“Most definitely. Tall, like Murphy said. Once I got a better look, I thought it might have been Jax. The hair was blond like his. But then I thought, ‘no, Jax wears his long and shaggy like the other boys’. So it couldn’t have been him. This man had his hair clipped close. His face was hard and older than the boys. Edging close to fifty, I’d bet. Reminded me of these three, though. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought it was Alan, but it wasn’t. I watched him round the corner and get into a Ford Escape, a blue one, and drive off.” Enjoying her time in the spotlight, Hattie clenched her hands together. “I waited an hour to make sure he wasn’t coming back. Tried to call Beckett’s cell, but she didn’t answer, so I came over to check on them all, civic duty and all.”
His lips twitching beneath his heavy mustache, Sheriff Rogers continued to take notes. “You’re the epitome of a concerned citizen, Mrs. Plunkett.”
Puffing up under the praise, Hattie continued. “I heard a scream from inside and was getting ready to call 911 when Beckett opened the door with a gun in her hand. I saw Murphy on the floor bleeding, and I must confess I thought Beckett had another lover and had killed poor Murphy dead right here in this very living room. I’m not proud of it, Sheriff, but I love Beckett like my own, and I offered to help her hide the crime.”
Likely only until she could write the book about it., Beckett mused to herself.
Sheriff Rogers made a non-committal noise and continued to write. “Beckett, did you see this person?”
“No. I was asleep the entire time.” Beckett stroked one hand over her son’s hair. “If it’s okay with you, Sheriff, I’m going to call the sitter and find out if she can’t come get the three kids for a while. I know you’ll have to search, and I’d rather they not be here for it.”
“That’d be fine. You go on and take care of it.” Rogers looked around the room. “Mrs. Plunkett, I’m going to have one of my deputies take you down to the station. I’d like you to describe the man you saw to a sketch artist. Do you think you could do that?”
“I’d be honored. I’ll just run home, change my clothes, and get my purse. See it’s Alex Port who comes to pick me up, would you? Boy has a nice butt.”
Once Hattie was back at her own house and the kids swept off by Misty and her mother for a breakfast of french toast, Sheriff Rogers cleared his throat and faced the adults.
“I have a theory here, but I’d like your input on it before I tell you what I think.”
Her voice steady, Beckett spoke. “It was Ryan.”
Cassie’s head snapped up. “You can’t possibly think it was him!”
“Tall like the other boys, looks like Jax but between forty and fifty? Hard face, close cut blond hair? She described Ryan, and as soon as she looks at the sketch, she’s going to realize it. There’s already a lot of rumors flying around town about the exhumation. This is going to get out sooner rather than later. Ryan is alive, he’s here, and he just knocked his own brother unconscious.” Beckett’s voice rose as she spoke. “He broke into this house, and God only knows what he’d have done if Murphy hadn’t woken up.”
Jax sighed and stood, marching to the fridge and withdrawing a beer despite it only being seven-thirty a.m.. “Beck’s right. It makes sense.”
The sheriff sighed and closed his notepad. “I’m inclined to agree. Beckett, I need to search the house. We’ll fingerprint, go through everything, and look at computers and phones. Might take most of the day. I’d like Murphy to get checked out at the hospital, make sure he isn’t concussed, and then I think it might be a good idea for the kids to be elsewhere.”
Alan spoke for the first time. “I have the cabin down in Tennessee where I go to fly-fish. Cassie and I could take them down there for a vacation. I’ve only had it three years, so Ryan wouldn’t likely know about it, unless he was keeping track of us.”
Savi ran her hands over her thighs. “What about school? No offense, but Lyla is still getting to know everyone, so I’m not crazy about her going off with people who were strangers a couple months ago. Plus, if you’ve been fishing there for a while, Alan, I’d say he could find you if he wanted to.”
Cassie closed her eyes, visibly fighting her way through the pain caused by the situation. “Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll drive so there’s no flight information he could find. We’ll take a trip somewhere. Not to Tennessee, not to Georgia. Maybe Florida. Disney World. They’d have fun there. We’ll keep them as long as it takes. We’ll make it an adventure.”
