by Dana Mentink
And he’d brought along his brother, too.
ELEVEN
Mick finished up his phone call with Reggie, who cut to the chase in his typical fashion.
“Get anything out of the girl?”
“No. She’s lying down right now. Sick, she says.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m the King of Siam. She’s gotta be a diversion. Tucker sent her there with a pack of lies to muddy the waters so he can get closer to his kid. The child is locked down tight?”
“Yeah, Uttley’s seeing to that.”
“And we trust Uttley?”
Mick hesitated.
“You want me to check on the kid?”
“Appreciate that, but I think we need to work the roof angle.”
“I asked. The building is still off-limits until cops are done with their investigation.”
“Any timeline on when that will be?”
“Personally, I think they’re already done, but they don’t want any thrill seekers poking around, or nosy parole officers. I’ll inquire again. When are you coming back?”
“We’ll wait out a storm and see what we can get from Ginny.”
“She’s with Tucker. All you’re going to get from her is a pack of lies. Best to come back now. Remember, she’s learned from the best liar of them all.”
The one who fooled you. “Yeah.” He clicked off the phone and checked his watch. Ginny was still sleeping. He’d give her another fifteen minutes. Just long enough to go check on Keeley. She wouldn’t like it, of course, but there were a million treacherous spots in the woods where someone could go head over heels into a ravine or break their ankle on a log.
“She would call you if she needed you,” he said to himself.
He grabbed his jacket anyway, and plunged into the storm. After a mile or two with no sign of her, his phone buzzed.
He read the text from Keeley, gut twisting.
Charlie and Bruce here.
She described her location and he took off at a dead run, feet scrambling for traction against the wet leaves. Near the embankment he slowed, squinting through the rain for any sign of her or the gas station brothers.
“Here,” he heard her call.
She was crouched into a ball, back pressed to the tree. He climbed underneath to join her, wiping water from his eyes. He could not resist pulling her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin, just to convince himself she was okay. Her breath warmed his throat and did nothing to restore his calm. Blood rushed wildly through every vessel, muscles craving to pull her closer. Deep breaths. When he could be reasonably sure of his faculties, he let her go. “You okay?”
She nodded, wet hair plastered across her forehead.
“They went that way,” she said, jabbing a finger up the slope.
“Heading for the house.” He dialed his father’s phone.
“Why would they come here?” she said.
There was only one reason: to get Ginny. More than that, he couldn’t answer. He pressed the phone to his ear. One ring, two. Five. “Pick up, Dad.” It maddened him that his father could never be trusted to charge his phone or have it on him at any given moment. “Not answering. I have to get back there. Going to move fast. I’ll double back if you fall behind.”
She huffed. “I may get lost easily, but I can run a mile in six minutes flat.”
He would have chuckled if he wasn’t so worried about what was happening back at the house. “Okay.”
Out of nowhere, she kissed him, aiming for the cheek but getting him on the corner of the mouth. Every nerve was electrified by her touch.
He stared at her, skin tingling. “What’s that for?”
“For finding me,” she said. “I hate being lost.”
He nodded, bemused. Just when he was pretty convinced she despised him. Women are a mysterious breed, he thought, not for the first time. “I know a shortcut, but it’s rugged.”
“So am I,” she said.
Yes she was, but soft, too, and warm and enticing, with lips soft as down feathers. Shouldering the thought aside, he hurried toward the top of the slope, along a path that was probably invisible to her eyes. For the past eighteen months, the sanctuary had been his prison and his pleasure; he’d walked every square inch, hiked each forgotten ravine in his effort to understand his own mistakes. Now the effort was put to good use. The slope plunged abruptly downward over a branch of the river that swelled with each moment of the storm. A wide log spanned the creek bed. He offered Keeley a hand, which she did not need, as she crossed nimbly and waited for him on the other side.
Once they climbed from the creek bed it was a two-mile trek. The slope wasn’t steep, but rocky enough to slow them down.
