by Sharon Sala
There was a part of him that felt like a child. His mommy was dead, and his daddy was a bad man. But he couldn’t go there, because he’d known most of his life what his father was capable of. He’d just never thought he would ever be on the receiving end of that grief.
He glanced at the clock, and then palmed a couple of the antibiotic pills and chased them with a big drink of cola. He eyed the pain pills, but again wouldn’t allow himself the relief. He needed to be sharp, not drugged out of his mind. He had no idea what time his father would return from New York City, but he knew when he did, the shit would hit the fan.
Beatrice would tell his father he’d been there. Ike would be shocked, then incensed, and even more importantly, he would recognize the anger behind what his son had done. Adam hadn’t decided if he would answer the call when it came. He might make his father sweat. The bastard deserved to be worried.
Adam continued to pace, trying to block the pain throbbing in his arm all the way up the side of his neck. What he’d done had been impulsive and born of fury, but what came next? The urge to shoot his father and watch him die was strong. But that was almost too easy. He wanted him to pay big-time. He wanted him broken, humiliated and spending the rest of his life in prison. And the minute he thought it, he knew what he was going to do. It was so simple, he was a little disgusted with himself for not thinking of it earlier.
All he had to do was finish what his mother had started.
It was after four in the morning by the time Ike got home. He was pissed at having been called down like a neophyte by a no-neck killer with a complete lack of finesse. All he wanted to do was take a shower and crawl into bed. The thought of lying naked on cool satin sheets was a drug, and he needed a fix. If it hadn’t been so late, he would have called his favorite escort service. However, he could always jack off in the shower and call it a day, which was the plan on his mind as he started up the stairs.
The upper part of the house seemed empty, which was strange. Out of curiosity, he bypassed his door and walked farther down the hall to Adam’s room and looked in, then frowned. The bed was still made, although there was an indentation in the coverlet, as if something large and heavy had been laid on it. Like a suitcase.
That was when he noticed a couple of dresser drawers were open and the closet door was ajar. Ike frowned. Adam hadn’t said anything about any upcoming trips—although, to be fair, he hadn’t always announced his whereabouts lately, either.
Adam was an adult, so Ike shrugged off the urge to be irked and went back toward his own room. He was surprised that the lights were on as he walked in. He moved past the small foyer into the suite, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his belt as he went.
Then his gaze fell on the bed and the carpet, and he froze. What the hell? Blood was everywhere—on the bed, on the floor, all the way across the room into his bathroom.
It took only a moment for shock to turn to rage. The explanation for his son’s absence was suddenly very plain.
“Son of a holy bitch!”
His angry roar echoed through the upper level of the mansion, but there was no one awake to hear. That didn’t last long. Within minutes, Ike had roused every staff member on the premises and dragged them upstairs.
There was no way Beatrice could have faked the shock and fear on her face as she faced Ike’s wrath.
“I don’t understand! I swear to God, Mr. Pappas, I don’t know how this happened!” She dropped to her knees and began wringing her hands as she rocked back and forth. “Please don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!”
Ike swore. “What kind of a man do you think I am? Just get off your knees and answer my questions, woman!”
She scrambled to her feet, tripping over the hem of her robe as she did. “Yes, sir. Anything, sir.”
“Who was in this house tonight besides the staff?”
“Just Mr. Adam.”
Ike’s gut knotted at knowing his guess had been right. He had a sick feeling things were coming undone.
“Did anything happen while he was here? Anything that seemed to upset him?”
Beatrice was still wringing her hands. It was obvious to Ike that she didn’t want to tell him.
“Damn it! Don’t make me repeat the question!”
Beatrice shuddered. “I believe he was already upset when he arrived.”
Ike turned on the guard who worked days at the gate. “Did you see him?”
“Yes, sir. He seemed agitated when he drove in.”
“Agitated how?”
“He was driving really fast. When he reached the house, he was driving so fast that one of the gardeners said he thought he would hit the steps.”
