by Unknown
Trace let out more expletives and Brooks heard the sound of an engine roaring to life. “I want a full explanation and you’d better get it to me soon.”
“You’ll get it.” Brooks disconnected the call.
He set his jaw. His gut clenched when the car took a turn by the firehouse, not too far behind Natasha. It was unlikely that the man just happened to be driving up the same narrow street as she was.
Brooks waited a heartbeat before heading up the street himself. He paused at the beginning of the street to Natasha’s home. From the reports, he knew he was close to her home.
He saw Natasha climb out of her car in the parking area above two homes while the Maverick slowed and turned into a pullout at the side of the narrow street. The vehicle was not too far from where Natasha was now walking toward stairs that led down to the houses. Brooks continued on, past Natasha’s street, and then turned onto a side street.
It was another winding, one-lane narrow street bracketed by old pines and walnut trees, and it took a while for Brooks to find a good place to park. He hadn’t been in the Bisbee-Douglas area long enough to know it well. He had memorized the location of Natasha’s home, but that was as far as it went for this particular area.
Brooks backed his truck into a place just big enough to park in without blocking the street. He always parked so that he was ready to go without having to back up. Officers and agents in LE tended to do the same—they needed to be able to take off at a moment’s notice, without delay.
After grabbing a wand he kept to detect listening and recording devices, Brooks locked his truck. He shoved the wand into his back pocket and headed down the steep wooded hill, grinding his teeth as he favored his injured leg.
When he reached the street above Natasha’s house, he looked for a way to get to her home without being seen. He shook his head. The way her house was built on the side of the hill, it appeared that the door closest to the concrete steps that led down from the street served as the main entrance.
It was an oddly built house. Getting into her home without being seen wasn’t going to be easy. He’d have to get inside from the left side of the house, where he saw a set of steep wooden steps leading to another door. He didn’t think that door could be seen from the vantage point of the man watching her home.
Brooks found a small path to walk down. Bushes and trees lining the unmaintained path scratched at his arms, and his leg and side ached as he moved. When he got to the rear of the house, where the mountain dropped steeply below the backyard, he searched for a gate and located one. Another set of concrete steps led from the gate, a good distance down the hillside—he couldn’t see where the steps ended. That was not unusual from what he knew of Bisbee.
He shook his head as he looked at Natasha’s place. This was a crazily built house, but then a lot of homes built on the sides of the mountains in Bisbee were just as crazy if not more so.
From the time he left the truck to the time he made it up the stairs to the door on the side of the house, a good twenty minutes had passed. His injury certainly hadn’t helped his speed, and the terrain hadn’t helped much, either. He thought about knocking, but he wasn’t sure how Natasha would react.
He pulled out his wallet and slipped out the small lock-picking tool.
CHAPTER 16
Natasha clung to her purse as she stood in her kitchen. Her nerves were shot. She couldn’t stop shaking, her chest was tight, and her body cold. Christie could have died. Brooks could have, too.
All because of Natasha getting involved in something bad. Really bad. Did Brooks’s hanging around have something to do with it?
She pulled at the end of her braid until her scalp hurt.
What could she do? How could she end this?
Kill Mark.
She shuddered as the thought passed through her mind again. Maybe she should buy a handgun—for her safety and the safety of anyone who might be with her, of course. As a result of growing up with a police officer for an uncle, she knew how to handle a pistol. Dexter had insisted she learn how to protect herself and had taken her to the range many times. It had been years since she’d handled a handgun—since her uncle’s death. She was rusty, but she knew she could pick it right back up. She’d been good at it.
But she wouldn’t really kill Mark…
Or would I?
It took some effort for Natasha to calm her breathing. She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and tossed her purse on the chair next to her. She stared at the peach accent wall behind the fridge and counter. Sun shone through the one kitchen window and Copper-bottomed pots gleamed from where they hung nearby. She rarely cooked, so the pots stayed shiny.
She braced her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands, trying to blank out the image of the car bearing down on Christie and then Brooks. Natasha raised her head and blinked. Closing her eyes only made it worse.
It was still early in the day, but she had closed up because she couldn’t take the chance of Brooks coming into the shop and her being caught with a lawman.
Yet she was more than grateful he’d been there—he had saved Christie’s life. Now she had to see if more of her family was in danger because he had, thank God, been there.
It was such a mess. Everything was an awful mess.
She needed to check on Christie, who should be back on her ranch by now. She grabbed her purse and fished out her cell phone. Christie was on the favorites list on the phone and she touched the contact image to dial her cousin.
Natasha’s heart thumped as she waited for Christie to answer.
“I’m so glad it’s you,” Christie answered.
Natasha relaxed to hear her cousin’s voice before she tensed again. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all.” Christie sounded less shaky than she had earlier. “Brooks called Trace, though, and what happened upset him enough that he’s on his way home. I imagine he’ll be here at any time. I’m going to have to talk to Brooks. I hate for Trace to be worried when he has his job to be concerned with.”
Natasha let out her breath, relieved to hear that Trace would be with Christie. “I think it’s good he’ll be home with you today. With your hands injured, it’s not going to be easy to care for Jessica.”
