She dialed Elisabeth. She’d avoided telling her their plans because Elisabeth would want her to wait for the FBI to step in, but Joslyn didn’t want to risk Fiona’s life that way. They needed Martin’s money in order to stop Richard Roman.
Joslyn was almost relieved when she got Elisabeth’s voice mail. She left a message detailing what they were going to do, included Frank’s location, then disconnected the call.
She smelled cedar and lemon zest and his deep, soothing musk just before she heard him come up behind her. Without turning around, she asked him, “Are we making a mistake?”
“Would you have been able to wait around, hoping the FBI would act in time, willing to put Fiona’s safety in other people’s hands, when you could do something about this whole situation right now?”
“It’s just that it’s so risky.”
“Sometimes you have to take risks.” Then, as if to put action to his words, he moved to stand in front of her. He cupped her face in his hands and bent to kiss her.
His kiss was like walking in a forest, the wind in her hair, sunlight on her face. The world spinning around her, full of possibilities, excitement, adventure. He was the kind of strength who would help her to be strong, to be able to believe even harder in a strong, sovereign God.
When he lifted his head, his hands caressed her cheeks. His eyes had darkened to deep blue like a tropical sea, and she felt she could drown in them.
Then he grinned, that irrepressible grin that never failed to lift her spirits. He suddenly bent down and picked a flower from the manicured flower beds lining the walkway leading up to the front door.
“Don’t pick their flowers,” she said weakly.
He handed her a bachelor’s button, the same flower he’d picked for her outside the car rental office.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
“A promise.” He tucked it into her hair, like he’d done before. “We’ll talk later about taking risks.”
He turned and walked back inside.
Joslyn wanted that talk. But she couldn’t suppress a shiver of foreboding that the risks they were taking now would turn their plans upside down.
*
It was full dark by the time they arrived at Frank’s farmhouse, miles north of Los Angeles. The gleam from the car headlights reflected off the thick, waist-high weeds on each side of the country road, gold-and brown-colored from the dry season. The noise of the weeds swishing in the faint breeze put Clay’s teeth on edge, because it made it hard for him to hear danger coming.
Fiona was pale, but only someone who knew her would notice. Her face was set in an uncompromising line.
“Won’t Frank be worried if you’re looking so upset?” Joslyn asked.
“I’ve never gone to Frank’s place without being upset,” Fiona said. “He’s incredibly annoying and I hated driving all the way here to deal with him.”
They had parked next to the bent and battered mailbox that looked as if it had rusted open. There was no driveway.
Fiona walked along the road, shining a flashlight they’d taken from the car, then finally stopped in front of a scratched mile marker. “Here.” She plunged through the weeds.
Clay let Joslyn go first, so he could bring up the rear. The path through the weeds was barely visible, even in the beam of his own flashlight.
“Don’t stray from the path,” Fiona told them. “Frank set land mines in the field.”
Ahead of him, Joslyn started in surprise, then continued on. “Paranoid, much?” she muttered.
“He can see us on surveillance cameras, too,” Fiona added.
Joslyn sighed. “Of course he can.”
Her feisty spirit cheered him. He didn’t want her to be here—he didn’t want Fiona to be here, either—but he was glad he could protect them, even as injured as he was. He could still punch with his right arm, and there were some grappling moves he could do with a gimpy left arm. Fiona had said Frank wouldn’t suspect him, so he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight.
He wasn’t going to fail her again.
The large shadow in front of them materialized into a two-story barn, made of a mix of wooden boards and metal siding. Motion-sensing floodlights came on, glaring down at them. Fiona went up to the front double doors and pounded with her fist. “Frank!” She then stepped back and looked straight into a camera placed above and to the side of the doors.
There was a long moment of silence. Fiona frowned, and pounded on the door again. “Frank!”
An intercom buzzed and an annoyed man’s voice said, “F-Fiona? What are you doing here?”
“Trying to save my hide,” she snapped. “Let me in, Frank.”
There was another long stretch of silence, where Clay counted his heartbeats. This was taking too long. He was about to say something when he heard the click of heavy locks being disengaged from inside the door.
