Chapter 13
Chelsea drove out of town, pulled the car off the road and opened the map that was still in her glove compartment-the one she'd bought at that convenience store before she'd come to this dusty little Tex-Mex town. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.
Still, with a little help from the overhead light, she was able to make out the town called Ellis-which looked like a crossroads right on the border, less than twenty miles away, using her fingers to measure by. She took a moment to check out her rental car, making sure there was still plenty of gas and double-checking the water level in the radiator. Everything was fine, just as she'd left it the night she'd arrived on the Texas Brand. No one had touched the car except to move it out of the middle of the driveway.
She started the car again, heading directly along the route she'd already plotted out in her mind. She was going to find this Vincent de Lorean. And she was going to kill him.
Lash was lying on the couch, Jessi hovering over him like Florence Nightingale or something, when he opened his eyes. He met Garrett's, and they narrowed dangerously.
"I'll get you back for that, Brand. You gorilla."
Garrett only shrugged. "Tell me something, Lash. You the one who spooked those cattle after all? Hm? Was it de Lorean who gave the order to burn down the stable or was that on your own initiative?"
"You're dumber than you look if you think I came all the way out here to tell a damned giant that I burned down his stable."
"I told you so, Garrett," Jessi snapped, closing her hands around one of Lash's. Lash looked at her and frowned as if he was seeing in her eyes something he hadn't noticed before. The look of discovery and surprise on his face made Garrett even more uneasy than he already was.
Wes reached over and gently tugged Jessi's hands away. "Go on upstairs and check on Elliot and Bubba, hon."
"But I-"
"Go."
Jessi stood reluctantly and eyed her two brothers. "If you hurt him-"
"We won't lay a finger on him. Promise," Wes said.
She glared at Garrett until he nodded agreement. Then she sent a tender gaze down at Lash. "If you need me, just call."
"I?uh?." He sent wary glances at the two other men and squirmed a little. "Thanks."
As soon as she was gone, Wes knelt beside the couch. "Just for the record, Lash, regardless of the outcome of this conversation, I don't ever wanna see any part of your person make contact with any part of my little sister ever again. If I do, the part in question is gonna get cut off. Got it?"
Lash swallowed hard, but nodded. "She's a kid. I got no interest in kids."
"Exceptin' for Bubba, right?"
Lash shot a defiant glare at Garrett. "If you'd let me finish what I started to say before, you'd have your answers by now. I was working for de Lorean so I could gather enough evidence against him to bring him down."
Garrett's mouth suddenly went dry. "You're a cop?"
"No. I'm an ex-fire fighter from Chicago, just like I told you."
"Then why-"
"Why doesn't matter. It's my private business and I have no intention of discussing it with the likes of you. Now do you want to hear what I have to tell you or not?"
Garrett's knees bent, and he fell into a chair. Wes stood to one side, shaking his head slowly.
"De Lorean was getting suspicious of me. I still didn't have enough on him. But I knew he was after Chelsea and the baby, so I stuck around. Kept trying to feed him false leads and throw him off track. I knew from the beginning where she was. I was the one assigned to tail her from the morgue. But I told de Lorean I'd lost her."
"You?." Garrett whispered. "It was you who called me that night."
Lash nodded. "De Lorean found out where she was just as I'd figured he would, with or without my help. Chelsea called her apartment manager and left an address where she could have her mail forwarded. That was one of the bases de Lorean had covered. He had the address within a few hours after Chelsea hung up. I called to warn you as soon as I realized it. Well, since the jerk was already suspicious of me, it seemed there was no more I could do on that end, short of maybe getting myself shot once between the eyes. So I headed out here. Thought I could help protect her and the kid from that bastard."
"The stampede?"
Lash shook his head. "When I arrived in town, I spotted a vehicle belonging to one of de Lorean's goons heading from this direction. So I made a beeline out here and came up with the first excuse I could think of to ride out and catch up to you and Chelsea."
"And you saved our butts."
"I'm sure you'd have done the same for me," Lash said, lightly touching his broken nose.
"And the fire?"
"When I saw the trucks heading out here, I knew damn well?." He shrugged. "I followed to try and help. Hell, it was half-instinctive. It's what I did for a good portion of my life."
Garrett shook his head in disbelief.
''No need to thank me," Lash said.
Garrett looked him square in the eye. "What do you know about Chelsea?"
"She came to see me tonight. Seems I got careless that day in the stampede. I dropped?." He lifted himself into a sitting position with a grunt and shoved a hand into his blood-smattered T-shirt's pocket. Pulling out a slip of paper, he handed it to Garrett. "This. She found it and must've thought I was really one of the bad guys. What I can't figure is why she didn't tell you in the beginning."
