Come Hell or High Desire

by Misty Dietz

  Of course Colette wasn’t alone. He turned and jogged a few blocks away. Walking on the boulevards, he looked into all the parked cars until he found an old Pontiac Grand Am with the keys in the ignition. Ignoring a shaft of guilt, he climbed in and took off.

  He spent the first ten miles watching the rearview mirror. He crossed the North Dakota border into Minnesota and wondered if this was how some people ended up losing their minds.

  Backed into a corner with nowhere to go and no friendly faces.

  He was being a fool. A crazy, reckless fool.

  He could’ve turned himself in back there, but he wasn’t sure he believed in the whole martyr thing, especially when it didn’t guarantee Ann’s recovery.

  This wasn’t how his life was supposed to spin out. As much as he’d resisted, John had changed him, he realized. Made him want more than guarded isolation.

  He wanted a life. Even when it hurt. A few friends, an honest career, his dogs, a chance to pay it forward. A family someday.

  Sloane.

  He just had to think.

  With all the police around, Colette wasn’t a productive avenue. The bodyguard and security companies were also a lost cause until he could give them the codes so he had to find them. John wasn’t one to write a lot of things down, but if he did, where would he have put the passwords?

  The more Zack thought about it, if John had written the passwords anywhere, they were either in the office vault or in the totes in Ann’s closet he’d seen when he’d found Dallan. When Zack had moved Ann in, she’d told him they were her father’s.

  That would certainly be John’s style. Keep something hidden right under your nose until he thought you were good and ready to handle it.

  Zack turned the stolen car around, put his phone back together and tried Archie’s number. This time it went to voicemail. Where was he? Twyla trouble? Let their baby be okay.

  A few miles from Ann’s, he reached into his pocket for a crumpled piece of paper. Donovan had nothing to report yet on Barnaba, but he’d found out Benjamin had a private investigator on his payroll. Sloane would die if she knew. Benji had probably known all along she’d been the one working his granddaughter’s case. The old goat was probably setting her up for something ugly.

  Zack’s lips tightened. As he turned the final corner onto Ann’s block he saw what looked like a blue Ford Explorer vanish down the opposite street. Archie?

  His imagination was on overdrive. Besides, blue SUVs were a dime a dozen.

  Where should he park to get into Ann’s? The cops were long gone, but the neighbors would still be on alert. He froze when the phone rang. Twyla’s number lit up his display. “Twyla?”

  “Please tell me Archie’s with you. I’m having contractions, and this stupid media terrorism’s got me scared. Now there’s a building on fire downtown—”

  “Whoa, whoa. What building? Not Samuel’s—”

  “No. Some ritzy joint.”

  His heart stopped. “Blackhawk Gates?”

  “That’s it.”

  Sloane. “Are they—did they make sure everyone was out of the building?” He gunned it down the street, passing Ann’s condo. When he turned the corner, he didn’t see any sign of the blue vehicle.

  “I think so. I’m nervous for you, Zack. Is Archie there?”

  Wings battered his gut. “No, but I’m sure everything’s okay. He’s probably helping one of his buddies and left his phone in the truck again.” The Blue Explorer? Zack had a feeling Archie was scoping out more than he’d let on. If that had been his truck, what was he up to? “Maybe you should go to the clinic to make sure you and the baby are okay. Call Morgan. She’ll take you and help watch Logan.”

  “But—”

  “Take care of your family, Twyla. I’ll find Archie and be in touch.” He hung up. What else could he say? He didn’t know anything anymore, and he didn’t want to frighten her. He looked at the speedometer and forced himself to ease up on the gas. He’d need to ditch this vehicle soon.

  But first he had to know Sloane was safe.

  He dialed her cell number. When she picked up, his back slumped against the seat in relief. “Sloane—”

  “That murdering bastard burned my home! It had to have been him!”

  “Where are you?”

  “Watching the flames. All the black smoke. Nothing left.”

  “Can you leave without the police or firefighters knowing?”

  “No.”

  “You gotta try, Goldie.”

