His Secret Life

by Webb, Debra

  The door closed. The thud echoed in his brain.

  He was doing the right thing.

  It was the only way.

  He picked up his bag and started walking toward the escape that would, if he were damned lucky, end all this. Jane Sutton would be a lot better off without his problems in her life.

  He was damaged goods.

  The waiting sedan’s rear driver’s-side door opened and his contact emerged.

  Troy’s cell phone chirped.

  His contact was here.

  No one else had his number.

  He didn’t recognize the caller.

  He stalled, opened the phone. “Benson.”

  “Do you know how long it took to track down this number?”

  Dread trickled through Troy’s veins. “What do you want?”

  Bernard Beckman laughed. “That’s a fine way to talk to your uncle. But then you never were one to properly respect your elders.”

  Troy glanced at the man waiting to take him away. “You know what I think of you.” His contact’s timing was impeccable. The transition wasn’t coming a moment too soon. “We have nothing to talk about.”

  “That’s just fine, Trace. You weren’t the one I wanted to talk to anyway.”

  The dread gave way to fear. “What’re you talking about?”

  “You tell that woman who broke my man’s nose to call her mother. I’m afraid the poor woman isn’t feeling too well.”

  Fury erupted, chasing away all other emotion. “Don’t you involve her in this,” Troy threatened. “This is between you and me.”

  “It was,” Beckman agreed. “But all that’s changed now. I’m going to kill you, Trace, and this time you’re going to stay dead.”

  Troy’s bag hit the ground. “Just tell me what you want,” he urged. “I’ll do whatever you ask, but don’t hurt that woman.” He couldn’t let Jane be hurt this way. Her mother was all she had.

  “You give her the message, boy,” Beckman warned, fury simmering in his tone. “That’s all you can do. It’s too late for anything else.”

  The connection ended.

  Troy stared at the phone a moment. Then he turned back to the car where Jane waited. She hadn’t left yet. She was probably waiting to see that he got on his way first.

  His feet had started in that direction before his brain issued the order.

  “Benson!” his contact called out. “We don’t have time for this.”

  Jane opened the car door and got out as he neared. “What’s going on?”

  He thrust the phone at her. “Call your mother.”

  “What happened? Did Ian call?”

  Troy shook his head. “Make the call.”

  Jane reached out, took the phone. Her hand trembled.

  He hated like hell that she was being dragged into this. His heart slammed mercilessly behind his sternum. Beckman would kill Jane’s mother. He had no conscience, no compassion whatsoever.

  “Mom?”

  Jane’s face fell as she listened to the person on the other end of the line.

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  Pain speared through Troy.

  “If you hurt her,” Jane warned, “there won’t be any place on this earth that you can hide. Do you understand me, you son of a bitch?”

  She closed the phone, shoved it into her pocket. “I’m going to need to keep your phone.” She dropped back behind the wheel and started the engine.

  Troy just caught the door before she closed it. “You need to call your agency friends for backup. You can’t—”

  “Get out of the way, Benson.”

  “Jane, listen to me. You can’t do this alone. We have to—”

  She shoved the gearshift into Drive and spun away from him.

  “Jane! Wait!”

  She roared out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

  “Mr. Benson!”

  Troy watched until she’d disappeared into the night.

  “Mr. Benson, we must move forward with our business. We’re running behind as it is.”

  Troy turned to the man shouting at him. The plan was already in place. In a couple of hours Troy Benson would be dead. His new identity would be born.

  A fresh start, far away from here.

  One step, then the next, Troy moved toward the waiting car. This was the choice he’d made. The only real choice he had.

  He couldn’t look back, couldn’t let anything get in his way.

  “You have the rest of the money?” his contact asked.

  Troy nodded. “The agreement was you would receive the remainder of your money when the task was completed.”

  “Of course.” He gestured for Troy to get into the car. “The cast is waiting to play out your final scene.”

  A cast of characters who would stage and act out the final scene of Troy Benson’s life. A cast including the dead man.

  The whole idea was surreal.

  But it was the only way.

  “What about your bag?”

  Troy turned back and looked at the bag. Then he looked to the place where Jane had been sitting in the rental car before roaring away.

  She was gone now. Gone to try and save her mother from the bastard who cared about nothing but furthering his own interests. Of getting richer, no matter the cost to others.

  Troy turned back to his contact. “I need to use your phone.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” the man demanded. “I should have driven away when you answered a call on your cell right in front of me. For all I know,” he roared, “you could have been calling the cops.”

  “The call wasn’t about you,” Troy assured him. “It was about my friend.” His throat constricted as the reality of what that call meant slammed into him again. His uncle would kill Jane and her mother. “Now give me your phone.” Troy held out his hand.

  “Give me the rest of the money.”

  Troy reached for the envelope in his back pocket, passed it to the man. The bastard immediately started to count the cash.

  “Your phone,” Troy demanded. “It’ll only take a moment.”

  Reluctantly, the man handed over his cell phone.

  Troy slid the phone open and did the only thing he could.