Fiona froze. She looked back at Clay and Joslyn, her eyes wide but her mouth barely moving as she said, “He didn’t ask who you two were.”
Clay looked up at the camera. If he was as paranoid as Fiona had indicated, why had he just let them in? He nodded for Fiona to go ahead and open the door, and he kept his posture deceptively casual, but his senses were on alert as he followed her and Joslyn inside.
Fiona pretended not to notice Frank’s uncharacteristic behavior. She stalked into the barn, past rows of metal shelving filled with electronic equipment, toward a bright light shining near the back. “Frank!”
“I—I’m here.” A portly man with low, dark brows suddenly appeared ahead of her, standing in front of a long table filled with computers. “F-fiona, where have you been?”
There was the barest hesitation before Fiona answered, and Clay could tell by the tilt of her head that she had been surprised by something, maybe something he said, or maybe the nervous way he rubbed his fingertips together on each hand.
“I’ve spent three weeks hiding from the two thugs who kidnapped me,” Fiona said, sounding annoyed. “It wasn’t until yesterday that I figured out it was Richard Roman after me.”
She walked toward him as she spoke, with Joslyn and Clay bringing up the rear. The barn was large and open with its concrete floor and high, bare walls. Everything told him something was wrong, but he knew they weren’t followed here. So what was it?
Fiona went up to Frank and stood with her hands on her hips. “Listen, Frank, we have to move Dad’s money from the Bara accounts. If they’re empty, then Roman has no use for me.”
“Oh, I’ll think of something,” said an unseen man in a smooth, confident voice.
Clay rushed forward to insert himself between Fiona and the source of the voice on their left.
In a swivel chair in front of a computer, legs crossed, hands steepled casually in front of him, sat Richard Roman.
EIGHTEEN
If Clay were a dog, Joslyn was certain he’d have been growling, hackles standing on end. He stood in front of Fiona and Joslyn and his attention seemed to be completely on Roman, but Joslyn was sure he was aware of a slight movement among the shadowy metal shelving just out of reach of the lights over Frank’s computer desk.
“You must be Clay,” Roman said with a smile that belonged in a boardroom. “If it weren’t for the PI you hired, I would never have known you were even looking for Fiona. I certainly wouldn’t have known about Joslyn, here. So thanks for that.”
Met moved out from behind a piece of shelving, and he actually had his hands in his pockets and was snickering. G followed him, looking more serious with his body loose and ready, like a boxer about to head into the ring.
“Pity that bomb didn’t kill you both,” Roman said. “I’m sure you know Met and G by now, right? They’ve been trying to eliminate you for the past few days. I have to admit, you really did give them the slip when you figured out about that GPS tracker in your cast. I’ve got two other men scouring Sonoma looking for you two.”
Roman’s cold, dark eyes passed to Fiona. “You do
n’t know Met and G, Fiona, but you’d know their associates. You spent a few hours with them.”
“They weren’t very good if they let a girl get away from them,” Joslyn said.
“Very true.” Despite his light tone, Roman twitched his shoulders beneath his expensive gray business suit, so Joslyn knew she’d struck a nerve. “They’ve been looking for her ever since—well, except for the side-detour to try to stop the two of you.”
“Like I said,” Joslyn said, “not very good.”
“I’m not as trusting as they are,” Roman said. “You can lose the gun in your flashbang holster, Joslyn.”
She clenched her jaw.
“Slowly,” Roman added. “You can hand it to Met.”
Joslyn reached under her shirt to remove the gun from the front bra holster and glared at Met as she gave it to him.
Met grinned. “Maybe I need to search you.”
This time, Clay really did growl, and the look he shot Met could have melted iron. Met’s smile hardened and he met Clay’s gaze in challenge.
“You dogs can fight it out later.” Roman sounded bored. “Joslyn, lift your pant legs, too.”
She pulled each leg up, to show she didn’t have a secondary weapon on her ankle.
“I doubt Clay has any weapons, but G, search him anyway,” Roman said.
