Twisted Truths

by Rebecca Zanetti

  If not, she’d leave him with a kiss and go become a single mom. But…what if?

  At the thought, she straightened her shoulders.

  Denver turned toward Malloy. “I think we’ve got this.”

  Malloy snorted. “I’m a cop. You should know me by now.”

  Ryker cut Heath a look.

  Tension rolled through the room.

  Malloy seemed to relax. “I also know you guys.”

  Noni shivered, caught by the undercurrents. “What’s going on?”

  Malloy focused on her. “Your boys here are trying to figure out a way to keep me out of this. To keep the authorities out of this.” If anything, the cop sounded cheerful as he announced the news.

  Denver crossed his arms. “Say what you’re going to say.”

  “I already set the plan in motion.” If Malloy had been a more dramatic guy, he probably would’ve twisted an imaginary mustache. “SWAT is ready to roll.”

  “Damn it,” Heath snapped. “Sheriff Cobb has our faces all over the news. Our pictures are probably stuck on bulletin boards all across the country.”

  Malloy nodded. “Yep. The only way I can make this work and not make you guys true fugitives is to do this within the law and say you’re working with me. Cobb has your pictures up and has put out BOLOs, but he’s in a different jurisdiction, and I can plead ignorance. For a while, anyway. Long enough.”

  Denver shook his head. “Let’s get the baby and worry about our fugitive status next. You two will have to take up sniper positions as soon as we have a location. Then get out as soon as possible. If I get taken in, we’ll deal.”

  Noni gulped. “You’re assuming we’ll get Talia.” God, she had to believe them. She had to. The idea of not getting her baby, of Talia in a monster’s hands, was too terrifying to imagine.

  Denver sent her what he probably thought was a reassuring smile. “The ear communicators my brothers brought with them will keep us in contact with one another. This is good.”

  They’d also brought a box of bulletproof vests, more guns, and several wicked-looking knives. Denver’s eyes had gleamed at the knives.

  She shivered. The more she listened to the plan, the more her stomach began to hurt. “You think the gang is going to try to double-cross you,” she murmured, finally catching some of the subtext.

  Denver shook his head. “The smart thing for them to do is honor the deal.”

  Heath looked up from papers on the table, his gaze serious. “There’s an odd code to the dark web—one they shouldn’t want to violate. If word gets around that their auctions, any of them, are rigged, then nobody will bid on their items. And they make a lot of money from selling drugs on the dark web.”

  Were the brothers trying to reassure her? If so, they were in perfect sync with one another. “Right,” she mused. “That’s only if you can make it back to the auction site to report them or talk about them or whatever. If you die, then nobody will know you were double-crossed.” She wasn’t born yesterday, for goodness’ sake.

  Ryker grinned from his position of leaning against the fridge. “Smart. Denver said you were smart.”

  Heat climbed into her face. Denver had talked about her to his brothers? She kept her gaze level and tried to stop blushing. “He was gone so quickly from Alaska that I hadn’t thought he’d noticed.” Yeah, she was being a smart-ass. He had deserted her, after all.

  Ryker bit back a snort, and Heath grinned, keeping his gaze down on the papers.

  Denver looked at her. “I noticed.” His tone was level, but his gaze burned.

  Was there a warning in those stark blue eyes? Noni lifted her chin. “Oh.” Lame comeback.

  Heath cleared his throat. “He noticed a lot about you.”

  Denver cut him a warning look.

  Noni straightened, curiosity rippling through her. “Really?”

  “Yes. Black hair, black eyes, voice like a song,” Heath murmured.

  “Stubborn, with a great love of alexandrite,” Ryker chimed in.

  Her blush heated more.

  “Shut up, you guys,” Denver said, hunching his shoulders. “We need to concentrate right now.” He tapped his finger on the map. “I still don’t like this area toward the hills. It’s not covered well enough.”

  “The terrain is rough,” Malloy agreed.

