Hunted

by Clark, Jaycee

  “Why?” Morgan asked. “Who do you think she is?”

  Shadow shook his head. “I’m not even guessing, not even going to mention her name. Her family isn’t one to take lightly, even with a mistake.” Shadow frowned and Lincoln knew he’d have to ask the man later what he meant.

  “Here’s one of Amy,” Morgan said behind him, flipping through the damn things again. She frowned. “That’s odd. We never worked the same club. Why is her photo in here?”

  Lincoln frowned. “What?”

  Shadow set several others aside. Three, then another. “It’s the ones he’s hit, but there are four others.” The man flipped one toward them. “Orlando, I believe, still missing. Amy, Glenda, and here are four others we either can’t locate or who have died.”

  “What is he talking about?” Gideon asked.

  “They’re other girls we helped get out. They’re dead,” Lincoln said.

  Morgan was the first to catch the significance. “And he put my picture with theirs. Well, we already know he wants me dead. Preferably slowly.”

  Lincoln didn’t care for her flippant tone. He turned to her, but her focus was on the stack of photos in her own hands.

  He started to grab her but flexed his fingers and kept his hand to his side. “You’re bloody well not going to end up dead. I won’t let you.”

  Her eyes rose, met his, softened, some of the shadows drifting away. “Sometimes even heroes can’t save everyone.”

  This time, he did jerk her closer, wanting to shake her. Looking deep into her ice blue eyes, he bit out, “Bloody hell, I’m not saving everyone. Just you.”

  * * *

  Gideon’s house; 3:02 a.m.

  “Couldn’t sleep either?” Gideon asked from the kitchen table.

  Jackson sighed, raked a hand through his hair and wished his headache would go away. He saw no reason to answer.

  “I keep seeing that picture. Not all the rest. I don’t care about those . . . ” Gideon said, looking into the clear empty glass on the table. The bottle of Jameson stood beside it. Gideon rarely drank.

  J.D. got his own glass down and sat across from his brother, pouring himself two fingers.

  “She was screaming, Jack.”

  He closed his eyes and tossed back his whiskey. “I know, Gideon.”

  Gideon sniffed, wiped a hand under his nose. “We’re her brothers. We’ve tried to keep her safe, to help her, for as long as I can remember.”

  J.D. nodded.

  “You remember the time that creep in junior high tried to steal a kiss and Morgan blackened both his eyes?” Gideon asked. “I remember thinking, man, no guy is ever going to mess with her.”

  J.D. narrowed his gaze at his brother, wondered just how long, and how much Gideon had drank. From the slow blinks, the mulish expression, too long and too much. He sighed and set his glass down.

  “Come on, Gid. You need to get some sleep. Neither one of us will be any good to her if we’re drunk or hungover.” He stood, helped his brother to his feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw the cop in the doorway, but waved him away. Hell, it wasn’t the first time he’d helped Gideon to bed.

  “You know,” he said, slinging Gid’s arm over his shoulder. “I thought the days of you getting drunk and me helping you home were gone, lost with college.”

  Gideon snorted. Halfway up the stairs, Gideon stopped, put his hand on J.D.’s shoulder. “She asked me if I hated her, J.D. You know, Dad would have been damn proud of her. Probably would have kicked our asses for not doing a better job of protecting her.”

  J.D. sighed and managed to navigate the rest of the stairs with his brother. “You’re probably right, Gideon.”

  “We’re really a fucked-up bunch, aren’t we?” Gideon flopped on the bed, his sweatpants and T-shirt twisted. J.D. tossed the cover over his brother and pulled the door shut.

  In the hallway, he paused. There it was again. Morgan was crying. He hurried to her door. It was cracked and dark inside.

  “It’ll be all right, luv.”

  Lincoln.

  Jackson took a deep breath. Gideon was right. Everything was so fucked up, he had no way of knowing what to do to fix it. But he would. Somehow.

