by Jenna Ryan
He paid well, though, Owen reminded himself, and until recently, life and the business had run along smoothly.
“You’re late.”
Invisible in the darkness, Mockerie spoke the instant the Mercedes door opened.
Owen regarded his watch. “Maybe thirty seconds.”
“A lot can happen in thirty seconds.” Mockerie strolled out of the desert night, hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. “Bullet only takes a few nanoseconds to enter a person’s body. I should know. I’ve put many a bullet into many a body.”
Mockerie’s own late wife included, Owen reflected. Poor, deluded Rowena, thinking she could outfox a reptile like James Mockerie.
He searched the ground at his feet. There wasn’t much to see. A few boulders, a little scrub, a pair of prickly cacti. However, snakes lived there. They might’ve seemed to be asleep in the cool night air, but they were always ready to strike.
“I want news.” Only the lower part of Mockerie’s face was visible under his broad-brimmed cowboy hat. “Something I can sink my teeth into. Have you involved your son or nephew in the search?”
“Luka to some extent. Gareth, too…”
“Wishy-washy?”
Owen clamped down on an urge to plant his fist in Mockerie’s mostly hidden face. “Gareth works well within the confines of the business. He’s not a killer.”
“And his feelings for Alexa Chase continue to have weight.”
He’d called her his muse, but then Gareth had been born with a poetic soul. “She’s uncommonly beautiful. Exotic, in fact. Men being men tend to be susceptible to that, as we both know.”
Removing his hands from his pockets, Mockerie toyed with the ring on his half finger. “What about your brother?”
“We haven’t spoken for some time. He’s aware of the situation.” Still leery of rattlesnakes, Owen took a step away from a clump of rocks. “I have good people working on this, James, not including the pair who got burned in Black Creek, although I put their inefficiency down to Alexa Chase’s sharp mind. My ex is being held, and another pair of men I sent reported they might have a, pardon the pun, fix on my former sister-in-law. Their message was garbled, but I believe they spotted her in or near Halo, Mississippi.”
“Spotted. Not apprehended?”
“I didn’t get the whole story. One way or another, we still have Georgia—Rachel—whatever the hell her name is at the moment.” Owen paused there. Features he was usually adept at masking must have betrayed him, because Mockerie stopped twisting his ring and chuckled.
“I sense something more here. More I won’t like and you’re therefore reluctant to share.” He returned one hand to his jacket pocket. “Nanoseconds, my friend.”
Owen half wished a rattlesnake would slither out and take aim at Mockerie’s leg, but no such luck. Above his head, a star shot through the blackened sky. Owen’s blood flowed like sludge. “Alexa Chase isn’t alone.”
A vein pulsed in Mockerie’s neck. “By that, you mean she has protection.”
“Yes.”
“McCabe.” Mockerie fairly spat the name.
Nodding, Owen watched Mockerie’s hidden hand. “Odds are. It doesn’t change anything. McCabe’s protection list is comprised of burned-out has-beens.”
“Or so he’d like us to believe. Who’s with her?”
“Does it matter?” But when Mockerie’s bared teeth appeared, Owen realized it did, very much. “I’ll find out. I’ll find her. I trust my people like I do my own family.” Which wasn’t something he should have said. However, duress, sweaty palms, and Mockerie’s hidden right hand would loosen the toughest man’s tongue.
“I’ll wait a bit longer,” Mockerie replied after a long pause. “You want to produce for me, Owen. And bear in mind, I’m not a patient man. It’s Alexa and Georgia Chase on those long tables, or you and your family. Take your pick; don’t take your time. McCabe is not going to win this game.”
Whatever that meant. And frankly, at that moment, Owen didn’t want to know.
The instant Mockerie vanished from sight, Owen returned to his SUV and placed the required call. When the ring was answered, he said simply, “Beat the answers out of her if you have to. I need to find Alexa Chase now.”
Chapter Seven
Amber watched Gage off and on through the night, in between bouts of sleep and dreams that were both erotic and dangerously compelling. Sometimes Gage was Gage, a man sent to protect her. Other times, he was more of a dark threat. One she wanted to take on but knew she could never have. How could she drag any man—anyone—into the Witness Protection Program with her?