“Dad, answer your phone,” he said as he dared a moment to try again. He didn’t answer. They took the final mile to the house at a jog. True to Keeley’s word, she kept up the pace. He pulled her to a stop near the woodpile. “Wait here.”
She shot him a look.
“Bossy, I know, but please. I need you to call the cops.”
She started on the call and Mick jogged up the porch steps. The front door was open, the house dark and quiet. He moved forward as silently as he could, avoiding the spots on the wood floor that were prone to squeaking. It was an invaluable advantage to know the terrain when your enemy didn’t. He heard the soft creak of the stairs somewhere near the top.
He took them as quietly as he could manage. Halfway up he paused again, listening. There was a shout, a man’s, and he threw caution aside and charged up the steps, reaching the door to the room where Ginny was resting just as it slammed shut. Mick threw a shoulder at it. Locked.
He went at it with his boots, furious energy fueling each kick. The solid wood shook beneath his onslaught, and it was only a few minutes before the flimsy lock gave way. He exploded into the room, slipping on the wet floor, grabbing the door frame to keep his footing. The bedroom was empty, water sheeting in through the open window. The bed covers were tousled and half on the floor.
Running to the window, he caught the flicker of movement from one of the brothers who had climbed down the tall tree just outside the open window. With his knee throbbing from the assault on the door, he figured the faster pursuit would be sprinting back downstairs. He’d just turned to do so when he heard a soft groan coming from the room next door.
*
Keeley finished her call and crept into the house. Mick was going to need some help dealing with both Charlie and Bruce. Recalling the murderous look on Bruce’s face at their last encounter made her skin erupt in goose bumps. She tried the light switch and found it not working. Perhaps the storm had knocked out the power. The rumble of an engine sent her running to the window. She saw Ginny, hair flying, pushing the motorbike to its top speed as she tore out of sight. A second later, two burly figures that she recognized all too well ran back in the direction of the gravel road, likely to find their vehicle and run Ginny down.
“Mick,” she yelled. “They’re getting away.”
“Let them go. She’s got a good head start. Get the flashlight in the kitchen drawer, can you please?” he called down. His voice was tense.
Fearing what Mick had found, she tried all the drawers until she found the one with the flashlight and took the stairs two at a time. She discovered them in one of the bedrooms. Mick knelt next to Perry, who lay dazed on the floor, eyes half-open.
Mick took the flashlight and examined his father. “Looks like they hit him from behind. He’s got a knot on the back of his head.”
Perry groaned and tried to sit up.
Mick restrained him. “Lay still.”
Perry cleared his throat and breathed out a puff of air before he spoke. “You’re a grown-up, but I’m still your dad, and you don’t get to tell me what to do.” Perry smiled at Keeley. “He’s bossy, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” she agreed with a shaky laugh. “But maybe we should listen to him this time.”
He sat up, pressing a hand to the back of his
skull. “Saw them coming and ran for Ginny, but they got me first. Where is she?”
“She must have climbed down the oak tree,” Mick said. “Same thing I got grounded for repeatedly as a teen.”
“You had it coming,” Perry said.
Keeley confirmed that Ginny had made it to her motorbike. “What did they want with her?”
“Whatever it was, it scared her enough to make her bolt. Clearly they’re not on the same side.” Mick helped his father up and supported him to a chair. Keeley fetched some ice from the kitchen, wrapped it in a towel and gave it to Perry, who pressed it gingerly to his head.
“Somebody called the police?” Perry said.
Keeley nodded. “They’re on the way.”
He sighed. “Well, while we’re waiting, can you tell me anything about the guys who broke into my house and clobbered me?”
Mick told him as much as they knew about Charlie and Bruce. Perry insisted on moving to a chair in the living room, so Mick hooked an arm under his shoulder and helped him downstairs. He’d just gotten settled when the sheriff arrived, introducing himself as Wallace Pickford. He had a medic check over Perry while Mick went through the story again.
The sheriff’s expression darkened. “Going to look at the embankment and make some calls. Be back soon.” He excused himself.
