Tate smiled. “I really thought I wanted you dead.”
“Funny, I did, too.”
A door slammed overhead, followed immediately by footsteps on the stairs.
“Where’s Kira?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you’re basically useless to me, right?” Dalton tossed the comforter off his chest and tried sitting up. Dizziness swamped him, along with a sharp pain that stabbed repeatedly at the left side of his body.
“Lie still,” Tate ordered, pressing Dalton’s shoulder down to the countertop.
“Your bedside manner sucks.”
“Really? Make sure you fill out a comment card.”
Dalton flexed the fingers of his right hand, paused and then reached to inspect the bandages on his left side. No doubt about it, he’d been shot. He could have lived the rest of his days without the experience.
His mind replayed the final sequence of events in the woods. All the words he’d left unsaid.
“She’s definitely not here,” Atkins announced as he entered the kitchen.
“Did you check every room?” Dalton intended for it to be a demand, but his voice was hoarse. He shivered, the chill of his wet clothing finally registering.
“The house has been cleared, twice,” Tate said.
“So if they didn’t take the snowmobiles, then where are they?” A.J. asked.
“Check the key rack,” Dalton said.
“All the keys are gone,” Tate stated.
Dalton swallowed his panic and glanced around the room, willing it to stop spinning. If they hadn’t killed Kira here, then where was she taken? What had prompted the second attacker to let her live?
His stomach lurched as his mind flipped through the memories with Kira. Her small, soft fingers skating down his chest. Her bright green eyes questioning every one of his motives. The way she’d felt, pressed against him the last time they’d made love.
“Which vehicle is missing?”
A.J. stomped across the kitchen to the doorway to the garage. “The second and fourth stalls are empty.”
Dalton had watched Tate drive away two days ago in the Jeep, which meant Lauren’s SUV had been stolen by Kira’s abductor.
“The Range Rover.” Dalton looked up at Tate, feeling a burst of adrenaline firing through his veins. He’d get a location on the SUV and call in every resource to rescue Kira. “I want your phone.”
“Take it easy. Give me the number and I’ll make the call.”
Dalton recited the number and Tate punched the keys. He turned on the speaker and a few moments later a service representative answered.
“How may I assist you?”
“I need to locate a stolen vehicle,” Tate replied.
“May I have the vehicle identification number, please?”
“I don’t have it. Can you use another method?”
“Name and date of birth, please?”
Tate rattled off the information while Dalton listened.
“Have you reported the vehicle stolen to local law enforcement?” the representative asked.
“Yes,” Tate lied.
“Are you requesting the vehicle be disabled at this time?”
“Can you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tate looked to Dalton for permission. He shook his head.
“We need the location.”
“One moment, please.” The connection was silent for all of thirty seconds before the woman returned to the line. “Your vehicle is currently parked somewhere in Benton County, Wyoming. The nearest intersection is Highway 6 and Blackstone Creek.”
Tate and Dalton exchanged a surprised look.
“Thank you, darlin’. You’ve been a big help.” Tate disconnected the call and stared at Dalton.
“They’re going to the cemetery,” Dalton announced. “Help me up.”
“No,” Tate replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “First the ground rules.”
“Your concern is touching, but there’s no way I’m staying here.” Not while Kira was out there alone with the bastard who’d shot him.
Tate’s phone blared an unholy noise. He fumbled to answer it, quickly turning the speaker off when Ethan’s voice boomed through the kitchen.
Dalton shifted on the countertop, finally slipping his legs over the side and pulling himself to a sitting position. When he opened his eyes, A.J. was balancing him on his injured side, while his partner kept Dalton from falling forward.
“You look like hell, buddy,” A.J. quipped.
“Thanks.” He shifted in the wet denim jeans encasing his legs. “Find me a chair.”
“What’s the magic word?” A.J. had an ill-timed sense of humor.
“Please.” Dalton gritted his teeth.
“The other magic word?” The man was a complete and total pain in the ass.
“Jet,” Dalton said and sighed in resignation. “Get me a chair and you can fly the jet.”
“Slide forward, Dalton,” A.J. instructed. “We’ve got you.”
The three-foot drop to the floor looked more like three hundred feet. It was easier to move when his eyes were closed. Dalton’s feet briefly touched the tiles before he was seated in a chair. His heart raced from the effort it took.
“Are you okay?” A.J. asked.
Dalton nodded, keeping his eyes closed. His head didn’t hurt, so the dizziness must be associated with how much blood he’d lost before they found him. Or maybe it was from the meds Tate gave him.
“Try opening your eyes.”
Dalton squinted through one eye before popping the other one open and blinking repeatedly. Things were a bit hazy, but not spinning like when he’d been flat on the counter.
“I’m okay,” he said. “But I’d like some dry clothes.”
“Be right back.” A.J. left the room and Dalton heard him climbing the stairs again.
He could also hear snippets of Tate’s conversation. Ethan had found something important, judging by the way Tate was standing in the farthest corner of the room.
