Dylan's Destiny

by Kimberly Raye

  “Hell,” Dylan said, “he wasn’t afraid of anything. Dare the devil. That was Sebastian.”

  “Daring the devil, and winning. The winning was what was important to Sebastian. He had to win. At all costs.” Her gaze shifted to his profile. “If I’m really honest, I have to admit he didn’t fall in love with me. He fell in love with the challenge.”

  “He loved you, Julie.”

  “Maybe a part of him did, but it wasn’t real love. Not the till-death-do-us-part kind.” She stared in front of her, at the endless expanse of highway stretched before them. “It was young love. Infatuation. Temporary. He made me feel smart and beautiful. I’d never met anyone like him. Or you.” Now why had she said that?

  But it was true. Dylan had been just as handsome, as attentive, as alive as Sebastian.

  But he hadn’t been pushy. He’d been patient and kind.

  She focused on the thought rather than the way his palm guided the steering wheel as he kept the Jeep on course.

  “I should have seen him for what he was,” Julie admitted.

  “You couldn’t have. I’ve known him half my life, yet I don’t know him at all. Back when we were teenagers, we’d hook up at the local rodeos and hang out. We both loved horses. Or so I thought, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that it wasn’t the horses Sebastian loved so much as the actual competition. The winning. That’s what drew him.”

  “And what drew you?”

  He cast her a sideways glance. “The ride, darlin’.”

  The words conjured another image in her mind, of the two of them, hot and naked and sweaty and—

  “You okay?”

  What was wrong with her? She was acting like some sex-crazed moron. “Um, yeah,” she mumbled. “I’m just hungry.” In more ways than one.

  Ignoring the last thought, she fixed her attention on a roadside advertisement for a bacon cheeseburger. Her stomach grumbled in response. It had been a long while since breakfast.

  “We’ll stop.” He glanced in the rearview mirror as if looking for something. Or someone. “Pick up some food for the road.”

  “There’s somebody following us?”

  He didn’t answer her for a long, tense moment. “Maybe,” he finally said. He flipped on the turn signal and switched to the right lane. The car cruised onto the exit ramp that led to the feeder road and Billy Bob’s Burgers and Beer, a small greasy spoon that sat just off the Interstate. “And maybe not.” He pulled into the parking lot and turned into an empty space near the front entrance. “But it’s better to assume the worst.” He killed the engine.

  “The worst being that somebody is trying to catch up with us?”

  He leaned over her, his arm brushing her knee as he popped open the glove compartment, retrieved a small handgun and placed it in her trembling hands. “The worst being that somebody’s already caught up.”

  * * *

  “I DON’T LIKE THIS,” Julie said for the tenth time as Dylan held open the door to Billy Bob’s.

  “It’s just a precaution. If I’m not around, you need it for protection.”

  “What do you mean, if you’re not around? Where are you going?”

  “The bathroom.” He smiled reassuringly and touched the pad of his thumb to her smooth cheek. “If that’s okay.”

  “Okay? I mean, yes, yes, it’s okay. For a second I just thought...” She let her words trail off as she shifted the baby to her right hip, her purse hanging securely over her opposite shoulder. “What if it goes off?”

  “The safety’s on. You remember how to turn it off?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? You taught me how to use it. I’m a regular Charlie’s Angel.”

  He grinned. “Supersize my fries.”

  “I’m armed and dangerous and the man wants fries.” She shook her head. “Men.”

  Dylan left her and Thomas in line behind a pimply-faced teen and his parents and headed toward the rear of the restaurant. As he walked, he studied the faces surrounding him, from the old man with the handlebar mustache and a giant piece of coconut cream pie on the plate in front of him, to the couple feeding each other bites of chicken-fried steak in the far corner. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Except the pie. Lord, he’d never seen such a large slice. Except at home. His sister had once served him a double slice of chocolate cream pie that would have given Billy Bob’s a run for its money. Of course, they’d been ten years old back then and Lily had been anxious to fatten him up after a nasty three-week bout with the flu that had left him five pounds lighter. She’d baked him a pie and brownies and a red velvet cake. Dylan had not only gained ten pounds, but developed a cavity in the process thanks to Lily’s mothering.

