But her aunt should be safe here at the assisted-living facility she’d called home for the past two months.
Felicity didn’t like the idea of staying at that old house by herself, but she had little choice at this point. At least she had her gun. If anyone came after her, she could protect herself. She’d remember to take the safety off next time.
Her hands trembled even more just thinking about what she’d done.
She’d had no choice but take that key and give Brody a fake one—one that fit into an armoire in her bedroom. She’d stuck it inside a velvety bag one of her bracelets had come in. That other key—the real one—held the power of redemption for her. She had to figure out what it unlocked, and she needed more time in order to do that.
She felt the first spark of hope and excitement in her life that she had in a long time.
That key could be the answer she’d been searching for. It could give her life back to her. Maybe she’d even be able to return to Raleigh.
“Well, you just going to stand there all day?” Aunt Bonny put her hands on her hips and stared at her. “I’ll be fine. Now go on home. Besides, Bingo starts in ten minutes. I don’t want to miss it.”
Felicity nodded and stepped out the door of her aunt’s little apartment.
Nervous energy consumed her with each step. She had the key, but certainly Brody would discover that information soon. That meant she had to act fast. But she wasn’t sure where to start.
What could the key possibly belong to? Did the letters on it have something to do with it? And why had the man who’d ended up dead said her grandma’s last name? How was she connected with all of this?
Felicity needed to find out and fast.
She stepped outside and hurried to her car. But what she saw made her stop in her tracks.
Brody Joyner.
He leaned against her aunt’s car with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.
Chapter Twelve
Felicity slowed her steps, delaying the inevitable act of reaching Brody. There was no need to run. With his long legs and athletic ability, Brody would certainly catch her. There was also no need to deny what she’d done. Certainly, he already knew.
On the bright side, at least there was a break in the rain. Despite that, the gray sky overhead seemed to echo her situation: daunting.
“Where’s the key, Felicity?” Brody’s jaw flexed.
She licked her lips before drawing in a deep breath as she maneuvered over the snowy sidewalk—now gritty with salt crystals. “Not here.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why’d you switch it? What do you know that I don’t?”
“Nothing.” She attempted to breeze past him and climb into the driver’s seat, but he grabbed her arm. Her skin rose at his touch.
He released her arm, only to put his hands on his hips. “You and I both know that’s not true, Felicity. What’s going on?”
She wanted to fight. To deny. To dig her heels in. But what good would that do?
“I couldn’t let you turn that key over to the police,” she finally said. “Not when it could have significant historical implications.”
He squinted. “Why would you say that?”
“It’s an antique—I’m guessing at least two hundred years old. Maybe more. There’s some connection to it that someone thinks is worth killing over.”
“Exactly. That’s why I need to give it to Chief Haven. It’s evidence.”
She held her chin up higher, knowing he wouldn’t understand. “I just need to study it a little more.”
“You do? Why you?”
She frowned, questioning how much she should divulge. As little as possible, she decided, but enough to get his attention. “I’m a researcher. This is in my wheelhouse. I have a better chance of finding the answers than small-town cops.”
“That could be construed as insulting.”
“I don’t mean it that way. I just mean I have experience.” Just like she thought—he wouldn’t understand how important this was to her.
He continued to stare at her. “Why do you care?”
She couldn’t tell him the truth. Couldn’t tell him about her failure. Her embarrassment and humiliation. He’d never trust her competence. Just like no one else would. “Because I’m connected to this somehow. That man said my family’s name. Maybe he was headed to my house. I need to know why.”
Brody’s jaw flexed. “I want the key back, Felicity. I’m not going to impede a police investigation.”
Desperation tugged inside her. Her need for redemption trumped her logic at the moment. It wasn’t a good place to be in, but she had to fight her way through this. “Please, just give me a little time. When I have more answers, I’ll turn the key over.”
“I can’t do that. I need the key.” He held his hand out, as if expecting her to plop it there.
Her shoulders tightened as determination took over. “Well, I’m not driving home and then driving back out here to give it to you. You’ll have to wait until the snow melts. I almost went into the ditch on the way here.”
Something flickered in his gaze. He wasn’t about to be walked on, she realized.
“I’ll drive you home,” he said. He looked formidable as he stood against the car with his hands on his hips. His jaw was thick and strong. His eyes were too observant for her comfort. His mouth was set in a firm line.
She hadn’t expected his offer to drive her home and tried to quickly think of a counter. She finally settled on, “You don’t have to do that.”
She knew it sounded weak, but comebacks had never been her strong suit.
Satisfaction lined his gaze. “I want to. I insist. I’ll get the chief to pick me up. He wants to come check out my truck anyway.”
She tried to think of an excuse, but none came to mind.
“Let’s take your car,” he said. “And leave your aunt’s here with her. Makes more sense, right?”
Before she could stop him, he led her across the parking lot to her sedan. Next thing she knew, she was snug in the passenger seat with the door closed, heat blaring, and Brody was behind the wheel. He eased out of the parking space and started down the road before she could object.
