Hunted

by Clark, Jaycee

  Vescilly rose in her mind, him lunging at her, the pain of her arm. Why hadn’t he stabbed her? He’d had a knife.

  She knew. He wasn’t supposed to kill her, just disable her. Knock her out and take her to his boss.

  She took a deep breath and stared at herself in the mirror.

  Fear quaked through her, but she shoved it back. If she sat and cowered, if she cried and moaned, he won, didn’t he? He’d win another piece of her soul. Amy wouldn’t sit and cry, she’d kick ass.

  Besides, Morgan knew she’d run enough.

  From the truth. From her past. From her secrets.

  But those were all out now. Or would be. One last stroke of cowardice on her part. It was one thing for her brothers to find out, another to tell them herself that she’d been a prostitute.

  “I’m Morgan Gaelord and I was a whore.” She flinched. Maybe Dr. Stewart was right. Saying the words aloud took some of the power out of them. “I’m Morgan Gaelord and I was a whore.” This time she just winced. “Whore, slut, prostitute. Same difference.”

  But was it?

  You’re a survivor. Lincoln’s words sliced through her pity.

  A survivor.

  Taking a deep breath, thinking of Amy . . .

  “I’m Morgan Gaelord, and I’m a survivor, damn it. I’m a survivor,” she added louder. “I’m a fucking survivor and I’ll be damned if he reduces me to a cringing, whimpering animal ever again.”

  If not for herself, then at least for Amy. Amy wouldn’t have backed down. Not if Amy had received the same tape in the mail, not if it had been Morgan’s bloody shirt.

  A watery sigh escaped. “Oh, Amy . . . ”

  Shaking her head, she knew she couldn’t think about that right now. Now she needed to face her brothers. To face Lincoln and see what there was to do about ending this. Because end it she would.

  Inside, her stomach greased, twisted, caught. Morgan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He’s just a man. A mean, power-seeking, controlling man.”

  Opening her eyes, she said to the woman in the mirror, “You’ve taken away his toy. Time to flaunt it.”

  But how? And did she dare? Not knowing what she was thinking, Morgan quickly dressed in a pair of light gray drawstring pants and a pale blue tunic sweater. Again, she was thankful Gideon had gone for comfort.

  Brushing her hair back off her face, she decided against reapplying her makeup. She’d probably just cry it all off anyway. What would be the point?

  Taking one last deep breath, she said to the mirror, “Time to face those demons, Morgan.”

  Jerking open the bathroom door, she hurried down the hall and down the stairs. Maybe, just maybe she’d figure out a freaking way to slay the bastard.

  * * *

  Jackson sat on the couch, his hands clasped between his knees.

  He couldn’t remember wanting Molly more than he did right at this minute. What the hell?

  “If you’re lying, I’ll—”

  “Gideon,” Jackson interrupted, taking a deep breath. Finally, he straightened, though he didn’t lean back. He felt the need to pace like Gideon.

  The living room door was shut, or Suzy might have been in. Jackson was glad the woman was upstairs asleep.

  “You’ve known everything since you found her?” Jackson asked.

  Lincoln stared into his eyes. “Not about the witness to the murder.” He shrugged. “Jezek doesn’t like to have his things taken away, which is what he sees with the other girls, but with Morgan it’s more than simply seeing her as a possession. She mentioned he asked her to marry him. To be his special first lady or something. He was enthralled with your sister and she hated him.”

  Gideon sighed, kicked an ottoman and glared out the window. “He was the one that killed Simon Dixon?”

  If only Jackson had followed his instincts and flown to Prague the first time he realized that large sums were being withdrawn from her trust fund. He’d have been there, been there to bring her home. Instead she’d been brutalized and forced to endure prostitution.

  His hands shook, and nausea churned. “God.”

  Lincoln, to give the man credit, sat quietly in the armchair.

  J.D. knew the facts. It was like the time, years ago, when Aunt Eve had come to inform him and Molly that his father and stepmother had died. He heard the words, knew what they meant, felt what they meant, yet couldn’t get his mind completely around them. It was like knowing the Grand Canyon was deep and wide, and yet even standing on the edge, perception was screwed so that one couldn’t tell just how deep or wide.