Ike took a deep breath and then turned back to Beatrice. “Did you talk to him?”
“Yes, sir. He asked where you were. I said I’d packed a suitcase for you earlier and that you said you were flying to New York, but I didn’t know when you would return.”
A muscle jerked in Ike’s jaw as his voice grew quieter. “Then what?”
“I asked him if he would be wanting dinner. And then he said no, and that he wouldn’t be living here anymore.” She covered her face and began to weep.
The knot in Ike’s gut got tighter. “Did he say where he was going?”
“No, sir. I don’t know how long he was upstairs. I didn’t hear him leave.”
“In the morning, get this mess cleaned up. Call in professional cleaners for the rug, and throw away the bedding. It’s ruined.”
Beatrice nodded.
“Go back to bed. All of you. And say nothing about this to anyone! Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!” they echoed, and made a quick exit.
Ike thought about calling Adam’s number, then changed his mind. He needed to plan what he was going to say, not attack in rage. He didn’t know what had precipitated this act. No need jumping the gun unnecessarily. Maybe there was still a way to salvage their relationship, although when he stared at the mess in his room, he seriously doubted it.
He turned around and left the wreckage behind as he moved down the hall to one of the guest rooms. As soon as he got inside, he began to strip. His shower was brief. No hand-job. No standing under the hot-water jets to relax. He crawled into bed and then turned out the lights, but he couldn’t sleep. No matter how hard he tried, all he could see was that bloody bed and the rage behind the act.
Moe woke up the next morning with a foul taste in his mouth and the lingering remains of yesterday’s sickness. His gut rumbled as he went to the bathroom, but other than a little gas, he felt as if he’d survived the worst.
After a shower and a change of clothes, he tried to get online to check messages but soon realized the motel he’d chosen didn’t have an internet hookup or Wi-Fi. Muttering to himself about the lack of civilized conveniences in this godforsaken part of the country, he loaded his stuff in the car and went in search of some coffee. But no food. The way he felt right now, he might never eat again.
When he got in the car, he reset the GPS to the same coordinates he’d gotten yesterday and began the final leg of the journey in hopes of reaching Rebel Ridge today. The sooner he got Ike Pappas off his back, the better he would feel. He stopped at a local gas station to fuel up and get some coffee to go. When he went inside he headed straight for the coffee, filled a large cup and went up to the register to pay.
The clerk was a fiftysomething, heavyset woman with copper-red hair and a tattoo of Elvis on her arm that was sagging from the combined weight of fat and time.
Moe set the coffee on the counter and pulled out his wallet. “I got gas on pump two.”
“That’ll be $47.30,” she said without looking up.
Moe eyed his cash, noted it was running low and handed her his credit card. While she was running the card through, he took a quick sip of the coffee and winced. Not Starbucks quality, for sure, but it was black and hot, and he needed the kick of caffeine. He eyed the tattoo curiously and caught her staring. A little taken aback that
he’d been caught, he blurted out the question on his mind.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a place around here called Rebel Ridge?”
“That’s not a town. That’s a mountain,” she drawled.
Moe’s pulse kicked. “Is it somewhere close by?”
She shook her head. “Naw…it’s a far piece south of here.”
Moe frowned. “South? But I just came from there and was told—”
He sighed. Shit. It was his own damn fault for thinking that just because the people looked like hillbillies it meant they were stupid. If he’d been close to his target location and Beth Venable was actually there somewhere, then it stood to reason some of her people would be hiding her. And he’d given out her name. He groaned. Now she’d been warned. Pappas would be furious if he screwed this up.
“By any chance is Rebel Ridge close to a town called Boone’s Gap?” Moe asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. You know where that is?”
“Yes, I know where that is,” Moe said, then pocketed his credit card, grabbed his coffee and got back in the car.
He reset his GPS again, and this time there would be no mistakes.