  Chapter 32

  November 11, 10:45 CTS

  Antonio Calsonone offered his guest a drink as his private Gulfstream jet flew over the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico.

  The man declined and sat looking out the window. Skin as dark as the espresso Antonio was drinking, his bald head reflecting the lights, dressed in Versace, this was no ordinary man. He could sense it, see it in the way the man held himself, as if waiting, watching, like a cat before the pounce.

  Antonio’s sons were talking quietly among themselves. He’d called a meeting as soon as the man had told his story.

  As if the man felt Antonio watching him, he turned and pierced him with a serious look. “Mr. Calsonone, I feel I must warn you. This may not be your daughter.”

  But he’d seen the pictures. Photographs he’d been fairly certain had been carefully chosen and cropped so that much of it was eliminated. He wanted to see the entire photograph. In one, Teresa Maria’s face was marred across her cheekbone with a bruise and he could see the hate and pain in her eyes.

  A fire raged in his blood.

  “It is my daughter, Mr. Ngori.” He took a sip and glanced out the window. “I will hear this story myself from the woman’s mouth.”

  His phone rang. “Yes?”

  “Tony, it’s me.”

  “Gio, what do you have?”

  “Movement. I think something is about to happen.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Outside the Gaelord house. I followed Mikhail’s man to the family business earlier tonight, where he broke in.”

  “Why?” Antonio asked, knowing everyone else was carefully listening.

  “I have no idea. I figured to torch the place, but it didn’t happen, so who knows.”

  Antonio could almost see Giovanni shrug.

  “I’m staying with Mikhail’s man, who is also in the limo with him. We’re a few blocks away from the brother’s house.”

  “Stay there, keep an eye on them and call me with any changes. How many do you have with you?”

  “Three, why?”

  “I like to be prepared, Gio.” He hung up, ignored the questioning stares of his sons, of Mr. Shadow Ngori, and looked out the window. They were almost to Dallas.

  * * *

  Near Gideon Gaelord’s; November 12, 2:02 a.m.

  “Are you ready?” Mikhail asked the informant.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Everything is in place. I’m about to make a call to locals. They’ll alert the Gaelords. Make certain she stays.”

  The informant hissed. “I’m hardly stupid.”

  “That remains to be seen. Tonight. This is over, tonight.”

  * * *

  Gideon’s house; 2:11 a.m.

  The phone shrilled through the house.

  Morgan jumped. In the dim light from the bathroom, she saw Lincoln shift in the chair.

  He’d slept in her room again. She didn’t care.

  His gun was already in his hand. “Your brother get lots of late night phone calls?”

  “How should I know?” she asked in a whisper.

  She rolled over, tired, wanting to go back to sleep, but heard Gideon curse in the hallway, heard him knock on Jackson’s door. “Jack!”

  Hell. Morgan threw off her covers and hurried to her door. Lincoln was there in front of her, opening it.

  Gideon stood in the hallway, buttoning a shirt. He turned, frowning at her. “Someone broke into the shop.”

  “What?” she asked.

  Jackson’s door opened, as did Suzy’s down the hallway.

  “Doesn’t anyone sleep anymore?” Suzy demanded.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jackson asked.

  “Someone broke into the shop. That was the police calling me.”

&nb
sp; Lincoln strode to the top of the stairs and called down to the man sitting near the door. “Sergeant Lovell, find out if the call is a ruse.”

  He already had a phone in his hand. “Already on it, Blade.”

  The Ranger was at his post.

  In less than a minute, he hung up, shook his head and said, “No, sir. Break-in at the address of Gaelord’s Antiquities Firm was called in less than five minutes ago.”

  Damn.

  Jackson whirled. “I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

  Morgan turned, hurrying to her bedroom. Lincoln grabbed her arm. “You, luv, are not going.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “The hell I’m not.”

  He leaned down. “Try me. You’re staying in a secured location. Either here or a safe house. Take your pick.”

  She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. “Bloody hell.” She slammed her bedroom door shut.

