by Katie Ruggle
“Yeah, but I saw you tearing through the food court, looking all determined and hot, and that was it. I was yours.”
“You couldn’t have loved me.” Even though she denied it, she adored the idea. “You didn’t know me then.”
“Didn’t matter. I loved you from that second, and I know you now.” He opened the door and got out, and she hurried to do the same, needing to hear the rest of what he was about to say. He waited until they were climbing the steps to the entrance to speak again. “The more I get to know you, the more I love you.”
Lieutenant Botha stepped outside, so Molly couldn’t hurl herself into John’s arms like she wanted. She had to limit herself to merely squeezing his arm for a moment before releasing him and smiling at the cop.
“Hi, Lieutenant. I heard my car was found.”
“It was.” A strange expression flickered across Botha’s normally stoic face, and Molly felt a twitch of nerves.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s…” When the lieutenant’s voice trailed off, Molly really started to worry. “I’ll show you. It’s in the garage.”
Shooting John an anxious glance, Molly followed Botha along the outside of the building to an overhead door. The lieutenant hesitated for just a moment before using her key card to open the door. As it slowly rolled up, Molly’s imagination flashed through all sorts of horrible possibilities. What had happened to her beloved Prius? It had to be bad to fluster the otherwise unflusterable Lieutenant Botha. Had it been trashed? Smashed? Stripped?
Molly couldn’t take it anymore. As soon as the door was high enough, she ducked underneath and looked frantically around, scanning the rows of squad vehicles for her car. When her gaze landed on it, her heart sank down to her toes. She vaguely heard John trying to muffle his laughter.
“Oh…no.”
* * *
“Keep your eyes closed.”
Molly snorted as she stumbled over the bottom of the doorframe. “Why does it even matter when your ham of a hand is covering my entire face?”
“I have to keep my hand over your eyes because I know you’ll try to peek.” Before she could respond to that, he continued, “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Despite her dry tone, she was actually excited about John’s surprise.
He dropped his hand to reveal a gorgeous porch swing.
“Whoa, you made this?” She ran her hand over the back before plopping down on the cushioned seat. “It’s amazing. I’m so impressed.”
He grinned his sweet, happy grin, the one she’d been seeing more and more of since they’d brought in Sonny, and plopped down next to her. The bench vibrated but took his weight without complaint. “I am impressive.”
“You are. Thank you for this.” She glanced over at the far side of the porch swing to see Warrant settling happily on a dog bed she didn’t recognize. “And for Warrant’s, too.”
John’s smile turned a little sheepish. “I couldn’t leave him without a place to sit.”
Molly kissed him on the cheek in a spot that wasn’t swollen or mottled with bruises and cuddled in closer as he wrapped his arm around her, careful with her still-sore arm. In all the time she’d known him, she wasn’t sure how she’d missed what an absolute sweetheart this man was. As they gently swung, they watched as Mr. P next door glared at them suspiciously through the window before snapping down the blinds.
“Not only is this the perfect spot to enjoy a sunny fall day,” she said, leaning her head back so she could see John’s face, “but we also get to annoy the neighbors. It’s a win-win.”
His loud laugh triggered her own. They were still smiling as they watched a car pull up to the curb in front of the house. Felicity and Charlie climbed out, looking a bit bedraggled. Tail wagging, Warrant jogged down the steps to greet them.
“Welcome home!” Molly called as her sisters scratched Warrant’s upturned belly.
They trudged through the yard and up the porch steps. Warrant followed and resettled on his new bed. “Thanks. What the heck is sitting in our driveway?” Charlie asked, plopping down next to Molly, who gave her a sitting half hug in greeting. “Did you start a new family business?”
Felicity dropped down onto her sisters’ laps, turned sideways so she could eye the way Molly was tucked against John. “Finally. Took you long enough, Moo.”
“Yeah, it did.” He held up a fist for Felicity to bump, and Molly elbowed him—although not too hard, since he had just made her this very nice porch swing.
Molly ignored them and answered Charlie instead. “That’s my car. It was not returned in the condition in which it was taken.” After the initial shock, however, it was kind of growing on Molly. The neighbors were universally horrified by it, so that was a plus. “Apparently, Mom’s friend sold it to someone who has a marijuana delivery business, and they had it custom painted. Just wait until you smell the interior. I’m worried I’ll get a contact high just driving to the grocery store.” She glanced at her beloved Prius and winced, just a little. A jungle of pot leaves stood out against a bright-blue background, with Weed on Wheels printed in huge hot-pink bubble letters on both sides.
“I think it’s kind of pretty,” Norah said as she came outside, letting the screen door swing shut behind her. “Very green and nature-y. Hey, Fifi, Charlie.” She started to perch on the arm of the swing, but Felicity pulled her into her lap, making Charlie and Molly groan from the added weight.
“Let’s not break the swing on the first day,” Molly protested, but John just waved a hand, dismissing her concern.
“I made it strong enough to hold the whole family.”
That made her heart squeeze with affection, and she smiled up at him. He grinned back, adoration clear in his expression as he hugged her closer.