  The right thing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  12:30 a.m.

  Jane parked several blocks away from her mother’s home. The man who’d answered the phone had warned that if she called anyone—the police, the agency—for help her mother would die.

  As much as she understood that surviving the coming confrontation without backup would likely be impossible, she couldn’t risk her mother’s life. So she didn’t call for help. But she had a plan.

  One she prayed would work.

  As she approached her mother’s block, she hunkered down and prepared for an ambush.

  When she was a few yards from the driveway, she set her backup plan into motion.

  She crouched down and surveyed the street. Lucky for her someone had already taken care of the streetlight closest to her mother’s home. As she scanned the area around her, she slipped the phone from her sock and pushed the speed dial number for Ian’s cell without shifting her focus from the street. She couldn’t look down at the phone or whoever was watching—and they would be watching—would know what she was up to. Twisting around as far as she could while maintaining her crouched position, she left the phone facedown in the open position on the ground in the neighbor’s grass.

  Then she started forward once more, keeping her head low and her hand on the butt of the weapon Benson had given her.

  She rounded the corner into her mother’s drive. The house was dark. The driveway was empty. Her mother faithfully parked her decade-old Caddy in the garage.

  Jane’s pulse beat faster. Any time now—

  “Throw down your weapon and get your hands up.”

  Jane froze.

  The man who’d issued the order stepped out of the shadows. He wore black from head to toe, making him
next to impossible to see in the darkness. But her eyes attuned instantly to the business end of his handgun aimed at her face.

  Jane lowered her weapon to the ground. Careful to keep her movements as slow as molasses, she raised her hands and straightened to her full height.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end a split second before a punch landed at the small of her back. She hurtled forward. The man with the gun stepped aside. She hit the concrete next to his feet.

  “Stupid bitch!”

  Jane’s muscles contracted with pain. She swallowed back the groans.

  “Get her up,” the guy with the gun ordered, “before the neighbors spot us.”

  The guy who’d punched her hauled her to her feet. Jane didn’t resist. The pain radiating from the area of her kidneys made it difficult to breathe.

  Circulation from her elbow down was cut off by his vicious grip. Oh yeah, he was mad.

  Right now she didn’t care about any of that. She only cared that her mother was safe. With her heart condition, suffering through this kind of ordeal…

  Jane didn’t even want to think about that.

  The men ushered her to the back of the house. Without the streetlight or any of the exterior lights, the tree-covered yard was completely black.

  He dragged her through the back door and into the mudroom.

  As they moved through the kitchen, the guy in front turned on a light.

  Jane blinked. The blinds on the windows in the kitchen were shut tight.

  The familiar sights and smells only heightened her anxiety. This was her mother’s home, the place where Jane had slept and played as a kid. No one should have to endure their home being invaded like this.

  Her poor mother would be terrified.

  They passed the living room and headed straight for the hall leading to the bedrooms. For privacy, of course. The bedrooms were on the end of the house where there was no close neighbor. That end of the property bordered a street corner. One of the reasons her parents had bought the property. Who would have thought at the time that same perk would be used for this?

  The light in the master bedroom came on.

  Jane’s heart dropped to her feet.

  Her mother was tied to a dining chair. Duct tape stretched across her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear.

  Jane jerked free of her captor and rushed to her mother.

  “You okay?” She surveyed her mother’s face as she nodded. Looked her over to ensure that there was no blood. She started to peel the tape from her mouth—

  “Not so fast,” one of her captors snapped. “On your feet.”

  Fury propelled Jane to her feet. She whirled on the two bastards waiting near the door. “Let her go,” she demanded. “You have me now. There’s no need to hold her anymore.”

  The man on the left, the one who’d punched her, then hauled her into the house, laughed. “Get another chair,” he said to his pal.

  The other man left the room.

  If she could get close enough to the guy before his buddy returned, she could take him. She’d done it before.

  “Make a move,” the bastard said as he shifted the barrel of his weapon toward her mother, “and I’ll shoot the old bag.”

  Jane’s mother whimpered.

  “Don’t,” she urged. “I’m cooperating. Don’t scare her like that.”

  The other guy entered the room with the chair. He placed it a few feet from her mother. “Sit,” he said to Jane.

  She followed the order without hesitation. Doing anything to antagonize these guys would only add to her mother’s fear and get her hurt. Jane understood that they knew that hurting her mother would get to her far more quickly than anything they could do to her.

  The man secured her hands behind her back using the nylon cuffs. Then he stretched duct tape around her torso and the chair, securing her to the ladder-back chair. Lastly he secured her ankles to the chair legs with the same tape.

  Her mother had been secured in the same manner. The duct tape wasn’t a problem, but the nylon cuffs…this was bad.

  He pushed to his feet and started to stretch a strip of tape over her mouth.

  “Wait,” she demanded. “Where is Beckman? I came like he asked, where is he?”

  The guy still standing by the door laughed. “You talking about the man in charge or the fool who betrayed him?”

  “I’m talking about the bastard who did this,” she snarled. She hated these lowlifes. She should have killed the bastard who’d punched her when she had the chance.

