When he tried to move, excruciating pain shot through his head and neck. Nausea roiled in his gut. His arms and legs and back didn’t want to move. Glancing down, he found his body contorted into inhuman angles in order to make him fit inside a four-by-five cell.
“What the hell?”
He tried to sit up, and his head swished back and forth like a dingy stranded in the middle of the ocean. Pain knifed through his skull.
“Shit!” he wheezed, turning on his side in time to vomit.
When he finished heaving, he slouched in his cage, brushing his fingertips over the source of his worst pain and found a large lump on the ridge below his eye. He sucked in a sharp breath at his light touch.
A few inches from his ear, something mewled. He made a sudden move and instantly regretted it. Nausea rolled over him, once again. Slowly, he angled his head around enough to find three black bear cubs hunched together in a cage similar in size to his.
“Hello, kiddos.”
Given their small size, maybe thirty to thirty-five pounds, he guessed they’d been born later than normal. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
“How sweet,” Eli Harwood said, coming into view. “You’ve already made friends with your cellmates.”
Vague images wavered in his mind. Harwood standing above him, a rifle pointed at his torso. A sting to his thigh. Darkness. A mocking voice singing, “Nighty, night.” Water streaming over his head, but not to quench his thirst.
“Let me out of here, Harwood.”
“I don’t think so.”
“This is kidnapping.”
“We see the situation quite differently.”
“How so?”
“I’m detaining you until the authorities arrive.” He levered himself up on the bear cage, making the cubs mewl louder and shrink away. “Breaking and entering’s against the law.”
More images surfaced of him picking a lock, seeing rows of animal parts, then nothing.
“So is wildlife trafficking.” He squinted at all the crates and jars. “I’m more than happy to accept my punishment, are you?”
Eli’s expression chilled. “You shouldn’t have been nosing around.”
He might not be able to remember what happened after he arrived here, but the reason for his visit sat crystal clear in his mind.
“Afraid I’ll figure out what Gold Star means?”
“Gold Star?”
“You don’t know anything about it.” He laughed, holding back a wince. How could he not know the codename given to the sellers?
“Shut your mouth.”
He laughed harder.
Eli jumped off his perch and slammed a boot heel against the bars of his prison, catching the tips of his fingers.
He shook out his hand, not allowing his discomfort to overshadow the moment. “What’s the matter? Family keeping secrets from you?”
“Shut up!”
“Why do you suppose Caleb’s not entrusting you with Gold Star?”
“Last warning, Conrad.” His breaths sawed through the air.
He should stop taunting the bastard. But the man’s emotional wound was splintered wide open, and he couldn’t stop salting it.
“Could it be that he doesn’t trust his murderous little brother?”
Something hard, cold, and calculating formed in Harwood’s eyes as his gaze swung from him to the cubs. Dylan’s heart skittered to a halt. He straightened—or at least, tried to.
Unlocking the crate, Eli grasped one of the cubs by the scruff of the neck, dragging him out. The cub hung docile in his grip as if dangling from his mother’s mouth. The sorrowful noises emanating from his small frame told the real story.
Eli produced a long-bladed knife and pressed it against the cub’s side.
“Don’t!”
“What’s the matter, Conrad? Nothing funny now?”
“Put the cub back, Harwood. You’ve made your point.”
“What’s my point?”
“That you’ll use every leverage available—even innocence—to force my compliance.”
“I’m not after your compliance, though I’ll take it.”
“What’d you want from me?”
“Your respect.”
The man was insane. When placed next to his towering dad and charismatic brother, Eli Harwood blended into the background, became invisible. Nonexistent. Evidently, the youngest Harwood was no longer content in his role as wallflower.
He couldn’t watch the nutcase kill the cub, nor could he hand over total control. Guys like Eli fed off fear. Consumed it like a cold glass of water.
“The cub’s better off dead. Whoever you’re selling it to will either pen it, torture it, or slowly kill it.”
A dam of unmitigated fury broke behind Eli’s green eyes, though his expression remained disturbingly neutral. He threw the cub back into the crate. A high-pitched shriek pierced the air. Eli ignored it as he marched toward Dylan’s cage.
As hard as he tried, he couldn’t keep his fear in check. Death approached, and he had nowhere to run. The metal bars wouldn’t stop the coming onslaught.
Eli’s first stab glanced off his biceps. The next ripped through his jeans at the knee. Harwood didn’t attack him with mindless fervor. He considered each hit with a physician’s precision.
Dylan slid down to the floor of the cage, making himself as small as possible. The attack continued without pause, but Eli couldn’t get his elbow through the narrow bars.
Still, he inflicted enough stinging wounds to make Dylan’s blood flow freely and pool on the concrete floor, mixing with his vomit. His strength ebbed, making his defensive moves sluggish and ineffective.
Eli crouched next to his cage, waiting him out like a tiger watching its prey for any sign of weakness. When Dylan’s eyelids fluttered, Eli raised the knife one final time.
24
Deke held up a hand to keep Keone from shooting his mother.