Fourteen
Beth woke up in Ryal’s arms and then caught him watching her sleep.
“How long have you been awake?” she asked, as she slowly stretched.
Ryal kissed a spot near her earlobe, then nipped it lightly just to hear her groan.
“Long enough to know you don’t snore.”
Beth grinned. “So what if I did? Would you kick me out of bed?”
A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. “No, but it would mean that I’d have to keep waking you up in the night, which wouldn’t be all that bad. I like waking you up in the night. I like what we do when we wake up.”
Beth laughed out loud.
Before either of them could respond, they heard a door slam in another part of the house.
Ryal frowned. “Quinn must be back.”
Beth threw back the covers. “I’m going to the bathroom before he wants it.”
“I’ll get dressed and start breakfast,” Ryal said, and then grabbed one of her hands and turned it palm up to check out her healing wounds. “They’re looking good. Don’t forget to doctor them again this morning.”
“After we eat,” Beth said, then grabbed a nightgown and pulled it over her head before darting out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall.
Ryal watched her go, admiring her long legs and curves, then reluctantly got up and got dressed. When he walked into the kitchen, Quinn was making coffee. Ryal eyed the scratches on Quinn’s arms and the two-day growth of whiskers, but he didn’t ask for an explanation.
“Hey, brother. I’ll bet you’re ready for a bath and a bed. I’ll make breakfast while you finish the coffee.”
Quinn poured the water into the pot, scooped coffee into the filter and turned the switch to “on” before he turned around.
“We have two lookout posts in place and four traps. Uncle John’s boys are as good as any sharpshooters with their hunting rifles. They’ll be in the roosts if the time comes. Uncle Fagan’s boys are the best in the county with bows and arrows. You know they always bring down the first deer in bow season. I personally set two of the traps in the woods, in case the bad guys abandon the road for the trees. One’s a staked pit. One’s not. I won’t go into details. Suffice it to say you do not want to be caught in either of them. James is standing watch for me this morning. I’m going to catch five hours sleep, and then I’ll send him home. I can have ten men here in less than fifteen minutes, should the need arise. I think we’re covered.”
It was the emotionless tone of Quinn’s voice that bothered Ryal most.
“Quinn, I—”
Quinn held up his hand. “Don’t say it, damn it. I’m not going to turn into some raving lunatic and start killing people or shoot myself, okay? I’m no worse than I was before this started, and that’s the truth. If anything, this has given me something to focus on besides myself.”
“Do you want your eggs scrambled or fried?” Ryal asked.
It took a few moments, but Quinn finally smiled. “Since my brains are already scrambled, I believe I’ll have three fried, over easy, and some toast and bacon.”
Ryal grinned.
Quinn eyed his older brother as Ryal began pulling food out of the old refrigerator.
“So, how’s our cousin?”
Ryal flashed him a disgusted look. “Our very distant cousin is healing nicely, thanks to Aunt Tildy’s ointment. As for her state of mind, it’s a little bit like yours. Somewhat rattled at the moment, but it will pass.”
The coffee machine was burping and gurgling as the coffee streamed into the carafe below. The aroma of fresh brewing coffee permeated the kitchen, along with the scent of the bacon Ryal had begun to fry.
When they heard footsteps coming down the hall, Ryal turned toward the doorway so fast he accidentally slung grease onto the back of the stove.
Quinn chuckled beneath his breath.
Ryal heard the sound and looked over his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”
“You. You got it bad, brother. I hope this time you take measures to make it stick.”
“Already done,” Ryal said beneath his breath.
Quinn nodded. “At least one good thing has come out of this mess.”
Beth entered on cue, took one look at Quinn and his scratches, the dirt on his clothes and the gaunt look on his face, then caught Ryal’s expression, got rattled by the silent warning and stuttered, “Um…uh…”
“Most of it will wash off,” Quinn drawled. “And like you, the rest will heal. I’m gonna wash up so I’m at least fit to sit at the table with you two. Don’t eat all the bacon while I’m gone.”
