High-Stakes Loving [King's Bluff, Wyoming 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Fiona Archer

  “You just have to listen to me,” he hissed, his forehead creasing.

  Reagan spoke up. “Leonard, tell me what’s going on.”

  He swung to face Reagan, teeth bared. “Why did you have to ask questions? Why didn’t you just leave it alone?”

  Shock robbed her of speech. What the hell?

  “Len!” Vicki cried, dropping the towel to where it fell at her feet.

  With a low cry, he spun around and grabbed Vicki by the upper arms. “Two more weeks and we’d have been out of here. Two damn weeks.” He let go with a shove.

  Vicki stumbled back into the chair, her arms flaying out at her sides. Her mouth opened wide in a silent scream a second before she fell, taking the chair with her. A sickening thud sounded as her head hit the hard floor.

  She lay there, her eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, but there was no movement. No life.

  “Oh, my God.” Reagan rushed to crouch down beside Vicki. Any second she’d start blinking. She had to.

  “No. No. No.” Leonard clutched his head. “Not again.” He bent over, grabbing Reagan by her arm and heaving her out of his way.

  She landed hard against the closed back door with a thud, her back taking the brunt of the hit. It took a couple of breaths for air to enter back into her lungs.

  Leonard kneeled next to his wife. “Julie, wake up. I didn’t mean it. It was an accident. Wake up.”

  Julie? Reagan froze. White noise filled her ears. She blinked. No. She’d heard wrong. It was the shock.

  “Julie, please just listen to me.” He grabbed his wife, dragged her up against his chest, his arms clenching and tightening around her as she flopped back over his arm. “Forgive me, Julie. Please, forgive me.”

  Vicki’s head hung at an unnatural angle. Unseeing eyes stared back at Reagan.

  She gulped down a wave of terror. Her limbs froze, refusing to move even as she screamed to herself. Get out. Now. Reaching above, she grabbed the doorknob, dragging herself to her feet. She started to open the door. Nearly there. One more step.

  “No.” A body crashed into her from behind, slamming her head into the doorframe. Pain split down the side of her skull.

  Then darkness.

  * * * *

  Quinn spotted Reagan’s red Honda right out front. “Our girl’s still there. Good.” He parked a few spots down from the Youth Café.

  Mike jumped out of the truck. He nodded in the direction of the gas station farther down Victoria Avenue. “Caleb hasn’t called you back. He’s probably waiting on Gus. Bastard never answers his phone if he can jaw to a customer.”

  “More like outright gossip.” Quinn rounded the truck. How far had the sheriff said he was out of town? A fifteen minute drive. Damn, it had only been ten since they’d ended their call. The muscles at the back of his neck tightened. Calm down, Sullivan.

  As they entered the café, a group of teenagers waved at Mike with the nonchalance only kids can pull off. They knew a person was there, but damn, they wouldn’t show it mattered, not even under threat of torture.

  Mike returned their greeting with a lift of his chin, his shoulders relaxing at the carefree waves.

  Not easy for a tough guy like Mike to allow himself to feel vulnerable. That took guts, a quality Quinn knew his buddy had in abundance.

  A quick visual showed no sign of Reagan. Maybe she was chatting in that back kitchen. Reaching the door, he stuck his head inside. The room was empty. A chair sat at an odd angle facing away from the table. A swirl of something red streaked the floor under the chair. He leaned down, stuck out a finger. Blood.

  Quinn’s gut iced over.

  His gaze tracked the streaks to the back door. As he stood to move closer, he caught a glint of something in the afternoon light. There, on the floor near the back door lay a delicate gold necklace decorated with a tiny book charm.

  Reagan’s necklace.

  He crouched down, lifting the chain gently in his fingers. Broken links. This wasn’t carefully removed from her neck.

  Wrenching open the back door, he scanned the area. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Find anything?” Mike came up from behind. His features darkened as he stared at the gold chain dangling from Quinn’s fingers.

  “Blood.” He pointed to the floor.

  “Fuck.” Mike spun on his heel. Quinn followed.

