Boots. I need my damned boots and then I’m outta here.
Soon enough Luke pulled up to her porch again, angling the truck so Taylor didn’t have far to walk. “Wait. I’ll help you get down,” he offered. Thoughtful bastard.
Taylor slid off the seat before Luke opened his door. The last thing Taylor wanted was White Hawk help. Gracie didn’t seem to want his help any more than he’d wanted Luke’s. She slid out of the cab, tucked her shoulder to one side and hurried into the house. Big deal.
While she all but ran ahead of him, he found himself relying on the banister for support. When the screen door swung shut behind her and her cute pockets, he still had a step to go. Damn. The morning that started halfway decent had become as bad as any other.
Finally, on the porch again but out of breath, he dropped onto one of the chairs. He’d ruined the visit to the gravesite, but this whole White Hawk nightmare was more than he could handle. It was past time to brush the dust off his stocking feet and leave. If only he could. Climbing the steps felt like a damned big accomplishment.
“I think Gracie needs you inside to change your bandages,” Luke said softly.
“Would’ve been nice if you’d said that before I sat down.” Damn. The man was so passive it was hard to believe he was a capable hunter, much less shot his nephew like he did. Taylor leaned forward and gingerly pulled himself out of the chair.
Shit. I’m not going anywhere today. Not at this rate.
Luke made a move to assist, but Taylor brushed it off. He didn’t need help, not from the jerk who’d almost killed him. Pulling himself up from the chair, he made his way into the house and bedroom with the halting steps of the infirm.
And there he stopped. Gracie had been in there, the bedding changed. A vase filled with wildflowers sat cheerful and bright on the dresser next to his bed. The light rain had ceased, filling the air with the fresh smells of morning grass. Until now, he hadn’t noticed the crucifix over the bed. He should’ve known. Didn’t all Catholics keep one over their beds? Guilt stabbed him. He’d been a rude ass.
Indignation followed right on its heels. Damn straight. How else should I feel?
Conflict ruled. The morning had worn him out. He needed time to think without someone dumping more crap on him about a family he wasn’t sure he cared for yet. Edgy and irritated, he sat on the bed. Where are my damned boots?
For some stupid reason, Luke crouched at his feet.
Taylor looked down at the top of his uncle’s unprotected head. The evil thought sneaked up on him. He could kill this foolish guy with one quick snap of his neck. After he dispatched Luke, he could make quick work of Gracie. Perfect time to do it. The moment was now. Luke’s diesel sat warm and ready at the front porch, and Gracie was no more than a two-minute bump on the road to freedom. All Taylor had to do was—
Nothing.
Damn it. The truth burned warm in his heart. Despite how he’d gotten there, despite the fact that his uncle had shot him and scared the hell out of him, he couldn’t ignore the very real spirit of truth that pervaded everything he’d been told. He belonged in this crazy, demented White Hawk tribe whether he wanted to or not. His dilemma was how to make that one hundred and eighty degree about-face.
“Ah, Uncle Luke?” It was tough transitioning from a rude ass into a repentant sinner.
“Yes?” Luke looked up at him, and Taylor saw the trusting eyes of his mother staring back.
He also saw the boots in his uncle’s hand, clean socks in the other. That’s why he’d been on his knees. He’d meant to help his hardheaded nephew. Again.
Shit, I suck.
Taylor choked, overwhelmed at the trust his uncle seemed ready to impart while he’d planned murder. “I, umm...”
Luke got to his feet and laid a gentle hand on Taylor’s shoulder. “Are you okay, son? You look pale.”
His kind endearment didn’t help. Son? Only Alex got away with using that term.
Taylor shook his head, speechless with humility. Who the hell was he to deny forgiveness to a man as gentle as Luke? Yeah, he’d shot him, nearly killed him, but—
Why was everything so damned hard to understand in this White Hawk family?
Luke’s grip tightened. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Taylor lifted his chin and glared at the ceiling, fighting for composure. Only sissies cry, remember? I don’t know how this works, but please—
“I, umm, forgive you for shooting me. I’m sorry for being an ass.”