  “You won’t be seeing Beckman.” He laughed. “He’s not interested in you. He wants his nephew.”

  A new kind of fear leached into Jane’s limbs. “He’s too late for that. His nephew is long gone.”

  “You’d better hope he’s not,” the man warned. “If he walks away the two of you die.”

  Who was this guy kidding? They would be killed anyway.

  “He won’t risk his freedom for me,” Jane countered. “You guys have wasted your time.”

  The man smirked. “We’ll see.” He pulled something from his pocket and waved it. “Just thought you’d want to know that no one’s going to be able to help you.”

  The cell phone she’d left in the grass. He’d found it. Ian might have gotten the call but he might not be able to track her location if the link hadn’t lasted long enough.

  The tape went over her mouth. Then the light went out and the door slammed behind the two thugs.

  Keeping her mother alive and getting out of here was up to her alone.

  Jane waited long enough for the two to move away from the door. She didn’t know how much time she had, so she had to move quickly.

  It was dark, but she knew her mother’s room by heart. She jerked her body up and down as best she could, enough to get the chair moving toward the dresser.

  Her mother started to whimper and moan. Jane stopped, tried to make a soothing sound to quiet her mother. It took a moment but her mother finally got the message and stopped making noise.

  Jane scooted, hopped, trying her best to keep the noise down. Thank God for the plush carpeting.

  Slowly she made her way to the dresser. Then, forcing her neck and shoulders into an awkward position, she pushed her cheek against the edge of the dresser. She scrubbed the tape’s edge against the dresser ledge. Over and over she repeated the process until the edge of the tape lifted.

  The slightest sound inside the house made her freeze time and again. She waited…listened…each time, then proceeded with her determined scrubbing.

  By the time the tape rolled past her lips, the skin on her cheek felt raw.

  She didn’t bother trying to pull the tape completely free. Instead, she started the slow scooting, bouncing toward her mother.

  Her heart rocketed into her throat as the chair threatened to tip over. She shifted her weight in the other direction just enough to rebalance the chair.

  Then she started moving again. She reached her mother, bumped the side of her chair up to the side of her mother’s while facing the other direction. She leaned to her left, and using her teeth started tearing the tape away from her mother’s mouth. When her mother started to moan, she whispered, “Shh. No sounds.”

  When she’d gotten the tape off her mother’s lips, the poor thing whimpered again.

  “Shh,” Jane urged. “Do you have any scissors in here anywhere?”

  Her mother thought for a few seconds. “No…nothing like that.”

  Damn. “Think, Mom. There has to be something sharp in here.”

  The seconds ticked by like hours.

  “Your father’s pocket knife,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “It’s in the top drawer of the night table on his side of the bed. Where he always put it at night.”

  “That’ll work.”

  Since Jane was already facing the bed, she started forward. Luckily, her father had slept on the side of the bed closest to her. She scooted, bounced her way there. She couldn’t lean down far e
nough to pull the drawer open with her mouth.

  Damn it.

  She wiggled her way around, putting her back to the small table. Leaning backward as far as she dared, she finally managed to get a hold of the drawer handle with her fingers. She leaned forward, pulling it open. Leaning back again, she got her hands into the drawer, fumbled through the contents. She twisted and reached, cramping her muscles.

  Finally her fingers brushed over the knife.

  The first two efforts to pick up the knife failed. She had to stop a moment to relax her muscles. Finally she got a grip on the knife.

  She pushed the drawer closed once more and started that bounce-scoot back to her mother. She worked for half a minute at least to get herself positioned back to back with her mom. Then another twenty or so seconds were required to get the knife open without dropping it.

  “Be really still,” she warned her mom. “I’ll try not to cut you.”

  “Do what you have to do, Jane.”

  Jane worked the knife blade between her mother’s wrists. Winced each time she poked her. Her mother never even whimpered.

  Slowly, praying she wasn’t cutting into skin, she worked the knife blade back and forth. Back and forth. Her heart pounded. One or both of the men could burst into the room at any second.

  But she couldn’t rush. Too risky.

  Her mother’s hands pulled free. Her gasp of relief sent the same throttling through Jane’s limbs.

  “Cut my hands loose,” she whispered.

  Her mother reached back, took the knife from Jane’s fingers.

  “I can’t do it this way.”

  “It’s okay. Gimme a minute.” Jane scooted her way around so that she was no longer behind her mother. “That better?”

  “I think so.” Her mother felt for Jane’s hands in the darkness. Using the fingers of one hand, she felt for the right spot, then using her other hand, she worked the knife into place and started sawing.

  Jane held her breath. Listened for the approach of the men.

  The nylon binding her wrists suddenly fell free. Jane rubbed her burning wrists. Thank God.

  Footsteps echoed in the hall.

  “Put the tape back on your mouth and hold your hands behind your back,” she warned her mother as she scooted away.

  The door opened and the light switched on, blaring harshly in Jane’s eyes. She blinked, had just barely gotten the tape back over her own mouth.