THIRTEEN
They were going to die.
Esme wasn’t certain of much, but she was sure of that.
Not only had Ian tossed his gun into the swamp, but he’d sent King off to chase down another gunman. Which would have been fine if Uncle Angus hadn’t been armed with a second weapon.
The first one, the one King had shaken from his hand, had looked deadly enough. This one looked even worse.
Maybe because the barrel was pressed against her head.
“Happy?” Ian asked. The question was obviously meant for Angus, but he was still looking into her eyes.
He didn’t look panicked.
He didn’t look scared. She’d have found that comforting if she didn’t know just how deadly the situation was.
“Very,” Angus crowed. “This is what I like to see! Absolute obedience. Keep it up, Fed-boy, and you might just survive.”
“I’m more concerned about Esme. How about we agree that she won’t testify if you let her go?”
“Sorry. That’s not going to happen. First, because she’s caused me a lot of trouble, and I’m ready to make her pay for that. Second, because I don’t trust you, her or the United States government.”
“We could offer something else in exchange for her life.”
“Like what?” The gun dropped away, just a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to give Esme a little hope and a little wiggle room. If it dropped any farther, she’d elbow him in the stomach and make a run for it.
As if he sensed her thoughts, Ian met her eyes again, offering a subtle shake of his head.
A warning, she thought.
A week ago, she would have ignored it and gone ahead with her plan. Now she knew Ian. She knew how his mind worked, how he thought, the way he worked. He didn’t believe in taking chances. He always had a plan A, a plan B and a plan C. He’d told her that one night while they were playing checkers.
Tonight’s plan A hadn’t worked out.
Maybe plan B would be better.
And maybe she’d be smart to wait a little longer, see what Ian had up his sleeve.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Ian said, shuffling forward a couple of steps.
“What I’m thinking,” Angus barked, “is that you need to stay where you are.”
“Sorry. I was thinking about other things. Like you. On a plane, heading for a tropical paradise.”
“That sounds more like your friend Jake’s cup of tea,” Angus said, tugging Esme backward, dragging her into ankle-deep water.
“Jake’s smart. He knows that the best way to stay out of jail is to get out of the country.”
“He’s smart, all right,” Angus agreed. “I showed him a few pictures of this place, told him how many people were working protection, and he was able to tell me exactly how you’d react if you were under attack. He knew you’d send your friends off in the SUV. He knew you’d try to escape in the boat. He even knew that you’d only keep one dog back at the house.”
“Like I said,” Ian replied, no heat in his voice, no emotion. He was getting ready to move, Esme could sense it. She could feel the tension in him, the corded muscles and tamped-down energy. All of it was ready to explode. “Jake is smart. You’d be wise to take a page from his book.”
“Meaning?”
“Agree to let us fly you out of the country. Stay away for good, and you won’t have to worry about the police or the feds.”
“I’m not much for tropical climates,” Angus said, his beady eyes shifting from Ian to a point just beyond his shoulder. “That you, Eddie?” he called.
There was no reply, and he took another step back, dragging Esme with him.
She wasn’t sure what he’d seen. She didn’t care.
She just didn’t want to have to take another step deeper into the water, because she had the horrible feeling she knew what he planned. One gunshot, and her body would fall, the loud splash attracting predators for miles around.
She’d probably be dead before they reached her.
The thought wasn’t comforting.
“Who’s Eddie?” Ian asked.
“One of the guys I hired to help out. Four people to help me take you down and get my niece. That’s what Jake said.”
“Did he also say that I don’t like to be fooled?” Ian asked. “And that I always make sure that I’m well armed?”
He moved so quickly, Esme almost didn’t see it happen.
First he was still, then he was beside her, one arm sweeping in a downward arc, a glittering knife heading straight for Angus’s hand.
Angus shrieked, jerking away, but maintaining his grip on the gun.
“Move!” Ian shouted, giving Esme a gentle shove toward shore.
She stumbled, landing on her knees, blood sleeping down her arm and dripping into the dark water.
Get up! her mind shrieked. Run!
She was finally up, stumbling through the water, screaming for King, hoping the dog would come running.
Praying he would.
Suddenly, he was there, flying across the yard, splashing into the water. He moved past, aiming for the struggling men, launching himself into the air and into the fray.
Angus cursed, stumbling from the pack, the gun still in his hand, his arms bloody and oozing.
He lifted the weapon, and King charged again.
“No!” Esme screamed, but it was too late.
The gun report was deafening, the sound drowning out everything else. She watched in horror, expecting King to fall away, but he was still moving, landing against Angus, pushing him over.
Or...
Maybe Angus was just falling, the gun splashing into the swamp as the sound of the gunshot faded away.
“I’d feel bad, but he deserved it,” a woman said, her voice so close to Esme’s ear, she screamed, whirling around and looking straight into her sister’s gorgeous face.
* * *
Violetta Dupree had saved King’s life.