She expected to feel fear—fear because of Brody, because of the roads, because of the situation. But there was something steady about his grip on the steering wheel, about his gaze on the road, about his control of the vehicle.
For some strange reason, she felt safe.
For a moment, at least.
“I didn’t take you as the type to pull a stunt like this,” he finally said. “I knew you didn’t trust me. All along, I guess I shouldn’t have trusted you.”
Ouch. That didn’t feel good.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she muttered.
“You might be surprised.”
Should she tell him? Tell him how she failed? How she was professionally humiliated? How her peers had laughed at her?
She opened her mouth but then shut it again. No. She couldn’t share that. Not right now.
“I’ll give you the key back,” she said instead, crossing her arms. She realized she probably looked like a five-year-old, but it was too late to undo what had been done.
“Good.”
Silence stretched between them: uncomfortable, unwelcome, unbecoming.
Finally, her house came into sight. It appeared just like they’d left it, but the snow was beginning to melt.
He pulled to a stop and said nothing for a moment. Then he looked at her with a touch of annoyance in his eyes. “You ready?”
She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to give up the key. But she wasn’t willing to go too far for what could be nothing. Part of her wanted to fight for it. To raise a ruckus. To figure out a way to keep it.
But that would be foolish. She had to be wise here.
“Yes, let’s go.”
“Watch your step. It looks like it might be slick on the sidewalk.”
She bit back a “harrumph.”
He actually sounded, for a minute, like he didn’t hate her. But, just as he said the words, her feet hit an icy patch, and she felt them sliding out from underneath her. She was sure she was going to hit the ground with an embarrassing and painful thud when a strong hand grabbed her elbow. She fell into Brody instead.
“You okay?”
She nodded, pulling herself together and mentally scolding herself for the way her cheeks flushed at his nearness. As the strength in his grip made her crave more. As the scent of spearmint and leather made her heart flutter. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
She straightened and brushed off some snow, desperate to keep herself occupied so he wouldn’t see how awkward she felt. If only it was that easy. It was probably written all over her face.
She’d never been sly or demure or graceful. Those had been the girls she’d admired in high school. They’d gotten all the dates while she’d gotten the good grades. Her mother and grandmother both had been stunning—the kind of women who turned heads in their younger days. Felicity used to envy them for it.
Brody kept a hand on her elbow as she climbed the steps. She wanted to shoo him away, but she knew she’d only further embarrass herself by falling again. It was better to grin and bear it.
Finally, her clumsy, frozen fingers managed to unlock the door, and she stepped into the warmth of the house. “One minute,” she told him.
The key was in her room, and she didn’t want him following her there. Things already felt awkward enough between them. She hurried away before he could stop her.
She stepped into her room and started to shut the door.
By the time she heard the floor creak beside her, it was too late.
Chapter Thirteen
“Don’t turn toward me,” the man growled into her ear. He pressed something into her side with one hand. The other hand locked her arms behind her back.
Felicity froze, fear coursing through her veins. There was a man in her house. In her room. And he had a gun.
She had no choice but to listen to him.
“Where’s the key? I know you have it.”
“Key? What key?” She wasn’t sure feigning ignorance was the best choice, but maybe he’d buy it.
Her senses went on full alert. She soaked in the smell of his expensive cologne. The fancy ring on his finger. The thick gold bracelet at his wrist. Blond hair peaked out from his sleeves. And he had an accent. Australian.
“Don’t play dumb with me. Give me the key.”
“I don’t know—”
Before she could finish her statement, the man jammed the gun into her ribcage with enough force to leave a bruise. She let out a yelp.
“Felicity, are you—” Just as Brody appeared in the doorway, the man shoved the gun to her temple.
“One step closer and she dies.”
Brody’s eyes widened, and he stepped back, hands in the air. “Okay, okay. Don’t hurt her.”
“I just want the key,” the man growled.
Felicity was all too aware of the gun. That one slip of the man’s finger could mean the end of her life. That her next breath could be her last.
Sweat sprinkled across her forehead.
Who was this man? What was so important about that key? This only confirmed her theory that it was in some way valuable or significant.
She didn’t have time to think about it now.
“Where is it?” The man’s other hand tightened around her arm, cutting off her blood flow until her fingers began to tingle.
Brody’s eyes met hers, and he seemed to silently urge her to remain calm. But she could tell by his body language that he was edgy. His actions were quick, yet his responses hesitant. His voice sounded placating—something she didn’t think was possible.
“I can get it for you.” Her words hardly registered in her own ears. “But I can’t do that with a gun to my head.”
“One wrong move, and you die. Understand?”
She wanted to nod, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She needed to remain still. Instead, she muttered, “Yes, I understand.”
“You too,” the man barked.
“Just don’t hurt her,” Brody said.
