Hard Pursuit (Delta Force Brotherhood)

by Sheryl Nantus

  “Ally.” The thin man ran both hands through his hair, slicking back the dark, loose strands. “I want to know what the hell you did to her while I was on vacation. What you told her.”

  “About what?”

  “Me.” He pointed at himself. “You. This idea you’ve got stuck in your head about New York.”

  “I didn’t tell her anything,” Trey replied. “She came to Jessie for help to find you, and I’m a friend of Jessie’s. Ally needed some assistance while Edgar was off searching for you, and I was there.”

  “Jessie.” Vincent huffed. “She’s one crazy bitch.”

  Trey resisted the urge to look up at Dylan’s office.

  “She didn’t have to come looking for me. I was fine.”

  “You dumped Edgar and disappeared for days without a phone call, with no contact at all.” Trey took a sip of coffee, using the scalding heat to force himself to stay calm. “She cares about you. When you went missing, she got worried.”

  “I was going to come back, honest. Just hit a lucky run in Reno after crapping out in town and wasn’t going to let the streak run cold.” He looked around the club. “I don’t have to tell you about turning your back on good luck. You live here.”

  Trey stared at him.

  “No reason to think there was anything wrong with me. I’ve walked off before and came back on my own.” Vincent stabbed a finger toward Trey. “She got you to hack my phone, my laptop. Invading my privacy.”

  “We wanted to see if you had left any hints where you’d gone.” It was hard to stay still, to resist the urge to reach across the table and slap the immature man across the face. There were only a handful of years between them, but it might as have been decades.

  “I don’t answer to her.” Vincent took a swig of coffee and coughed. “I’m Sheldon Construction, not her.” He shook his head. “Giving Capprelli a hard time. That was wrong. Ally overreached, superseded her authority. Look what happened. Big accident, people hurt and killed.” He waved at Trey. “That’s on your head, not mine. You opened your big mouth and threatened Capprelli. Not your job. Not your place.”

  Trey stayed silent.

  “Then she screws up my presentation today.” He reached again for the cup of black coffee. “Damn it. I was doing fine.” He took a sip. “Right, Eddie?”

  Trey didn’t have to turn to imagine Edgar’s reaction.

  “I’ve got them eating out of my hand, then she gets up, stomps to the front of the room, pushes me aside, and takes over.”

  “How did she do?”

  “What?”

  “How did she do?” Trey asked.

  “Damned woman didn’t mess it up,” Vincent admitted. “But it was my presentation, my show. This is why I came to Vegas.” He curled both hands around the coffee mug. “It’s my company.”

  Trey bit the inside of his cheek to keep silent. Part of him sensed it was a case of pure envy on Vincent’s part, knowing Ally was smarter and more business-savvy.

  Part of him didn’t give a crap. The man who had likely killed Nick was sitting across from him babbling like a jerk.

  He needed to keep Vincent talking.

  “This.” Vincent shook his head. “This is all on you. All of it.” His grip intensified on the ceramic mug. “If you hadn’t come into her life, you wouldn’t have gotten her all riled up.” He glared at Trey. “You put all these concepts into her head, ideas about what she should be doing.”

  “Ideas?” Trey fought to keep his voice level. “Ideas like how she’s a smart woman who could run the company on her own, without her drunken idiot of a brother hanging around her neck like an albatross?” He pointed at Vincent. “You killed my friend and put me in the hospital for months. You should be behind bars for the rest of your life.”

  “If that were true, the cops would have arrested me, and I’d be behind bars. But that hasn’t happened, right?” Vincent grinned. “You’ve got no proof. Nothing but a bunch of photographs and your gut feeling.” He took another sip of coffee, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing. “Now, here you are, some washed up punk mopping floors in a nightclub. Until Ally picked you out and figured she’d do some Cinderfella thing with you.” He chuckled. “Wearing my clothing, sleeping in my bed. A shrink could make a lot out of that.”

  “She did what she thought was best for you. For the company.”

