Fool’s Errand: Cartwright Brothers, Book 4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  “That’s an interesting way to look at it.”

  “Without crime, there’s no need for police or security. We’re two sides of the same coin and feed off each other. You look at this as a job—work. Nothing more.”

  “I can do that,” I said, taking another sip of tea. “He’s just at work.”

  She smiled. “And he’ll be home by lunchtime. Try to rest until then.”

  That was easier said than done. There were only so many ways you could distract your mind from focusing on the ticking clock. With five women in the house, we filled the time talking about nothing, complaining about pregnancy symptoms, and baking enough muffins to feed us all for a month. Midday came and went. Suddenly, the distractions were impossible tasks. They should have called by now.

  Blackberry phones weren’t the most interesting things when they were released back in the nineties. And they certainly weren’t interesting now, especially when one was dormant in the middle the table while four women sat around it, staring and chewing our nails while a fifth paced back and forth, raking her fingers through her greying hair. This is not a good sign.

  “Are we certain it’s working?” Jasmine asked, checking her watch for the billionth time in fifteen minutes. They should have called.

  “It is,” Ronnie said, touching the centre button to light the screen. “They haven’t sent a burn message so we have to assume that everything is OK.” Do I wait? Or do I run? My chest hurt from nerves. Abbot wanted me to leave the moment it looked like they might not make it back. But without confirmation that things had gone wrong, I couldn’t bring myself to go. I had to stay put.

  “Maybe we should turn on the TV,” Holland suggested. “If something happened, the media would be all over it, right?”

  And they were. Fuck.

  News stations were showing footage of an overturned armoured van from inside the smoky scene.

  “This was a precision attack in which no parties were harmed,” a spokesman for the police said in an interview. “The assailants are at large, heavily armed and considered highly dangerous. Police are doing everything in our power to track them down before these drugs can make it onto the streets.”

  “At least we know the cops don’t have them,” Alesha said, letting out her breath as she sat back on the couch, still staring at the TV as they detailed the current manhunt.

  “But it’s been two hours since the hit,” Ronnie said. “If the cops don’t have them pinned down, where are they?”

  I shook my head slowly, not knowing what to say to make her feel any better. To make any of us feel better. We were a group of pregnant women waiting for our men to get home from a drug heist. What could possibly be said to make that better?

  I want you to get out of there the moment things go wrong.

  I could hear Abbot’s voice as I sat rooted to the chair, refusing to leave until I was certain of his whereabouts.

  I’m not leaving without you.

  “Maybe we should call them,” Alesha suggested.

  Jasmine shook her head. “We can’t risk that. We just need to be—” The Blackberry chirped and vibrated on the table. “Thank God.” She rushed towards it, grabbing and jabbing a finger at the accept call button. “Where are you?”

  The rest of us held our breath as she listened, her eyes increasing in size and she nodded and said, “Stay put. I’ll get someone.” Her hand shook as she ended the call.

  “What happened?” I asked, a lump in my throat.

  “Your ex is a doctor?”

  “How did—” Why? Why was this relevant? I blinked. “He is. Yes.”

  “Will he come if you call him? Can we trust him if we need to?”

  “I…uh, I suppose.”

  “Yes or no, Sloane. This is very important.”

  I nodded. “Yes. I trust him.”

  She thrust the Blackberry in my hand. “Call him. We need him.”

  “But, he is three hours away.”

  “So are they,” Jasmine said. “And they’re hurt.”

  “Who is hurt? All of them?” Oh God.

  “Call,” Jasmine ordered.

  I punched Mark’s number into the Blackberry.

  “What happened?” Holland cried.

  “An ambush,” Jasmine said, looking at Ronnie, her expression set into hard lines.

  Ronnie’s face fell. “No. They didn’t,” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “They did.“ Jasmine looked away, worry creasing the corner of her eyes, tension radiating from her body.

  “Fuck,“ Ronnie sobbed.

