Brent poured a coffee from the urn by the door. Added sugar, stirred, and sauntered down the stairs and out the door. Once there he ditched the coffee and jogged up the lane toward the lodge. Then he slipped into the trees that rimmed the northern edge of the peninsula and paused.
The irony didn’t escape him that he could now end up back inside for disobeying police orders, but he didn’t care. He’d messed up, broken his promise to keep Anna safe. He would rather rot in a cell for the rest of his life than let her down. A noise behind him made him spin.
“Go back,” Brent told his brother.
“You’re not doing this alone.”
Brent shook his head. “Holly will kill you.”
“Holly knows me better than anyone.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Brent muttered angrily. Finn might be a grown man, but he was still his little brother.
“I can look after myself, especially if you have a few weapons stashed away the way I think you do.” He gave Finn a faint nod, just perceptible in the twilight. “And I don’t want you to get hurt, either.”
A massive knot formed in his throat, but he didn’t have time to get emotional over something they both already understood implicitly. They struck out through barely visible paths, moving silently through the forest, avoiding the officers spread too thinly to cover so much ground. Avoiding the sleeping bear who’d been snacking on huckleberries in a nearby thicket, and the cougar who sat in a tree watching the twilight.
The bay where they’d grown up was secluded. Barkley Sound to the north and west, with its surging, unpredictable swells. Rugged untamed cliffs to south and east, forest obscuring every detail. They worked their way to Laura’s property, spotting one man keeping watch on the back road from his house, but no other obvious guards. Brent had no idea how many people were involved in this, but sixty million was enough to fund a small army. Except they didn’t have sixty million. They had squat, thanks to his friend Davis.
Brent led Finn to his mini arsenal. It wouldn’t take out an army, but he hoped they could find and defend Anna until the troops arrived. Who knew where the mother and stepfather were. The SIG Sauer was in the cabin, in one of his specially built hidey-holes. Assuming the bad guys were downstairs, he could get to it without them knowing he was in the house. He had three more handguns—two liberated from unwelcome “visitors” to his property. He also had a shotgun and a hunting rifle, for dealing with the likes of that bear they just passed. Wildlife was fine outside, but Brent didn’t want to have to share his house with anything hairier than he was.
He handed Finn a Beretta and a Smith & Wesson. Pocketed a Glock for himself.
“Do not get caught with that,” Finn told him grimly.
Brent nodded and led him to the cache of ammunition. They packed what they could in their pockets. Finn took the rifle and started loading it. They squatted beside a giant spruce. “There’s a hatch into the attic space on the roof,” Brent said. “If we can get through it without them knowing, then we’re inside.”
“Didn’t see that on the plans,” Finn murmured.
“Plenty of stuff not on the plans,” Brent whispered back. “There’s also a trapdoor in the utility room, through to the crawl space. There’s a panel that comes away on this side of the house, left of the chimney.”
“One thing,” Finn said quickly. “They might have stashed Anna on the boat. That would make sense if they wanted to make a quick getaway. If we stake out the house and they take off in the boat, we’re back to square one.”
“I don’t think they are planning on taking Anna with them.”
“Unless she doesn’t tell them what they need to know.”
True, but Finn hadn’t met the guys they were dealing with. Or gone hand-to-hand with the man who’d slaughtered Anna’s ex-boyfriend in her pretty little kitchen. That guy could turn Anna into a living breathing zombie if they didn’t hurry. He might have already done it, but Finn was right. They couldn’t afford to give them an easy escape route.
“How long would it take you to check out the boat?” Brent asked.
“Five minutes. I can make sure it isn’t going very far if any of these fuckwits try to escape. Wait for me.”
Brent couldn’t see his brother’s features, but he could hear him thinking.
“We don’t know how many people are in there or where Anna is—or if she’s even here. We need to stick close and see what information we can find out by covert observation.” His hand gripped Brent’s shoulder. “That means you don’t rush in there like a fool if you see someone manhandling Anna.” Those fingers bit deep. “You won’t save her life if we give our position away. It means that unless she’s in an immediate life-or-death situation you have to keep your cool.”
He nodded. “I’ll try.” It was the best he could do, and he wasn’t making any more worthless promises. Brent and Finn both chambered rounds, the noise sounding loud in the night, but hopefully they were far enough away not to be heard over the surf pounding the beach with a little Pacific fury. If the boat was the bad guys’ escape plan, they’d better have packed survival suits.
Finn picked up the rifle and some bullets. Neither of the brothers had been great students in school, but both had been naturals when it came to sports of all varieties. In the army, Finn had taken shooting to a whole new level.
They crept forward and then Finn told Brent to stay put while he went off and dealt with the boat. Brent didn’t want to stay still, but he’d more or less promised. So he hunkered in the bushes, thick with summer berries. He scanned the windows of his house and was rewarded with a glimpse of the sonofabitch who’d attacked them in Minneapolis. Relief filled him. They were in the right place. He made his heart calm down. Until the guy pulled someone to their feet and slapped them.
