Love on the Line (Love Beyond Danger Book 3)

by Diane Holiday

  Chapter 47

  Paul’s pulse quickened as a guard led Devon, wearing an orange jumpsuit, into the prison visiting room partitioned by a glass wall.

  Far cry from his designer threads. The sweet taste of retribution swirled in Paul’s mouth. He swallowed and studied Devon, happy for the barrier. No telling what the psychopath would do without one.

  Two months incarcerated, and Devon’s skin had paled. A couple of cuts on his face looked fresh. Good. Bastard deserved that and more. Probably wasn’t playing nice in the sandbox. What a shock.

  He slid into the seat across from Paul, and the guard stepped back, crossing his arms. Devon picked up the receiver from the telephone on the counter and Paul did the same.

  “Hello, Paulie.” Devon leaned closer to the glass. “I almost refused your visit, but I had to hear what you could possibly have left to say after all the talking you did to the police.” A muscle in his cheek popped up as he gritted out the words, “And there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

  “My name is Paul, and don’t forget it.” He held Devon’s gaze. How could he have missed the pure evil that radiated off the guy and ever believed they were friends? “We have some unsettled business. But first I want to ask you something.”

  “Ask away. Clearly I have all the time in the world.” A vein on Devon’s forehead bulged, belying the calmness of his voice.

  “Why did you do it? Kill your family and Lynn?”

  Devon scoffed. “Because they deserved it. I punish people who wrong me, Paul-ie.”

  “You feel nothing? No regrets?”

  “Oh, I have regrets, but not over any of them.” He pointed a finger at Paul. “What I regret is ever bringing you onboard. I paid you enough to keep your mouth permanently shut. Why did you turn me in, and why aren’t you in jail?”

  “They cut me a deal, so at least I’m free, unlike you.” Paul shook his head, his heart an empty shell. “I’m bankrupt after all the fines and taxes. House and car taken. My wife left me, and I’m starting from scratch.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “But I don’t care. It’s just money and stuff.” Leaning closer to the glass, he narrowed his eyes. “I did it for Lynn, and now, you’re finally getting what you deserve, you bastard.”

  Devon’s body shook as his face turned red.

  “Now what is it you wanted to tell me?” Paul sat back and adjusted his glasses.

  Devon’s hand balled into a fist. “I’m going to get out of here, and when I do, you’re the first one I’m coming after.” His voice raised, and his mouth twisted. “There’ll be nothing left of you when I’m done.” He slammed his fist on the table, and the guard stepped toward him with cuffs. “You’re a fucking dead man. You hear me?”

  Paul stood and smiled. “I won the bet, and now you owe me a beer. It’s okay. I know you won’t be able to pay up, because the only bars you will ever be around again are the ones in front of your face.”

  Devon lunged at the glass, his face contorted in rage as he yelled, “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

  The guard grabbed him, yanking his arms back to cuff.

  “Tsk tsk. No time off for good behavior now.” Paul hung up the phone and walked away, chin held high as the room reverberated with the sound of a scuffle, a thump, and then…

  Silence.

  Epilogue

  Mouth dry, sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades, Wyatt stood at the altar, staring at the closed doors Anne would soon walk through. As promised when he proposed, he hadn’t rushed her to get married. He’d waited seven months for this, so what was a few more minutes? Felt like an eternity.

  Time had flown with wedding planning and the new home under construction. The house would be ready and waiting for them when they got back from their honeymoon. Falling in love had changed his life, for the better.

  He slipped two fingers under his collar and tugged the bow tie out to get some air. Standing beside him, John cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to cover a laugh. Wyatt shot a look at him and caught John’s smirk before he put on his appropriately solemn, poker face.

  Music played, and the church doors opened. The ring bearer and flower girl walked down the aisle, distracted and needing some prodding from Maddie, who followed. Everyone oohed and aahed at the children. Emily and Sarah came next, escorted by Wyatt’s friends.