  They stormed back into the main room. Quinn scanned the area. The kids were quiet, oblivious to the roaring of blood sounding in his ears. If there had been a major fight, surely they’d be excited, talking loudly with each other, maybe even frightened. Nope. Business as usual.

  As if on instinct, Quinn turned to his right. Danny. The kid’s green eyes bugged out. With a gulp, he shrank down further into his beanbag.

  He had a live target.

  “Let me handle this.” Mike moved to the front, his body half leading, half blocking Quinn.

  Danny blinked with each step as Mike zeroed in.

  “Hey, Danny, we’re looking for Reagan. Know where she is?”

  He’d give Mike credit for not snapping out his question.

  “Um, no. I’ve been reading.” Danny ducked his head.

  Quinn rolled his eyes. Jesus fuck, they’d be here all day. Dammit, he wanted to see Reagan standing before him, safe and sound, right fucking now. “Listen, Danny—”

  “Cool it.” Mike glared at him before crouching down beside the boy. “Danny, it’s real important we find her.”

  The kid refused to look up. “I can’t help you.”

  Quinn clenched his jaw against the urge to yell.

  Mike’s hard stare kept him silent. Only just.

  He turned back to the boy. “You can’t help us, but you want to? Is that right?”

  Danny’s shoulders hunched as if from some invisible burden. “She made me promise.”

  The world tilted.

  “Promise what, Danny?” Mike asked softly.

  “To keep her secret,” the boy whispered.

  Quinn felt hot, so fucking hot as if tiny superheated needles pricked over his skin digging with their sharp little points. You can’t tell, Quinn, you can’t. He curled his fingers, wanting to scrub his nails over his skin to scratch away the heat and pain.

  Mike took a breath and then nodded as he exhaled. “Kid, I need you to trust me. Reagan’s not in the kitchen. We found her broken necklace on the floor. We think something bad might have happened.” His voice firmed as Danny’s eyes rounded. “Sometimes people ask us to keep a secret without realizing what might happen later. This is one of those times.”

  Quinn swallowed. Sherri’s face swam before him. I promise, it’s all gonna be okay.

  Uncertainty filled Danny’s eyes. His brow scrunched into a frown. Torn loyalties. Either way, he was letting someone down.

  Danny stared hard at Mike, as if drilling deep into the man to test his character. Finally, he gave the smallest of nods. “She saw a lady in the kitchen. Said she wanted to speak with her in private and that she didn’t want anyone seeing her.”

  “What lady?” Mike asked.

  “The one bringing all the stuff from her house.”

  Mike turned his head to the side, his gaze narrowing before he faced Danny again. “Mrs. Aitken?”

  Danny nodded, his face a misery of contrition. “Honest, I would have told you if I’d known something was gonna happen.”

  The truth of the kid’s statement pierced Quinn’s soul like a sharpened arrow.

  How could Danny have known?

  How could he have known twenty years ago?

  “I know, son, I know,” he choked the words out. Just a kid. Like me. “You did good.”

  He stalked back into kitchen, not stopping until he reached the back door. Ripping it wide open, he strode outside, sucking in a lungful of air. Better. Much better.

  Grabbing his phone, he pushed redial. Caleb answered on the second ring.

  Quinn didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Reagan’s missing from the Youth Caf�
�. We found her broken necklace on the floor in the kitchen and there’s blood. She was last seen talking with Vicki Aitken.”

  “Damn.”

  “What?” Quinn barked out the question. The crunch of feet over gritty cement sounded behind him. He turned sideways. “Hang on, Caleb. Mike’s here. I’m switching you onto speaker.” He tapped his finger for the speaker. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “She’s the caller, Quinn. Vicki. I had to get Gus to show me the CCTV. That’s why it took so long. She waited until he walked out to serve a customer before making the call.”

  “Fuck.” Quinn looked toward the heavens.

  “Quinn, over here.” Mike’s gaze centered on a jumble of empty boxes.

  What was that at the side? A shoe stuck out. Something about it looked…He stepped forward.

  Vicki Aitken, her body lying partially hidden by the mishmash of cardboard, gazed back at them. Her eyes were soulless, like so many he’d seen on the battlefield.

