“Don’t freak out, but it’s about Peyton. I’ll tell you what’s going on, but first I need to know something.”
“What?” The word came out rapidly.
“Does Peyton have a sister named Erica?”
A beat passed. “A sister? No. Peyton’s an only child.”
He rubbed the tip of his thumb between his eyebrows. “Are you sure? I need you to think really hard. What about a foster sister? Someone she spent time with at the beach.”
“Rhett, I’m telling you, I’ve never heard her use that name before. There must be some kind of confusion. Tell me what this is about and maybe I’ll be more help.”
He sighed and stared at a crack in the driveway. A weed spurted through. “She’s missing. One of Moretti’s men has her.”
“Oh my god!”
Her sob ripped at his heart. “I’ll find her.” The promise evaporated the crushing weight of doubt building inside him. He’d find her or kill himself trying.
More tears and what sounded like confused comforting from Brock sounded through the earpiece. “I don’t understand. Why would her having a sister mean anything?” Dani asked hoarsely.
“I asked her for a clue and she said, ‘If anything happens to me, tell my sister Erica I love her and I’ll always remember our days at the beach.’”
“It’s some kind of code.”
Rhett’s gaze landed on the street where, minutes before, Eric had left with Moretti and another officer in one of the cop cruisers. “Jesus. She’s talking about Eric. Eric’s in on this.” He dragged his hand over his sun-scorched scalp. “Fuck!” Not even an hour before he’d let the slimy bastard slip through his hands. Goddammit to hell and back.
“Who’s Eric?”
“I’ll call you back.” He disconnected and felt a sharp twang of guilt for cutting Dani off, but he had to move quick.
“Mandy, get in the car,” he bellowed. She tossed him the keys and he slid into the driver’s seat.
“Do you have a lead?”
“Yeah. Peyton gave me a hint about Eric.” He quickly recapped Peyton’s cryptic message. “I need you to find out if he owns any property on the beach.”
Mandy scrunched her face. “Eric rents an apartment.”
He turned the key in the ignition and shoved the shift into drive. “Just look into it, okay?” He had to drive, had to keep moving. Even if it meant going in fucking circles.
“All right, I’ll call Tommy.”
“Have him be discreet.”
Mandy got on the phone and gave Tommy instructions. A few minutes later, the phone pressed to her ear, she shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Give me the phone,” he growled. There was no chance this was some mistake. Peyton had reason to believe Eric owned the property Beanie held her at, and dammit, he’d find out why.
“Check into his family, ex-wife, don’t leave a stone unturned,” he said to Tommy. “Understand?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll need some time—”
“Call me back in fifteen minutes.”
“B-But, that’s not enough—”
“Make it enough.” He ended the call and dropped the phone in the cupholder.
Mandy sat tensely beside him. “I’m just going to throw this out there, but I find it hard to believe Eric’s involved. The dude’s as vigilant as you are. He works his ass off even if he’s a pain in one sometimes.”
He glanced at Mandy and took in her wide, disbelieving eyes. “Something was fishy when he showed up at Max’s. Instinct counts for something, doesn’t it? And now Peyton’s left me a hint. I can’t—won’t—overlook it.”
She held up her hand. “Fine. If he’s innocent it won’t matter. But we’re wasting precious time.” She turned to look out the window. “Where are we going?”
He smiled. “Eric’s. He’s at the station making sure Moretti gets booked.”
She turned her body toward him, straining against her seatbelt. “You can’t be serious.”
He turned onto Eric’s street. “Like you said, we’re wasting time. I’ll take a quick look around.”
“Uh-uh.” She waved her hand in the air. “You’re out of your mind.”
He pulled into the parking lot and slammed the car into park. Leaning to rest his elbow on the console, he invaded Mandy’s personal space and met her lively green eyes. “If you warn him, I’ll consider you in on this.” He tapped her hand. “Wait here.”
