is significant why?” Tommy wanted to know.
Philip took a deep breath. “Because the guys I worked for, they weren’t, um…”
“Legit?” Grandma guessed.
Philip barked out a laugh. “Yeah, pretty much. Most of them were criminals or, at least, very, very shady.”
He paused, glanced around at his siblings, his parents, his grandmother. Please forgive me for the choices I’ve made.
“Well, that’s some shit,” Grandma Bryant finally piped up, and several people chuckled.
“Were you ever directly involved in any sort of criminal activities?” his mother asked.
He shook his head. “Usually, I played bodyguard to someone’s kids when the parents were worried that whatever shit they were dealing with might put them in danger. Or I was assigned to watch a house or a business where I was pretty sure stolen or illegal goods were being stored.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Even though on TV it seems like those kinds of places are always raided, that’s not actually true. Never once in four years did I run into any sort of trouble while working these various gigs. It’s just, I knew, through overheard conversations, by paying attention to whatever I was gua
rding, or from the kids who knew way more about their parents’ illegal associations than they probably should have, that I was not working with the most ethical of folks. And yet, I never did anything about it.”
“Until now,” Maecie said.
“Yeah, that’s because your life was in danger, and I wasn’t about to let anything happen to you.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. Hopefully, that was a positive sign that she might forgive him.
“I’m really sorry,” he said to the room as a whole. “I should have done something. Or, at the very least, gotten out when I first figured out who I was working for.”
“You know, if you’d gotten out any sooner, you might not have gotten that call letting you know Richard was the bad guy,” Tommy pointed out.
“That’s true,” Grandma Bryant said.
Philip cupped the back of his neck. “Hell, if I’d gotten out any sooner, Richard wouldn’t have tagged me to watch Frank Charles for him.” And then Philip wouldn’t have been there at the salon, and what the heck would have happened to Maecie?
Actually, he was pretty certain he knew exactly what would have happened; his brain simply wouldn’t let him put voice to the horrible idea. Which was fine by him. He didn’t want to imagine anything bad happening to her, ever.
“So how do you know this guy, Richard?” Kyle asked.
“We served in the marines together. Both got out about the same time. And he actually did become an ATF agent. We kept in touch. He was aware of what sort of people I worked for, even though I never gave him names or talked very much about it. I didn’t connect—until today … no, last night—that he knew because he worked with them too.
“See, Richard has a gambling addiction, and he’d gotten in way, way over his head. He owed a lot of money to a couple of people who were ready for him to pay off his debt and had begun to make vague threats to certain body parts. So he came up with this scheme that involved Frank Charles.”
“He’s the guy who runs the Detroit fireworks, right?” Kyle said.
“Yeah. Was. He’s dead now.”
Maecie swiped a tear from her cheek. “He was a really great guy. I’m going to miss him.” She sucked in a breath and… Screw it. He moved closer on the couch and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
