“Don’t,” Beckett immediately countered. “Don’t talk to me like I don’t know what the word father means because I don’t have one. I have a family. I know what protection means.” He would fight with her now if he had to. Play dirty, change dynamics. The most important thing was that she didn’t go off half-cocked, Terminator style. Again.
There was no sympathy in her face. She was silent. The door to her humanity was closed.
“Can I tell you what I know?” Beckett asked. “That I have douchebags on the inside? And your father hasn’t been seen? Rodolfo’s prime diaper-changer has been missing for as long as your father, and the old man is still in his favorite chair, watching Wheel of fucking Fortune as of a few minutes ago. Let me coordinate with Morales and McHugh. We can bring the wrath of God down on this motherfucker.” He scanned her expression, hoping to see some of her calculating sureness return. She was a blank slate.
He shook his head. “I’m not gonna stop you. You want to go in Rambo-style and make the same mistakes we’ve made before? Go for it. Just know you won’t be taking only your life in your hands.”
Beckett sat and ran his hands through his hair. Eve remained standing despite the seatbelt sign illuminating. She adjusted her hair knife and only moved when the plane bounced slightly during landing. When the door opened, she was out, stepping on the stairs before they were fully extended.
Her motorcycle waited on the tarmac, as he’d promised. Morales stood next to it, the keys hooked on his index finger.
Assholes and douchebags came rolling up at the same time. An army. She took the keys from Morales without so much as a hello. He caught her hand and looked at her wedding rings. She defiantly pulled them off and turned to drop them in Beckett’s hand. Her motorcycle started as his men looked to him for direction.
She was going to do it, go straight into the mouth of hell and die without even helping find her father. Beckett trotted over to his Challenger as Dildo exited the car.
“Have them sit tight. I got to go get her,” Beckett told him as they traded places.
Morales opened the passenger door and slid in.
“Fuck you. Get out of my car.”
“Fuck you. I’m staying.” He gave Beckett the finger. “If I have to arrest her ass, I will.”
There was no time to argue, as Beckett had to slam the pedal to the floor to keep up with the blond assassin in front of him.
“What’s she going to do?” Morales had his handcuffs handy.
“She’s going to get killed. That’s what she’s going to do.”
“Great goddamn honeymoon, Don Juan.” Ryan nodded as Eve cut the motorcycle off the main road, and Beckett barely made the turn in time, tires squealing.
“Eat a dick, fuckbag.” Beckett concentrated on Eve, who despite her usually calm demeanor and excellent driving, was making mistakes. She took a rural road that was more secluded, but its turns and intersections would slow her down. Beckett chose Route 9, which was a straight shot, hopefully allowing them to intercept Eve at the train tracks.
A quick glance at the Hudson River showed a long freight train timed perfectly to piss Eve off and pull her to a stop. She’d have to wait until it cleared before getting closer to the throughway.
Three minutes later, Beckett parked the Challenger sideways and had enough time to get out and cross his arms before she pulled into view. Because she’d left her helmet off, he could see the anger flash across her face. This was quickly followed by a dawning knowledge that she’d made mistakes in her getaway. Beckett lifted a brow, and she pulled to a stop. Morales leaned against the car with him, twirling his cuffs like they’d been there together for hours.
“You got about four minutes until this train is out of your way,” Beckett said.
She used her heel to throw down the kickstand and pulled out her gun. “You’re not stopping me.”
“Fuuuckkk.” Morales added four more syllables to the word than it normally had.
Beckett slapped him on the bicep. “Stop. Let me. Eve, I think your father might be dead.” It was cruel. Far more damaging than punching her right in the chest.
“Dude.” Morales tossed up his hands.
Eve narrowed her eyes, her nostrils flaring as she fought not to shed tears. Her gun remained steady, even.
“You know it. And I know it,” Beckett continued. “There’s no ransom. This might be what they’re doing because they couldn’t take you.” His throat was dry. He hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, and he still wished with everything he had to be wrong. Bringing someone back from the dead was easier on a heart than burying them for good.
The train rolled past slowly. The clacking of the wheels repetitive, like a heartbeat. They stood until the train passed completely, leaving the sounds of distant traffic and the river in its wake.
She holstered her gun. “How dare you give up on him so easy?” Her words were surrounded with knives.
Beckett bit his lip and walked toward her. He couldn’t defend his accusations with anything but lack of ransom requests or other demands. He kept walking, gravel crunching under his feet. He knew she could either lock him out or fall into him. He was next to her now, so close he could reach out and touch her, but he waited. “You know I’m right.”
She kicked up the stand and steadied herself on the bike. “I know that these past selfish days have left my father missing…” She stopped, anger sealing the emotion inside. “And I have to find him.”
“You won’t. Eve, they’ve got something they needed from him. They could grab you at any time. Really. You know that. This doesn’t make any sense. We have to have a clear picture and a plan to beat this old fucker at his own damn game.”
“You work the channels and get your clear plan. I’m going to Vitullo’s and making him die. That’s what’s happening. I don’t need you. And I don’t need him.” She nodded in Morales’ direction.
“I love you. Don’t do this.” Beckett reached out and wrapped his hand around her neck, fingers digging in just enough.