  The wedding march cued, and Anne appeared in the doorway, holding her father’s arm. Wyatt swallowed hard and held his breath as she floated down the aisle, her face hidden behind a sheer veil. The dress suited her perfectly. Classy, conservative, and elegant with a lacy front that encircled her throat. Beautiful.

  Her father lifted the veil and kissed her on the cheek. She turned to Wyatt and beamed a smile, her gorgeous blue eyes radiating love. His heart swelled. He took her hand, and his fingers tingled at the touch of her smooth, soft skin.

  Their relationship had been challenged and threatened, but she’d kept coming back to him. Her strength and loyalty had overcome every obstacle. Having gone through that ordeal, they’d become stronger together. Now she stood before him, about to pledge her love to him forever.

  No one and nothing could make him a happier man.

  Emily clinked her glass with a spoon, and the tinkle of silver against fine crystal filled the room as everyone followed suit. Anne smiled at Wyatt, seated next to her at the banquet table. He leaned over and kissed her with champagne-laced lips, causing hers to tickle in a delicious way.

  A boisterous round of applause erupted, and he squeezed her thigh under the table. “Better eat something. You’re going to need your energy later.”

  “I hope so.” She grinned and gazed around the hall. Soft music played in the background as servers glided about the room in synchrony, carrying silver platters.

  John picked up his beer and tapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “Good grub. Now I need to go rescue Trish.”

  Anne cocked her head and scanned the room. She bit her cheek and stifled a laugh. Trish leaned back in her chair as a skinny, young guy with a crimson-red face tried to mop up a spilled beer with his napkin. Unsteady on his feet, he nearly took out another drink. Poor kid probably thought he had a chance with her. Might be his first taste of liquor.

  Wyatt shook his head. “Glad John finally grew a pair and asked Trish out.”

  “I think the two of them are just tough enough to make things work out together.” Anne nodded.

  Wyatt squeezed her hand, and she took another sip of champagne. She gazed at her family. Her dad winked at her, his arm slung around the back of her mother’s chair. Scott laughed at something Bruce said as he hoisted his daughter onto his lap and handed her a juice box. Maddie and Sarah chatted, holding their babies.

  Anne glanced at Wyatt, her heart so full it threatened to explode. He brought a hand to her cheek, and his eyes softened. “Yeah, like I told you before, I want that, too.”

  Happy tears blurred her vision, and she kissed him.

  Cameras flashed, and for once, she didn’t care. All they could possibly catch was a beautiful, tender moment. Let the whole world see it. She loved this man with all her heart and couldn’t wait to share the rest of her life with him.

  THE END

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  Sneak Peek of Crazy on You

  Leave it to me to fall asleep in the back of my car…and wake up kidnapped.

  Deep voices blended into the rumble of the engine. It stuttered and shimmied before settling into a whining rest that rocked all the way to the carpeted back seat where I hid.

  My eyes scrunched tight and my heart wanted to curl up and sploosh out of my chest like the last vestiges of toothpaste in the tube. Sweat trickled down the valley of my boobs and ended in the dip of my thighs.

  Buried under material, each pant of breath seared my nostrils as fresh oxygen was replaced
with the sour smell of the good times I’d enjoyed at dinner. Intended as donations for Goodwill, the clothes and blankets would apparently now become my funeral shroud.

  Most people could escape a bad dream once they woke up. It was my luck to discover reality was the true nightmare.

  A low squeal of tires pitched me forward. Cloth fibers scraped against my cheek and shoved my glasses against my forehead. My stomach swished, a wave of nausea crashing and receding against the back of my throat. Only the grace of God and a large trash bag full of clothes breaking the fall of my face kept me from moaning and drawing the thieves’ attention.

  I swallowed, plastic and acid bittersweet on my tongue. Whoever had said the root of all evil was money had never indulged in a bottle of Jose Cuervo.

  “This car is trashed.” A male spoke, tone somewhere between a two-packs-a-day habit and the wheezing of a sinus-infected bulldog. A pause. Then, “What’s that smell?”