Beckett’s eyes welled with tears. “I don’t want to let them go. They’re my babies. I know they’d be safe, but my gut reaction is to keep them with me where I can protect them.”
“Right now we have to protect them from their father. I don’t want them to know he’s alive. I know you don’t, either. If I could, I’d pack you all up and take you away somewhere.” Cassie gripped Beckett’s hands and squeezed tightly. “Eighteen when I had Ryan. I thought I did a good job with him, but maybe I was too young to be a mother.” Leveling a fierce look at her other three sons, she continued. “I had best have done better with the three of you.”
Alan spoke again. “This isn’t your fault, Cassandra Anne, any more than it’s mine or Beckett’s. Something’s broken in the boy. He hid it from us and his brothers and his wife, but there’s something broken in him for him to do what he’s done. We raised our boys right. Can’t be responsible for the choices they make as grown men.”
Sheriff Rogers cleared his throat. “If it’s settled, I’ll call in my team. Beckett, you can go up and pack the kids’ things. Savi, you go on home and do the same. One of the boys will take you. I’ll call the principal down at the school and let them know the kids will be gone for a while.” Standing, he surveyed them all. “You’re doing the right thing. I know it’s hard, but it’s right. We’ll figure out what’s going on, and find your brother if he’s the one doing this. I’ll try to keep it quiet as long as I can, but I oughta tell you, there are feds coming in next week. The two agents you dropped the drugs off to in Atlanta are flying up. It’s going to be an FBI investigation.”
Chapter 17
Beckett stood in her living room, unsure what to do with herself. Rhys had been subdued as he’d gotten into the car with Cassie and Alan, his dark eyes seeking his mother’s, concern reflected in them. Harlow and Lyla, still both too small to understand, had leaped into the car, crawling over one another to vie for the coveted window seat. Beckett knew Rhys was worried about her.
The house felt too empty without the kids. Even when they spent a night with one of their various relatives, it was only a brief reprieve from the noise and chaos of two young children. The house was still filled with their energy and presence. This time, however, the toys were packed and taken on a trip, suitcases were filled with clothes, and there was no return date.
Running her hand over her hair, she resolutely strode into the kitchen with the intention of starting dinner for Murphy and herself. Her head snapped up when she heard a knock at the door, and she seriously debated retrieving Murphy’s gun from upstairs before answering it.
Scolding herself for being silly enough to think Ryan would show up at the house at seven p.m., or that he’d bother to knock, Beckett strode to the door and opened it without looking.
Immediately cursing her small act of self-defiance, she crossed her arms over her chest and blocked the door from Jason Robbins.
“You’re not welcome here. Leave or I’ll call the police.”
“I don’t think you want to do that.” Jason shoved open the door and tried to move past her, scowling when Beckett shoved him back, jamming both her hands into his shoulders and pushing as hard as she could.
“You’re not coming into my house.”
Raising an eyebrow, he moved his coat to show her the gun shoved in his waistband. “Think you can stop me? Your bodyguards aren’t here this time. You and I are going to have ourselves a nice little talk, and then I’ll go. Be polite, Beckett. Invite me in.�
�
Knowing Hattie was home, Beckett sent up a prayer her neighbor was being her nosy self. “What do you want? What’re you here to do?”
“I just want to talk. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not going to touch you or rob you or do anything other than talk. If you won’t talk to me, I’m going to have to make you. Being I used to be special ops, I can assure you I know how to make it happen. Don’t make a scene. Let me in and we’ll sit at your kitchen table, have a cup of coffee, and a chat.”
Looking back at the gun and trying to figure out if she could get to the back door before he either caught, or shot, her, she stared for a long moment. Only when Jason moved his hand toward the butt of the gun, his gaze telling her he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her, did she step aside, fear keeping her from doing anything other than acquiescing.
Once settled at the table with a cup of coffee between her hands, Beckett shifted nervously. “What do you want?”
