by Dawn Brown
“Was that Desmond?” Heddra demanded.
Shayne shook her head. “I don’t know who that was. I think he was trying to disguise his voice.” If it was Ian, the man was no criminal genius—she’d watched Des leave with him. “Whoever he was, he’s not working alone.”
“Well, what did he want?”
“My notes. He wants everything I have about your daughter’s murder, and if I don’t bring it to him, he’ll kill Des,” she spoke the last on a whisper, pressing her fingers to her mouth. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t. She had to do something.
“Call the police,” Heddra said, waving one skeletal hand as though she were swatting away a fly.
“No. He has Des, and he threatened to kill him if we call the police.”
Those black eyes narrowed and Heddra jabbed a bony finger at her. “You can’t possibly be considering doing what he asked. You must realize you’ll be killed too. And if Ian murdered my Gwen, by God I will see him punished.”
Even if it means her grandson dies. Shayne swallowed down her slow-building anger. If she wanted to get Des and herself out of this mess alive, she might need the old woman’s help.
“Ian doesn’t know I’m here, that I know he lied about Julia.”
Heddra blew out an impatient sigh. “What’s your point?”
“I’m going to get what he asked for—”
“Nonsense. Desmond is probably already dead, and Ian will only kill you too. You’re being foolish. I’ll send for the police.”
At the idea of never seeing Des again, Shayne’s heart clenched, her throat squeezed tight. No, she refused to believe he was gone. She had to pull herself together. “Give me a half hour’s head start, then call the police.”
Heddra tilted her head, and pursed her lips. “You’re being foolhardy, letting sentiment cloud your decisions. Where does he want you to meet him?”
Shayne told her the address.
“That’s Tic’s place. Are you sure you don’t want to call the police?”
Could Tic be the other half of we? She swallowed hard, ignoring the ice flooding her veins.
“A half hour,” Shayne said. “Besides, look at it this way, after all these years there may not be enough evidence to tie Ian to Gwendolyn’s murder. If he kills Des and me, the chances of his being sent to prison are a hell of lot better.”
Heddra smiled. “Good point.”
Des remained still, his eyes slit so he could watch his captors without either of them realizing he was awake. Sticks and pine needles jabbed his cheek, and something hard dug into his hip, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to give himself away. With his hands and feet trussed up behind him, his only hope of survival was surprise.
His nose, crusted with dried blood, ached—probably broken—and a shrill throb beat at the back of his head where he’d hit something sharp. A rock, maybe. His face and neck were sticky with blood. That had been a hell of a sucker punch Warren had landed on him. If he ever got the chance, he’d pound that fucker’s face in.
Des shifted and tried to tug his hands free of the bindings, but the ropes tightened, biting into his wrists and ankles. Nausea swept through him, and he clenched his teeth, swallowing back the hot bile bubbling up the back of his throat.
He couldn’t let himself puke, or he risked alerting the two dark figures on the far side of the clearing that he was awake. He was in a hell of a spot, and damned if he could figure out how to get out of this mess.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the forest interior darkened, turning gray and shadowy. Despite the gloom, and having been dumped in a heap at the edge of the woods, Des recognized Tic’s house—the peeling paint and sagging roof. As the minutes ticked by, Des waited for the man to appear, but he didn’t. Only Warren and his uncle stood thirty feet to his right, muttering quietly to each other.
Ian. There had to be a mistake. His uncle wouldn’t be doing this on his own. He must have been acting under orders from Heddi. How did Warren fit in? Des had no idea, and he sure as hell didn’t have time to figure it out now. He had to get out of here.
Ian moved closer, holding something to his ear. Des closed his eyes, forced his body to relax and struggled to keep his breathing even.
“…instructions…to the letter.” Ian was on the phone. Des strained to hear more.
“…twenty minutes to…Des…I’ll kill him.”
Bait, they were using him as bait, but for who? You know who. Shayne. His stomach clenched, bringing with it another wave of dizzying nausea. He gritted his teeth, clammy sweat springing to his skin.
