Talking never helped. Michael Armstrong knew everything and he knew it first. The lesson that day was clear. The negative moniker of half-breed might’ve caused problems in military school and the Corps. Downplay it. Better yet, never admit to it. The General was all about solving Taylor’s problems and advancing his career. It made him look good.
But what had Gracie meant by a blood hunt? What was that about?
Taylor watched those two back pockets bend with the nicely curved butt they covered. Hard and tender, she was another one of those familiar mysteries he couldn’t solve. He’d never met her before, so why did she feel important? She might be a little thing, but she was one to watch out for. The bump on the back of his head testified to that.
Tired and banged up or not, he had a pretty good view when she retrieved a pan from a lower shelf. His body responded to the tantalizing sight. A woman should never bend over in front of a man, any man, not like she was doing, all stiff-legged and—
Gah! He shook his wandering mind off his very beautiful warden’s ass and what he could do to it and back to the puzzle. So the mighty Michael Armstrong had fallen in love with an Indian maiden in a past life. He must’ve met her before college. High school, maybe? By the sounds of it, Martha’s old man wasn’t happy with his daughter’s union with Michael, and yet Taylor’s birth had meant a lot to Peter, enough that he didn’t disown Martha.
I might just want to meet this guy.
“Oh. You’re awake.”
Damn. He’d been caught staring at her ass. Had she seen? He didn’t answer. He couldn’t, not choking on his pride like he was.
“Do you think you’re up to steak tonight?”
Again with the smile. What was so damned worth smiling about all the time?
Oh, wait. She’s not naked and tied to this bed.
Taylor groaned. He shouldn’t have combined those two images. He was wounded. Not dead. The thought of her bare body in his arms sent his blood pooling where it shouldn’t be. Damn it. More heat flamed his cheeks—and everything else. Worse, his restrained hands weren’t able to conceal the annoying spike under the covers.
She came to his bedside like the innocent lamb she was and placed a hand lightly on his forehead. “My goodness, you’re warm. Are you getting sick? You’ve slept all afternoon.”
Yeah, I’m hot all right. He opted for a crappy attitude to get his mind off of her. “Guess arrow wounds need time to heal, don’t they?”
“Yes, umm, they do.”
A guy didn’t need to be clairvoyant to know he’d hurt her feelings. “What time is it?”
“Nearly dinnertime. The ibuprofen helped you sleep. I’m glad. You needed a good rest after what you’ve been through.”
What I need is my head examined for what I’m thinking.
He looked up into her bright eyes. Gracie was just a happy person at heart. Nothing registered in her empty head as anything less than the right thing to do, not the kidnapping, the shooting, and not thumping him on the head last night.
That was his dilemma. She could do some serious time for those felonies, but none of it fazed her, and, oh, yeah, she didn’t know how to answer a direct question, either. The damned, crazy, sweet woman was guileless. She probably didn’t even realize what she was doing to him.
He forced his mind back to the real problem at hand. “Why did you or Luke shoot me?”
A small smile tugged at her lower lip. For an instant, he thought she might actually give him a direct answer, but then she wrinkled her nose, and—
Here we go again. Peter White Hawk’s on some blood hunt. Blah, blah, blah.
Taylor closed his eyes to avoid the track-jumping question she was bound to throw at him.
Go away, Gracie. Just go away. You’re making my head hurt.
“How about if we eat dinner first, and then I’ll answer all of your questions?” She rested her hand on his arm with a smile. “Luke is on his way over. He’ll help me explain.”
“It’s about time.” He eyed her suspiciously. Was she serious?
“How do you like your steak? Rare?”
“Yeah. That will work.”
“Me, too.” Again she smiled as if pleased they had so much in common. “Do you need to use the restroom again?”
“Yes.”
“You know the drill. Cuffs. Three minutes. Then—”
He grabbed her fingers the second she rested them too close to his hand, bending them backward. “I don’t think so.”
“Owwww!”