Luke dropped the boots and gathered Taylor into a gentle bear hug again. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Gracie appeared wide-eyed at the doorway, her hands full of medical supplies.
Taylor shrugged, embarrassed by Luke’s ready displays of emotion, but relishing the genuine feeling of acceptance. “We’re, umm, having a guy moment here.”
Luke turned to her, wiping his face and crying like some weakling. Funny thing. It didn’t seem so weak anymore. “Gracie. Taylor’s home. He’s finally home.”
With a rush, she joined the group hug. And you know, the pressure on his damned wound didn’t really hurt so much anymore. He bowed his head and let the fierce love of the crazy White Hawk tribe wash over him. The Fox tribe, too. Whatever.
Yes, he still planned to escape. He had to. Soon. But for now, he let the good feelings in Gracie’s home win. He had time.
Mother slapped two file folders in the middle of Alex’s desk. “You asked for it, you got it.”
He nodded toward the side chair for her to sit. “What did you find out?”
“Victoria Levitt, Bob Hemmings, and Crosland Webster went to the same college.”
“Already knew that. What else?”
She had that smug, I-know-more-than-you glint in her blue eyes. If anything energized Mother, it was the superiority that ultimate knowledge provided. The woman lived to know more than everyone else.
“Bet you don’t know who Bob Hemmings’s and Crosland Webster’s fathers are.”
“Police detectives. Robert Hemmings and Clive Webster, to be precise.” He stole her thunder. “You already told me that, remember? What I want to know is what happened at Manny’s?”
Just like that she changed, her hands neatly folded in front of her, and her blue eyes lit with the excitement of actually being asked to share her opinion. “I think Little Bobby and Crosland thought they’d have a good time. It was spring break. Neither of them could afford to party at Daytona Beach like the rest of their friends. Believe me. I know. I tracked down the more affluent kids in their classes. Some went to Cancun. Some to Florida. Two detectives couldn’t afford that kind of a vacation unless they were on the take. I also located Manny’s bartender. Curtiss Lloyd. He lives at Potomac Haven, you know, the retirement home across the river?”
Alex didn’t offer one word of encouragement. Mother liked to talk. She couldn’t hold back even if she wanted to.
“Anyway, Curtiss told me those two fellows were drinking all morning. They kept to the poolroom in the back so he’d almost forgotten they were back there until two off-duty cops barged in, hollering like the place was on fire.” Mother’s eyes glowed with all she knew. “You know the ones I mean. Russell Craft and Tom Atkins. Before Curtiss knew it, the paramedics were there, too, and he still didn’t have a clue what was going on. Craft and Atkins shut the bar down. They put up their crime scene tape and forced everyone outside to the sidewalk. Curtiss said Vicki Levitt was out there with him, but Atkins took her back inside the bar. When Curtiss asked what he needed Vicki for, Atkins told him to shut up and mind his business.”
She took a breath. “And that’s not all. The next thing Curtiss knew, two detectives showed up. They wouldn’t let the paramedics out of Manny’s until they questioned poor little Mary White Hawk.”
“How could they possibly question an unconscious victim?”
Mother shrugged. “I’m just telling you what Curtiss told me.”
“Who were the detectives?”
/> “Who do you think?”
“Robert Hemmings and Clive Webster? The rapists’ fathers?” Unbelievable. These police officers and detectives had a lot of damned nerve. “How’d Curtiss Lloyd know what was going on inside if he was outside?”
“Because,” Mother leaned forward and whispered, “the guy who called the paramedics in the first place was still inside the bar. Howard Swain. Remember him? He talked to Curtiss after the cops left only he was spooked, acted kind of scared, like he didn’t want anyone to overhear him. Curtiss called him later that day to see what else he could find out, only Swain wouldn’t talk to him anymore. Said he’d didn’t want to get any more involved, that Curtiss should stop sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. And guess what?”
“Just tell me.” Alex simmered. Damn it. A boss shouldn’t have to guess what he paid his employees to find out.
“The off-duty cops took those two detectives’ boys with them when they left. Walked them out the back door instead of taking them out front like they did everyone else.”
