Reckless (With Me Book 3)

by Sue Wilder

  “Dacree,” Tad warned softly. “Ocean’s getting a little rough. You’d better sit down like he says and hang on.” Tad brought the engines up to full speed, but without the control Garrett had, and the Ibiza bounced roughly across the choppy waves as if the bow couldn’t settle. I gripped the counter for stability while Marsh struggled with his footing.

  “Sorry.” Tad’s apology came quickly and unsteadily. His knee was bouncing up and down and my gaze froze on the jerky movement of his high-top—a kid’s shoe, with the laces loose. God, Tad had no business being drawn into this, and my anger rushed with fresh fury.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, Marsh?” I screamed. “What did I ever do to you?”

  “You… took her… from me.” Each word scraped against his teeth while the gun in his hand shook. The look on his face locked me in place.

  “Who, Marsh? Who did I take?”

  “Shut up. Just shut up.” His eyes bulged. His face reddened. “I’ve been watching you. For months, do you hear me? There’s nothing I don’t know about you.”

  “There’s one hell of a lot you don’t know about me,” I spit back. “Me, Marsh. You can try to hurt me—” I slammed my fist against my chest as I glared at him. “But don’t you dare try to hurt Tad. He’s a boy. He has nothing to do with this.”

  “I will hurt you.” Spittle flew from Marsh’s mouth. “And your sister. Then I’ll hurt Connor Lange. He said he’d stop Michael, and he betrayed Elle instead.”

  Elle? Thoughts circled and then shattered. “This is about… Elle?”

  “She wouldn’t see it. When he did nothing. I tried talking to her, but she was always defending him—even you, at the end,” he rasped, sliding puggy fingers through the saliva that dripped on his chin. “I sent you that script so you’d see yourself the way I see you. What you did.”

  The weight of guilt crushed. I couldn’t breathe.

  My hand trembled in the air with nothing to grip for stability.

  I stared at my splayed fingers, wondering how I’d ended up here, back to my original sin with more innocents paying the price.

  “I took care of her. He didn’t.”

  Marsh was talking about Connor now, and the venom in his voice choked me. But I knew how Connor Lange felt about his half sister. He did everything possible, would have died for her if he could. He’d nearly destroyed his life afterward. Only Luna saved him.

  “She kept… taking those pills.” Marsh shook his head as if the thoughts confused him. “The doctor said they’d help, but they did nothing, only made her worse. She didn’t care about anything except that damn dog, and she should have cared. About me. I was the one there for her.”

  “How were you there for her?” No emotion in my voice, and when I thought about it, I wasn’t sure if I was being cautious with him. Or if he destroyed parts of me with each word he said.

  His eyes turned wild—wilder, nearly white as more saliva dripped. His laugh had a brittle edge. “I threw the pills away, put in vitamins and she couldn’t tell the difference. But she still died, and he went out and married your sister like nothing even happened. And he has to pay for that—she has to pay, know what it feels like to have someone taken away.”

  Marsh swung in my direction, teetered on his feet, and Tad pushed the throttle forward. He changed our heading at the same time, and the Ibiza surged, tipping hard to port, spewing a fantail wake. The momentum threw Marsh off balance while I fell against the empty captain’s chair to Tad’s right.

  “You fucking little punk,” Marsh roared. I pushed to my feet, threw myself in front of Tad as Marsh raised the gun. The first bullet shattered the monitor closest to my head.

  The second sent me crumpled to the deck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Garrett

  “Mr. Kincade.” Riggs touched my elbow to get my attention. “Got a call. The door alarm on your house keeps going off. Security checked the camera feed. The house looks empty.”

  A muscle jerked in my jaw. “How long?”

  “Ten minutes. They thought the alarm malfunctioned and sent through a reset, but the alarm stays hot. You want me to check it out?”

  I stared at the dirty motel parking lot, the fluttering trash and dingy doorways. Police vehicles blocked the driveways, lights flashing. The swat team waited. An ambulance remained on standby. They’d snaked in a camera twenty minutes ago, verified three warm bodies inside, two moving around, one sitting on the floor.

