by Jane Jamison
But Braden was nothing if not persistent. He stayed on, hanging around until the final customer and the staff had finally come through the doors and gone home.
As the sun rose over the horizon, he slumped against the building. What could he do now? She was gone, and he had no way of finding her.
Chapter Two
Present Day
Kylie had to end it with Frank Correll. He’d changed from the man she’d first met, going from a sweet, caring man to one who had become more controlling with every passing day. After she’d returned from Carlie’s bachelor party six months earlier, she’d planned on ending it with him, but had decided to give him another chance. For a while their relationship was better. Then, slowly, he’d grown jealous and demanding, to the point of wanting her to phone him every hour to check in.
Part of her had to wonder if he was picking up a vibe from her. Since the party, she’d found herself thinking more and more about the two sexy cowboys she’d met near the ladies’ room. Something strange had passed between them, an energy that had zipped through her like she’d been struck with lightning. Her dreams became even more sexually charged, filled with fantasies of the two men.
Were the dreams really visions of what was to come? Was the Universe trying to tell her something? But if so, what was the message? To return to Austin and see if she could find them?
Kylie loved reading her horoscope and believed everything was connected. Fate had brought the two cowboys to her. That had to mean something.
Yet she was realistic enough to know she couldn’t take off and move to another state and city in search of two elusive cowboys. After all, she had her students and a responsibility to the school. Teachers didn’t get paid much, but she still managed to bring school supplies for those children whose parents couldn’t afford them. Her mother, a former teacher, had started the tradition, and she’d kept it going even after her mother had passed away from cancer two years earlier.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if she’d stayed at the club longer. Or better, if she’d had time to look for them. But Carlie had gotten a wild hair up her ass and had decided to move the festivities to another bar. Kylie hadn’t even sat down before the bride-to-be was pulling her out the back door then down the alleyway toward the waiting limo.
She chastised herself long and hard about getting so drunk. Maybe if she hadn’t been so out of it, she would’ve thought to give them her digits. Or at least gotten their names. Instead, she’d awakened the next day, somehow managed to make it through the long wedding, and then flown home to Wichita, Kansas. She’d left Austin feeling like she was leaving more than her friend behind.
It felt like she was leaving the best part of herself behind.
She peered at the old brick building. Maybe she should wait until Frank came over later. As shitty as he’d been treating her lately, he still deserved to hear straight from her that their relationship was over. And yet, a part of her was afraid to end it alone with him in her apartment. Truth was, she was afraid of him. Afraid of his quick and often violent reactions.
She could break up with him in a public place, but the whole thing of doing the “it’s not you, it’s me” routine in a restaurant felt wrong. Besides, she doubted being in public would keep him from going off. Instead, she’d pull him aside while he was on a job site. If there was one thing Frank hated, it was looking unprofessional in front of his employees. He’d get angry, but he’d be less likely to show it in front of people he knew and wanted to respect him.
She still wasn’t sure what he did for a living. He’d given her several explanations, most of them vague references to “real estate investments.” Whenever she’d question him, he’d change the subject or, worse, tell her she didn’t have a “head for business.” The fact that he was right didn’t make it any better.
If she hadn’t gotten lost trying to find her new hair salon, she wouldn’t have pulled off the highway and ended up on the side street. Then, when she’d recognized his car sitting outside the old building, she’d figured fate had stepped in yet again. It couldn’t be dumb luck. The chances were too slim.
Being someone who never questioned fate, she’d parked her convertible Fiat in front of his car. Getting out of the car proved to be a lot harder.
“This is it,” she whispered. Obviously the Universe had given her a sign. Who was she to argue? Perhaps it was better this way. She had her breakup speech ready. If she did it now, she could get it over with and not worry about it any longer. Like jumping into a swimming pool instead of easing into it inch by inch. Or ripping off a Band-Aid.
Another vehicle was parked nearby, which most likely belonged to one of his business partners. She’d interrupt their meeting then get the hell out of there. Pulling the box loaded with Frank’s things he’d left at her tiny apartment out of the trunk, she walked over to his car and set it down next to the driver’s side. How great was it that she’d brought it along with her that morning? It was yet another sign that she was meant to break up with him today. Hopefully, no one would steal anything. Still, she couldn’t turn down the chance to get them back to him in an easy, uncomplicated way.
Ready or not, here I come.
Holding her head up, she strode to a side door, found it was left cracked open, and stepped inside. She paused, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. Why didn’t they have the electricity turned on? Unless, of course, the place was empty and ready for Frank and his partners to turn it into an office building.
Fairly soon, she could see well enough to know the place was a pit. Debris littered the open area of the first floor. Used condoms as well as drug paraphernalia and a nasty stained mattress took up one corner. If Frank was going to convert the building into usable office space, he’d have to do one hell of a cleanup job first.
“Frank?” She didn’t speak up. She was too intimidated by the awful surroundings to speak too loudly. What if a druggie was hiding in the shadows? Shaking off her jittery nerves, she forged ahead. After all, fate had directed her there. What could go wrong?
