Apparently, the accountant and I weren’t the target of the bombing, but more like a bonus. Trent managed to wrangle some information from the Feds who were investigating the bombing. One of the ambulances had been found, but the importance of that find was way down on the FBI’s list of priorities. However, what was interesting were the traces of heroin discovered inside the vehicle. There wasn’t enough of a sample to discern if the heroin had been laced with fentanyl—its lethal cousin. With fentanyl-laced heroin flooding the market, there had been an exponential rise in heroin-related deaths in the country.
It was time to shut this down. Which was why, even if it wasn’t in the CIA’s realm to get involved, Porter found a way to make it his problem. He just needed people in the right places to take care of it. Namely, me.
He was a wily, silver fox.
Which meant the bombing was a diversion to bring in the heroin, but also served its purpose for ISIS to carry out its attack. I wondered if the accountant and I were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Elliot didn’t want me to fly out that day, but later changed his mind. Did he know there was going to be a mother lode of heroin at that time?
There seemed to be more questions than answers right now, and something told me I was running out of time.
*****
I needed to talk to Troy and sent word that I would meet him at the little coffee shop and bakery, Java Outpost, located right at the edge of Misty Grove. I thought that would be neutral enough territory, unlike the diner. I heard there was a bit of bad blood between the Outpost owner and Millie. Something about the former lusting after John Crowder for a long time, but it was common knowledge that the man only had eyes for Millie. And since they became a couple, the cold regard between the two owners had only grown frostier.
Oh, the drama in such a small town.
Matt had some business in Atlanta, and, after he’d yelled at me on the phone for planning this meeting when he wasn’t around, he sent Roger with me. Fair enough. I guessed many things could happen even if the garage was only a mile away from Java Outpost.
Since it was a balmy day in March, I wasn’t surprised to see Troy and Cristiano sitting outside at the available tables, soaking up early spring weather.
“Gracie girl,” Troy greeted me in a bear hug.
“Troy,” I returned when I was able to breathe. I nodded at Cristiano. Troy’s second-in-command unnerved me. Not only did he watch me closely, but he was only one of the few people I knew who carried his gun openly in this town.
“Hope you have good news for me, lady,” Troy said as he sat on a scroll iron chair that matched the table design. He motioned me to sit in the chair beside him, and I did. Cristiano and Roger sat at another table.
“Actually, I was hoping you had some news for me.”
The biker’s brow furrowed. “What’s this about?”
“Have you heard of any major influx of heroin into the southern states?”
All geniality on Troy’s face vanished. Cristiano looked more forbidding.
“Where the fuck did you hear this?” Troy growled.
“Answer me.”
“Grace, what do you know?”
“I’m not saying anything until you tell me what you know and don’t lie because your face tells me I’m onto something. You shouldn’t play poker, Troy.”
The biker scowled at me, and leaned closer as he looked left and then right before saying, “Two weeks ago we were approached by a runner of the Dixie Mafia. He said they have a steady supply of heroin.”
“Is it pure heroin?”
“Yes, but they said they could spike it with fentanyl.”
“Where do they want you to take it?”
“Ah-ah, Grace. Quid pro quo. How do you know this when Matt has you all but ensconced in a fortress?”
“I have my sources.”
“Grace, goddammit,” Troy stood up, trying to intimidate me with his height. Roger stood up too, his face warning the biker to watch his step. Cristiano continued to watch us.
“The terrorist bombing was a diversion,” I said. “I think someone brought in heroin on one of the flights or there’d been a customs seizure the DEA knew nothing about or it was off the books.”
“I can bet who knew about it,” Troy drawled as he sat down again. “Your boss.”
A waitress brought out the biker’s order of coffee and muffins. I ordered a cappuccino for myself and told Roger to get whatever he wanted. Troy took a sip of his coffee and offered me the plate of muffins, but I declined. I may be pregnant, but it didn’t mean I was hungry all the time.
“So how did you find out about the heroin, Grace?” Troy asked when the waitress was out of earshot.
“Remember I asked Trent about the missing ambulances?”
“Yeah?”
“They found one and there were traces of heroin in the vehicle.”
“Damn.”
“They used ambulances to ferret out the heroin from the airport when there were more than two hundred wounded,” I said trying to control the rage I felt every time I thought about it. “This is what the war on drugs has become, and to say that I am sick to my stomach that my boss might be involved is an understatement.”
“What do need from me?”
“We need to know who supplied the Dixie Mafia with the heroin.”
“You know you probably wouldn’t be needing that info from me if only you’d remember what the accountant told you,” Troy said, scratching the beard on his chin.
“Don’t you think I know that?” I said in annoyance. “At least I’m not waiting on my ass doing nothing.”
“Matt wasn’t kidding when he said you had the tenacity of a pit bull.”
“Did you turn down the Dixie Mafia?”
“Yes,” Troy replied regretfully. “I’m not losing another man as long as The Reaper is at large. All my men and their families are in the compound on lockdown. I’m not sure if that invitation from the Dixie Mafia wasn’t a trap.”
“You think the cartel knows you’ve been trying to get the accountant out, and that’s why he sent The Reaper after your men?”