  “Who hates us so much?”

  “I’m going to find out. But you have to get away, okay?” Silence on the other end. He could feel his pulse in the hand holding the phone. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation.

  He released his breath. “Meet me in the hospital parking ramp. Top level. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “I’ll be there in less than five minutes.”

  “Zack—”

  “Your parents are out of the country, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to keep you safe, Sloane. Please.”

  Finally, she whispered, “Top level?”

  “Top level in five.” He disconnected quickly. As much as he wanted to stay on the line until he could see the whites of her eyes, he had one more call to make.

  Ross picked up on the second ring. “I hope you’re sitting on an island far, far away because the shit has officially hit the fan, Zack. How in the hell are you going to dig out of this?”

  “I need a favor, buddy.”

  Zack pulled into the YMCA parking lot where Ross had agreed to meet him to pick up Sloane.

  “I want to stay with you.” She laid a hand on his thigh. “Look at me.”

  He did. Big mistake. Her eyes turned his rational faculties to mush. “Sloane—”

  “I feel safer with you.”

  “I’ve got a target on my back,” he said.

  She blanched and looked down at her lap. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Jesus, it’s not your fault.” He brought her chin up so she could see it in his eyes. “None of this is. I believe in you, Goldie. Your gift, too. I know you can help, but I can’t let you right now. Someone has it in for people connected to Samuel’s, and anyone associated with us is in jeopardy. Tori knew about Ann’s diary. She’s dead. You’ve been seen with me, and look at your building. God, Sloane, what if you’d been in there?” The horror of it had replayed over and over in his mind.

  “I wish I could help.” Her tone told him she didn’t believe that would ever happen. But there was no time to make her see. To help her trust.

  Ross had opened his car door and stepped outside to wait. From his look of unease, Zack could tell he hated it, was scared to do it—didn’t want to do it—but Zack felt more relieved than ever that his right hand man had agreed to safeguard Sloane until the bulk of this disaster was over.

  He pressed a hard kiss to Sloane’s lips and a piece of paper into her hand. “Ross is going to take you back to Samuel’s. John has a fold-out bed in the wall of his office and a full bathroom next door. The number on this paper is the combination for the vault behind his desk. The vault is fireproof and indestructible. No one alive has the combination besides me. If you have the slightest feeling of trouble, get in. There’s a small stash of food, water, and a phone inside, and a handle so you can get out again. For now, Ross will bring you clothes, toiletries, food, whatever you need.”

  “Why can’t the police protect me?”

  “They’ve got their hands full. Even if they would assign one or two officers to watch over you—which they won’t—flesh and blood can’t protect you as well as the four-foot concrete walls of that vault.”

  She stopped him before he could unbuckle her seatbelt. “This is ridiculous. I don’t want to hide out while you’re hunting down the bad guys!”

  “Are you willing to shoot someone to save your own life?” When she didn’t reply, he bru
shed his fingers against her cheek. “We are in survival mode. Promise me you’ll stay there.”

  “What about my shop?”

  “Won’t matter if you’re dead. Promise me, Goldie.”

  “Promise to call me.”

  “If I’m able to,” he said.

  “Promise.”

  He gripped the steering wheel hard in one hand. “Okay, yes. I promise. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  He reached across her lap to open her door. She hesitated. His fingers reached up to slide into the hair at her temple. She leaned her head into his hand and closed her eyes. His throat tightened. Arms went around her. Too soon, he gave her a nudge out the door toward Ross, who stood sideways, offering them a modicum of privacy.

  At the door of Ross’s car, she turned back to face him. She raised a hand to her lips and blew him a kiss before climbing inside.

  I love you.

  Had she really projected the words? Or was he only hearing what he wanted to hear?

  He sprinted across the parking lot, slipped into the company truck Ross had one of their workers bring for him, and pulled out of the parking lot prepared to face a thousand monsters. What the landscape would look like at the end of this battle, he had no idea, but at least he could count on having Sloane protected.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Zack was en route to Ann’s when Archie finally called. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

  Archie chuckled. “Yeah, I see you called like ten times. Where’d you get a phone?”