  “Is that all?” Gideon asked.

  Lincoln frowned and turned in his chair. “Is that all? Bloody hell. I just told you your sister was brutalized, raped repeatedly, drugged and beaten. This bastard won’t stop until he’s got her, with the intention of torturing her until he’s broken her. Then he’ll put a bullet in her brain, and you ask me if that is all?” Lincoln stood.

  Jackson leaned up and grabbed the man’s hand. “Give him a minute. Gideon talks through his thoughts until they’re all aligned just so.” He could feel the tension in Lincoln’s arm muscles. “I’ve wanted to hit him myself through the years, it’ll do you no good. He just needs to sort.”

  Lincoln jerked his arm free and said to Gideon, “I know this is a shock. She never wanted you to know. Thought you’d either disown her or hate her . . . or both.” He pointed a finger at Gid. “Do not, not prove her right, or by God you’ll answer to me.”

  Gideon raised one brow, shared a look with Jackson and asked, “And what? You’ll kill me? Who are you to her to even give a damn?”

  Lincoln opened his mouth to answer, snapped it shut, then opened it again. More quietly than J.D. would have given the man credit for, he said, “Do not hurt her, Gideon. She’s been through enough. And by God, that bastard still didn’t manage to break her no matter what the hell he did, what pain he inflicted, what he forced on her. She survived. And you should be damn proud of the woman she is. My sister wasn’t nearly as lucky. Her captors killed her before anyone could get to her.”

  With that, Lincoln stalked from the room, all but ripping the door open. It slammed shut behind him.

  The silence in the room pulsed.

  “Fuck,” Gideon muttered.

  “Yeah,” Jackson agreed.

  Neither said a word for several minutes.

  Finally, Gideon sat back down and wiped his eyes. “What do we do, J.D.? What if we say the wrong thing, look at her the wrong way?”

  Jackson slung his arm around his brother and pulled him close. “Hell, Gideon, we’ll figure it out. We always have.”

  A knock sounded at the door. They broke apart just as Morgan walked through and quietly shut the door behind her. She leaned against it.

  For the first time since she’d come home almost two years ago, Jackson understood her terror, knew where the horror screamed from, knew why her eyes held such haunted memories. And for the first time, he wished to hell he didn’t know.

  Standing, he walked to her, stopping just short of touching her.

  She tried to smile, failed and swallowed, trying to frown past the tears he saw gathering in her eyes.

  “Ah, hell, Morgie,” he whispered, brushing a tear away as it trickled over her cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” she whispered, looking down. “I just couldn’t . . . I didn’t . . . ”

  Giving up, he pulled her into his arms and rocked her. “It doesn’t matter, baby.”

  He felt her scoff against his shoulder.

  “Well, it does,” Gideon muttered, coming up on their other side. “I’d love nothing more than to find Mr. Jezek and blow his nuts off with Daddy’s double barrel.”

  Jackson shook his head. “No, that’d be too fucking quick. Something much more slow. Maybe the elasticator rings we use on the cattle.”

  Morgan shook her head. “No, not painful enough. I want him to pay. Pay with as much pain and blood as he liked to mete out.”

&nbs
p; Jackson rocked her, didn’t move as Gideon wrapped them in a hug. Please let them get through this. He’d be damned if he let this bastard hurt his family anymore.

  Chapter 30

  Dallas, Texas; November 9, 12:50 p.m. CST

  Mikhail nodded to Ivan, who had just returned from delivering the two packages of photos. He smiled, then listened to the person on the other end of the phone.

  “It’s not a good time.”

  Mikhail shook his head and leaned back. “Time is relative. Today two packages will be delivered. Just make certain the brothers get them.”

  “What are they?” the informant asked.

  Damned impertinence. “What concern is it of yours?”

  “It’s my concern if the whole place blows.”

  True. “They’re only photos. No need to panic.”

  Yet.

