Where were they going?
Where was the big man taking his woman?
Smitt Davis swore violently. “The fucker’s gonna pay for taking what belongs to me.” He tucked his flaccid cock behind his zipper and curled into a tight ball on his scratchy bed of hay. Sucking on his lower lip, he thought of all the different ways he’d torture Lacey darling when he got his hands on her again. “I’m coming for you, Lacey. Soon. There’s no escape. I promise.”
For the time being, he was safe, safe and warm enough. There was another woman inside Lacey’s home now, another woman sleeping with Lacey’s ex-husband. His lips curved with satisfaction. His heart beat fast. His pulse soared. He’d fuck the woman soon. Real soon. Right there in the sheriff’s house, in the sheriff’s bed, he was going to screw Danger’s new bride.
His instant arousal was both painful and surprising. Ooo, this was exciting. He’d fuck the sheriff’s new woman, right under the sheriff’s nose, and he’d come and come. “I’m coming for you next, sweet Karen, just for you, and you’ll scream for me.”
Smitt closed his eyes.
He daydreamed about the sheriff’s pretty new wife, of what he intended to do to her when the time came. Inevitably, boredom set in and his thoughts returned to Lacey. “I’m coming for you, Lacey darling. Real soon. This time, I’ll finish what I started.”
Chapter Nine
The Path of Love brings both ecstasy and suffering, with spiritual lessons to be learned from each...
~John Lennon
Washington D.C.
The White House
February 16, Monday
Forty-five minutes after the assassination…
Samantha Rivers cut off the Garth Brooks hit, If Tomorrow Never Comes, by the simple act of answering her cell phone on its first ring. “Flayme? What’s up? Did Jayla make it there yet? Ooh, I’m so anxious to get out of here. Leaving in five minutes, I swear. Tell Jayla I’ll be there in thirty, weather permitting.”
“Sam! Shut up! And listen.”
Sam jerked the phone away from her ear and scowled. Her unflappable secretary, who barely raised an eyebrow when things got hairy, just screamed in her ear. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone…tried…t–to…kill me.”
“What?” Sam exclaimed. “When? Where?”
“Few…minutes ago, inside th–the building. Our flo–floor. Fly–flying bullets, broken glass. I–I’m afraid thi–things are a bit of a–a mess. Your favorite…picture… broken…gunman…shot it.”
“Calm down, Flayme. You’re in shock. You’re not making sense. Are you shot?”
“N–no.”
Samantha sighed and allowed the tension to drain out of her neck and shoulders. “Okay. Where’s Jayla?”
“Not…sure. Oh, God, Sam, sh–she might be de–dead. I left her there…wit–with th–the gunman.”
Sam swore she heard Flayme’s teeth bump together. “Where are you?” The woman was obviously distressed, but Sam still had no clear idea what had happened.
“Headed…home.”
“No! Don’t go there.” Static filled the airwaves. “Flayme? Are you there?” No answer. “Shit!” Sam flipped the top down on her phone and shoved it inside her evening bag. She turned to search the crowd for Travis and Duel. Of course they were nowhere in sight.
She wormed her way past waiters carrying trays with glasses of golden champagne. Yep. She’d only thought this nightmare evening was behind her. Lord, she had a bad feeling it was just getting started.
In spite of Flayme’s terrified phone call, Sam wondered how much longer she could delay answering Travis’ last question. Is Hayley my daughter? He’d let her walk away without demanding an answer, but she knew him. Travis was like a bulldog once he sank his teeth in something. He’d scratch and dig until he got the answers he wanted. It was only a matter of time, and if he saw—Sam broke off that thought, or tried to, but it wouldn’t go away. Travis hadn’t seen Hayley since she was a newborn in the hospital when he came to visit. If he saw her now, he’d know the answer to his question. Hayley was a little clone of her father.
Somehow, she had to keep Travis out of their lives.