“Get these belts off. Now. Do it or I break every finger on this hand of yours, so help me, God.” He wrenched her fingers again to prove his point, but damn. She had long, slender fingers. Dainty. His resolve wavered.
“Taylor, you’re... I...” Her eyes filled with tears. She gasped. “You’re hurting me.”
“I mean to. Let me go. Do it!”
“No-o-o. I can’t. Ow. I’m sorry. I can’t. Taylor, stop it.”
Tears fell to his bare shoulder, but he was so close to freedom, he could taste it. Her pain didn’t matter. “Do it, damn it. Just do it. Let me go.”
Unexpectedly, she leaned into him. Her hair fell across his cheek, neck, and chest. There was no way to avoid the scent of it, the touch of it. The softness. The warmth.
A tortured whimper lifted up from her throat. She wrapped her free arm around the top of his head, her lips pressed against his ear.
“Do what you have to do. Just tell me when, so I can be prepared.”
What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t fight back. No scratching. No eye gouging. No beating his face with her free hand. Nothing. And he couldn’t break her fingers. They were small and—
He released her with a hearty, “Sonofabitch!”
I’m the stupidest man in the world.
Her head still rested on his shoulder. Her tears trickled over his bare skin, but damn it. She was nothing but a warden. He should’ve grabbed his one and only chance, but no. The second a little girl cried, ‘Boo hoo,’ he turned into the biggest, dumbest ass on the planet.
She trembled and, God Almighty, the strangest notion sprang to life to hold her. Comfort her. Never hurt her again. The best he could offer was a gruff, “Get off me.”
“I’m so sorry. Honest. I didn’t know what else to do when Luke told me what he’d done. I came right home.”
Taylor arched his neck to look at her. Teary pools of soft brown met his scrutiny. His arms ached to hold her, but—I’m so damned stupid.
“Did Luke shoot me?” he asked, trying desperately to stay on track. He’d meant to escape, but he’d hurt her and—damn! There was no way to maintain focus around this woman.
She nodded. “He called me yesterday morning. I thought if I could take care of you like I’d promised my mother, maybe—”
“Wait a minute. Luke shot me with an arrow, then he called you, and you helped him lock me in that game shed? With a dead deer? Where I could’ve died?” He wanted to get this straight in his head before Luke returned, because maybe he’d be free by then and could beat the living shit out of the guy.
“Not exactly.” Gracie sniffed and wiped her face. Her head dropped, her eyes averted, and what the hell. Is she lying? “Luke only shot you because he needed to protect Peter. He locked you in the shed because he didn’t know what else to do. He had to keep you somewhere safe until I could get home.”
At last. Answers.
“Wait—what? He thinks I’m a threat? How? Why did shooting me protect Peter?”
Gracie tucked her hair behind her ear. For one fleeting second, Taylor wished he’d been able to do that for her. “Peter is your grandfather.”
“Yeah. I get that. So why does he need protection? Isn’t he supposed to be on some crazy blood hunt or something?”
“It’s a long story. Are you sure you don’t want to eat first?”
“Tell me,” he ordered, his teeth clenched from getting nowhere with this beautiful aggravation.
She pulled hers
elf up and away from him. “You’re right. You need to know everything. The blood hunt actually started fifteen years ago. It was a beautiful April afternoon, very much like today. Your mother had a baby sister, Mary. When she was born, Martha was the happiest girl in the world. Everyone loved that baby.”
This was not exactly the story he’d expected, but for now he listened.
“Your grandfather’s a very proud man. When Martha died, it broke his heart. She was just twenty, you know.”
His mind did the mental math. So, my birth mother was sixteen and pregnant and—
Oh, hell. My nineteen-year-old father got my sixteen-year-old mother pregnant. Statutory rape.
Gracie lowered her head. “But the blood hunt is about Mary, not Martha. Let me begin again. One April day, Mary went into town to meet her girlfriend. It was just one of those fun Saturday afternoons when two silly girls wanted to get together to talk about teachers, homework, and boys. You know how teenage girls can be. She’d been so faithful in taking care of her mother that Peter finally gave his permission and let her go. She took the metro into the city. It was no big deal. He trusted her. Everyone did, but Mary was not the one he needed to worry about.”