Clay looked ready to punch G when he made a move toward him, but Met simply raised Joslyn’s gun and pointed it at Fiona. Clay stiffened but didn’t move when G searched him. The cords stood out on his neck and his shoulders were bunched tighter than Joslyn had ever seen them.
“Frank, you rat,” Fiona hissed at him. She took a few steps toward him as if to attack him, making him backtrack toward his computers. Joslyn wondered if she’d have the opportunity to get close enough to the computer to try to upload the virus.
However, Met moved a few steps so the gun was in her direct line of sight. “Stay where you are.”
She stopped.
“I didn’t invite him here, Fiona,” Frank said. “He just showed up. I don’t know how he found me.”
“With a great deal of difficulty,” Roman said with a gusty sigh. He got up and went to fling an arm around Frank’s shoulders. “But I’m not complaining, because you’re the next best thing. If I can’t use Fiona to get Martin’s money, then I’ll happily use you.”
“You’re the one who got me into this,” Frank spat at Fiona.
“I did no such thing,” she retorted.
“Actually, Fiona, if you hadn’t escaped, then I probably wouldn’t have needed to find Frank, so it is technically your fault.” Roman squeezed Frank’s shoulder. “How are things going so far? Are we almost done?”
“I told you I can’t just press a button, and zap! You’ve got money. The Bara account is protected from stuff like that.”
Roman snapped his fingers. “Haven’t got all day, Frank.”
G had finished searching Clay and now was reaching for zip ties, probably to bind his hands together. If that happened, their chance of escaping just went into the toilet.
Clay knew it, too, because he gave Joslyn a look that she could interpret exactly. Get ready to rumble.
But Met still had Joslyn’s gun aimed at Fiona. Joslyn didn’t want to do anything that would get Fiona or Clay shot. This entire situation was out of her control. She only knew of one thing she could do.
Oh, God, she prayed, God help us! Please help us…
She wasn’t in control, but He was. She had to remember that. She either trusted God to take care of them, or she didn’t. What was it going to be?
God, I’m so scared! But I trust You.
She met Clay’s eyes and gave a tiny nod. Then she caught Fiona’s eyes, where a flicker of understanding passed over them.
Clay snapped his elbow back and hit G full in the face. At the same moment, Fiona dropped to the ground. Joslyn kicked at Met’s gun hand, knocking it away from Fiona.
The gunshot echoed through the barn. Frank yelped and leaped backward, falling on his behind. He twisted and crawled toward a dark corner, away from the fighting.
Fiona scrambled to her feet, ran to the computer and plugged in the flash drive.
Joslyn followed up her kick with pushing the flat of her palm into Met’s nose. She grabbed at the gun, but he held on tightly. With his free hand, he flailed wildly at her and his fist grazed her ear in a blow hard enough for the edges of her vision to darken. But she clung to that gun, her nails digging into the skin of his fingers.
She’d forgotten about Roman. He casually pulled a gun from inside his suit jacket and aimed it at Fiona, her back to him as she worked on one of Frank’s computers.
Joslyn couldn’t make her lungs and mouth work to call Fiona’s name. It was as if everything slowed down, and yet she couldn’t move fast enough, she couldn’t draw breath.
There was a shadow, movement, and Joslyn thought it was Frank coming out of hiding. But the figure was taller than Frank, and dressed in a dark suit. The man threw himself at Roman’s gun, just as it went off.
The sound was muffled. Joslyn’s stomach recoiled as she realized what that meant.
She’d been too distracted. Met jerked the gun hand away. Her hands were too slick with sweat, and she lost her grip, flying into the base of one of the metal shelves.
The impact jarred her back sharply, knocking the wind from her lungs. She twisted to keep Met in sight. She couldn’t let him kick her while she was down. She’d been in that position before…
But suddenly Clay was there, tackling Met to the ground. At first Joslyn thought he must have taken care of G, but then she saw the taller man darting after him.
However, Clay grabbed a length of rebar with his good hand, and it evened the fight. He swung the metal as if he knew how to handle it, and she realized he must have had some type of training at his gym.
