Dare to Dream: The Maxwell Series

by S. B. Alexander

  Lacey will be late. Let me know when she comes in. I have her phone.

  You got it.

  By the time my first period class ended, I hadn’t heard from Kelton. So I dialed him. Kross came out of class behind me.

  “Did Lacey show up?” I asked into the phone.

  “No, bro,” Kelton said.

  My body went ice cold. I checked the time. Even with traffic lights and stop signs, she lived—at most—fifteen minutes from school.

  “What is it?” Kross asked. Lines were stitched in his forehead.

  I was trying to stay calm while my system wanted to slam the panic button. “Lacey isn’t in school yet. I have her phone. Hunt said she’d be late, but I didn’t think he meant over an hour.”

  A river of kids filed up and down the hall as Kross and I huddled against a bank of lockers.

  “Call Hunt,” he said.

  “Nah. He’s probably home sleeping by now.” I called Steve, one of the bodyguards on the dayshift. “Steve, where’s Lacey? She’s not in school.”

  “Kade? What do you mean?”

  “Where is she?” My hand gripped the phone like a vise.

  “I’m not on her detail today. We have Pitt’s personal guards on her.”

  I shut my eyes, praying so fucking hard he didn’t mean the steroid twins. “Not the one with a scar on his face?”

  “Yeah. Jerry and his partner, Paul. I’ll call them then call you back.”

  Motherfucker.

  I counted to ten, my mind racing. “Let’s go,” I said to Kross. “Hunt didn’t tell me they switched out her normal bodyguards today.”

  “Why?” Kross hitched his backpack on his shoulder.

  Fuck if I knew. I’d specifically asked Wes not to put those morons on her detail. “No idea. Let’s check the parking lot. Can you call Kelton and tell him to call us if Lacey shows up?” I had to keep my line open for Steve.

  Kross got out his phone and filled Kelton in.

  A pain latched onto the back of my neck as Kross and I went in search of Lacey. We drove around the school’s main lot and the lot of the sports complex. No sign of Lacey’s Mustang. We phoned Kelton again. Still no sign of Lacey. Then Steve called back. He couldn’t get ahold of the steroid twins. I was resisting the panic button as best I could, but the stabbing pain in my temples made it hard for me not to smash the damn thing.

  My stomach felt like Kross had used it as his punching bag as we drove through the streets of Ashford. I knew Lacey’s route from her house to school. I also knew she liked to stop at a coffee shop in town to get a latte beforehand.

  “Red light.” Kross braced his hands on the dash.

  “I see it.” I braked then scanned the street up ahead.

  Shops lined the small town of Ashford on both sides. The coffee shop was up on our left. People were going in, and a girl with long brown hair hurried out. I did a double take, but when I focused, it wasn’t Lacey.

  “Green, dude.”

  Swallowing the razors I had stuck in my throat, I pressed on the pedal as gently as my nerves would allow.

  A side parking lot cut a path in between the coffee shop and the local bookstore. I eased into the lot and circled around back. My blood froze, and a pounding beat in my ears.

  “She’s here,” Kross said excitedly.

  Somehow I didn’t think so. The scar-faced twin stood next to Lacey’s Mustang, talking on his phone and waving wildly with one hand. I jerked the gearshift into park and jumped out. My hands were balled into fists and my jaw was glued together as I stalked up to him.

  Kross caught my arm. “Wait.”

  “Kade just showed up. I’ll call you back,” Scar Face said.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I peered inside Lacey’s car. Her backpack was on the passenger seat. “Where is she?” I was about to fillet him like a fish.

  “What happened?” Kross asked Scar Face in a placid tone.

  Thank God he was calm.

  “Paul and I lagged one car behind her as she came into town. Out of nowhere a delivery truck stalled in the intersection, blocking us. When we finally got around the truck, she was walking out of the coffee shop. So we parked here, and Paul got out to make sure we had eyes on her. By the time he got around to the front of the building, she was gone. We’ve searched the area and talked to everyone inside. Paul is in the coffee shop now checking again with anyone who might’ve seen Lacey or anyone with her.”

  “Steve tried to call you.” I got in his face. “Why didn’t you answer?”

