Jaimee focused on the man in front of her and stared into dark brown eyes that could have been warm but weren’t. As the seconds passed, heat flared in them, and his gaze dropped. Moving out of reach of her feet, he stroked his thumb across the slope of her breast.
She didn’t even flinch.
“You can play it cool, I see. Or maybe you enjoy my touch.”
When he pinched her nipple, she held back a cry of pain.
“Mom had some vague notion that we could stay anonymous and turn you loose after we retrieved any incriminating evidence from the safe deposit box. She prefers to keep her distance when it comes to anything nasty.” He lowered his face close to hers and whispered in her ear, “I like nasty.”
She didn’t respond. Holding perfectly still, she picked at the rope tying her hands.
He let out a frustrated breath and circled to face her. “My mother was horrified to learn I had an even bigger secret than my little brother, but I guess you know all about my past transgressions since you saw Grandpa’s documentation of all our sins. Bastard.” The word came out in a hiss. “Always trying to keep us in line with his threats. I knew he wouldn’t turn me in. He cared too much about the Croft family name. Maureen, not so much. I applaud my mother for taking action to deal with her.”
Jaimee stared straight ahead, unblinking, her expression neutral as he tried to get a reaction out of her.
“You still have nothing to say? We’ll see how long that lasts.” He strode out of her line of vision and came back a few seconds later carrying a carving knife. Clamping one of his hands down on her thigh, he drew the tip of the knife across her skin just below her shorts, using a feather-light touch. A thin trail of blood appeared. “Nice and sharp. Grandpa liked to hunt, and he butchered the animals he killed. It would be a shame if I had to carve up that pretty face of yours, but I’ll do it. Are you ready to talk yet?”
Not much of a cut, but she feared the next one would be a whole lot deeper. Time to change tactics. Distract him from his goal.
“Big knife. Compensate much?” She laughed softly. “A real shame since you aren’t bad to look at. Certainly not in Eli’s class, but adequate.”
Red surged up Doyle’s neck and colored his cheeks. “I don’t have to compensate, that’s for damn sure. Maybe I’ll send my mother back to Hawthorne and show you.”
Jaimee wondered what this man had done. Poking the bear could be dangerous. She’d have to play this very carefully and give him a motive to keep her alive.
“I stopped by the sheriff’s office after I went to the bank, but O’Leary was out of town. I think the FBI is onto Dalton Monroe. My guess is they know all about your mother’s connection to him and Legrand. They’re just getting their ducks in a row before they arrest her. You, on the other hand, might still escape prosecution. Unless, of course, they read what’s in your grandfather’s notebook.”
“There’s the little matter of kidnapping. How stupid do you think I am?”
“If you let me go, I’d be willing to cooperate.” She looked him straight in the eye. “You’re Eli’s cousin, and he’s fond of you.”
“You’re a damned liar, but nice try.” His knuckles whitened on the handle of the knife. “If you turned evidence over to the police, there’s no reason not to slit your throat right now.”
“But I didn’t. I wasn’t going to involve Sheriff Frank, who would probably have spoken out of turn to the wrong people, or broken the chain of custody, or something else not too bright. I hid the notebook instead, but it’s in a place where Eli will discover it soon enough.” She raised a brow. “What do you think? Will your cousin turn you in when he reads about your—what’s the word you used—past transgressions? Way to whitewash your crimes, Doyle.”
“Where’s the notebook?”
“That’s my bargaining chip. You can cut me if you like, not that it’ll do you any good.”
“What if I go find Eli and drag his ass back here. My guess is you’ll talk rather than watch me hurt him.”
“By the time you drive to Hawthorne, the damage will already be done. Better to let me call him now. I can head him off before he finds the notebook and takes it to the police.”
“I’m not an idiot!” he practically shouted. “I’m not letting you talk to anyone, let alone my do-good cousin. One wrong word and—”
The door opened, and Vanna walked into the room. Her eyes widened as she met Jaimee’s gaze. “Why’d you take off the pillowcase?”