“Mama, what are you doing here?”
“Waiting for your brother—or you.”
“Me?”
She peered around his and Dylan’s former hideaway. “Figured you’d come by here at some point.”
“I didn’t realize anyone but Dylan and I knew about this place.”
“I’ve known about it for years. Used to follow you two hooligans to make sure you were safe.” She peered into the valley, thoughtful. “Later, I came here to…get away.”
“Did you used to clean up our mess?”
She nodded. “Couldn’t stand the thought of my boys junkin’ up such a pretty place.”
“We always thought a raccoon or something carried the wrappers and cans away.”
“Then you shouldn’t have left them behind.”
Spoken like a true mother. How had he missed her bent toward protecting the environment? Had he noticed it in subtle ways that’d worn off on him?
“Have you seen my baby boy?” she asked.
“Not since the night of the murder.”
Worry wove deep groves in her forehead. “The darkness is upon me.”
Deke’s heart kicked against his chest. “How long?”
“Couple hours.”
“Darkness?” Keone asked.
His mom sent Keone a wary look.
“This is Keone. You can trust him. He’ll understand.”
Over the years, his mom had learned to be careful with whom she shared her secret. Some folks in these parts had no tolerance for things they couldn’t explain.
“Any time something awful is about to happen to a member of my family, a black cloud of sadness and fear surrounds me.”
“There’ve been a dozen or so times in the last twenty years when Mama’s premonition of danger has proven true. One notable moment was when I’d had a skiing accident and no one could locate me for seventeen hours.”
“Does your gift come with the ability to track down the subject?” Keone asked, unfazed by psychic talk.
“Sometimes snapshots of the surrounding
area accompany the darkness. They might include landmarks the locals would recognize.”
“Have any surfaced for Dylan’s location?” Deke asked
“Woods. Bars. Nothing identifiable.”
“Bars?”
“Like a caged animal in a circus.” His mom’s attention dropped to his hand holding the smartphone. “Why are you here?”
A year ago, he would have shared the reason straightaway. But his mom had cut off all communication with him in recent months, without explanation.
“Don’t trust me, son?”
Keone stirred. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
He handed off the phone. “Have it analyzed.”
“Will do.” Keone nodded to Deke’s mom. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Conrad. We’ll find your son. Deke will make sure of it.”
His mom watched Keone disappear into the woods. “Nice young man. Loyal.”
“Why are you toting a gun?”
She glanced down at the weapon as if she’d forgotten about it.
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Of course.”
“Since when?”
“Since you left.”
Deke frowned. “Why did you need to learn how to use a gun?”
“Never you mind. You’ve got your own life to worry about. I’ll take care of mine.”
“Is that why you stopped answering my calls?”
Her attention drifted away. She said nothing, though she cradled her weapon tighter.
“Daddy’s drinking again. Has he done something I need to address?”
“I told you, I’ll take care of my own business.”
He wanted to annihilate whatever or whoever threatened his mom. But her lapse into silence meant the subject was closed. Prodding at the issue would only manage to piss her off.
“Dylan left a message for me in his apartment.”
Her eyes widened at his show of trust. “The phone?”
He nodded. “I think it might belong to the murder victim.”
“Is your friend taking it to the police?”
“No.”
“Why not? There could be something on it that would prove Dylan’s innocence.”
“It’ll take too long. The phone is most likely password-protected. The authorities will have to go through legal channels to gain access. Even then, there’s no guarantee.”
“What if you find something? Won’t the evidence be tainted?”
“Let’s not worry about that unless the issue arises. I have resources.”
She assessed him in the same way she used to when trying to determine if he was being honest or attempting to avoid punishment.
“Will you keep me in the loop?”
“I don’t know how far this stretches into the community. A wrong word to the wrong person—”
“I’ve no intention of discussing this with anyone,” she interrupted, “including your father. He’s already made up his mind about Dylan’s innocence.”
He didn’t have to ask what side of the law Dylan came down on in his dad’s eyes. His mom’s tone said it all. Mitch Conrad never saw the good in people or the positive side of anything. He wrote people off faster than a roadrunner fleeing a coyote. His kids were no exception.
“How about we keep each other updated? I’ll share new developments with you and you’ll let me know if your snapshots reveal any landmarks we can use to locate Dylan.”
“Don’t call or text me. I pick up fresh eggs for your dad at the farmers market downtown every morning.”
“When this is over, I’m getting you out of Rockton.”
The smile she sent him was gentle, appreciative, before it disappeared.
“To where? I’m not good for much but cooking and cleaning. I have no fancy education, no dear friends, and no family besides you, Dylan, and Dara.” She pointed a finger at him. “And I won’t be a burden to my children.” Her gaze hardened. “Find my son. Leave me to my life.”
25
“Stop!” Blaze Harwood yelled.
Eli’s knife halted mid-strike. His youngest son’s head jerked around. A flash of fear raced across his features before he lowered his arm and stood.
