Out of Control

by Shannon McKenna

  “Oh, stop it,” she muttered sourly. “Don’t do me any favors.”

  He slid his fingers around the nape of her neck and squeezed gently with his warm hand. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I don’t want to.”

  She nodded. For Davy, that was as close to a declaration of love as he was willing or able to go.

  “I need to stop at a mall before I go to Krell.” His voice took on a businesslike tone. “My pants are filthy and bloodstained. I’ll pick up some clothes for you, too. What are you, size ten?”

  “Eight, lately. Except for my unreasonable size twelve ass.”

  “Let me see that unreasonable ass.” He turned her gently around, sliding his hands down the curve of her back. They fastened onto her hips, a warm, strong grip. He kissed the back of her neck.

  “No more skin-tight jeans for you, babe,” he murmured. “Nobody but me needs to know how good your ass looks naked.”

  “That’s just the kind of confusing, irresponsible remark that’s driving me nuts,” she snapped. “Get going, Davy. Stop torturing me.”

  He lifted his hand off her body, and silently left the room.

  She held her breath until she heard the cabin door shut behind him, and then dissolved into tears, shaking with terror and guilty hope.

  Hope and fear, her two big bullies. Meanwhile, a gazillion tiny McCloud sperm were racing madly towards the finish line. God help her. The man literally threw a fit when she’d told him she loved him.

  She could just imagine how he would react if she told him she was pregnant.

  Chapter

  24

  “Do you realize what you’ve done, Faris?” Marcus struck his brother in the face. “You’ve failed me. We’re out of time now, and the plan is ruined. You should have brought her to me immediately.”

  Faris was tied to a chair, hands bound, eyes blindfolded. Having his eyes covered made his little brother more docile and amenable. Marcus had discovered that helpful fact when Faris was barely more than a toddler. He’d developed a wide array of management techniques for his brother over the years, both physical and psychological.

  “I was going to! I was just questioning her!” Faris’s voice was whining and babyish. “I wanted to get the mold and bring it to you, but McCloud burst in and startled me!”

  Marcus was relieved to hear the childish tremor in his brother’s voice. Faris was finally breaking out of the dangerously rebellious state of mind he’d been in since he’d fixated on the Callahan woman.

  “But you didn’t do it, Faris. You failed.” Marcus backhanded him again. Faris whimpered like a kicked puppy.

  He was relieved to have Faris back under his physical control. He’d invested a great deal in his brother’s unorthodox training. It was a lifetime’s work, begun almost by accident after their mother left.

  Faris had been a needy, clinging four-year-old, left entirely to his teenaged brother Marcus’s tender mercies. Most sixteen-year-old boys would have found a whining brat of a little brother cramping their style, but Marcus had always been unusual. Quick to exploit the potential of any given situation. The helpless little Faris was a blank slate. It was an experiment in mind control. Their father was busy with Calix and his succession of subsequent wives. Worthington House had an unobtrusive domestic staff that didn’t dare to interfere. No one was watching. No one had cared. It had been fascinating.

  Stimulating, too.

  “My instructions were to bring her to me immediately,” Marcus scolded. “You suited your own whims. You went on a killing spree, too, didn’t you? I hope you were discreet, because I’m not covering for you.”

  Faris’s mouth turned down in a childish pout. “I’m not stupid.”

  “No,” Marcus agreed. “But you are crazy. I’m the only one who knows what you really did to Constance. And to Titus, too. You know what would happen if I told. It would be back to the hospital for you, and given your talents, they would probably physically restrain you at all times. Or drug you into a drooling vegetable. Is that what you want?”

  Mention of their father’s third wife, Constance, had its predictable result. Faris began to sob. Marcus circled his brother’s chair.

  “You made me do it,” Faris whimpered, hiccupping.

  “But you’re the one who actually did the deed,” Marcus crooned. “And you liked it. That’s what counts when the white coats come to take you away. Were you so impressed with Margaret Callahan because of her red hair? It never occurred to me till now, but she looks quite a bit like Constance. Did you have impure feelings for Constance, Faris?”

