by Jenna Ryan
“Okay, I’m here. Where— Oh, fuck.” Dancer crawled over the mattress to look. “That’s a lot of blood.”
But Rowena shook him off. “It really isn’t. It just looks that way. Did you call 9-1-1?”
“First thing. I’m not thinking there’s much in the way of emergency facilities close by. That really looks like a whole lot of blood to me, Rowena.”
“I know… Whoa. Amanda?”
The old woman’s eyelids fluttered. Her right hand stirred. “What…?” Behind her thick lenses, she squinted upward. “Rowena? Are you there?”
Rowena caught her hand when it started to flail. “I’m right here. Dancer, too.”
“Ryan?”
Rowena glanced at Dancer. “He had to leave for a while. He won’t be long. Don’t move, okay? An emergency response team’s on the way.”
With her free hand, she tried McCabe’s cell. The immediate response was that his phone was inactive. Blowing out a breath, she left a message and pocketed her cell.
“Robbie…” Amanda coughed. Her voice was hoarse.
“Water?” Dancer asked, but Rowena shook her head. “Ice chips would be better. Nothing too big.”
“On it.” Dancer vanished.
Amanda’s other hand stirred. “Stop… Please…Ryan.”
“I can’t get ahold of him,” Rowena said.
“No, no… Stop him. Have to stop him. Beckett… They’re cousins.”
Rowena frowned. “Who are cousins? Beckett and McCabe?”
Amanda coughed again. “Beckett and Robbie.
Okay, that was news to her. Huge news. Rowena’s frown deepened. “You’re telling me Robbie and Beckett are related?”
Amanda’s left hand flapped. “Distant. Very. He’s family… Ryan. Where’s Ryan? Robbie’s so upset…”
Did any of this make sense, or was Amanda drifting, saying whatever came to mind?
“Ice chips.” Dancer returned with a glass. “There’s no one around, Rowena. Do you know where the mother and her rumpled boyfriend are?”
“I’m not even sure where I am at the moment.” Still behind Amanda’s head, Rowena leaned over. “Tell me one thing. Did you fall, or did someone hit you?”
Amanda’s faded eyes closed. “Not sure.”
“Is Beckett really family?”
A faint smile crossed Amanda’s lips. “Family.”
“Your family.” Rowena wanted to be certain.
“Yes, mine…” Amanda’s voice grew faint. “So sad. So bad. Bert…”
“Bert?” Rowena’s breath caught. “Amanda?” She didn’t shake the old woman, but there was an urgency in her tone she made no attempt to hide. “What do you know about Bert? Amanda?”
“EMT should be here soon,” Dancer said softly. “I’m not even going to ask about the rest… Uh…” He pointed.
When she looked down, Amanda’s left hand was circling in the air. Her boney fingers trapped the pendant dangling from Rowena’s neck and held tight for a moment. “Look in your heart, Rowena.”
With a final tug, her hand fell to her chest, which thankfully continued to rise and fall.
Rowena checked the pulse in her neck—still holding strong—then looked over at Dancer. “I don’t hear any sirens.”
“I know.” He might have added more, but a noise at the door had both their heads swinging around.
“He locked me in my room.” Hair disheveled, fists raised, forearms red, Robbie rushed in. “Beckett locked me in my room. For a moment, I thought he was going to tie me up, but he just shoved me into the bathroom, stuck a chair under the knob, and said he’d intercepted a text message intended for Ryan. Someone told Ryan that James is in Las Vegas and he should hurry up and get there himself. I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure it can’t be good.”
Rowena motioned for Dancer to take her place. “Don’t let her move her head,” she whispered. Then she stood. “Where’s Beckett now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He caught me off guard. I thought… For a minute I thought he was going to kill me, but he settled for locking me up.” Distraught, she appealed to Rowena. “What in God’s name is going on here? Beckett’s never acted like this before. And Amanda’s lying on the floor. Sweet Jesus, what happened to her?”
“She fell.” Rowena stopped her from getting too close. “She’ll be fine. We called 9-1-1. Let’s go back to your room and you can tell me again what happened with Beckett.”