  What a nice job he’d done of changing the subject. Noni crossed her arms. So he’d told his brothers about her. About her love for the pretty greenish purple stone. What did that mean? Did that mean anything? Why did she care? The man had said he was leaving, and he never lied. Why would she open her heart up to him again? But…he had talked about her. When he’d said he cared, that he hadn’t been able to forget her, he’d meant that, too. Her heart stuttered.

  Her heart was wide open for him.

  Denver looked up. “All right. It’s time to go.”

  That quickly, she forgot all about her heart. This was life or death.

  God, she hoped Richie and the Kingdom Boys brought Talia, and that nobody got shot. Her legs trembled, but she moved toward the door. Would they all survive?

  Chapter

  21

  Denver waited in the empty parking lot in the crappy subcompact he’d stolen from a junkyard on the way, since his SUV was toast. He was taking directions from the gang, and he wouldn’t be needing speed.

  He’d also broken into a luggage store on the way and stolen a case large enough to hold the auction money. Hopefully the gang would think he’d combined the three briefcases into one case. He’d also left money at the store for the case as well as the broken window. Now here he was.

  A rusty sign had fallen to cover the door to the ramshackle building. Ice and very fresh snow blanketed the deserted parking lot with hills and trees spreading out on the other side. There wasn’t another building in sight, thus no streetlights. At the predawn hour, night still ruled, and the snow still fell lightly. It was a good spot for a meet, but so far he couldn’t sense anybody but the ones he’d brought with him. Even the cops were on standby more than a mile away.

  Malloy’s arm had continued bleeding, but he’d insisted on having a cop buddy pick him up so he could remain on the periphery—a mile in the other direction. Noni was safely in his backseat along with Tina. Nothing would happen to them.

  So he kept vigilant, his super-hearing tuned in. A phone started to ring.

  He slid his window down and listened. Over by the sign. “There’s a phone,” he said quietly, using the ear communicator. “I’m exiting the vehicle.” He stepped into the freezing dark, eyeing the area around him before stalking over to the door. A burner cell phone had been taped to the back of the sign. He lifted it to his other ear. “Yeah.”

  A male voice came over the line. “Get the money and walk out to the main road. Leave this phone on the ground.” The line went dead.

  He dropped the phone, grabbed the one case, and strode through thick snow to reach the icy road. Nothing. Five minutes passed. Then another ten. He kept still, banishing any thoughts of being cold. If nothing else, having been genetically spliced to be strong, he could handle time in freezing weather. Even so, his ears started to burn a little.

  Twin headlights finally cut through the dark fog down the road.

  He widened his stance.

  A small truck came into view, pulling alongside him. Keeping his face calm, he opened the passenger side door to face the barrel of a sawed off .22LR rifle. A kid of about twenty, gang tats down his face, stared at him from the driver’s seat. His aim remained steady. “Take off the clothes.”

  Denver looked around. Tension rode him, but he hid it. “It’s ten degrees.”

  The kid shrugged. “Or I shoot.”

  Oh, he could take the gun from the little fucker in about two seconds. Denver tugged off his leather jacket, tossing it behind him. Somebody had better grab it—he’d had it for years. His pants and boots followed. Then the shirt and bulletproof vest.

  The kid lifted a pierced eyebrow. He h
ad short brown hair, dead brown eyes, and another piercing in his lip. “Nice vest.”

  Without a word, Denver tossed it over his shoulder. No way was the kid getting the vest. Finally, he stood there in his boxer briefs and socks. “You can’t want to see more, kid.”

  “Show me the money.”

  Denver lifted the case and partially opened it, hoping the kid didn’t want to rifle through. The bottom was paper. But he kept his hands steady when they wanted to tremble. Time to disengage and just work. Emotion would harm him. So he banished it.

  The kid texted something on his phone. “Get in.”

  Denver slid into the truck, setting the case on the floor. They drove off immediately. Maybe the gang wasn’t planning on violating the auction rules. “Where’s the baby?”

  The kid scratched what looked like a new tattoo across his neck. “No clue. I have orders.”

  That wasn’t helpful. “Where are we going?”

  “Why you want a baby, anyway?” The kid cut him a sideways look. “You a pervert?”

