“The sheriff it is.”
Mercer watched as Trey knocked the phone out of Naughton’s hand. His hand went to his gun, ready if things escalated.
“What’s going on here?” asked a voice in the darkness. It sounded so much like Doc that Mercer expected him to appear instead of Maddox.
The two Butler brothers argued with Deveux, who started in on Bradley, too, until Naughton asked her to go inside. With the sheriff on his way, Trey’s parting shot of, “I’ll leave, but this isn’t over,” didn’t seem to phase anyone.
Mercer let out a sigh of relief when Deveux got in his car and left.
“He’s headed your way,” he said to Paps, who was waiting outside the ranch perimeter.
Bradley had come back out, and the three were talking about Deveux. Mercer didn’t hear much until Naughton turned in his direction. “You don’t have to be afraid of him, sweetheart. We have eyes and ears everywhere,” he said.
He was more right about that than he knew.
“What’s happening?” Mercer asked Paps.
“Deveux is covered by the Tablas Creek surveillance team.”
“Any sign of Calder?”
“None. Once he left the restaurant last night, he was able to lose his tail. By the time I heard about it, his tracker had been off a full hour.”
“Shit. He knows we’re on to him.”
“Roger that,” agreed Paps.
“What now?”
“Regroup.”
“Where?”
“Harmony.”
Mercer sent a message to Laird and Razor, giving them an update. Laird said he’d be at the Happy Valley Ranch in fifteen minutes, and Razor confirmed he’d leave once Laird got there.
It was a little after four in the morning. With any luck, Mercer would be back at the ranch and in bed with Quinn before she woke up.
—:—
Quinn opened her eyes. It was still dark, but she knew Mercer wasn’t next to her, and given the bed wasn’t remotely warm, she guessed he’d been gone for quite some time.
She could go downstairs and ask where he was; Razor would more than likely be awake and at his perch in the kitchen, but she was sick of asking.
This was her life, her family, at least she thought it was her family. Even if Kade wasn’t her father, her grandfather and her mother were her family, and she was sick of hearing part of the story instead of all of it.
When Mercer got back, they were going to have a talk, and this time, he’d listen to her instead of the other way around.
She closed her eyes, and slept off and on until she heard the bedroom door open.
“Where were you?” she asked when she felt Mercer getting into bed.
“I had to go out for a bit.”
She still hadn’t turned around to look at him. “That wasn’t the question I asked.”
“Quinn—”
Instead of turning around, she got out of bed. “I need some time to myself, Mercer,” she said before she closed the bedroom door behind her.
—:—
Mercer knew Quinn was still at the ranch; he’d been watching her movements on the computer screen for over an hour.
“What’s she doing?” Razor asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Driving.”
“Huh.”
“She woke up and I was gone.”
“Right. And she’s pissed.”
Mercer scrubbed his hand over his face. “There’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Especially now, with Calder MIA.”
“She wants space, give her space.” Razor was walking away when Mercer heard him mumble, “Sometimes she’s just like Barbie.”
He was right, and Mercer got it. For the last twenty-two years, Lena’s life was similar to that of a convict who had been released from prison, but had to wear an ankle monitor. There wasn’t a move she made that at least one of the K19 didn’t know about. She had no real privacy, at least with her comings and goings. The only men she was around on a regular basis, she despised. It hadn’t occurred to Mercer, until right this minute, that the woman couldn’t have gotten into a relationship if she’d wanted to, which meant she was forty years old, and had been without love in her life for more years than Mercer wanted to think about. He had no idea how long things went on between her and Doc, but it had obviously ended before he’d gotten involved with Peyton Wolf.
Quinn had him, but not because she had a choice. What could she do other than what she was doing now? She was out driving in circles, with nowhere else to go.
Mercer knocked on Razor’s door. “I’m heading out unless you want to,” he said.
The door opened. “I’m good. Where you off to?”
“Giving her some space.”
Razor nodded.
“If she asks—”
“I’ll be honest with her.”
“Right.”
“Give it some thought.”
Mercer turned around and walked out before he blasted Razor. He wasn’t necessarily wrong, but he was in no mood for a lecture. He hadn’t felt this kind of anxiety since he was in a war zone.
When he came back, several hours later, Quinn was in the library, reading.
“How was your day?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.
“Fine.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“Nope.”
“Quinn?”
“Leave me alone, Mercer.”
“Got it.”
He left her alone until midnight, when he found her sleeping in the library. “Come on, precious,” he said. “Let’s get you into bed.”
She went along willingly, but Mercer got the impression it was only because she was half asleep. When he crawled into bed next to her, she turned her back to him.
—:—
When Quinn woke up, Mercer wasn’t in bed with her—again. She went downstairs, and Razor was sitting at the table.
“Good morning, Skipper,” he said, barely looking up from his laptop. “Eighty-eight said to tell you he’ll be back as soon as he can.”
She nodded and looked at the time. It was only a little after five. “When did he leave?”
