by Desiree Holt
She swallowed more coffee. Ethan was right. The shot of caffeine was helping her system settle down. “Who do you think they were shooting at?”
“Could have been you,” Nick answered. “They tried to get rid of you once and failed.”
Her eyes widened, and she felt the blood drain from her face. She took a large gulp of the hot liquid to steady herself, knowing again, if Ethan sensed her fear, he’d never take her with him.
“But they could have come after me any time during the past few weeks.” She gripped her hands around the coffee so tight she was afraid she’d crack the plastic cup. She could almost smell the fear on herself.
“They could be watching you,” Nick pointed out. “Waiting for the right moment. They see any activity that puts them on alert…well…they have a lot at stake.”
Ethan shrugged. “Could have been me, too. I made a lot of enemies over the years. Lately, I’ve made myself a little more visible. And I’ve been poking into some uncomfortable places the past few days. When you put yourself out in the open, the wolves begin to hunt.” He glanced over at her. “Or like I said, they could have been aiming at you.”
“But why now, after all this time?”
Again, it was Nick who answered, “To throw a scare into you. Keep you from looking for your son. They see more activity on your part, and they want to stop it. Something stinks here. I can smell it.” He took one more glance around before holstering his weapon. “We’d all better get the hell out of here. Looks like we’re already running out of time. And I don’t want to hang around and give them another chance at us. That could have been just a warning. Or not.”
“Josh?” Lisa looked at her brother. “Will you be okay? I don’t want you getting shot over this.”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t think anyone’s after me, but I’ll lay low, anyway.” He closed the passenger door and tapped it twice. “If you want to call me, use one of Ethan’s cell phones.”
“Okay.” She started to ask him about the gun, but they were already pulling out of the parking lot.
Ethan was his usual silent self as he drove, and Lisa was glad for the quiet. She was still shaken by the shooting and needed to get herself under control. Any sign of fear and she knew he would take off without her.
On the drive to her house, they followed a meandering, convoluted route.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “Do you need directions?”
“I need to make sure whoever shot at us—or their friends—aren’t on my ass.” His voice was a low growl. “They probably know where you live, but I don’t want to give them any extra advantage.”
When it seemed he was satisfied they were clear, he turned onto her street and pulled into her driveway.
“Take only the bare essentials,” he ordered. “We won’t be heavy in the luggage department. You’ll have to do without your fancy duds.”
She glared at him. “You’re a reverse snob, Mr. Caine. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and money’s no good if it destroys your life. I don’t need anything but my son.”
She started to climb out of the SUV, but he stopped her. “Give me your keys. I want to check the house first.”
Her eyes widened. “You think someone might be here?”
He shrugged. “I’ve learned not to take chances. Lock these doors until I come out. If I yell go, start this thing and get the hell out of here.”
He moved away silently, leaving her alone in the car.
Lisa fought back the panic that surged forward and chewed on her thumbnail until at last he came out onto the porch and motioned for her.
“Looks clear, but I’ll wait for you in the living room just to be on the safe side.”
Packing took only a few minutes.
“All set,” she told him, hauling her suitcase into the living room.
They locked up the house and were on their way.
Again, he drove in an apparently aimless manner until he was satisfied they were clear, then headed out of town. He said nothing, a silent presence, and Lisa occupied herself thinking of every curse word she knew to vilify Charles. Even in death, the bastard was still destroying her life.
She leaned back against the headrest, remembering the awful trip to the morgue. The police insisted there wasn’t enough of the body left to identify except through dental records, and Josh had tried hard to talk her out of it. She wanted to see for herself. She couldn’t rest until she convinced herself the lump of flesh they’d pulled from the burned car was Charles
The coffee Ethan had handed her earlier triggered a memory still branded in her brain.
****
Four years earlier
“Mrs. Mallory.” The detective who had come to the house to notify her stood next to her. “This isn’t a pleasant sight. Identifying a body is a horrible experience under normal circumstances, and this is anything but. Are you sure you want to put yourself through this?”
Lisa nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’m fine. I’ll be all right.” She had to make sure he was dead.
He made another attempt. “His car rolled off an embankment and the gas tank exploded. I don’t—”
“Please. I need to be able to put closure to this. For myself and my son.” In addition, to make sure that bastard can’t come back and hurt us again.
The detective shrugged. “All right. Just be aware the body is badly burned. I’ll have them set it up in the viewing window.
“No.” She almost shouted the word. “I don’t want to see him through a glass or in a photograph. Take me into the morgue.” She looked up at the man. “You can do that, right?”
“Lisa.” Josh touched her arm. He had been at her house when the police arrived and insisted on driving her here himself.
She shook it off. “Can we stop arguing and get this over with?”
The morgue was ice cold, the air filled with the chemicals of death. She was sure all the perfume in the world couldn’t disguise the pervasive odor that hovered over everything. Two members of the medical examiner’s staff, gowned and gloved, stood by stainless steel tables, the remains on them hastily covered with canvas so her eyes wouldn’t be offended.
