Dawson's Stand (Welcome to Covendale Book 4)

by Morgan Blaze

  “Hey, Jenny.” He heard Dean’s chair scrape back. “Thought you were turning in.”

  “I decided to have another round or two. And I’m glad I did, because something really interesting happened.” The next time she spoke, she was closer. “You got seriously played, Gage.”

  His eyes snapped open, and he fixed a glare on Jenny. “What are you talking about?”

  “Wow. Is this your work, babe?” She sent a wicked smile at Dean. “You really fucked him up good.”

  Dean grinned. “He was resisting arrest.”

  “I’ll bet.” She faced Gage again, and said, “Your little girlfriend? She’s married.”

  Everything inside him went cold. “No, she’s not.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Jenny said. “Then how did I meet her husband at The Klinker?”

  “Her…” His stomach performed a slow, sick roll. “Jesus Christ,” he rasped. “Jenny, what did you tell him?”

  “Just where she lives,” she said. “In that cottage on Rose Drive.”

  “No!” Gage rattled the bars hard. “Dean, let me the fuck out of here,” he snarled. “Right now. He’s not her husband. He’s her ex, and he’s going to kill her!”

  Dean blanched and stared at Jenny. “Did you really tell some stranger where this girl lives?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “I mean, he’s her husband.”

  Gage rammed a fist against the bars, making her jump away. “No, he’s not!”

  Just then, Nick returned carrying a folder. “What’s all the shouting?” he said. “Miss Steele, you can’t be back here.”

  “Did you find it?” Gage said.

  “Yes, I…” Nick glanced around at everyone. “What’s going on here?”

  “Never mind. What is that?”

  “It’s a report from a lawyer, Ralph Lorriman, about a…” He opened the folder and flipped a page. “Michael Finley. Restraining order in effect, history of violence, not to be allowed within town limits.” He looked up slowly. “Sheriff wrote something in the margin,” he said. “It says Kyla Harding, priority protection.”

  “Let me out,” Gage spat. “I need to get to her.”

  “I’ll take you myself.” Dean was already headed for the cell door, unhooking his keys. “Donovan, start making some calls,” he said. “We might need backup.”

  “On it.”

  “Dean, what are you doing?” Jenny said. “You’re letting this asshole go?”

  “Shut up, Jenny.” He unlocked the door and slid it back. “I know you’re jealous of this girl, but what you did was bullshit. You don’t give home addresses out to strangers. That’s fucking Little Kid 101, and I know your mama raised you better.”

  “Jealous! I’m not—”

  “If she’s dead, you killed her,” Dean said. “Is that enough revenge for you?”

  She pressed her lips together, then turned and practically ran from the room.

  Gage walked out of the cell and stood still for a minute, trying to pull himself together. Now he had mortal terror to add to the pain and dizziness. “Thank you,” he said to Dean.

  “Don’t thank me. I’m the asshole here.” The deputy’s jaw clenched. “Jesus, man. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Just don’t arrest me when I kill the bastard, and we’ll call it even.”

  Dean actually smiled. “Deal,” he said. “Let move.”

  Chapter 16

  When Kyla came around, she was sprawled in the back seat of an unfamiliar car that had just parked somewhere. From her vantage point, she could see the passenger seat—occupied only by her purse.

  She remembered Mike choking her unconscious, smashing her phone. Why would he take her purse?

  Before she could get her hopes up that someone had randomly rescued her, Mike spoke from the driver’s seat. “I figured we’d stay here tonight,” he said. “Get started early.”

  Where’s here? She couldn’t speak. Her mouth was so dry, and her throat burned. Everything felt thick and hot. She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea flooded her with the slight movement. So she stopped trying.

  Soon enough, the door by her head opened and Mike dragged her out of the car. “You’re going to walk,” he said, setting her on her feet. She wavered, and he cinched an arm tightly around her waist. “Move.”