  The informant sighed. “I’ll make certain they get them. Anything else?”

  He smiled, glanced to Ivan, who nodded. “It’s ready, boss.”

  Turning his attention back to the phone, he said, “Yes, I’d like to thank you for obtaining the collar. It’ll be perfect. I’ll contact you when I’m ready for the next phase. And it won’t be long.”

  With that he disconnected. It didn’t matter how many damn guards the woman had. He’d end it. Once and for all. Just a distraction, something small, or big, to get most out of the guards out of that house where everyone was. And then.

  He smiled, fingered the other collar he had on his desk. Then she’d be his.

  And this time, there would be no mercy.

  Now he just needed to be patient.

  “The house in Mexico ready?” he asked Ivan. He’d decided against the Nassau house after the clusterfuck with Vescilly. The house in Mexico would give him plenty of time with Dusk before he killed her, before he left her in an unmarked grave, before he finally put all this behind him. Besides, he had an appointment in Cuba with a highly successful plastic surgeon.

  “Yes, boss. We get her, get her to the abandoned airfield, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  He nodded. “Good, maybe we’ll have a bit of time to play before we all must fly away . . . ” Mikhail laughed. Looking at the screen on his laptop, at the pale blue eyes staring back, he kissed his fingers, then used them as a gun. “Bang. Soon my pretty Dusk, we shall meet again.”

  * * *

  Dallas, Texas; Gideon’s house; November 9, 5:42 p.m.

  The atmosphere at the house was thick enough to cut. Morgan knew Lincoln and the other law enforcement were worried about when and where Mikhail would strike again. Shadow told her they were moving all the other girls that they could find.

  Would the man ever leave them in peace?

  Only if he were dead.

  Her brothers, on the other hand, were still reeling. Not that either of them had said as much, but she knew they didn’t know what to say, and Suzy—who someone had obviously talked to—was beside herself. They kept glancing at her, then looked quickly away with a smile or a frown.

  Either way, she wondered if they were thinking: Whore. It hurt, but there was little she could do about it. As Lincoln said, facts were facts. Gideon hardly said two words to her, but she knew too that he needed time to sort things.

  Quietly drawing Jackson to the side of the living room, she asked, “Are you going to tell Molly?”

  He narrowed his gaze at her, cupped her face and kissed her forehead. “She’s been calling every hour, wanting to come up here, wanting to talk to you, but I didn’t think you were in the mood to chat. I managed to dissuade her. And thank God. I don’t want her anywhere near this, Morg.”

  She sighed, hugged him and said, “I don’t blame you, Jackson. I just wanted you to know . . . ” She pulled back and rubbed her arms. “It won’t be a secret for long. I mean, you and Gideon know, and if we can manage for others not to find out . . . But Molly . . . ”

  He grinned and nodded, shoving his hands in his Wrangler pockets. “Tell ya what. When this all settles down, when it’s all over, if you want to tell her you can.” He shrugged, took a deep breath. “Or I can. Whatever, Morgan.”

  He didn’t deserve this. “I am sorry, Jack.”

  He shook his head. “Morgan, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. Stop apologizing, okay?” He pulled her into a hug, so tight she couldn’t breathe. “Damn it, Morg . . . I wish . . . ”

  She hugged him back. “I know. Let’s just get through this.” Gideon stood at the kitchen counter talking to Shadow. He looked up at them, then away. She sighed.

  “Don’t worry about Gideon. You know he loves you.” Jack pulled back and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “He just needs—”

  “You don’t have to explain him to me. He must file it all.”

  Jackson smiled, slung his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head again. It was almost as if he was afraid to let her out of his sight.

  “I love you, Jackson.” She walked away from him and to the coffeepot, pouring herself a cup. The kitchen was filled with the smell of Suzy’s homemade cinnamon rolls. The counter was already littered with half-eaten pies—pecan, chocolate, some sort of pineapple thing—and cake—carrot.

  Suzy had always baked when worried or stressed.

  Morgan studied her back as the woman stirred something in a large pot on the stove. Swallowing, not having said much to her up to this point, Morgan walked to her and said, “Need any help?”

