Every Step She Takes (Who's Watching Now Book 2)

by Jannine Gallant

  The vein at his temple throbbed, and color washed across his cheekbones. “I was six—way too young to lose my brother. I spoke to him late that night, probably the last conversation he ever had. He’d been out drinking with his friends before I called him. He was mumbling and crying about how you’d turned him down, how if you really loved him, you would have slept with him.”

  “Why would a six-year-old boy call anyone in the middle of the night?” The man was delusional, making up the whole story. Maybe he’d seen an old newspaper article about the accident. Maybe there was some family connection, but—

  “Our dad had just gotten home from the bar and was downstairs yelling at my mom. I knew after he got through beating the shit out of her, he’d come looking for me.” His whole body shook as he drew in a breath. “I was afraid, so I called David.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her hands trembled as she smoothed them down her pants to dry damp palms. “David lived with his father.”

  “His stepfather. His mother ran off with David when he was still a baby and divorced his real father. Our dad’s cousin helped her. Even before they got married, he had a thing for her. Maybe that’s why our dad used to hit her. She was a slut.”

  The story was too convoluted to make up. Was this man—this paid assassin—really David’s brother?

  “The court order allowed supervised visitation only.” His knuckles grew white on the steering wheel as traffic came to a complete stop. “Our father was such a mean son of a bitch, I’m surprised they allowed that.”

  She drew in a breath. “David never said a word. His parents’ last name was Rogers, so I had no idea.”

  “Why would he talk about it? After I was born, the old man didn’t bother with him anymore. My brother cared about me, though. My mom let him see me sometimes when our dad was out of town. We played Crazy Eights. He said I was too smart for Go Fish.”

  A vague memory stirred. She’d asked David to go ice skating with her shortly before Christmas, but he’d told her he couldn’t. He was going to see Sonny. When she’d asked who Sonny was, he’d said he was a friend who lived out of town.

  “Did David call you Sonny?”

  Mason’s head jerked around. “How’d you know that?”

  “He mentioned you once, but he didn’t tell me you were his brother.”

  A smile lit his eyes. “He did?”

  “It was near Christmas.”

  “David brought me a bow and arrow set that last year. The arrows had little suction cups on them. I’d line up beer cans on the porch railing and shoot at them until I got so good I never missed.”

  She wouldn’t feel sorry for him. For the little boy he’d been, fearful of an abusive father, yes. Not for the man he’d become. A trained killer.

  “What happened that night?”

  The light faded from his eyes. “When he stopped talking about you and listened to what I was saying, he told me to run outside and hide in our tree fort. He said he’d come get me, that he wouldn’t let our dad hit me ever again.” The car lurched forward as the traffic began to move. He rubbed a hand across his face. “David’s voice was slurred, but I thought it was because he was sad about you. Even at six, I should have recognized he’d been drinking. God knows I’d heard our father’s voice slurred often enough.”

  “So he left the house drunk to go rescue you.” Tears threatened. She clenched her fists tight in her lap.

  “It was your fault he never got to me.” His voice rose. “My brother wouldn’t have been drinking if you’d slept with him that night like he wanted. I didn’t understand what he was talking about at the time, but I figured it out later. He wanted you to prove your love, and you turned him down.”

  “He made a bad choice. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “I have to believe you were to blame.”

  “Why, Mason? It was an accident. David wasn’t thinking clearly, but his intentions were good. He was only trying to save his little brother.”

  “If I don’t blame you, I have to blame myself. I made the call that sent him out onto the highway. I didn’t stop him from driving that night because I was so afraid.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, either.” Anger burned in her gut and spread. “If you want to blame someone, blame your father. You wouldn’t have called David if the man hadn’t been threatening you and your mother.”

  “Oh, I took care of him.”

  The look in his cold gray eyes, the utter satisfaction that curved his lips, sent a shiver through her. Fritz had told them Mason Rogers’s father died in a tragic, drunken accident.