He had to get loose. He had to keep them away from Shayne.
Ian stopped next to him and Des held his breath. The pounding of his heart reverberated through his body. Surely, Ian would hear it.
“Twenty minutes.” The icy mirth in his uncle’s voice chilled his blood. He’d never heard Ian speak that way to anyone. “Or his blood will be on your hands.”
“She’s on her way. Dig,” Ian shouted over his shoulder.
“He still out?” Warren called.
Ian chuckled, hard and humorless. “Yeah, he’s out. He hit that rock so hard, he probably won’t wake up until next week.”
A sharp pang sliced through Des. Christ, Ian sounded so damned pleased with himself. So damned pleased to be doing away with Des.
The crunch of Ian’s footfalls on the dry leaves and pine needles moved toward the metallic scrape of a shovel in dirt. Des cracked his eyes, peering at the two men, one digging a pit, the other standing next to it. Not a pit. A grave. They were digging a grave…and not just for him.
He had to get free, get to Shayne, before they did. He wriggled his hands in the ropes, trying to slide them free. Instead, the knots tightened, pulling his feet closer to his back. Frustration built like a geyser ready to burst. Shit, shit shit! How the hell would he get out of this?
“When will you shoot him?” Warren asked, panting a little. Des froze straining to listen.
“Not yet,” Ian said. “She may need reassurance he’s alive to get her close enough to grab. Actually, it may be smarter not to shoot either of them. Someone could hear gun shots. Tied up, they won’t be able to dig their way out.”
Buried alive? No thanks. But how the hell could he get away trussed up like a goddamned turkey?
Shayne parked at the side of the road, cut the engine and waited in her seat as the headlights dimmed. The sun had slipped behind the horizon, leaving the sky streaked turquoise and indigo, and the woods dark. Forest stretched up on either side of the narrow road like fortress walls. For a moment, Shayne couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. Silence closed in around her as thick and oppressive as the trees outside.
What the hell was she doing? She should go to the police, let them save Des and stop Ian. But if she did, she risked the chance his uncle would kill him. She couldn’t let that happen. At least this way, Ian would think he was in control and she could stall him until the police arrived.
As plans went, it was pretty weak. But it was the only one she had.
Fear and guilt tangled inside her, tying her stomach into knots. This was her fault. Des was in this mess because of her book, and if Ian was telling the truth about Julia, she was dead because of her too.
Shayne swiped her trembling hands down her face, drew in a deep breath and snatched her Leatherman from the passenger’s seat beside her. One of the few items in her car to survive Tic’s assault, she’d grabbed it when she’d picked up her notes from Des’s apartment. The tool, which was like a Swiss Army knife on steroids, was the best she could find to use as a weapon besides a knife from Des’s kitchen. And the tire iron from the trunk of her rental car.
She popped open the door and stepped out into the chilly night. The earthy smell of damp leaves filled her nose. The cold air brought a wave of goose bumps to her skin. She slipped the Leatherman into the back pocket of her jeans.
Her father had given it to her when her divorce had become final,
telling her she’d have to take care of things for herself now that she didn’t have a man in her life. Though she was fairly certain he didn’t have in mind facing down killers holding the man she loved hostage.
Please, let me get us both out of this.
She reached into the backseat of the car and grabbed the tire iron. The wind whispered through the leaves like tiny ghostly voices. She slid the thin metal up the arm of her jacket, cupping the curled end in her hand. No need to advertise she planned to fight back, and hopefully Ian wouldn’t notice how stiff and straight her right arm was.
She eased the car door closed so as not to make a sound, then crept into the dark woods. She walked as quietly as she could, wincing every time a twig snapped beneath her weight. The canopy of leaves above her blocked the last of the dying light, turning the woods murky. She kept the driveway, a slightly brighter break in the trees, in view so she would at least know she was headed in the right direction. But in the deepening twilight, the marginal difference was fading fast.