  Suzy whirled. “No, I don’t. I know you and your brothers think I can’t handle the simplest things like house cleaning and cooking. Every damn thing I’ve done for the last thirty years with your family—”

  “For the love of God, Suzy, would you sit down and eat some of this you’ve baked,” Jackson interrupted.

  Suzy singed him with a glare.

  Jackson gave Morgan a half-crooked smile as Suzy slammed the lid onto the large pot. “Glad to see she really liked your idea of hiring help, Morgan.”

  Again Suzy whirled. “It was your idea, missy?” She waved a wooden spoon, flinging off a string of carrot. “Well, let me tell you, I’ve managed since before your daddy had your brothers. If I’d wanted help, I’d have asked for it, thank you very much.” Her eyes blazed. “I don’t recall asking for it. But then no one in this family seems to think I need to know everything, do they?”

  Morgan took a deep breath. “I deserve that.”

  “That and a hell of a lot more, to my way of thinking,” Suzy added.

  “Suzy—” Jack warned.

  Morgan held up her hand. “I’m sorry if you’re still pissed that I offered to let you interview someone to help around the ranch. I was only trying to do the right thing.”

  “Maybe you should worry about the right thing and family more often, missy.”

  Suzy wasn’t giving her an inch.

  “That’s enough,” Jack said.

  Morgan saw the older woman’s jaw tremble, and could never remember seeing her cry. Not even when Morgan’s parents died.

  “I just wanted to help you.” Morgan set her black coffee mug on the white tiled countertop. “I think you can handle it. I just don’t want you overdoing,” Morgan whispered. “I love you. I don’t want to lose you because you’re so damn stubborn.”

  Suzy sniffed, then shrugged. “Like recognizes like, don’t they?”

  Morgan slung her arm around Suzy’s shoulders and leaned into the woman, wondering when Suzy had become so slight. Even with Suzy’s dark green sweater over a button-up, Morgan could feel the other woman’s shoulder bones. She had to be in her sixties. Not old, but at an age where health problems could easily arise—like the heart attack she’d had last year.

  Suzy patted Morgan’s arm. “I know, honey. I know.”

  The tears she’d kept in check with her brothers, with Linc, suddenly welled and slid down her cheeks. “Daddy would be so disappointed in me, wouldn’t he, Suz?” she whispered.

  Neither moved from their current stance. “Honey, you
r daddy wouldn’t have let you leave, and if you had managed to, then he’d have checked your ass into the hospital when you finally came home. Then he’d have taken his rifle, found this Jezek bastard and killed him. Probably died an old man in jail.” She sniffed. “Good thing he’s not around.”

  For some absurd reason, Morgan almost laughed. “I love you, Suzy.”

  Suzy stepped away, cupped Morgan’s face and wiped the tears away. “You kids are the only kids I’ve ever been blessed with. I couldn’t love you more if you were my own. If you ever keep anything from me again, I’ll make you rue the day. We’re family, damn it. And families share troubles. You best be remembering that, Morgan Olivia Gaelord.”

  Still wanting to cry, she said, “I know.”

  Suzy rolled her eyes. “I thought you’d become wiser in your age. Still too independent for my way of thinking. Now set the damn table. I need to make some corn bread to go with the chicken stew.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you,” Suzy continued to Jackson, “don’t you try to shush me, your mama taught you better.”

  Jackson coughed. “Yes, ma’am. I’m supposed to respect my elders.”

  Suzy threw the wooden spoon at him. “Get the hell out of my kitchen before my hormones have me reaching for the knives.”

  Jackson’s chuckled, “Actually, it’s Gideon’s kitchen.” He hurried around the corner and several others chuckled, filling the tense silence that Morgan hadn’t even noticed until it was broken.

  “Ms. Suzy, I haven’t tasted a pecan pie this good since my grandmother passed on,” the Texas Ranger told her with a charming smile.

  Morgan smiled, wiped her eyes beneath her glasses and started looking in the cabinets for bowls to set the table. There were only four. Gideon.