Dazed, Robbie let herself be led into the hall. “I thought he cared about me. It isn’t right, of course. He’s married. Not happily, but married just the same.”
“Amanda said you’re related to him. Cousins, in fact.”
“I— Oh, that.” Robbie gave Rowena’s arm an absent pat. “It’s a many times removed thing. Beckett approached me years ago about our family tree. He showed me all the ancestors. That subject doesn’t interest me much. James, though, and Ryan. They terrify me.” Her eyes came into sudden sharp focus. “Did Ryan say anything to you about his plans?”
Rowena tried to calm her down even as she tried McCabe’s cell again. Still no answer. “All McCabe told me was that he had to go out for a while.”
“Beckett!” Robbie’s index finger snapped up. “He intercepted a text between Ryan and someone. Not James, I don’t think.” Her chest heaved. “He must have gone to the Lily Koi, possibly to James’s white office.” Pressing a hand to her forehead, Robbie squeezed her eyes closed. “I can’t think. I don’t know why Beckett turned on me like that, but I do know that Ryan is out of patience with James. I can’t say he’s wrong, but James is my son.” Her eyes popped open, and she grabbed Rowena’s hands. “No mother wants to see her son dead.”
Rowena refused to panic. Robbie was doing enough of that for both of them. Beckett, though. Where did he fit into this? B. B. Beckett. Robbie’s distant cousin. Why had Amanda told her that? Beckett claimed to be in love with Robbie. But what if there was more to it than that? More to his reason for being here with Robbie and Amanda.
B. B. Beckett. Rowena slid her gaze to a window at the end of the hallway. Did one of those B’s stand for Bert?
“Crap,” she said under her breath.
Not far enough under, apparently. Releasing her, Robbie spun toward the stairwell.
“Beckett’s gone after Ryan. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it doesn’t matter. But I’m absolutely sure Ryan’s gone after James. And I know him. He’ll do what he feels is necessary. He’ll do it because that’s how he’s built.” She thumped her chest with a reddened fist. “Dear God! I have to stop them.”
Rowena heard the wail of a siren. Nowhere near the town, but she glanced sideways just long enough for Robbie to turn and bolt.
“Christ,” she muttered. Her mind was spinning with possibilities and theories. She didn’t need to deal with a hysterical woman on top of that. But what choice did she have? “Paramedics are coming,” she called over her shoulder to Dancer. “Go with Amanda to the hospital.”
Rowena knew Dancer shouted something back, but she couldn’t make out the words. She raced down the stairs, calling for Robbie to stop.
She spotted James’s mother climbing into a truck. Had a stranger just handed her his keys? Seriously?
“Okay, that’s it,” she murmured. “Small towns are too weird for me. Robbie, wait!” She grabbed the handle on the passenger side, yanked the door open. “You can’t just take off in someone’s truck.”
“His name’s Ron. I met him last night. I said I’d fill his tank with gas when I got back. What are you doing?”
“Coming with you.”
Robbie faced her, her expression fierce. “You’re not going to stop me, so if that’s your plan, you can march straight back into the hotel and watch over Amanda.”
“I don’t want to stop you, Robbie. Well, maybe I do, but I understand why you’re upset. I’m upset, too. You don’t want anything to happen to James. And I definitely don’t want anything to happen to McCabe.”
Robbie didn’t bother to argue. The minute Rowena’s door slammed, she floored the gas pedal and fishtailed into a 180-degree turn.
Her hands gripped the wheel as if she were attempting to strangle it. “I don’t understand why Beckett would do this. It’s not like him. He’s always been so mild-mannered. You don’t think he’d hurt Ryan, do you?”
Rowena fought for control. Pulling out her phone, she speed dialed McCabe. And failed to get through again.
“I hate you Ryan McCabe,” she whispered softly. Louder she said, “Robbie, slow down. You’re going too fast on a road you don’t know. Why would Beckett want to hurt McCabe?”
“For me. Because he knows I don’t want Ryan to kill James. Does that make sense, or am I going crazy?”
