by Laura Scott
It didn’t explain what he’d overheard at his father’s funeral, but still. He’d promised to listen to Duncan’s side of the story, and he would.
After making a U-turn, Mike headed back toward the motel. He could see Hawk’s SUV headlights approaching from the opposite direction. Relieved to have Hawk’s assistance, he pulled into the parking lot, turned around and backed into the spot near the south side of the building. He purposefully positioned the SUV so that it was directly facing the road, in case Shayla had to leave in a hurry.
“You need to get in behind the wheel,” he directed. “And if anything goes wrong, I want you and Brodie to bolt out of here, understand?”
Her expression was full of concern. “And leave you? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’ll be fine with Hawk. You have our son to worry about.”
She bit her lip, then nodded. “Okay. You’ll be careful, right? You won’t hurt Duncan?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that he would only take action against Duncan if her brother started it first, but there was no reason to say anything that might upset her.
“Everything will be fine,” he said reassuringly. “This is all just an added precaution. But promise me that if you hear anything go wrong, you’ll drive straight to the closest police station. Ask for my brother Miles, or Matt. Or Noah Sinclair. And if all else fails, you can ask for my dad’s buddy Kirk Stoltz.”
Her expression held a note of uncertainty. “I will.”
He hoped so. He slid out from behind the wheel. Shayla awkwardly climbed over the console and dropped into the driver’s seat. He waited until she had the seat adjusted for her shorter frame before gently closing the door and loping across the parking lot to meet up with Hawk.
“Which room?” Hawk asked.
“I don’t know. We could ask the clerk.” He frowned when he noticed the black pickup. There was something off about it. “Wait a minute. I want to check this out.”
“I’ll cover you.”
Next to his brothers and brother-in-law, Hawk was the only other person Mike trusted to cover his back. Despite being injured during his stint as a soldier, with a long jagged facial scar to prove it, he knew Hawk would go to the mat for him, and vice versa.
Mike hunkered down beside the truck and swept his hand over the side panel. It wasn’t smooth, the way paint from a factory was. There were rough spots. He turned on his phone and used the flashlight application to inspect the underbelly.
Edges of white paint could be seen behind the black.
“This is Duncan’s truck,” he whispered. “He must have painted it black to disguise it. He’s likely in room three.”
“Not necessarily,” Hawk pointed out.
Mike knew Hawk was right. He’d purposefully parked in front of his own room at the American Lodge, leaving the space in front of Shayla’s room vacant. That way the room looked empty. If he were staying here, he’d absolutely park in a different spot. Especially with so many to choose from.
“We’ll try three first.” Using the truck for cover, he approached the motel door. He flattened himself against the wall on one side of the door, leaving Hawk to do the same on the other side.
He rapped on the door with his knuckles.
Nothing.
He and Hawk exchanged a long glance before he tried again with the same result.
They repeated the tactic on number two and number four.
Still no response.
“Let’s check with the clerk,” Mike finally said.
Hawk followed as they went inside the small lobby. An elderly man looked up in surprise. Judging by the bilateral hearing aids, the guy hadn’t heard them knocking outside or their approach as they’d walked in.
Mike flashed smile. “I’m here to pick up a friend of mine, Duncan O’Hare. He called me from room three, but isn’t answering the door.”
“Eh?” The man leaned forward. “What’s the name?”
“Duncan O’Hare,” he repeated loudly. “Room three.”
The old man used his two index fingers to tap on the computer screen, then sagely nodded. “Yes, he’s here.”
Mike glanced at Hawk and then repeated himself. “Duncan’s not answering the door. He must be really sound asleep. Would you mind giving us a key? I don’t want to wake up your other guests.”
The guy frowned. “I don’t know about that...”
Mike lifted his hands. “I get it, no problem. We’ll just keep knocking, I’m sure he’ll wake up eventually.” Without hesitating, he turned and began to walk away.
Before he reached the door, the elderly man called him back. “Wait, son. Take the key.”
The threat of creating a lot of noise had worked. Mike flashed a grateful smile. “Thanks, I appreciate it. Poor guy’s going through a rough time.”
“Aren’t we all?” the old guy agreed. “Business ain’t so good these days. Can’t afford to lose my guests.”
Key in hand, Mike approached the door cautiously. Hawk once again took up a defensive position on the other side of the door. Mike unlocked the door and pushed it open with his foot while hugging the wall.
Still nothing.
He and Hawk cautiously entered the room, noticing the fast-food wrappers in the garbage bin and that the bedspread was messed up, as if someone had stretched out there.
But there was no sign of Duncan O’Hare.
A feeling of helplessness washed over him. Duncan had left, without his white-painted-black truck.
Leaving nothing resembling a clue behind.
* * *
Waiting for Mike was sheer torture. Shayla gripped the steering wheel, hoping that he’d hurry up and get her brother out of the motel. She’d feel better if Duncan stayed with her, Brodie and Mike.
There was strength in numbers.