  She shuffled along, attempting to focus on the surroundings. The car they’d come in was red and sporty—typical Mike. This was some sort of motel with outside doors leading to individual rooms. Looked like in the middle of nowhere. Mike already had a key, so he must’ve checked in before he came for her. The room door had a number eight on it.

  He got her inside, and threw her on the bed. She didn’t try to resist. He slammed the door shut. “This place is a rat hole,” he said. “So you can scream all you want. No one’s going to care.”

  She shuddered. Every part of her wanted to stand up, attack him, make a run for it. But she knew very well how ineffective that was. If she wanted to live through this, she had to be the weak, pathetic mouse he thought she was. To play along. Get him to drop his guard.

  “Mike,” she croaked, sitting up slowly. Her head spun, and she closed her eyes until it stopped. “My purse. Why…”

  “Because you’ll need your I.D.,” he said. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

  Oh, God. He really was planning a trip out of the country—and taking her with him. So he could escape the restraining order. If she didn’t get away from him tonight, she never would. “Where are we going?”

  “Never mind that.”

  The angry cant to his voice said that conversation wouldn’t work. At least, not now. She decided to try a different tactic. “I’m so thirsty, Mike,” she rasped. “Could I please have a drink? Something sweet?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “You don’t deserve anything.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She dropped her gaze, clasped her hands together. “But I’m so thirsty. Please…”

  He sighed sharply. “I suppose I could get you a soda. There’s a machine outside,” he said. “But I’m locking this door, so don’t even think about trying it.”

  She gave him her best obedient-wife face, the one she’d perfected over the years to make him stop hitting her. “I won’t,” she said. “I don’t want to leave you, Mike.”

  Something in his face softened, just for an instant. Then he left the room without a word.

  She didn’t dare wait until she heard him walk away. There was a push-button landline phone on the nightstand, and she grabbed the receiver, desperately hoping she could remember Gage’s number. 911 would be useless—Mike would just tell the cops they were married, and they’d leave.

  She’d seen the number on her screen plenty of times, but never actually dialed it. After envisioning it for a few seconds, she held the phone to her ear and hit the first digit.

  Then she realized there was no dial tone.

  She jiggled the cutoff button. Still nothing. She dialed the full number anyway, and nothing happened. Fighting back panic, she looked at the keypad and saw a small, typed piece of paper taped to it. Dial 9 for outside line.

  She hit the 9. The dial tone flooded through the receiver, bringing tears of relief to her eyes.

  One more breath, and she dialed what she hoped was Gage’s number. And prayed.

  * * * *

  Kyla’s front door was unlocked.

  Her truck was in the driveway, and all the lights were off. Gage had pounded on the door, shouted for her. When she didn’t answer, he tried the knob. His heart wrenched when it turned easily.

  He knew she kept it locked—and he knew why.

  “Whoa. Hold it.” Dean stepped up next to him, his hand on his gun. “If this guy is here, he’s probably armed. Let me go in first.”

  “Fine.” Gage moved aside reluctantly. “Hurry.”

  Nodding once, Dean pulled his gun and held it up at an angle. He reached for the door, hesitated just an instant, then pushed i
t open and swung into the doorway with perfect precision, his weapon in both hands. “Police!” he called in a commanding voice. “If anyone’s here, respond now.”

  Gage had to admit, the man was good at his job.

  There was no sound. “I’m turning the light on,” Gage said.

  “Do it.”

  He flipped the switch. The living room looked normal, but empty. Then something caught his eye at the entrance to the kitchen—a cracked square of black plastic. “Over there,” he said. “Kitchen.”

  Dean nodded and headed across the room, and Gage followed. When the deputy reached the kitchen, he said, “Hit the light.”

  Gage did.

  “Jesus.” Dean’s voice emerged low and choked.

  “What is it?” A splinter of ice lodged in his chest. He nearly pushed Dean aside, and stopped short when he saw it. Broken glass. A shattered cell phone. An open knife drawer.

  No sign of Kyla.

  “I’m checking the rest of the house. Stay here.”