  “She was a bitch.” Faris’s voice was thick. “She was mean.”

  His father’s third wife Constance, younger than Marcus himself, had tried to exercise power over her stepsons. She had thus become the fourteen-year-old Faris’s very first, improvised assignment.

  The operation had gone with a smoothness beyond Marcus’s wildest hopes. No one had suspected Faris. It was then that Marcus had begun to realize the potential of the situation. The power of a man who had mind control over a killer. It was dizzying. So it was that he’d begun to invest heavily in Faris’s specialized training.

  Faris had been in and out of institutions for much of his troubled adolescence, but no doctors or drugs had ever broken the invisible bonds his brother had instilled. Faris had never betrayed him.

  Until now. For that problematic bitch, Margaret Callahan.

  Perhaps he should have become a psychiatrist. Manipulating his brother’s mind and psyche had been the most absorbing project of his life, more compelling by far than his spotty professional career. He would have been brilliant in that field, but he would also have been hampered by a tedious code of ethics.

  For Marcus, private freedom was sweeter than public acclaim.

  “If you’d obeyed me, I would have left Margaret undamaged,” Marcus said. “As it is, we’ll just have to see. In any case, your women wear out fast, Faris. You’re very hard on them, I’ve noticed.”

  “Margaret will be different.” Faris’s voice was unexpectely clear. “The others were weak. They broke. Margaret won’t break.”

  “Yes, she does strike me as resilient,” Marcus murmured.

  So Faris was still rebellious, despite the bullet wound. Marcus circled the chair considering how best to quench this rebel spark.

  His cell phone rang. The number on the display made his heart thud. He hit the talk button. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Worthington?”

  “Yes,” Marcus said. “How are things at Krell today? Do you have something for me, Miriam?”

  “Um, maybe.” Miriam’s voice was a whispered squeak. “I’m in the ladies’ room. Calling on the cell LeRoy delivered the other day.”

  “Of course,” Marcus said impatiently. “You would never have reached me otherwise. So? What have you heard?”

  “This guy came in just now to talk to Kraus. He’s just exactly like what LeRoy said to look out for. Real tall, dark blond, kind of military looking. Super good-looking. Scratches and bruises on his face.”

  “What name did he give?”

  “Michael Evan,” Miriam whispered.

  “Hold the line, Miriam.” He hit the intercom. “Karel?”

  “Yes, Mr. Worthington?”

  “A man answering Davy McCloud’s description is at Krell right now. Bring him here immediately. Prepare to drug him if necessary. He’s very dangerous.”

  “We’re on it,” Karel replied.

  Marcus put the cell phone back to his ear. “Thank you, my dear. You’ve done very well.”

  “Um…does that mean that I—that you won’t—”

  “As always, it depends on you. You know what will happen if I am forced to tell your part in what happened to Craig Caruso and Mandi Whitlow. You were very helpful, keeping us abreast of all his social appointments. Such a talented little secretary.”

  “But you never told me you were going to hurt them!”

  “Don’t whine,” Marcus said. “It’s doubtfu
l that the police would look favorably on you if the truth came out. Not after they monitor the electronic deposits into your bank account.”

  “I can’t stand this,” she whimpered.

  “Continue as you have been, and everything will be fine. You’ll find a nice gift in your checking account tomorrow. I’m sure that will brighten your mood. It always has before.” He broke the connection and punched in a code that would render the number Miriam had dialed obsolete.

  He cupped Faris’s face in his hands. “You’re in luck, Faris. We may have found McCloud. Which means Margaret isn’t far behind. Perhaps we can salvage the plan—if I get my hands on her today.”

  “Don’t hurt her,” Faris pleaded. “If you have to torture her, at least let me do it. I’m good. Better than you. I can use the needles.”

  Marcus backhanded him. A thread of blood trickled out of his brother’s nose. “Do not tell me what to do. You’ve failed me.”

  “Let me kill him,” Faris whispered brokenly. “I can do it. I swear.”

  “He beat you before,” Marcus pointed out mercilessly. “Twice.”