"She didn't even know de Lorean's name until yesterday," Garrett muttered, cussing himself for keeping it from her.
Lash nodded. "Anyway, she told me to get out of town tonight. Told me if I set foot near you or the baby again, she'd tell you I was working for de Lorean and let you toss me in jail?or worse." He pressed a finger to his split lip, drew it away and checked it for fresh blood.
Garrett nodded. "Before she left us, she wanted to be sure you didn't pose a threat."
"She's gone, then?" Lash asked.
"Yeah. Said she wanted to start over someplace fresh. Said she thought little Bubba would be better off here with us."
"She lied through her teeth, Brand. She's gone after de Lorean."
Garrett's head snapped up. "What the hell makes you think she'd do that?"
Lash rolled his eyes. "Wake up, big fella. One, she knows where he lives." He ticked the points off on his fingers as he went on. "Two, she threatened me to be sure you and the baby would be safe, so it stands to reason she'd want to protect you all from him, as well. Three, she was heading that way when she left. And four, she was brandishing a handgun the size of a damn cannon. I seriously doubt she brought it along because it went so nicely with her shoes."
Wes swore, slamming a fist against the wall.
Garrett felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. He glanced at the slip of paper again. "Ellis. Lord, she could be there already."
"We have to go after her, Garrett," Lash said. "De Lorean is a snake. He'll hurt her, dammit. He wants her out of the way so there'll never be a challenge to his keeping custody of the kid."
Garrett swore, but ran upstairs to grab a shirt and fill Elliot and Jessi in on what was going on.
The place was like something straight out of "life-styles of the Rich and Famous," Chelsea thought. She parked the car, lifted the gun and headed up the brick path to the front door of de Lorean's home-a Spanish-style mansion, with adobe-brick arches and stucco everywhere. A tall wrought-iron fence surrounded the place, but the gate between the towering center columns stood open. Almost as if de Lorean was expecting someone.
Chelsea walked softly, eyes wide and alert. Around her, night birds chattered and chirped. Other than that, though, there wasn't a sound. No movement. Not even a breeze. She tiptoed up the front steps, and peered at the stained-glass panels in the door, but couldn't see through them. Her hand was slick with sweat when she closed it on the ornate door handle. She started in surprise when she turned the thing and found no resistance.
Pushing the door slightly, she looked inside. The entry hal
l towered and glittered. Her glance took in chandeliers and arched ceilings and marble tiles on the floor. On the far side of the room, she saw a silvery-haired man, reclining in a chaise, his back to her as he lifted a crystal glass to his lips.
She glanced to either side but saw no one else. She listened and heard only the soft strains of a Spanish guitar floating from a hidden speaker.
Swallowing hard, Chelsea stepped inside. She lifted the gun, leveled its barrel at the back of the man's head and moved closer. He still showed no sign he was aware of her presence. She curled her forefinger, around the trigger, drew a deep breath.
"Vincent de Lorean?" she asked to be sure.
"That's correct." His voice was deep and smooth. He didn't seem surprised or even unnerved. "Come in, Chelsea. The least you can do is look me in the eye when you kill me." He rose in one smooth movement and turned to flash a brilliant white smile from beneath a thin, salt-and-pepper mustache. His deeply tanned skin didn't sport a single wrinkle or flaw. "May I offer you a drink first? From the way that gun barrel is shaking, I think you could use one."
She glanced down at her shaking hands, fought to steady them. "How do you know who I am?"
"I know," he said softly. "I have ways of knowing everything." And without batting an eye, he sipped his drink again. One hand remained casually in the pocket of his satin robe. He didn't seem the least bit nervous.
"You killed my sister." Her voice was trembling now.
He only shrugged. "A drink would really bolster you, Chelsea. They don't call it liquid courage for nothing, you know."
"I don't want any damned drink."
Again, that careless shrug, accompanied by a tilt of his head. "I suppose you should get on with it, then. You came here to kill me, I assume?"
She blinked the moisture from her eyes. She hadn't expected it to be this hard. Again, she steadied the gun, sighting the barrel at the center of his chest.
"It's going to make a terrible mess, you know. That's a rather large caliber weapon you're holding. A forty-four, I believe. You shouldn't have to fire it more than once." He took a step closer, downed the last of his drink and set the glass on a marble table. Then, with one hand, he pulled the robe open, exposing his bare chest to her. "Go ahead. Pull the hammer back. And lift the barrel just a little. Your aim seems a bit low. I'd really prefer to die right away rather than lie around with a bullet in me and suffer untold agony."
Chelsea stared at his exposed skin and imagined the bloody hole she was about to put in it. The bullet would rip right through the man's body. There would be blood. There would be a lot of blood.
She lifted the barrel.