Mike and his friend Hawk moved with excruciating slowness. The wait was killing her. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. Skulking around in the dark was causing her imagination to run wild.
If this level of suspense continued, she was afraid Brodie wouldn’t be the only one to suffer from nightmares. She’d have them, too.
Braced for the worst, she hunched her shoulders, listening intently for any sound of a struggle. She doubted Duncan would welcome Mike with open arms and prayed things wouldn’t get out of hand.
Now that Mike knew the truth about Brodie, she couldn’t help wondering how they’d make things work between them. Selfishly, she didn’t want to share custody on alternate weekends and days of the week. Brodie didn’t even know Mike—surely he wouldn’t force the issue of custody right away.
And Mike’s opinion about her father and brother still rankled.
When she saw the two men emerge from the motel room, her stomach knotted. The men parted ways. Mike returned to the SUV while his buddy Hawk walked to a different vehicle on the other side of the parking lot.
She belatedly scrambled back over the console into the passenger seat. As soon as Mike was settled, she peppered him with questions.
“What happened? Where’s Duncan? Did you talk to him? Is he upset? Let me try...”
Mike started the engine, clicked his seat belt into place and turned to face her, his expression grim. “I’m sorry, Shay, but he’s not there.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You must have the wrong room.”
“No, the guy at the front desk confirmed Duncan was staying in room three and that’s his truck, now spray-painted black, parked out front. There are signs he was there, but he’s gone now.”
Her jaw dropped and she twisted to look through the back window. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Mike drove out onto the highway, heading back the way they’d come.
“But—” She glanced back at Brodie, who’d nodded off while they’d waited
for Mike. She didn’t want her son to overhear her next question. “Do you think he’s hurt? Was there any sign of a struggle? Like—blood?”
“No sign of trouble,” he assured her, reaching over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. It was the first time he’d voluntarily touched her and she was shocked by the tingling sensation that skipped along her nerve endings. She had to remind herself this wasn’t the time for long-dormant hormones to run amok. “Try not to think the worst, okay?”
She nodded, because speaking past the lump in her throat wasn’t an option. Losing Duncan would be awful. He’d been the main point of contact with her family. Her father had been upset about her pregnancy at first but had eventually come around. But being police chief took a lot of his time. Since her mother had died when she and Duncan were young, Aunt Jean had stepped in to help raise them. Once they were grown, Aunt Jean had moved to Nashville. Joining her aunt in Tennessee had been Shayla’s choice.
Aunt Jean, Duncan and her father were her only supporters.
Where was her brother? What in the world was going on?
“He’s working undercover,” she repeated, more to convince herself than anything else. Mike might claim her brother was involved in something illegal but she refused to believe it. “He knew I was safe with you, so he decided to go off on his own to work the case.”
“It’s possible,” Mike agreed. “Do you want me to pick up something for Brodie to eat?”
“Huh? Oh, no. He should be fine until morning. I have fish crackers in my purse if he needs something.”
“I don’t mind,” he insisted. “Just let me know.”
“Duncan didn’t leave a note or anything?”
“Not that I saw.” Mike glanced at her. “Try his cell again.”
She did, but naturally her brother didn’t pick up. She hadn’t expected him to.
“I’m worried,” she confessed softly. “I don’t understand where Duncan would go without his truck. This place is too far out to get anywhere on foot. It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Hold that thought.” Mike’s gaze was focused on the rearview mirror. “We have company.”
“What?” She twisted in her seat, her heart skittering at the bright headlights growing larger and closer behind them. “It’s probably Hawk.”
“It’s not. Hawk took a different route. Besides, these headlights are low and widely spaced, like a sports car. They’re not high enough to be an SUV.”
Remembering the sports car that had pulled up in front of Duncan’s house caused fear to rake like talons along the back of her neck. Peering over her shoulder, she glanced at her sleeping son. “What are we going to do?”
“Lose them. Hang on.” That was all the warning he gave her before yanking the wheel hard to the left. The SUV bounced wildly as he drove toward a farmer’s field. She gripped the armrest, digging her fingernails into the cushion.
Brodie woke up and began to cry, no doubt because of the rough ride.
“It’s okay, Brodie, we’re fine. Don’t be afraid.”
Brodie continued to cry and she wanted to beg Mike to get them out of the field as soon as possible. She kept reassuring Brodie but his cries grew louder and louder.
She craned her neck, trying to see where the headlights were, when the sound of gunfire echoed through the night.
Someone in the car behind them was shooting at them!
FOUR
Clank! They’d been hit!
“Keep your head down,” he ordered, the sound of a bullet hitting metal sending Mike’s pulse rocketing into triple digits. Wrenching the steering wheel to the side, he abruptly pulled off the road and headed directly into the deeply rutted and newly plowed field. Unable to bear the thought of Shayla or Brodie being injured by a bullet, he earnestly began to pray.
Heavenly Father, please keep Shayla and our son safe in Your care!
The wheel jerked in his hands and he did his best to put more distance between him and the gunmen in the sports car.