“Difficult to determine at this point,” Troy answered with a deep exhale. “There are loyalties and alliances both within the cartel and its cronies. As far as I know, The Reaper has been carrying out cartel-sanctioned executions, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
I was about to speculate on The Reaper’s next move when Troy stiffened and Roger rose to his feet. An unfamiliar car screeched to a halt by the curb right in front of our table. My heart leapt to my throat as Roger scrambled to my side. Alarm lessened to consternation as Kyra staggered out of the vehicle. I had not seen her since the diner incident, and I knew Millie told her to take a few days off. Judging from her disheveled and gaunt appearance, she had not spent that time regrouping.
She stumbled around the vehicle and leaned against it so she was facing me.
“Are you drunk, Kyra?” Roger demanded.
“Drunk?” she sniffed as she swiped her nose with the edge of her long-sleeved tee. “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol.”
She wasn’t drunk; she was high. Years working for the DEA had trained me well to spot the signs.
Kyra looked at me with glassy eyes, her lips sneering. “You’re a scheming bitch, trapping a man into marrying you by getting pregnant.”
“Kyra, I think you need help.” I stood and tried to reach out to her, but Roger pulled me back.
The other woman laughed shrilly. “Oh, this is priceless. Matt’s so crazy about you, he gave you your own bodyguard. What do you have? A golden cunt?”
Heat crept up to my hairline as I noticed spectators starting to gather.
“Go home, Kyra,” Roger ordered.
“Did you fuck her too? Is that why you’re protective of her?” Kyra taunted.
I convinced myself that it was the drugs talking and tried to tamp down the angry retort that I wanted to unleash on her.
“Troy,” I tur
ned to the biker who seemed to be enjoying the show. Motherfucker. “Can you help her?” I didn’t add “dry out.” I suspected heroin.
The lazy amusement on Troy’s face turned darkly forbidding when I heard gasps and muffled cries from the spectators around me. Confused, I spun back in time to see Kyra drawing a gun and pointing it at me. She was backing away, so as not to get jumped by any of the guys.
Everyone was frozen as I belatedly heard a gun cock.
“Put that gun away,” Roger growled, moving to shove me behind him when a shot rang out and kicked up debris from the pavement right where Roger and I were standing, separating us.
“What the hell, Kyra!” Matt’s mechanic shouted.
“Grace. Always Grace!” Kyra screamed. “Even Millie told me to take a break just to make it easy for you.” She returned the gun’s barrel to me, her hand shaking. Tension was high as people realized Kyra was unstable. “I should kill you”—her finger tightened on the trigger before she smiled chillingly— “but you’re not mine to kill.”
And with those cryptic words, she lowered her gun, and got back inside the car. Tires screeching, she peeled away from the curb and disappeared.
“Matt’s gonna kill me,” Roger groaned as he sunk to the chair I formerly occupied.
“No, he won’t. It’s no one’s fault.”
“She’s high,” Troy observed grimly.
“You think?” I muttered. “I need to let Millie know. She’s probably the only one who can help her.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Roger said. “Kyra may be flirty, but she’s never been flighty. She’s got the hots for Matt, but this borders on obsession.”
“Matt swears he’s never led her on.”
Roger nodded. “I’d trust what Matt said.” He swiped the front of his face in frustration. “I don’t know what to tell him.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t tell him,” I suggested, feeling a bit nervous myself knowing Matt’s volatile temper. He’d been doing so well, but this might just set him off.
My phone buzzed.
I looked down at the screen and saw it was Matt.
Roger’s face looked pained. “Too late. He already knows.”
“Are you going to answer it?” Troy asked with a smirk.
I stared at the device in my hand, undecided. I wasn’t ready to talk to a pissed-off Matt. As if reading my mind, Roger said, “He’s going to be more worried if you don’t answer.”
“Crap, you’re right.” My phone quit ringing. This time Roger’s cell lit up.
Looking at me in resignation, Roger answered his phone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Reaper
I watched Foster drive up in his pickup and park behind Kyra’s vehicle. The woman lived in a small subdivision just outside of Misty Grove. I could feel Foster’s rage from where I stood behind a large oak across the street.
“Kyra!” he shouted as he pounded on the entryway. “Open the door!” He kicked, hammered, and yelled—a man deranged. He continued for long minutes, going around the house and yelling from the yard. Foster had really lost it.
Kyra’s neighbors were standing off in a distance, not wanting to be caught in the man’s blind fury. Seriously, this man was a former assassin. He should never let his obsession with a woman make him act so recklessly. Even if this woman was Grace. My angel, my Grace. Foster was making this too easy for me.
I watched as a sheriff’s patrol car pulled up in front of the house. Obviously, the neighbors called 911.
The deputy approached Foster cautiously, hand on his gun, and called out to the crazy man on the front lawn.
And then, to my glee, Foster sealed his fate. “You keep away from Grace, Kyra, or I’m going to fucking kill you!”
I watched Foster talk to the deputy, agreeing to walk away and leave. He got into his pickup and screeched out of the neighborhood.
The man was in love.
He was volatile.
And he was reckless.