She spotted the two men in the crowd and approached them with a feeling of doom. Surely the evening had to get better—didn’t it? “Hey guys,” she called softly. “We’ve got problems.”
* * * *
Duel Remington whipped the black Porsche in the snow-covered driveway of Flayme Jansen’s home and muttered a curse. What a mucked-up evening this had turned into. Damn it! As if this night hadn’t been bad enough covering the first lady’s butt while she made whoopee, now Sam had sent him on a rescue mission.
He didn’t mind rescue missions when they fell within the scope of his job description, but rescuing little old blue-haired ladies with vivid imaginations didn’t fall under that category. Angie, Mac’s ex-secretary, came to mind. He knew it wasn’t an accurate assumption, but in his experience, all secretaries were either salt-and-pepper gray or blue-haired—so far. And little old blue or white-haired ladies tended to frighten easily, but they also possessed a wealth of stubbornness.
What if she wouldn’t leave with him?
After racing across town in this freak blizzard, oh yeah, she was coming with him if he had to sling her brittle bones over his shoulder and carry her out. He pictured her whacking him across the head and shoulders with an umbrella, or a big leather suitcase of a purse. Fragile bones that snapped too easy. He thrust fingers through his hair. Little old ladies! “Please don’t let me injure her.”
But Sam had said bring her secretary to her office. Okay, so he’d bring her to Sam’s office, but he didn’t have to like it. And what the hell kind of name was Flayme?
Who in their right mind named their child Flayme?
Duel pushed open the car door and jerked when his cell phone blasted with Martina McBride’s powerful voice announcing Independence Day. He fished it out of his pocket and punched the button. “What’s going on, Sam?”
“Are you at Flayme’s yet?”
“Pulling in the drive now.”
“Is she home?”
“Doesn’t look like it. The house is dark. You didn’t tell me it has two stories.”
“I didn’t know. When you go in, you’ll have to search both floors.”
“Sam—”
“I’m sorry, of course, you know that. I’m not thinking rationally. I’m worried about her. It’s a mess here on our floor. Five guards dead. We discovered their bodies hidden behind a Dumpster. There’s a pool of blood near the elevators. I don’t know if it’s Jayla’s or Flayme’s. I think—”
“What? Jesus fucking Christ, I don’t believe this. I’m in the house.”
“How did you get in?”
“Walked in. Hell, her front door wasn’t locked.”
“Be careful. Flayme always locks her doors.”
“I’m off here.”
“Wait! If you find her, don’t bring her here. Take her somewhere safe.”
“Where?” Impatience laced his voice. Right now, he was operating on nothing but strung-out nerves and reserve energy.
“I don’t know,” Sam continued. “It’s an awful nightmare. You know whose head this is gonna fall on.”
“What are you talking about, Sam? Has something else happened, besides your office wing getting shot up and the guards murdered?”
“Oh, shit. You don’t know. Molly’s dead.”
Duel felt his heart grab. Except for a low hiss, utter silence filled the airway. Slowly, he dragged air into his burning lungs. “Jesus Christ.” The strangled words pushed past the knot in his throat. “How? When?”
“A bullet in the head. I don’t have the details. I got the news just before Travis and I arrived here. I imagine Jayla and Flayme have somehow managed to get embroiled in this fiasco.”
“Jayla? You talking about Jayla Ross? What does she have to do with this?”
“Molly was murdered at the Ambassador. Ja
yla lives there. The Secret Service is all over this. But since our group was the last one to see Molly alive, they’ve agreed, albeit unwillingly, to send over a copy of the hotel’s security tape, if I share certain information with them.”
Duel snorted. “You aren’t falling for that one—”
“No. I’ll make up something, just as they will. They’re going to watch it first and I know they’ll edit what they don’t want me to see. I’ll edit my version of things as well. But they already told me the desk clerk saw Jayla arrive around eleven. I don’t know what they’re basing their report on, or if they’re telling me the truth, but they think Jayla was in the elevator with Molly when the first lady was shot.”