“Slow down,” Rowena said again, this time in a tone that brought Robbie’s head around. “Watch the road…” she instructed. “Do you want me to drive?”
“No. You’ll turn back. None of this matters to you. Who lives, who dies. Your son’s safe. That’s all you care about.”
“I care about McCabe, Robbie, and about you. I don’t want to see James dead, and I don’t know what the hell’s going on with Beckett, unless he’s Bert and…”
“Bert!”
Robbie’s hands jumped causing the truck to swerve into the oncoming lane. Reaching over quickly, Rowena latched onto the steering wheel and jerked them out of the path of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler.
“Bert.” Robbie whispered the name now. “That’s… I know that name. I remember it. Bert was James’s imaginary friend growing up. Everything bad he did was Bert’s fault. Or so he insisted.”
Meaning Beckett wasn’t Bert. Unless he’d adopted the persona of James’s imaginary friend in order to manipulate him. God, where was a good psychiatrist when you needed one?
“I never met Bert,” Robbie continued. “At least I don’t think I did. I really know very little about these things. The only thing I’m sure of is that I can’t let Ryan kill James.” Eyes glittering, she clamped a hand onto Rowena’s forearm and squeezed, hard. “You have to help me. You have to stop Ryan.”
“How can I…?”
“No arguments!” Robbie bared her teeth. “You have to help me stop Ryan. If you don’t, all hell’s going to break loose. And I guarantee, if it does, none of us will come out of this alive.”
…
Two multi-vehicle accidents delayed McCabe’s arrival in Las Vegas by over an hour. He didn’t know if Mockerie would still be at the Silver Nugget or not, but he went there first anyway.
Who the hell had texted him in Carmina? Someone who’d wanted his or her identity secret. Someone who knew and understood his mission. Someone in a position to feed him information. Had that same person also helped them the night he and Rowena had broken into Mockerie’s white dungeon?
All good questions, he reflected, pulling into the lot behind the Silver Nugget Casino. Unanswerable for the moment, but eventually, when his mind wasn’t about to implode, he might figure it out.
Rowena kept creeping into his thoughts and fogging his brain. He loved her, but he could never be with her. He’d known it from the start, way back when he’d first met her, in fact. And yet he’d let himself became involved with her. Worse, he’d let her become involved with him.
Had he driven her into Mockerie’s arms by disappearing so suddenly? Probably not. Rowena was her own woman with her own mind and will. But he’d hurt her, no question about it. And in doing so, he might very well have steered her in Mockerie’s direction. Unintentionally and not in a way she’d understand right now, but yeah, he might have given her a small nudge in that direction.
Cursing himself, he entered the Silver Nugget through one of the service entrances.
In no mood to be polite, he halted the first person he saw—a man in a Harvest Gold jacket who looked like he might work at one of the gaming tables.
“The private security room,” he said. “Where is it?”
The man eyed him up and down. “None of your business, pal.”
Keeping his expression pleasant, McCabe whipped a forearm up and across the man’s Adam’s apple. “I’m making it my business. Where?”
The guy had balls, McCabe gave him that. Barely able to speak, he choked out a raspy, “Fuck you.”
“Okay, then. Let’s try this.” Before the man could blink, McCabe had his Glock shoved under the side of his neck, just below his chin. “I’m in a mood and in a hurry. Where?”
Eyes wide now, the man pointed upward.
“Be more specific,” McCabe told him.
The man cleared his throat as the pressure on it lessened slightly. “Stairwell behind the kitchen,” he rasped. “You’ll need a series of keys to get— Well, maybe not,” he said as the gun at his neck shifted.
“Is Mockerie there?”
“Uh, I’m not sure?”
The questions mark at the end gave McCabe the answer he needed. “Sorry about this, friend,” he said, and using the butt end of his gun, whacked the side of the man’s head.
The dealer’s eyes rolled back, and his body went limp. McCabe opened the door of a nearby utility closet, shoved him inside, and immediately set his sights on the kitchen.
There were three people at the counters. They all looked, but none of them made any attempt to stop him as he accessed the stairwell. Why would they when two of them were smoking pot?