Holy fuck, that was Anna! He looked around frantically, but Finn wasn’t back yet. OK. He held his ground, even though it went against every instinct. Then the fucker ran his knife along Anna’s jaw and she flinched. Brent couldn’t wait any longer.
Anna jerked away from the knife but kept her chin high. The man who killed Peter—Rand, she’d heard him called—turned away from her at the command of an older, distinguished-looking man with military-short gray hair and a barrel chest. She assumed he was the boss of this whole nightmare.
She looked around Brent’s beautiful house, unable to believe these people had chosen this place to do their dirty work. And yet, as Brent had told her that first night she’d arrived—just a week ago—it was remote, and no one would hear you scream. Two men hunched over two laptops set up on the kitchen counter and another was on guard duty, watching the road. Baldy had gone upstairs for a quick nap. Apparently he’d borne the brunt of kidnap duty and was all tuckered out. Poor soul. Her mother sagged on the couch. Anna gave her a grim smile.
“I’m sorry, Anna,” her mother whispered.
“This isn’t your fault, Mom.”
“I mean about before…about everything…”
The feelings of resentment that had clung to Anna for years drifted away. Maybe she hadn’t been aware of it, but she’d blamed both her parents for abandoning her during her hour of need. She’d been filled with bitterness and secret loathing no one had been able to penetrate. “It was my fault too,” she admitted, though emotion wanted to squeeze her throat closed. This might be her last chance to tell her mother anything. “I shut you out. I pushed you away. I regret that more than I regret anything else since Dad was arrested.”
Her mother opened her mouth to say more, but Rand shot them a glance and they both froze. Christ. He was scary as hell.
Her mom looked pretty good, considering—she was uncomfortable from being bound for hours and possibly days, she had a bruise on her cheek, and her hair was a mess, but there was no real damage. Yet.
Anna didn’t mention Ed. Not the oddly gentle “pop” of the gun as it took his life. Not the horror of watching him crumple slowly to the ground. Katherine wasn’t the strongest person
in the world. Anna needed her not to fall apart.
“Let her go and I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” she called out.
“So you found it, did you?” asked Rand. “The envelope?” The way his eyes moved over her made her skin recoil. She made herself not think about the envelope pressed against her bikini line.
“Where was it?”
“He sent it to a friend of mine in Minneapolis. We went there after we…saw you at my house.” She swallowed but didn’t look away.
“I owe you for that.” He rubbed a spot on the back of his head. “Peter said you were frigid and didn’t like sex.”
She tried to block out the words and the images that bombarded her, but he was right there and she knew her survival depended on paying attention. “You killed him. You killed a man who was half your size.”
He shrugged. “If you hadn’t run, I wouldn’t have had to kill him, now would I?”
“You’re saying this is my fault?”
He leaned down until they were eye to eye. She could smell his skin. “Actually, it’s your father’s fault, stealing our money.”
“You were trying to set him up—”
“No, we weren’t. We just used his access codes to cover our backs. If he’d left it alone and kept his nose out of it, nothing would have changed. Petrie would have erased the activity records and none of this would have ever happened. The money was ours, earned fair and square.”
She didn’t believe him. “If that money was legit, you’d have gone to the cops when it went missing.”
“Legit? We risked our lives for that money. Just because today’s government didn’t sanction it didn’t mean the last one wouldn’t have—or the next one for that matter.” He touched a finger to her hair and curled it around her ear. Revulsion sifted through her. “I served my country. You live in your pretty little house surrounded by pretty things like it’s a God-given right, not something men like me have to pay for with blood.”
She associated blood with her home all too keenly. But he truly saw himself as some valiant soldier getting what he deserved.
She looked at her mother, helpless against such brute force. “Now you’re just a coward, only serving yourself.”
He took a sharp step back as if she’d spat on him, then raised his hand as if to slap her.
“Enough bickering. Give us whatever Davis sent you and we’ll let you both live,” the older boss man snapped.
“Let my mom go and I’ll do everything you want. As fast as you want.”
The gray-haired guy exchanged a look with his hired killer and she couldn’t contain a shiver. Rand took her T-shirt in one hand and drew the knife up. She flinched away as it tore through the neckline and narrowly missed her chin.
“Is this how you get off?” she asked him calmly. “Forcing yourself on women who don’t want you?”
That cold smile again. It wrapped its way up her spine and tied a knot in her bravado. “Sometimes.”
Her mom tried to stand, but was struggling with her bindings.
Rand took a step and shoved her mother facedown on the couch. “Don’t be in such a rush. Momma, you’ll get your turn next.”
“Rand,” his boss said impatiently.