“I’m fine.” Christie used an admonishing tone. “Don’t worry, okay? It was just some insane driver, maybe like one of those crazy people who push commuters in front of oncoming subways.” Her tone changed. “That wasn’t funny.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Natasha inhaled deeply before letting her breath out. “But I know what you’re saying. Likely he was some random homicidal bastard.”
Although she was certain he wasn’t random.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” Christie sounded cheerful as she continued, but Natasha thought it was forced. “I sent the sitter home. My hands aren’t so bad, so Jessica and I will be fine.” She paused. “To be honest, though, it will be good to have Trace home. Being in his arms makes me feel so safe—like nothing bad could ever happen. You know what I mean?”
Natasha thought about the night with Brooks. He had made her feel safe, too. She decided not to answer the question and heard Jessica start crying in the background. “Sounds like my adorable niece needs her momma.”
“Yes, I’d better get going.” Joy was in Christie’s tone and it made Natasha’s stomach twist at the thought of her cousin losing that joy. “Love you, Nat.”
Natasha was afraid her voice would tremble, but she kept it calm. “Love you, too.”
She disconnected the call and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about what was happening, but it was all she could think about. It ruled her life and she didn’t know how she was going to live like this.
Her throat worked as she swallowed. She dropped her phone back into her purse in the chair beside her.
For a long moment she stared into space, trying to make her mind go blank instead of pinging from one thing to another.
A ring that
sounded shrill to her ears came from her purse and she jumped. A sense of dread came over her as she stared at her purse. It could be Mark or even Brooks. It might even be Christie. Natasha didn’t want to talk with anyone, but it was clear she didn’t have a choice when it came to Mark.
Her hands trembled as she dug through her purse and pulled out her phone.
Mark Okle.
The pit of her stomach dropped out.
She pressed the answer icon and put the phone to her ear and tried not to sound hysterical. “Why did you try to kill Christie? I’ve been cooperating.”
“I want to make sure you know I’m serious.” Mark chuckled. “If it hadn’t been for the Good Samaritan, you would be less one family member.”
A loud moan reached Natasha’s ears over the line and a faint bit of morbid curiosity come over her. The moan grew, and then a cry sent a chill down her spine.
“I’ll tell you anything you want, Mr. Okle.” A male sob. “Anything. Please.”
“Shut him up,” Mark snapped, his tone slightly muffled, which indicated he’d moved the phone away from his mouth. “I’ll deal with that piece of shit when I’m off the phone.”
The chill she’d felt turned into icy fingers of dread. Mark was torturing someone. Or was that a set up for her benefit? She mentally shook her head. The voice had sounded far too real.
Mark’s voice was clear again as he came back to her. “What happened with Christie was just an example of the kind of accident one of your family members or friends could experience. Next time some stranger won’t be around to save her.”
“I already told you, I will do whatever you want.” Natasha focused on keeping her words steady as she spoke. “I won’t tell anyone about this, especially law enforcement. I’ll take the merchandise to sell at the tradeshow. Please, don’t send any kind of message again. I believe you will hurt them.”
“Whether or not they are hurt is up to you, Natasha.” The smug-sounding bastard continued. “You had better keep your promise. Every time you disobey me, I’ll kill someone off, one by one, until you are the only one left.”
“I’ve got it, Mark.” Anger powered through her coming out in a heated rush. She’d never been so furious at anyone than she was now. “You’ve made your point loud and clear.”
Mark laughed and disconnected the call.
She nearly slammed the phone on the table. God, she had to get that gun.
Her brow furrowed. Mark had referred to Brooks as a “Good Samaritan” and “some stranger.” Was it possible he didn’t know who Brooks was? Mark knew about Trace, so why not Brooks? Whoever was watching her in Colorado also probably hadn’t known who Brooks was, either. She prayed it was true and that Mark didn’t know anything about Brooks.
Even though it wasn’t even noon, and she’d had a shower that morning, she felt dirty. It was probably Mark’s smarmy voice and personality rubbing off on her. Maybe another shower would make her feel better. Or a long, hot bath.
She walked out of the kitchen and through the living room. She stepped into the spare bedroom—and smacked into a man.
Terror stabbed her like a thousand knives and a scream started to tear from her. She struggled as the man grabbed her and slapped his hand over her mouth.
Adrenaline pumped through her body, fueled by her fear. Her heart thudded as she fought with everything she had, trying to get away from the man holding her tight. She kicked, her heel connecting with booted shins. She heard a muffled grunt of pain when she hit the man’s left leg and she tried to kick it again.
She clawed at the forearms holding her, her fingers digging into flesh. She struggled, but arms clamped around her, so tightly she couldn’t move her torso.
“Natasha.” A familiar male voice penetrated the fear tearing through her. “Natasha.”
She went still, only her chest rising and falling from effort.
Brooks.
Her knees gave out on her in relief and she sagged in his arms. He caught her to him and held her in a tight hug before he removed his hand from her mouth.