  She was almost afraid to ask, but morbid curiosity forced the question. “What exactly did you do?”

  “David never came for me that night. I hid in our special place, but he didn’t come. The next morning my mom told me he was dead. Her lip was split and so swollen she could barely say the words. My dad was in a blind rage, drinking again and swearing and smashing things. I went out to the garage and got a hammer, and when he collapsed onto the couch, I hit him with it.”

  Grace drew in a sharp breath.

  “My mom wasn’t even angry when she walked in and saw me standing there. She dragged my dad over to the raised hearth and wacked his head against the corner of it in the same spot I’d hit him then left him there. Afterward, she got rid of the hammer and told me when the police came, I was to say I was hiding under my bed the whole time.”

  “No one ever learned the truth?”

  “I think one of the detectives believed my mom killed him, but she was never charged. We moved away a few months later, and that was the end of that. Except I missed my brother. I wanted him back.”

  They left the freeway and drove through the outskirts of Vallejo into the countryside. Not the best area. They passed a seedy trailer park and a junkyard. When he turned onto an ill-paved road, her low-slung car grated over ruts. Grace winced. Another sharp right took them onto a dirt road. Her head smacked against the back of the seat as they bounced through holes before pulling to a stop in front of a weathered shack. The windows were boarded over, but the door hung ajar. An empty pizza box sat on the sagging porch beside a half dozen disposable water bottles.

  “Looks like squatters have been camping here.” She glanced at her abductor. “What is this place?”

  “It’s where I grew up those first six years. A real shit hole.”

  “Why would you come back here? Why bring me?”

  “Some developer bought the property recently. I wanted one last look at my special place with David before they bulldoze over it. Don’t worry. No one’s around. We’re all alone.”

  Some of the fear that had dissipated while she listened to his story returned. A chill spread through her despite the late afternoon heat. Being held hostage by this disturbed young man had a surreal edge. In the city, she’d expected getting away from him would be relatively easy when the time was right. Not that she would ever risk her neighbors’ lives, and the threat to her niece shook her to her core. She wouldn’t run from Rogers if there was even the tiniest chance he could escape. Instead, she’d had every intention of finding a way to bring the authorities to him.

  Now, that hope looked slim. Only the chirp of a robin high in an oak tree disturbed the quiet. No traffic noise. No voices. Not even a dog barked to disturb the silence. Her thoughts turned to Wylie, and she fought tears. Her dog was bruised not broken. She couldn’t lose it now. The only way to escape was to stay strong. She was truly isolated from civilization, and rescue seemed very far away.

  When she failed to show up at the hospital, Travis would worry. He’d notify Fritz and have every FBI agent in the area looking for her. Problem was, they’d never look for her here. She had to keep her head.

  “Biting your lip like that is an unattractive habit. Did you think I’d make it easy for you to summon help?”

  She pushed open the car door and stepped out. With a grunt, he followed suit.

  “Now what?”

  One shoulder lifted
in a shrug as he slammed the door. “We’ll continue our conversation.”

  “What’s the point? Seems like there’s nothing left to say.”

  “That would be a real shame.”

  The hair rose on Grace’s arms. “Why?”

  “Because if we’re finished talking, there’s no reason not to kill you.”

  “Oh, I can think of a few.”

  Teeth bared, he let out a laugh. “I see why my brother loved you. You’re bright and entertaining.” His gaze lowered. “Not to mention hot.”

  She walked away and sat on the top porch step. “Do you know what we liked most about each other?”

  “What?” He slid the car keys into his pocket then eased down onto the step beside her.

  She gauged her chances of winning a wrestling match for the keys and decided to wait on that option. Even injured, he’d still be a deadly opponent, and the weapon holstered at his hip more than made up for his reduced mobility.

  She forced her mind back to the conversation. “We were both super competitive. We ran track together, and we pushed each other to succeed.”