Alex pursed his lips. The more Mother dug into this mess, the uglier it got. Swain was lucky he didn’t get charged with the rape. If what Lloyd said was the truth, Alex was looking at one helluva cover-up.
“When will you have the report back on the blood Gabe found?”
“This afternoon. My buddy at the lab put a rush on it. I’m going to owe him another steak dinner at this rate.”
Alex nodded, his train of thought shifting to Taylor. The kid was as solid as the day was long, maybe a bit of a recluse, but what did Charles Oakes have against him? Did it have anything to do with his father, General Arm—
“Hey, Boss. Yoo-ho-o-o. You still in there?” Mother snapped her fingers under his nose.
He shifted back to annoyed attention. Damn, she pushed her limits.
“I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I?”
“No. You’re not.” He didn’t mean to bark at her. Much. “How was Victoria Levitt involved?”
Mother’s smugness meter pegged a solid eleven on its scale of one to ten. “She worked at Manny’s. She was the waitress. You didn’t know that?”
Alex was quiet only as long as the plan solidified in his mind. He needed someone inside Arnold Steele’s office the next time Charles Oakes came for a visit. Someone not TEAM related. Someone Charles would never suspect or recognize. “Send Mark in. It’s time to go fishing.”
Mother gathered her folders and rose to leave.
“Thanks,” Alex said, just to be polite.
“Oh, don’t you be thanking me yet. Save it for when we get the right creeps behind bars. I was thinking maybe a new Cadillac Escalade would be a nice way to show your appreciation.”
He smirked as she sashayed out and shut the door behind her. Dream on, Mother.
Chapter Sixteen
Damn. I fell asleep again.
Taylor lay there in bed listening to Gracie’s humming. Just the fact that a sweet woman busied herself with common household chores a few feet away comforted. The belts back on his arms? Not so much.
She and Luke must’ve replaced them after she’d changed the bandages and Taylor fell asleep. What the hell? One minute they’re hugging him, and the next he’s back to POW status? What about all that forgiveness crap? It sure didn’t last long.
Oh, well. Escape didn’t seem so urgent anymore, not that it wouldn’t be nice to lose the restraints. He stilled and let the peace of Gracie’s house steal over him, listening to diesel engine rumbling up to her house. Alex drove a diesel. Wouldn’t it be a kick to see him again?
“Hey, Luke,” an older man called out. Had to be Uncle Matthew.
“It’s about time,” Luke answered from the porch. One of the wooden chairs creaked. “I’ve been waiting.”
The engine killed. A door slammed.
“How is he?” Matthew asked, his voice drawing nearer.
“He’s had another rough morning, but he’s better. He’s sleeping.”
“Good. Let him rest. It’s too bad he had to find out like this.”
Taylor eavesdropped, but he’d also noticed the window Gracie had declared was nailed shut—wasn’t. His uncles’ voices filtered in along with the light breeze lifting the ruffled curtain. That made two times he’d fallen for her clever subterfuge. He chuckled down deep in his throat. Never would’ve happened if he’d been on his game.
The men’s voices dropped. Taylor tilted forward to see them, but the white curtain panel lifted against the window glass, offering no view of the men outside. The uncles must’ve decided to rest and chat. At last Luke’s voice rose loud enough to be heard. “Do you know where he is?”
“Yes, I think so, but it’ll be difficult getting in. Security is tight. He’s guarded by two of Stewart’s best.”
“Sounds like Father may need our help.”
Say what? Stewart’s best? As in Alex Stewart? What security?
Matthew groaned. A chair creaked. “I don’t know how Father does it. He’s always one step ahead of me. And he’s fast.”
“You wouldn’t have to keep up with him if he worked for the man instead of against him,” Luke said. “Friends shouldn’t have to kill friends.”
What friends? Kill who? Alex? Peter?
“You know better. He won’t...” Matthew’s reply dropped to an indistinguishable level.
“I know. You’re right. He only wants the reporter. Guess we should be thankful he’s an accomplished sniper.”