  My eyes narrowed as I searched for Ty. “Hastings is still inside.”

  “Hastings can handle himself,” Riggs said. “Army, spent two tours in the Afghan. He’ll be okay. You had Ms. St. Clair at your house, didn’t you?”

  “I told her to stay there.” And I didn’t want to face why she left. “Tad was with her.”

  “Yeah, met Tad. Good kid. He wouldn’t let her leave without calling it in.”

  I braced my stance, arms crossed as I fought against the ice that settled in my thoughts, my stomach. “Who’s close?” The drive from this scene to my house took half an hour, and I wanted someone there as of now.

  “Daylight team is camped outside her house, waiting for action.”

  “Contact them. Where’s Maxton?”

  “He’s debriefing. Wade flew in this morning and they’re both at the bar.”

  “Good.” I jerked my cell from a back pocket and hit contacts. “Max. She’s not at the house. Take Wade. I’m still at the scene. No progress,” I said when he asked. “Could be hours while they’re talking. I’m on my way, thirty minutes out.”

  I was already moving and shot a glance toward Riggs. “You’re with me. I’ll drive. You get security back on the line. Tell them to go into archives, search the visuals for the hour prior to the alarm trigger, and if they find anything, send a copy to your phone.”

  “Done.” He was cool and efficient, and I appreciated the attitude. I pushed the BMW to the limit, concentrated on driving and the passing time. We were coming up on the bridge when his phone dinged.

  “Someone came to the door,” Riggs said, glancing at the image on his phone. “Goddamn, it’s Marshal Gray.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “I’m watching footage from the door camera.”

  My hands clenched on the wheel as Riggs gave a running description.

  “Tad is there. Ms. St. Clair. All bunched together, but it looks like Marsh is holding her wrist. Tad’s going back inside. Switching to interior. You can see him at your desk, pulling at a drawer. Then he goes back and they leave. But he doesn’t latch the door so the alarm gets triggered—smart kid.”

  My fist slammed against the steering wheel. “There’s only one goddamn reason Tad would go to my desk and then leave. Call Maxton. Wade can handle the house. Tell Max to get his ass to the marina. Find out if the Ibiza is still there.”

  “Done.”

  Marshal Gray. I made a decision and blew through several lights when we hit Newport. “Call Connor Lange,” I told Riggs. “Tell him to meet us at the Maxwell house. Have him bring Luna.”

  Riggs was smart enough to figure it out. Luna owned the bluff properties. She’d give permission to enter the house Marshal Gray rented, but the bet was easy that he wouldn’t be there.

  The tires skidded when I turned onto the bluff road. Moments later, my foot connected with the door to the Maxwell house while Con’s green Range Rover bounced across the lawn, digging dark tracks through the grass. He was out and beside me by the time Luna got out of the car. Her hand was still on the open door, but she froze at the look Con sent her.

  I wished her sister was half as obedient.

  “Garrett.” Her voice trembled. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re not sure, ma’am.” I let Riggs answer, since I was already inside. Con joined me, moving to the right. I moved to the left. Neither of us were armed, but I didn’t see that as a problem since we were both capable of violence. The house was silent, though, as I’d expected. Empty—except for the mess. Tr
ash everywhere. Con kicked at a greasy fast-food sack; limp french fries scattered across the floor.

  “Talk to me,” he ordered, as if he recognized where my mind was, locked in the mission.

  “Marsh found her.” No inflection in my tone. “At my house. Not sure how he figured it out, but he took her. And Tad. I’m guessing the Ibiza is gone, and I’ll have to tell Missy. She’ll never forgive me.”

  I couldn’t think about telling Luna because I couldn’t think about losing trouble. Not yet. Not ever.

  Con slapped my shoulder. “Tell me what you know.”

  “Surveillance footage shows him taking both.” I glanced around each room we worked, found what passed for a desk. A metal wastepaper basket held the burnt offerings of the guilty. “Riggs has the video on his phone.”