  “Tell you later.”

  “Uh, huh. Thought so.”

  “You know squat.”

  “I know the cops are pissed you’re AWOL.”

  “Thanks, I wasn’t aware of that. They probably already have a bead on me since my phone’s been on for the last hour. You talk to Twyla?” Zack spotted a police cruiser dead ahead and made a quick right turn, pulled to the curb, and sank in his seat. Sweat rolled down his back as he adjusted the side mirror to watch behind him.

  “Yeah, I made it to her appointment. Her mom’s with her now. She’s jumpy, but fine.”

  Makes two of us. “Whatcha got?” The police vehicle passed his block. He exhaled.

  “Ann use a cleaning service?” Archie asked.

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Some dude had a key to her place, got in, then came out like twenty five minutes later. Truck sign said Presto Perfect Cleaners. Thing is…this was at six a.m. this morning. And there’s no Presto Perfect Cleaners in the phone book,” Archie said.

  “Why were you at Ann’s?”

  “Cops aren’t the only ones who use surveillance. Since the guy you shot got away, there’s a missing piece here. A big one. My gut tells me someone’s still sniffing around her place.”

  “I didn’t call any cleaners. And even if Ann used someone regularly, she’d never have them there that early. You trail ’em?”

  “Straight to Benji’s new Taj Mahal,” Archie said.

  “The cleaner went to the mall? That doesn’t make any sense. We use a different company for clean—”

  It had to be the guy he’d surprised at Ann’s. Zack smacked the seat beside him. “Did he get inside?”

  “At the mall? Yeah. I tried to follow, but the door locked behind him. I stuck around for almost an hour, but then had to go with Twy for her appointment. When I went back later, the truck was gone.”

  “What’d he look like?” Zack asked.

  “Average to solid build. Average height. I couldn’t tell a lot because I was pretty far away and he wore a crap-load of white and a cap pulled low with sunglasses. Looked like he had sandy blond hair, but it also could have been gray for all I could tell under his hat. Wasn’t dark-skinned or dark-haired, that much I know.”

  “Or he was in disguise. Dammit, I have nothing. You hear about the kidnapping?”

  “Yeah, he’s one twisted loser. Twyla’s pretty freaked out.”

  “To cover so many places at once, he can’t be working alone,” Zack said.

  “Whoever it is, he wants to mess with you, man. Pick you apart until you bleed. Go through it all again. Connect the dots. Ann. Sloane’s girl at the store. Now Sloane’s building. There’s got to be a pattern. Figure it out, then tell me what I can do next.”

  Zack’s entire frame had tensed. “How do you know about Sloane?”

  “Dude, I’m your brother. I keep tabs on you. I have another angle to work. I’ll be in touch.”

  “No! Wait!” The line went dead. Zack gritted his teeth and turned the car around.

  No more running. Time for a come-to-Jesus with Benjamin. He’d been a slightly younger contemporary of John’s, but they’d hungered for the same woman. And John had been the one to have her. Temporarily and publicly anyway.

  Something must have happened to scare John enough to think she needed lifetime protection. Even if she was an epic bitch.

  In her vision, Sloane had seen Benjamin fawning over Ann. And of course he’d shown up at Ann’s intending to ask her to model for the charity event, so he obviously liked her. But he had almost four decades on her. He couldn’t possibly think she’d fall for him, especially when she had her own trust fund. Was he trying to recreate a fantasy about Serena? The thought was quite disturbing.

  And Colette. How did she figure in? What about Tori’s and Dallan’s murders? Was there something in the diary they’d missed? Was Barnaba somehow involved?

  Ann was the only solid piece tying everything together.

  Definitely time to find out what Benjamin knew.

  It had been roughly four hours since the call from Ann’s abductor. Time’s almost up, the voice had said. But how much time was left? Or had he meant the fire at Sloane’s?