She should have searched Des’s apartment for a flashlight. Though, it wasn’t like she would have been able to use it. The light would have given away her approach. Right now, the only things she had on her side were the element of surprise, a couple of makeshift weapons and Heddra Grey’s promise to wait to call the police.
Not terribly reassuring.
No sirens yet. Maybe the woman would keep her word. Or maybe she’d masterminded the entire plan. No, Heddra had appeared genuinely furious at the idea her son had been the one to murder her daughter. Still, even if she could count on Heddra, Shayne’s odds of getting both her and Des out of this mess alive weren’t good.
The distinct scrape and clang of a shovel reached her ears. Her breath caught. She froze midstep, straining to hear more. Low voices, unintelligible, but definitely male. Carefully, she tiptoed closer. The trees thinned and through the tangled branches, Shayne could discern the outline of a small, sagging house in the distance and the silhouette of two men about fifty feet to her right.
She held her breath, heart pounding in her ears. One man dug while the other watched.
“Hurry the hell up,” the smaller shadow ground out. Ian, she recognized his voice. “It doesn’t have to be deep, just wide. After all, it’s better for us if they’re found. Not right away, but in the spring, maybe.”
The digging man grunted, but didn’t slow his pace.
Her blood ran cold. She didn’t need more of an explanation for what they were digging and why. Des. Where was Des? Oh God, was she already too late?
She scanned the area, her gaze landing on a wriggling heap to her left. That had to be him. And he was alive.
She let out a slow breath, then moved away, staying close to the edge of trees hugging the clearing. Despite, the care she took tiptoeing as she walked, dead leaves and pine needles crunched beneath the rubber soles of her sneakers. Fortunately, Ian and his pal’s muttered conversation drowned out her footsteps.
As she drew closer, the wiggling lump went still. She slipped from the trees and crouched down beside him. Des was hog-tied, and even in the growing darkness she could make out the crusted blood on his face and clumped in his hair. A dull ache thickened in her throat.
“What did they do to you?” she whispered, gently brushing her fingers through his hair.
His eyes popped open, sheer horror gripping his features. “Shayne, get the hell out of here. Run.”
“Not without you.” She glanced at the men still digging. She didn’t know how long she had until they stopped and checked on Des, or started looking for her, but hopefully she’d have enough time to untie him and get him to the car before they even knew he was gone. She dug the Leatherman from her pocket, searched through the implements until she found a serrated blade.
“I mean it,” Des ground out. “That’s a grave they’re digging, they plan to bury us alive.”
She swallowed hard, but stayed focused on sawing through the rope. “Then shut up so they don’t notice me.”
He gasped as the added pressure drew the ropes tighter.
“Sorry,” she whispered, sawing faster. She didn’t want to cause him more pain, but she had to work quickly.
The rope frayed, the loose strands tickling her knuckles as she dragged the blade back and forth.
“Shayne, please,” Des whispered.
“I’m almost through. Watch them. Let me know if they stop.”
“No. Get the hell—”
The clang of a shovel banging over the ground jerked her attention to the two men and silenced Des. Caught. The word screamed in her head while her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. With her stomach somewhere around her shoes, she waited.
“She’s taking too long. She should have been here by now,” the larger man said, his voice a deep growl. Warren working with Ian? She would never have guessed.
Shayne bent her head and sawed furiously.
“I bet she’s gone to the police. We should just kill him and get the hell out of here. We can get her later,” Warren muttered.
“Stick to the plan.” Ian’s voice was bright with humor. “She didn’t go to the police. She’ll be here.”
The knot gave way, and she unwound the rope from around Des’s wrists and ankles. He let out a low breath, wincing as he straightened his limbs.
“I can’t run yet,” he said, easing onto his back. “My legs and arms are numb. Go, I’ll catch up.”
“Not without you,” she told him, keeping her gaze trained on Warren and Ian.