“She knew who we are. Anyway, it’s not going to matter much longer now.” Doyle’s voice was cold.
“Dalton checked the law enforcement database. There’s been no report filed recently in Hawthorne, other than a drunk and disorderly last night. She obviously didn’t take whatever was in the safe deposit box to the police.”
“The bitch says she hid Grandpa’s notebook someplace Eli will find it.”
“She’s probably lying. She’d say anything to stay alive.”
“I don’t disagree, but I’m inclined to believe her.” Doyle set the knife down on the table. “It makes sense that Eli is involved.”
“Do you think he’s already looking for her?”
“He might be wondering where she disappeared to if they planned to meet, but he sure as hell won’t look here.”
“Why do you care if he finds me? You should be more concerned about him finding the notebook.” Jaimee spoke in a conversational tone.
Mother and son both turned to stare at her before Vanna spoke. “She’s right.”
“Where’d you put it?” Doyle circled the chair and grabbed a handful of her hair, giving it a hard yank.
Her eyes smarted, but she didn’t cry out. “I left it at his house, but not out in the open. Since he wasn’t home when I got there, I went back to my cabin. I’m not sure where he went, but I can’t imagine he’ll be gone very long.”
“I don’t like this.” A nerve in Vanna’s cheek twitched. “Eli doesn’t have any sense of family loyalty.”
“I don’t know about that. My guess is he’ll ask questions before he goes to the police.” Doyle scowled. “I have to convince him to meet me face to face first.”
“Don’t you think a call from me would accomplish that before he finds the notebook?” Jaimee asked.
Vanna narrowed her gaze. “And have you shout out whatever you like? Not a chance.”
“I won’t say much if that knife is pressed against my throat.”
Doyle gave her hair another jerk. “I don’t trust the bitch. I’ll call Eli myself. If he’s found the notebook, I’ll know immediately. My cousin never could bluff worth a damn when we played poker.”
Jaimee did her best to look dejected. Eli will get something from him. Even a small clue could make all the difference…
“I told you I wasn’t an idiot.” Doyle smirked at her as he pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it on.
“You’ll need to walk down the driveway to get decent reception.” Vanna’s brow wrinkled above worried eyes. “I have a bad feeling about this whole situation.”
“Don’t second guess me. I know what I’m doing.” Without a backward glance, he turned and left the cabin.
Jaimee met Vanna’s nervous gaze. “This isn’t going to end well. You realize that, right? Better to leave now before the cops come after you. You might still have time to get away.”
Her back stiffened. “You’ve been an irritant to me for far too long, and I look forward to dumping your body off a cliff somewhere for the buzzards to pick at. As for me . . .” Her lips pressed into a tight line. “I always come out on top.”
* * * *
Eli grabbed his phone as it slid across the dashboard and slowed a fraction coming out of the tight corner.
“What was that? I didn’t hear your response.” Patch raised his voice.
“Sorry. I dropped my cell. I called O’Leary’s direct line, but he didn’t pick up. I left him a message to contact me. Not that it’ll do much good now. I should
be at the hunting cabin in under a half hour. Reception isn’t great up there.”
“What about local cops in the area? I know it’ll take time to explain, but—”
“There aren’t any nearby. The cabin backs up to national forest at the end of a dirt road out in the middle of nowhere. I’ll be lucky if I can remember how to get there. It’s been a few years. The only law enforcement officer I ever saw in the vicinity was the game warden.”
“I don’t like you going in alone. You’re unarmed, and your cousin is obviously dangerous.”
“I’m not afraid of Doyle, and he won’t be expecting me.”
“Even, so—”
“Hey, I have another call.”
“Is it O’Leary?” Patch asked.
“Holy shit. It’s Doyle. Should I answer?”
“Let it go to voice mail. You can call him back in a minute. Wolf and I are currently en route to the airfield. With the coordinates from his phone and your aunt’s, the chopper pilot can drop us reasonably close to the cabin. Don’t get yourself killed before we get there.”
“What should I say to Doyle?”