He slowly lowered the gun from her temple, but she was all too aware of how close it still remained. It hovered at her ribs.
“Now, move!” The man shoved her away.
She nearly lost her balance but caught herself on the edge of the dresser.
She had to get the key. She had no choice.
Slowly, she walked toward her nightstand and lifted the jewelry box there. She’d stashed the key inside, figuring it was safer than keeping it on her.
She glanced in the mirror and saw the man. He wore a black ski mask. Seeing him caused a new jolt of fear to spring through her. It made the situation all too real.
Her fingers trembled as she grabbed the key. As soon as she grasped it, the man snatched it from her hands.
“This is rightfully mine.” He stared at the key for a moment before shoving it into his pocket.
“You’ve got the key. Now you can leave,” Brody said. He sounded like a negotiator with his gentle, pleading tones. But would they work?
“If only it was that easy.” The man grabbed Felicity’s arm again and tugged her toward the door. “You’re coming with me.”
“That’s not necessary,” Brody said, alarm heightening his voice and causing his body to visibly tense even more.
“Really. I won’t tell anyone.” Felicity didn’t bother to hide her desperation. “Take the key. I don’t even know what it’s for anyway.”
The man paused in front of Brody. “Why’d you come here? Did that man tell you something?”
Brody blinked before giving the man a hard stare. “What do you mean, tell me something? What man? The one in my truck? You were the one who ran us off the road, weren’t you?”
“He had something that belonged to me. Now I’m the one asking the questions. What did he say to you?” He shoved the gun into Felicity’s side again. “Tell me or she dies.”
Brody raised his hands again. “I promise you—he didn’t tell me anything. He was barely conscious when I found him.”
“He gave you the key.”
“He must have stuck it in my pocket after I passed out. I didn’t even know it was there.”
She could feel the man staring at Brody from over her shoulder. He finally let out a grunt and began dragging her into the hall. He never left his back exposed to Brody, though.
Desperation began to claw at her. She couldn’t go with the man. She knew the statistics. She knew what would happen and how her chances of dying increased exponentially.
“Please, don’t take her,” Brody said. “Take me instead.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest. He’d really offer up himself for her? He didn’t even know her.
Warmth spread through her in a swift heat wave. It was more like a ball of fire that erupted quickly and disappeared even more quickly. This wasn’t personal—it was simply noble. Maybe even ingrained in him from his job.
“No way. I know how this operates. She’s coming with me.”
“Don’t hurt her.” Brody took a step closer, a new plea in his voice.
“Stay right there,” the man said. “One more step, and she dies. Do you understand? Any quick moves, and she dies. Understand? You do anything, she dies.”
“Understood,” Brody said.
“In the closet.” The man pointed to a door with his gun.
Brody looked behind him. “In there?”
The man nodded. “That’s right. Stop asking questions. Get in.”
“Fine, fine. I’m going.” Brody pulled the hall closet door open. Coats and brooms and blankets atop the shelf waited there.
“Get in.”
Brody’s eyes met Felicity’s, some kind of silent message being conveyed. He didn’t want to do this. But she could tell also that he couldn’t go all Rambo and try to save her right now. The man had a gun. Pointed at her.
One wrong move, and she was dead.
As soon as Brody was in the closet, the man slammed the door. “Go get a chair,” he ordered Felicity.
With jittery motions and steps, she hurried across the creaky wooden floor and grabbed a dining-room chair. The man jammed it under the knob, preventing Brody from escaping. For a while, at least. Long enough for the man to get away. Most likely with Felicity.
Apparently satisfied with his work, the man jerked Felicity toward the kitchen and opened the back door. Another burst of frigid wind swept inside.
He pulled her into the cold, and she struggled to keep up as he dragged her toward the old barn. That was when she saw the tire tracks leading behind the structure. But the tracks led from across the field. Had he really come here the back way? Apparently.
He shoved her into the barn. A Hummer was parked there.
He opened the driver’s-side door and shoved her inside. “One wrong move and you’re dead. Have I made myself clear?”
She swallowed hard. “Deadly.”
Brody threw his shoulder into the door for the third time. His bones ached. His muscles ached. Even his jaw had begun to ache—probably from gritting his teeth.
But he had to get out of here. He couldn’t let that man leave with Felicity.
Visions of Andrea filled his mind. He wouldn’t let someone else disappear on his watch. It didn’t matter that he hardly knew Felicity. He felt such a strong instinct to protect her. Concern and guilt collided inside him.
He backed all the way to the back wall. It wasn’t far. There was no way to get much momentum. But he had to do everything he could.
He propelled himself forward, and his shoulder connected with the door again. This time it cracked.
Finally!
He was making some progress. A couple more shoves, and he’d be out of this closet.
A moment later, the door splintered from its hinges. He propelled himself across the floor and ran toward the back of the house. He thought he’d heard them leave this way.
Wait Until Dark: Carolina Moon Series, Book 3 Page 8