Her hands shook even harder. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn't she just pull the trigger and end this? It was for Ethan, for Garrett and his family. She had to kill this man. She'd be doing the world a favor.
"Some would say, Chelsea, that you have a lot of your father in you. It surprises me, really. I didn't expect it. But here you are, ready to kill like a vengeful god. You've decided I'm not worthy of living, so-"
"Shut up!" She gave her head a shake, blinked again. The damned tears were blurring her vision.
"You have a killer's genes in you, Chelsea. We're a lot alike, you and I. We do what needs doing, with no-"
"I said shut up!"
She lifted the gun higher, and her finger tightened a little on the trigger. Kill him, she screamed at herself. Just do it!
"Don't act so surprised, Chelsea. You've always known there was a lot of your father in you, haven't you? Isn't that the fear that's been haunting you all your life, the fear that deep inside, you might be just like him? Isn't that what made you believe you could come here tonight and execute me for my sins?"
She bit her lip, refusing to listen to his words, refusing to consider them. She steadied the gun, put a little more pressure on the trigger?.
She couldn't do it. There was nothing of her father in her, and Chelsea knew that now. She'd been afraid of the anger inside her, of the rage. She'd always had this horrible feeling she could be just as cruel, just as violent.
But she simply wasn't. And taking a life, any life, was beyond her power. Even now, with so much at stake. There had to be another way. There had to. She'd seen too much violence, too much death. She couldn't bear to be the instrument of still more.
Slowly, she lowered the gun. De Lorean's smile grew wider. "A wise decision, Chelsea," he purred. And before she'd even seen him move, he'd pulled his own gun from the deep pocket of his robe. She realized it had been aimed at her the whole time. No wonder he hadn't been afraid. "Don't lift that Magnum again, chica. If you do anything other than drop it on the floor, you'll find yourself in excruciating pain. I know how to inflict it. Believe me."
She swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and let the heavy weapon fall from her hands to the floor. It didn't matter now. He'd kill her anyway.
"Very good. I believe I have finally figured out how to get my son back, Chelsea. And you've helped me. I thank you for that." He grabbed her arm, bruising it with the force of his grip. He pulled her forward and shoved her down onto the chaise where he'd been sitting before. "Now, if you'll just be still for a moment, I have an important call to make."
Garrett's earlier ascent upstairs had been stopped cold by the ringing of the phone. Now, he stood at the foot of the stairs, feeling sick to his stomach just from the look in Wes's eyes as his brother swore into the receiver and finally slammed it down. "What is it, Wes? Who was on the phone?"
"De Lorean."
Garrett closed his eyes.
"He has Chelsea, Garrett," Wes went on. "Says he's gonna kill her unless we hand little Ethan over to him."
Garrett's legs wouldn't hold him. He sank down onto the bottom step feeling as if all the bones in his body had just dissolved. The air rushed from his lungs.
"What else?"
"We're supposed to keep quiet. No police. No Feds, or he'll kill her anyway."
"And he'll know about it if you do report this, Garrett," Lash added. "He has enough turncoats on his payroll that he'll know. We have to handle this ourselves."
A sob from the top of the stairs drew Garrett's gaze upward. Jessi was standing there, her face colorless and damp. "Dammit, Garrett, what are we gonna do?"
"I don't know." Garrett turned back to Wes. "When is this supposed to happen?"
"He said he'd contact us in twenty-four hours to tell us where to meet him for the exchange."
That brought Garrett to his feet. "He expects me to wait that long? To leave Chelsea alone with that bastard for-"
"You have to, Garrett. You try to go after him now, you'll be signing Chelsea's death warrant." Lash paced the living room, shaking his head. "He won't kill her. Not yet, not when he sees her as the key to getting his son back."
"You sure about that?" Wes asked.
"As sure as I can be."
"I can't just wait," Garrett said tightly. "I can't just sit here and wait."
"Don't wait, Garrett." Jessi came down the stairs and slid her arms around her brother's waist from behind, hugging him hard. "Use the time to plan. We have to be ready. We have to get Chelsea out of this alive, and we all know we can't hand our sweet little Bubba over to that animal." She released him and he turned to face her. "We need help, Garrett."
"No." He answered her before she said what he knew she was going to say. "Jessi, I don't want any more people I love risking their lives over this."
"Adam and Ben will never forgive you if you don't let them help. And you'll never forgive yourself if something goes wrong. They'd be here in a heartbeat if they knew what was going on. We have to tell them, Garrett."
He shook his head.
"She's right," Wes said. "This involves all of us now, Garrett. Not just you and Chelsea. We're family. We stick together."
Garrett met Wes's eyes, and again his heart damn near burst with pride at the way his brothers and his baby sister had turned out.
"That's true," Lash said.
