“Eric, darling. Your sweet fiancé was just passing the time with me until you got home.” Her eyes pleaded with Marlowe to stay quiet. What was Eric mixed up in that his own mother was afraid of him?
“Yeah, just thought I’d drop in and surprise you,” she said, forcing herself to smile at him.
His eyes told her he didn’t believe a word of it, but he smiled all the same. “Always good to see you, sweet Marlowe. Shall we go for a drive? We haven’t spent much time with each other lately. It will be good to have some privacy.”
She didn’t want to go with him but didn’t want him to hurt his mother either, and somehow she thought he might.
“Will you call my father, Regina, and let him know I’ll be home in thirty minutes? He’s expecting me to help him with some work, but I can be a little late for Eric.” She forced herself to put her hand on his arm, forced herself to pretend nothing was wrong.
“Of course, darling. I’ll do it right now.” Regina pulled her cell from a pocket and thumbed through her contacts.
Marlowe hoped it would curtail whatever Eric thought he could do to her as soon as he got her alone.
He walked her back up to the garage, silent, his guards a menace at her back.
Say something, she prodded herself, but then he spoke. “Why are you really here?”
If she told him why, would he kill her? Before she could really think about it, she said, “I don’t want to marry you.”
The words dropped like lead weights between them. His arm came up to grip hers tightly. “Oh?” He was steering her toward the garage but surely he wouldn’t do anything within sight of his mother or his guards.
Once inside, she turned to tell him she didn’t want to talk a ride with him at all and saw the gun.
Her mouth went dry.
“Searching the car? Really? What did you find?” He held out his free hand.
She shook her head and backed away. “I’ll scream.”
“Do it and I’ll hurt your parents too.”
Fear filled her, panic too. She didn’t realize he was herding her until her back bumped against the wall. She watched Eric pull a key fob from his pocket and the trunk on the Lexus popped open.
“Get in.”
She shook her head, but then his guards came up on either side of her. “Eric, you need to let me go.”
He didn’t look at her, just pulled on gloves. “If she doesn’t get in on her own, make her.”
“Eric, look at me. No, get your hands off of me. Eric!”
He ignored her and despite how she fought them, the guards got her into the trunk. When she wouldn’t stop kicking, one of them leaned down and said, “I don’t want to break your legs.”
But he would if he had to. That was the unspoken message and it scared the shit out of her. She curled up her legs and hoped to the gods that Beckett would be able to find her, that Regina would tell her father she was in trouble, that someone would help her.
Otherwise, she was dead.
THIRTEEN
Beckett stared at the phone, then called for Snowy.
“What? I’m in the middle of a game.” She held a controller in one hand and a beer in the other. Bowling.
“She’s going to Lightbourne’s.” He waggled his phone at her. “We need to get there before she does something that will get her killed.”
“How much trouble can a prissy girl like that get into?”
“She saw a video of Eric knocking my brother unconscious before stuffing him into a truck and she’s headed over there to look for proof. That do you?”
“Shit.” She tossed the controller to the couch and followed him to the garage. Zef was there working on a car and when he saw Beckett’s face, he grabbed a rag to wipe down his hands. “Rhys,” Snowy mouthed.
Beckett pretended he didn’t see it as he swung a leg over his motorcycle.
“We should ride together.”
“No. The bike will get through traffic faster if there’s a tie-up. She doesn’t believe me that the Lightbournes are the fucking bad guys. She’s going to go in there thinking they’ll be civil and they’ll kill her and bury her on the grounds. Fuck. Get there as fast as you can. Call the guys. Make sure they weapon up. This is going to get ugly.”
“Right. Be safe.”
He pushed his helmet on and kickstarted the bike, then tore out of the garage headed east. His heart was hammering triple time in his chest and he wasn’t sure where all the adrenaline was coming from. Was he that worried about her? Marlowe Montgomery? Why?
Because he’d pulled her from the river, damn it. It had spared her and him and tied them together in some strange way and he wasn’t going to let her die.
Fuck.
He wasn’t going to let her die.
He weaved through traffic, taking risks, pushing the bike faster and faster. One wrong move from any of the drivers he zipped by and he’d be so much smeared meat on the pavement, but if he didn’t hurry, they’d kill her. They’d make her disappear the way Eric had tried to make him disappear, the way he’d gotten rid of Nicole and Rhys and who knew who else. The guy was fucking pathological and Marlowe was headed straight into the lion’s den.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked her, hoping to the gods that she would play it cool, that she would keep her search on the down-low so that he’d have time to get to her before she got herself killed.
A blue sedan swerved into his lane. His heart lodged in his throat as he sped up more to avoid getting crunched by the blue-haired old lady behind the wheel. It made him misjudge the timing of the lights and a garbage truck nearly took him out.
He wasn’t going to save her if he didn’t make it there alive.
He slowed—barely—until he got to the twisty roads leading to the Lightbourne’s estate and then he opened up the throttle. The motorcycle roared and he leaned into the wind. A car nearly sideswiped him on a turn, but he still managed to stay seated.