  Speaking of which...

  He headed into the men’s room and pulled out his cell phone. After punching in a speed-dial number, he listened to the ring on the other end.

  “Hello?” A female voice finally floated over the line.

  “It’s me.”

  “Dylan?”

  “The one and only. Listen,” he said, sensing the multitude of questions rolling through her head before she had a chance to voice any. “I don’t want to go into detail, for obvious reasons. I don’t want you involved in any of this.”

  “You’re my baby brother. I’m involved.”

  “By eight minutes, and you’re not involved, and I’m keeping it that way, so don’t worry about where we are.” He said the words even though he knew they were useless. Lily would worry because she always worried. They were twins. She was smart, however, and didn’t ask their whereabouts.

  That, or she couldn’t ask.

  “You’re doing all right, aren’t you?”

  “As right as Reverend Gabriel after one of his confess-all revival meetings.”

  The moment he heard the words, he breathed a sigh of relief. If Lily had said yes or okay, he would have known something was wrong. She’d used their phrase from childhood. Their secret code that everything was, indeed, all right.

  “Julie and Thomas are with me and we’re all okay. For now.”

  “How’s Julie?”

  “Strong, as usual. And damned pigheaded.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We should be looking for a secure hiding place. Instead, we’re going after Sebastian.”

  He expected several responses, the first along the lines of a frantic Are you crazy? Instead, his sister remained silent for a long moment before she finally murmured, “Maybe she’s right.”

  “Are you crazy?” he heard himself demanding.

  “The running has got to stop. A baby needs stability. A home and a family.”

  “I still think this is a bad idea.”

  “But you’re doing it anyway.”

  “Hell, yes.”

  “Give Julie my love. Not that she needs it. Not with all you’ve got directed her way.”

  Dylan’s tone grew serious. “Look after my little niece, okay? And yourself. And call me if you hear anything about Sebastian’s whereabouts. I don’t care if it’s just a rumor.”

  “You know I will. And you be careful. Otherwise, you won’t have Sebastian to worry about. It’ll be me coming after you.”

  He punched the off button and sent up a silent thank you to whoever had invented the cell phone. Otherwise, he never would have been able to call his sister and talk for fear of being traced. But with a cell, the only thing traceable was the phone number. Forget the location.

  Of course, there were ways to trace the call if someone had the time and resources. Which is why Dylan intended to keep moving. He had to stay one step ahead of their pursuers.

  The slow creak of the door punctuated the thought. He heard the footsteps even before he felt the strange awareness in his gut.

  He turned, and that’s when he caught sight of the man standing across the room. The same man he’d seen in the doorway of the motel room that morning.

  Dylan turned and walked back into the bathroom. A few seconds later,
he heard the slow creak of the door as the man followed him.

  He caught the guy from behind, whirling him around and shoving him up against the door with a loud thud.

  The man groaned. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I think that’s my line. Then again, I don’t have to ask because I already know. You’re following me.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No,” Dylan said as he twisted the man’s wrist another degree south. “I’m mad. I don’t particularly like having to stare over my shoulder every damn second.”

  “You’re paranoid,” the man managed. “I’m not—”

  “And even worse than being followed,” Dylan interrupted, “is being lied to. Are you lying to me?”

  “No.”

  “What?” He twisted harder in a move that had brought many criminals to their knees. This guy was no different.

  “Okay,” he finally breathed. “But I’m not following you.”

  “I don’t think I heard you.”

  “I said I’m not following you. I’m after Sebastian’s man, and this is strictly a surveillance project. I’m not undercover. I try to keep a low profile.”