But seeing him, relaxed in sleep, she was sorely tempted. The touch of his fingers on her face lingered in spite of her best efforts to ignore it. How would his hands feel running over her body? How he might taste if she set her mouth on his and…
Amber came fully awake with a jolt and a rush of heat in her lower limbs. Her skin was warm and flushed, her insides tangled into hungry knots. No more, she told herself. Gage was here to help her. Anything else was out of the question. The dreams that followed were far less pleasing. They involved Fixx, her sister, and a bunch of faceless gunmen.
Another man hovered on the fringe of them. McCabe was a mysterious and thorough man who resided on the outer limits of the US Marshals office. Apparently, he’d been well aware that Gage’s trainer was acquainted with her mother—that they had in fact gone to high school together.
“It’s McCabe’s style,” Abel remarked as the first rays of dawn streaked the sky outside. It relieved Amber to see that Gage was up and sitting in the kitchen. “Find any speck of common ground and use it.” After flipping a pair of over easy eggs, Abel took a pull on the beer he evidently preferred to orange juice. “Your mama was a beauty, Amber. Like mama, like daughter, I guess.”
“To a point.” Sick of a topic she’d done her utmost to sidestep since she’d blundered into it, Amber sat at the chrome kitchen table and rubbed her temples.
Gage sprawled in a chair across from her. He looked annoyingly good for a man who’d been shot. He looked annoyingly good in any case, but unshaven and tousled just made him that much more tempting.
He took a long swallow of black coffee. “I don’t think they’re a close family, Abel. You might want to change the subject.”
“Hell with that. Iran.” A little dreamy eyed, Abel tested the name of her mother’s birthplace on his tongue, savoring it like fine wine. Then he clued in. “Not close…why? Renata was a wild and stunning creature.”
“She still is,” Amber said. “Moving on. Where did Wanda and Mandy disappear to?”
Abel waved his spatula. “Wanda’s RV’s parked back in the woods a piece. Been sitting there for the past three months. She’ll pull out when the mood strikes, or when Mandy gets sick of the back of beyond and hankers for the bright lights of Nashville. You’ve been a bit short on details as regards the lady here, Gage, and why she’s currently under your wing.”
“The less you know, old friend.”
“The healthier I’ll stay. Screw that. You get yourself shot, come and bleed all over my lodge, I find out lady here’s the kid of a girl I knew back when, I cook you breakfast, and off you go, leaving me to scratch my head and wonder. Me an ex-cop, who had the hell in a handbasket chore of training you. You’ve decided I should be okay with crap for an explanation for my own sake, did you?”
“I’ll tell you what I can when I can.”
“For all our sakes,” Amber added and tried not to react when Abel slapped a pair of plates in front of her and Gage. She peered closer. “Uh, what’s that black stuff?”
“Sausage. Fell apart in the pan.” Abel took another pull on his beer and eyed her along the length of the bottle. “How many people you got after you?”
“Two that we know of. But there’ll be more.” Gage reached for a slice of charred toast. “Do what you can to smother your curiosity, Abel. We need a truck.”
“You’ve got a truck.”
“It’s not ours, and I don’t want to drive it any longer than necessary.”
“Why not?”
“It has blood in it.”
Abel snorted. “You’re full of shit, former Lieutenant Morgan. But for the sake of an old friendship and the lady’s pretty face, I’ll let you borrow my Ford. She may be an old gray mare, but she’s better than she used to be. Tough, steady, and dependable as hell. Like me.”
Amber womanned up and tasted the eggs. They were rubbery, but edible. She ate two slices of toast, drank her juice, and filled two large thermoses with coffee for the trip.
With his boots propped on the table, Abel polished off what they’d left on their plates and nodded at the peg that held the truck key. “I still say your ma was one beautiful vixen,” he reminisced around a mouthful of black sausage.
“Which truck do you want to drive?” Gage asked once they were outside and heading for the shed that housed Abel’s still.