  “She did what she thought was right for her,” Vincent snapped. “That meant dragging you into our business because she wanted to screw you. She could have found anyone else, paid some man to climb into her bed and no one would care. Instead, she chose you and let you poke around our computer system.”

  “Don’t forget, this all started when Ally went to Jessie because you’d dumped Edgar and disappeared. She worried you were lying somewhere dying or dead.” He hesitated, weighing the words. “Someone fell onto the tracks in Henderson. Jessie had to come here, show her the coroner’s photographs.”

  For a second there was a flash of remorse in the man’s eyes. “What?”

  “Ally studied the photos. The body was torn up, shredded. Imagine that, those sharp metal wheels grinding over flesh and bone, over and over again.” He jabbed a finger at Vincent’s covered arm. “Couldn’t even identify it by the tattoos. She sat there and stared at the pictures of someone’s mutilated body, terrified she’d have to tell your parents about your horrible, painful death. Then, when she figured out it wasn’t you, she offered to pay for the man’s funeral so he’d be taken care of. Think on that for a second. Think about what you did to her.”

  Vincent swallowed hard, studying the coffee cup.

  Trey sat back, pressing into the cushions.

  The man gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible.

  “I love Ally like a sister. I grew up with her,” Vincent said in a slow, steady whisper. He stared at Trey. “We were fine before you stuck your nose in and started trying to change things.”

  “Were you?” Trey snorted. “God damned drunken idiot who’s not only an alcoholic but also an embezzler. Between your gambling problems and your blackouts, I can’t imagine how this can go on much longer. It’s a miracle you remember your name, never mind how to run a company.”

  “You figure I don’t remember things?” Vincent said. The edges of his mouth twisted up. “You think I’m a blackout drunk?”

  “Classic definition of one.” Icy tentacles curled around Trey’s heart. “Yeah, I think you drink until you pass out and wake up in strange places, don’t remember what or who you did. You told me you didn’t remember the accident in New York City. Was that a lie because you were afraid to say anything in front of Ally? Or did you pass out behind the wheel and wake up later with no idea what happened?”

  “Ally’s all sensitive about drinking ’cause of me and her father.” He grinned. “Bet she never told you that part.”

  “She told me alcoholism runs in the family.”

  Vincent took a sip and winced. “She likes to exaggerate. But she’s sensitive to that sort of thing. Me and my dad, we like to drink, but her father… He liked it a lot. That’s how they went off the road and got killed—he’d been drinking at a party and thought he could drive home. She won’t tell you about that.”

  Trey tried not to react, holding it in. “And your father’s good with letting you drink, even when it took his own brother?”

  “He can hold his drink. So can I.”

  Trey snorted. “Not if you’re a blackout drunk. Don’t try and sell me that line of crap.” He sliced the air with his hand. “Jessie dragged your ass back from Reno stinking of booze. I was there, I saw it. You can’t tell me different. Probably don’t remember anything from the time you hocked your watch and stumbled away. You can’t control your drinking—don’t lie to me.”

  Vincent’s lips curled up, showing his teeth. “What if I told you I do remember that night?”

  Trey forced himself not to react, not to flinch at the words. “Do you?”

  “Hell, yeah.” He laugh
ed again. “I was drunk, but not that drunk.” He took a sip of coffee. “The ladies draped themselves all over me at the club. The management tossed me out—I was becoming bad for business. All the men hated that I was stealing their sweet things.”

  Trey held back a scowl. “Were you?”

  “Yeah. Got in my car and was heading for the Last Call. Good after-hours place, always open to me.” He rose and moved out to stand beside the table, looking at Trey. “I remember everything,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.

  The flashback caught Trey unaware, crashing into his senses. For a long, horrible moment, he was there on the sidewalk, pain clouding his vision as he tried to figure out what had happened.

  The car. The man’s arm hanging out, waving in the hot night air as he sped off.

  Nick lying on the concrete, gasping for air as Trey held him.

  …

  Ally stood, her heart reacting to Vincent’s movement. He’d gotten to his feet, a grin splitting his face open. Trey followed a second later, rising to face him.

