BRINGING BENJY HOME

by Kylie Brant

  Trey leaned forward urgently. "You know the victim's name?"

  "It was all part of the scene I picked up from Franken. They were in someplace big, shadowy, cavernlike. A parking garage, maybe."

  He surveyed her, his mind racing. "That means Franken's worth to us just multiplied. Not only did he kidnap my nephew—"

  "He can also explain the source of the bloodstained clothing Lauren stole from Penning," Jaida interjected.

  Trey nodded. "If you're right and Franken can connect Penning to a murder, we'd no longer have to worry about him finding Lauren."

  "She and Benjy would finally be free to live in peace."

  "If," Trey said grimly, "Franken could be persuaded to turn state's evidence on his former boss. And if the man can ever be found." Remembering her earlier words, his gaze lifted to hers.

  She managed to look both stubborn and incredibly guilty at once. "This is where we get to the kind of illegal thing I was telling you about. Last night one of the deputies found a black, leather glove lying on my kitchen floor. They were going to take it in as evidence, but I sort of said … I told him…"

  "You told him…" Trey urged when she didn't go on.

  The rest of the words came out with a rush. "I said the glove was Granny's, one of a set. That she used it for gardening…" Her voice trailed off. "It was all I could think of." She snuck a peek at him. He was eyeing her expressionlessly.

  "I wonder what kind of time you can get in Arkansas for withholding evidence," he finally asked aloud.

  She glared at him. "Don't be obtuse. Franken dropped it. He was wearing a pair when he was in the house. I was pretty fuzzy by the time the sheriff got here, but when they talked about finding a glove I operated on pure instinct. Don't you see? I can use that glove to lead you right to Franken."

  "No." The word cracked like a whip. He rose from his chair so quickly it teetered behind him. "Not again. I'm not going to let you undergo that again. Not now that I know what it costs you."

  "What's it going to cost Lauren if I don't?" she countered. "What's it going to cost Benjy? They can't go home again until Franken is apprehended. They can never live a normal life until Penning is out of the picture. How else is that going to happen if I don't go through with this?"

  He stared at her bleakly. She was presenting him with a Hobson's choice, forcing him to choose between two equally distasteful decisions. What kind of man would he be if he let her hurt herself to help him, to help Lauren?

  "You really don't have a choice, you know."

  Her words, delivered in that airy drawl of hers, fueled his temper. "I don't?"

  She shook her head. "I can find him, with or without you. I want it to be with you, of course. I don't really wish to encounter Franken alone again."

  "There's no way you're getting near him again," he snapped.

  "If you say so," she said simply. She returned to the process of cutting off another piece of pancake, soaking it copiously in syrup, and lifted it to her lips.

  The seconds ticked by, stretching into minutes.

  "You've already made up your mind," he accused. "You're determined to do this."

  Intent on savoring her last bite, she merely nodded.

  He muttered an obscenity. Turning on his heel, he went to the window. She used the time to finish her breakfast.

  "There would be no need to come with me," he said finally. Frustration was rife in his voice. "You could pinpoint his location and I could go alone."

  "You know it's not always that easy. Look how many times he moved around with Benjy. We may get lucky and find him on the first try. We may not. You'll need me with you in case I have to try again."

  "No." He shook his head emphatically. "You can wait for me—" He broke off. Her slight smile lit his temper and his imagination. "I can read you like a book, Jaida."

  "How interesting. Maybe my skills are rubbing off on you." He ignored the gibe. "You'd follow me if I set off by myself, wouldn't you?"

  "Would I?"

  "Damn right you would." He glowered at her. He knew the woman well enough to be painfully familiar with her stubborn streak, and when she wore her most angelic expression his blood ran the coldest. Like right now. He might not have her ability, but he knew how her mind worked. She probably had it all planned out.

  "I'll be safer with you," she observed logically. "We don't know whether Franken is going to come back here again."

  The truth of her words made sweat bead on his forehead. She was right. There was no way she'd be safe here or anywhere in the area. Franken could still be lurking. He wasn't going to leave her alone, vulnerable again. He couldn't trust anyone else to take care of her, to protect her the way he could.