  Dean moved out, and Gage took an unsteady step forward. The world spun crazily. He dropped to the floor, barely noticing the bite of broken glass as his knees landed hard. He fully expected Dean to find Kyla’s lifeless body in here somewhere.

  He’d failed her. The final, irreversible screw-up.

  “She’s not here.”

  Gage had no idea how long he’d been kneeling on the floor when Dean spoke behind him. He turned his head slowly, not daring to believe he’d heard right—that maybe there was a chance. “She’s not?”

  “No. But we’re going to find her.” Dean produced a phone and tapped the screen a few times, then held it to his ear and waited. “Donovan,” he said. “Get a couple of deputies over to The Klinker. Find out who’s seen this guy, what he said, what he was driving. We think he took the girl.” He paused. “Grab a photo of him. He’s been in the system, so it’ll be in the database. Print it out and send it with them.” Another beat, and he said, “I’m coming back in. We’ll work it from base for now. See if you can get the sheriff.”

  As he talked, Gage struggled to his feet. “I’m going out to look for her,” he said. “Strangers stick out in this town, and he couldn’t have gone far. Somebody must’ve seen him. Can you drop me at my truck?”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Dean said. “This is an official investigation now. Best thing for you is to come back to the station and—”

  “Dean. If you loved her, what would you do?”

  He frowned. “I’d go the fuck after her.”

  “All right, then.”

  They headed out and got in the squad car. The six-block drive didn’t take long. When Dean stopped in front of The Beast, he put the car in park and held a hand out. “Give me your phone real quick.”

  “Why?”

  “Come on, Dawson. I’m not going to confiscate it.”

  He handed it over, and Dean went to the address book. “This is my cell,” he said, punching in a number and giving the phone back. “You hear anything, see anything, you call me. Do not engage this guy. Understand?”

  “Yeah, I got it.” Gage had every intention of engaging the bastard if he found him first—but Dean didn’t have to know that. “Can I thank you yet?”

  “Not until we find her.”

  “All right.”

  Gage got out, and Dean drove away in a squeal of tires. It took more effort than he liked to boost himself into the truck. Once he was seated, he paused for a moment to catch his breath.

  His phone rang.

  He snatched it and answered immediately. “Hello?”

  “Gage. It’s you.”

  “Kyla!” She sounded terrible, like she’d tried to swallow sandpaper. “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know. Mike…took me.”

  “I know. God, I’m sorry.” He clenched a fist and forced himself to focus on the most important things. “Where did he take you.”

  “A motel. Seedy strip place,” she rasped. “Room…eight. Red car.”

  “Which motel?”

  “No name. Middle of nowhere.” She laughed. It was a horrible, haunted sound.

  Jesus, she could be anywhere. “Listen,” he said. “Is there a window?”

  “Yes. Back there.”

  “Look out it. Tell me what you see.” If she was in or near Covendale, he might be able to find her. He would find her.”

  “Hang on,” she whispered. There was a clunk as she set the phone down.

  He held his breath until she came back on. “I saw a giraffe,” she said.

  “What?”

  She paused a moment. “Mountains. Lots of lights, and a giraffe.”

  “Mini-golf!” he said. “Remember the place we went? Is that what you see?”

  “Yes,” she said urgently. “Yes, it’s a plaster giraffe. I can see the mini-golf place from here.”

  “All right.” He closed his eyes briefly. There was a no-name motel just off the loop, before the strip mall. “I know the place. I’m coming for you, right now.”

  “Mike is crazy,” she whispered. “He’ll kill you.”

  “I won’t let him. Kyla, I—”

  “He’s coming.”

  She was gone.

  Gage swore loudly and started the engine. He considered calling Dean for about two seconds, but decided he didn’t have time. Every minute counted while that bastard had her.

  He pushed The Beast as fast as it would go, into the rain-swept night.

  Chapter 17

  Kyla managed to reposition herself the way she’d been, just before Mike opened the door. She didn’t look at him. He’d take that as a sign of aggression or defiance, and she couldn’t risk that right now.