“Please, man, I’ll do anything you say. I’m sorry. I swear to God, I’ll make it up to Mr. Matzoni.” The voice reeked of terror.
She froze. Where had she heard that name before? Had Frank mentioned it? What was frightening the man so much that his voice shook?
Leave. Now.
And yet, she couldn’t. What if the man needed help? How could she walk away?
She forced her feet to move again. The voice had come from the far corner of the building. Was he behind the wall? Part of the wall had collapsed and the remaining portion blocked her from seeing who was behind it.
Where is Frank?
As rough as Frank had gotten, she doubted he’d be so callous as to leave a man who needed help. The man’s crying tore at her. Although his voice was a deep baritone, it still reminded her of the sounds one of her students had made when he was hit in the head by one of his classmates. She had to help.
Picking up her pace, she hurried toward the wall partition. As she drew closer, she started to call out to him, to let him know help was on the way.
And then she saw Frank.
A small hole was in the still-standing part of the wall. Although not more than five inches in width, the hole was large enough to see what was going on. She came to a stop again, her breath hitching in her throat.
Frank’s face was relaxed. A smile curved his lips. A smile that sent a cold chill through her.
She inched forward, suddenly all too aware that she’d walked in on something awful. And yet, like seeing a horrible wreck on the highway, she couldn’t look away. Easing against the wall, she peered into the hole.
Frank stood over a man on his knees. The man’s body shook from his sobs and a line of blood ran from his temple along his cheek to drip off the end of his jaw. The gun Frank pointed at him was long and black as though it had an added appendage on the end of it.
Oh, my God.
Sh
e stood, hand clasped over her mouth to keep any involuntary sounds from escaping. Frank placed the end of the barrel against the man’s head.
“Too fucking bad. You know that rules, Markie. No one fucks with Mr. Matzoni and lives.”
“Please, Frank, I have a wife and two kids. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Talk to him and ask him to give me more time.”
Frank’s laugh was evil, heartless. “No can do. But no hard feelings, either, right? I’m just doing my job.”
Markie clasped his hands together, pleading with Frank. “I’m begging you. Let me go and I’ll give you everything I have.”
“And set me up to get killed? Bullshit. Not going to happen, my friend.”
Markie clutched Frankie’s slacks. “Please. I’ll do—”
The shot barely made a sound, more a quick pop than a loud blast, but it was enough to jolt Kylie. Her hand smothered her yelp as Markie slumped to the ground.
Oh, shit.
For a moment, she couldn’t think, couldn’t get her body to move. All she could do was watch as Frank bent over, dug through the man’s pockets, and pulled out his wallet. He straightened up, then aimed the gun at Markie’s head and shot him again.
The instinct to flee took over. Backing away, she darted toward the door, then squeezed through the opening she’d left. The sunlight assaulted her, blinding her for a second, but still she ran.
Pain seared into her as her head was jerked backward. A scream blasted her throat as Frank spun her around and hurled her against her car.
“Fuck, bitch, what are you doing here?”
“Let go of me.” She struggled, but she was no match for his sizeable bulk.
“Knock it off, Kylie.” He lifted the gun to her head. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
Horrified, she stared into his dark eyes. Anger morphed his features, his scowl more of a grimace. “Please, Frank, let me go.”
“Shit, bitch. I can’t do that. Not now.” He glanced over at the box next to his car. “What the fuck?”
He shook her, eliciting yet more agony into her head. She pulled at his arm, but she was no more than a fly to his elephant.
“You came here to dump me? Who the fuck do you think you are?” He tightened his grip on her hair then yanked her forward and back again. “You’ll never find anyone as good as me. Hell, fuck that. I deserve better than a bitch like you.”
Tears streamed down her face. “Please. I won’t say anything.”
He closed his eyes and the grimace relaxed, giving him the same expression he’d had the moment before he’d shot Markie. Fear locked its fingers around her.
She cried, her body shaking with her sobs. “Please, don’t,” she whispered.
“This is bullshit.” He yanked her face close to his. “No skank dumps Frank Correll. You got that, bitch?”
“Yes.” She’d agreed to anything to save her life. “Please, Frank, let me go.”
Evil blazed from his black eyes, but in the next instant, the fury was gone. In its place came a quiet calm that was even more frightening. “Quiet, sugar.” He leaned in, putting his mouth to her ear. “I’ll make it quick and painless. For old time’s sake.”
“Nooo.” Her word transformed into a moan. “Please, Frank. Don’t.”
“Sorry, sugar, but it’s gotta be done. Maybe if we were still together, I could’ve made an exception.” He grinned, spreading his evil look wider. “Naw. The boss wouldn’t like it.” He shrugged. “I guess we were destined to break up today, huh?”
Destined. Fated. Yet her life’s plan had taken an ugly turn.
She had to think of a way to make him stop, even if it was only a delay. Someone might happen by. The likelihood wasn’t high, but she had to give it a try. “What boss? You told me you were your own boss. Now you’re saying you’ve got to bow down to another man?”