  "Damn." He walked back to the table and glared at her. "I can't concentrate on finding Franken and wondering whether you're safe at the same time."

  "It would be a shame to divide your concentration like that," she agreed.

  His face lowered to hers, and his teeth were clenched. He'd been outmaneuvered, and finding himself without choices did nothing for his temper. "If you come with me, you'll do as you're told. That's the way it has to be, Jaida. Promise me, now."

  She smiled angelically. "Trust me."

  * * *

  After the sheriff and one of his men had been and gone, Jaida had Trey bring her the glove from beneath the counter. "That's where I had the deputy put it last night," she explained, striving to keep the nerves from showing in her voice. Her hand trembled as she took the glove from him, distaste showing on her face as soon as she touched it. And then slowly, as if forcing herself, she slipped her hand inside it.

  He almost warned her not to, actually took a step toward her, as if to stop what would come next. But there was no way to stop the visions that engulfed her, no way to save her from an ability that came from within. He watched her helplessly as she used her gift again, hoping fervently that this time the cost wouldn't be too high.

  The physical change she underwent was frightening. Her eyes were wide, unfocused. Her face went absolutely bloodless and then her whole body began to quake.

  He crossed to her and unwrapped her fingers from the glove, pulling it off her hand and flinging it aside. In the next moment she bolted from the room, and he followed her into the bathroom, holding her while she emptied her stomach—her body's reaction to the vileness she'd just immersed herself in.

  He glanced at her now concernedly. He wrapped her in two thick afghans to still her shaking and brought her medication. She refused to take more than one tablet, unwilling to sink into the stuporous slumber her body craved. It was long minutes before she spoke. "He didn't go far," she said, her voice a raw whisper. "And he's going to try again."

  * * *

  The city limits of Little Rock were ahead of them, and Trey glanced worriedly at Jaida. She'd barely uttered a word during the drive, answering his questions monosyllabically.

  "Jaida, are you sure you're going to be all right?" he asked for the dozenth time. "Because I've got to tell you, you're scaring me to death."

  She wished the pain in her temples would abate enough to let her think so she could gather the words to reassure him. But the vision had been too strong, too repulsive, and her reaction was only going to strengthen.

  "I'm fine." The weakness in her voice mocked her words and, by the frown between his brows, did little to convince him. "We're getting closer, that's all. It's going to affect me."

  He looked swiftly at her. "You mean he's in Little Rock?"

  She nodded and leaned her head on the headrest, letting her eyes slip shut. "Keep driving," she mumbled. "I'll tell you where to turn." The chill was creeping from her skin to her insides now, getting stronger with each passing mile, with each of her mumbled directions. And with each rerun of the cruel twisted scene she'd experienced in the vision, the ice encasing her grew a little thicker.

  * * *

  Trey eyed the seedy establishment grimly. "Open your eyes, honey," he said to Jaida, his voice gentle.
"Is this it?"

  She forced her eyelids open and gazed unfocusedly at the rundown bar that was identical to so many others in this part of town.

  The Loose Goose. Its name didn't strike a chord with her, but she knew the place nonetheless. She knew it because it had figured in the last vision. She recognized it from her physical reaction, the chills that seemed to rack her from within. "He's inside," she said almost soundlessly.

  Trey went still. "Franken? Now?" He should be grateful that Jaida's suffering would soon be at an end, but he hadn't expected to find the man this quickly. He'd hoped to have time to leave her somewhere safe, somewhere she could sink into the slumber her body was demanding, while he pursued Franken.

  "I'm going in," he said, reaching a sudden decision. "You stay here. I mean that, Jaida. Don't move from this car. You gave me your promise," he reminded her urgently. "I'm holding you to it." Without another word he opened his door and slid out, hitting the button for the door locks.

  He squinted in the smoky interior of the bar, giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light. The bartender glanced at him as he made his way slowly in, but none of the dozen or so occupants even looked at him. Spotting his quarry, Trey walked to the back of the bar and slid in beside the man drinking alone in the last booth.