  “Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?“ Holland yelled.

  “The smugglers found out about the job,” Alesha said, piecing it together impressively. “They ambushed the guys on the way to the drop off.”

  Jasmine nodded. “Get your shit together, ladies. We’re going on a road trip.”

  Still trying to get a hold of Mark, I rushed to get a bag of things for both Abbot and me, trying not to let my emotions overwhelm me. This was not a part of the plan. We had thought of everything except an ambush from a third party. Fuck.

  The call finally connected.

  “Hello?”

  “Mark! It’s Sloane.”

  “Sloane. Are you OK? You sound…not OK.”

  “Remember you said to call you if I needed anything?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I need you. And you need your med kit.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The Shit Hit the Fan

  “Want to explain what the fuck I just did in there?” Mark demanded the moment we arrived at the safe house I’d directed him to not far from Bendigo where he worked.

  “I promise I will. Just tell me he’s OK.” My voice came out harsh, edged with panic and worry.

  He threw his hands up in the air, this whole experience obviously existing at the edge of his ability to cope. “Your oaf will live, Sloane. They all will. I just cannot believe you put me in this situation.”

  I gasped with relief, one hand on my chest the other on his arm. “Thank you, Mark. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  I rushed into the house, desperate to see Abbot and make sure he was okay.

  “He’s in there,” Breaker said when I burst through the front door, my eyes sweeping the room of injured men. Holy fuck.

  Racing for the door he pointed to, I left the relived reunions between the other brothers and their wives behind me. Nate had suffered a bullet graze to his shoulder. Kristian had a slight concussion, but Breaker and Sam seemed to be no worse for wear. What about Abbot? What about Toby?

  I pushed through the door startling Toby, who was sitting beside the bed, his skin grimy with what looked like blood and probably dirt and sweat.

  “It’s not my blood,” Toby stated, his voice flat. I covered my mouth as tears sprang to my eyes. In the bed, lying prone, an IV line held up by an old broom was Abbot. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  “Toby,” I gasped, my eyes flicking between him and Abbot. “How? What?”

  His eyes saw me but he looked right through me, and as he fought for the ability to speak, his brow creased. I’ve never seen him look so…shattered.

  “Grey,” he said, his voice so rough it sounded forced through gravel. How did we not account for this? There had been concern about them finding out. Why weren’t they watched more closely?

  “The smuggler Ronnie is connected to?”

  He nodded then looked at his hands. Palms up. Fingers shaking. “We paid them off. It shouldn’t have…” He shook his head. “I should have seen this coming.” He forced his breath. “I will make them pay. That man, Dazza is going to be sorry he opened that slimy mouth. He’s responsible for this.” His gaze moved to Abbot and he swallowed hard. “Everything was fucking perfect. No injuries, locks picked, GPS trackers deactivated, drugs transferred to duffle bags.” He swallowed, angry. “We were ambushed the moment we made it to the drop off, attacked before we could get out of
the back of the fucking truck, like fish in a goddamn barrel.” His hands rubbed together, palms grating. “They got Kris in chest and he went down, Nate got clipped in the arm and Sam was trying to get them behind the cases while Abbot and me were fighting them off at the door…” He hissed in his breath between his teeth. “It happened so fast. We were being overwhelmed then he pushed me out the way and”—he swallowed and took another shaky breath—“they shot him through the side of the vest.” Oh God. “It was so stupid. They would have shot me in the back, hitting Kevlar like Kris…I would have been bruised but fine. And now…God.” The beautiful idiot tried to save his brother. I loved him even more for that.

  Tears running down my face, I sat on the edge of the bed, taking Abbot’s hand in my own, noting his grazed knuckles from a fight I wished I could have stopped.

  “His, um, his lung collapsed. Your friend is a great doctor, so he’s gonna be all right, Sloane. I…”

  Abbot was breathing steadily, his chest rising and falling peacefully. He was shot. Shot. It seemed too surreal. This wasn’t really happening. He wasn’t…

  Get your shit together, Sloane. He’s alive. He’s breathing. He’s fighting.