Just tell me where the hell Peter is, guys.
Matthew muttered, “God, I don’t want to bury him, too. I’m sick of losing the people I love. First Martha, then Taylor. I know he wasn’t killed, but losing him like we did felt like he was. Then Mary. My life has been one loss after another. I’ve seen enough. Doesn’t Father understand what this will do to us?”
Ouch. The crushing sorrow of Matthew’s words struck hard. What was Peter thinking with? Certainly not his brain. Didn’t he realize how faithful his sons were to this blood hunt of his? That they stood to lose everything right along with him?
“It doesn’t seem to matter what we want, does it?” Luke asked. “I’ve tried to get through to him. Father can’t see beyond his pain. I thought he’d come to terms with Martha’s death, but—”
“But here we are, brother. The last of the White Hawks.”
Taylor twisted around to face the window. But I’m still here, guys. I’m a—White Hawk.
The realization swelled within him. Yes. I am a White Hawk. And I want to be one.
“Enough of the melodrama, Matthew. Ryder will survive me. So will Taylor. Let’s help him while we still can,” Luke said while chairs creaked. “He doesn’t deserve what he’s had to endure, either. Let’s make sure he leaves us with the spirit of who we White Hawks once were, not what we’ve been forced to become.”
Matthew grunted. “You’re right. I’ll stop complaining. My truck or yours?”
The conversation faded with the sound of thumping across the porch and down the steps. Damn it, there it was again, as much reason to stay as to leave.
Taylor stared at his boots while the truck rattled off into the trees. The heritage he’d never known or embraced called to him now. So had the words of those two older guys. How could he desert them when they’d already suffered so much?
He needed time to think. Maybe escape wasn’t the honorable thing to do this time. Alex would understand why his junior agent didn’t hightail it to the nearest phone and report in.
Taylor’s plan changed. If they intended on helping Peter, then so be it. White Hawks stuck together.
Another hum from the kitchen caught his ear. Gracie had been quiet for too long. Time to show her a thing or two, and then, find a way to help his uncles.
The rest had done him good. He tilted forward. His right shoulder complained. Didn’t slow him down, though. He stretched his neck and pulled his left wrist until the leather belt came within reach. He snagged it with his lips. T
hen his teeth. At last. He clamped onto it, breathing hard but determined as hell. No more restraints. Ever.
Pushing on the stiff tongue of the leather belt, he urged it slowly back into the buckle and hopefully, over the prong. The damned thing had been anchored in the last punched hole. Difficult, but doable. He was after all, a Marine, not the kind of guy known for giving up.
Centimeter by centimeter the belt snaked backward into an arch above the buckle until its far side fell loose of the prong. Hell, yeah. He huffed out a quick pant of pride at that small step toward freedom. Won’t Gracie be surprised to see me on my feet?
Still lying there with the tongue of the belt in his teeth, Taylor jostled his wrist just enough to loosen the hold on his arm. With the belt arced like it was, the leather slid smoothly through the buckle without further engaging the prong. He wriggled his arm free and removed the belt at his right wrist, too.
Lowering the rail quietly, he eased out of bed. Taylor left his boots where they were and ventured into Gracie’s world. She stood the sink with her back to him drying dishes. He froze when she began singing a quiet pop song. The gentle melody captivated, almost as much as the cute little dance she had going on.
Her boots were off. She’d sing a few quiet bars, tilt her head and shoulder to the right, wiggle her backside, then flounce her hair and start the dance routine over in the opposite direction. After a few repetitions, she’d pound the balls of her stocking feet against the floor in baby dance steps, all without making a sound.
The funniest damned thing happened. He smiled. What man wouldn’t? Folding his arms, he leaned against the edge of the kitchen table and let the show go on.
She kept dancing. He kept watching and grinning. Her butt kept working it. Sweetest sight ever.
The song ended with a pirouette on her tiptoes, a swirl of dark black hair and a squealed. “Oh, my gosh! Taylor! You’re up.” She pulled the ear buds out of her ears and turned ten shades of the most beautiful pinkish-red.
Taylor Page 15