Jason took his hat off and placed it on the table, sipping the coffee before answering. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you before. I’m going to lay everything on the table here and hope knowing the truth makes you more inclined to help me. I wasn’t lying to you about not wanting to hurt you. I don’t. I want your help.”
“I don’t know anything. I had no idea about what Ryan was or what he was doing. There’s nothing I have that can help you!”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Sipping again, he gestured with the coffee cup. “This is good. Most of what I told you was somewhat true. Ryan and I did serve together. I liked him a lot. About six weeks into our deployment, Ryan pulled me into a meeting with DEA and CIA agents. They were investigating some members of the military for muling drugs into the country. Ryan was placed as an undercover agent with the brass suspected of working with the Malatoa cartel. He’d been playing both sides; working with the Malatoas then giving information back to the DEA and CIA to help them make busts.”
Unexpected relief swept through her. “He wasn’t a monster.”
Jason smirked. “Did I say that? He pulled me into the meeting to bring me in on the mission. They were looking for people to run between the base in Colombia and the Malatoa outpost. Ryan couldn’t go because he would be missed from camp, and they wanted someone they could trust to bring back information on the movements. Another mole. Ryan recommended me, and they brought me in on it. For a few weeks, it worked great. Then Ryan called me into his tent. He broke down and told me about everything he’d been doing.”
He paused and fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Shaking one out, he lit it with a lighter he pulled out of his jacket and took a deep drag of tobacco, expelling it directly in Beckett’s face. Laughing when she coughed and waved her hand to clear the smoke, he picked up where he’d left off.
“He confessed about the two wives and the mistresses and his debt. He was in over his head and needed help, he said. He needed to find a way to divorce wife number one so he could divorce wife number two, but you were both in the same state, so he was afraid he’d get arrested for bigamy. Mistress number one had a baby no one knew about, and he had near to a dozen other side pieces. He claimed he loved the mistress with the kid. She had a drug problem, he said. He couldn’t bear the thought of her getting arrested because of it, so it had started with skimming enough from the cartel to keep her in coke and escalated from there.”
Beckett took a shaky drink of her coffee. In her pocket, her phone buzzed insistently. Carefully laying one hand in her lap, she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the phone, glancing down at the screen.
—Hattie called. Murphy and Caleb are in the city. I’m on my way.—
Jax. Closing her eyes briefly, she focused on Jason. “What did he want you to do?”
“Help him steal from Peter to pay Paul. He asked me to trim the bricks I was bringing up and we’d split the profit from selling them back in the states. The week before he supposedly blew himself up, he took everything we had and got leave time to come home for a short trip. He stashed the bricks we’d put together in safety deposit boxes and came back. Nine days later they said he was dead.”
Jason leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. He took several pulls on his cigarette, then stubbed it out on the top of the table. Reaching for his coffee, he took another deep drink, swallowing and then continued with his story.
“When they went through his stuff, they found lots of things blaming me for all the thefts. He’d left a neat little paper trail leading directly back to me. I took a plea bargain and served five years in exchange for my testimony against the one Malatoa they managed to bring down with the operation. I fell for the line he was selling hook, line, and sinker. I believed his bullshit, felt sorry for him, and followed him blindly. All it got me was a prison sentence and a price on my head.”
“So the cartel isn’t after him?”
“I didn’t say that, either. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Finishing his coffee, Jason offered her a smile. “Don’t you think the cartel has connections in federal prison? If they’d wanted me dead, I’d be dead. They figured Ryan wasn’t dead and found out he’d stolen a lot more than what I helped him with. Their connections in the states aren’t as strong as in South America and the Middle East, but they’re strong enough to get to me if they wanted.”
He shuddered, fear flickering in his gaze for the first time. Picking up the coffee, he drained the cup and plunked it down on the table before continuing.
“When I got out, an associate of theirs was waiting for me at the gates. A deal I couldn’t afford to pass up, they said. Find the money and the coke Ryan had stolen and I got to live. Fail and I die. I figured you were in on it, that you knew and would be easy to intimidate. Instead, you dove right into investigating him. Now the police are involved, Ryan’s been informed of what’s going on, and he’s coming for what’s his. So are the Malatoas. They want him, and they want the drugs. You’re in the way. You need to give me what you have and get the hell out of town. If you don’t, I’m not the only one with a gun who will be at your door.”