  “Back off.” He pushed me. “I was doing my job, trying to get answers.”

  I lunged at him, pinning him against his vehicle. “You’re a fucking moron.”

  Kross peeled me off him.

  “She’s long gone, asshole,” I snarled. “You can’t even do your fucking job. Why the fuck does Pitt trust you two?”

  “Bro, direct your energy elsewhere,” Kross said. “This isn’t helping to find Lacey.”

  I shrugged off my brother and marched onto a side street, swearing. I called Wes. No answer. I called Hunt. No answer. I called Pitt. No answer. I was about to throw my phone when Kross drove up in my truck. I hopped in.

  “That other dude, Paul, came back,” Kross said. “An employee in the coffee shop remembers waiting on Lacey, but she didn’t see anyone with her. No one did, according to everyone they spoke to.”

  Nausea rolled in violent waves in my stomach, and I had the urge to puke up the orange juice from breakfast. “Head to Boston.” I punched the dashboard.

  After a long, agonizing ride, I strode into Pitt’s skyscraper in downtown Boston like I owned the building. I didn’t stop at the security desk. I counted to three, waiting for the rotund guard to say something. As if I cared. I was on a mission. I wanted answers. Why did Wes change the bodyguards? Did they know where Lacey was? Did her father get the ledger? Did he know Lacey was missing?

  With Kross at my side, I stabbed the button on the wall.

  “Sir,” the guard said, his voice booming in the sterile lobby. “Do you have an appointment?”

  I pressed the button again, willing the elevator doors to open. I was going up to Pitt’s office whether I had an appointment or not. Yeah, I was about to blow. I’d tried to call Wes and Pitt several times on our way in. I’d given up on Hunt. The guy was sleeping.

  “We do,” Kross lied. “Jeremy Pitt is expecting us.”

  I smiled over all the rage bursting free inside me. I could always count on my brothers to have my back. I was glad Kross had come with me. Of the triplets, he was the levelheaded one, and he was the muscle I needed in the event things got physical.

  “I have to clear—”

  The elevator dinged, and Kross and I jumped in. I hit forty on the panel, and as the doors slid shut, the security guard’s voice trailed off. Then the car started its ascent, a little too slow for my liking. I stretched my neck in all directions then rubbed the back of my head.

  Since I couldn’t get ahold of Wes or Pitt, I didn’t know if they were in the office. I knew if everything went off without a hitch for Mr. Robinson that he was scheduled to meet Pitt in his office.

  The floors ticked by.

  Kross was as calm as if it were a normal day with the sun shining. He tucked his hands in his pockets. His blue eyes had a quiet intensity that usually helped to steady my nerves, giving me the strength I needed at times like this.

  The car stopped, the doors opened, and the receptionist’s head bobbed up from her desk. She was the same lady who’d turned shades of red when Hunt had embarrassed her. Kross and I stepped out of the elevator. I barely acknowledged her as I hung a left. Kross didn’t miss a step.

  When I reached Pitt’s closed door, I stormed in. Mr. Robinson was leaning against the bar, fear written all over his face. Wes had a red book in his hands, and Pitt said into his desk phone, “That’s okay, Sarah.”

  I had every intention of punching Wes’s lights out first, but given the dismal atmosphere and
what Wes was holding, I had to take a step back and regroup for a second. My rage wouldn’t help find Lacey, and Mr. Robinson now had the ledger.

  “Where’s Lacey?” I asked no one in particular.

  “They have her,” Mr. Robinson said in a despondent tone. He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Who?” Every muscle in me cramped. I didn’t want to assume. Hell, a Mexican cartel could have her.

  Kross made himself at home next to Mr. Robinson. I ponied up to one of the wingback chairs.

  “Lorenzino,” Wes said as he placed the ledger on the desk. “James got a call soon after he arrived here.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? And why are you guys standing around this office then?” I clamped down on the inside of my cheek, drawing blood, the metallic taste smearing my tongue.

  “We just got the call ten minutes ago. We’re waiting for a time and place to meet to exchange the ledger for Lacey,” Pitt said. “In the meantime, Wes has a team of men in Ashford working with the police, and I’ve alerted my contacts at BPD.”