He got out then skirted the side of the apartment building. No way he’d chance going in through the lobby and Eric’s front door, especially when he didn’t have a lockpick set on him. He’d been inside Eric’s place only twice, but as he scanned the white stucco wall, he recognized the main-floor unit with a lone green lawn chair overlooking the river. Grabbing the railing, he swung his legs over the edge and dropped down in front of the sliding door. He pressed the handle and the glass glided open as smoothly as butter melting on a skillet.
He shut the door behind him and was greeted by the scent of sweaty gym socks. He wrinkled his nose but quickly made his way around the coffee table and toward the single bedroom off the living room. A used towel was draped over the side of Eric’s unmade bed, but other than that the room wasn’t too messy. He went to the nightstand first and opened the drawers. The first one held a box of condoms, a book whose title he didn’t care to read, and earplugs. The other two held nothing but junk. Then he moved to the dresser against the wall and rummaged through Eric’s clothing—nothing.
“Fuck!” He slammed the bottom drawer and a piece of driftwood rolled off the top of the dresser. Bending to pick it up, he turned over the bleached, featherlight timber. There was a carving on the back:
Paradise of the Sea
He smoothed his thumb over the dents in the gently cracked wood and reread the words. Houses located on older parts of the island had names as well as street addresses.
Driftwood. It had to be from the house Eric—or his family—owned. Tearing his phone from his pocket, he exited the way he’d entered and typed the name in the search engine. A red pin popped up on the GPS.
He darted around the palm trees that dotted the lawn and jumped into the car. Mandy lifted her gaze from her phone. “I heard from—wait, did you find something?”
“Yup. A property called Paradise of the Sea.”
Her usually cheerful features hardened. “That’s what Tommy found too. Turns out Eric’s father owns the beach house, but he’s away on business.”
Rhett slammed his palm against the steering wheel and jammed his buckle into place. “That sonofabitch.”
He reversed and drove out of the parking lot as the GPS sang out directions. His mind whirled like an overshaken snow globe. The sweat dotting his hairline rolled into his eyes, and he quickly brushed it away. He shoved his foot onto the gas pedal and the speedometer ratcheted up as quickly as his pulse.
If he was too late, he’d never forgive himself.
Hang on, honey. I’m coming.
CHAPTER 22
Splash!
Salty water rushed inside Peyton’s nostrils, burning her sinuses. She surged forward and spluttered, blinking rapidly. Saliva and water dribbled from her lips.
“That did it.” The steel bucket bounced off the floor with a clatter and rolled to the wall. “One broken finger and you were out for fifteen minutes. This better not take all fucking day.” Beanie sneered.
His reminder of the attack on her hand brought fresh, white-hot pain to the area. She kept her focus on the cracks in the cement floor, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see blood coating her hand and bone protruding from the skin.
She gagged and closed her eyes. She had to get a grip. Beanie would have way too much fun making her suffer if she didn’t hold her shit together.
“I bet that hurts,” he said, false sympathy lacing his voice. She closed her eyes as a migraine threatened to close in on her. She sunk her teeth into her tongue.
She couldn’t die like this. A small part of her
begged the larger part of her consciousness to give up Jenny. Dying quickly would be better than torture.
No.
They might do worse to Jenny. It had to end here. With her life. Not Jenny’s.
Rhett would do the same thing.
The little voice in her head threw her a lifeline of strength, and she clutched it as if she were an eagle clutching its prey in its talons. Doing the right thing would move her heart closer to Rhett. She’d never be like him—she’d never be one-hundred-percent honorable, she’d never put the law above her needs—but she’d also never hand over an innocent woman to savages just to die a less-painful death.
I hope Rhett knows. I hope he knows that in the last moments of my life, I strived to be like him. That he inspired me, even briefly, to be a better person.
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks to mingle with the lingering drops of seawater. An ache the size of the Grand Canyon opened in her chest, and all her hopes for herself, the ones she’d thought she didn’t deserve, slipped from her fingers. She’d never have children. She’d never fill the deep, feminine need to be a wife and mother. She’d never know if she and Rhett could figure out this crazy electricity between them to see if tomorrow held more than yesterday.