  "Get the hell out of here," the man snarled.

  "How are you doing, Tony?" Trey asked softly. He noted with satisfaction the white gauze bandage covering one side of Franken's head. At least Jaida had made the bastard suffer last night.

  The man stiffened and slowly put the glass of beer on the table. Staring hard at Trey, he said, "I don't know you, man. And I don't know who you're looking for, but my name ain't Tony."

  "Amnesia is a funny thing," Trey observed. "You never know when the memory is going to come back. Should we see if I can jog yours a little? Tony Franken, former associate of one William Penning of Boston. You did time for assault twelve years ago. But that time will seem like a vacation compared with what's in store for you now. Kidnapping is a federal offense, you know." He bared his teeth. "No chance for parole."

  Franken eyed him. "You a cop?" One of his hands dropped casually below the table.

  "Don't even think about it," Trey advised, shifting so his jacket gaped. The gun in its shoulder harness was plainly visible. "Let's keep both of your hands on the table, shall we?"

  The man swallowed, then did as he was told.

  "Wise choice. Now, to answer your question, no—I'm not a cop. I'm Benjy's uncle."

  Trey's words got a definite reaction from the man beside him. Sweat appeared on his brow and he licked his lips nervously.

  "I'm the one man," Trey murmured, his eyes alight with purpose, "who has the most reason to want to see your guts spilling across this table."

  "You're not going to kill me," the man blustered. "Not here. Not in front of witnesses."

  "You're right about that, Tony," Trey said almost regretfully. "I'm not going to kill you. No matter how much you deserve to die for putting my nephew and my sister through hell, I didn't come here to shoot you. I came here to offer you a choice." Trey outlined the man's options in succinct terms.

  Franken's reaction was immediate. "You're crazy, man. I'd rather take my chances with prison than turn on Penning. At least in prison I'll be alive."

  "You obviously misunderstood your choices," a second voice said. Franken's eyes grew wide as Jaida skid into the other side of the booth. She didn't spare Trey more than a glance. She knew that her presence in the bar infuriated him. But she'd been drawn here by forces far stronger than the promise she'd given him.

  "You see, Tony, we're not offering you the chance to go to prison for kidnapping."

  The man looked from her to Trey suspiciously. "That's not what he said."

  "No, that would be too easy. Instead, I think we'll just call William Penning and tell him where you are. I think we'll tell him…" She frowned thoughtfully. "We'll say that you're ready to tell the police that he ordered the hit on Weber. You did the shooting, of course, but it wouldn't be the first time a criminal cut a deal so the government could get a bigger fish, now would it?"

  The man's jaw dropped.

  "When we describe the murder scene, how the others praised your marksmanship, how Weber died at Penning's feet, begging for his life, I think we can convince him that we could only have heard the story from you."

  "I never breathed a word of that," Franken cried. Looking around, he lowered his voice and grated, "I never told no one about my work for Penning, and I ain't about to start now."

  "You're missing the point, here, Tony," Trey said, reprovingly. "It doesn't matter whether you told anyone. All that matters is that Penning will believe that you did."

  "My life won't be worth a plugged nickel if Penning gets told that," the man whimpered.

  "I wonder what would happen if Penning found out you were all set to deliver a son, one he never wanted and didn't know about, to his parents, hoping for a huge payoff," mused Jaida.

  Franken was sweating copiously now.

  "And then there's always the information we could give him about how you stole from him, Tony," she went on.

  Her words garnered Trey's avid attention, as well. For the first time he noticed the fine tremors that still shook her, the precise enunciation she was using. His gaze dropped to the hand she held in her lap, the one encased in a black leather glove.

  "Do you think he'll believe that you helped yourself to things around the house, things you could pawn later? I'll bet he's always thought that Lauren took her jewelry with her. He'll be interested to know that you gathered it up yourself after she escaped. It was your … severance pay, isn't that what you thought?"