Gracie drew in a slow, deliberate breath. “According to the police report, three black guys assaulted her. They dragged her into the back room of an old bar, a terrible place.” Okay, now she was definitely crying. “And they… they raped her, Taylor. By the time Peter got to the hospital, she was in a coma. Her doctors said it was more mental than physical, but she stayed like that for fifteen years. Your grandfather has all but lived at the nursing home with her. No matter how much we loved her, she’d already gone.”
Taylor’s heart sank. He hadn’t expected this. There were no words.
“She died a week ago. The day after we buried her, your grandfather began his blood hunt. Do you know what that is?”
Taylor shook his head. He had a good idea, but he needed her to say it first. Revenge.
“A blood hunt follows the ancient custom of blood law. Honestly, I’m not even sure it’s an authentic tribal tradition, but Peter decided it’s his duty to visit revenge upon Mary’s murderers. If he doesn’t, he’s convinced her spirit will wander the earth in torment. She’ll never know peace. Only the deaths of her attackers will achieve that end.”
“But I thought you said the police identified her attackers? Weren’t those three gang members prosecuted and sent to prison?”
“Not exactly. The police incarcerated the wrong men. Those poor men in prison today were falsely accused. Your grandfather hunts those who are truly guilty.”
“Who did it?”
She sniffed. “They were in college when it happened, but all three became television reporters for local stations and—”
“Wait. My grandfather? He’s the Chronicle Killer? Oh, hell. That’s why the arrows. That’s why no one can find him. That’s why...” Taylor gulped, his mouth dry and his throat tight. It all made sense now. I’ve got to get out of here. The police need to know. “Is Luke working with him?”
“No. Peter won’t allow it.”
“He’s a damned cruel man.”
“Oh, no, you have to understand. He’s lived with more tragedy than he can bear. There was nothing he could do to save Martha or you, but he’ll do whatever it takes to find peace for Mary, even if it costs his life.”
“Bullshit. This is nothing but revenge and torture. He should’ve gone through the courts.”
“He already did. It didn’t work. That’s why he’s taken the law into his own hands. There is no other way for him to give Mary what he believes she needs. The time for the white man’s way is past.”
“And you’re an accomplice.” There was no other word for it. “You knew exactly what he intended to do, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I know what I’m doing may seem wrong, but I made a promise. I won’t break my word to Peter. Or you.”
He shoved his head into the pillow behind him. My grandfather. The one family member I was looking forward to meeting. Damn. He’s worse than the General.
“But—”
“Why were you shot and why are you here?”
“Well, yeah. What’s up with all this?” He nodded to the restraints on his forearms. “What do I have to do with the blood hunt?”
“Because your company, The TEAM, is providing protection to the last person responsible for Mary’s death. Luke believed you’d uncover your grandfather’s crimes when you examined the arrows Peter used. He panicked.” She reached for his fingers, intertwining the same ones he’d bent just moments ago with his. “You have to believe Luke did what he did out of kindness. You’re part of our tribe. You’re his family. You’re blood.”
Gracie really seemed to believe that line of crap. At least, she wanted him to believe it. She hadn’t broken eye contact. Her fingers squeezed his like she could change his mind.
“No way. My boss works the federal circuit, not the private. He’d never sign up to protect a reporter. Trust me. He hates most of them. You’re wrong.” That much Taylor knew for sure. Alex working for the press? Not going to happen.
“You may not believe it now, but please know that Luke only did what he did to protect Peter and you.”
“Protect me? You call shooting me with a triple-barbed arrow protection?”
She squeezed his fingers again. “Luke could’ve easily killed you, but he didn’t. He only disabled you. It was harsh, but he needed to stop you from unmasking Peter and he needed to do it quickly. Most of all, he wanted to prevent you from killing your grandfather before you even knew who he was. How would you have felt then?”