“He must want information about that notebook. Feel him out. Who knows what line of crap Scarlet’s fed him, but the main goal is to keep her alive until we can rescue her.”
“I’m pretty good at making up scenarios on the fly. I’ll be in touch.” He disconnected and then listened to Doyle’s message.
“Hey, Eli, are you at home? Something’s come up, and . . . give me a call when you get this.”
Eli frowned. He knew his cousin well, and beneath the surface cheer, he sounded on edge. Had Jaimee told him about the notebook? If so, wouldn’t Doyle have been on the defensive?
Are you at home? The words played through his mind. Maybe he wasn’t sure if Eli had seen anything incriminating yet.
He’d have to wing it. Eli tapped the call back button and waited.
Doyle answered immediately. “Thanks for getting back to me. I didn’t head home to Boston like I’d planned, so I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner together.” His voice faded out before growing stronger. “Can you hear me? Are you at your house?”
“Actually, I’m in my car. I had some repair work done on it and needed to return the rental. Where do you want to meet?”
“How about the steakhouse about twenty minutes north of town. I’m in the mood for a T-bone.”
“I can do that. I’ll stop by my house to change and be there in an hour, if that works?”
“Hell, you don’t need to change. I’m in shorts, and the place is pretty casual. Just come straight here. I’m starving.”
“All right. I’ll see you in around forty minutes.”
Eli hung up, pretty damn pleased with the way the conversation had gone. A few seconds later the phone lying on the passenger seat rang. Webb’s phone. Doyle’s name popped up on the screen. After several rings, it went to voice mail.
“So that’s his game,” Eli muttered. Except Webb wouldn’t be answering.
A minute later the phone dinged, and a text appeared. Eli slowed down to read it. Answer your damn phone. This is urgent.
Coming to a complete stop on the side of the road, he picked up the cell, pressed the home button, then stared at the keypad. What would Webb use as a password? He tried his birth year and got a buzz. What the hell is his birthday? Closing his eyes, he pictured his cousin’s tenth birthday party, the last one Eli had gone to before he and his mom had moved out of the area. It had been the Saturday following Labor Day, right after school started. He did some mental math and used his own cell to pull up a calendar for 2002. September seventh. He tapped 0-9-0-7, and Webb’s phone unlocked.
“I’ll be a son of a bitch!” He pressed the message icon to display Doyle’s text and typed a response. What do you want?
Get your ass over to Eli’s house. Look for a notebook. Now!
Eli grinned as he typed. I’m busy.
You want to spend the next few years in prison? Do it!
Shit. Fine. He waited a moment before texting again. What if I can’t find it?
Let me know. I’ll get the exact location.
Eli dropped the phone and pulled back onto the road. That ought to keep Doyle from doing anything rash, at least for a little while. He’d be at the cabin in another fifteen minutes. Nerves tightening with each mile, he passed a motel on the outskirts of Greendale. The town consisted of a scattering of houses and a general store with a gas pump out front. A big piece of plywood nailed to a post had Bait and Ammo written across it in red paint. Almost there.
He finally reached the dirt road that led to the cabin and made the turn onto the rutted track, trying to remember how far the cabin was from the main road. A mile in, he found a wide spot, and with some maneuvering, managed to get the car turned around. Better to be prepared to make a quick getaway, though he hoped a fast escape wouldn’t be necessary. Turning Webb’s cell to vibrate, he slipped both it and his own phone into his pockets.
After shutting the door with a quiet click, Eli headed up the road, staying close to the trees. Dusk had settled over the forest. Straining his ears, he listened for the sound of an approaching chopper, but the evening was quiet except for the chirping of a few sleepy birds. He and Jaimee were on their own.
His grandpa’s hunting cabin wasn’t much more than a shack with a main room, a bath with an old tin shower stall, and a bedroom lined with four bunks. At least that’s what Eli remembered from the few times he’d visited. He’d learned early on that he wasn’t a fan of hunting. Fishing was different. He’d enjoyed the peace and quiet, sitting on the bank of the stream that flowed year-round not far from the cabin, waiting for a trout to bite the worm on his hook while bits and pieces of stories flitted through his head. This was the place where he’d first entertained the idea of being a writer.