She got to her feet in time to see Roman stepping over the man in the dark suit where he lay on the floor.
It was Fiona’s father, Martin Crowley, with red blossoming from his abdomen.
Roman raised his gun at Fiona.
Joslyn didn’t think. She launched herself at Roman and the two of them landed hard on the concrete, knocking the gun away. She twisted and without trying to get up, jammed her fingers into his eyes.
He grabbed hard at her wrists, and pain shot up her arms. Then he let go of one of them and punched her in the face.
Suddenly it wasn’t Roman, it was Tomas, his fists pounding into her again and again. He was out of control. There was nothing she could do to stop him.
“Joslyn!”
Clay’s voice cut through the pain, broke her out of the memory. It wasn’t Tomas, it was Roman. But like Tomas, he could kill her.
She wasn’t about to let him do that.
Roman had risen to one knee. She lashed out with her foot and connected hard with that upraised knee. She felt the pop of tendons.
He cried out and collapsed.
She saw the moment that Roman noticed the gun within arm’s reach.
Joslyn didn’t remember pulling her second weapon from her side flashbang holster. She took aim and fired, seeing Roman’s wide, murderous eyes and his hand swinging his gun toward her.
There was a single gunshot. From her gun.
His hand jerked back, blood spraying from the wound.
Joslyn scrambled back out of his reach, the gun still trained on him. He was swearing and nursing his bleeding hand. She registered the sounds of Clay still fighting, but she didn’t want to take her eyes off of Roman. “Fiona!”
It seemed to take a year, but suddenly Fiona had picked up Roman’s gun and pointed it at him. Joslyn then got to her feet and went to where her gun had fallen to the floor. She grabbed it and shouted, “Freeze!”
The two men hesitated when they saw her with not one, but two guns pointed at them. Clay took advantage of it to knock G out cold with a blow from the rebar.
Met only looked at her in shock. “Where—?”
Thank the Lord she’d decided to wear two flashbang holsters. Her normal one under her arm and a tiny one on the front of her bra.
Clay knocked Met out, too, with a fist to his jaw.
Only then did Joslyn lower her weapons. Her hands were shaking. No, her entire body was shaking.
And then Clay was there, taking the two guns from her. “Are you all right?” His eyes searched her, no doubt seeing the bruises from Roman’s fists.
She ignored the shaking, and all the aches in her body. She reached up, pulled his head down, and kissed him.
*
Clay had to get out of the barn. It smelled like blood and fried electronics and hate.
He heard a rustling behind him, the weeds being pushed aside. He smelled apricot, jasmine and cool redwoods a moment before Joslyn spoke. “Are you all right?”
“I’m—”
“Don’t tell me you’re fine. I heard what he said to you.”
Clay turned away from her.
Back in the barn, Fiona’s strangled cry had broken his and Joslyn’s kiss, and suddenly Clay had been on his knees beside his stepfather’s bloody figure on the floor. Fiona had been pressing her hand to the side of his abdomen.
Martin had been still but pale. As he’d seen Clay, however, his face had taken on that familiar grave look, a sneer curling his lip. “You good-for-nothing,” he wheezed. “You couldn’t even protect her.”
Clay’s entire body had suddenly filled with acid, eating at him, making his vision turn into pinpoints that only saw the disdain in his stepfather’s cold eyes.
“Dad,” Fiona had almost whispered.
“Clay.” Joslyn’s cool hand had been on his shoulder, her voice in his ear. He’d smelled apricot, and it had soothed him. “I’ve called an ambulance,” she’d said.
“How long will it take them to get here?” Fiona had asked.
“They said twenty-five minutes.”
“I won’t make it,” Martin had said on a groan.
Clay had gotten up and walked away rather than saying what he really felt. He busied himself with using zipties to restrain Met and G. Richard Roman had been trying to crawl away with his busted knee and bleeding hand, but Clay caught up with him, tied his hands together and pressed a cloth to the bullet wound. Frank had disappeared entirely, which didn’t surprise Clay.
Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of EvidenceGone MissingLethal Exposure Page 36