Her quickly thumping heart slowed, just as it had when Rhett had held her to his chest. It was as if he were close, as if her body somehow sensed his presence and quieted because of his strength and security.
“What’s her fucking location?” Beanie’s hand bounced off her cheekbone, and her neck popped with the force. She cringed.
Drawing from all her reserves, she found Beanie’s eyes and smiled. “Fuck you.” She spat at his beige loafer, and blood splattered the pristine leather.
Beanie’s body vibrated. The skin over his jugular flexed and tightened. He advanced on her. Peyton curled her ribs to brace for the impact.
Nothing happened.
She blinked and lifted her lashes. Beanie stood over top of her, his abdomen level with her nose. He lifted his hand to her cheek. She flinched, but he didn’t strike her. His hand coasted down her jaw like a hundred scampering centipede legs. Bile touched the backs of her teeth, but she didn’t dare allow herself to puke again.
“I like your spirit, Peyton.” His voice rose on her name. “You and I could have more together if you weren’t so stupid. Tell me,” he said, speaking softly, “why do you care about the life of a woman you’ve never met?”
She wanted to bite the hand that still lingered on her jaw, but his creepy moment of gentleness might just save her life if she could manipulate him. She lifted a shoulder as far as the restraints would allow. “For one thing, you promised I’ll die regardless. So that doesn’t give me much motivation.” The words came out dry.
He chuckled. “Still. Don’t you care what I do to you?” The tiny crystal of hope building in her chest shattered into a million pieces. He wanted to do this. Even if she didn’t have something that he desperately needed, he’d still enjoy tormenting her.
She tilted her cheek away so his hand fell from her face. “Yeah, but I also don’t want you to do it to Jenny.”
He snorted. “She’s a hooker for fuck’s sake.”
Anger shot through her. She clamped her lips together, but the word-vomit hitting her tongue wouldn’t be squashed. “That didn’t matter to you a few months ago, did it?”
He grinned. “Not one bit. She didn’t even know or care who was fucking her.”
Peyton shook her head. “You’re the one who got her high.”
Beanie reached behind his back, and her focus dropped from his shiny bald head to his waist. “That was all Andre. I had nothing to do with getting them high. I just bought in at the last minute.” He smiled and withdrew a knife.
She blinked. Her muscles twitched with the need to run, attack—anything. The movements sent blasts of pain from her broken pinky up her arm. The need to hold her wound coursed through her. She jerked her injured hand, but the ropes didn’t budge. “And Eric?”
Beanie froze. “How do you know about him?”
Tension blanketed the air. If she told him Rhett had suspected Eric’s involvement since the incident at Max’s apartment, it might work against her. Thinking that Rhett was onto Eric, Beanie could panic and slice her throat and escape before Rhett found her.
She nodded at the stairs. “There are pictures of Eric upstairs. I figured you must know him personally if he let you bring me here.”
Beanie tapped the tip of the blade to his knuckle. “Eric’s . . . complicated. But he’s been useful on Moretti’s team.”
“Why would he betray the bureau?”
“Eric and I go way back. He wasn’t thrilled to get roped in with Moretti’s circle, but let’s just say he didn’t have much choice.” The brittle crinkles around his eyes evaporated. “Hold still.” The warning rang through her body, halting her agonized tendons from further attempts at escape. He wedged the blade between her skin and the rope on her right hand and flicked it upwards. The binds snapped loose and slithered to the floor. He did the same to the rope on her opposite hand. She clutched her pulsating finger to her chest but didn’t dare take her eyes off Beanie.
He hadn’t removed her restraints out of the goodness of his heart. He wanted something. She watched as his mouth parted in a lewd smirk. Carnal intent stirred his brown orbs, and the sickness she’d been battling settled heavy in her gut.
He wanted her.
He held the knife up, and the sleek blade caught the light shining from the single bulb. “I hope I won’t need this anymore. What do you think?”
She pressed her knees together until the bones ground. Speaking took too much effort, so she shook her head.
“Come again?”