The gates leading up the drive were closed of course. He pulled his helmet off and leaned over to press the intercom button. “Beckett Glass.”
There was a long silence in which he contemplated climbing over the damned bars or hauling his ass over the stone wall, but eventually, the door buzzed and the gates swung open.
He heard Snowy and Zef in his head telling him it was a trap, but he put his helmet back on and rode up the drive to the main house looking for Marlowe’s car. He saw it parked near the garage in the wide, circular drive near a Hummer that looked like it had just been driven off the show floor.
Although the day was bitter cold, most of the snow from the previous week’s snowstorm was gone. A few stubborn piles still dwelled in the shadows under the trees and on the north sides of the buildings. He left his helmet on the seat and pulled his cell, dialing Marlowe’s number as he did. It went straight to voicemail. “Fuck.”
“Mr. Glass. To what do I owe the honor?”
It was old Elmer Lightbourne himself, dressed down in what were probably thousand-dollar khakis. He held a paper in one hand and a pipe in the other as if he were trying to look cliche. “Marlowe Montgomery is here to see you.”
“Oh? And are you her official herald now?” Elmer smiled mildly then looked around. “Where is she then?”
Beckett narrowed his eyes. “Cut the crap, old man. That’s her car, right there.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the garage and Elmer dutifully stepped off the porch to look.
“Hmm. I guess it is. Perhaps she’s here visiting Eric or my wife. Regina went down to the stables early this morning. I imagine she’s still there, playing with her thoroughbreds.” He grimaced as if the word tasted bad in his mouth. “Do ask her if she wants the maid to fix her lunch.” He gazed past the garage to the stables beyond, then went back inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Frowning, Beckett stared after him, trying to put his finger on what was wrong with the guy. He seemed dazed, drugged even. Certainly not the man who had once gone to bat for his high-po
wered clients.
Beckett texted Snowy to let her know he was at the Lightbourne’s, then walked down to Marlowe’s car to peer through windows. Her purse sagged between the seats. No blood, nothing alarming.
Had she gotten the chance to look in the trunk of the car Eric had been driving the night Rhys disappeared? Had she found anything?
Didn’t fucking matter. He had to find her, first. He’d ask her about the car later.
He skirted the garage and headed toward the stables. A slender woman in riding gear was circling a horse in a ring, her hand on a long lead as she watched the horse trot around her. Beckett hadn’t grown up with tons of money and knew nothing about horses, but he supposed there was a purpose to what she was doing.
He didn’t see Marlowe anywhere which scared him. It was too much to hope for that she’d been hiding in the garage or something and hadn’t been noticed. Of course she’d been noticed. They’d let her in, hadn’t they?
He leaned on the split rail fence and watched as she worked, her fine-boned face a testament to the stellar plastic surgery people with lots of money could access. She was in her sixties, but she looked about thirty-five if you pretended not to see the way her skin stretched a hair too tight across her skull.
“What on earth are you doing here, Mr. Glass? Did my husband let you in?”
“Someone did. Opened the gates and let me ride on up.”
He hadn’t noticed the guards before but now he saw them stationed a few hundred yards away, three of them at least, wearing suits with the curly cord sticking out of their ear and snaking into the back of their collars.
“Mm. And what do you want?”
“Where’s Marlowe?”
She didn’t look surprised that he was asking for her, which scared him a little bit more. “She left. About fifteen minutes ago.”
“Left? Without her car?”
“Eric took her for a drive.”
“Oh? Because she called me and said she was going to be here a while.” He cast back over the cars he’d passed. Had Marlowe been in one of them? He couldn’t remember. He’d been too focused on getting here to pay attention to who was in what car.
“Isn’t that strange? Perhaps she wanted to spend time with her fiancé.” She emphasized the word and then clucked her tongue at the horse. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?”
Beckett supposed so. It was a horse. It moved. The muscles on the big guy rippled under his glossy hide. “I guess so.”
She laughed in that delighted way rich people laugh when an inferior says something ignorant. “He’s destined to win the Triple Crown.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Any idea where they went?”
“Why on earth would I tell you that? You need to leave. Guards? He’s not welcome on our estate. Tell the man at the gate if he lets anyone like Mr. Beckett in again, he’s fired. Good day, Glass.”
When he turned, a man in a suit had a Glock 22 pointed at his chest. He raised his hands slowly, chest height, then shot the rich bitch a glare before letting himself be escorted back up the hill to his bike. When he got there, he picked up his helmet but didn’t put it on. Not yet. To the guard, he said, “She’s in danger. I think you know it.”
The guard didn’t answer, his expression stony.
Beckett looked down toward the stables, then back to the guard. “Eric killed his last fiancee. Did you know that? Threw her in the Azazel, let the river wash his crime away. Can you live with yourself if it happens to someone else?” Still no answer. Beckett carefully, slowly pulled a card from his pocket and held it out. “If you ever want to hang with people who actually have your back and who will treat you like an equal, not a servant.”
The man stared long enough Beckett despaired of getting anything from the guy, but then he holstered his piece and took the card. He studied it, then pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled something on it before passing it back.