  “I’ll look.” Con meant he might see something different from what Riggs saw—Con’s experience was unique. The house held nothing useful, though, not when my immediate need was to learn Ibiza’s location. Until I had that information, I had nothing.

  We found Luna in trouble’s kitchen, making coffee. The rich aroma was homey and meant to be soothing. I tried to be soothed, but it wasn’t working. I was too on edge, watching when Riggs took a call from Max.

  I made eye contact with him.

  He shook his head. “Ibiza’s gone. Tad and Ms. St. Clair were seen with a third man. The marina attendant remembered them, said the man held her hand, kept her close while Tad said he was picking you up at the bar, then asked things he knows and claimed he’d forgotten. Said it stuck in his mind afterward, but the Ibiza was already heading across the bay, and someone else needed him, so he didn’t think to call and tell you.”

  I scrubbed both hands across my face. “Is Max still on the line?”

  “Still there.”

  “Tell him to alert the Coast Guard. Then have him swing by, pick up Missy and get her here.” I looked at Luna and read the shock on her face. “Tad’s a good kid,” I told her. “Thinks on his feet.”

  “I know.” She whispered the words. Riggs finished with Max and handed his cell to Con, who looked at the video, then swore viciously as he swung around. The cell made it to the table, but a wooden chair wasn’t as lucky and went flying across the room.

  “Goddamn it!”

  “Hey.” Luna crossed the room to lean against Con’s side, rubbing his back while I stared at the splintered wood.

  “His name isn’t fucking Marshal Gray. It’s Clayton Knowles. He’s the home health-care worker I hired for… Elle.”

  “Oh—God.” Luna collapsed in a chair, and it was Con’s turn to comfort her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and whispering in her hair.

  “I can fix this, sweetheart. I can fix this.”

  “Can you?” Her eyes glittered as she raised her head. “And you, Garrett?” she asked as she looked at me. “Can you fix it, too?”

  I rocked side to side with my legs braced, arms crossed. Marshal fucking Gray. Anger surged while focus narrowed down. “We’ll fix this, Luna. I promise you.”

  “I’ll hold you to that promise.” Her fingertips trembled as she swiped beneath her eyes. “Earlier today, I felt uneasy. Like Sunny was in danger and needed me—and I dismissed it.”

  “I have state-of-the-art on that boat,” I told her. “Tad knows how to handle her on the open water. He’s been leaving clues all along and he’ll keep doing it. We just have to pay attention and keep focused.”

  Luna looked devastated—and the light in her eyes killed me. Because I remembered trouble looking at me the same way, her eyes filled with fear and disappointment. Abruptly, I turned and walked outside. Stood on the deck, staring at the ocean as if I could see her. Find her by will alone.

  Moments later, Con walked to my side and gripped the deck railing, braced as he stared at the horizon, at the dark swells and clear afternoon sky. Clouds, bunching in the distance, turned an ominous gray in contrast to the blinding sun.

  “This deck has seen its share of conversations,” he said.

  “Must mean something,” I answered.

  “Means people like to talk when they’ve got something else to look at, other than another face. It’s the condemnation we don’t want to see.”

  I sighed. Condemnation was the least of it. “We were fighting,” I said, like he was my priest or something and could absolve me. “This morning, right before I left, and that’s what she’ll remember, how angry I was. Stubborn. She wanted to come with me, and I said no, that I was trying to explain, but she wasn’t listening.”

  “Shit, Garrett, never tell them they don’t listen.”

  “I’m a little rusty.”

  “It’ll come back.”

  “Good to know.” I looked away. “You wouldn’t recognize me, Con. I was losing her, could damn well feel her slipping away from me, and God—I was desperate. It didn’t matter what I said, she thought it was wrong. Said she couldn’t drown in me, and instead of fighting for her, I just fucking held up my hands. Told her I’d give her space.”

  I’d never confessed so much in one breath, not even to Luna, and I wasn’t sure if I’d been wise, or plain stupid, revealing that shit to Con. Showed what an ass I’d become, maybe always was with trouble.