  “My brother told me about the college scholarship he got. He was so happy.”

  “David was good.”

  “Not as good as you. He bragged about you, said you’d be state champion before you graduated.” He turned to face her. “Did you win?”

  Grace shook her head. “I quit track. After David died, I couldn’t face going back. Now I know in my heart I wasn’t to blame for his death, but at sixteen the guilt was crushing.” She stabbed a finger at her chest. “Do you think I didn’t wish over and over again I’d given in and slept with him that night? Don’t you know I would have given anything to go back and change the outcome?”

  A flicker of doubt flashed through his eyes. “Then why didn’t you have a single picture of him? If you cared so much about my brother, wouldn’t you have kept at least one photograph to remember him by?”

  “Is that why you trashed my apartment, looking for a picture?”

  “I don’t have one, and I wanted to see his face.” He leaned against the post propping up the porch roof and cradled his injured arm. “Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can’t remember what he looked like.”

  “I do have photos, an album full of them. They’re at my parents’ house in Vine Haven. All my childhood treasures are still there. I don’t have room in my apartment to keep everything.”

  He stilled. “You’re not lying to me?”

  “Why would I bother?”

  “I don’t know. Could be you’re buttering me up to keep me from putting a bullet through your brain.”

  Her insides quivered, and she swallowed against a wave of nausea. Keep up the bluster. Don’t let him see any weakness. “You try to sound tougher than you are.”

  “I’m a real pansy. I kill people for a living.”

  “Not up close and personal. You shoot from a distance. I don’t think killing me is going to be so easy.”

  “I hit my father in the head with a hammer when I was six. Don’t be so sure.”

  “You hated him. You don’t hate me. You gave my dog a swift kick, but you didn’t stick a knife in him. That says something about you.”

  “I had to use that knife to dig the bullet out of my arm. I didn’t want to contaminate it on the mutt.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Are you trying to piss me off?”

  “No, I’m trying to understand you. I know clothes, and that was an expensive shirt you left behind. Obviously you have money, yet you’re squatting in an abandoned shack that can only bring back bad memories. You’re smart. I bet your IQ is off the charts, so why not put your intelligence to use in a legitimate field? Why did you become who you are?”

  “I don’t like following the rules. Shooting is a game to me, one I’m exceptionally skilled at. You’re right, though, I don’t like hurting animals. The first—and last—time I went hunting, I puked seeing the buck lying there with those glassy eyes. Targets aren’t even a challenge. With a human objective there’re variables that keep things interesting. Shooting some scumbag with a price on his head doesn’t bother me in the least.”

  “Casey Sutton isn’t a scumbag. The people paying you are the ones who deserve to be shot. Juan Estrada is a perfect example.”

  He shrugged. “My career’s over, anyway. Word travels fast in professional circles. No one will ever hire me again. Your fault.”

  “My fault? How do you figure?”

  “I was distracted from my goal both in Alaska and in San Francisco. That’s inexcusable in my line of work. Once I actually spoke to you, I knew what my priority had to be.”

  His eyes narrowed, sending a fresh shot of fear surging to the surface.

  Keep him talking.

  “David died eighteen years ago. Why now?”

  He let out a breath. “I should have taken care of it sooner, I’ll admit. I’ve kept my eye on you, watched every step you’ve taken in your career. Don’t think I didn’t know where to find you.”

  “But you didn’t come looking.”

  “I was busy, and it wasn’t convenient. No excuse, but it’s all I’ve got. I don’t even live in California anymore, so you can see why I ignored the situation. My home is in New York, but I have connections here, ones I made while I was still in college.”

  “Seeing me on that plane must have given you a jolt.”

  “It was fate. If I believed in all that karma shit, I’d say the planets aligned to bring us together. Obviously I was meant to finish this for David.”

  Grace snorted. “You’re full of crap.”