Beckett rose. “Let me get you some more coffee.” She plucked the carafe from the stand and walked back to the table.
The door broke open and Jax charged in. Jason went for the gun at his belt. With a wild howl, Beckett swung the coffee pot and slammed the carafe into his head, hot liquid and glass making contact with Jason’s face. Jax ripped the other man out of the chair, ignoring the screaming as his face was singed and sliced. Heaving the smaller man into the living room, Jax kicked him square in the ribs, propelling him several feet. Bending, he gripped Jason’s shirt and lifted him enough to slam his head into the floor over and then over again, each slam punctuating his words as he spoke.
“I told you not to come back here. I told you if you did, you wouldn’t leave on your own two feet.” He glanced up when Sheriff Rogers came to the door. “Evening, Clint. I’ll be done here in a minute.”
Jason looked to the Sheriff. “Help! He’s assaulting me! I want to press charges.”
Sticking a peppermint in his mouth, Rogers surveyed the situation. “Seems to me you entered a house you weren’t wanted in and imprisoned this young woman here. Unless I was, in fact, born yesterday, I’d be willing to bet your gun is either stolen or unregistered. I’m betting on stolen since you’re a felon. It appears to me Mr. McKenzie here was just protecting his sister-in-law. Jax, I need to get my handcuffs from the car. You’ll see this young man doesn’t get loose, won’t you, son?”
Sheriff Rogers took his time getting the handcuffs. After all, a prudent man knew the benefit of stopping to smell some proverbial roses and happened to like the crisp November air.
****
Savi leaned forward on the couch, her ice blue eyes lively and wide. “You broke his nose?”
Jax chuckled and adjusted the bag of frozen peas on his knuckles. “Nose, two ribs, and busted his jaw.”
Crossing long, slim legs, Savi stared at Jax wit
h newfound appreciation. “There is something wildly attractive about a man standing up for a damsel in distress.”
Beckett snorted. “I was hardly in distress. I slammed my coffee pot into his face. Second degree burns, I’ll have you know.”
Savi grinned. “Well then. You’re wildly attractive, too.” She bounced in her seat. “I do think this version of events rings truer than the first. I had a hard time picturing you falling in love with a drug dealer. A desperate man digging himself deeper and deeper is much easier to believe.”
Jax looked up from his phone. “Caleb and Murph are about an hour out. I’m under orders not to leave until they get here, and then I’m being told I’m bunking on your couch tonight, Savi.”
Savi shrugged. “That just means I get to look at you shirtless some more. There are worse things.”
Jax grinned. “One of these days I’m going to do more than flirt, sweetheart.”
Beckett lifted her eyebrows. “Want me to give the two of you some privacy?”
Savi chuckled. “No privacy necessary. I like flirting with him. That’s all.” She rose and wandered into the kitchen for wine. “When are the FBI agents coming in?”
“I have an appointment with them on Monday morning. Poor Halle is getting trial by fire at Vive. She’s basically been running it for three weeks.” Beckett stretched and sighed. “I cannot wait for this to be over. Jason Robbins is back in jail, so that’s a good thing. One problem down, but the much larger one is Ryan. I don’t even think it matters which version of events is true. He got wrapped up in bad things. Someone who knows he’s not dead might be coming here to try and find him or to get this non-existent money from me.”
The fun of flirting with Savi forgotten, Jax wrapped his arm around Beckett. “None of us are going to let anything happen to you.” He grinned. “Least of all being Hattie Plunkett. You’ve given the woman enough excitement in the last couple days to last her a lifetime.”
Beckett giggled. “She was so damn proud of herself for calling you. Gushed about that McKenzie boy busting through my door like an avenging Greek god.” Placing one hand on each of Jax’s cheeks, she kissed him solidly. “My own personal Greek god. There are worse things to have.”
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