  Lincoln grinned. From behind him, he heard, “Glad you did that, I really don’t care to get into it with her,” Gideon muttered, pulling on a pair of athletic shoes. “Better she’s pissed at you.” He banged on Jackson’s door. “I’m leaving!”

  Jackson’s door opened, as did Suzy’s, who was dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt and jacket. “I’m going. Don’t either of you think I’m not, damn it.”

  Lincoln raised his brows at both brothers. “I’ve won the only battle I care about. You take on this one.”

  “I’m not that stupid,” Jackson muttered.

  Suzy muttered about men and jackasses and brushed past them, following Gideon down the stairs.

  Where the hell was Tarver? Becca?

  “Wait!” he said. He hurried down the stairs. Becca was in the kitchen, and looked up. “Want me to go with them?”

  Tarver was holstering his gun in the living room.

  Ranger Lovell shook his head. “Escort is coming.” The man, in his thirties, scanned the three faces in the foyer. “You’ll have two of our guys with you, or you don’t go.” He looked over to Lincoln. “Ms. Gaelord might be your concern, connected as she is with this case, but they’re not.”

  True. And he didn’t care since they had an escort.

  When the unmarked drove up, both Lincoln and Lovell drew their weapons.

  “Swear to God, I’m starting to feel like everyone wants to be Dirty Harry,” Suzy muttered.

  Lincoln ignored her, watched as the men alighted from the car and walked up the lighted path. “Recognize them?”

  “Yeah, DPS troopers.” Lovell holstered his gun and opened the door.

  As they all filed out, Tarver stopped and said, “Don’t let her leave this house.”

  He returned the stare. “I hadn’t planned on it, Tarver.”

  He shut the door and turned as Morgan said from the top of the stairs, “I’m pissed at you.”

  He looked up at her. “You might be. Don’t really care, luv. My job is to keep you safe, not happy.”

  She threw her hands up. “It’s the damn shop, Lincoln, not Mexico, for God’s sake.”

  Becca raised her eyebrows and said, “I think I’ll go look around outside.”

  Lovell leaned back into the chair he was occupying by the front door. “Don’t mind me. I love family squabbles. Breaks the monotony of worry, ya know?”

  Lincoln ignored him and followed Morgan up the stairs.

  * * *

  2:19 a.m.

  The darkness cast long shadows as the limo pulled up down the street from the two-story house. A silver Mercedes was parked in the slot along with a black SUV, and a soft light from upstairs shone down through the night.

  He rolled the window down and studied the surrounding area. It was late, but that was better for this type of visit. The cold November night was not as cold as he would expect this time of year, yet still he welcomed his coat. He got out and pulled his coat straight. “Keep the car running.”

  He withdrew his gun, ran a hand over his dark wig. He waited while the other man he’d hired also got out. Sven was Ivan’s brother. Mikhail wondered that their mother couldn’t have been a bit more original.

  As they walked down the sidewalk, he caught movement from the side of the house and paused.

  This had to work. He had to have her again before he killed her. Glancing up, he wondered which room she was in.

  * * *

  Lincoln followed Morgan into her room. He could all but feel the energy pumping off her.

  “I hate this, Lincoln,” she said, sitting on the bed.

  He smiled and studied her in the low light. There wasn’t a woman he admired more.

  “I know, luv.”

  She frowned up at him. “Why do you call me that?”

  He shook his head. “Call you what?”

  “Luv? In that very British way of yours.”

  He tilted his head, crossed his arms over his chest. Why did he call her that? He’d always called her luv. Since the first night he’d met her.

  “Does it bother you? You’ve never said anything.”

  “Right now? Yes, it does.”

  He smiled. “So it doesn’t normally? If we keep on in this vein, we’ll start to sound like some married couple.”

  She threw him another look.

  Walking to her, he sat beside her on the bed. He sighed. “I know you wanted to go. But I have to keep you safe.”