He gave Beth a wink as he passed by and headed down the hall to bathroom.
As soon as he was gone, Beth grabbed Ryal’s arm. “Is he okay? He looks…he looks like…”
“He looks like he did the day he came home from Iraq,” Ryal said. “He’s back on the hunt, and there’s nothing that’s going to change that until you’re out of danger.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, afraid she might be overheard.
“No need. It is what it is, Beth. Let him be. He’ll know better than any of us if he’s had enough, and I know my brother. He’ll handle whatever he has to handle and deal with the consequences later.”
Her chin trembled as she moved past Ryal to begin putting slices of bread in the toaster. The guilt of getting Sarah murdered was now coupled with the guilt of what this was doing to Quinn and his PTSD. Her heart was heavy. Could this nightmare ever come to a good end?
They finished cooking the food and were putting loaded plates on the table when Quinn returned. He’d bathed and washed his hair, but he hadn’t bothered shaving. The two-day growth of black whiskers gave him a mercenary look that almost made Beth shiver, and when he looked up and caught her staring, she jumped.
“Boo,” he said, then winked. “Pass the jelly.”
“You don’t scare me,” she muttered, as she shoved the jelly across the table.
Ryal frowned. “Leave her alone, Quinn.”
Beth pointed at him with a piece of toast. “Don’t baby me, Ryal, and Quinn’s not the enemy. He doesn’t scare me.” She pushed the last piece of bacon across the table toward him as a peace offering. “However, I am grateful he’s on our side.”
Both men burst into laughter that turned her cheeks pink and then made her smile.
Moe reached Boone’s Gap a couple of hours after noon, but this time when he stopped to get gas, he had a whole new set of plans. For the past thirty miles he’d seen little to convince him that more than a few of the people in the area lived above the poverty level, which told him he’d gone about everything all wrong before.
This time he had a pocketful of cash from a recent withdrawal at an ATM back in Mount Sterling. All he needed was a break and he would be back on the right track.
In the meantime, he gassed up, and bought himself a cold drink and a package of saltines. He was still afraid to put anything solid into his belly and nibbled on the salty crackers as he booted up his laptop inside the car.
He’d done a thorough background check on Beth Venable’s father, Sam, but having found the link to Rebel Ridge, he hadn’t bothered with her mother until now. He knew from the obituary that her name was Annie, but now he wanted to know what her maiden name had been, and where she’d been born.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, though every now and then he paused to eat another cracker or take a drink of the cold soda. Within a few minutes he found a record of her wedding license. Annie Walker. Sam Venable. When everything fell into place, he did love this job. Now to find out where this Annie Walker had been born and where she’d grown up.
This time he had the answer in minutes. Like Sam, her birthplace was listed as Rebel Ridge. Both had earned diplomas from the same high school. And, after a quick search through the last five census records, he knew they’d grown up in—or on—Rebel Ridge, been educated there, lived there as man and wife, and had a child who was close to legal age before they moved away.
That meant Beth Venable’s roots here were deep. It was possible, even likely, that either or both sets of relatives could be working to hide her. The question was, how to find out.
He turned off the laptop to keep from draining the battery, then leaned back to watch who came and went. He was hoping for a junkie or a drunk, but in this place, the pickings were slim, due to the small population. Moe was optimistic, but careful. He’d been parked here long enough. He needed to move, but where to?
Boone’s Gap’s four blocks were nothing to brag about. After that, you were past the city limits. He started the engine and then drove away from the gas station, scanning the small collection of stores. It wasn’t until he drove past the post office, next door to city hall, that he realized he’d overlooked the most obvious solution. It was near the end of the month, and people who received monthly checks—whether from retirement funds, the social-security system or county welfare—would most likely be low on funds. Utility bills, traffic fines and bail bonds were usually paid to different offices, but since Boone’s Gap was so small, he was betting they were all paid in one location here.