  Dread sunk its claws into his body, tearing its way up his spine.

  “Quinn, you there? Dispatch got a call from a neighbor of the Aitkens. Leonard scraped the side of this guy’s car as he tore into his driveway. He ignored the neighbor, drove into his garage, and lowered the door. He won’t come outside or answer his phone.”

  Mike’s face paled. He dug his phone out of his back pocket and started making calls.

  Caleb continued. “We have to find Vicki.”

  Quinn stared at the body of the sweet but misguided woman. “We just found her, Caleb. She’s dead.”

  “Sweet fucking Jesus.”

  Before Quinn said his next words, he knew what he and Mike had to do. “He’s got her, Caleb. He’s got Reagan.”

  “Listen to me. I need both of you to stay focused. You hear me? If either of you take the law into your own hands, your asses will land in jail. You work under my orders.”

  His momma taught him that it was impolite to argue on the phone.

  “We’ll meet you there.” Ending the call, Quinn ran to the truck, passing Mike who barked instructions to a volunteer not to let any of the kids out the back door.

  Quinn had the locked box open and the weapons out on the bench seat before Mike reached the car.

  The ex-sniper tapped a message into his phone. “Noah’s on board.” His jaw hardened. “He’ll bring the rest of the arsenal. We weren’t expecting a conflict situation on this scale.”

  “Fuck.” A flash of white whizzed by their truck and reminded Quinn to look for traffic before tearing out onto the road. The Aitkens lived a couple of houses down from the clinic. He needed no directions.

  Why did every fucking slow driver have to be out today? He dodged around the dawdling vehicles. The lone angry blare of old Mr. Walker’s car horn faded into the distance as they sped down Independence Street.

  He ignored it. All he could think about was Reagan. Why had Leonard taken her? What the fuck was he doing to her? Was some of that blood hers? Jesus, she must be terrified.

  Quinn’s stomach coiled up with fury. They couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not ever.

  He blinked away the red haze before his eyes. It was time to purge stray thoughts. Focus. Treat this as another operation. He breathed out, his body calming as his mind mentally listed the basic fundamentals that never changed, including the key to any successful operation. State your clear objective.

  “Here’s our mission. Reagan’s our top priority. We work with Caleb as long as it ensures her safe rescue. If not, we move on our own.”

  “Works for me.” Mike stared out the passenger window, his manner quiet, controlled as he entered combat mode.

  There was no room for failure. Reagan’s life, and any hope of their futures together, depended on it.

  He felt his gaze narrow as he clenched the steering wheel. We’re on our way, sugar. Hang on.

  * * * *

  The sound of footsteps retreated. A door banged, then another much further away.

  Reagan slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the sharp pain that throbbed in her temple like a fast-beating drum. A wave of nausea hit her. She held her breath and counted to ten. Slowly, it receded, leaving behind a flood of saliva in her mouth.

  Strands of dark green carpet, unnaturally close to her nose, filled her gaze. What the hell? She blinked against the pain and confusion. On her stomach. She wiggled her fingers. Hands tied behind. Some kind of cord. Ankles too. Not good odds.

  The carpet’s dusty smell assaulted her nostrils. She wouldn’t complain. If anything, she was grateful for the proof she was alive. Unlike…Her chest tightened. Oh, God, poor Vicki.

  Bile raced up her throat. Swallowing didn’t help. Her friend, her sweet, lovely friend, was gone. Killed. Murdered. Like her mother. And by the same son of a bitch.

  A man who had lived in her town, worked two doors down from her, talked to her most mornings as they parked their cars behind the library. A fucking gutless killer.

  She clenched her jaw. A flood of adrenaline rushed through her body. No. She wouldn’t be his third victim.

  She rolled onto her back. Ignoring the tingling in her fingers, she bent her knees and then managed to lever herself up into a sitting position. The room spun. Her head pounded like it was about to blow off her shoulders. Huffing out a breath, she looked around.

  Moving boxes formed small towers, crowding the room and obscuring her view into other doorways. The curtain hanging from the long side window was caught on one of the boxes, showing the long shadows of the trees outside. Late afternoon. The front window blinds were closed and the curtains drawn. If she could just get to a window, work it open maybe or signal someone?