Keeley paced the kitchen while he did so, and Mick monitored the medic’s examination of his father.
Her anxiety pounded like the storm. Why had the two thugs shown up to snatch Ginny? Or, Keeley thought with a fresh swirl of alarm, had they intended to kill her?
Mick joined her in the kitchen.
“Is your father going to be okay?”
“I think so. Medic says he doesn’t suspect a concussion. Dad’s too stubborn to go to the hospital. My sister is on her way, so maybe she can talk some sense into him.”
“I called home. Viv and Junie are fine. There’s an officer with them and no sign of trouble, but Uttley told her he’s going to double up the watch.”
“That’s good.”
“But what if Uttley isn’t to be trusted?” she blurted out. “Do you believe him?”
He hesitated. “I’m not a good person to ask about that.”
“Please,” she said, laying a hand on his hard-muscled chest. “I need to know what you think, Mick.”
He pursed his lips, silent for a moment, covering her hand with his. “I think there’s some other player in this game besides Tucker.”
Something cold swept through her veins as she turned away, leaving a trail of panic in its wake. She wanted to run to Junie, sweep her away from everyone and flee, just the two of them. God would sustain them; she knew He would. They didn’t need help. Keeley could be enough for Junie.
But looking into Mick’s face, she understood that now the game they were playing was one she could not win alone. Was it possible God had brought Mick to her now for that very reason? She needed Mick, and she couldn’t restrict his involvement, as much as she wanted to, because there was no other option. A thought tickled her mind. She swallowed. “I don’t know what we should do next.”
“See what Sheriff Pickford can find out. He’s impartial, at least to this investigation.”
She nodded. The clock on the mantel chimed three. Had the whole day flown away so fast? The rain beat on the windows and lightning strobed the sky. “Should we drive back?”
“I’d like to stay until my sister arrives, if you don’t mind. And I want to hear what Pickford comes up with. Can you stand it?”
Could she? Her nerves clamored to drive back, to be at least in the same city as her child. But what was to be done there? She couldn’t see Junie and she, too, needed to know what the sheriff could tell them about the mysterious Ginny and the crazy brothers. Besides, there was something awkward and raw about being here in the home where Mick lived, closeted away from the grief he’d had a hand in causing. She felt a flare of jealousy that he could make such a choice while she had to go on living, day after day, with the aftermath of losing her sister. She’d not had the option to hide away like Mick had.
“Yes,” she said, jaw set. “I can stand it.”
It was almost an hour before an auburn-haired young woman burst through the door, heading right for the armchair and throwing her arms around Perry. “Are you all right? Who were the guys that hurt you?” She peppered him with questions until he held up a hand.
“Sit down, Ruby,” Perry said, “and we’ll fill you in.”
It seemed though, that Ruby was not capable of sitting. Instead she kissed her brother and traced a finger over a scratch on his face. He gave her a squeeze. “Quit fussing. I’m fine. This is Keeley Stevens,” Mick said.
Ruby came near, extending her hand for a solemn handshake. “I’m sorry it’s such poor circumstances, but welcome. I’m glad to meet you. I brought some clothes because Mick said you needed some dry ones.”
Keeley thanked her, surprised that Mick had thought about her well-being. She noted Ruby’s subtle scrutiny, no doubt trying to figure out how the sister of a murdered woman fit into her brother’s life.
Don’t worry, Keeley wanted to say, I don’t. We’re just partners. All business.
She dutifully followed Ruby to a small room crowded with bunk beds and a tiny dresser where Ruby offered her a selection of clothes. “These sweats are mine, but I’m a little more full figured than you. You can adjust the waist, and here’s a sweatshirt and socks and underwear.”
Keeley smiled, thinking that her sister LeeAnn would have been just as resourceful in clothing a bedraggled soul. “You are very sweet. I appreciate it.”
Ruby smiled. “Oh, I’ve had more than my share of people taking care of me through the years, especially Mick.”
Her dark eyes flicked across Keeley’s face. Keeley stayed silent.
“How well do you know my brother?”