He blinked, then frowned. “Naw. That’s not what I meant. I am my own boss. You could call me a freelancer. I take the jobs I want to take.”
“Like killing a man? Is that what you are? A hired killer?” She shouldn’t push him, but she couldn’t hold back. She put all the disgust she felt for him into her words. “You murder for money?”
“You got it, sugar. Just think. All those fancy dinners you liked came from hits like this one.”
Oh, God. Please help me.
She couldn’t let him get to her and, yet, she felt sick thinking she’d benefitted from a murder. But what more could she say? The only thing left to her was to beg again.
“Please, Frank, don’t do this.”
He’d let the gun drop a little. He shook his head. “Damn shame is what it is. You were fucking good in bed. But the boss? He doesn’t like loose ends. Besides, I’ve got to think of my reputation, you know.”
It was over. She stared as he slowly brought the gun up again. Anger filled her, wiping away some of the fear. If she was going to die, then she’d damn well die fighting.
Doing the only thing that came to her, she brought her knee up hard and fast, lodging it between his legs. He paused, lowering the gun again, a second before he groaned and bent over. Locking her fingers together, she brought her hands up with as much strength as she could. She connected with his jaw, sending him rocking backward on his feet.
He lifted the gun, trying to aim it at her, but she was ready. Using the car for support, she put her back against it and kicked him dead center in the chest. Frank fell backward, landing on his back. The gun fell out of his hand and skittered across the cement.
Holy shit. It worked.
Letting out a small cry, she tugged opened the door, threw her body behind the wheel, and started the motor. Whimpers came as she stomped on the gas. Her car sped down the alleyway. Frank was on his feet, pointing the gun at her car a moment before she rounded the corner.
* * * *
Davey was Heath’s pride and joy. After his mother’s death in a car accident six months earlier, the child had come to live with them on the Twisted T Ranch. At first, it was rough going. Davey had never stayed on the ranch for more than a few days at a time, and although Heath had tried to visit his son as much as possible, the demands of ranching had limited his visits to Austin. He was thrilled to have his son move in with him, even if the circumstances leading to his arrival had been grim.
As soon as Davey had arrived, Heath found out that raising a son was hard. Raising an inquisitive five-year-old boy was even harder. In the first month, he’d had to get Davey out of a hole the boy had fallen into. Or jumped into. He wasn’t sure which and Davey had clammed up, refusing to say how he’d ended up there.
The next month, he’d barely grabbed his son in time, narrowly getting out of the way of a horse’s swift kick. The next couple of months were filled with nightmares of Davey missing his mother along with outright defiance. Up until he’d lost his mother, Davey had been an obedient child, never once giving his mother trouble. Now he’d turned into a petulant boy, determined to get into everything and anything.
Heath leaned against the porch railing. Braden was seated in one of the new rocking chairs they’d bought specifically so they could watch Davey playing in the front yard. Watching his son took a lot of time away from doing chores around the ranch.
“Thanks for handling things today.”
“No problem. I know you’ve got your hands full.” Braden chuckled. “He gets more like you every day.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“Not in the way I mean, it’s not.”
Unfortunately, Braden was right. “I tried to enroll him in kindergarten today.”
“Yeah? I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”
“No, it didn’t.” He smiled as Davey chased one of the cats around. The boy loved animals, but especially liked the three barn cats. “They said his birthday was wrong.”
“How can a birthday be wrong?”
He still wasn’t sure. “There’s some kind of a cutoff date. If a kid’s born in a certain month
—I can’t remember which one—then he’s old enough to get into school this year. If not, he has to wait until next year.”
“Huh. Never knew that. But, then again, why would I?”
They’d both learned a lot about raising a child. If Braden hadn’t taken up the slack with the ranch duties as well as helping with Davey at night, Heath doubted he would’ve made it through the past six months. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Damn, fool, I thought we agreed you shouldn’t hurt your head by thinking.”
It was an old joke of Braden’s. One he usually went along with. Or ignored like now. “You know how Davey calls you Braden?”
“Sure. That’s my name, you know.”
“Yeah, well, I was thinking he should call you Dad.”
He’d anticipated Braden’s silence. His brother probably knew where he was going with the conversation.
“Why so?”
“Well, once we find our mate—and we will find her again—then our children with her will think of us both as their fathers. They can call me Daddy like Davey does and they can call you Dad.”
“You really have done some thinking on this.”
“And?” Braden wasn’t much of a talker. At times, his silence was a good thing. At other times like now, it stretched out the discussion.
“I guess it’d be okay. If it’s okay with Davey.”
He’d expected as much. “I think it’ll make things a lot easier all the way round. And it’ll make Davey feel closer to his future brothers and sisters.”
“You might be right.”
Silence again.
“Good. I’ll talk to him tonight and see if he wants to give it a go.”
“Fine, but don’t push him. If it doesn’t feel right to him, then he shouldn’t be forced to call me Dad.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
“Sure I do. I’m not the heartless bastard you think I am,” joked Braden.