by LENA DIAZ,
Ian couldn’t seem to process what his brother had just said. How could Colin forgive and then propose to the woman who’d supposedly loved him, then abandoned him in a burn unit to support the man responsible for putting him there? That had to be a hell of a story.
“Ian? Will you do it? Will you come to the weddings?”
Ian shrugged, then winced and made a mental note to take another pain pill once he got to his car. “I’ll think about it. No promises.”
Adam nodded. “I can’t ask for more than that, all things considered. Thanks, Ian.”
The brother Ian was used to would have argued with him, maybe even berated him for being a rebel, the bad boy who continued to bring disgrace to the McKenzie name. Marriage must have mellowed him. Maybe Duncan and Colin would be easier to get along with too, after they got married. But that was probably too much to hope for.
Ian left without another word.
In his car in the lot behind the building, he swallowed some pain pills. Then he took out the contents of the folder again. A name had caught his attention on one of the reports. Sure enough, when he looked again, he saw it—Cameron Ellison. He’d been an assistant district attorney in Memphis before transferring to Gatlinburg. The DA who Ellison reported to worked out of Memphis, not Gatlinburg. It was an odd setup. And it was a change in location, not a change in jobs. So why was Ellison here? Was it temporary on some special assignment, and he just happened to also be given the role of liaison with Homeland Security for the current human trafficking investigation? Or was there a more sinister reason for his transfer? Ian couldn’t help thinking about that yellow index card in the warehouse. Was Ellison the one who’d ratted him out to Gillespie?
It was definitely an angle he’d have to explore. He sorted through the pictures again, remembering one that had caught his eye in the café. It was a mug shot. The inmate had terrible taste in clothing. His black-and-yellow shirt made him look like a bumblebee. The information on the back of the picture said the perpetrator was a suspected low-level member of the organization. But there hadn’t been enough evidence to hold him over for prosecution, just as there hadn’t been for Gillespie. They’d both been released at the same time. The man’s name was Andrew Branum.
But Ian knew him as Wolverine.
Now that he knew Wolverine’s real name, maybe it was time to dig a little and find out what else he was hiding.
Ian pulled out his phone and made a call.
Chapter Seventeen
Having traveled from her hometown in Ohio to both Virginias, Kentucky and now Tennessee, Shannon had lived in so many small towns and big cities that she’d lost track of them all. But one thing was the same in every place she’d been—a part of town where extreme poverty, homelessness and people who wanted to make a profit no matter what the human cost came together to cause misery and destroy lives.
Shannon had been one of the victims of that world for over five years, since the age of fourteen. And even though she’d escaped “the life” a few years ago, it was depressingly easy to slip back into that role, as if she’d never managed to claw her way out of it. Except this time, she wasn’t anyone else’s property. And she wasn’t defenseless.
She kept her right hand firmly on the bulge of the pistol in her purse as she navigated back alleys in a pair of red stilettos, a black leather miniskirt and an off-the-shoulder short crimson blouse that allowed the sunlight to sparkle off her belly ring. Her only concession to the chilly temperatures was the waist-length leopard-print jacket that she kept unbuttoned as any good street girl would. After all, you couldn’t make a sale if you didn’t advertise the goods.
Back on either River Road or Parkway, she’d have stuck out like a black bear in a herd of elk. But here on the outskirts, she blended right in. Which was exactly what she wanted.
Business was slow this early in the day. But there were still a few johns idling on the curbs, negotiating prices with achingly young women leaning into their windows, displaying their cleavage in the hopes of bumping up the prices. As Shannon approached, one of the women hopped into a car and was driven away. The bleakness in her eyes as she looked out the window tugged at Shannon’s heart, and reminded her of herself not long ago, when she’d been forced into the same kind of life.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes as she stepped over a homeless man huddled beneath his cardboard house, covered in piles of dirty blankets. If she thought her jacket would come even close to fitting him, she’d have given it to him. As it was, she couldn’t walk past him without stopping to stuff one of her few remaining twenty-dollar bills into his hand.
Hurrying past him before his fervent thank-yous made someone wonder if she had more cash on her, she turned down another side street. Perhaps sensing that she was the real deal, or at least had been at one time, the women on the curbs and sheltering in doorways weren’t alarmed about her inquiries. They seemed to genuinely want to help her find her “big sister, Maria.” It would have been much easier if she’d had a picture to show them. But with Maria’s striking Spanish looks and the butterfly tattoo on her neck, it was easy to provide a useful description.
Several of the women claimed to have seen Maria. But every lead that Shannon followed took her to another woman or the occasional pimp out checking on his ladies. And none of them led to her friend.
After several hours of walking the streets, her feet were starting to ache and burn, which surprised her. She wore high heels every day as part of being a hostess at the hotel restaurant. But the stilettos stretched her arches and cramped her toes in a way her everyday heels didn’t. If she couldn’t find anyone with knowledge of Maria’s whereabouts soon, she’d have to call it a day.