And honest to God, he would’ve believed her if her gaze hadn’t faltered. If she hadn’t blinked and looked away. This woman was not an accomplished liar. He called her bluff.
“Bullshit. The bastard could’ve killed me. He left me to die in the dirt. Was that part of his master plan to protect me? You don’t believe that stupid story.”
She released his fingers. Trembling indicted her further. “I came home as quickly as I could, but by then you were already gone. I tracked you down—”
“That was you last night? You knocked me over the head?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. Luke helped me bring you back to my home. I washed and bandaged—”
“He could’ve killed me. Hell. You could’ve killed me.” How could she not understand that?
“No. Not Luke. All White Hawks are excellent marksmen.”
Like I give a shit?
“Your excellent marksman buddy put me through hell, Gracie.” As kind as she’d been, he needed her to understand this one basic flaw to Luke’s plan—attempted murder.
“You’re right. He did a terrible thing to you. We both did.” She wiped her face and for the first time, he saw contrition. She wasn’t smiling now. “I’m sorry. This was never how I wanted to invite you into my home.”
“Then let me go. Untie me.”
She wiped her face and looked away. “I can’t. Not yet, not until it’s safe.”
Argh! He’d just heard a story about the most bizarre and dysfunctional family ever, and—
Damn! It’s mine.
“Where’s your excellent marksman? Isn’t good old Luke supposed to be joining you for dinner?”
The words were barely out of his mouth when a dark-haired man stepped through the bedroom door. Had to be family. Worse, Taylor recognized the sonofabitch.
“Hello, Taylor. It’s good to see you again.”
Chapter Ten
Alex built a murder board.
Not because he wanted to, but because the APD, the Alexandria Police Department, didn’t seem to be doing much to locate the Chronicle Killer. He sat with Mother and Ember at his desk while Mark buried his nose in his computer, covertly scanning internal office security footage since the SECDEF initiated the black op.
Alex tasked Maverick and Charles to escort the latest foreign debutante to a black tie affair at the Kenne
dy Center, not that the young lady needed real security. Somehow the men of his TEAM had developed a need-to-be-seen-with rep on the social circuit. Women liked to be seen with badass bodyguards lurking at their elbows. Go figure.
Charles probably thought this was his night to shine. Let the bastard think what he wanted. Maverick was there, so Alex rested easy. Maverick had the double duty of looking good so that debutante got what she paid for, and watching his teammate. Babysitting by any other name.
Mother had just passed a copy of her findings to each of them. “I found several newspaper articles involving a green napkin like the ones the serial killer used, only it wasn’t murder. It was rape. I wasn’t going to mention it, because it happened a long time ago, but then I got to reading about this case, and it’s so sad.”
“And?” Alex scanned the report. He knew Mother’s penchant for emotional displays, the last thing he needed.
Right on cue, she sniffled. “Poor little girl was assaulted by three creeps at a place called Manny’s Boiler Room, at least that’s what it used to be called. It isn’t there anymore. I had Charles go check it out for me. Now it’s called Sweet and Salty.”
Ember wrinkled her nose. “Ewww. It’s a real dive.”
“It is. Charles said there were some really scary folks that looked like they slept there—”
“Mother?” Alex arched a brow at her chatter. “You were saying?”
“I read the original news report. The poor little girl was fifteen years old. Her name was Mary White Hawk. She’d gone into Alexandria to—”
“Did you say White Hawk?” That name stirred memories Alex hadn’t thought of in years.
“Yes, Boss. Does it mean anything to you?”
“Maybe. Go on.”
“According to the newspaper, three guys forced her into the back room of Manny’s and gang-raped her. They hurt her so bad she couldn’t talk to the police when they arrived.”
Alex quelled the instant rush of disgust that climbed up his throat and the rage for crimes like this. Men who’d intentionally hurt women or children were no better than rabid dogs. They deserved the same fate, to be put down behind some barn and put down fast, before they hurt anyone else.
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