  “Nope.” Denver watched snow-laden trees fly by outside the truck. “I’m just the middle man. My clients want to adopt a baby. Nothing creepy about them.”

  “Right,” the kid drawled. “If you say so.” He managed to drive with one hand while controlling the rifle with the other.

  “You can put down the gun. I’m not going anywhere,” Denver said easily. Or he could just take it from him. But then he wouldn’t be cooperating, so maybe he’d let the kid keep the gun for a while.

  “No.” The gang member drove toward town, and store lights started to show sporadically. Finally, they pulled into the far reaches of a parking lot of a twenty-four-hour market.

  “We’re shopping at the mini-mart?” Denver asked quietly, letting his team know his location.

  “We took out the security cameras, so don’t worry.” The kid stopped the truck next to a black van. “Get out.”

  Denver opened his door just as the side door of the van slid open. Two more gang members pointed guns at him, one with a Glock, the other with a Sig. The kid with the Glock had Richie tattooed across his neck. He’d tattooed his own name? “I take it you’re Richie?” Denver asked, shutting the door of the truck behind him. Great. A moron with a gun. They were the most dangerous types.

  Richie nodded. “You with the cops?”

  “No. I’m for hire—by the parents wanting this kid.” That would explain the vest in case there was any question. If Richie even knew about the vest. “I’m in my underwear, man.”

  Richie pushed from the van, standing to about six feet tall. He had blue eyes and dark hair with several tattoos down one side of his jaw.

  Denver tried to keep from punching him in the face for putting his own kid up for sale. For torturing Noni into not being able to sleep because she was so worried about the baby. Her baby. “We doing this or what?”

  Richie smiled, showing what looked like a ruby glued to his right incisor. “So you’re a professional.”

  “Of sorts.” The cold was beginning to creep into his bones, and his damn socks were sliding on the ice. Where the hell was the baby? “I’m about done playing. Where’s the kid?” He didn’t need to try to make his voice hoarse. The cold was doing it for him.

  “In time.” Richie moved in. “Take out the earbud.”

  Denver lifted an eyebrow. As a professional, he would have an earbud. The kid wasn’t that stupid. So he easily took out the earbud and handed it over.

  Richie threw it high and wide before turning back to the van. “Get in.”

  Denver followed, set the case down, and sat on it. “My clients are going to get impatient and fly right off. We need the exchange.”

  The driver, a thirty-something gang member wearing all the colors, ignited the engine, and they started to drive. Denver kept a bored expression on his face. Hopefully his brothers had traced them to the store from his description when he’d first arrived. It had to be almost five in the morning, and meager traffic had started to fill the road with folks on their way to early shifts.

  Good. Where was the baby? Was she warm enough? “I had wondered if you guys would adhere to the rules of the auction,” he said.

  The kid with the Sig didn’t twitch.

  Richie breathed in. “The Kingdom Boys don’t welsh on agreements.”

  Good to know. “Then we’ll make sure to leave you five stars on the site,” Denver said congenially. He could get both guns and pistol-whip the snot out of these jerks before they could suck in a breath. If only he knew where the baby was being held. God, she had to be okay.

  Richie looked him over. “You don’t even look cold. You some type of soldier?”

  “I just get the job done.” Denver rolled his neck. “Are we almost there?”

  Richie shrugged. “Soon enough.” He tucked his gun into loose-fitting jeans while the guy with the Sig kept his pointed at Denver. “Why do your clients want a baby? Really?”

  “Adoption takes too long,” Denver lied. “Whose baby is it, anyway?”

  Richie snorted. “I’m on the birth certificate, but who the hell knows. The mom was a skank, man.”

  “What if the baby is yours?” Denver had no reason to try to find humanity in this scum, but he couldn’t help it.

  Richie lifted a narrow shoulder. “You think I should keep a kid?” He grinned at his buddy.

  “Good point,” Denver said. “I can assure you, the people who want to adopt the baby only want one to love. Nothing skeevy.”