  He’s going to be OK.

  I closed my mind against all the what-ifs and focused on what was.

  Brushing Abbot’s hair back from his forehead, I ran my fingers down the side of his face, grazing lightly over the line where his dimple lived. I almost lost him today. My heart squeezed painfully at the thought.

  “I’m just so fucking sorry, Sloane. I should have seen it coming. I should have had the balls to get rid of the threat before it became a fucking issue.” Toby dropped his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking. “I just didn’t want anymore killing. I didn’t want to become…” My heart leapt into my throat as I turned to him and placed my hand on his shoulder.

  “Toby,” I whispered, just as he lifted his head, his face streaked with tears through the grime, his eyes red and tortured.

  “I killed them, Sloane,” he whispered. “Every fucking last one of them.” He clenched his jaw. Three of his fingers curled in as he pointed two out and relived the moment. His fingers quivered as he curled them back into a fist then spoke through his teeth. “I saw the blood, and I thought they killed him—my little brother. I lost it. Shot them all dead like I was a god and had a right to snuff them out.”

  “Oh, Toby,” I said, wrapping my hands around his tight fists.

  “I saved the drugs, and they all think I’m a fucking hero, Sloane.” He nodded his head towards the door. “I’m not. This is never who I wanted to be. What I wanted to be. I never really wanted to be a thief, now I’m a killer too.”

  “Toby,” I whispered, touching the side of his face, remembering the boy from twenty-one years ago. He was so much more grown-up than the rest of us, and he’d always had good in his heart. Just like he did now. “You are not a killer. They’re all alive right now because of you. My child has a father because of you. You saved everyone. Do you think that smuggler’s people were going to leave you alive? You did what you needed to do to survive and you are a hero because of it. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  He turned his gaze away, not wanting to hear what I was saying. So I put both of my hands on his face and made him look into my eyes. “People do things in the heat of the moment because they need to be done. That’s why they think you’re a hero, Toby. Not because you killed. But because you saved them, and you saved the job. You, Toby Cartwright, are a fucking god. We owe you our lives and our hearts.”

  He frowned and nodded, so I just hugged him really tight because we both needed it. And I needed him to understand how much I appreciated the man he was. We all knew he was the glue that held this family together. He was always there, always making sure everyone was OK, even Jasmine. Toby was the heart of us all. When he hurt, we all did. Yet he was here alone. Watching over his baby brother, just like he’s always done. God, this man was incredible.

  “You are a strong and amazing man, Toby. Thank you,” I said into his shoulder as he held me as hard as I was holding him.

  “Fuck, Tobes, I’m not even dead yet and you’re moving in on my woman,” Abbot croaked.

  We broke our embrace to find Abbot awake and watching us. Toby wiped at his face and laughed. “I’m disappointed you made it, brother. Would have had one less pain the arse to deal with if that guy had been a better shot.”

  Despite their words, they smiled at each other fondly. “Thank you, big bro,” Abbot said, lifting his arm. “I know I’m only here because you got me out.”

  Toby shook his head as he stood, clapping his hand against Abbott’s outstretched hand. “Couldn’t leave that baby of yours without a father to teach them how to surf. Sloane’s never been any good at it.” I smiled at how light yet full of meaning their conversation was.

  “Thank you,” Abbot said again. They acknowledged each other for a moment then Toby stepped back and Abbot reached for my hand. “Beautiful blue.”

  “Hey baby,” I whispered, sitting next to him again and kissing his hand. “You were supposed to meet me back home.”

  He grinned. “Had a meeting with a bullet. Took longer than I expected.” He tried to laugh but only ended up coughing. “You were supposed to leave.”

  “How could I leave without knowing where you were?” I ran my thumb over the back of his hand, wishing I could hug him but knowing he was in so much pain.