  Gage was coming. And she was terrified that Mike would kill him—and then her.

  “I got you a diet,” Mike said, closing the door. “You’ve put on some weight since you’ve been gone. You need to lose it.”

  She turned toward him without meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Do you want me to open it for you?”

  “Yes…please.”

  There was a pop and a hiss. He lifted her arm and pushed a cold can into her hand. “Take it slow,” he said. “I’m not going to be happy if you throw up on that bed.”

  “I will.”

  She waited a long moment before she took a sip. It was cold and wet, but she could barely taste it. Still not looking at her ex-husband, she sat still and counted another minute. Then she took another sip.

  “Better?” Mike said.

  “Yes.” Her voice was a little stronger now. “Thank you.”

  He sighed and approached the bed, stopping right next to it. “Look at me, Kyla.”

  Reluctantly, she looked.

  “You disappointed me,” he said. “Do you have any idea what you’ve cost me?”

  “No,” she whispered, ruthlessly snuffing a spark of anger. She hadn’t taken a single cent of his money.

  “Everything.” He sat down heavily in the chair beside the bed, staring straight ahead. “You’ve ruined me,” he said. “I had to go to court, like a common criminal. I was held in contempt. They handcuffed me.” He turned a dull gaze on her. “You put me through hell, Kyla.”

  She wanted to scream. He had no idea what hell was—because he’d created it, and inflicted it on her without a second thought. But she made herself say, “I’m sorry, Mike.”

  “A wife doesn’t leave her husband.” His eyes were eerily blank. “I’m not going to let you castrate me. We’re going away. And when we come back, you’re going to have your little friend Ralph cancel the restraining order. You’ll stay with me. Do you understand?”

  She couldn’t respond.

  “I said, do you understand me.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I understand.”

  He looked away. “You’re mine,” he said. “No one else wants you. No one needs you like me.”

  “Of course.”

  When he didn’t say anything more, Kyla sipped carefu
lly at the soda. It seemed to help with the dizziness, at least. She thought she felt a little stronger too, though she couldn’t be sure. If Gage made it here, she’d need all the strength she could get.

  Mike sat motionless and silent for a long time. She started wondering if he’d gone to sleep with his eyes open, or maybe fallen into some sort of insanity stupor. But the instant she tried to move, he reacted like a snake—whipping his head around to pin her with a predatory glare.

  “My leg is falling asleep.” She didn’t have to manufacture the tremor in her voice. “I was just going to stand for a minute.”

  “Your leg.” He rose slowly and stared down at her. His gaze rested on the can of soda, and then moved to the nightstand. He looked at the phone. As he did, a muscle clenched in his jaw.

  She glanced quickly at the nightstand—and her stomach plummeted as she realized the handset was slightly crooked, and streaked with marks from her fingers.

  Mike exhaled through his nose. “Give me that soda,” he said. “You’ve had enough.”

  With a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking, she complied.

  He took it almost gently and set it aside. Then, just as calmly, he raised an arm.

  The backhand knocked her off the bed.

  “You used this phone!” The ringing in her ears muffled his roar, and the heavy tread of his feet as he circled the bed. She tried to move, to crawl beneath it, but he grabbed her hair and yanked her upright. “Who did you call, you traitorous bitch? The police?”

  She couldn’t answer if she wanted to.

  His fist rammed her stomach, knocking the breath from her. But he didn’t release his grip. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Right now.”

  He let go.

  She dropped like a stone, curling inward and gasping for air. Even as her lungs burned, she reached out and dragged herself along the carpet. She’d go for the window. Or the lamp, and bash his brains in. Anything to keep him from taking her—because if they left this place, no one would ever find her.

  She was almost under the bed when he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back out.

  “You’re only making things worse for yourself.” He hauled her up coughing and spluttering, and started dragging her toward the door with an arm locked around her chest. “If you’d just behave, I wouldn’t have to hurt you so much.”