There was a wealth of undercurrent in the question. How well did she know Mick Hudson? She discovered that she knew only two things for certain: first, despite his extreme reserve and awkwardness, Mick Hudson was a man of courage. Second, he’d decided to rescue Keeley Stevens, whether she wanted him to or not. “Not well at all,” she said.
Ruby sighed. “He doesn’t let anyone know him, really, not anymore. Not after…”
“My sister died?”
She nodded. “Yes, but it started earlier, when his wife left him, I think, and other things.”
“He told me about his son.”
She started. “Really? I’m surprised. He doesn’t ever talk about that. He’s very gracious about his ex, Denise,” Ruby said. “He figures he didn’t pay enough attention to her, didn’t realize she wanted different things out of life. Me, I’m not so gracious. She cheated on my brother and took his son away. If Liam hadn’t died so young, I wonder when she would have gotten around to telling Mick he was a father.”
“Does Mick ever talk to her?”
“No. She’s moved on with a new life. Mick still goes to the cemetery every month and trims the grass. They have people to do that, of course, but Mick doesn’t think they give it the proper marine precision.”
Keeley could picture Mick, in his methodical way, tending to his dead son’s grave. It made her want to gather him in her arms and keep him close. She busied herself bundling the clothes instead.
Ruby acted as if she wanted to ask another question, but Keeley was relieved when she didn’t.
“Anyway, I’ll let you change while I check on Dad. I’ll make him tea. Personally, I can’t stand tea, but I hear it’s therapeutic after a shock.”
In a flash, Keeley remembered all the well-meaning people in her own life who had offered her tea in the wake of the news about LeeAnn’s murder.
She remembered John, white-faced, eyes horror-struck, handing her a steaming mug with trembling hands. “How can we live without her?” he’d whispered.
“I don’t know” had been her silent reply. She still asked herself the question every morning a
nd somehow, God gave her the strength to live one day. And then the next. It was only lately that she’d begun to live as if there might be a future in store for her and Junie.
Back then, the one thing those cups of tea had accomplished was forcing her to hold on to something solid when everything else in the world disintegrated around her.
Was the same thing happening now? Was the kindness and peace she’d come to know lately dissolving once more into violence?
Lord, please let me protect Junie.
And, she added, help Mick to heal.
TWELVE
Mick was grateful that Ruby kept Keeley busy preparing a pot of soup. It was preventing her from going mad with waiting, he figured, and it freed him from trying to make awkward conversation. He found his gaze returning to the kitchen as she drifted in and out of his line of sight, baggy sweats engulfing her slender legs. His spirit lifted on her delighted tone when she discovered a bread machine in the cupboard. He smiled, thinking about her old broken machine that she’d mended with duct tape. He’d get her a new one, he decided, before he left Silver Creek for good.
“Son?”
Mick realized his father had been speaking to him. “What did you say?”
Perry quirked a lip. “Nothing important. Can you get me my laptop? Let’s see what we can find out while we’re waiting for the sheriff.”
Mick fetched the laptop, caught by the sound of Keeley’s and Ruby’s mingled laughter as they peeled carrots and chopped onions.
“You’re fond of her, aren’t you?”
Mick fumbled the laptop as he handed it over. “Fond? Uh, no. Well, I mean, she’s a great woman, but I’m just…” He swallowed. “I’m just helping her out until we find Tucker.”
“Until your debt is paid? So this is just about making amends?”
“Dad, I can’t make amends. I’m the reason her sister is dead. You can’t undo something like that.”
Perry ran a thumb over his bottom lip, staring at a wedding picture on the mantel. “You know, Mick, I never really understood your mother. She was a city person who loved her beautiful clothes and fine furniture. She could spend hours in an art gallery or at a concert when I’d be looking for the door in five minutes. I loved her madly, but I never understood her, never could believe her strength. To me, she was a mysterious thing, like the arctic tern. How can a four-ounce bird travel some twenty-five thousand miles in a single migration? Your mother was strong like that, too. Incomprehensibly strong.”