“You can’t be sure she’ll come, or that she won’t go to the cops,” Warren said, climbing out of the pit. “Let’s kill him now.”
“I told you, we need him alive in case we need to flush her out,” Ian said, throwing up his arms, the humor in his tone giving way to impatience. “Trust me, she’ll be here and she won’t risk going to the police.”
“Go!” Des flexed his arms and fingers.
“They haven’t spotted me,” she hissed. “Stay quiet and they won’t.”
“How can you be sure?” Warren snapped, taking a menacing step toward Ian. With any luck, they’d turn on each other.
“Because she’s in love with him.”
“She’s in love with him?” Warren exploded. “That’s your guarantee? I should have known you’d fuck this up. Where is she? Huh? Where the fuck is she if she loves him so goddamned much?”
“Right over there.” Ian said, swinging his arm out to point directly at her. His invisible gaze pinned her where she crouched.
Des clumsily grabbed at her, trying to shove her away. “Run. Go. Now!”
Shayne stood, gripping the Leatherman in one hand and let the cool metal of the tire iron slide down her arm, gripping the end and keeping the bar tucked behind her leg.
“That would be a very bad idea, Ms. Reynolds,” Ian said, perhaps assuming she was getting ready to make a break for it. “At least, if you ever want to see Des alive again.”
“Don’t listen to them. It’s bullshit,” Des shouted. “They’re going to kill us no matter what.”
Not if she could help it.
Shayne didn’t blink, she kept her gaze on them as they slowly made their way closer. How could she take them both out? One she might have been able to handle on her own, but two? She didn’t like those odds.
“I brought you what you want. All of my notes and research material are in my car.” She jerked her head in the direction from which she’d come. “Everything is there. Even my Day- Timer and all my contacts.”
“Thank you, Ms. Reynolds.” Ian flashed a wide smile, hauntingly bright in the darkness. “You’ve been very accommodating. You’re not surprised to see me, are you?”
“No, I know why you killed your sister.” Maybe if she got him talking she could stall long enough for the police to get there. “You found out she was leaving Robert, and you would never be able to take control of your mother’s companies.”
He chuckled softly, menacingly. Goose bumps ra
ced over her skin. “I think Cal overestimated you. Perhaps you’re not as dangerous as he gave you credit for. Doesn’t the fact he’s here tell you I knew Gwen and Robert were leaving town together?”
The man had a point. “Why did you kill her?”
“Because here or away, it wouldn’t matter. My mother had disowned my sister for nearly three years, but she would have still handed it all back to her in the blink of an eye. Even with Gwen gone, Heddi would have waited for her to come back. I was tired of waiting for what should have been mine, and getting rid of Gwen for real would give me exactly what I wanted.”
“You murdered your sister and your nephew, and all you got for your trouble was a broken-down realty company,” Des mocked. “Nice job.”
Something in Ian’s eyes flashed. “I’ll have everything once that old bitch is dead.”
“No, Kate will.”
“I can manage my daughter.”
Des opened his mouth to argue, but Shayne cut him off. “You killed your sister, believing Heddra would have no choice but to accept your help running her companies. You just didn’t count on how little your mother trusted you. It must have been frustrating to watch your mother continue to manage everything herself until your daughter came of age.”
Ian’s mouth curved into a feral smile. Shayne’s blood turned to ice. She’d pushed too far. “You think you’re so clever,” Ian sneered, taking a step toward her and Des.
Des tensed at her feet. Her pulse raced. How much longer until the police arrived. Minutes? Seconds? Not at all?
“Not really…” Shayne’s voice faded in her dry throat. She cleared it and tried again. “Why is Warren involved? Wouldn’t killing Gwen put an end to the money he could extort from her whenever he threatened to go after the children again?”
“It was never about the money, I wanted the companies. That’s why I married Gwen in the first place.”
“But you didn’t get anything for your efforts,” Shayne said. “Why are you helping him now?”
Warren winked. “Damage control.”