  “This is yours now,” he said, lifting his other hand to show me the diamond ring around his pinky.

  With a small smile, I wriggled it from his finger and held it up, grimy from his fight, a representation of our struggle. “Are you trying to ask me something, Cartwright?”

  “Rinse it in the water there, first,” he said, pointing to the glass and jug on the bedside table.

  “That’s your drinking water. I’ll wash it after.” I wasn’t afraid of a little bad-guy dirt.

  He took it from between my fingers. “I can’t get down on one knee, so just pretend that part, OK?”

  “OK.” I smiled, lightly touching the side of his face.

  “Will you marry me, Sloane Slater?”

  “Yes,” I said immediately.

  “I’m not finished. We can’t leave yet. There’ll be retaliation, and until the smugglers are no longer a problem, I can’t leave my brothers.”

  “I understand,” I whispered, leaning down and kissing his damaged knuckles. “You’re a wonderful, sweet man with a huge heart. Of course I’ll marry you, stay with you, fight with you. As long as I’m with you, nothing else matters.”

  “So, that’s a yes.” He grinned.

  “It’s a yes.”

  Sliding the diamond band onto my left hand, he released a happy sigh then met my eyes. “This is the part where I’m supposed to kiss you, but you’re gonna have to help me out.”

  With a slight giggle, I leaned closer and pressed my mouth to his, kissing him softly yet intensely because he was here and I was here, and we were going to make a life together. It was going to be different to what we planned, but as long as we had each other, we’d survive anything.

  “We can talk more later. You should rest.”

  Touching the side of my face, he nodded. “I’m glad you’re here, blue.”

  “Me too,” I whispered, holding on to his hand and sitting quietly while he closed his eyes again. I knew that Mark had said he’d be OK, but I was scared. This whole ordeal had been more than sobering. It seemed that little voice inside me had been right all along. There was no real escape from this life. Something would always happen to pull us back. I was living proof of that.

  “Everything OK in here?” Jasmine asked, cracking the door and poking her head in.

  I nodded. “He’s resting.”

  She moved over to the side of the bed, her eyes shining emotionally as she looked over her son. “My boy,” she whispered, whisper touching the hair that kept falling over his forehead. “Your doctor friend seems to t
hink he’ll recover fine.”

  “Mark’s always been good at his job,” I replied. “I’m grateful to him.”

  She nodded. “Why don’t you go talk to him for a bit? I think he needs a little reassurance. I’ll stay with Abbot.”

  Pressing a kiss to Abbot’s cheek, I stood and let go of his fingers, giving him one last longing look before I went through the door. The last thing I wanted to do was let him out of my sight, but I owed Mark a great debt. I needed to talk to him.

  The living area had mostly cleared out, the injured bikers heading out after Mark had finished patching them all up. It was only Cartwrights and a handful of bikers recovering from wounds that prevented travel remaining.

  It looked like a battlefield hospital.

  “Haven’t seen you with a cigarette in a long time,” I said when I found Mark out on the porch blowing smoke.

  “My babysitter was kind enough to give one to me,” he said, indicating the long-haired biker who was sitting on the steps.

  “I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” I said, leaning on the railing next to him.

  He shook his head. “I’ve gotta tell you, Sloane. I don’t even know what this is. I mean, I get that it’s some serious shit that could cost me and my family and my job. But what the fuck do you have to do with bikers from the Grim Order? And why did you get me mixed up in this?”

  “Because I needed you, and because I trusted you to save the life of the man I love.”

  He met my eyes and sighed. “The collapsed lung.”

  I nodded.

  “Jesus, Sloane. I knew you were going through something. But this—”

  “Is my roots. These people. They helped raise me.”

  “Bikers helped raise you?”

  “No.” I closed my eyes, trying to explain without giving too many details. “The ones without the beards. Remember the brothers I used to talk about?”