Razor sat back and stretched, looking at his watch. “Let’s see…around three I think.”
Quinn knew better than to ask. “I’m going back to bed,” she told him, even though she had no intention of doing so. They weren’t the only ones with secrets, she had one of her own, and she planned to do something about it.
Yesterday, she’d spent all day thinking about her life. She was tired of feeling powerless. She was a grown woman who’d received a letter giving her very specific instructions, and she wasn’t following them, because the men around her kept telling her she wasn’t safe. Not that Mercer or Razor knew about the letter, but still. She couldn’t do anything without one of them knowing where she was, who she was with, even what she was thinking. She pulled out her phone, not caring that the sun hadn’t risen yet. Today was going to be different. Today she’d live her life on her terms.
“Hello? Quinn? Is everything okay?”
“You said to contact you if I need anything,” she told Laird when he answered her call.
“Yes.”
Quinn heard Sorcha in the background asking who he was talking to.
“What do you need?” Laird asked.
“Tell Razor you need to see me. Tell him to bring me to my grandfather’s estate, and then meet me there.”
“What is this about?” he asked.
“I think you know,” she said before she hung up. She pulled her jeans out of her bag, checked to make sure her letter was still in the pocket, and then got dressed.
Kade, Doc, whoever he was, told her to contact Naughton when she received his letter, and that was what she was going to do. If he’d wanted her to ask permission first, he would’ve said so.
“What’s going on?” Razor asked when she came downstairs. “Why do I have to take you to meet Burns?”
“He didn’t te
ll you?” she said.
“No, Skipper. He didn’t, and you know he didn’t. Now tell me what’s going on.”
Quinn put her hands on her hips. “I can’t tell you.”
“Get serious.”
“I am serious. Let’s go.”
Razor was pissed. She could feel the anger seeping off of him. If Laird hadn’t been the one to call and ask him to bring her to meet him, none of this would be happening, Quinn knew that. And as far as him being pissed, so was she.
“This is bullshit,” Razor said when she got out of the SUV.
She shrugged her shoulders and walked through the woods, just like she had the last time she’d met Laird here.
“Quinn,” Laird said, getting out of the truck.
“I want to see Naughton. Now.”
“Now? Yes, you can see Naughton, but not now.”
“I need to see him.”
“He’s in the middle of a harvest, Quinn. There is no way I can take you to see him now.”
“I don’t care what he’s in the middle of. The letter said to contact him after I read it, and that’s what I’m going to do. That’s what Kade told me to do, so, please, take me to see him.”
Laird sighed, which to Quinn meant he knew at least part of what she’d said was right. Kade told her to make contact for a reason, even if she had no idea what that reason was. She could tell Laird was thinking the same thing.
“I understand, and I’ll make arrangements for you to meet him, but not now. He cannot stop the harvest without raising suspicion. I promise I will make it happen, but it cannot be before the harvest has come in. Stop asking me to jeopardize your safety and my son’s.”
The tone of Laird’s voice convinced her he wasn’t making excuses. For now, she’d accept it, but if much more time passed, she’d figure it out on her own.
Laird pointed to the house, and she saw lights on inside. “Come on, let’s go,” he said. “It’s too risky for us to meet here again.”
“Where are we going?” she asked when they got to the highway and Laird turned left instead of right.
“Home.”
“But it’s the other way.”
“My home—Butler Ranch.”
“Why?” Had he changed his mind? Was he taking her to see Naughton after all?
“There’s something I want you to see.”
When they pulled through the gates of Butler Ranch a few minutes later, Quinn was overcome.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said.
The sun was up, and it looked as though a layer of mist hovered over the vineyards. She’d never seen vineyards heavy with fruit. The ones at her grandfather’s estate had been dormant for years when she had last visited.
“Where is he?”
“Naughton?”
Quinn nodded.
“They’re harvesting. That isn’t why you’re here.”
“Why am I here?”
“You’ll see.”
—:—
Mercer was ready to rip the hair from his head. “Where did you say she is?”
“I don’t know exactly. Burns called and ordered me to bring her to Old Creek Road. A few minutes later, she came downstairs, refusing to tell me a damn thing.”
“Why didn’t you say no?” Mercer was seething, and if Razor was in front of him instead of on the phone, he might consider killing him.
“Because Burns told me to bring her.”
“Since when do we answer to Burns?”
“I don’t know, man. I don’t know. Maybe I’m…shit…I don’t know.”
First he got a message from Paps that Calder had been located, but by the time he arrived where he was supposed to be, there was no sign of him ever being there.
When he’d messaged Paps, saying he was on his way, he’d thought it was a damn good thing he’d asked Razor to stay at the house last night. He no longer thought so.
“I can’t explain it, Eighty-eight. It’s like…Burns and…Doc…and now, Quinn. I can’t explain it, but I couldn’t say no.”
“I get it, but where are they now?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to reach Burns since I left her there.”