  She still couldn’t hear what they were talking about but spotted Trey’s lips pressed into a thin line, spied the clenched fists at his side. His shoulders tensed as if he were about to spring into action, the warrior waiting to be unleashed.

  Despite Dylan’s warning, she moved closer, hoping to catch some bit of their conversation. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to walk in and break them up, but she had to agree with Dylan’s assessment that this was between the two of them.

  That didn’t mean she had to sit idly by and imagine what they were saying to each other.

  She moved to a nearby table as the two men talked—or, to be more precise, Vincent talked and Trey listened. Edgar stood nearby, his full attention on Vincent.

  “I saw a sweet looking lady on the street,” Vincent said. “I planned to pull over and see if she wanted a ride.” He gave a low, rumbling laugh. “Didn’t see you two. Had my full attention on the lovely woman.”

  She blinked as he continued, trying to understand what he was saying.

  “So I yank the steering wheel to the side, and before I know it I’m up on the sidewalk.” He shook his head. “She got out of the way pretty fast—you two, not so much.”

  Her gut twisted into knots as she realized what she was hearing.

  “Damned car must have had one of those engine problems, you know—where it runs too fast, speeds up without you touching the gas. I think I caught something in the papers about a recall notice.”

  “But you kept driving. Why didn’t you stop?” Trey’s voice rose, catching the attention of the nearby customers. “Why didn’t you stop?”

  “Because I didn’t want to go to jail.” The unbelievably callous words staggered her, like a slap across the face. “Simple as that.”

  Trey drew a deep breath. “You drove on, knowing you’d hurt people, left them bleeding and broken behind you?”

  Vincent nodded. “I didn’t want any trouble.” He lifted a thin finger. “I’m not stupid, I’ve never been stupid. I knew exactly how much crap I could get away with. Parking tickets, speeding tickets, that’s easy to take care of. This, not so much—too many people to pay off, to fix. I drove home, called my father, and he took care of it. Made the car disappear, took us all out of the country.” He tapped his chest. “The tattoo, that was my idea. Just in case someone remembered seeing me.”

  “I saw you,” Trey growled. “I’ve been searching for that birthmark for five years.”

  “And now you’ve found it. But you can’t do anything. There’s nothing but my word against yours—and we’ve got bigger and better lawyers.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You just remember that. I took you out once, and I can do it again. Put in a call to your boss, say the right things, and you’re out of a job. You’re damned lucky your buddy got you out of the way the last time.” He smiled. “But he’s not here now to save you, is he?”

  Ally’s breath caught in her throat as Trey turned and looked at Edgar.

  A glance passed between the two men, something she didn’t comprehend.

  But it was enough.

  The punch came so fast, a blur, Trey’s fist shooting out and back in an eye blink.

  Vincent fell to his knees screaming as blood gushed out between his fingers.

  Trey moved in, dropping behind her brother and putting him in a headlock, his muscular arms tight around Vincent’s neck. Blood dripped onto Trey’s forearm as he whispered something into Vincent’s ear.

  Everyone in the bar stopped and stared at them, the sparse lunch crowd now fully engaged with the impromptu entertainment. It was like the Old West scenario where everything fell dead silent during the gunfight.

  She took a few steps forward, unsure what to do.

  Trey turned and saw her. His eyes went wide as he released Vincent and got to his feet, dropping his hands to his sides.

  Vincent spotted her, too. He rocked back and forth, blowing bloody bubbles from his lips as he drew a ragged breath. He raised a hand and pointed at her, gurgling something incomprehensible.

  Her mind went blank.

  She fled.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Vincent let out a moan as he covered his broken nose with both hands.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said over and over again, blood trickling down the front of his shirt.

  Dylan came over with a handful of white dishtowels and threw them at Vincent.

  As the disheveled man gathered up the linen and pressed them to his face, Dylan turned to Edgar, waiting for his response.

  The veteran gave him a nod before kneeling to attend to Vincent.

