by Lisa Childs
So, who had shot him in the nightclub? Who had he trusted enough to get that close to him?
Milek followed his brother inside and glanced around the place. The furnishings were minimal. A bed. A table. One chair. But then Campanelli probably hadn’t planned on staying long.
He’d wanted to kill Amber, collect his fee and leave River City.
“Would you have done it?” Garek asked.
“Killed the doctor?” He wasn’t even sure what he’d have threatened Dr. Gunz with—death? That probably wouldn’t have scared the man. Surgeons like him thought they were God. He’d threatened him with exposure and that had been far worse. Of course, they’d had nothing but the word of other criminals that Dr. Gunz was the one who’d treated Frank’s gunshot wound. They couldn’t have gone to the authorities. But the media didn’t care about little things like facts and evidence.
“No,” Garek said. Maybe a little too quickly. “Would you have stolen to get Campanelli more money?”
Milek met his brother’s curious gaze. And nodded. “I would have done whatever’s necessary to find out who’s trying to kill Amber.”
They had. They’d reached out to old contacts—to friends of their father and uncle—to find out what they’d known about Frank Campanelli and who might have patched him up. Dr. Gunz. He hadn’t known much; it was his chauffeur who’d driven Frank from the doctor’s mansion to the tiny studio on the other side of River City.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad being a Kozminski after all. Since those contacts had led them to where Campanelli had been staying.
“I would have helped you,” Garek told him. “Get whatever you needed...”
Milek grabbed his brother’s shoulder, squeezed it.
“We should have told Nick, though...”
“That we’re going back to our lives of crime?” Milek asked. He moved around the place, opening drawers—cupboards.
Garek checked the usual places. The toilet tank. The freezer. The flour jar. Boxes of cereal.
Milek riffled through books. Then he flipped out his switchblade and went to work on the mattress.
“That we found where Campanelli had been staying,” Garek said.
“He’ll find it, too,” Milek said. But he’d wanted the head start—in case they found something that led to the person who wanted Amber dead.
Garek chuckled as he looked around at the destruction. “He’ll be pissed.”
“Yeah.” Milek was pissed, too. They’d found nothing. As he headed toward the door, a board creaked beneath his foot. He paused. It gave more than it should. It wasn’t just old.
Garek met his gaze. Then they both dropped to the floor. Milek used the blade of his pocketknife to pull up the board. A small metal box lay in the space between the trusses.
Garek laughed at the lock as he disposed of it. Then he handed the box to Milek to open.
A book lay inside, its leather cover fraying at the edges. He pulled it out and scanned through the pages. There were names. So many names. But they weren’t easy to read—not with the line meticulously drawn through each.
He didn’t recognize many of them, either. Until he got toward the end. Then he found one: DA Gregory Schievink. The name was visible despite the line scored through it. All the names had lines through them but for two on the last page.
Frank had never failed to kill any other targets but those last two.
Seeing the names like that, in Frank’s careful handwriting, chilled Milek’s blood even while his heart began to pump hard and fast with fear.
Amber Talsma.
Michael Talsma.
Someone didn’t want just Amber to die; they wanted her son—their son—dead, too.
Chapter 16
Candace glanced in the rearview mirror, but something distracted her from the road behind her. Michael met her gaze and smiled.
“Hey, Aunt Candy!”
“Hey, little man.”
Stacy reached over the center console and squeezed Candace’s hand. “Thanks for driving us out to Penny’s when Logan had to go talk to Nick.”
“I’m happy to—”
“It’s not necessary, though,” Stacy said. “We’re not in any real danger.”
Candace wasn’t so sure about that—not when she glanced into the rearview mirror again. She’d noticed that truck before—back at Milek’s condo. Someone was following her.
But that discreet distance the driver had maintained was closing. Of course, she would have made the tail anyway. The road to Penny’s wasn’t as traveled as the streets of River City.
Who was it?
Campanelli was dead. But he wouldn’t have followed her. He’d seen Amber’s new appearance. He wouldn’t have mistaken either her or Stacy for the former assistant district attorney. Whoever had replaced him probably didn’t know what Amber looked like now.
Maybe he had mistaken Stacy for her. There were streaks of red in her hair, along with blond and brown, and she was nearly the same build as her curvy friend.
Or maybe it wasn’t a bad man—as Michael would say. Maybe it was one of Rus’s men. He might have stopped trusting them after Milek had slipped away to meet Frank alone.
The guys had gone off alone today, too.
She knew where. She and Garek had no secrets. She reached for her cell phone. She should probably call him now—let him know she’d picked up a tail. He could check with Rus to make sure it was one of his men.
But the truck kept coming. An agent or an officer wouldn’t have been driving so fast. So carelessly...
No. This was a bad man.
The truck slammed into the rear bumper of the SUV. Despite Candace’s grip on the steering wheel, it spun out of control.