  “It was a fluke,” Faris protested. “The first time I didn’t expect him to be so accomplished. And the second time—”

  “Excuses make me angry,” Marcus said. “Failure is unacceptable. I taught you that a long time ago. Don’t you remember the lesson?”

  “I remember.” Faris’s mouth trembled. “Please. Let me kill him.”

  “We’ll see.” Marcus wiped away the bloody mucus rolling out of Faris’s nose with his handkerchief. “You’re too agitated, Faris.” He kissed the top of Faris’s head, and caressed his face tenderly. “Try to relax.”

  Davy was very smooth at social engineering after years as an investigator. In fact, his formidable skills at manipulating people into giving him information were one of the reasons he’d decided to get out of the business. He’d decided to develop more ethical talents.

  Still, the skill was handy in a pinch. A few minutes of studying Krell’s web site, a handful of memorized jargon, a dose of bullshit, and it wasn’t hard to pose as a potential client for a massive, costly biometric security installation. Besides, Kraus talked so much, Davy hardly had a chance to inadvertently reveal his ignorance. The real challenge was in keeping an interested look on his face for the droning sales pitch.

  Kraus paused at one point, focusing on Davy’s face. “Excuse me for asking a personal question, but where’d you get those bruises?”

  “Free-climbing up on Mt. Ranier,” Davy lied easily. “I got caught in a rock slide.”

  “Free-climbing?” Kraus’s eyes widened. “Daredevil type, huh?”

  Davy lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “Now and then. I’ve got a personal question for you, too, Mr. Kraus.” Davy drummed his fingers on Kraus’s big, gleaming desk, and looked grave. “My employer has expressed some doubts about, uh…what happened last fall.”

  Kraus’s face darkened. “I wondered when you were going to get around to that. Look, the first thing I want to emphasize is that what happened to Caruso had nothing to do with Krell. It was a direct result of the sloppy way the guy ran his personal life.”

  Davy gave him an encouraging nod, and waited.

  “You have no idea the trouble we had because of him,” Kraus complained. “Our stocks fell. The press hinted at links with organized crime. His secretary Miriam, the girl out front on the phones, had a breakdown. All because the guy just couldn’t keep his pants zipped.”

  “Ah. So Caruso was a womanizer?”

  Kraus snorted. “An alley cat. Don’t get me wrong. I believe that a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do, but he should be discreet about it. And he should have known better than to mess with Mag Callahan.”

  “And Mag Callahan would be…?”

  “The woman who murdered him. We hired her to do web design. The first time I laid eyes on her, I knew she was trouble. She was gorgeous, but I believe in staying clear of women who would rather die than give a guy a break, you know? Craig should have known better.”

  “Hmm.” Davy kept his face carefully neutral. “I see.”

  Kraus was warming to his topic. “I mean, I can understand the impulse. The body on that woman, whew. But I also understand him wanting to kick back with someone like Mandi. Mandi was less, I don’t know. Challenging, you know?”

  Kraus gave him a man-to-man smile. Davy couldn’t bring himself to smile back, but fortunately, Kraus was too self-involved to notice.

  “Turns out Mandi was more challenging than we knew. They found the guy strung up from the ceiling, naked. Mag walked in on them, and I guess she figured she had to one-up Mandi, so she emptied out her clip.” Kraus shook his head. “Women. You never know.”

  “Hmm,” Davy murmured. “So the police didn’t have any doubts?”

  Kraus shrugged. “Who else? It was her gun. She’s on the video going into the building. No one’s seen her since. You do the math.”

  Davy nodded. “What exactly did Caruso do for you?”

  “Research and development. Mike Wainwright knew the guy from Stanford. Caruso was a hell of an innovator, I’ll say that much. A lot of the features that make Krell so competitive for a small company are his ideas.” Kraus blew out a sigh. “But that’s how it goes. So? What else can I do for you, Mr. Evan?”

  Davy sighed inwardly. If someone at Krell was responsible for what happened to Caruso and Margot, Kraus didn’t know shit about it, and the other guy Margot had mentioned was out of town. He would have to come back the following week.