  The rough crunch of paper. “Probably whatever’s in this crusty old Burger King bag.” This voice wasn’t as deep and gravelly as the first, but still belonged to a dude.

  People were in my car. Strange, judgy people at that. I’d end up an episode of Nancy Grace. Just like Mama had always warned.

  My heartbeat echoed in my ears. Starbursts exploded at the sides of my vision, luring me into unconsciousness. I resisted. My glasses fogged in the confined space as I panted quietly.

  “This car must belong to some hoarder or pack rat.” The smoking bulldog’s voice drowned out under a scrape and thump.

  Whatever vestiges of alcohol were left in my system sweated out, as each frantic heartbeat replenished my blood with fresh oxygen. My fingers clutched the bag against my face. How dare these men criticize my personal habits? They were the ones stealing a car. Oakvale wasn’t an urban area like New York City or D.C. but it had its fair share of crime. Joyriding and theft were common. So was murder. Kidnappings were rare but had been known to happen.

  I’d never thought it would happen to me.

  Not that I was above being the victim of such types of crime. I’d always kind of figured I’d be in at least one convenience-store robbery or home invasion. My house wasn’t in the worst of neighborhoods, but I tended to roll out at midnight for fried pickles and iced coffee at Sheetz. I was sure neighbors and wannabe thieves had noticed. Although with the wreck my house frequently was, it could have already happened and I’d not noticed.

  I released the bag. I didn’t want to draw their attention, but I needed a plan to escape. The first rule of any kidnapping was not to let the kidnappers get you to a secondary location. I had to do some—

  Something made a light whoosh as it landed on the pile on top of me. The air in my chest vanished and I swore, I swore, my heart stopped as well. My ears hummed as the world dissolved into a cone of white noise. But nothing was whisked away and hands didn’t seize me. I shifted to ease the shirt glued to my side and something poked my boob.

  My phone was in my personal pocket. Without disturbing the material covering me, I brought the screen close to my face. Almost three a.m. I’d been napping for over five hours.

  I slid the silent button down.

  I needed Lynnie. She’d know what to do.

  I texted: HELP!

  Seconds of silence. Long, long seconds.

  I texted it again. Adding: KIDNAPPED to the end of the message.

  More silence.

  This time I sent: KIDNAPPED, NO JOKE. HELP111

  I finally got a response. TO dRnK 2 CRe srRY

  My jaw popped as my teeth ground. That bitch.

  When I got out of this—if I got out of this—I was going to kill her. If by some unfortunate circumstance I didn’t make it, I’d talk God into letting me haunt her white ass until she died.

  The screen darkened and I hit the button to bring it back. The emergency feature in the lower corner stood out in white, blessed relief. If there was ever a time to use that, it was now.

  Lord, if I make it out of this alive, I promise to consider better lifestyle choices in the future.

  I tapped out 911, listening for the car to stop or movement in my direction. Nothing. Whoever was up front seemed oblivious to my presence, talking and laughing, having a grand ol’ time. How that was possible, I had no idea. I thought humans had a primal sense that triggered when they weren’t alone.

  “911. What’s your emergency?” The man’s voice came through the phone bored and unconcerned.

  “Help. I’m being kidnapped,” I whispered.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Can you repeat that?”

  “Help! I’ve been kidnapped,” I hissed, louder.

  “All right, remain calm, ma’am.” His voice sharpened to crisp professionalism. “Keep the line open. We’re tracking your cell’s location now.”

  I did as he said. Lights from overhead winked in and out. My eyes stared at the scraps of material hanging out of the white trash bag of donations inches from my face. Then the red tie on the trash bag. I’d never noticed how much those little strips resembled streams of blood, the bags split like overly grilled wieners. Hadn’t there been a movie where someone had been choked to death with strings of sausages? These men had just stolen my beloved car and my love of hot dogs. My vision blurred as white crept up my lenses. I was beginning to fear I would survive but not have anything left to live for.