  "You can't tell him any of that," Franken pleaded. "He'll kill me for sure. You'd be signing my death warrant as soon as you made the call."

  "It's up to you, Tony," Trey said almost gently. "It's your decision. Which way will you feel safer? With Penning free … or with him in prison?"

  * * *

  "You still look pale," Trey said critically. "Are you sure you got enough to eat?"

  Jaida wrinkled her nose at him. She was lounging comfortably on the couch in his apartment, the picture of contentment. "My appetite hasn't recovered from the plane ride. After that landing at LAX, I may never eat again."

  His teeth shone. "Now, that I'd have to see to believe." He surveyed her, looking for signs of stress, but other than her lack of color she seemed to be all right. The past week had been grueling for her. Once Franken had been convinced that his best hope of staying alive was to tell what he knew about his former boss, events had progressed quickly. Granted immunity from prosecution for his own involvement in the crimes in which he implicated his former boss, Franken had become a fountain of information. The FBI agents had been almost gleeful at the opportunity to arrest Penning, on charges ranging from racketeering to murder. And given the physical evidence Lauren was able to supply that linked him to Weber's death, one charge, at least, seemed certain to stick.

  "Will Lauren have to testify?" she asked quietly.

  "I hope not. Franken's testimony and the bloodstained clothing may be enough to tie Penning to Weber's murder. The prosecutors are going to do their best to keep her out of it."

  "Thank God Penning didn't make bail," she said soberly. "Lauren won't have to worry about him finding her any longer."

  "As soon as he's in prison for good she can start the divorce proceedings," Trey said, satisfaction filling his voice. That would mark the beginning of his sister's new life. She would finally be rid of the constant fear that had haunted her. She and Benjy would be free to live in peace.

  "What will happen to Kasem and Franken?" she asked.

  "Franken still faces charges for kidnapping, and with Kasem's testimony he doesn't stand a chance of getting off. I understand she's going for a reduced charge. She's hoping to convince the jury that her involvement was under duress. All in all, the three of them aren't going to be c
ausing any trouble for quite some time."

  He fell silent then, enjoying the sight of her on his furniture, in his home. She looked right here, as if the dark cloth covering of the couch was made to showcase that light hair. Primitive possessiveness flared, swift and intense. He hadn't questioned his instinct to bring her with him, or the one urging him to keep her here. He'd lived his life by following that instinct. It had never failed him yet.

  Jaida gazed about his apartment. The space was huge and perfectly decorated in navy, burgundy and gray. It had been designed with chic comfort in mind, and the effect was restrained elegance. It was such a perfect foil for Trey that Jaida was certain he had designed it himself.

  Just as he'd designed a reason for her to travel back to L.A. with him. There bad been no real need for her to accompany him to L.A. once the loose ends had been taken care of in Boston, and his excuse that Detective Reynolds might need to talk to her had been blatantly transparent. It had suited her own purposes to accept his explanation at face value, especially since remaining with him was what she wanted most in the world. But the question that had been hovering on her tongue for hours finally slipped out. "Why am I here, Trey?"

  It was amazing how well she was beginning to read him. Not that he let even the merest flicker of an eyelash show that she'd disconcerted him. But his face lost that half-indulgent look it had been wearing and became the expressionless mask she'd first become accustomed to.

  "You needed to give your body time to recuperate," he said evenly. "You can't be trusted to take care of yourself, Jaida. Don't argue," he admonished, when she opened her mouth to reply. "I've watched what the visions do to you physically, and in the past few weeks you've undergone them over and over. You've never been under this kind of stress before, so you have no idea the toll this whole experience has taken on you. I'm going to make sure you allow yourself time to fully recover."

  "So once I've recovered I can go back home?"

  That question sparked a hint of temper. She was doing it again, making plans to leave him, even while lying in languorous comfort on his couch. It was just like the time he'd had to fly back to Colorado and she hadn't given him a chance to talk her into coming with him. No, then, too, she'd announced her own plans, and just as cool as you please had walked away, leaving him with his guts in knots. But not this time.