“You and A.J. have been friends a long time, huh?” Grayson asked.
Dalton merely nodded, his attention focused on the mumbled words floating from the other side of the kitchen.
A.J. returned with a pile of clothes, effectively breaking the sudden silence. “Dude, you really need to hire a stylist.” He tossed a T-shirt in Dalton’s lap. “Orange is so last season.”
Dalton ignored the attempt at humor. He was able to remove his boots and jeans while seated, but had to lean against the counter to redress. He shoved one foot through the leg hole of the dry underwear, waited to regain his balance and then repeated the maneuver with the opposite foot.
He sensed Tate walking up behind him. “What did Ethan find out?”
“Could you give us a minute?” Tate glanced at A.J. and Grayson. The men quickly left the room.
Dalton reached for the clean pair of jeans on the counter. “I’m listening.” He dropped onto the chair and worked at getting one foot through the pant leg.
“What’s the special assignment you gave to Ethan?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“I want you to tell me.”
“Get me a glass of water, would you?” Dalton shoved his other leg into the jeans and stood again, to yank the denim over his hips. Tate found a glass and filled it in the sink. Dalton gulped it down.
“This is all connected to Josh. As much as I hate to admit it, I didn’t believe most of what Kira told me about him. In fact, if he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him.” Then it hit Dalton. Nothing that had happened to Kira was pure coincidence or conjecture.
> “This was always about Josh,” he said. “He used her to guarantee a source of income. He figured out a way to embezzle the money and blame Kira.”
“He didn’t need the money,” Tate said.
“Like he didn’t need to be sneaking around with my wife?” Dalton spat out. He grabbed the socks and sat again, angrily yanking them on his feet.
“How long have you known?” his old friend asked.
“Not nearly as long as you, apparently,” Dalton replied.
Tate sighed and paced to the other side of the kitchen. “I found her laptop on one of my trips up here.”
“You knew how much I was hurting and you couldn’t bring yourself to cut me some slack?” Dalton reached for one of his boots. “I feel like a dumbass. I never wanted to think that either one of them could betray me.”
He silently laced the boot, then reached for the other. “Did you ever think maybe Lauren killed herself because she couldn’t be with Josh?”
“No. Josh was an opportunist. He skated by because your mom refused to let him fail at anything. And Lauren was just another woman who couldn’t tell him no. Dammit, Dalton, I always watched out for her and you promised—”
Dalton stood and kicked the chair away. “I kept my vows. She was everything to me and then she was gone.” He snapped his fingers. “I lost my wife and my best friend on the same day. Your forgiveness and your friendship might have brought me back from a really dark place.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Tate shoved a few items into his medical bag. “If I blamed you, then I wouldn’t have to blame myself.”
“So you’ve been not blaming yourself since she died? You’ve turned into a first-class man whore. Wouldn’t Lauren be proud?” Dalton stared at Tate, daring him to deny the facts every tabloid in America had pictures to prove.
“Lauren would be proud I saved your life.”
The sudden silence between them was deafening.
Dalton finally relented. None of this discussion was getting them closer to finding Kira.
“Who else would know about this place? Know the security code?” Tate asked.
“You, Lauren, me. And Josh,” Dalton said.
“Should we assume it’s only a coincidence every equation contains Josh’s name?” Tate asked.
“Not anymore.” Dalton pulled a coat from the rack near the door and gingerly shoved his arms through the sleeves. “Josh is the answer. Griffin was never a real person.” Dalton smacked his hand against the counter in annoyance. “That’s why Kira couldn’t track him down.”
“But he could have killed her out in the woods and ended all of this,” Tate insisted.
“So why didn’t he?” Dalton asked.
“Let’s talk about this in the air. I have a chopper.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Dalton insisted, following Tate through the dining room. “He could have shot both of us. Why didn’t he check to make sure I was dead?”
Tate turned and grabbed Dalton’s arm, shoving him toward the door. “Run!” he yelled.
A.J. and Grayson were standing a few feet from the porch. But instead of running away from the house, as Tate instructed, A.J. ran toward them. Dalton was in no condition to sprint for his life, but A.J. bounded up the steps, threw an arm around his waist and hustled him into the yard. Tate was on the other side, hightailing it away from the house.
Dalton didn’t know what they were running from or where they were running to, but the men surrounding him provided plenty of motivation. They had just passed a line of trees when a deafening blast propelled him forward. He was knocked to the ground, his face buried in the snow, while an enormous weight pressed against him.
The ground shook beneath him. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe. And then there was a brief silence, as if the world had ended. In the next instant, fiery debris rained from the sky. Dalton couldn’t see it, but could hear the sounds of various items landing on the snow with a definite sizzle.
Several moments passed before the weight pressing against him was suddenly gone and he was able to roll over to his side and brush the snow from his face. Tate and A.J. stood a few feet away, trying to hold a conversation using hand gestures. Dalton guessed all of them would be experiencing temporary hearing loss.