  He slapped my shoulder. “You’ll talk to her again. Make it right. If she’s like Luna, she’ll get her pound of flesh, so be prepared.”

  “Yeah.” Out of self-preservation, I owed him a jab. “Heard she cost you a cool mill.”

  “And I’d pay it again,” he agreed, tipping his head toward the slanting sunlight, while I gripped the railing, rocked like I stretched out my back because I didn’t want Con to see my face.

  “I stood right here,” he said. “Manipulating Luna like a bastard, making her think she had a choice. I played on her emotions. Used her generosity because I thought I had the right.”

  “Maybe your right had a reason.”

  “Maybe,” Con agreed. “I went off the rails after Elle died, stayed that way for months. I blamed Soleil, and then I blamed Luna for pretending to be Soleil—when Elle always told me it was her life. Her choice, whether to fight the depression or give in, and I don’t think I ever really took her seriously. That’s my guilt. I blamed them because I needed a reason to explain the unreasonable—Elle’s choice. I almost lost Luna over it. Don’t lose Soleil.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t follow.”

  “Guilt. Blame.” Con turned his head, watching a distant wave cresting against the rocks below. “I blamed Luna, and what I did to her in my worse moments crushed me. I wasn’t getting up until she forced me to make a choice. To face my fear, find out who I was and what I wanted, then fight like hell to get it.”

  “You didn’t have a back that gives out like shit when you don’t expect it,” I growled, because my first instinct was defensive. My second instinct was shame. “I’m an ass.”

  “That’s the bitch about excuses, isn’t it?” he countered without judgment. “I had my own list. Started at the top of the bottle and ended at the bottom, and then I remembered Elle, telling me I deserved to be happy. Deserved love, and Luna was offering me that second chance. I had to decide what was important, and then do what had to be done to get it.”

  I watched the distant lights on a fishing trawler as it plowed north.

  “You blame yourself for leaving her with Tad,” Con said.

  “She should have been with me.”

  “And I hired the man who has her now.”

  “You couldn’t know.”

  “I should have known,” Con growled. “Elle told me he was obsessive, made her uncomfortable, but I thought it was more of her excuses so I’d leave her alone. When I should have shown up unexpectedly. Watched Knowles in action and judged for myself. She was my sister. I owed her that much of my time.”

  The strength in my grip made the deck railing creak. Skin across my knuckles pulled tight. “How far will Knowles go?”

  “All the way. He rented that house four
months ago, probably had something to do with her problems in California. He gambled that she’d come here, when she had other places to go. A calculated move, getting here first.”

  “And like the spider, he waited.”

  “The man’s considered all the angles. We have to assume he’s planned beyond being here, hoping she shows.” Con leveled his gaze. “Don’t forget who you are, Garrett, and what you have to do.”

  “The question is if I can.”

  “You can.”

  Luna walked out with two mugs of steaming coffee, which she offered. “Come back inside. Missy’s here.”

  Connor settled his hand on my shoulder. Tightened his fingers. “Missy will be fine. She knows you’ll find Tad. We’ll find Soleil, and then you and I—we’ll deal with Clayton Knowles.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Soleil

  Tad’s hands shook as he pressed a white towel against my shoulder. “Are you fucking crazy?” he screamed at Marsh, while light sparkled near the corners of my eyes. Sunlight, glittering through the windows.

  The deck rose and fell beneath my sprawled body. My shoulder felt numb.

  Marsh hissed. “Get back to the controls, you fucking little punk.”

  “We’re at your fucking destination, asshole.” Anger clogged Tad’s throat.

  I touched his arm. “Tad… please.”

  Marsh jerked Tad upright and threw him toward the console. “Get on the radio. Call this boat and give him the coordinates.”

  The paper Marsh handed over shook in Tad’s hand. “Fine.” He snatched the radio mic and twisted the channel dial until the radio squawked. “Fat Lady. Fat Lady. Ibiza. Over.”

  “Ibiza. Fat Lady. Switch to channel 68. Over.”