At the sound of Natalie’s voice, Jet trotted into the kitchen, plopped down beside him, and pressed up against his leg. Smiling again, he rubbed the dog’s head. Jet’s tongue lolled out and his eyes all but rolled back in his big head. He was the picture of doggie bliss, and it reminded him of…
Rocky.
Oh, he’d forgotten about his childhood pet. He’d had a dog just like Jet when he was little—really little, like pre-school age. Reece had been a toddler and the twins weren’t born yet. Rocky had been an old dog, as gentle and patient as they came. He remembered using Rocky’s big furry body as a pillow while he lay on the floor and watched cartoons.
And then one day, Rocky disappeared. Dad said he had gone away to live on a farm and wasn’t coming back. Looking back now as an adult, he knew the dog had died and his parents had been too heartbroken to tell him the truth. They’d never gotten another dog.
Greer dropped to his knees in front of Jet. He didn’t know why and would have felt ridiculous if anyone had been around to witness it. But it was just him and the dog, all alone. With Natalie gone, the peace she’d offered was dissipating. He remembered how much comfort Rocky had given him and needed the contact with another living thing…so he hugged the furry beast.
Jet’s tail thunked against the tile floor, and he furiously tried to lick the side of Greer’s face.
Laughing, Greer shoved his big head aside. But the hug worked—he felt light again. Whatever magic Natalie possessed obviously extended to her doofus of a dog.
The coffeemaker beeped, and he gave Jet’s head one final rub before standing to pour himself a healthy dose of caffeine.
Maybe he should get a dog like Jet and Rocky. Then when this thing with Natalie came to its inevitable conclusion, he’d still have a companion to get him through the cold, lonely nights—
Wait. No. He set the pot down hard and coffee sloshed out onto the counter. What the fuck was he thinking? A dog? He didn’t plan on living long enough to take care of a dog.
Natalie was getting inside his head, despite all the blocks he’d thrown up to keep her out. He wasn’t going to rethink his plan. He’d accomplish his mission and then check out. Game over. He was done with this clusterfuck of a life.
He reached to turn the radio off because the last thing he needed was her disembodied voice weaseling its way into his subconscious. She already took up too much room there.
The commercial break ended, and Natalie’s voice flowed from the radio: “It’s time for What Would You Do? our weekly call-in segment where I pose a hypothetical question to you, our listeners. Tonight’s question poses an interesting moral dilemma.”
He wasn’t sure what made him pause, but suddenly alarms were clanging in his head, loud as church bells on Sunday morning. Instead of turning the radio off, he increased the volume.
She was up to something. He didn’t know what but knew better than to ignore his internal alarm system.
“What would you do,” she continued, “if someone you know—maybe even someone you love—tells you they plan to kill another person? Do you contact the proper authorities and possibly get them arrested? Do you try to talk them out of it? Do you laugh it off and hope they’re bluffing? Do you offer to help? What would you do? We’ll find out after the commercial break.”
Greer stood there for a moment, frozen, staring at the little radio until a seething heat rose up inside him, hotter even than the fever that had tried to kill him. He swung out an arm, knocking the radio off the counter and startling Jet, who let out a sharp bark and scampered away. He paid no attention to the dog and took three steps toward the door before he caught himself. The radio station was a twenty-minute drive. By the time he got there, she’d have moved on to something else. He backtracked to the bedroom and grabbed his cell phone from where it had been charging on the nightstand. She’d left the number for the station on a Post-it for him, and bitterness coated his tongue as he jabbed it out.
Betrayal. That was the taste in his mouth. She’d fucking betrayed him.
He gave his father’s name to the man who answered the phone and was placed on hold. He waited, staring hard at the radio on the floor as she came back on air and debated with other callers about when murder was justified.
Finally, she said, “Next up we have David. Hi, David, you’re on Talk to Tally. What would you do if someone you knew told you they wanted to commit a murder?”