Satisfaction drove away the tension that had surged into Blaze’s spine. “Explain, son.”
Eli stood mute, eyes averted, burning.
“Son.”
“I found him snooping around in here.”
Blaze forced his attention down to the man plastered to the back of the cage. A large bruise covered his swollen cheek, and bloody gashes scored his arms.
The guy shook off his shock and rattled the bars. “Get me out of here!”
Ignoring the captive, he asked Eli, “Who is he?”
“Dylan Conrad.”
Unease crept beneath Blaze’s flesh. “Did you kill the Gilbert girl?”
“Caleb told you.”
“No. I connected the dots. You left many to follow.”
“I figured if Conrad was stuck in jail, he wouldn’t be bothering us.”
“So you decided to kill an innocent?” the captive asked.
The knife in Eli’s hand spasmed. “One less waitress. Who cares?”
“Her daughter, damn you!”
“Shut your mouth,” Blaze commanded the captive. It wasn’t wise to ignite his youngest son’s volatile, often explosive, temper. Eli experienced neither remorse or empathy or fear. Only anger and frustration. And right now, he was frustrated with Blaze for interrupting his mutilation of the prisoner.
“We can’t let him—” Eli pointed his knife at the captive, “—live.”
“You’re right. But now we have a bigger problem.”
“What?”
“My source said his older brother came upon the scene you set up with the Gilbert girl.”
“So?”
“Deke Conrad’s even more dogmatic than this one.” Blaze nodded toward the caged man. “He’ll eventually make the connection, too.”
“Then I’ll kill him.”
“Won’t be that simple, son.”
“Deke Conrad won’t link me to the dead waitress. Like I told Caleb, she didn’t know me.”
“You and the younger Conrad have a mutual friend, right?”
Eli began smacking the side of the blade against his thigh. “Yes, but she doesn’t know anything.”
“Who are you talking about?” the captive asked, fear in his voice.
Ignoring him, Blaze said, “Conrad’s resources are vast and they’re pointed at finding his brother. We can’t afford to have him nosing around, especially not before this next shipment. He could destroy us all.”
“Leave my brother out of this. He writes boring conservation articles for an audience of like fifty people. He might search for me, but he’ll be clueless about what else to do.”
“Family’s important,” Blaze said. “You should get to know your brother better.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Deke Conrad’s a special agent with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.”
“He’s a writer. I’ve read his articles.”
“A cover for his true vocation.” He smiled. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had a run-in with your brother. Last time, he sported a beard, wig, and an assumed name. We gave him enough rope to ferret out any weak links in our organization, then we cut him off at the knees.”
“If what you say is true, why would he need to hide being a special agent?”
“Because he’s not just any special agent. He’s part of a covert group—SONR—who specializes in infiltrating businesses like ours and busting them apart.”
Silence dropped like a bomb in the shed.
The captive recovered from his shock. “If his group is so covert, how do you know about them?”
“I have eyes and ears, everywhere. Even within the Service.”
The revelation extinguished his son’s fixation on the captive. He raked a hand through his hair and asked, “What do you want me to do, Daddy?”
/>
“Find Deke Conrad, remove the threat.”
His son tapped his knife against the prisoner’s cage. “What about him?”
“Keep him alive until you’ve dealt with his brother. Then we will stage his death to look like a suicide.”
Eli’s features puckered into a pre-tantrum collection. “But—”
“Who’s in charge here?”
Silence.
He studied his son’s vibrating body. Felt the rage boiling beneath his powerful frame. A wisp of fear crept along the edge of his consciousness. He shoved it away and set his jaw. No offspring of his would usurp his position in the family.
“Eli?” He waited for his son to acknowledge him. When he didn’t, he unbuckled his belt. “Better look at me, boy.”
Wary eyes swung his way.
“Don’t fail me.”
26
“Deke’s a dead man.”
Reid Steele released the arrow, hitting the sixty-yard target dead center.
Evie stared at her brother. Had she made the biggest mistake of her life by asking for his help? “You didn’t let me finish.”
“Don’t have to. You came to me for advice. Either you’re desperate or need my skill set. Or both.”
Although he’d never provided details, she suspected her Green Beret brother knew how to kill a person a dozen different ways. Maybe even more.
“I don’t need your special skill set. But I am desperate to unravel a mystery.”
“Not buying it.” He placed another arrow in his compound bow. “You would’ve gone to the twin brainiacs for puzzle solving.”
“There’s something…tactical about this mystery.”
Lowering his bow, he said, “Now we’re talking, Squirt.”
They moved their conversation to his office in the training center. The state-of-the-art archery range contained target, field, and 3D settings to appeal to every skill level. Her brother had spent months on the design, and the final product couldn’t have turned out more perfect, even to her untrained eye.
“Have a seat.” He crashed into the depths of his leather chair. Propping his booted feet atop his desk, he picked up a pen and started rolling it, back and forth, between his thumb and forefingers. “Now that we’re cozy, spill it.”
Roaming Wild (Steele Ridge Book 6) Page 14