* * *
Panic gripped Milek. His heart pounded fast and frantically. His hand shook as he punched in the code on the panel outside his condo. He couldn’t wait for the door to open fully before squeezing between it and the jamb. “Amber? Amber?”
His voice echoed in the empty living room. He could see through it to the kitchen and the dining room. They were completely empty. His footsteps echoed off the concrete floor as he rushed across the living room to the open door to the master bedroom suite. Had she been inside, she would have heard him. So he wasn’t surprised to find it empty.
But a creak from the living room had his breath easing from his tightly constricted lungs. “Amber?”
“She’s not here?” Garek asked.
Ignoring his brother, he hurried to the hall on the other side of the living room. The first door off it was a bathroom. It was empty. He moved down to the next door—to Michael’s bedroom. The bed had been made but the little bear that was always sitting on it wasn’t there. Jewel was gone.
He remembered the night he’d found her packing. Should he have trusted that she’d stay? “She took off...”
Garek shook his head. “No. Cooper said nobody left the warehouse since Stacy and the boy.”
“The boy?” he repeated. Logan had been here when Milek had left, but Cooper wouldn’t dare call his older brother the boy. “Michael?”
Garek nodded.
And a pang of pure fear struck Milek. “He’s out there—where the killer can get to him?”
Garek reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Candace is driving him and Stacy out to Penny’s. They’re safe.”
He would have believed that, too—had he not seen Frank Campanelli’s kill book and those two unlined names.
“And where the hell is Amber?” If nobody had seen her leave...
“She’s gotta be here,” Garek insisted. “Cooper wouldn’t have missed her. He couldn’t have survived all those tours of duty if he wasn’t observant. He wouldn’t have missed her slipping out of the condo.”
“Not t
he condo...” Milek murmured.
“What?”
“He didn’t see her slip out of the building.” There was more to the building than the portion that was his condo. There was his studio space and the place where he stored old canvases. That area wasn’t as secure as the condo, though. If someone had managed to slip past the perimeter guards, they might have been able to get into that part of the warehouse.
His pulse racing, he hurried down the hall to the door at the end. Like the front door, it had a security panel. He hadn’t been out to his studio in a year, so he’d forgotten Garek had written the code on the panel. His brother knew he painted; he didn’t know about the shows and the reviews, though. He just thought it was a hobby—one he’d worried had consumed Milek. So he’d wanted the code to get into the studio so he could remind Milek to eat and to drink and to sleep—for those times when his art had consumed him.
He didn’t need to see the code. He would never forget it. The date he had asked Amber to marry him. The date she’d said yes.
What had she thought when she’d seen it? If she had seen it?
Had she punched it in? Was that where she’d gone? He should have been furious if she’d invaded his private space, if she’d put herself in danger in the less secure area of the building...
But all he wanted now was to see her. His hand shook as he punched in the numbers; she had to be there. She had to be safe.
Before he could step through the door, Garek’s cell rang. His brother fumbled it out of his pocket. His breath shuddered out in relief. Despite his assurance, he’d been worried, too. “It’s Candace.”
He pressed the phone to his ear. But as he listened his smile faded and his eyes darkened with concern.
Whatever he’d learned was not good news...
* * *
Pain struck Amber—so hard she sucked in a breath. Until he’d found them living in that lakeshore town under assumed identities, Milek had had no interest in their son or her. Or so she’d thought...
She’d thought he had never even seen the baby they had created together.
But if not...
How had he created a portrait so vivid it brought Amber back to those early days, to the smell of talcum powder and baby shampoo? And the warmth and comfort of holding her baby in her arms, against her heart?
She’d thought Milek had missed all that—that he’d wanted nothing to do with his son. But somehow he’d painted this portrait. She reached out and touched the canvas, expecting to find it as warm and soft as their infant son had been. But the paint was hard and as cold as the low temperature in the old warehouse.
Nothing had been converted from the original structure here. The walls were metal and brick and apparently uninsulated. The ceiling was metal, too. Maybe it was the source of the noises she’d heard earlier, because it creaked and groaned above her with the weight of the snow left from winter.
And the floor was bare concrete but for all the spatters of paint Milek had left on it. He worked here?
In the cold.
It was where he’d put himself when he’d broken their engagement. Out in the cold...
Maybe that was why he’d used the date of their engagement. To remind himself of what he’d given up.
But why? Why had he stayed away from her? From Michael?
Because of that silly review—that bullshit that he might be a danger to anyone...?
She wasn’t in danger from him. But she was in danger.
She heard another creak, but it wasn’t overhead. She glanced toward the door and saw him standing there. A gasp slipped through her lips and hung on the cold air between them like a ghost. She pressed a hand to her racing heart.
“You scared me.”
He said nothing. Just stared at her.
Maybe he was angry she’d invaded what was obviously a very personal space to him—with very personal things. She couldn’t help it, though. She had had to pry—had to know everything about the man she’d once loved so desperately. “I didn’t know you painted anymore.”
He didn’t reply. Maybe he thought it was none of her business what he did. They weren’t together—not really. He was only protecting her and their son.