She glanced around before dipping her hand into her purse to check the time on her phone. It was even later than she’d realized. If she didn’t get back to the hotel soon, Ian might very well make it back before her. That was a conversation she didn’t want to have. It was time to give up, at least for now.
She turned the corner to make her way back toward the more respectable part of town, where she’d be more likely to find a taxi. She’d just passed a darkened doorway when movement out of the corner of her eye sent alarm skittering up her spine. She shoved her hand into her purse for her gun and tried to whirl around. The man behind her grabbed her wrist, his other arm going around her waist. She screamed as he yanked her back toward the darkened doorway.
He grabbed the gun out of her hand, then immediately let her go.
Shannon whipped around, ready to destroy his chances of fathering children with one swift kick of her stiletto. But the moment she turned, she froze. The man dressed in black looking down at her with fury in his deep blue eyes wasn’t a stranger.
“I-Ian? What are you doing here?”
He ejected the magazine in her pistol and cleared the chamber before giving them both back to her. “I was speaking to confidential informants, searching for clues to help me rescue your friend and the women with her. But I had to stop all that when I heard about a woman with blue-tipped black hair making a stir. You about done here?”
His words were short and clipped, his anger so palpable it made goose bumps rise on her arms.
“Yes, actually. I was about to find a taxi.”
His jaw tightened. “A taxi. That’s how you got here?”
“Well, you didn’t exactly leave me a car. What was I supposed to do?”
A muscle started to tick in the side of his cheek. “Keeping your word and staying at the hotel would have been good for a start.” He flicked the collar of her leopard-print jacket. “I seem to remember something like that in your closet. You went to the duplex?”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly blend in around here in my normal clothes. I had to get a different outfit. But I was careful. I had my gun.”
His nostrils flared as if he was having trouble drawing enough oxygen. He motioned toward
the next corner. “My car is that way.” He didn’t wait for Shannon. Instead, he stalked down the sidewalk away from her.
Stubbornness and pride wanted her to refuse his implied order that she follow him. But she wasn’t going to waste her precious store of cash on another taxi just to make a point, and she was ready to return to the hotel anyway. She started after him, hurrying to catch up. By the time she rounded the corner, she was limping. How had she survived so many years wearing these stupid shoes?
Ian, in spite of the anger darkening his expression, couldn’t seem to ignore the gentlemanly manners that had always set him apart from other men she’d known. He stood with the passenger door open, waiting for her.
She got inside and soon they were whipping through back streets, making their way up the mountain toward the hotel. She kept expecting him to berate her, yell at her, something. Instead, he didn’t say a word.
By the time they reached the hotel, she was so relieved to escape the tense atmosphere inside the car that she shoved out of her door before he’d even put the car in Park. Once she was in the main room, she drew a deep breath and turned around to explain. Ian strode right past her into the bedroom.
Was he going to lock her out? Make her take the couch in retaliation for last night? It was close to dinnertime, not quite bedtime. What was he doing? She stepped to the door, and was almost run down when he shoved past her with the duffel bag. He held the main door open and stared at the far wall, waiting.
“I guess we’re switching hotels?” she said.
“Something like that.”
“Why? I thought this place was supposed to be safe.”
He finally looked at her. “Did the taxi that you took to the duplex pick you up here?”
She blinked as his words sank in. If someone had been watching the duplex as Ian suspected, and saw her arrive in the cab, they could have bribed the driver—the one she hadn’t tipped—to tell them where he’d picked her up. All of Ian’s careful measures, like driving in circles and constantly looking in his mirrors to ensure that no one followed them in his car, were for nothing. She’d just left a bread-crumb trail for Butch and the others to follow directly to the hotel, if they were truly looking for her and Ian.
She cleared her throat. “Ian, I’m sorry. I just wanted to look for Maria and—”
He motioned toward the open door.
She straightened her shoulders and marched outside.
After what seemed like an eternity because of how meticulous Ian was about making sure they weren’t followed, Ian slowed on the winding mountain road and turned into a driveway. In front of them was an enormous two-story log cabin. It was the biggest cabin she’d ever seen. Mansion seemed like a more appropriate label for something that huge.
He pulled into the three-car garage and cut the engine. Once the door was closed, he got out and led her into the main house.
Her jaw dropped open when she saw the interior. Thick golden logs crisscrossed two stories above to support the wide-open space inside. A one-of-a-kind hand-hewn log railing formed an interior balcony that looked down over the massive great room. And at the far end, a wide staircase with more log railings and stone steps soared up to the balcony, leading to several doors off both ends of the house, presumably the bedrooms.
“This is incredible,” she breathed. “Whoever owns it must be a bajillionaire. Whose place is it?”