  “You can’t always keep me—”

  He squeezed her hand until she halted those words. “I can and I will.”

  She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it, frowned and reached up, fingering her necklace, lost beneath her blue T-shirt.

  Still holding her hand, he took a deep breath and said, “You know, Morgan, when this is all over, I want to talk to you.”

  “You talk to me all the damn time, Lincoln.”

  Not saying anything, he held her hand and leaned back on the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. “I’m so bloody tired. And I forgot to ring Mum.” Damn.

  She didn’t say anything.

  He waited. Finally, he heard her take a deep breath, shift and lay back with him.

  He almost smiled. Progress.

  “Your mum?” she asked.

  Without looking at her, he said, “Yes, was supposed to stop off for a visit this week. Should probably ring her tomorrow and come up with a reason why I can’t make it.”

  She snorted. “You could always tell her the truth.”

  “Yes, she’d love that.”

  “Hmmm . . . ”

  The both lapsed into silence and he wished he could relax, but knew he couldn’t. Not yet.

  Everything rolled in his brain. His team, the dead girls, what he knew and what he didn’t.

  “Come on,” she said, sitting up, pulling him with her. “I’m hungry.”

  He sat up, groaning.

  “What do you want in your omelet?”

  “How can you be hungry?”

  She laughed as she walked into the hallway. “I didn’t eat a helping of each of Suzy’s creations.”

  True.

  * * *

  Mikhail took a deep breath and stood in the shadows of a large tree, looking up at the bedroom window.

  “I was wondering if you were actually going to show,” the informant said, stepping up beside him, looking at the house.

  He didn’t care to work with this person, but he’d do what he must.

  “Tell me again, why did you contact me?”

  “I told you, I needed the money.”

  “Ten grand a girl isn’t much. By my calculations you’re only up to sixty thousand. Again, why?”

  She sighed. “I needed money. Easier than trying to sell confiscated weapons. They watch for stuff like that with those I work with.”

  He didn’t reply. Stupid woman. “You know, I would have paid ten times that amount just to discover this woman you’ve ratted out?”

  She sighed, shifted. “I’ll keep that in mind for future negotiations. Do you want to do this, or do you want me to so
und the alarm?”

  “Rebecca,” he drawled, still not looking at her, “I’d kill you before you could make a sound.”

  “You might,” she muttered.

  “Everyone out?” he asked.

  “All but your lovely Dusk, her constant bodyguard, and one Texas Ranger.”

  “Locations?”

  “They’re upstairs. Staircase on the left side upon entering. Living room and kitchen at the right. Study at the back.”

  “And where is the Ranger?” What the hell was a Ranger?

  “Front entryway.”

  He nodded. “Good, then you’ll walk in, distract him and shoot him.”

  She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. I don’t kill. Especially not cops.”

  He shrugged. “Let’s get this done, before someone comes back.”

  They walked up the walkway, he just to the side of the doorway, she in front. Glancing at him, she said, “You get her and get out. That’s it. Money in the account?”

  Smiling, he nodded. “Fine. She’s all I want. And yes, as soon as we have her, we complete the transaction.”

  Rebecca Linsey opened the door as Mikhail held his gun down near his thigh. He noticed Sven had already drawn his. They waited until the man inside rose from his position to shut the door. Sven fired. Two quick, silenced shots to the head.

  Mikhail stepped quietly over the threshold, the downstairs hallway light still on, washing the walls in a soft beige glow. As Sven shut the door behind him, he heard another door shut outside. Hopefully no one saw them, and if anyone did, that was their problem. Right now, his only concern was the woman upstairs.

  He pulled his gun free and walked up the stairs, the soft rumble of a voice carrying to him.

  Mikhail reached the top of the stairs and walked down the hallway with framed photographs hanging on the walls. At the last door, he waited. It opened and he pulled back against the wall.

  She walked out, but was jerked back into the room. She laughed and whispered, “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna hurt you.”

  A man’s deep chuckle danced out. “Promise.”