I pushed away from the tree and walked down a couple of blocks to the house I had rented. Grace was pregnant with this man’s child, and he was going to marry her quickly. I was angry that I wasn’t ready to claim her. I experienced rage, but unlike Foster, I was careful not to leave witnesses to it. When I found out that the woman who was supposed to be mine was carrying Foster’s child, I almost killed Kyra with a lethal dose of heroin.
I screwed her regularly for a few weeks, giving her small doses of the narcotic in the guise of harmless recreational drugs. She’d been a fountain of information. It was easy to manipulate her into thinking she was better for Foster than Grace. I had recently completed her transition into a junkie. The drug I used was a special kind of blend that caused severe hallucinations and violence. I had to bring her into my rental house because she was getting too unstable to leave unsupervised in her own home. I couldn’t risk her blurting out my plans to anyone.
I entered the two-story colonial house and went to the study. There, I withdrew a syringe and loaded it with a heroin dose. She should be jonesing for it now. The bitch had nearly blown my plans when she’d driven my car and cornered Grace. I nearly shot Kyra myself when I saw the standoff in front of Java Outpost. However, her actions were to my advantage.
I opened the door to the room where I kept her. I had to tie her to the bed this time since she’d become uncontrollable.
“Matt?”
“Yes, angel.” I kept the room almost dark as night so it would be easier to perpetuate her hallucinations.
“I wanted to kill her.”
I stiffened. “You’ve been a bad girl, Kyra.”
“I won’t share you,” she sobbed. The bed creaked as she tested her bonds.
“I explained to you how it would be, baby,” I crooned as I planted a knee on the bed. “You’ll always have me. Don’t worry about Grace.”
I could feel her gaze find me in the dark.
“You’re not Matt,” she whispered. I smiled in the dark. Of course not. I wasn’t that pussy-whipped prick.
“I have something for you, Kyra.” I turned on the lamp this time. It flashed brightly over her, and she was blinded, but it gave me the opportunity to hold her arm and find a vein I could use.
“I don’t want the drugs anymore,” she wrenched at the bonds again. “They make me itchy. I don’t feel like myself.”
“Shh …” I hushed as I plunged the needle in her flesh and delivered the drug. “You’re going to feel better soon.”
“I want to go home, Rick.”
Rick was the name I’d been using in my current disguise.
I didn’t answer.
“Who are you?” she asked.
I got up and turned off the lights, reaching for my belt buckle. “I’m whoever you want me to be.”
She giggled and then sighed. “Matt. I want you to be Matt.”
My jaw tightened. I unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock, giving it a few pumps to get it erect. I hated to fuck addicts, but in this case, I needed to keep Kyra in line a bit longer. I tore a condom wrapper and slipped on the rubber. I freed her legs and pushed them up and apart. My hand went between her legs. She wasn’t wet enough, but I wasn’t in a generous mood.
I positioned my dick at her opening, grabbed her hips, and plunged in.
“Ahh!” she cried. “That hurts, Matt.”
“Do you want me to stop?” I mocked as I kept myself still.
“No,” she started crying. “Don’t leave me. Please untie me. I want to hold you.”
“No. I fuck you this way or not at all.”
She kept quiet and her legs fell open. I resumed thrusting between her thighs. I imagined it was Grace beneath me. As long as I didn’t look at Kyra’s face, I could trick my body into thinking that I was fucking the woman I wanted.
“Yes, fuck, yes,” I grunted as I pounded away at Grace. I thought about her green eyes and her plump lips. I would make her gag on my cock as she sucked me off. I couldn’t wait to carve
her beautiful skin, and then I’d cut my arm too, and let her taste my blood. We’d be bound and maybe I wouldn’t have to kill her. But what about the baby?
My anger caught me by surprise, I grabbed the body I was fucking beneath me, hearing a surprised cry but I didn’t care.
I was rutting like an animal, each grunt deeper than the last. I heard Grace begging me to stop. That it hurt too much. Bitch! She wouldn’t feel pain until I cut her child from her womb.
I roared as my climax hit me. My hands tightened on the limbs I was gripping as I emptied my frustration into the vessel that was supposed to be Grace.
Kyra.
“You yelled her name, you bastard,” she bucked her hips. “Get off me! Oh, God, get off me.”
“You wanted me to be Matt and Matt only wants Grace. Get that through your head,” I sneered, too angry to continue playing these mind games. Maybe I wasn’t better than Foster and was as obsessed with Grace Levinson as he was.
“Get out! Get out!”
I got off the bed, leaving my pants hanging and my cock still sheathed in the condom. I’d have to be careful not to leave any DNA. I’d have to wash Kyra later, but right now I couldn’t bear to be near her.
She was a reminder that I didn’t have Grace yet.
But soon. I’d have her soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Grace
“She needs help, Millie.”
I told the diner owner what I suspected was going on with Kyra. She listened intently to my version of events. To others, Kyra might have appeared just like a drunken woman scorned, but to me, who had seen how drugs could change people, I saw a woman who was crying for help. I couldn’t get Matt to see this. After he figuratively locked me in the loft, he stormed off in search of Kyra. I had begged him to calm down first but to no avail.
Saving Grace (Misty Grove Book 2) Page 16