But there was something about his silence that unnerved her. It wasn’t as if he was angry with her. It was worse. “Milek?”
The look on his face scared her as much as his sudden appearance had. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head—not as if he was claiming nothing was wrong. But as if it was too awful to speak aloud.
“Milek, what is it?” She had to know—no matter how terrible. She glanced at that portrait of their infant son—at all those loving brushstrokes. And she realized the only thing that would have upset him so much. Her knees began to tremble, threatening to fold beneath her.
She might have collapsed right on that paint-spattered concrete floor if he hadn’t vaulted forward and caught her. His arms closed tightly around her—as if he could hold her together.
But if what she feared had happened, there would be no holding her together—ever again. “Tell me,” she implored him. “Just tell me...”
“Amber...”
“Tell me!” she shouted at him. “Tell me what happened to our son!”
“There was an accident...” But his eyes were dark—almost black with rage. There was the anger now—the anger she’d missed because she’d felt only his devastation. His loss...
And she knew it had been no accident. Whatever had happened to their son had been intentional. Someone hadn’t been trying to kill just her. They’d wanted her son dead, too.
Had they succeeded?
Chapter 17
Penny Payne forced a happy smile. She was used to faking it. To pretending nothing was wrong when everything was. She’d done it when she found out years ago her husband had cheated on her. She’d pretended she’d forgiven him even before she’d found that forgiveness within her heart. And when he’d died, she had forced herself to be strong—for her devastated children.
She summoned that strength now and wound her arms around her daughter-in-law. Stacy’s slender shoulders bowed with guilt. “I shouldn’t have taken him out of the condo. I should have left him with his mom. She’ll never forgive me...”
Penny suspected Amber would forgive her best friend before Stacy forgave herself. “It’s not your fault.”
It was the fault of the sadistic bastard who’d rammed his truck into the SUV carrying a child and a pregnant woman and Candace.
White-faced, the female bodyguard stood against the wall of Stacy’s hospital room. She had no reason to feel guilty, either. But Penny wasn’t the one who could absolve either woman of guilt.
The door to the hall opened, and as it did, Candace drew her gun. But a big hand wrapped around it, bending it down to her side as strong arms closed around her.
“You’re all right!” Garek said as he hugged his wife. “Thank God you’re all right.”
Milek and a woman rushed into the room behind Garek. Their faces were as pale as Candace’s until the little boy sat up in the bed Stacy had tucked him into—the bed she was supposed to be in herself while she waited for the doctor to release her.
“Hey, Mommy,” he said.
The dark-haired woman ran to the bed and enveloped him in a big hug. Tears streamed down her face. “Are you really all right?”
He wriggled free and stared up at her, his little brow puckered with confusion. “I’m not sick,” he assured her. “Aunt Stacy is. This is her bed.”
But she had been too upset to sit, let alone lie down—no matter how badly she could have been hurt. How much she could have lost...
Stacy was pregnant. Penny was about to be a grandmother. Again.
“I heard you were in a car accident,” the little b
oy’s mother said, her voice cracking with emotion. “And that you’d been brought to the hospital.”
He shook his head. “Aunt Candy is a better driver than you are. She didn’t run off the road when the bad man hit us.”
Instead of being offended, his mother laughed and hugged him again. Her breath shuddered out in a sigh of relief.
Garek laughed, too—a laugh cut short when Candace jabbed his side. “Thanks a lot.”
Somehow Penny didn’t think the tough female bodyguard really minded her nephew calling her Candy. She’d done her best to protect him. She’d wrestled her SUV under control instead of rolling it, and she’d outrun the truck that had tried to overtake them.
“Thank you,” Milek told his sister-in-law. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”
Her throat moving as she swallowed her emotion, Candace nodded.
Another man came through the door. And, as always, Penny’s heart constricted at how much Logan looked like his father. But then, all her sons did—even the one she hadn’t borne but who was every bit as much a Payne as Logan and his brothers. Nick wasn’t here yet, though. He would be—he always came when his family was in trouble even though he struggled to accept he was family.
His hands shaking, Logan reached for his wife. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”
She nodded.
“And the baby?”
“Both of them are fine,” Stacy said.
Logan’s brows lowered with confusion. “Penny wasn’t in the car. We didn’t bring her with us to Milek’s condo. Mom was watching her...”
Her namesake had been with her. Now the baby was with her aunt Tanya—Cooper’s wife.
“She wasn’t,” Stacy assured him.
“Then...” And realization finally dawned. “We’re having twins?”
Stacy nodded.
“That’s wonderful,” Amber told her friend—her joy sincere.
Stacy tugged free of her husband to face the other woman. “Are you okay? You’re not angry at me?”
“Of course not,” Amber assured her. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was the bad man,” Michael said. While he was young, he was wiser than the others. He knew where the blame really lay—with the person who’d tried to harm them. He turned toward Milek. “We need to find the bad man.”