  Ten minutes later, he grabbed his gun and a narrow rope from the truck’s glove box—thank you, Ross—and slammed the door in Benjamin’s circular driveway. The early afternoon sun reflected off the multi-faceted glass on the massive double doors, shining rainbows on the brass handles. Three stories, six garages, and a reported twenty thousand square feet, the house was a gray brick monstrosity.

  Zack rang the bell, gripping the rope like a lifeline.

  The door opened and Zack pushed a lanky, hook-nosed man—a butler? Really?—inside, the gun snug against his back. “Where’s Benjamin?” The man nearly fainted, but Zack grabbed him by the arm. “You don’t need to be afraid if you cooperate.”

  The man half-stumbled, half-leaned against Zack as they made their way toward a nine-foot door. “He’s in th-th-there.”

  The guy’s lips were blue. Looked like he was about to pass out, too. Zack felt bad about it, but lives were at stake. He opened what turned out to be the library door and pushed the butler inside. Benjamin stood up behind his desk, a look of outrage adding vigor to his normally sallow features.

  “What the hell is going on? I’m calling the police!”

  Zack raised the pistol. “Wanna bet my bullet travels faster than your fingers?”

  Benjamin sent him a look of raw hatred, but he lowered the handset. “You’re out of your mind.”

  Zack threw the rope on the desk. “Tie the good butler to the chair. Make it tight. If I have to redo it, you’ll be the one with regrets.”

  The employee voluntarily took a seat and Benjamin leaned one knee on the floor to tie the man’s hands behind his back. “You’ll pay for this, Goldman.” A faint sheen glistened over his upper lip.

  “Where’s Ann?”

  Benjamin shot to his feet. “Her name shouldn’t even cross your filthy mouth!”

  “Where is she?”

  “You tell me! You’re the lowlife John resurrected from the riverb—” Zack’s fist connected with Benjamin’s middle, bending him in half. Then Zack grabbed him by the hair and hauled him backward against the heavy bookcases lining the far wall.

  He pressed close enough to see the gold flecks in Benjamin’s muddy green eyes. “Me? What about you? You like her. Her l
ooks. Always have, haven’t you? You wanted her so much you gave your enemy your business, hoping to get near her. Your taste of the mother was so sweet, might as well sample the daughter, too, right?”

  “P-pond scum!” Benjamin’s eyes widened and in the next instant his face crumpled. “She’s nearly Serena’s doppelganger.”

  Zack jerked back to avoid knocking heads with him as Benjamin’s anger deflated like a leaky balloon. “You have one last chance to tell me where she is.”

  “Or what?” Benjamin’s head flew up, his eyes bloodshot. “I don’t know! I would move heaven and earth to find her. I’ve had a PI on it, but she’s just gone. Gone! Just like Abby. Joan. Serena.”

  Zack let him sag in a heap to the floor. The guy was a case. Seriously. But then, he was probably allowed, after what had happened to his granddaughter. And then his daughter, Joan, who’d taken her own life after the tragedy, according to Sloane.

  And somehow, Zack believed him. “Tell me about Serena. Why did she disappear?”

  Benjamin shakily climbed into his desk chair. After a moment he almost looked like his arrogant self again. “Put your infernal weapon away. You know it wasn’t me.”

  Zack stuck the gun in the waistband of his jeans. “If you care about Ann, you’d better tell me why Serena had to leave. This is somehow connected, and we don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Serena was a goddess. Her voice, her beauty. She made you feel like the only person in the world when she talked to you.” He looked down at his perfectly groomed hands like they were a stranger’s. “Why someone would try to scare her…”

  “Who was it?”

  “We never found out.”

  “We?”

  Benjamin smiled sadly. “I’ve had private investigators on this for more than twenty years now.”

  “A tad obsessive, don’t you think? Maybe it was you sending the letters,” Zack said.

  A hard look came into Benjamin’s eyes. “Women like Serena—like Ann—are meant to be cherished.”

  “You mean kept.”

  Benjamin waved a hand in the air. “Men of your generation don’t understand. All this stupid equality of the sexes nonsense. Men are stronger. We make the money, then we take care of the women.”