“We’re taking them both?”
“Can’t leave a stolen vehicle here. Abel might be crusty, but he’s a friend. Wrong people find that truck, he could wind up dead. Or Wanda could.”
Or Mandy, Amber reflected, then she sighed. “Mornings are definitely not my best time. Is Abel’s truck an automatic?”
“Doubt it.”
“Then you choose.”
“Better the devil you know. I’ll take the gray mare. Stay right on my ass. You hear or see a problem, use the flashers. Thirty miles should do it. We’ll ditch your vehicle at Fire Hollow and head for Hidden Valley.”
She walked backward so she could study him. “You sure you’re up for this, former Lieutenant?”
When he grinned, her heart gave a little bump. “Got white lightning in my pack. I’m good.”
“You are so not upping my faith in law enforcement officers.”
“It’ll come. Assuming we don’t get blindsided and die before we reach our destination.”
“Right.” She pointed at the stolen truck. “Hotwire it for me and we’re out of here.”
With the engine revving, he brought the route to Fire Hollow up on his phone. “Just in case,” he said. “You hear from anyone about Rachel, or from Rachel herself, signal me.”
“I will. You sure you’re good to go?”
“White lightning,” he reminded her and slammed the door, smiling.
“Perfect,” Amber muttered. “At this rate, we’ll be dead before we get to Hidden Valley.” Which wasn’t a positive thought, so she found a pleasing country radio station and turned up the volume on Carrie Underwood.
The thirty-mile trip didn’t pass easily, but it did pass without incident. After they stopped, Gage drove the stolen truck into a thicket of brambles and berry vines. He didn’t look happy when he climbed back out.
“Fucking thorns are everywhere.” He yanked a pair from the arm of his jacket.
“Are you bleeding?” Amber inspected a red stain on his T-shirt.
“It’s berry juice.” Gage removed her probing hands. “I’m holding together just fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot.”
“Good to know.” Amber shoved her hands in her pockets. She didn’t want to touch him anyway. “Which direction…” Frowning, she looked down. “My phone’s ringing.” She pulled it out of her right pocket and regarded the screen. “It’s Rachel.”
“Might be, might not.” He made a head motion. “Answer it.”
“Alex? Are you there.” Her sister sounded simultaneously vexed and teary.
“I’m here,” Amber told her. “Where are you? Do you know? Use our new names, Rachel.”
“Oh, who the hell cares about our new names. I don’t know where I am. They won’t let me see. You have to do what Owen wants. They told me if you do, you won’t be harmed, and neither will I.”
“‘They’ being the people who kidnapped and are holding you?”
“Yes. And they have guns and knives and big ugly faces, but they won’t hurt me because Owen loves me, I know he does. You screwed him around, is all. He’s pissed, but if you go back to Las Vegas and tell him what you gave to the FBI, he’ll let it go.”
Amber breathed out her frustration. “Rachel, you know that’s ridiculous. It’s very likely Owen has everything I gave to the FBI back again. You also know he has someone doing his dirty work on the inside. The only way for him to deal with this problem is to kill me. End of threat.”
“He won’t kill you.” Rachel sounded fierce and certain. “I won’t let him. At least… Oh, damn, this isn’t going to work, is it? You’re right. Someone in the FBI is working for Owen, and no one knows who that person is… Hey, you asshole!”
A man’s voice came on the line. “It’s your sister who’s the asshole, sweetheart. You come in or she’s dead.”
“Wait a minute you son of a—” Someone cut Rachel off, undoubtedly by force.
Eyes closed, Amber struggled for control. “You hurt her, and Fixx will never know what’s in my head that might threaten him.”
“Maybe not, but she’ll still be dead, and you’ll have to live with that, sugar pie. For as long as you can anyway.”
There was a click and the line went dead. Amber’s ears rang, mostly from fear, but partly from anger. “Shit.” She jerked her hand and the phone down. “The worst part of this is, I don’t really know anything that could hurt Fixx. The information I collected was nothing but a jumble of numbers and files and— What?” she demanded when Gage squeezed her upper arm.