She nearly ran over his toes and almost made it past Morales, who threw his handcuffs in her way. Her reflexes got the best of her, and she swerved, planting the bike on its side. Had she been going faster, it would have been an ugly accident. But she rolled like a pro out of the way.
Ryan darted in, grabbing the keys from the bike before stepping back to watch her stand. She was clearly devastated—no tears, just a vacant desperation his soul recognized. He went to her and grabbed her hand.
He pulled her to his chest, his arms holding her tightly. “It’s not your fault.”
She nodded against his chest.
He pulled away to look in her eyes. Broken. This broken girl had a face he’d seen too many times in his past. He watched her bury guilt as deep as it would go.
Beckett stood nearby, silent in the dust the bike had kicked up.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” Ryan patted Eve’s back.
She shook her head and, almost like a black hole, he watched as she collapsed her sadness and energy into herself. Hardening.
Ryan knew where she was headed. Where he would’ve been headed in another life. “You’ve got to let Beckett help you. Do you think your father wants you to get revenge?”
She shook her head and looked at his feet. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It does. Honor his choice by living another day.”
She swallowed.
“Would you want your dad to die rushing to avenge you?”
She shook her head.
“He deserves that courtesy, that respect. He earned it by loving you no matter what life you live. A man who buys fresh mistletoe every year needs to be honored by you protecting his daughter right now. You’re the only one who can save her, Eve. Beckett can’t stop you. I can’t stop you. Just you.”
“All I’m good at is killing. That’s what I can do right now.”
“No. Right now, you breaking? That’s love. That’s the love you have for you
r dad. You do that best.”
She rolled her eyes before just giving up. The strong, beautiful Eve gave up in his arms, standing near the train tracks. He scooped her up before she could hit the ground as she cried. Her sobs barely let her breathe.
Beckett ran over, but instead of taking her from his arms, he cradled her face.
Both men held her in her human, desperate moment. She reached out and threaded a fist into each of their hair.
Morales mouthed to Taylor, “He’s dead?”
Taylor shrugged, and mouthed back, “Seems like it, but I don’t know. Just had to stop her.”
15
Expensive Rules
Alison exhaled. Today was the day. All day, every day, this dream was what she wanted. She looked over at her sweet guy, Flint, still snoring. She turned to face him, and he woke up with a start.
“Was I snoring again?” he asked.
“Yes. I hope we can program that habit right out of this baby.” She smiled.
“Designer baby? Well, I sure as hell hope she doesn’t get your dagger toenails, then.” He closed his eyes again and reached for her, tucking her spoon style against him.
“Dagger toenails can be a weapon. Snoring helps no one.”
He parted her hair with his nose and kissed the nape of her neck.
“Actually,” he murmured against her skin, “I think it was invented to scare bears away when our ancestors fell asleep in the wild.”
“You’re making that up. You’re the biggest liar, liar pants on fire.” She snuggled deeper into his arms, feeling his manhood waking as well.
“My pants are on fire, all right. You best get out of this bed, Alison. Otherwise I will break all those expensive rules we bought for your vagina.”
She shimmied out of the sheets. “Today’s the big day. I get knocked up after I get knocked out.”
“That’s right. I’m so manly my penis doesn’t even need to be there to get a bun in your oven.” Flint’s dark brown eyes twinkled as he pointed to the implement in question with two hands shaped like guns.
“I’m going to shower.” Alison gave him an elaborate sigh of exasperation. “What time should we leave?”
“In about a half an hour to be there for the appointment. I’ll get dressed.”
“There’s gas in the car, right?”
Flint got up, naked, and let out a loud morning fart. “I got gas here.”
“Quick, hurry—we need to make copies of that kind of talent so the future generations can benefit.”
“That’s right, woman. Now you’re talking. Get in there.”
She was nervous, but Flint could always make her laugh. Today was a serious day, and she needed a tension breaker. Her shower was over quickly, as she’d washed her hair and shaved her legs last night. This last one was just to get the anxiety off her skin. She brushed her long hair and met a fully dressed Flint in their master bedroom.
He held her hand until they’d parked the car at the clinic, only lifting it when he absolutely needed it to maneuver the car safely. Alison nodded, willing herself to open the door. Her job was to get up and go inside. Today was implantation day. As she stepped out of the vehicle, Flint half ran to get to her side and close the door behind her. “Ready, champ?”
She felt like crying as happiness and anxiousness combined in the most nausea-inducing way. She nodded.
A man in a suit hopped out of a van decorated with Health Department insignia. He walked purposefully toward her, his voice muffled behind a surgical mask. “Ma’am? I’m sorry, the physician insisted we meet his patients here. They’ve had a scare with a contaminant inside, and the fire department is on their way. They asked that anyone receiving accelerated hormone treatment stay out until the building is cleared.” He paused briefly to look at each of them. “Can I ask you and your partner to sit in the van and wear a mask quickly? Just for a few moments until the building is cleared.”
Alison’s mind flew all over the place. The man in front of her had a pen, a clipboard, and a laminated name tag clipped to his tie.