“Are you sure he met her?”
“Yes, Eighty-eight, I’m sure. A few minutes ago, you said we don’t answer to Burns. I don’t answer to you either.”
Razor disconnected the call, but Mercer didn’t care. He needed to find Quinn, and then get to the bottom of what she and Burns were up to.
—:—
“This was Kade’s apartment,” Laird told her, leading her up the narrow staircase. “To my knowledge, no one has been in here since he left.”
They were standing at the threshold of the door. Laird had his hand on the nob.
“Are you okay?” Quinn asked, resting her hand on his arm. “We don’t have to do this.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he responded. “You are.”
Quinn laughed after she got over her shock at Laird opening the door of Kade’s apartment and telling her to look around. “Call me when you’re ready to leave,” he told her.
The man was a neat-freak. There wasn’t a single thing out of place, but it went further. Books were organized by fiction or non-fiction, and then subcategories of both. Each shelf went in height order too, and the books were pulled forward to the very edge of the shelf.
His kitchen was arranged in a similar manner. She opened a drawer and found wooden gadgets, while the drawer above it held metal. In another drawer, she found spices, in a rack, arranged in alphabetical order.
She opened the refrigerator, not surprised to find it and the freezer completely empty. Maybe someone had been in here and had at least gotten rid of food that might spoil.
His bedroom was equally neat and organized, but there was no sign of him. It could’ve been anyone’s room. Just down the hallway, she found another door, but it was locked. She was about to call Laird and tell him she was finished looking around, but changed her mind. There was a reason that door was locked, and she wanted to know what it was. She wondered where a man like Kade would hide a spare key.
She searched in the places she thought were most obvious, at least to her, and then sat at the table when she ran out of ideas. Something she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye on the bookshelves. A wooden tortoise held a partial row of books up, but its shape wasn’t something she would’ve considered a bookend.
She walked over and picked it up, turning it in her hand. The base was solid wood, and as she studied the top and sides, she didn’t see anything that appeared to open. She was about to set it back on the shelf, when her finger brushed against the tail, and it moved. Quinn grasped it with her thumb and index finger, and it moved more. She pulled it and out slid a tray that held a single key.
Padding back to the locked door, she said a silent plea that the key would open it, and it did. Nothing could have prepared her for what she found when she walked inside though.
Instead of computers or whatever she’d thought someone in Kade’s line of work would have behind a locked door, there were photos. Everywhere. And they were photos of her. Some were with her mom. In some, she was alone, and in some she was with Kade. What every single photo of her with either of them together had in common, though, was they were taken before she was seven.
The others, the ones of her alone, were taken at every stage of her life, and most, with the exception of school photos, were candid—all taken without her knowledge.
There was a creepy factor, definitely, but she also felt a sense of security that was different than just hearing he’d arranged for her to be protected her whole life. Someone didn’t keep photos of a person they were protecting, not like this. Every photo was framed and looked as though it had been placed deliberately.
There was one tucked behind another that she walked over to take a closer look at. This was the only one she’d seen where she was with Laird and Sorcha.
It had been taken at the house in Montecito. She
might not have recognized it if she hadn’t just visited. In it, she looked like a little girl surrounded by the love of her grandparents, but if that were the case, why wouldn’t have anyone said so?
Quinn sat in Kade’s desk chair and studied it and a couple of the other photos long enough that she lost track of time. Laird hadn’t said anything specific about when they’d need to leave.
Something caught her eye from the window. It was Laird, heading in this direction. Instead of waiting for him, she decided to lock up behind her and meet him downstairs.
If anything had come of this discovery, it was that she was more determined than ever to talk to Naughton.
“I asked you to wait upstairs for me,” Laird grumbled at her when she met him in the winery.
His tone of voice startled her. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t say anything of the kind.”
“You don’t belong in here.”
There it was, the stab of pain that would wipe out all the good feelings she got when she found the photos, and replace them with feelings of being unwanted, unwelcome, unworthy of the Butler’s love and affection.
Quinn folded her arms. “I’m done waiting, Laird.”
“We’ve discussed this already, and you must wait until the harvest is complete.”
“I don’t care. He needs to know, and I refuse to leave until I see him.”
“Not happening, precious,” Mercer whispered in her ear. “Let’s go.”
Quinn nearly jumped. She hadn’t heard him come in, or sneak up behind her. When she tried to jerk herself away from him, he wouldn’t let her go.
“We’re leaving, one way or another. I’ll carry you out of here if I have to.”
She glared at Laird as Mercer escorted her out a back door, adding betrayal to all the other things he’d made her feel in the last few minutes.
Mercer opened the passenger door of the SUV Razor typically drove, and told her to get in. Without another word, he closed it behind her, and didn’t speak until they were almost back to Happy Valley Ranch.
“We’re going to have a talk this afternoon,” he began.
“Why bother? I can recite every word you’ll say without needing to hear them.”
The Truth Page 23