  I was about to take my chances and poke my head up when the male voice yelled from the receiver. “Ma’am? Ma’am!”

  “Yes,” I hissed again. If it kept up, I’d sound like Great-Aunt Thelma. “Don’t yell. I’m trying to survive here.”

  A puff of air crackled over the line. With some relief, he said, “Officers are en route. Hold on a little longer. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself.”

  Well, duh.

  The car hit a bump and bounced. The vehicle rocked violently, clothes and junk scattering. My elbow dug into the seat and I barely managed to keep from slamming into the edge of a wooden shelf poking through a bag. One of the idiots up front wasn’t as lucky. Glass rattled and a man’s yell bounced around the interior.

  But that’s what they got for absconding with my poor Blue.

  “Why you had to get this POS, I’ll never know,” the young ’un whined. “There had to be another, newer car. Something with satellite radio at least.”

  “Those fancy-ass cars have more security than airports these days and complicated ignitions.” A loud, hollow thud echoed as something slapped plastic. “Cars like this are shitty but sturdy and simple. And satellite radio isn’t the be-all, end-all of quality, you know.”

  At least one of the guys could appreciate Japanese engineering. But if they broke my baby, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. I’d open a can of whoop-ass and fury their kin would feel twenty years from now.

  Sirens wailed faintly, but grew steadily louder with each passing second.

  Thank you, Jesus.

  Rescue was in reach.

  What if they aren’t here for you?

  Man, that voice could be such a pessimistic bitch. I pressed the phone harder against my ear to deny the too-heinous-for-words thought.

  “I hear sirens. Are they almost here?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Hold on a few seconds longer.”

  Easy for him to say. He wasn’t wondering if he’d live to experience Free Donut Day next month.

  “Dude! The cops are behind us!”

  He had to be younger by a generation at least. No way would an older man say, “dude.” It made me wonder how they came to be together. Grandfather and grandson? Father and son out for a family bonding experience? I gave an inner snort. Yeah, nothing said quality time like stealin’ a car together.

  “Don’t worry,” the older man rasped, calm and even. “They can’t be here for us. How would they know we stole this car? It was in an empty parking lot after the restaurant had closed. Plus, I’m not speeding and I’m using all the proper signals.”

  Alth
ough his vocal chords sounded like two pumice stones rubbing together, he had a soothing way about him. He wasn’t addressing me directly but the odd roughness and up-and-down cadence calmed me all the same.

  I needed to get a grip, not become a victim of vehicular Stockholm Syndrome.

  “They don’t look like they’re going around.”

  “You worry too much.” A pause. “Is this your first run?”

  The little dude groaned. The edges of the trash bag against my face ruffled as the seat shifted. “It shows? I’m such a newb.”

  “How old are you, Ethan?” Older’s voice softened.

  “Twenty. Drugs weren’t my first career choice, but it’s a new economy, right?”

  Male laughter, a light sound at odds with the roughness of his voice. “Too true. Have you heard about that mine in Logan closing?”

  “I know, right.” The man in the passenger seat moved, the metal grating in protest. “Stupid EPA restrictions. Can you believe—”

  They thought now was a good time to discuss the state’s economy? I bit the edge of plastic covering my phone to hold back a curse.

  “Shit,” Older said.

  Flashing lights bounced above. The sirens were directly behind now.

  “Man, what’re we gonna do?” the younger guy whispered.

  “You got your gun?”

  Silence descended. I held my breath, praying someone would speak before the dynamite bordering my vision ignited.

  “There’s only one car. When he gets out, we’ll shoot. Then vamoose down the road like nothing’s happened. It should give us enough time to get to Bobby Lee’s and dump this car.”

  The car slowed, then jerked, as my brakes struggled to stop.

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. The cop was going to get shot. Then, I’d get shot. They’d dump poor Blue in a ditch somewhere. The more my thoughts raced, the more my stomach churned. I didn’t want to be another statistic. A number on a billboard counter, signaling the total people killed in traffic accidents for the year. We had enough of those already.