“I’d mind my own business.”
…
Natalie froze, her mind going blank and the radio going silent for several long seconds. Here it was. She’d had butterflies zipping through her belly all night, waiting for this moment, wondering if he’d even be listening or not, terrified of how he’d react.
And, shit, now that it was here, she wished nothing more than to rewind the last few minutes and take it all back.
She realized there was nothing but dead air and switched on a commercial break. She grabbed the handset for the phone. “Greer, it’s just a talking point.”
“My life,” he said slowly, “is not just a talking point.”
Oh, God. This was a mistake. A stupid, desperate mistake. “This is what I do. I take things I experience or hear or see or read and talk about them. Have you ever tried talking for four hours straight? You run out of things to say! And this…it’s been weighing on me. I don’t know what to do about you and this suicide mission you’re on and—”
The dial tone filled her ear, and she slammed the receiver down, then picked it up and slammed it down again just because it felt good. He hadn’t even given her a chance to explain. And now the jerk was probably going to do something stupid, and she couldn’t leave the studio until the morning show DJs arrived.
Someone needed to go to him. And if it couldn’t be her—
She launched off her stool and grabbed her bag from its usual hook on the wall, dumping the contents out on a table. She had it in here somewhere…
There.
She picked up Reece Wilde’s card and her cell phone, then stepped out of the sound booth to make the call.
It was way past time the rest of the Wildes found out what their brother was up to.
Despite the late hour, Reece answered on the first ring and he sounded wide awake. “Goddammit, Vaughn, I told you—”
“Uh,” Natalie said in surprise. “Not Vaughn.”
There was a pause. Some shuffling. She imagined him pulling the phone away from his ear and checking the number on screen.
“Shit,” he said after another second. “Natalie. Sorry, I thought you were my brother calling again.”
“It’s okay.” She hesitated, not sure how she should go about dropping her bombshell news. Finally, she decided to just spit it out. Like ripping off a bandage, fast was always better. “Greer’s been staying at my place for the last few days.”
Reece said nothing for a moment. Then he sighed. “Yeah, I know. Vaughn told me you admitted to having contact with him, so I figured that’s where he was. Why hasn’t he called us?”
She swallowed. Now to drop the other bombshell. “He’s…planning something. He didn’t want you guys to know.”
“What is it?”
“It’s bad. He says he’s going to kill someone. He’s after the person who murdered your parents.”
Silence. Then, softly, “Jesus Christ.”
She couldn’t help the sudden rush of tears flooding her eyes, clogging up her throat. “I don’t know what to do, Reece. I thought I could talk some sense into him, but he won’t listen to me. I don’t know how to stop him.”
“Where is he now?” Reece asked. She heard him moving around, probably getting dressed. A woman’s voice said something indecipherable in the background, and he answered her away from the receiver before coming back. “Is he still at your place?”
“If he is, he won’t be there for long. I pissed him off.” On purpose, she added silently. She’d done it with the full knowledge that this…thing sizzling between them probably wouldn’
t survive her actions tonight, but if she managed to save him from himself, it would be worth it. “He’s probably going to try to disappear, but you can’t let him. If he does, we’ll never see him again.”
“You care about him,” Reece said softly. A statement, not a question.
She wanted to cry, so she laughed instead. “He doesn’t want to let me in.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “We Wilde men have a bad habit of doing that. Don’t give up on him.”
“I’m not planning on it, and neither should you. He needs his brothers right now, Reece. More than he needs me.”
“Not so sure about that.” In the background, a car door opened, then shut. “I have to call the twins and Jude. Stay in touch, okay?”
Chapter Fifteen
It had to be tonight.
Natalie’s little stunt had blown up any chance he had of doing this covertly. He had to find Mendenhall tonight and end it.
If only the bastard would show his face.