“Speaking of family,” Felicity said, “where’s Cara?”
“The library. She said she had to work on a group class project.” Molly tried to keep the doubt out of her voice. Cara had been gone a lot over the past few days, using the “group project” excuse every time someone asked where she’d been. The problem was that Cara was a terrible liar. Molly made a mental note to talk to her sister and make sure that everything was okay. This shady behavior wasn’t like her.
“Heads up,” Charlie said quietly, drawing everyone’s attention to the unmarked sedan rolling slowly down their street. They all fell silent as they watched it. As it crept past their house, Molly saw the bitter face of the driver.
“Detective Mill,” John said, a hard note underlying his tone. “Looks like he’s going to be a problem.”
“Yep.” Molly felt her stomach twist with renewed worry as the sedan followed the turnaround at the end of the street and sped away. Between detectives with grudges and a still-missing mom and unscrupulous treasure hunters and possible lurkers in the forest and a bail bondsman holding the title to their house in his money-grubbing fingers, they were still in a boatload of trouble. John squeezed her shoulders, and some of her tension slipped away. By bringing in Sonny, they’d gotten some breathing room and had at least a month to find their mom. They had time to save their house. She’d worry about it later. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy being with her family on their new porch swing.
“So what’d we miss while we were gone?” Charlie asked.
Molly and John looked at each other. She smiled, loving that they could communicate without saying a word, just like they were an old married couple. She settled in more comfortably against him. Telling the whole tale was going to take a while.
Epilogue
Cara tried to act casual as she walked along the cracked, weedy sidewalk in front of the motel, but she knew she looked exactly like what she was: a kindergarten teacher—well, almost—who was scared out of her mind. For the thousandth time, she mentally chided herself for her pick of bail jumpers, especially since she was solo on this job. If she told
her sisters who she was tracking, they’d yank her home and tie her to a chair to keep her safe. Now that their home and business were threatened, however, she needed to do more to help. As the nape of her neck prickled with the feeling of being stalked, she decided it would’ve been smarter to choose a jaywalker or someone who cut tags off their mattresses for her first skip.
Of all the cases to take, why did she have to pick a killer?
Even as she asked herself that question, she knew why. Henry Kavenski had the highest bond. The dangerous ones always did.
Stopping at Room 87, the green door with a suspicious dark-red substance splattered over it, she took a quick glance around before pulling her lock-pick kit out of her pocket. Her fingers trembled, making her fumble the picks.
“Stop it,” she muttered. “You’re good at this. You even beat Charlie’s best time by eight whole seconds on lock-picking test day. Quit being a chicken.”
This was her chance. She’d watched Kavenski get on the one-ten bus, but she wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. She needed to plant the tracker in his things before he returned. The thought of him walking in on her while she was still inside his hotel room made her shake even harder. Finally, though, the dead bolt released with a click, and she exhaled hard, relief and a fresh surge of nerves coursing through her. She’d done it. Now she just had to go inside and plant the tracker.
She reached for the door handle, the metal cold and slightly greasy to the touch. It gave under her hand, and the door swung open. Her heart thumping in her ears, she peered into the dim space, the smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke tickling her nose.
A hard hand clamped down over her shoulder and shoved her into the room before she could even suck in a breath to scream.
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A hard hand clamped down over her shoulder and shoved her into the room before she could even suck in a breath to scream.
Her fingers tightened around the lock pick in her right hand and the tension tool in her left. She spun around, the soles of her shoes catching against the worn scruff of the carpet, and held the two tiny steel tools up in front of her as if they were a weapon. As Henry Kavenski—who looked even more enormous close up than he did from a half-block away—shoved the door closed, she locked her knees to keep them from shaking. Cold sweat prickled along her hairline as her brain frantically scrolled through all the things she had done wrong. She wasn’t prepared. She should’ve brought a Taser or even some pepper spray or, better yet, backup. Her sisters were going to be so pissed if she got herself killed in such a stupid way.
From the hard set of Henry Kavenski’s mouth, he wasn’t feeling particularly merciful.
They stared at each other without speaking, the only sound Cara’s heart thundering in her ears and the rapid breaths she couldn’t seem to slow. She couldn’t help but notice the details that she’d missed during the weeks she’d been tracking him from a distance. The scruff on his face was just slightly darker than the sun-bleached, tousled hair on his head. His jaw was solid, almost blocky, his nose and his mouth drawn with aggressive slashing lines, but the tops of his ears came to the slightest point. That elven detail didn’t fit with the rest of his solid form and rugged features. Henry Kavenski was more of an ogre or giant. Despite those unsuitably adorable ears, he could never be mistaken for an elf.
She blinked, pulling her thoughts back in line. He still hadn’t said a word, and she wasn’t sure whether that meant she should be more or less terrified. Their mutual silence did give her a chance to come up with a plan—a fairly dumb plan, but at least it was something that might give her a chance to get out of this alive.
“Who are you?” Her voice shook, but she figured that was only natural.
His scowl deepened. He still didn’t make a sound.