“Where are you going?” Shayla asked shakily as Brodie’s crying intensified. The SUV rolled from side to side as Mike pushed the vehicle as fast as he dared over the uneven terrain.
“Our goal is to reach the old farmhouse up ahead.” His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. “I doubt the sports car will be able to follow us.”
“Are you crazy?” Shayla twisted in her seat while keeping her head low.
He risked a glance at his rearview mirror. “They’ll bottom out and get stuck if they try.”
True enough, the sports car pulled off the road, then ground to a halt.
“What if they come after us on foot?”
He loosened his grip enough to reach for his phone. He tossed it into her lap. “Call Hawk, tell him to come back this way.”
Brodie’s crying had subsided to hiccuping sobs that tore at his heart. Mike wanted nothing more than to pull his son into his arms and comfort him. Impossible not only because he was driving, but he was also nothing more than a stranger to the little boy.
Shayla’s voice was shaky as she explained their tenuous situation to Hawk. Mike was confident his PI buddy would instantly return to help them out.
He prayed again, this time that Hawk would arrive before it was too late.
Glancing again at the rearview mirror, he searched for signs of the gunmen following on foot. He was armed, and an expert marksman, but one weapon against two or more wasn’t reassuring.
His heart dropped to his stomach when he saw two dark figures get out of the sports car. Sick with fear, he pushed the SUV faster. Reaching the shelter of the farmhouse was their best chance of defending themselves. The field didn’t offer any hiding places, but he was sure he’d be able to hold them off long enough for Hawk to arrive.
“They’re coming,” Shayla whispered in horror.
“We’re going to be okay. God is watching over us.” He did his best to sound positive.
Tiny headlights could be seen in the distance coming from the south and Mike hoped it was Hawk riding to the rescue. He couldn’t see the dark shapes behind them any longer and couldn’t say for sure if the two men were still advancing or had turned back.
He continued praying as the farmhouse grew larger. Up close, he could see it was in worse shape than anticipated. Several windows were broken and he thought there may be a few holes in the ceiling, but a dilapidated structure was better than nothing.
The SUV abruptly lurched to one side, his left front tire hitting a large rock. There was a loud noise, as if something underneath had broken. He shifted his weight toward his door, hoping the vehicle wouldn’t tip over.
“Mike!” Shayla said with a gasp.
A second later the SUV landed on all four tires and he hit the brake, bringing the car to a stop. “We need to get inside. Hurry!”
Shayla had already unbuckled her seat belt and was pushing her door open, clearly frantic to get to their son. He pulled his weapon and hurried around the front of the car to help. She lifted Brodie into her arms, holding him protectively against her chest.
“We’re going in around the back,” Mike said, sweeping his gaze over the field. The black sports car was still there, but he couldn’t make out whether or not the two gunmen were still on the loose.
The half-moon offered some light but he used his phone’s flashlight app to illuminate the way inside the house. The back door wasn’t locked and he hoped no one else was hiding inside.
He held his breath, sweeping the beam from his phone over the interior of the building.
It appeared to be empty. The inside smelled dank and musty, a thick layer of dust covering every surface. There were no recent footprints in the dust covering the floor and he winced when he saw mouse dirt.
“It’s awful in here,” Shayla whispered.
He couldn’t disagree. “I know, but it’
s temporary until Hawk arrives.”
Shayla didn’t argue, though he could tell she wasn’t about to put Brodie down anytime soon.
“Stay behind me,” he instructed, moving through the structure to the part of the house overlooking the highway. He turned off his phone light and stood, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
A few minutes later he could see enough to approach the dust-caked window.
The sports car was gone! Relief washed over him but then he realized that one of the gunmen could still be out there somewhere. That moving the sports car might be a ruse to lull him into complacency.
The lower corner of the window next to him was broken, so he made his way over and hunkered down to watch for signs of movement. The twin headlights he’d noticed earlier grew brighter as it approached, but he kept his gaze on the open stretch of field between the highway and the farmhouse.
“Shayla, have you heard of the Dark Knights?”
“No. Why?”
He shouldn’t have been surprised; not only was she living in Nashville, but her brother likely wouldn’t mention his association to them, either. Still, he had to know for certain. “You’re sure Duncan didn’t say anything about them?”
“Are you back to that again?” Shayla’s voice was strained. “You should know better than anyone that Duncan would never mention anything related to his undercover work to me.” There was a pause, then she added, “Do you think that’s why he left the Rustic Resort? Because of this Dark Knights thing? What does that even mean?”
“It’s a group of civilian vigilantes who take the law into their own hands to mete out justice when the legal system fails to work.” He glanced back at her. “They’ve been known to kill people who they deem guilty of a crime. And worse, they have support within the police force.”
She glared at him. “Don’t go there,” she warned.
He turned back to stare out at the field, acknowledging it wasn’t the time or the place to interrogate her. The headlights were even brighter now and he felt sure it was Hawk coming to their rescue.