  Jesus, did anyone even know she was missing? Danny? Would he go look for her in the kitchen when she didn’t come out? Oh, dear God, was Vicki still there? Would Danny be the one to find her?

  With all her might, she held back a desperate cry.

  And this bastard had tied her. What the hell did he have planned? To kill her like her mom? It didn’t take much. Vicki had been standing one minute. The next, her body lay twisted over the chair, one leg sticking up. For a second she saw herself on the ground in Vicki’s place. Is that what Leonard wanted?

  Her chest tightened painfully, as if clamped in a vise of her own fear.

  Mike and Quinn, how would they even know to come looking for her yet? She’d said she might stay in town to have tea with Lark Adams at her salon.

  At some point they’d call if she stayed away too long. Her phone! Swinging her gaze about, she searched but there was no bag. Or a landline phone for that matter.

  Okay. Think. She needed to get out and raise the alarm. The closest exit was the window.

  She wiggled her way between a short tower of boxes and the lounge chair near the front window. Pressing her lips together against making any inadvertent sounds, she kneeled facing the chair. Using the seventies-style velour-covered chair as her brace, she pushed herself up onto her feet.

  For a few seconds she swayed. Her stomach muscles cramped from the strain to hold her balance. She sucked in a desperate breath. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. She’d never get out of here alive sitting on the fucking ground.

  Yeah, her core strength really sucked. Pilates were in her future.

  She twisted against the cord on her wrists. Dammit, the bonds were so freaking tight her fingers were numb.

  A quick test balancing on the balls of her feet proved wonky but manageable. Okay, five hops and she’d be there.

  One.

  Two.

  “Bitch. This is your fault.”

  She cried out as hard hands yanked her back by the shoulders and dragged her away. Another hard shove and she landed face up in the lounge chair.

  Leonard, his eyes bloodshot, loomed over her.

  Fresh tears streaked his face. He lifted his arm to wipe them away, revealing the Glock he held in his hand.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs. The insult she had waiting died on her lips.

>   “Why did you have to hire those men?” He dragged a hand through his short-cropped hair, scrubbing back and forth over his scalp. “Why?”

  “I wanted to prove my dad didn’t do it.” She couldn’t take her gaze from the dull black metal of the weapon.

  “You should never have sold that land.” He jabbed the point of the barrel close to her face. She flinched, her gaze transfixed on the round hole at the end of the barrel. “Everything would have stayed as it was. You made it happen.”

  “I…” She gulped. “Leonard, why don’t you put down the gun and we can talk.”

  She wanted to punch him, to scream at him in vengeance for her mother and Vicki. Her fists curled behind her back. All that would get her was certain death. Leonard was beyond reasoning with.

  He paced in front of her, five steps, turn, five back. “I just wanted a kiss. Wanted her to be nice to me.”

  “My mother?”

  He nodded, his gaze fixed somewhere over her head, his mind God knows where.

  “What happened?” Was it crazy to prod him? Maybe. But if she could get him to talk, he might calm down. And, just as importantly for her, she’d finally find out how her mother had been taken from her and her father. “You said it was an accident?”

  “It was,” he whined. His pacing slowed. Then stopped. He faced her, blinking. “I’d gone out there to value the land. Sam was thinking of getting a new mortgage, making some improvements to the house.” A smile overtook his face, somehow incongruous with the mangy-red eyes and ruddy skin. “Julie had a beautiful smile. I wanted her to smile for me.”

  Reagan closed her eyes for a second. This man had been in her family’s home, wanting something that didn’t belong to him.

  “She showed me around but she was in a hurry. Had to get to Sheridan to the jewelers to take in Sam’s watch. The watch was more important than me.” His voice hardened. All traces of his earlier smile now vanished. “We were on the back porch. She’d flirted with me. I knew she wanted me. I tried to kiss her…she pushed me away.” He broke off. His free hand clenched by his side. “Said she loved Sam—playing hard to get. Said she wouldn’t cheat on him.”