“Great old place you have here, Mockerie,” he said aloud. “Although I don’t suppose safe food service has anything to do with its true purpose.”
The door creaked open on the second level. The corridors up here were dark and dingy. It took him three tries to locate the out-of-the-way room that housed the security monitors.
Of course, the door was locked, likely bolted from the other side. Rather than waste time trying to figure it out, he stuck a silencer on the end of his Glock and fired.
Two bullets did the trick. The door swung open to a shadow-filled room. Across the floor, a single working monitor greeted him. It overlooked the gaming area where slot machines dinged and whirred, a crowd of rough men and scantily dressed women hooted, and Frank sang about coffee in Brazil.
He spotted Mockerie’s hat just above the top of a tall office chair. The hand resting on the leather arm didn’t move.
Interesting, McCabe thought, scanning the room. And highly unlikely. So much so that he lowered his gun a fraction and didn’t bother speaking. Part of him already knew. It was simply a matter of confirming his suspicions.
He swung the chair around with his left hand. As he did, he let his weapon drop all the way.
“Son of a bitch,” he said through his teeth. “Who the hell are you? And what unfortunate reason did you have for coming up here?”
The answer was obvious enough. Mockerie had ordered him to come. Whoever the man sitting there with bullet holes in his throat and forehead was, he was wearing one of Mockerie’s hats. The sleeve of his white shirt had been torn off at the shoulder. No doubt to give the impression of a white muscle shirt to whoever found him first.
“Message sent and received,” McCabe muttered. Literally, he thought when he spotted the sheet of paper in the dead man’s hand.
Unfolding it, he skimmed the note.
Hey there, McCabe. How stiff was I when you found me? Or rather when you found young Justin Grant here? Justin’s been managing the Lily Koi for me since my most efficient former manager went AWOL.
Maybe Ms. Chambers didn’t like the fact that I killed her sister. Some people are so ridiculously attached to their siblings. No matter. Justin wasn’t special enough for me to keep him on anymore, so I found another use for him. Playing me in a death scene.
How did I know you were coming, you might wonder? Well, here’s your two-word answer. Intercepted text. Man, talk about a vulnerable form of communication. That’s why I didn’t text this message, but hand wrote it instead. Thank God Bert was on the ball or I might not have known you were coming.
Bett
er luck next time, McCabe. Because we both know there will be a next time, and it’ll be soon. So very, very soon. As early as tonight if you’re as clever as you think you are.
Catch me, kill me if you can.
Death’s a part of my master plan.
Oops, sorry, that’ll be your death, not mine. First Rowena, then you.
But all’s not lost, McCabe. Bert wants me to do it quickly.
Note to self: Bert’s a stick in the mud.
Prepare for a slow and painful death, McCabe. CC to Rowena when you see her.
Psst. I’m gonna tell her a dirty little secret before she goes…
Chapter Nineteen
There should have been a thousand obstacles, both human and electronic, between them and the white dungeon. The fact that there were none had Rowena physically tugging on Robbie’s arm to try and stop her.
“This is a trap, Robbie. It has to be. He wants us here. Actually, he wants me here, and probably McCabe.” Who could already be down there, she thought with a shudder. “We need to find McCabe before we go searching for James.”
Robbie shoved her hand away. The woman was amazingly strong, all things considered. But then high levels of agitation could do that—supply adrenalin to mind and muscle.
Halting outside the white elevator, Rowena looked up and around.
“I’m not going down there,” she said. “This is way too easy. He wants me in that dungeon. Trap me, lure McCabe to the hotel, catch us both.”
“And what about me?” Robbie demanded. “You don’t think I could reason with him? Surely you don’t believe he’ll kill me as well.”
“I don’t know what he’ll do. How many of his actions are his own and how many are governed by Bert?”
Robbie punched and repunched the call button to no avail. “Bert was James’s imaginary friend. Isn’t that what I told you? I’m sure I did. Now you tell me, how can an imaginary friend govern someone’s actions?”
While Robbie pressed the heel of her hand against the call button, Rowena used her cell phone to try McCabe’s number yet again. This time, thank God, it rang. And he answered.