Slowly, he climbed to his knees and then to his feet. “What happened?” he asked.
Neither man turned to answer him. Black smoke billowed to the sky, churned by the wind.
He spotted the chopper approximately a hundred feet away and appearing undamaged. He whistled to get A.J. and Tate’s attention before pointing to the aircraft. Tate gave a grim nod and Dalton picked his way through the debris field.
Grayson was already circling the chopper, making sure nothing would prevent them from taking off. Aside from a few dents and a crack in one of the side windows, it looked none the worse for wear.
Dalton opened a door and climbed into a second-row passenger seat. Sitting eased the aching in his chest. The snow he swiped away from his face was tinted red, but there was so much adrenline pumping through his system that his entire head was throbbing. It felt as if a large chasm had been carved into his skull. It would only get worse when the chopper started.
He sat with his eyes closed for several minutes, saying a thankful prayer for surviving the bomb left by Josh. No wonder he hadn’t worried if Dalton was dead in the woods. Josh had a backup plan in place to destroy everyone and everything that might send authorities on a manhunt for him.
Tate climbed through the door on the opposite side of the chopper. He handed Dalton a set of headphones. “Put these on.” He did the same with another pair. Dalton followed the direction, which succeeded in cutting the noise in his brain to Mardi Gras volume.
“Can you hear me?” Tate questioned through the amplified mini speakers.
“Loud and clear,” Dalton replied.
A.J. took his place in the pilot’s seat, while Grayson donned the headgear for the job of copilot. They both flipped switches on the dash and the big bird started to rumble. Dalton could hear both men going through the preflight checklist and then A.J. gave a thumbs-up to signal they were good to go.
The helicopter lifted slowly into the sky, its backflow sending snow and black smoke spinning like a mini tornado beneath them. Nothing below them appeared salvageable. Only the shell of the house remained and it was quickly being consumed by the hungry flames.
“What’s our ETA?” Tate questioned.
“Approximately seventy-five minutes,” A.J. responded.
“My brother will be dead in ninety.”
Chapter 18
Kira awakened from unconsciousness to the scent of leather and the motion of a vehicle. Her cheek throbbed as the taste of blood registered on her tongue. She was still alive, but who’d taken her and why?
“I know you’re awake.” The words were uttered as strong fingers jerked her head toward the driver. His thumb pressed against her cheek and pain exploded behind her eyelids, popping her eyes open to focus on her captor. His voice wasn’t familiar, but his profile brought memories to the surface. The slight dip at the end of his nose, the jawline and pointy chin... She knew that face, even without seeing his eyes.
“Let me go!” Her hands were worthless, tied together at the wrists. The seat had been moved forward and her legs were blocked in by the dashboard.
And Josh was alive.
The man who’d pledged his love to her forever and then disappeared when they’d hit a rough patch. No doubt he wouldn’t let her live through the night.
“You should have left it alone. You know that, right?” His hand thumped against the dash and her body jerked toward the passenger door. Her arms flew up to block her face, but he quickly knocked them to her lap and laughed. She’d thought he’d meant to strike her and had uninte
ntionally allowed her fear to show. Now Josh would take even more pleasure in watching her suffer.
She hated him. Hated him. The anger built as her mind sorted through methods of escape. But would it do any good to escape, if Josh was alive?
Random thoughts became solid ideas. Kira was actually pondering ways to kill him. Maybe yanking the steering wheel when they crested the next hill, hopefully sending the vehicle down the embankment. Then justice would be done without anyone else being harmed.
When had she turned so heartless?
“I searched your apartment but didn’t find anything incriminating, at least to me. Are you holding out?” Josh quizzed her.
She refused to answer him, continuing to chant I hate you in her head. She wanted him to think he had broken her. Wanted him believing she didn’t have any fight left in her and that she’d resigned herself to losing to him once more.
Josh had shot his own brother and it was all her fault. Dalton would be okay if she hadn’t gone to his cabin. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
A few days ago, Kira had relished the thought of seeing Josh again and saying everything she’d kept bottled inside since the day he’d left. Now she believed he didn’t deserve anything from her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of whimpering or begging for his favor.
But she couldn’t get the prospect of never seeing Dalton again out of her mind. She’d behaved foolishly out in the woods, she knew that now. You’ve made it impossible for me to walk away. Dalton’s comment meant she’d left him without a choice. And she had. He didn’t have a choice because of the trouble she’d brought to his door. Even after he’d promised to keep her safe, and made love to her like nothing she’d ever experienced, it wasn’t enough to bind them together.
Her heart ached over never having the chance to say how much he meant to her. She loved him and she should have told him while she had the chance. She, above all, knew how quickly love could recede and disappear. All the what-ifs crowded in around her. What if she’d never married Josh? What if she’d never had his child? What if she’d refused to be abandoned by him and made it a lot tougher on him to walk away? Would any of it have made a difference?
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