No matter how hard he tried, Ian couldn’t wrap his mind around that. He took another sip of the hot coffee Julianne had offered him, eyeing Esme’s sister over the top of the paper cup.
She perched on the edge of a vinyl-covered chair in the waiting room of the ER.
She looked...
Tired.
Undone.
Her brown hair fell in messy waves around her pale face. Her mascara was smeared underneath her eyes. She’d been wearing red lipstick at some point, and lines of it feathered out from her lips. She was a beautiful woman. There was no doubt about that, but she looked like she’d aged ten years since he’d last seen her, and that had been only a couple of months ago.
“I don’t understand what’s taking so long,” she complained, biting at a hangnail on the edge of her thumb. “You said the gunshot wound didn’t look that bad.”
“It didn’t.”
“Then why haven’t they come to let us know how Esme is doing?”
“It takes time to clean a wound,” Julianne offered, and Violetta huffed.
“It would be nice if it would take a little less time. I have things to do.” She flicked a speck of mud off her dark jeans and frowned.
“What kind of things?” Ian asked, trying to see a little of Esme in her face.
“Nothing that concerns you or your people. A friend is having a birthday party this weekend, and I need to be home for it.”
“So you just took a little jaunt from Chicago to Florida to kill your uncle, and now you’re going back home to hobnob with your rich friends?” Zeke’s assessment was harsh, and Violetta’s eyes widened.
“I did not come out here to kill Angus. I came to save my sister.”
“And you knew she was in trouble because...?”
Julianne tapped her fingers on her thighs and eyed Violetta with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
It was the same look Ian was probably giving her.
Violetta didn’t answer questions. At least, not any questions he’d ever asked. Now she seemed determined to tell them everything she knew.
As long as it was on her time frame.
“It was pretty obvious that our uncle wanted Esme dead, and that he wasn’t going to stop going after her until he achieved his goal.”
“You didn’t seem all that concerned about her well-being when we tried to get you to tell us what you knew about your uncle,” Ian pointed out, and she shrugged, flipping a strand of hair over her shoulder.
“Of course I was concerned. Esme means the world to me.”
“Do I?” Esme’s voice carried through the small waiting area, and Ian turned, saw her standing in the doorway. Her arm was in a sling, her hair was slicked to her scalp, her face was pale and streaked with mud.
And she was absolutely the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. King must have thought the same. He barreled toward her, stopping at her feet and looking up at her adoringly.
“Hello, handsome,” Esme said, swaying a little as she leaned down to pet the dog.
Ian cupped the elbow of her good arm, supporting her weight as she straightened.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling into his eyes.
And, right then, he knew. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. Knew more than he knew almost anything else, that he’d be in Esme’s life for as long as she wanted him there.
“It’s not hard to give someone a hand when they need it,” he said, helping her to the seat next to her sister.
“I meant for everything else,” she replied, looking into his eyes and offering a soft sweet smile. “You’ve given up a lot to keep me safe, and I appreciate that more than I can say.”
“You won’t be safe until after you testify. You do know that, don’t you?” Violetta lifted Esme’s hand and squeezed it gently. “There are still plenty of people who would like Reginald to go free.”
“I don’t suppose you want to name any of them?” Julianne asked, and Violetta stiffened.
“Of course she doesn’t,” Zeke cut in. “She’s willing to help her sister, but only if it doesn’t interfere with her life.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Violetta stood, her body nearly shaking with fury. “I have done nothing but help you people. I’ve kept my silence so that I could keep track of Jake Morrow. I knew he’d keep in touch with Angus, and I was right.”
“You know where Jake is?” Zeke asked, and Violetta shook her head.
“I’ve heard he’s going after his ex-girlfriend and his son. He won’t leave the country without them.”
“Who did you hear that from?” Esme prodded, leaning back in the seat and stifling a yawn. She was trying to cover up how bone-tired she was, but Ian noticed.
“Angus. I kept on his good side so that I could protect you. That was my only reason, my sole motivation. I hope you believe that, Esme.”
“So you’ve been playing up to your uncle and getting information from him?” Julianne had taken a small notepad from her pocket and was jotting something in it. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“That is exactly what I’m saying. I’ve made my mistakes. I’ll admit that. I like nice things. Expensive things. I was happy to let my brother and uncle get them for me.” Her gaze shifted to her sister, and she frowned. “But I love you more than any of that, Esme. I would have cooperated with the FBI immediately if I hadn’t been afraid it would cost you your life.”
“Sounds to me like you’re trying to separate yourself from your brother’s crimes,” Zeke said, and Violetta scowled.
“You don’t know a thing about me. None of you do. If I’d wanted to separate myself from my brother’s crimes, I wouldn’t be here. I’d have stopped Angus, and I’d have gone straight back to Chicago without letting any of you know I’d been here. It wasn’t like you weren’t distracted enough for me to escape. I stayed because I accomplished my goal. Everything I’ve done these past months has been to protect my sister.”