Flint stepped forward. “I think we’ll just come back later.” He put his arm around Alison. Her hopes fell. She was ready now, right now. “What type of contaminant was it?” he continued. Flint was used to taking charge in situations, and as she felt her eyes well up with tears, Alison was grateful to not have to talk at the moment.
“It’s actually usually very safe,” the man explained. “It’s a cleaning solution, but a concentrated bottle spilled near their air filters. We’re just going to have the air tested. Apparently this is a very delicate time for some of the patients, yourself included.” The man’s eyes crinkled as if he was smiling under his mask.
“How about we wait in our car until you’re all set?” Flint held her elbow, keeping her from following the man’s hand gestures toward his van.
“Well, that’s fine,” he said. “But I just know they’re going to be opening the windows in a few minutes, and my van has a filter system designed for these kinds of situations. And of course, you can also reschedule, but we do have to move along.” The man pulled out a phone and glanced at it. “Yes, the secretary is saying the fire department is two minutes out. They should be able to get here and get this sorted.”
She finally looked at Flint. “I don’t want to reschedule. I’m already nervous.”
He nodded. “Okay. Sure. Want to hang out in the van? Keep that baby carrier nice and clean?”
The man in the suit stepped out of the way. “There are two masks inside. Just sit down and slip them on.”
Alison climbed in, and Flint came in after her as the van door closed firmly behind them. They looked at each other as they slipped the masks on. Alison could feel hers tangle in her hair, the rubber bands getting in her way. She looked back to Flint and watched as he seemed to fall asleep, almost boneless.
“Baby? What’s wrong?” She dropped her mask on the floor and came to Flint’s aid. “Hey, wake up.”
She put her hands to his face, working to remove the mask.
The van door was pulled open.
“Help! Something’s wrong.” She looked at the Health Department official as he covered Flint’s mask with his hand, keeping it in place. “What’re you doing? He needs air. Get help!”
Alison had never been manhandled in her life, so when the man pushed her backward, her first thought was that he was in trouble too. It wasn’t until the door had closed and he was moving toward her with her mask in his hand that it all clicked.
It wasn’t the forceful way he grabbed her wrists, or even the fact that he physically slammed her into her seat, that made her scream. It was the vacant, dead look in his eyes.
When Alison came to, she was bound to a table. But her feet were free, and she began kicking. Panic flooded her, though she was blurry as to why.
The doctor easily caught her ankles and a nurse slipped on restraints. In no time, she was stuck.
“Where’s Flint? Where’s my husband? Where’s Flint?” The fear in her voice brought her anxiety to a sharp point in her brain.
“You need to calm down, Alison. The first procedure is complete, so you need to rest.” The doctor wore a mask.
“What?” She looked around the room. It was stark, sterile.
“The implantation. Correct? I mean, I do have the right lady? We want you to get pregnant, right?” He picked up an iPad and tapped on it with a stylus.
She was kidnapped. Right? It wasn’t a dream—well, a nightmare. “Where’s Flint?” she asked again.
The nurse patted her arm after taking her blood pressure. “He’s resting, sweetheart. Just take deep breaths and think baby thoughts, okay?”
The nurse seemed to be smiling behind her mask.
Alison started to cry. “You’re not making sense. Let me up. Where’s my husband?”
The doctor started in with a stern voice. “Either calm yourself, young lady, or I’ll have to sedate you. And I’d rather not subject you to further chemicals if I d
on’t have to.”
“I want to go home. I demand to be let up. I will file a malpractice suit against you. Who are you? Where’s my doctor?” Alison managed to threaten him with tears rolling her face, into her hair.
He looked sorely disappointed as he nodded to the nurse. She prepared a needle and inserted it into Alison’s IV.
The whole room was soon made of cotton. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but they fell shut. She heard a door open and another man’s voice. “You want me to handle the body?”
The doctor answered, “Yes. And please don’t even speak to me of it. Nothing like that was part of my agreement at all. I’m a researcher—a doctor!”
The cotton was invading Alison’s ears, but her tears continued because she was fairly certain who the body was. Flint had to be dead. Because he’d never stop fighting for her. Never.
Beckett stood in his office dressed to the nines: his best suit, cufflinks, amazing shoes, and expensive sunglasses. Underneath he had so many weapons that a good speed bump would blow him off the face of the earth.
Eve sat on the couch, curled into herself in pajamas. They’d fought and screamed and fought and cried for hours last night. In between he’d touched base with every asshole and douchebag he was sure of.
But they still knew very little about Ted. One asshole who did nighttime rounds for Vitullo had finally reported that Nicholas had put a very large barrel in the trunk of his car a few days ago in a timeframe that worried Beckett. And no one was being held at the house, according another asshole who worked security at the New Jersey compound. Beckett’s gut still told him Ted had passed on, but he’d been hoping for a miracle. Bringing home Eve’s father was his greatest wish right now.
The doorbell rang, and Beckett went to let Morales in. He was the only one Beckett could use to make sure Eve stayed put. She’d never kill him. The men traded insults quietly. Despite their mutual hate, they were both committed to their common task.
She was standing when they returned to the room together. “I’m coming.”
Saving Poughkeepsie Page 18