“That click we heard didn’t come from your phone.”
Everything inside her turned to ice. “From where then?” Raising her head, she followed his gaze. And saw a man twenty feet to their left, pointing a rifle right at them.
…
Gage had seen old before, but never anyone as ancient as the man who’d faced them down a long and badly shaking rifle barrel.
“We’re lucky he didn’t shoot first and not bother with questions,” Amber remarked ten minutes later. “Next time we ditch a truck, let’s try not to do it on land belonging to a man who has a still in his barn and a highly suspicious nature. Don’t you just love it when a day starts with a non-literal bang like this?”
“Sign says the road’s washed out ahead,” Gage murmured. “We’ll have to backtrack.”
“Across the man with the still’s land?”
His lips twitched. “Maybe.”
Amber sent Gage a placid look. “Okay, I want to go home. That’s it. That’s all. Just home to Wyoming where my father spends half the year with his photo albums, his memories, and his pipe—not the kind used for tobacco.”
“Your father’s a pothead?”
“Among other things. He took up the habit after my brother, Elijah, went to Afghanistan. He died six months in. Roadside bomb. There was only Rachel and me after that. Our mother was long gone and, soon enough, so was our father.”
“So you want to go home why?”
“Let’s say I want to go back to when Rachel and I were really young. And innocent…” She trailed off. “Gage, that call. Fixx will hurt her. He’ll wait a while, dangle her in front of me like a carrot on a stick, but if he figures I’m not going to bite, he’ll do it. Despite what she believes, he doesn’t and never has cared enough about her not to.”
“Which is why we’re going to Hidden Valley.”
“Hiding out in a commune isn’t going to help me find my sister.”
“You need to learn to trust people, Amber. I wasn’t planning on hiding there. It’s a brief respite, nothing more. We need a plan and as many facts as we can gather.”
“About Fixx?”
“And James Mockerie. Fixx wants you, but it’s Mockerie who wants you dead. It’s his answer to any and all problems. Torture it, kill it, make what’s left of it disappear.”
“That’s sick.”
“That’s Mockerie. It’s how he built his empire. If your problem started and ended with Fixx, going into the WPP might have worked. He’d have
searched for you for a good long while, but time would have passed and the more it did without threat to him, the less vigilant he’d have become.”
“Lovely.” Amber folded her arms. “It would have been nice if Tom or anyone had mentioned that fairly important detail.”
“Yeah, well, government agencies delude themselves as much as any single person.”
He saw her shiver. “If Fixx’s men have Rachel, then Mockerie must know about it. You used the word torture. How long before he decides to employ it?”
“I don’t know.” Gage slowed as they approached the town. “Like Fixx, he’ll probably see some value in keeping her alive.”
She exhaled in a huff. “That wasn’t the question I asked.”
He regarded her briefly. “You want honesty? Not long. So, we head for Hidden Valley and figure out a way to get her back that doesn’t involve getting all of us killed.”
“Sounds like that’s going to take more magic than planning.”
Gage chuckled as they passed a sign that proudly proclaimed the Fire Hollow Pickle Festival to be in full swing. “It’s not magic we’re after, Snowbird, it’s technology.” He bypassed the first pickle stands. “Look for a gas station, then use my phone and Google the quickest route to Elbow, Mississippi.”
She took the cell he handed her. “Let me guess. We’re going to visit another one of your friends.”
“Not sure I’d call him that.” His grin in profile revealed nothing. “Once you’ve found the place, you need to hunt out your gun.”
Exasperation won out. “For God’s sake, Gage, what’s in Elbow that requires us to go in fully armed?”
His grin widened. “The biggest mother of a bear you’ve ever seen.”
…
He stopped on the edge of town to buy bandages, Tylenol, and two jars of pickles. Although he claimed he was fine, Amber could see the pain on his face. Regardless, she remained in the truck. She’d long since given up trying to follow his logic. First two jars of pickles, then half a mile farther on, two bottles of white lightning from a boxcar bar with the name Spike nailed over the door. The bottles he brought back to the truck had no labels and they smelled like diesel fuel.