  Davy shook hands, promised to be in touch and headed out to reception. Caruso’s ex-secretary Miriam was on the phone. He watched her discreetly. Young, blond, plump. Blandly pretty. Her eyes flicked up to Davy’s as she talked into the headset. They froze wide open.

  His neck crawled at the wave of fear he sensed from her.

  “I’ll have him call you, Mr. Tripp,” she said. “Yes, and you have a great day now, too. Bye-bye.” She looked up at him. “Can I help you?”

  He put on his most charming smile. Her eyes slid away. No answering smile. “Mr. Kraus told me you used to work for Craig Caruso,” he said. “I wanted to ask you a few quick questions.”

  The pink in her cheeks abruptly faded. “I worked for him, but I didn’t exactly know him,” she said. “It was so awful, what happened.”

  “Did you know Mandi Whitlow?” he asked.

  “A little, but it’s not like we were friends. She was a tech, and I reported to the office manager. So I can’t tell you much of anything about them. Anything at all.” She blinked rapidly.

  “Ah. OK,” he said gently. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “No bother.” Her bright smile was like a plastic mask.

  He walked out into the hot sun, puzzled and thoughtful. Miriam was acting guilty. Bob Kraus had not. He should have brought Sean along. Sean was brilliant at prying info out of females; a skill which baffled his brothers. Davy had never had the stomach to flirt with any woman he wasn’t genuinely interested in. It made him feel like a user.

  Sean, on the other hand, overcame this obstacle by being genuinely, sincerely, intensely interested in all of them. Plain ones, shy ones, fat ones, thin ones, even the weird ones, Sean found them all fascinating. It was his secret weapon. They melted into goo for it.

  He headed towards the car. An engine revved, and he turned to see a gray van with tinted windows pulling up behind him. The side door slid open. Two men jumped out and pointed silenced pistols at him. They had the businesslike air of seasoned professionals.

  His stomach dropped. He’d been a pussywhipped asshole for bringing Margot here. He should have kept driving until they were in Mexico. He should have gone to ground, gotten her a new ID, taken her to Europe. There were a million other things he should have done, but here he was staring down the barrels of two guns, and Margot was all alone. Seth and his brothers were too far away to help her.

  And behind it, pain twisted li
ke a knife in his gut, keen and sharp. He hadn’t even had the balls to tell her that he loved her.

  One of them circled behind him. The barrel of a pistol pressed against the nape of his neck. The other stabbed a syringe into his arm.

  Aw, shit was the last coherent thought he managed to think before icy darkness spread, and everything went away.

  Chapter

  25

  Davy was stuck in a stifling nightmare about blood and snakes and pain. Pounding head, aching body. Someone was shaking him. A sharp blow cracked against his face. He dragged his eyes open to investigate. A face stared into his. He struggled to focus.

  A lean, handsome guy in his late thirties, dark hair trimmed short. Smiling. His white teeth and white shirt hurt Davy’s eyes. He squeezed them shut against the pain. The man slapped him again.

  He opened his eyes. “Who the fuck are you?” he mumbled.

  The source of the pain focalized. His arms were wrenched back, bound behind him at his elbows and wrists. His hands were numb.

  “Where is Margaret Callahan?” the man asked.

  His drugged brain struggled to connect the dots. Callahan. Margot’s real name. “I don’t know anybody named Margaret Callahan.”

  The man slapped him again. “Wrong answer, Mr. McCloud.”

  Davy took stock. He was seated, bound to a heavy wooden chair. The guy in front of him was not Snakey, though he was similar in looks. He was older, somewhat slimmer. “Where’s Snakey?” Davy asked.

  The man looked politely puzzled. “Excuse me?”

  “The ninja asshole who’s been killing people right and left.”

  The man looked amused. “Oh. My younger brother, Faris. So he went on a killing spree after all, did he? You’ll be meeting him again later. He’s resting up. His last encounter with you left him somewhat the worse for wear.”

  “Who are you guys?” Davy demanded.

  “You can call me Marcus,” the guy said. “Let’s talk about the whereabouts of Margaret Callahan. Or Margot Vetter, if you prefer.”