"Even if de Lorean gets what he wants, he's going to have to get rid of everyone who knows what went down. And I'm afraid that includes all of you."
"Which is why I'm going to send them all away."
Jessi gasped. Elliot had joined them in the middle of the conversation, and as Jessi quickly brought him up to date, he stared at Garrett with accusing eyes.
"Don't argue, Elliot. You have to go. You, Wes, Jessi and little Bubba, as well. I want you all to get as far away from here as you can until this is over one way or another. Lash, if you had half a brain, you'd take off, as well. This is my fight. I don't want anyone else getting caught in the crossfire."
"Garrett-" Jessi began to protest
Elliot silenced her with one hand on her arm. "Come on, sis. There's no sense talking to him when he gets like this. Let's go check on the little one."
Garrett watched them go, his heart twisting. Then he turned to Wes. "I'll book a flight for you in the morning. You can all go visit Adam in New York for a few days."
"They can go, you mean," Wes said, his voice level and deadly. "If you think you can bully me the way you can the kids, you'd better think again, brother. I'm staying. You want me on some flight out, you're gonna have to knock me out cold to get me on the plane. And we both know that won't be easy.''
Lash's eyes widened a little at that.
Garrett saw it and shook his head. "What I have in size, Wes has twice in speed and pure meanness," he explained. "I'd hate like hell to have to find out who'd still be standing if we ever went at it."
"So don't force me to show you," Wes said. "I'm staying."
Garrett nodded once. He'd known Wes would argue, just hadn't been sure how hard. "It might get ugly."
"You're my brother, Garrett. And that kid upstairs?" He glanced at the staircase, and Garret thought he got too choked up to say more.
And with those words, Garrett knew the tension between him and Wes was over. Buried. A thing of the past. One of the burdens weighing on his shoulders floated away. Too bad the remaining ones were threatening to break his back.
It was the longest night of Chelsea's life. She spent it in a locked room with no windows and nothing on the walls but brownish-yellow paint. The only piece of furniture was a small, twin-size bed with a bare, striped mattress and no pillows or blankets. An ugly room, out of place in an opulent mansion. She guessed de Lorean used the room especially for guests like her. Prisoners. She knew instinctively she wasn't the first to be held here. She cringed at the thought that Michele might have spent endless hours in this cell-like room.
She'd heard other voices shortly after de Lorean had dumped her here, so she knew he had brought in reinforcements. She'd been present when he'd placed his threatening phone call and realized that Garrett now knew what a fool she'd been. He knew-and he would try to rescue her. He would never turn Ethan over; Garrett loved that child as if he was his own. But, God, he wouldn't stand by and let de Lorean murder her, either. Maybe he'd call the police. Maybe they'd bring in a SWAT team or something and storm this place. Maybe?.
Chelsea closed her eyes and sank onto the bed. She couldn't just sit there. She had to do something. She had put Garrett right in the middle of this, when all she'd wanted to do was protect him. She couldn't just wait around for him to get himself killed trying to save her.
She couldn't live through that again.
Because she loved him.
At dawn, as planned, Marisella's battered old pickup truck pulled in close to the front porch. Garrett paced nervously, hoping this damned plan of Lash's wouldn't backfire. Still, he couldn't have come up with a better one. Lash figured de Lorean probably had some men watching the place. They'd have to be doing so from a distance or they'd be obvious. So in order to send Jessi, Elliot and little Ethan to safety, they'd have to be sneaky about it. If de Lorean knew they'd moved the baby, he'd also know they were up to something. And that would put Chelsea in even greater danger.
Blue whined at the door but stayed put at Garrett's sharp command. Wes led two horses up just behind the pickup and made a big show of rubbing them down. Their true purpose was to block anyone's view. Elliot carried two suitcases and slung them into the back of the pickup before climbing in himself. He was none too happy about his forced vacation and he let Garrett know it every time he glanced his way. Jessi came out next, carrying the baby. She handed Ethan over to Elliot, then climbed in herself. They lay down in the pickup bed. Garrett spread the tarp over them. Then, as planned, Wes led the horses back, to the corral and turned them loose. Garrett stood on the porch, talking to Marisella as if he'd been right there all along, doing just that. In a few minutes, Marisella climbed back into her truck and left. She would drive carefully home, pull the truck into her garage, close the door and get the kids out. They'd wait an hour, then drive to the airport and take a flight to New York. It was all arranged.
As the pickup rolled out of sight, Garrett breathed a sigh of relief. At least three of his charges were safe. Thank God. Now all he had to do was come up with a way he could confront Vincent de Lorean and a horde of his thugs and still manage to get Chelsea out alive.
He shook his head at the enormity of the task.
A Brand of Christmas Page 14