“What? Fuck! That woman has always been trouble.”
“Which one?”
“Jayla. She has a history with my family.”
“Really? She never told me.”
“No, I don’t imagine she did. What’s her connection to you?”
“Best friend.”
“Damn. Okay. Where do you want me to take this little old lady of yours?”
“Little old lady?” A lengthy pause. “Ahh, you mean my secretary? Hmm, that could be a problem. Take her out of the Washington area.”
“Jesus. What a pain in the ass.”
“Again, which one?” Sam asked with a touch of acerbic humor in her voice.
“Jayla Ross.”
“She didn’t do anything wrong, except be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Don’t bet on it. That woman has a knack of always being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and involved in lies up to her beautiful neck. Did you consider the possibility she’s involved in Molly’s death?”
Sam gasped. “Of course not, Jayla isn’t a murderer.”
Duel growled through his teeth. “The Remingtons dealt with her and her lies a long time ago. She’s trouble. Always has been.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“And she’s your best friend? You don’t know her, Sam, not the real Jayla Ross.”
“Yes, well, whichever Jayla you think it is, the real one I know and love like a sister, or the phony you claim she is, this time both are in way over their heads.” Sam sighed. “Look, I’ll deal with Jayla. You get Flayme somewhere safe. Take her and disappear. Check back with me in two days. Call my cell. It’s the only safe phone.”
“Honey, there’s no such thing as a safe phone,” Duel said dryly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to wait so long before I check in with you.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to call, period.”
“Okay. You’re the boss. If you don’t hear from me in two days, assume the worst, but I’ll be headed into bad weather, anything could be the worst. I’ll try to get word to you if I need your help.”
“Duel!”
“Yo?”
“Be careful. This stinks to high heaven. I know you think Jayla is somehow more involved than what is on the surface—”
“Honey, if Jayla was at the scene, she’s more involved. The woman is a walking, talking jinx.”
“Maybe so, but I haven’t seen that side of her—”
“I have.”
Sam let out a deep, audible breath. “I think this is going to be bad. There’s something very big going on. I fear we’re all caught smack in the middle of it, and it’s only the beginning.”
“Yes? Well I hope this time Jayla doesn’t drag my brother into whatever mess she’s in. She nearly destroyed him seven years ago. Let’s be clear about this, Sam, so there’s no misunderstanding. I won’t stand by and watch her hurt Wild again.”
“Duel—”
“I mean it, Sam. You above all others know I know how to make a person disappear.”
Chapter Ten
The first rule is to keep an untroubled spirit. The second rule is to look things in the face and know them for what they are.
~Marcus Aurelius
Annandale, Virginia
February 17, Tuesday
One hour and thirty-five minutes after the assassination…
Flayme parked the ’69 VW Bug half a block from her house on a quiet street in her neighborhood in Annandale. She patted the smooth slope of the hood of the sleek Bug and stepped around the front of it.
She loved the car. When she bought the poor little rusted body, it’d seen better days. Used and abused by a hippie couple, the car was in a sad state of disrepair, but she’d fallen instantly in love with it. Black leather seats and new upholstery had given the interior a much needed facelift. The paint and body shop crew hammered out every dent, ping, and scratch, then applied the color she’d insisted on.
With the new motor dropped in, wheels and fancy hubs, along with all the little finishing touches—bingo—instant bug juice. The four-speed purple terror ruled supreme on the highway in the majestic royal color. She imagined the little car looked like a fat grape rumbling down the highway, but she didn’t care. When she was behind the wheel, she felt like a mighty knight on a powerful steed. She and the little car shared magical karma.
By gosh, the deep color had most likely saved her life tonight. Mr. Purple had blended right into the night shadows while peeling away from the CIA parking lot.
Parking the little car a distance down the street from her house was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it felt right. She might not be an agent, but she’d been around and worked among them long enough to learn a few things. Using caution was just plain smart.