Her trembling worsened, her fingers tightening around the lock-picking tools. She tried to tuck them behind her in a way that looked natural, but his gaze followed the movement. His eyes met hers again, and she fought to keep from quailing beneath that stone-cold glower.
“What are you doing in…” she mentally grabbed for an imaginary friend’s name, “Martin’s room?”
His head cocked just slightly in question, although those eerily light eyes didn’t soften.
Cara cleared her throat, using the sound to take a precious few moments to scrabble for her composure. It helped slightly, but she knew that all the time in the world wouldn’t magically give her nerves of steel. She’d never envied her twin sister’s badass-ery more. “I came here to surprise him. Uh…Martin.” Why was her brain working at turtle-slow speed? She knew she’d think of all kinds of credible stories as soon as she left the room—if she managed to leave. The reminder that these could easily be her last minutes alive made her talk faster. “I passed my test—my…” She held her hands in front of her, forcing her fingers open to reveal the slim tools. “My locksmith test. Martin gave me some tips when I was practicing for it, and I thought we could go out to celebrate. Mexican. He loves Mexican.” She made herself stop adding made-up details about her non-existent but very helpful friend. “This is his room.”
Kavenski still didn’t say anything. He didn’t even twitch. Instead, he continued to stare at her with those chilly eyes that reminded her what he was…a killer. A pro. As he stared at her, he was most likely contemplating the easiest way to dispose of her body with less emotion than he’d feel stepping on a spider.
Her imagination raced, her heart pounded, and she struggled to swallow with a suddenly dry throat. The air in the musty room felt thicker as dread filled her.
His considerable bulk blocked the one and only door, and the window was covered by the heavy polyester drapes. Even if she took him off guard with a dash to the window, there wouldn’t be enough time for her to open it—if it was openable.
Tension twisted her insides until it was difficult to breathe. She had to say something, or the silence would smother her.
“What are you doing in Martin’s room?” she demanded. Even though she was positive he knew her story was a complete lie, it was all she had.
When he shifted his weight, she flinched, but he just leaned back against the door and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Before Cara could do more than twitch toward the window, he dropped his arms to his sides. She froze, her gaze never leaving his face. The chill in his eyes was still there, but there was a slight droop to his mouth that made him look extraordinarily tired.
“Are you okay?” The words were out before she realized how ridiculous the question would sound. Even after it penetrated, her mouth kept moving, as if it were separate from her brain. “Have you been sleeping?”
He blinked at her.
“Not that it’s any of my business if you did or not.” Why are you still talking??? her brain screamed at her, but it was no use. The freight train of awkwardness had left the station and was hurtling down the tracks. “Now, if it were Marvin, my friend, then it would be my business, but you’re not Marvin. You’re a stranger. A stranger I don’t know. Not that you’d be a stranger if I did know you, so, um, you don’t have to answer that, if you don’t want to. Don’t feel obligated.”
“Martin.” His voice was unexpected. Deep and smooth and perfect for narrating adventure movies or candy commercials.
“What?” That unexpectedly delicious timbre threw her off. It didn’t match what she’d expected a killer to sound like.
His chest lifted with a silent sigh as he straightened away from the door. “Martin. Not Marvin.”
She tensed at his movement, but he just stepped sideways, opening a path to the door. “Right. Martin.” She couldn’t
believe that she’d messed up her fictitious friend’s name. It was a stressful situation, sure, but surely she could keep track of her made-up lock-picking study partners for five minutes.
“You need to stop following me.”
She jolted again. Not only had he caught her breaking into his motel room, but he was aware that she’d been tracking him across town. Her sisters were right. She was not cut out for field work. If she managed to survive this encounter, it’d be best if she just stayed home and researched. That was what she was good at, not the chasing, tackling, and wrestling parts of bounty hunting.
Then she realized he was eyeing her with the slightest hint of amused resignation, and she realized she hadn’t responded to the accusation.
“Following you? What are you talking about?” It was weak, she knew, but everything about this interaction was throwing her off. She didn’t know if he was going to kill her slowly and painfully or give her tips on shadowing fellow criminals. It was disconcerting. “I’m here to meet…uh…?”
“Martin,” he offered helpfully.
“Right.” She eyed the door and then snapped her gaze back to him. It was so tempting, having the path to the exit clear, but she worried that he was just setting a fun little trap for her. Still, she dared take a step forward. When he didn’t grab her, she edged forward again. “Since Martin isn’t here, I’ll just go find him.”
Despite those icy eyes and the hard line of his mouth, she was pretty sure he was amused. Strangely, she wasn’t as terrified of Kavenski as she’d initially been, and she wondered if she was in shock or, perhaps, under the effect of a fast-acting strain of Stockholm Syndrome. Telling herself to wait until she was safely outside the motel room to analyze her emotional state, she took another cautious step toward the door.
Then he moved, and she froze, her mind clamoring that she should’ve known it was too good to be true. Of course the brutal killer with the ice-cold stare wouldn’t just let her walk out after catching her breaking into his room. She’d fallen into his trap, and now she was in grabbing distance, and she was going to die.