  His jaw dropped. She was pretty certain she’d never actually seen it happen before. A little burst of satisfaction filled her. Keep him on edge.

  “It’s not karma or the fates coming together to wreak havoc. Get over yourself.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s not even that big of a coincidence. I’m a reporter, a damn good one, and Casey Sutton is about the biggest story going this summer. You obviously have local ties to lowlifes like Estrada, so it isn’t a stretch that he’d hire you despite the fact you’ve left the area. Are you with me?”

  He smiled. “Oh, yeah, I can’t wait to see where this is leading.”

  “Have you thought about what your brother would want?”

  The smile disappeared.

  “He cared about me, maybe even loved me despite being a total moron that last night, trying to coerce me into bed. Then drinking himself into a stupor when things didn’t go his way. Eighteen-year-old boys don’t always use their heads when it comes to getting laid.”

  “Jesus.” He sucked in a breath and winced.

  “Still, I don’t think David would blame me for what happened afterward. I know he wouldn’t blame you, and I’m one hundred percent positive he wouldn’t want his baby brother to kill the girl he dated.” Her voice quavered, and she steadied it. “One he claimed to love.”

  Mason hung his head, face pale as perspiration beaded his forehead. “Well, this sucks.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because now I don’t want to kill you, but I don’t have a choice.”

  Chapter 29

  Where the hell was Grace? Travis paced in front of the hospital and swore. His bloodstained shirt flapped loosely from his shoulders, and he winced at the sharp pain in his side when he pivoted. He tried her cell again, but it went straight to voicemail. Scrolling through his contacts, he called Fritz.

  His old buddy picked up on the second ring. “Are you home yet?”

  “I’m still at the hospital. They released me, but Grace hasn’t shown to pick me up. I’m worried.”

  “Traffic?”

  “She’d find a way around it, and she isn’t answering her phone. Can you check her apartment? I’ll take a cab and meet you there.”

  “It’s only been a couple of hours—”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass. Something’s wrong.” He rattled off the addr
ess and hung up.

  His frustration built as the taxi maneuvered through streets choked with early evening traffic. The drive seemed endless, and his patience was drying up fast. When the cab slowed in front of Grace’s apartment, he tossed a twenty to the cabbie and bolted out the door before the old yellow beater came to a complete stop.

  Fritz’s black SUV double parked beside him, and the agent stepped out.

  “Any word on Rogers?”

  Fritz shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Travis punched in the security code, ran across the lobby and bounded up the stairs. Clammy sweat soaked through his ruined shirt as he clutched his bandaged side.

  “You don’t look so good. Maybe they should have kept you a little longer.”

  “Shit. Her door’s open.”

  Fritz drew his weapon and edged past him. “Grace.”

  Barking erupted from the bedroom as they entered the apartment.

  “All clear in here. Jesus.”

  Travis turned before he reached the bedroom door. “What?”

  The agent pointed to a pile of stained bandages next to a bloody shirt on the counter.

  Pressing one hand against the wall, Travis struggled to breathe. Grace had to be okay. Had. To. Be.

  Worried eyes met his as Fritz hurried toward him. “Let me check the bedroom.”

  “No. The dog—”

  Travis opened the door, and Wylie exploded through the opening, nearly knocking him over. Teeth bared, he growled at Fritz. With a lunge that sent pain shooting through his side, Travis grabbed the dog. It yelped and cowered.

  “The bedroom’s empty.” Fritz glanced down. “Is he going to bite me?”

  “No. It’s okay, boy.” Squatting, Travis ran his hands through the dog’s fur. When he touched his ribs, Wylie yelped again. “He’s hurt. What the hell happened here?”

  “The bloody shirt could belong to Rogers. We know you at least nicked him earlier. Or maybe the dog took a bite out of him.”

  Travis rose slowly. “Grace was coming home to get clean clothes for me. There’s no sign of a struggle. If she walked in and found him here, surely she would have put up a fight. Against an injured man…”