  Sebastian’s man? This guy must be working for Luke Silva, who was running the show while the head of the mob, J. B. Crowe, was serving time. Dylan had actually helped get the word out to Crowe that Sebastian was becoming a bit “ambitious,” knowing that would guarantee Sebastian’s activities were closely observed. He’d hoped that would keep Sebastian off Julie’s trail, but it obviously hadn’t worked.

  “Jeez,” the man complained, “would you let go? You’re making me lose him.”

  “Who?”

  When the man didn’t answer, Dylan twisted again until the guy groaned.

  “Who exactly are you following?” Dylan demanded.

  “Bite me.”

  “I’ll do better than that.” He took out a handcuff and locked it around the man’s wrist before attaching the other cuff to the pipe running under the bathroom sink.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Making sure you stay off our tail.”

  “For the last time, I’m not following you.”

  “Tell that to somebody who hasn’t been watching you in the rearview mirror for the past ten hours.”

  “I’m not.”

  The words followed Dylan toward the front of the restaurant where Julie waited, doing her best to juggle two white burger bags, a large soda and a wailing baby.

  “What were you doing in there? Reading?”

  “Taking care of a little business,” he said as he took Thomas in his arms and ushered her out the door.

  “Business?” She glanced over her shoulder just as a loud shout came from the rest room. “What are you talking about?”

  “I had a little chat with the guy who’s been following us,” he told her as he steered her into the front of the car and buckled Thomas into his baby seat in the back. “No one’s going to be bothering us anymore.”

  “Guess again.” The voice came from behind Dylan a split second before he felt the cold press of metal at the small of his back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JULIE’S GAZE riveted on the knife the stranger held to Dylan’s throat, and the soda she’d been holding slipped from her fingers and splattered on the floorboard. Terror welled inside her, rising up, gripping every nerve ending until she could hardly breathe. Her heart thundered and her ears rang and time sucked her back to that dreadful day in Sebastian’s office when she’d heard the truth about her husband.

  Fear had followed her in her desperate flight, crawled into bed with her at night, smothered her with horrible nightmares of being caught until Dylan had found her six months ago.

  Dylan.

  She studied his face. There was no flicker of emotion. No tightening of his lips. He looked relaxed, his expression passive. Calm. His gaze was as blue and tranquil as the Caribbean on a hot summer’s day. He might well have had a phone pressed to his ear, chitchatting with some friend, rather than a stranger at his back and cold steel pressed to his throat.

  “It was you.”

  Through the fog of terror clogging her brain, Julie heard the deep rumble of his words, and though he couldn’t reach out to her and reassure her with his hands as he’d done so many times in the past when she’d been worried or upset or downright scared, he did so with his voice.

  I’m here. I’m always here.

  She drew in a shaky breath and tried to calm her pounding heart. Think, her brain screamed. She needed a way out. A weapon.

  Her mind raced frantically for possibilities. She’d tossed her purse, the gun tucked neatly inside, in the back seat next to Thomas. She’d spotted a flashlight in the glove compartment. Some flares. A first-aid kit.

  “Yep, it was me, not Mr. Soprano back there. See, he was following me, and I was following you.”

  “So you don’t really have a wife?”

  “Sure, I do. And three ex-wives who want their alimony, so shut the hell up and get in the car. I haven’t got time to shoot the breeze with you. The boss is waiting. Move over, sweetheart. You’re driving.”

  The man’s gruff command drew Julie’s attention and she glanced up at a point just beyond Dylan’s shoulder. A steely black gaze fixed on her, and for the first time, she took a close look at the man who held the knife, rather than the actual weapon.

  She’d seen him inside the restaurant with an extralarge malt in his hands and a camera strapped around his neck. He was in his midforties. Khaki shorts made his pale legs look even more stark. A Dallas Cowboys’ T-shirt accentuated his potbelly and a faded ball cap perched on top of his head. He’d looked like yet another tourist who’d pulled in off the Interstate.