She stood at the autopsy table, flanked by Josh and the detective. A canvas similar to the others covered what lay on it. A stainless steel pan was attached at the side, and a scale hung from a pole hooked to one corner. For organs, she thought, remembering all the television shows she’d seen. If there were any to remove, that was. Alternatively, to weigh.
She thought she was prepared for what she would see, that her hatred would shield her against the horror, but the reality was even worse than she imagined. What was stretched out on the autopsy table wasn’t even the remnant of a human being.
Almost all the flesh had been burned away, but charred bits of it still clung to what was left of the bones, reminding her of spare ribs that had been expertly gnawed. The skull was a grinning monstrosity, the teeth like chipped enamel plugs protruding from what was left of the jaw. The skeleton wasn’t even complete. Many of the bones had been partially destroyed by the fire.
“Compare it to a crematorium,” the detective answered her unspoken question. “When the fire heats to a certain temperature, it disintegrates bone, leaving only a residue of ash.”
Bile rushed up into her throat, and she swallowed hard against it. She forced herself to stare at what remained of Golden Boy Charles Mallory, the devil who had taken her to hell. Whatever she had expected to get from this wasn’t there. This was just a charred, stinking lump of flesh and bone fragments. And maybe that’s all he’d ever been under that golden exterior.
She needed this to be him, needed the man to be dead, so she could, finally and forever, have peace. And somewhere deep inside her, she knew the gruesome remains on that table were what was left of Charles.
She nodded once. “Yes. That’s him.” She turned and almost ran from the refrigerated environment. Josh caught up with her in the hallway.
“Lis
a.” He pulled her into his arms.
She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
“Here, Mrs. Mallory. This might help.” The detective handed her a cup of coffee he’d procured from somewhere.
Josh took it and held it to her lips.
Lisa forced herself to take a sip, the liquid spreading its heat through her body. Too bad it couldn’t reach her soul. She was sure she’d be cold there forever. But Charles was dead.
“At least the nightmare is over.” She leaned against Josh. “Thank God.”
****
“Mrs. Mallory?”
“Huh? What?” She shook herself from the ghastly reverie and realized they’d stopped moving.
“We’re here.”
She blinked. “Sorry. Exactly where are we?”
“Just east of Tampa. This is probably one of the few remaining rural homesteads in the area. It’s good for me. Nobody bothers me about homeowner rules and shit like that.”
She looked out the window at the rambling farmhouse showing visible signs of neglect, surrounded by weeds and shrubbery gone wild. Her distaste must have been evident in her face.
Ethan sat unmoving in his seat, car keys dangling from his fingers. “You can change your mind any time you want. I’ll just take you back to your house and get on with what I have to do.”
“No. I don’t care if you live in a hovel. Which, by the way, isn’t so far from what this is. Let’s just do what we have to do and get Jamie.” She opened the door and got out.
She realized the house was an extension of the man—a once proud warrior now falling to seed and uncared-for. Life had been hard on both of them.
He flipped open a panel on the wall in the entry hall and punched in a code. Instantly, four green lights came on. He unlocked what looked to Lisa like a closet door. Instead, it was a small room filled with more electronic equipment than she’d ever seen in one place. She watched, fascinated, as he flipped switches, typed commands into computer keyboards, and a bank of monitors on the wall came to life.
“But this is unbelievable,” she said, her eyes wide. “This place…it’s like a fortress.”
Ethan nodded. “Of necessity. Especially now after that shooting. I have cameras and electronic sensors all over the property. That way no one sneaks up and surprises us.”
“Oh.” She shivered at the thought.
He led the way down a short hall. “There’s a bedroom that’s fairly clean and it’s got its own bath.” Opening a door, he walked across the room and raised the windows. At once, a breeze blew in and stirred the musty odor. “I’ll just air it out a little.”
Lisa looked around the room. A king-sized bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and two doors. Dusty but not as bad as she expected. Unused for a long time.
Ethan pointed. “Closet. Bathroom. I’ll get you sheets and blankets from the linen closet. The room hasn’t been used in years, so I didn’t see much sense in keeping the bed made up.”
“This will be just fine.” She started to say something else but was interrupted by the doorbell. “Are you expecting company?”
Surely not. And what about the fancy security?
Ethan was already moving out of the room. “Not to worry. I know who it is.”
Still, a gun had appeared in his hand. He held it against his thigh as he moved to the front hall.
She followed him, stunned by the sight of a huge delivery truck in the driveway. What could he possibly have ordered? At the end of an hour, she was even more amazed. Another bedroom, devoid of furniture, was filled with a treadmill, free weights, and what she’d seen on television advertised as a home gym. What surprised her most were handholds on one of the walls that she recognized as a training wall for rock climbing.
“Are we starting a physical fitness program?” she asked. “Do we really have time for this?”
“We don’t have time not to do it.” He was busy arranging free weights on their stand. “We’ve got one week for both of us to get in shape for whatever happens in Mexico. I spent the past week trying to undo the damage I foisted on my body for the last ten years. But that’s just a start.”
“And what’s with the wall?” She waved a hand at it. “Will we be mountain climbing?”
“You never know what you’ll have to climb. That thing is left over from years ago. But I checked all the pegs and they’re still sturdy. I wish we had a month to get ready.”