  Richie snorted. “For the kind of money they’re paying, I don’t give a shit.”

  Oh, he was going to kill this asshole. Denver’s hand fisted. He coughed out, trying to control himself. “Good.” Denver glanced toward the driver. After another ten minutes of driving, they pulled up outside a dilapidated motel on the other side of town. The kind of place that rented by the hour, if it rented at all. “Tell me you don’t have a baby here.” The urge to run inside and save the baby coursed through him.

  “Don’t be picky.” Richie yanked open the door and jumped out. “Be careful on the ice. With socks, it’s going to be slippery.” He laughed and started moving toward the doorway to room number five.

  The kid with the Sig motioned for Denver to get out.

  Denver stepped out, careful of his balance. He grabbed the case and followed Richie, fully aware of the gun at his back. A quick glance around showed the place to be deserted. The wind picked up, chilling his bare skin. He could hear cars and movement all around, but many people were heading to work. Was backup near?

  He couldn’t make a move until he saw that the baby was safe. “You guys have to know. If you double-cross me, my people will hunt you across the globe and rip out your eyeballs.”

  Richie kept going and knocked three times on the door. It slowly swung inward. “Go.”

  Denver took one last listen around and then stepped into a room that smelled like mold. Filthy shag carpet covered the floor, and peeling wallpaper covered the dingy walls. Two men sat at a rickety table, guns in front of them and gang tats all over their faces. One appeared around fifty and the other thirty. A woman sat on the one bed, a baby in her arms. The woman from the pictures he’d shown Noni. He looked closer. The baby was dressed in pink with a bow in her mass of hair. She slept peacefully, and she looked clean. A healthy tinge covered her little cheeks.

  Relief nearly dropped him to his knees. Only training kept him in place.

  Richie shut the door, remaining outside with the others. Probably to scan for threats.

  Denver concentrated on the danger inside the room. He’d deal with Richie later and after Talia was safe.

  The older man nodded at the case. “Open it.” His voice was raspy as if he’d been smoking three packs a day his entire life.

  Denver turned to place the case on the bed. He opened it slowly. Rows of cash showed clearly, with the paper beneath hidden.

  He moved to the side and closer to the baby as if to give a clear view of t
he money.

  A closer examination showed the woman’s pupils to be dilated and her jaw slack. Whatever she was on obviously didn’t affect her ability to hold the baby. Even so, Denver’s arms itched to take the infant and get her to safety.

  The younger guy stood up and crossed to the case.

  Denver angled closer. He could grab the gun, or he could grab the baby. If he got the gun, would the woman harm the baby? His only choice was to go for the gun and hope the woman was too stoned to think.

  His muscles bunched.

  A flurry of movement sounded outside. Were more gang members right outside? How would he get the baby out? He couldn’t just shoot his way out with a baby in his arms.

  The gang member reached the case and started filtering through the money. Denver stiffened and prepared to strike. The second the gang member found the paper, he pivoted around, his mouth opening to yell.

  Denver was on him in a second, grabbing his gun even as the older guy lifted his. Using his momentum, Denver yanked the younger guy in front of him, pointed, and fired. Several bullets hit the guy he was holding, jerking his body against Denver’s. Denver hit the shooter in the center of his head, and blood splattered all across the wall.

  Without missing a step, Denver dropped the dead gang member and pivoted, his gun pointed at the woman.

  She blinked, her eyes wide.

  He hustled toward her and grabbed Talia as gently as he could, whose face had scrunched up. A piercing wail came from the little one. Denver nudged the woman toward the bathroom. “Go in there and duck down.”

  She stumbled toward the bathroom, shutting the door.

  Taking a deep breath, Denver eyed the two dead men. Okay. What now? He glanced down at the screaming baby and tried to bounce her a little. His other arm hurt, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. Could he put the baby in the case? It wouldn’t stop a bullet. Nothing in the room would stop a bullet.

  His body would stop bullets from hitting her, though.

  So he ducked down on the other side of the bed, his gun toward the door. Surely Richie and his buddies had heard the gunfire. Where were they?