“Mine.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ian strode through the monstrosity of a cabin, giving Shannon the grand tour as she padded barefoot behind him, her stilettos discarded near the front door. At first, he was still so shaken and livid over her risking her life yet again that it didn’t bother him one bit that she was silent as he showed her the downstairs. She simply nodded when he gave her the security alarm code, and later explained how to work the remote controls for the wall of electronics built into the stone ledges beside the two-story fireplace. But as the tour went on, and she still didn’t say anything, his anger began to fade and concern took its place.
Beside the marble-topped kitchen island that overlooked the great room, he turned to face her. “I have people come up here once a week to clean and perform any required maintenance inside and out. But since I’m rarely ever here myself, there’s nothing to eat. There are some bottles of water in the refrigerator, but that’s pretty much it. What do you want for dinner? I can have something delivered.”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m not really hungry.”
He studied her pale complexion, the shadows in her eyes. “Did you eat lunch?”
“I’m fine. Really. I just...”
“You just what?”
She shrugged. “I wonder why you think we’ll be safe here. Can’t Butch search the internet for your name and find this address?”
“No one is going to find us here. The deed isn’t under my real name.”
“Because of your job?”
“Because of my family. They don’t know I have this place, and I’d prefer it stay that way.”
Her eyes widened. Then she looked away. “I’m a little tired. If you don’t mind, I’d like to lie down.”
When she still wouldn’t look at him, he sighed and turned around. “I’ll show you the bedrooms. They’re all upstairs.” He grabbed the duffel bag that he’d left in the great room and led the way up the curved staircase to the second-floor balcony. At the top, he motioned to the right. “There are some guest rooms down there. More here in the middle. The master’s at the other end.”
“Does it matter which room I take?”
He shook his head. “They each have their own bathroom. Clean towels and sheets are in the linen closets.”
She stepped into the guest room that was the closest to where they were standing. “This will be fine. Thank you.” She moved past the king-size bed, lightly running her hands across the deep blue duvet before turning around.
Ian set the duffel bag on top of the mahogany dresser and took out the smaller bag inside that held his things, plus the manila folder that Adam had given him. He waved toward one of the doors. “The bathroom should have everything you need—shampoo, soap, hair dryer. But if you think of something else you want, let me know. I’ll—”
“Call someone and have it delivered?”
He frowned at her strained tone, but nodded. “If you’re worried that it’s not safe to have someone deliver something, don’t. Nothing’s—”
“In your name. Got that.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and glanced around the room.
Ian waited, but when she didn’t say anything else, he turned to leave.
“I guess Homeland Security pays really well these days.”
He stopped, then slowly turned around. “Is there something you want to ask me, Shannon?”
She pierced him with an accusing look and motioned to encompass the room. “Cops can’t afford places like this. Please tell me you won the lottery.”
He stiffened, his earlier anger surging through him again. But this time it wasn’t because she could have gotten herself killed. “I don’t play the lottery.”
She stared at him, waiting. “Are you going to make me say it?”
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
She sighed. “I thought you were one of the good ones, Ian. How can you afford a mansion? One you don’t even live in?”
He breathed through the anger and the disappointment, not answering until he was sure he could speak without yelling. “Of all the people I’ve met in my life, only one made me feel accepted for who I am, inside. She didn’t judge me, condemn me for the choices I’d made in my life. She judged me on my character, on how I acted, on how I treat other people. Until the past few days, and right now.”
Her eyes widened.
“This stupid cabin was my first rebellious act after I came into my first million when I turned
twenty-one—the day my father turned over my inheritance to me. He was certain I’d waste the money, so of course that was the first thing I did—built a house I hated from day one and have never lived in for more than a few days at a time. I realized the stupidity of building this place as soon as it was finished. I never told my family about it, because I didn’t want to give them proof that they were right.”
She started to say something, but he held up a hand to stop her. “The money came from my great-great-grandfather, passed down through the generations. He was a genius in the business world. By the time he passed away, he was a multimillionaire a dozen times over. And that’s not even in today’s money. He’d have been a billionaire if you account for inflation.”
“Ian, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No. You shouldn’t have.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand to his side. “I don’t know why you keep comparing me to the scumbags of your past. Cop or not, I’d do anything it takes to protect you. I don’t want to die for you, Shannon. But if someone points a gun at you, I’ll be the first one to jump in front of it.”
He stepped out the door, then looked back over his shoulder. “You’ve always worried that others would judge you because of your past. That they would think less of you for it. I’ve never done that. I see you for the victim you once were, the survivor you’ve become. And yet, the moment you find out that I’m in law enforcement, you judge me. You think the worst of me in spite of everything else you know about my character.” He motioned to encompass the room as she’d done a few minutes earlier. “I have more money than my future grandchildren’s children could ever spend, and yet I risk my life every day on the streets. I do it because I want to help people. I want to make a difference in this world. And you know what? I’m done apologizing for it.”
He stalked out the door and didn’t stop until he was downstairs in his office, on the opposite side of the house.
Chapter Nineteen