The cabin looked exactly as he remembered it. Boards darkened with age, and a porch that was propped up on one end with a pile of cinderblocks. Grandpa had always said he didn’t need fancy in the woods. Doyle’s Porsche was parked in the weedy yard out front, and no one was in sight. Eli could only assume both his aunt and cousin were inside with Jaimee. He fisted his hands at his sides, uncertain how best to proceed.
Create a diversion. Draw one of them out.
If he were writing this scene, that’s what his hero would do. Or maybe Jaimee was sending thought waves in his direction. He could feel her presence on the other side of those thin walls, her determination and focus. His attention turned to the woodpile to the left of the house and the shed beyond it.
A smile of grim determination tilted the corners of his mouth as he formulated a plan and hoped he could pull it off. Because the absolute only thing that mattered was getting the woman he loved out of that cabin alive, and he didn’t give a damn who he had to hurt in the process. He’d do whatever was necessary to save her, and to hell with the consequences.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Vanna yanked hard on the stubborn sash, and with a grating shriek, the window rose a few inches. “Do you smell that?”
“Smell what?” Doyle picked up his phone for the third time in the last few minutes. “Why the hell doesn’t Webb call me back?”
“Smoke. I swear I caught a whiff of smoke.” His mother turned away from the window. “Either Webb hasn’t found the notebook yet, or he’s not getting through because there’s no reception.”
“Shit! Can you go call him?” Doyle dropped his cell on the table and picked up the carving knife. “I’m done playing nice with this one. I intend to get some answers.”
Jaimee didn’t flinch. She had an uneasy feeling any sign of fear would make him even more dangerous.
“Do you think some idiot started a forest fire? Jesus, Doyle. We could fry in this cabin if the fire is between us and the road.”
Was there a hint of smoke in the air? Jaimee sat perfectly still as Doyle walked behind her. Her wrists were raw from trying to loosen the rope, but she’d finally m
ade a little progress.
Vanna rushed to the door and opened it. “There’s a small plume of smoke coming from behind the cabin. Did you toss a lit cigarette?”
“Of course not.” He joined his mother at the door. “I might have dropped a butt, but it was definitely out.”
A fire seemed awfully fortuitous. Could her Counterstrike teammates have reached her location so quickly and set it? Jaimee didn’t think so.
But Eli could have.
“Oh, my God! I always said smoking would kill you. I didn’t think it would kill me, too.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Mom. There’s a hose at the corner of the cabin. It doesn’t look like much of a fire to me. I’m sure you can handle it.”
Vanna stared up at him. “Seriously? You want me to—”
“Call Webb after you put it out.” Doyle touched the tip of one finger to the point of the knife, and a spot of blood appeared. “I’m kind of busy right now.”
“God, you can be an ass.” Vanna hurried across the porch, her designer shoes slapping the steps as she ran down them.
Doyle slammed the door and turned to face Jaimee. A flicker of excitement brightened his eyes.
Her stomach lurched, and she strained against her bonds. The rope was definitely looser.
“Finally, a little alone time.” His laugh had an ugly edge. Staying clear of her feet, he stepped up beside her and wrapped the fingers of one hand around her neck. “Are you ready to tell me where that notebook is?”
Before she could respond, he tightened his grip. Blood pounded in her head, and spots appeared in front of her eyes before he finally relaxed his hold.
It took her several moments to gather her wits. Staying quiet would no longer help her. Especially if Eli is outside.
“It’s in one of the kitchen drawers.” Her voice came out in a harsh rasp.
“So now you’re ready to cooperate, are you? We’ll see if Webb found the damn thing. If he ever calls.” Doyle pressed his face close to hers and held the blade of the knife at eye level. “You better not be lying. I wouldn’t like that.”
Fatal Encounter (A Counterstrike Novel Book 1) Page 27