  “Damned clumsy fellow. Slipped and smashed his nose on the table. Sorry for the mess,” he said to Dylan. There was no emotion in his voice, no indication anything out of the ordinary had happened.

  Dylan’s tight smile lasted until he looked at Trey. “You okay?”

  Trey ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. The jab had been fast and powerful, all of his pent-up rage and anger in one snap punch that had landed true.

  The chokehold…that had been another matter.

  He closed his eyes and held his breath, pushing the anger back down deep.

  Ally.

  “What the hell was she doing here?” he said. His throat was dry and sore as if he’d been gargling bleach. He glared at Dylan. “Did you call her?”

  “Hell, no.” Dylan shook his head. “My bet is Vincent here told her he was coming to see you, and she followed him here, wanted to make sure nothing happened.” Dylan gestured at Vincent, busy bunching the towels up into his face. “Nothing like this, I suspect. Spotted her when she came in, and intercepted her. She wanted to go straight to you, but I detoured her to a side table. Told her to sit and watch.”

  “What?” Trey blinked. “Why?”

  “Because her running into the middle of this fight wouldn’t be safe for any of you. I told her to let you two sort things out on your own.” He scratched the back of his neck, surveying the scene. “Guess it worked.”

  “She heard…” Trey caught himself as he tried to sort through his thoughts.

  “She heard as much as she wanted to hear,” Dylan said.

  Vincent staggered to his feet, still clutching the bloody linen.

  “I’m—” He coughed, sending scarlet drops all over the floor.

  “You’ll be fine,” Edgar said. “Got to watch where you step, especially after drinking.”

  “Fuck. I’m going to sue the crap out of this place. My lawyer’s going to…”

  His words trailed off as Dylan moved in, standing over the thin man.

  “I beg your pardon?” Dylan asked. “You came into my place, already inebriated. We gave you some coffee, which you spiked with your own alcohol, and then you slipped and smashed your face.” He glared directly into Vincent’s eyes. “Bad luck. But we do have a lawyer on call who’d love to deal with your case, as
well as file a counter-suit against you.”

  Vincent held on for only a handful of seconds before dropping his gaze.

  Dylan motioned to Edgar. “Please help your friend out of here.”

  Edgar nodded, one edge of his mouth edging upward.

  “I’ll be in my office,” Dylan said as he walked by Trey. “If you need to talk.” He didn’t glance at Vincent or Edgar.

  Vincent glared at Trey. He took another step forward before pulling the towel away. His nose was red and swollen, the break obvious.

  “That was a cheap shot. You know what? I don’t care,” Vincent said, “You saw Ally. You saw her turn and walk out of here, turn her back on you.” He somehow managed a sneer. “She came here to save you from me and instead watched you punch me and then try to choke me out, an unprovoked attack. What do you figure is going on in her mind now, hmm?”

  He turned his head and spat on the floor, the bloody gob staining the smoothly varnished hardwood. “She came face-to-face with your real nature, not the cute cuddly man she was playing games with a few weeks ago. A punk, a bully—a killer. I might have run over you and your buddy, but I never did it on purpose.” The chuckle turned into a cough. “Saw you lose your temper, lose your mind. And she walked out.”

  A cold dagger ripped Trey’s insides.

  Vincent let out a loud bark. “You think she’s going to come back to you? You think she’s in love with you?” He stared at Trey with bleary, blood-shot eyes. “She knows where her future is, and it’s not with you in this two-bit scummy nightclub. What, you going to have her wait tables while you bounce drunks out the door and flirt with the dancers?” He raised a fist. “She’s a Sheldon through and through, and her loyalties lie with the family, the people who made her what she is today. Not with some jerk who lied to get in her bed. A man who just tried to kill her brother.”

  “She heard…” Trey faltered, unsure what to say.

  “Whatever she heard, whatever she thought, she walked away from it. From you.” Vincent reached out a hand, flailing in the air. “Eddie, we’re leaving. There’s got to be a nearby hospital or clinic who can deal with this.”