He staked out the bar, waiting, praying Mendenhall would put in an appearance. Right before closing, just as he was about to give up hope, a shadow darted around the corner and slipped in the side entrance. Greer sat up and watched the mouth of the alley. The figure reappeared moments later, carrying a brown paper bag. He stayed close to the shadows but crossed under a street lamp while scampering across the road like the rodent he was. Yellow light reflected off his sweat-slick bald dome of a head.
Gotcha.
Greer followed, keeping a distance for fear of his bike’s throaty growl drawing attention. Mendenhall was headed away from his flophouse, toward a decent neighborhood full of white picket fences and minivans. It was the kind of place that had a neighborhood watch and HOA, but the house he scurried to was a rundown piece of shit. Rich Mendenhall and this house were probably the community pariahs—the guy parents warned their kids away from and the house kids dared each other to walk up to.
Greer waited a beat after the front door closed behind Mendenhall. A neighborhood like this had too many watchful eyes, too many nosy, well-meaning neighbors to point in his direction once a body turned up. But fuck it. Why did he care about stealth now? No point since Natalie had aired his dirty laundry to the whole goddamn city on the radio.
Betrayal was a bitter coating on his tongue. He shouldn’t have trusted her. Shouldn’t have told her his plans. If he’d been in his right mind that first night, he wouldn’t have, but the fever had gotten the better of him.
He strode up to the house and didn’t bother with knocking. One strong kick had the rickety door flying open. Mendenhall was in the process of guzzling down his new bottle of vodka and choked on it when he saw Greer storming toward him.
“We have a score to settle, Rich.”
Mendenhall held up shaking hands and stumbled backward. Greer grabbed him by the neck and shoved him up against the wall. “Thought you got away with it, didn’t you?” He drew his gun, pressed it to Mendenhall’s forehead. “Betcha never thought one of the kids you orphaned would come after you.”
Mendenhall whimpered. “I-I didn’t…”
“You didn’t what? Kill my parents? That really the lie you want to go with when I have my finger on the trigger?”
“I-I loved your mother. I wouldn’t hurt her. Never. I couldn’t!”
“Yeah? So what happened, Rich? Huh? You decided to take Dad out and she got in the way?”
“I swear. I wasn’t there. I didn’t hear about what happened until the next day.” He shook his head hard and his bladder let loose, staining the air with the pungent odor of urine. “Y-you have to believe me.”
“Why should I believe you? You stalked my mother, terrified her in the last days of her life.”
“I-I’m not a killer.”
His finger tightened on the trigger. The gun clicked. Mendenhall squeaked and jerked his head away.
“There wasn’t a round chambered, but there is now. This is your one chance to clear your conscious. Why did you kill them?”
“I didn’t!” Tears and snot streamed down his face. “I swear to you I didn’t. I stalked your mom, yes, but David warned me away from her two nights before they died! He threatened me with a shotgun. He said he’d kill me if he ever saw my face near his house again. I knew he was telling the truth. I knew what he did for a living. I stayed away from her after that. I swear it.” He whimpered and raised his hands, shielding his face as if that would protect him from a bullet. “Please. Greer. We played football in your backyard when you were little. I sneaked you candy. Please don’t kill me.”
Greer didn’t want to believe him. He wanted to pull the trigger. Wanted this to be over. His gun hand shook, and after a vicious internal battle, he lowered it. “Shit.”
The man was a coward. He didn’t possess either the balls or brains to kill two people and get away with it for twenty years.
All of this had been for nothing.
“Fuck!” He thumped the wall beside Mendenhall’s head with the palm of his hand. He’d been so certain Richard Mendenhall had been the guy. He’d wanted Rich to be the guy. He’d wanted justice. Peace.
And now he was back at square fucking one.
Mendenhall’s sweat was overpowering with the stink of alcohol, and Greer took a step back. “No, you’re not a killer. But you are the creep who stalked and terrified my mother, so you’re going to sit your ass down in that chair”—he motioned with his weapon and Mendenhall scrambled to obey—“and tell me everything you remember from those months before her death.”