“I’m sorry for scaring you.” He kissed the top of her head as her eyes filled with tears. Every emotion came rushing forward as she let him hold her. He moved his lips to her ear. “I need to make sure your home isn’t bugged. Just stand here and I’ll do a sweep.”
Her eyes widened. Bugged? Her home could be bugged?
Her breathing was still ragged, and she wanted to scream at him to leave. Instead, she watched him as he went through every room in her home. He had taken a long, thin device that she knew was a wand used to detect recording and listening devices.
When he returned to her, he shoved the wand in his back pocket and looked relieved. “I did a thorough search and as far as I can tell, your place is clean.”
She let out a breath of relief. “Why did you sneak in?”
“I needed to get in without your tail seeing me.”
She stilled. “Someone followed me?” She shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hit her hard, like a slap meant to bring her back to attention. She was being watched so closely that everything she did could come back to haunt her.
“Yes, you have someone watching you.” Brooks smoothed loose hair away from her face. “I know something’s wrong, and denying it isn’t going to work. You’re being followed, you’ve pushed me away, Christie was deliberately almost hit by a car, and you’re clearly terrified.”
Natasha swallowed but said nothing.
“When I put the pieces together,” Brooks went on, “it comes down to the fact that it’s clear you’re being threatened. I have a damned good idea that Mark Okle is the bastard who has you so scared. He has you under his thumb. Or thinks he does.”
Anger and fear rose inside her, ready to spew like a geyser. “Then you know you’re putting everyone I love in danger by being here.”
“Like I said, I had to get in without your tail seeing me, and I worked hard to do just that.” He drew back and kissed her forehead. “I’m sure he doesn’t know I’m here.”
She hated the rollercoaster she was on. It was going nowhere, just around and around and around to the same places in an endless loop. Yet it moved so quickly it made her head spin. She was so up and down that it was going to drive her out of her mind.
Her emotions had never been so tumultuous as they had since she’d broken that damned resin piece. She would rather have continued living in ignorance than this. Being used without her knowledge was horrible, but being in this situation was worse. At least when she didn’t know what was going on, people she cared about hadn’t been threatened.
Would ignorance truly be better? Or was it better to know?
She pressed her face against Brooks’s chest, breathing in his masculine scent. He felt solid, his presence lending her strength that she so desperately needed right now.
“I want to kill him.” The words came out before she could stop them. “I want to kill the bastard.”
Brooks didn’t stop stroking her hair. “I have that urge, too, and I don’t even know the whole story.”
He leaned back and she held onto him as he cupped her face. “Tell me. I need to know everything.”
Her heart thumped so hard her chest hurt. “I’m afraid.”
“I understand.” He rubbed his thumb over her cheek before wrapping his strong arms around her again. “I will help you out of this mess, whatever it is. I promise.”
“I can’t see any way out, unless Mark ends up dead.” She bit her lower lip and it stung with the strength of her bite. She took a deep breath before she spoke again. “He said if I involve law enforcement, he will murder every member of my family, as well as my friends, one by one. If I decide to be ‘noble’ as he called it, and turn myself in to the police, he’ll kill those I care about. If I kill myself—which I would not do—he’ll murder them.”
Brooks gripped her with such strength and power—his arms like steel bands—that she gasped in pain.
“I’m so sorry, honey. I
didn’t mean to hurt you.” He relaxed his grip. “I want to kill the sonofabitch.” His voice had taken on a deep growl.
Words stuck in her throat that she wanted to say, but didn’t. No. I want to kill him… And I might just do it.
“Let’s sit down, and tell me everything.” He held her by her upper arms. “Everything. Okay?”
She trusted him and knew he would do everything in his power to help her while keeping every one of them safe. She nodded. “I won’t leave anything out.”
“Good girl.” He kissed her forehead, and she let herself relax. He made her feel secure, in ways she had never felt before.
He took her hand in his and she squeezed his fingers, her fear causing her to hang on tighter than she normally would have. His hand was dry and warm, his palm callused, his grip firm.
At the doorway from the bedroom to the living room, he paused. He scanned the room and she imagined he was checking it out to make sure they couldn’t be seen through the windows. That was true, they couldn’t be seen, because the big picture window faced the hillside. The house was built so that the side facing out was high, like a two-story building. It wasn’t possible for anyone to look in, even if they had binoculars. As far as the other areas of the house where someone could see in, the windows were closed off. The curtain on the kitchen door window was drawn, as were the curtains over the sink.
“You have a beautiful view.” He squeezed her hand and looked from the picture window to her. “I think we’re safe in here.”
She nodded, but didn’t release his hand. She drew him with her as she walked to the love seat, in front of the round table. They reached it and she tugged on his hand and brought him down with her.
They settled into the loveseat. He set his hat on the table and then wrapped one arm around her and pulled her close so that her head was on his chest. For a long moment they were quiet and he just held her as she thought about all the horrible things that had been happening. She did need someone to talk with. She had no one to discuss what was happening, and it had been driving her crazy. But a lawman—she hadn’t planned on speaking to anyone in law enforcement.