Beckett took it from him. ‘Warehouse 3 on Hatchet and Groves by the waterfront.’ He looked up to say thank you but the guy was already walking away.
FOURTEEN
The air was redolent with the scent of rotted, wet vegetation and chemicals. Marlowe knew they were near the Azazel before Eric even popped the trunk. When she had crawled free of her prison and straightened, his hand snapped out to grip her chin painfully. “What have you done to yourself?”
She jerked herself free. “You locked me in a fucking trunk!”
“That shit on your face.” His lip curled as if the sight of her sickened him. Good. “And when did you get so foul-mouthed?”
The tattoos. They’d reappeared on the way over and since she’d left her purse in her car, she’d had no way to reapply the makeup.
She was well and truly out now, wasn’t she? Might as well go for the gold, then. “See this one?” She lifted her bangs off her forehead.
He recoiled, then he slapped her hard. “You cheating whore. How long have you been fucking him?”
‘I haven’t!’ she wanted to cry but managed to bite back the words. He didn’t deserve an explanation. He didn’t deserve anything at all. Instead, she pulled on every last ounce of bravado she had and settled her fists on her hips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He came after her again, but she blocked the swing of his arm, blocked the next. Hope flared within her and was quickly dashed to the ground when he caught her with a kick she didn’t see coming. She dropped like a stone, pain flaring through her shin.
Eric bent over her, his face red with rage. “How. Long?”
“Fuck. You.”
He drew back his leg, but something wild and wonderful flared within her. It caught his leg mid-swing and knocked him off his feet. He cried out as he fell, then his head hit the cement with a crack that made her wince. She scrambled up, favoring her leg and stared down at him.
He wasn’t moving. Oh dear gods, what had she done?
A gun cocked in the darkness. She looked around wildly and saw a shape emerge from the shadowy depths of the warehouse. For one hopeful moment, she thought it was Beckett, but then she saw it was her father. “Thank the gods you’re here! How did you find me? Eric was going to—” She broke off when he didn’t rush to her, when he seemed to train the gun he held on her. “How did you know where I was?”
“Eric called me.”
Fear blossomed inside her.
“I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he said. He neared her, gun still trained on her, his eyes flicking to Eric and away. “Did you kill him?”
“I don’t know. He hit me. He was going to kill me!” Despite her resolve to stay steady, panic rose inside her. How could he train the gun on her, on his only child?
His eyes scanned her face, his lip pulling back in distaste when he saw the tattoos. “You’ve ruined everything.”
Tears threatened, but she held them back. “Ruined what? What are you talking about?”
“We need money, Marlowe. And the Lightbournes have it in spades.”
“What? Since when? Your business, the properties—”
“Failing. Everything is failing. Elmer stepped in when stock in Montgomery Holdings LLC began to fall. He offered a way out. All we had to do was help him launder some money. We did. Then the economy worsened, and things went to hell in a handbasket. That’s when he proposed a marriage agreement. A connection to a family whose reputation was impeccable. How could I say no?”
“By saying no. You sold me to his psycho son because you were losing money? This isn’t the sixteenth century. I’m not a commodity to be sold for a few goats!”
“You’re worth quite a bit more than a few goats.” A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. “In fact, you’re worth more than us now.”
“What? What do you mean I’m worth more than you?” She’d thought her fortunes relied on her parents.
“Your grandmother left you her fortune. Once you turn twenty-six, it’s yours without strings. Until then, your mother
and I have the stewardship of it, or your husband were you to marry before your birthday.”
Her grandmother’s fortune? “But I thought she left it to you.”
“That’s what we let you think. You were too young to hear the details when she passed and as time went on, we decided it was better you didn’t know.”
“Better for whom? You?” She wished the magic she’d somehow summoned to protect herself from Eric would rouse its head now. Her bit of her vibrated with rage, with betrayal. Her own father was pointing a gun at her. Her own father wanted to sell her off to continue living at the level to which he’d become accustomed. “Are you going to kill me?”
The gun wavered. It was brief, that waver, but it was there. “You haven’t given me any choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” Her voice wobbled with her barely restrained tears. She wanted to sob, wanted someone to comfort her, and the person who should have been her go-to for that was holding a gun on her.
“Why did you do that to your face? Is it some sort of protest?” He almost sounded hurt, as if she’d betrayed him.
He was the one with the fucking gun. She glanced back at Eric, who still hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen. A dark, reddish-brown halo was slowly forming around his head. Her stomach lurched. “Let me go. Beckett Glass knows where I’m at. If you kill me, he’ll find out and you’ll be dead.”
He shook his head looking for all the world like a weary father faced with a rebellious teen. “It figures you’d get caught up with someone like him. All those years we taught you about your place in the world and you run off to debase yourself with the first bit of freedom you get? Your grandmother was smart to leave the keeping of your money to us until you were of age. Though, it doesn’t seem like you’re mature enough now. Eric would have been good for you.”
“Eric killed people. He threw his last fiancée into the Azazel and drowned her. Do you really think that’s good for me?”
He didn’t answer, just gestured with the gun. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Down to the river.”
Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection Page 73