She urged the words to form in the correct order on her tongue. “No, you won’t.”
“Good.” He puffed out his chest and slapped the knife on the table a few feet away. “Stand up.”
A draft floated in through the window, alerting her to an opening. The fresh air danced over her skin, taunting her with freedom. So close, yet so far away. He sat in the chair that had held Max’s body. Her feet stepped in a mixture of fluids, and the acidic scent of vomit and metallic scent of blood struck her. She pressed her lips together to stop the tremble that shook her cheeks.
“Where’s L-Len?” Her words wobbled, and she gripped the outside of her injured hand.
“He’s on an . . . errand. Don’t worry, we have a good hour to be alone.”
“What’s he doing with Max’s body?” The question was moot, stupid even, but her brain scrambled for anything to put off what lay ahead of her.
“Feeding it to the gators. Same thing we’ll do to yours. Can’t have any evidence, can we?”
Numbness settled into her limbs. Her brain fizzled and her head became weightless. She wet her lips and darted her gaze around the room. Len was gone. It was just Beanie and her. Her peripheral vision took in the knife a few feet to her side. If she could reach it and stab him before he overtook her, she just might have a fighting chance at survival.
“Peyton.” Beanie’s sharp, insistent tone snapped her attention to his face. He nodded at her breasts, and his gaze drank in her belly, hips, and thighs.
She froze. Her insides swam in denial. The tangy taste of fear coated her tongue.
“Strip.”
* * *
“Call for backup.” The command whipped from Rhett’s lips as he drove along the palm-tree-lined street. He didn’t need to take his eyes from the road to know what expression Mandy had on her face. “Do it now.” This time, he swung his gaze to her, proving he wouldn’t back down.
She sighed. “Look, I think we’re out on a limb on this.”
The GPS announced the next turn, alerting him that they were only a few minutes from Paradise of the Sea. If backup wasn’t on the way, encountering Beanie and his crew would be worse than walking through a field of land mines.
“It’s the only limb we have.” Keeping his v
oice steady took every ounce of his control. His skin, which had recently been coated in a sheen of anxiety, was bone dry. All the moisture in his body had been burned by adrenaline. If he didn’t get his hands around Beanie’s throat or Eric’s—either would do—he’d combust.
Mandy grumbled something about being overzealous but made the call. He forced himself to focus on the road and not her annoyance. There were very few things he’d been wrong about in his career, and he’d bet his last breath that Beanie was keeping Peyton at Paradise of the Sea. Only it wasn’t his last breath he was wagering—it was Peyton’s.
A break in the trees caught his eye. He glanced at the red icon on the GPS’s monitor. This was it. He choked the steering wheel and tore down the driveway. Beyond the arrangement of tropical trees and shrubs sat a white clapboard house. The silver sedan Beanie had locked Peyton in sat out front. His heart rate ratcheted up ten notches. She was here. And he’d fucking find her if it was the last thing he did.
He lurched to a stop and sprung from the car, leaving Mandy to clamor out at her own pace. Her protests fell away behind him. He pulled his Glock from the safe nook at the small of his back and nestled the smooth, comforting steel into his palm. Being armed gave him the gall he needed. He stormed down the walkway and advanced on the front door. Every muscle in his body wound tighter than a guitar string.
He positioned his body to kick open the door, but instinct screamed at him to get inside unnoticed. He caught the door handle and turned it. He let the metal fall from his hold as the door coasted open.
Silence spilled from the house into the heat outside. He scanned the foyer. Bright, clean tile met the threshold.
Something’s not right.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He strained his neck to see as much as possible from the doorway. His training made him want to shout his credentials, but he couldn’t alert anyone he was here. Not yet.
“What are you doing?” Mandy whispered angrily behind him. “Announce yourself before you get shot.”
Rhett waved his hand at his side, motioning her to back the fuck up or shut the fuck up. Either would suffice. He listened carefully and heard wind in the trees, waves crashing, and birds calling. But he couldn’t hear a damn thing inside the house.
Straight Shooter Page 18