  I couldn’t stand there with Mr. Robinson about to break down, Wes acting like it was another day at the office, and Pitt staring blankly. I had to keep moving. I had to do something. I assumed Lorenzino wouldn’t hurt Lacey as long as we gave him the ledger. Still, my stomach lurched with a bad feeling. After all, we were dealing with the mob. “How does Lorenzino know you have the ledger?” I dug my fingers into the leather chair.

  “Lorenzino probably had a tail on James.” Pitt held his chin in his hand. “We always suspected they were watching.”

  “How did they know today was the day though? And they kidnapped Lacey at the same time her father was getting the ledger?” I believed in perfect storms, but they were rare.

  “Did anyone know Lorenzino was in town?” Kross asked. “Wasn’t the LAPD watching him?”

  Another good point.

  “I checked with Detective Fisher after I got the call from Lorenzino.” Mr. Robinson was frozen in the same position. “He tracked him to a private airstrip in LA yesterday morning but couldn’t get access to the flight plan.”

  “And what about that Dennis Weeks guy? Is he involved?” I was about to poke a hole into the chair.

  “We haven’t been able to find out much about him except what his police records show, which isn’t much—several robberies, a handful of stints in jail, and three ex-wives,” Wes said. “He was on Lorenzino’s payroll until a year ago, when he disappeared. We’re still digging into his background.”

  Mr. Robinson’s phone rang.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Lacey

  An agonizing pain throbbed in the back of my head as a faint male voice bled into my consciousness.

  “It’s almost show time,” the male voice said.

  My head bobbed. I blinked several times to clear my vision. I tried to wipe the drool from my mouth, but my arm wouldn’t budge. Panic set in as I tried to move my other arm. I realized I was tied to a wooden chair, and pain dug into my wrists as I thrashed one way then another to get my arms free.

  “Still fighting,” the man taunted. “I told you this would go easier if you didn’t.”

  I lifted my head. Two men were lounging against a bar, the soft glow from pendant lights above spotlighting their features. The man to my left had gray hair and a gray beard. He was the man in the photo I’d found in Dad’s office—Harrison Lorenzino. The man to my right had red hair, and pockmarks dotted his face. He was the man in the photo that Detective Fisher had shown us—Dennis Weeks.

  I twisted again, snarling at my captives. Suddenly, the memory of what I’d done to Weeks in the car returned to me.

  I’d barely gotten out of the coffee shop when a man grabbed my arm and said into my ear, “This will go easier if you don’t fight.” I had no time to react, and my latte splattered to the ground. His large hand covered my head, and he shoved me into the back of a black sedan that was parked at the curb. No sooner had the door closed than the car sped away. I was barricaded in between two men. I’d seen pictures of both, and one I knew without a doubt had had something to do with Julie and Mom’s murder.

  “It’s you. You killed my family,” I said. His cologne smelled of insect repellent. It was as strong as it had been when I’d entered the garage the night I found Julie and Mom. A rage of adrenaline rushed through me. I balled up my hand and swung, hitting his face with the back of my knuckles. Then I quickly got in his lap and pulled on his wiry hair as hard as I could, screaming, “I’ll kill you,” over and over again.

  His hands were on my arms, trying to push me off, but I wasn’t letting go. Not until he felt pain and lots of it.

  “Get her off me, Harrison. Don’t just sit there like you’re enjoying this,” Weeks’s voice blared in my ears. His fingers slid down to circle my wrists.

  I spit in his face then slammed my forehead into his nose, drawing blood.

  “Goddamn,” he said. “Stop your screaming.”

  I screamed louder before I sank my teeth into his fingers. As he swore, something hard struck the back of my head, and blackness colored my vision.

  Weeks laughed hauntingly, the sound severing my trip down memory lane. I clenched my eyes shut for a brief moment, panic and rage starting off the buzzing in my head. I opened my eyes and did a quick scan of my surroundings. Tables peppered the floor. A stage banked the wall to my right, and a stale odor burned the hairs in my nose. I was in Dad’s club, Rumors.

  “Where’s my dad?” My words broke apart.

  “If he doesn’t do anything stupid, he should be here momentarily,” said Harrison, who was nursing a drink.