“A month!” Lisa raked her hair from her face. She couldn’t imagine waiting another month to find Jamie.
“Yeah, but we don’t have that luxury. Without at least some conditioning, I won’t be much help rescuing Jamie. Neither will you. The Quintana Roo isn’t for the weak.” He straightened up and looked at her. “Go put on whatever you’ll be comfortable in and come right back here. We start in five minutes.”
Chapter Seven
Lisa was convinced it would be a true miracle if she didn’t drop dead by the end of the day. Every muscle in her body was on fire and even her bones hurt. The only thing that kept her going was the sure knowledge that if she quit, Ethan would never take her to Mexico with him. She could still go by herself, but she was smart enough to realize how ridiculous it was for her to run off to a foreign country with no resources, looking for a needle in a haystack.
So she sweated over stretches and the treadmill, gritting her teeth as much against the pain as to keep from swearing at the man pushing her, pushing her.
“Keep moving,” Ethan ordered while he worked out with free weights. “We’ll be doing a lot of walking. Gotta strengthen those legs.”
Those legs were trembling by the time he switched off the treadmill.
“Break time.” Ethan tossed her a towel.
“Thanks.” She mopped the sweat on her face and neck, then sat carefully on the weight bench, not wanting to let him see how shaky she was.
He disappeared for a moment, returning with two bottles of water and handing her one. “You need to drink a lot of fluid when you exercise. If your body gets dehydrated, you can’t keep up with the program.”
“Don’t worry.” Her tone was flat. “I’ll have no problem keeping up with it. No matter what you throw at me.”
When they quit at the end of the day, however, she was afraid she’d have to eat her words. Only the image of Jamie constantly in her brain kept her going.
“I stopped at an all-night market last night. Steak and salad for dinner. Thirty minutes. Then we study.” He turned to leave the room.
Study? Study what?
Lisa draped her towel over the handles of the treadmill and headed for her room. A long, hot shower helped ease the soreness of her aching muscles. She pulled on jeans and a tank top, gathered her hair into a ponytail, and swallowed two Ibuprofen tablets. She was sure tonight she’d have no trouble sleeping.
“Shake it, Mrs. Mallory.” Ethan’s voice boomed down the hallway. “Food’s ready.”
Ethan was already at the table. In front of each of them, he’d placed a huge T-bone steak and a large salad.
“Eat.” He poked a piece of steak in his mouth. “You’ll need the protein.”
Lisa slid into her chair. “How about we kill the formality for the duration. Anyway, I’d like to forget I was ever Mrs. Mallory. Except for Jamie,” she amended quickly.
“Okay. Fine. Eat your steak, Lisa.”
With his sharp eyes watching her, she forced down every bite of food. Her stomach, ill-fed for so long, rebelled at first, but she managed to fight the spasms.
“That where you got shot?” He pointed to a puckered scar high up on her left arm.
“Yes. I was lucky. It tore some muscle, and that’s all.” She glared at him. “And it’s fully rehabbed, as I’m sure you could tell today.”
“You’ve got grit, I’ll give you that. And luck, because a couple inches to the left and we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”
“Yes. Josh pointed out to me how stupid I was to handle the drop myself and how lucky that whoeve
r fired at me is a very bad shot.” She pushed away her empty plate and sat back in her chair.
He nodded once in approval. “Good.”
“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?”
“Nothing to talk about.” He scraped the plates and put them in the dishwasher, then filled two mugs with coffee and brought them to the table. “Decaf. Drink up.”
“Why are you doing this?” She pushed the cup away, her face pinched as she caught his gaze. All the anxiety and uncertainty she’d felt since the first meeting with this man, her distaste for him, her anxiety over Jamie sat in her chest like a solid ball of steel. “It’s obvious you don’t like me. Why didn’t you just say no again?”
“My reasons.”
Well, this was getting nowhere fast.
“This is my son we’re talking about. I think I deserve to know why you’re willing to go after him.” She eyed him with speculation. “Josh says you’re a good friend. Nick and Reno highly recommend you. What am I missing here? Is it me?”
He ignored her, instead pouring four packets of sweetener in his coffee and stirring it with slow, methodical sweeps of the spoon. At least the table wasn’t covered with flying residue the way it had been at their lunch. And his table manners had improved.
“It’s just the two of us here. Are we not even going to have polite conversation?”
“You don’t think I’m polite, remember?”
Ethan’s eyes pinned hers, and she saw again that same sharp pain, that same anguish, that she’d seen since their meeting the other day. The load of guilt Ethan Caine carried had not diminished one bit. For the first time, she actually felt sorry for him. What a terrible thing he lived with.
And then, there it was again, that hot flash of attraction that lasted a millimeter of time but too long as far as she was concerned. Think of something unrelated.
“Do you really think the shooting today had something to do with the kidnapping?”
“Don’t know for sure.” He got up and refilled his mug.
“But…”
He looked over at her. “Up until this week, a lot of people weren’t even sure I was still alive. Now I’ve poked the hornet’s nest. The shooter could be any one of dozens of people. I didn’t win any popularity contests.”