“If that’s the case, you shouldn’t be hesitating to give us information about the way the organization runs,” Ian accused.
“I’m afraid, okay?” Violetta nearly shouted. “Not all of us are like Esme—brave enough to risk our lives. I’m not. I never have been. Except when it comes to her. I’d do anything to keep her safe. Even play to my uncle’s good side, pretend to be part of his team and convince him to confide in me.” She hissed out a breath. “He told me all about Jake Morrow. He told me that he’d threatened Jake’s son’s and ex-girlfriend’s lives. It made me physically ill. Who would hurt a child?”
“Your uncle,” Ian said, gentling his voice, because he believed her, and he was starting to feel sympathy for the mess she’d found herself in.
“I know,” she said just as gently, her gaze on her sister. “I’m so sorry this happened, Esme. If I could go back and change things, make different decisions, be a better person, I would. I promise you that.”
“You can make different decisions,” Julianne said, and there didn’t seem to be a hint of sympathy in her voice. “As long as Jake Morrow is free, your sister may not be safe. Angus was a terrible person, but Reginald calls the shots. He may be trying to contact Jake, get him to follow through on the effort to silence Esme before the trial. We need to bring him in, and we need to do it quickly if you really want to keep your sister from harm.”
Violetta frowned. “Some of the information I got was vague, but I’ll tell you what I know. Angus told me Jake was going back home to find his ex-girlfriend and his baby. She despises what he’s become and wants nothing to do with him, but he’s not going to leave the country until he has his son.”
The words jolted through Ian, and he fished his phone out of his pocket, scrolled through the texts until he found the one sent by Anonymous: Word is that Mommy, Daddy and child have gone home.
“You’re Anonymous,” he said, and she blushed.
“Yes. Like I said, I was trying to pass on as much information as I could without making things too easy to figure out.”
“Easy would have been nice,” Zeke grumbled.
“Easy would have gotten me killed,” she responded through clenched teeth, dropping into the seat beside Esme. “I was the only one who knew about Jake Morrow. If I’d given you too much information and you’d passed it on to someone owned by Angus...” She shuddered.
“Tell us about Jake going home,” Ian demanded, turning the subject back to the thing he was most interested in.
He didn’t really care what Violetta’s motivation had been. It didn’t matter to him if it had been greed or fear that had caused her to get close to her uncle. What he cared about was the fact that she had information that could prove to be very useful to the team.
“He’s in Montana. At least, that’s where I think he is. Angus thought it was hilarious that he was going to be so close to your headquarters. He liked to say you were all farsighted, unable to see what was right in front of your faces.”
“What else did he like to say?” Zeke asked, his irritation and anger obvious.
“That he was smarter than all of you put together. That he always came out on top, and the rest of us were flies buzzing around on the trash heap of his leftovers.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “He really was a horrible man.”
“Maybe you should have gone to the police and told them that a long time ago.” Zeke stalked out of the room, Cheetah bounding along beside him.
“I already said that I’d change things if I could. What more do you people want from me?” Violetta began, her frustration and irritation obvious.
Ian had the feeling that she was just
gearing up, that she had a whole lot more she wanted to say about the way they were treating her.
Esme held up her hand, stopping her sister’s diatribe.
“Do we have to do this right now?” she asked wearily.
“Of course we do,” Violetta retorted. “I didn’t come all this way to be treated like a criminal.”
“Just stop, Violetta,” Esme said. “It’s been a long day. Actually, it’s been a long six months. I’m tired, and I just want to go home. Except—” Her voice broke, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I can’t, because I have to keep drifting from place to place until the trial. You get to go back to the fancy penthouse Reginald helped you buy. Until his trial is over and he’s been sentenced, there’s no place that I’ll ever feel safe. No place to throw anchor and wait until the storm blows over. I just have to keep riding it out until the bitter end.”
“Oh. Honey! I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about what you’ve been through.” Violetta pulled tissue from her handbag and tried to give them to Esme.
Esme nudged them away.
“Esme,” Violetta tried again. “Don’t cry. None of these people are worth your tears.”
“Yes. They are. And so are you. So, please, let’s not do this right now.” She swiped at the errant tear, her hand shaking.
Julianne met Ian’s eyes. “You want me to handle the interrogation?”
“Yes. And update Max on the case. He’ll be interested in hearing the information about Jake.”
She nodded, touching Violetta’s shoulder and somehow convincing her to walk out of the room.
Turning back to Esme, he saw that her eyes were closed. She had her head resting against the wall and her hands fisted in her lap, and when another tear slipped down her cheek, he couldn’t hold back.
He lifted her good hand, unfurled her fingers and pressed a kiss to her palm.
“What’s that for?” she murmured, not opening her eyes.
“Something to anchor you until you find your way home,” he said, and she smiled, but the tears kept falling, and he finally tugged her into his lap, pressed her head to his chest and just let her cry.
Bodyguard Page 17