  Except for the eyes. They revealed a coldness that told her he’d threatened a life many times before. Threatened, and worse.

  “You deaf?” the man barked, and pressed the blade deeper into Dylan’s neck. A small bead of red appeared and Julie’s stomach somersaulted. “I said move over, or your loverboy here gets it good.”

  “I’m going,” she said, her lips thick and her voice scratchy. “Just don’t, okay? Please don’t.” She scrambled across the seat and slid behind the wheel. Dread churned her stomach and made her heart pound.

  “Say, it seems like she’s got a soft spot for you, buddy. Is that right, sweet cheeks? You got a soft spot for this guy?”

  “He’s my friend.” As soon as the statement was out of her mouth, Julie saw Dylan tense. She didn’t have time to wonder why. Instead, she kept looking around, searching for a way out. As her gaze lit on the car keys dangling from the ignition, a plan started to form.

  “Friends, huh? Now ain’t that sweet? I wish I had a friend as pretty as this one. She’s a real looker. ‘Course, I’d want her to be more than my friend. What do you say to that, sugar? You want to be more than friends with me?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Hey, I like this girl. She’s real cooperative. Just the way I like my women. And my men.” He nudged Dylan. “Now get in real nice and slow and easy.”

  The minute Dylan bent to get into the car, his gaze caught Julie’s. A warning flickered hot and bright, as if he read the thoughts racing through her mind. As if he wanted her to steer clear of them.

  But she had to do something. One of the primary things she’d learned in all the self-defense classes she’d taken was to never let a stranger get close, much less into the confines of an automobile.

  “So what happened to your kids?” Dylan asked in that same fearless monotone he’d used earlier, as if they were old friends making small talk.

  As if he weren’t this close to having his throat slit.

  “They weren’t mine,” the man replied as he bent his knees to follow Dylan into the car. “Just a few loaners. Amazing what you can rent on the Internet these days....”

  The next few moments passed in a frantic blur as Julie did the only thing she could. She turned the key in the
ignition and shifted into reverse.

  A loud squeal drowned out the man’s vicious curse, the sudden move throwing his balance completely off. He slammed into Dylan’s side for a frenzied moment before Dylan sprang into action, knocked the knife from the man’s hands and shoved him out the swinging door.

  “Go!” he ordered Julie as he grabbed the wayward door and hauled it closed.

  Julie shifted into drive and slammed her foot down on the gas pedal. The car sped forward, leaving the man sprawled in the dust behind them.

  “Oh, God,” Julie finally breathed as they turned onto the main road and left Billy Bob’s behind. Her heart revved and she gasped for some fresh air that didn’t taste of fear and dread. “That was close. He almost had—” Her words died as her gaze shifted to Dylan and she saw the trail of red oozing from his neck. “Ohmigod. He cut you.”

  “It’s just a nick. Keep driving.”

  “But he cut you. He really cut you. We have to—”

  “We will,” he interrupted. “But for now we have to drive. We need to get back on the Interstate and farther down the road. Then we’ll stop.” He ripped open the glove box and retrieved the first-aid kit. Pulling out a roll of gauze, he tore a strip off, folded it and held it to the bleeding wound.

  It wasn’t until she felt the tear roll down her cheek that she realized she’d been crying. She wiped frantically at her face before glancing in the rearview mirror at her wailing child. Tears streaked his face and she knew he was scared.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Julie soothed.

  “That’s right little man.” Dylan leaned over the back seat and retrieved the baby’s pacifier with his free hand. “You just settle down. Everything’s all right.”

  * * *

  “EVERYTHING IS ALL wrong,” Julie told Dylan several hours later after he’d finally given the go-ahead and they’d pulled into a small convenience store, one of the last stops they’d made before they reached Bayou Blue, a small village situated about two hours away on the banks of one of Louisiana’s most secluded swamps. Hattie lived just outside Bayou Blue, farther into the swamp.

  So deep it was a wonder Sebastian had ever found her.