Snot oozed down Mendenhall’s face. “You want to know who killed her?” He swiped at his nose, leaving a trail of green slime up his arm. “I’ll tell ya. It was your father.”
Greer raised the gun again. “Bullshit. I should shoot you for suggesting it.”
Mendenhall cowered back in the seat but didn’t stop talking. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it? It was David. Whether or not he actually pulled the trigger, he killed her. It was the shit he was doing in the military. The stuff he knew. That’s what got her killed. Lucky he didn’t get you boys killed, too. It was an assassination, plain and simple. If you want to interrogate someone about that night, you go point your gun at Bruce Chambers. He knows what really happened.”
Bruce Chambers.
The news didn’t surprise him. In fact, it was what he’d suspected all along until that diary turned up…in a box that Bruce had conveniently found in the old storage unit he’d once shared with Dad.
Greer finally holstered his weapon. “One last question, Mendenhall. That night at the bar, did you hire those kids to jump me?”
Mendenhall’s face twisted in real disgust. “If I had wanted to knock you around, I’d have done it myself, and you wouldn’t have walked away.”
Doubtful, but yeah, it was exactly the answer Greer had expected from him. All bluster and ego, but not a real threat. Mendenhall was innocent. To a point. And he’d almost put a bullet in his brainpan.
He needed to regroup. Get his shit together.
Greer realized his hands were shaking and grabbed the bottle of vodka on his way out the door, ignoring Mendenhall’s screech of dismay.
If he hadn’t been so focused on the diary, he’d have realized he was chasing a wild goose. Hiring kids to do the dirty work wasn’t Mendenhall’s style. Nope. That was one hundred percent Bruce Chambers’s modus operandi.
Bruce fucking Chambers, the man behind the curtain. He enjoyed pulling people’s strings and enjoyed it even more if those people were kids he could mold to his will.
Greer knew all about that from experience.
But why use Andy Taggart? It wasn’t a random choice or coincidence. For one, Greer didn’t believe in coincidence. For another, Bruce was a calculating bastard. He needed a plan. Bruce wasn’t someone he could go at on a whim. Man was too smart for that, too calculating, and he’d be one step ahead the whole time. If Greer was to succeed, he needed to out-think a master strategist.
Fuck.
He co
uldn’t confront a powerful man like Bruce until he knew all of the facts, so it all came back to finding the kid. And the quickest way to do that was through his aunt.
Natalie.
Damn, there was that bitterness again. He swallowed some vodka to rid himself of the taste, then stuffed the bottle into a saddlebag before straddling his bike.
If he had to work with Natalie, fine. He could manage. If he were honest with himself, it wouldn’t be a chore. Despite everything, he wanted to see her again. He was an idiot for trusting her, for letting her get so close, for letting himself get too close. He couldn’t trust her again. And still, anticipation zinged through him at the thought of seeing her.
Christ. At this point, his name had to be listed in the dictionary as a synonym for masochist.
He needed time to think. Needed a quiet place to figure this shit out…and maybe polish off the vodka Mendenhall had so generously donated to him. He couldn’t go back to his apartment. Natalie might be there. Couldn’t go to the Wilde Security office, either, because the likelihood of running into one of his brothers was better than good. They all kept strange hours depending on the cases they were working, and the office was rarely empty.
There was only one place that came to mind. Even though it was now ash, he turned his bike and pointed it toward the only place he’d ever considered home.
He let his mind shut down and relied on instinct to take him where he needed to go. So he was halfway up the drive before he realized someone else was already there. Someone who drove a shiny, newer-model Escalade.
Reece.
He slowed and turned the bike to head back down the drive, but Reece jumped in front of him. There was no way he’d be able to make an escape without knocking his brother over.
“Move.”
Reece crossed his arms over his chest and held his ground. “No. Not until you talk to me.”
Too Wilde to Tame (Wilde Security) Page 13