  Did Dad have the ledger? I cleared my throat. “He doesn’t have what you want, and even if he did, he wouldn’t give it to you.”

  Harrison let out a smug laugh. “Oh, he has what we want. My sources wouldn’t lie.”

  I guessed Erica had spilled the beans. It didn’t matter. I was sitting here tied to a chair with my life hanging in the balance.

  “And he’ll give us the ledger,” Weeks said. His voice was gritty and disgusting as he cleaned his nails with the tip of a long blade. “Otherwise, I may have to use this knife. It hasn’t seen action since your sister and mother.”

  Oh, my God! I felt like a box of nails had gotten stuck in my throat. The buzzing in my head increased. Adrenaline began to pump through every vein at warp speed. “So you admit you killed my family?”

  His dead gray eyes glinted.

  A phone rang. Harrison swiped it off the bar. “Yeah. Is he alone? Make sure he isn’t wearing a wire.” He hung up. “Get her ready,” Harrison said to Weeks. He narrowed his green eyes at me. “No funny business.”

  I prayed Dad had a plan. I wanted both of them to pay, but since I didn’t have my phone, I couldn’t record the conversation. More than that, I salivated for a chance to rip out Weeks’s eyes. To make him feel pain for what he did. In that moment, I understood why Kade hated Greg Sullivan so much and why he wanted revenge for him putting Kody in the hospital.

  Weeks circled behind me, the light shimmering off his blade. Once my arms were free, I sprang upright but stumbled.

  Weeks yanked me to him. He brought the tip of the blade up to my chin. “If you fight me, you’ll be in pieces by the time your father walks in,” he said, deep and deadly. “Better yet, I’ll gut out your pitching arm. I hear you’re quite the pitcher.” He traced the knife’s edge along my right shoulder then down.

  Someone was feeding them information. At the moment, I didn’t care. “You know, I should’ve taken up football. I’m a great punter.” My calm voice belied the tacks poking the lining of my stomach.

  “Girls always think they can play a man’s sport.”

  “I don’t think. I know.” I kicked out, my foot connecting with his crotch.

  He doubled over, letting out a guttural sound. The knife dropped, sounding a loud bong as it hit the hardwood floor. Weeks clutched his balls. Red rage bloomed in the pockmarks on his f
ace as his features distorted in pain.

  I ran, dodging tables. I pumped my legs and arms as hard as I could to reach the main exit, which was at least thirty feet away.

  A hand landed in my hair and jerked me backwards. “You don’t listen well,” Harrison said.

  “I don’t take orders from killers.” I elbowed him in the gut as he hauled me back to Weeks.

  Weeks’s nostrils flared as he retrieved his knife. I smirked at the murderer, even though my nerves were singing a scary tune.

  Weeks twined my hair around his hand and wrenched back my head. With his other hand, he positioned the cold, razor-sharp blade at my jugular. “Step out of line again, and I’ll slit your throat.”

  An image of me bleeding out made me freeze. He shuffled us toward the entrance to the back hallway then stopped. Harrison returned to the bar.

  Footsteps clomped across the floor. Dad came into view with a red book in one hand. He froze, swinging his gaze from me to Harrison. “Let her go,” he said, his voice thunderous. “This has nothing to do with my daughter.”

  “Hand over the ledger. Once I have it and I’m safely to the airport, then I’ll let your daughter go.” Harrison scrubbed a hand over his beard.

  “Not a chance. She leaves here now, and when she’s safely in the hands of family, then I’ll give you the book.” Dad held up the ledger.

  Weeks’s puke-smelling breath breezed over my neck. It took every ounce of my energy not to choke.

  “She is with family. Aren’t we family?” Harrison asked.

  “You’ll never be my family,” Dad said in a brusque tone.

  “If I had known Lorraine was with child, I would’ve taken care of her and you,” Harrison said without any emotion.

  “So instead you kill my wife and one granddaughter. And now you’re threatening another. Is that how you take care of family?” A valley-sized crease formed between Dad’s eyebrows. “No wonder my mother disappeared.”

  “An unfortunate accident,” Harrison said. “No one was supposed to get hurt.”