One, someone had shot at her. He might or might not have originally been after her, but for certain, he was now. She wasn’t stupid. Being extra vigilant was wise. However, the smartest thing to do was call for help, but her cell phone had died on her since she’d had it off charge all day. The charger she usually carried in the car was nowhere to be found. As soon as she got to a land line in her house, oh yeah—nine-one-one—top of the list of things to do for the woman who’d suddenly become an open-season target.
Two, the killer might have beaten her to her home, or, if this somehow involved the government, and she was pretty sure it did, another assassin could have been sent ahead to kill her. It only made sense not to charge blindly inside her house. So instead, she decided to quietly enter in the back way. Stupid, maybe, but this was her home. No one was keeping her out of it. Besides, she had one good heel left on her shoe. It made a formidable weapon. If there was someone in there, she’d poke his eye out with the pointy tip.
Flayme hugged the back corner of the house, glanced furtively at the deep shadows around her, but saw nothing suspicious. No, the suspicious thing was parked in her driveway. Maybe the goose bumps pumping up her spine wouldn’t have been so darned active if there were lights on inside her house, but it remained in total darkness.
The possibility someone waited for her inside in the dark, perhaps someone not very bright to leave his car in plain sight, totally ticked her off. Smashed up against the side of the house and remaining in the deeper shadows, Flayme slipped into the back yard. It wasn’t easy wading through snow already a half-foot deep and over the tops of her shoes, especially with one broken heel, but at least it muffled her steps.
She ignored the pain in her feet. Her toes already felt frozen as a Popsicle.
Quietly, she slipped the key in the lock to the back door and pushed the door inward. The soft swoosh as it opened was barely audible. The kitchen stretched before her, dark, except for the pale glow from the tiny nightlight she left on near the sink. Not a sound stirred inside the house. It was so quiet she swore she heard the walls breathing.
Flayme stepped out of her shoes at the door and made a beeline for the phone on the opposite wall. Damn. Dead line! The lack of a dial tone somehow felt obscene and scary.
Had the person inside her home cut the line?
Was she allowing her imagination to run wild?
Maybe there was nothing sinister about it at all, but related to the blizzard sweeping across the area. Maybe someone’s
car had stalled and the driver had simply pulled it into her drive to get it off the street.
Flayme decided she’d rather err on the side of caution. She crossed the room, pushing through the saloon-style doors that led to the dining room, then stepped into the living area.
Creak!
At the muffled squeak, Flayme froze near the step-down entrance and held her breath. There was only one thing that made that faint noise in her house—the third step from the bottom of the winding staircase when someone stepped on it. She’d been meaning to have the squeaky step repaired. Thank God, she hadn’t.
Crap! Someone was definitely in her home. In her home—not a dozen steps away to her right. Her heart jerked. Her head spun. Oh, God! She was afraid she might faint dead away. Slowly, she released the pent-up breath, then her lungs ballooned and stilled. She couldn’t have drawn another breath if her life depended on it—and it did.
“Who’s there?”
Flayme jumped at the sound of the masculine voice shattering the utter quiet in the house. The way the wall curved, she couldn’t see him, but that meant he couldn’t see her either and that was fine with her. But he’d felt her presence, and that was just plain spooky. His instincts must be honed to a fine degree. Yikes!
She flattened her body against the wall and quietly inched backward. Flayme forced herself to go slow, until she could turn and run silently into the kitchen. Once she was some distance from the staircase, she took a moment to exhale. The air rushed from her lungs in an explosive hiss, and poured right back in, in a burst of fresh air.
God, oh God, the killer was in her home. Right here. Now. Right now. A few feet away! Her body shook. Her mind raced. What was she going to do? Get out, she silently ordered herself, but her internal voice argued—fight or flight?
Although her first instinct was to run, something inside her rebelled at the fact her home had been invaded by an unwelcome intruder. Deep inside, her temper sparked. The thought of running ticked her off even more.
Playing For Keeps (Montana Men) Page 12