Anna noticed the way the monster’s lips tightened. “Do as your boss tells you or you might get in trouble,” she goaded, hoping that if she could get them fighting among themselves maybe she and her mother could find a way to escape.
The pulse in his neck throbbed visibly for a couple of beats, but the chill in his gaze never wavered.
“I’m going to search you, Anna. Very thoroughly.” He walked around her slowly. “Make sure Vic didn’t miss anything.” Vic was Baldy, she’d found out. She didn’t think it was a good thing that they were using their real names in front of them. Mr. White and Mr. Black would have been fine with her.
He flicked his knife between her breasts and nicked her skin before he slit the fabric of her bra. Deliberate. She stood there with her breasts exposed and blood trickling down her front, and realized she didn’t care. She thought about Brent. His smile. His eyes. His warm solid support. Whatever happened to her body wouldn’t break her. Not this time. She just needed to figure a way out of here. Because as soon as they found that envelope, she was surplus to requirements.
“You kissed my photograph at my mom’s house.”
His eyes flickered in surprise.
“The cops have your DNA from there and in my house in Minneapolis. They know who you are. You’re not going to get away with this.”
“It only matters if they catch me. They aren’t going to catch me.” His lips curved cruelly. “Take off your pants.”
Anna licked her lips, fear getting to her despite herself. But her hand went to the button of her jeans. She didn’t fight or argue. She didn’t want him to do this himself because he’d not only enjoy it, he’d also find the package. She undid the zipper and pushed the envelope down into the pile of denim at her feet. She was in her panties and socks. Her shoes had been taken from her on the boat. Rand put his knife back in the sheath on his belt but her relief was short-lived as he pulled his gun. He seemed distracted by her legs, and she stood there trembling, praying, he wouldn’t notice the small corner of beige peeking out of the blue.
He stood in front of her, ran his hands through her hair, over her ears, neck. He pulled her tight against him and ran both hands over her back, his gun scratching her skin as it went. She could feel his arousal and avoided his gaze even though he stared straight into her eyes. He started to spread the cheeks of her buttocks and she braced herself when the old man said, “For fuck’s sake, Rand. That’s not how I want you to get the information—”
Rand swirled and nailed the guy between the eyes. The bullet barely made a sound with its professional-looking suppressor, and there wasn’t much blood.
“About goddamn time.” The guy wearing thick glasses didn’t even look up from the computer. But then he did, and his eyes traveled down her body with appreciation but no real heat, and then landed in her pile of clothes. His slow grin made her flesh go cold. “I think you missed something.” He pointed at her jeans and Anna closed her eyes. No.
Rand’s jaw was tight and then he glanced at the denim and pulled out the folded envelope she’d tried so hard to conceal. “Fucking schoolteacher.” And then he slammed the butt of the gun into her temple and she dropped like a stone.
Brent found hand- and footholds in the massive logs and pulled himself up the side of his house with more brute force than skill. The roof was metal, so he slid carefully across it and went to open the hatch. A firm hand stopped him.
“Let me check it isn’t wired, first.” Finn. Quiet and calm, without recrimination. The guy moved like a goddamned ghost and almost gave him a heart attack.
Brent nodded. They eased the hatch open a fraction, Finn using a small penlight to sweep the rim. “Clear,” he said.
They dropped silently into the tight attic space, which was empty of everything except insulation.
They sat unmoving for a moment, ears strained as they listened to the silence. They slowly lifted the flap, which opened into a spare room that housed a bed and nothing else. Brent didn’t exactly get a lot of visitors. He didn’t even know why he’d built a house this big except that it was the opposite of prison.
It was a smart place for the bad guys to hole up.
The cops had left, but the area was still officially a crime scene. It was remote, but had everything from a fully stocked kitchen to wireless Internet. They just hadn’t counted on the small community’s inability to keep their noses out of other people’s business. And they hadn’t counted on the Carver brothers.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar and a thin sliver of light gave them some illumination, revealing a bulky shape on the bed.
Brent swallowed the fear and panic for Anna’s well-being and concentrated on not making a sound as he dropped to the floor. He might not be military, but he’d grown up tracki
ng animals in the bush and all his survival instincts had been honed in an abusive household and then in prison. He aimed the Glock at the unmoving shadow and took the rifle that Finn lowered to him before his brother landed like a cat beside him.
The lump on the bed didn’t move. He and Finn went to opposite sides of the bed and squinted at the gray tuft of hair that stuck out of the bedclothes. Not Anna’s mother, and her stepfather was bald. Finn raised a handgun as Brent eased back the blanket. An older guy’s eyes were wide open, a gag stuffed in his mouth. He looked exhausted, dirty, and terrified. One eye was swollen shut. Finn checked his back and ankles. “Cuffed,” he breathed quietly.
Brent lowered the gag but placed a finger to his own lips. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Harvey Montgomery. I was with Katherine when she was abducted in Anchorage.”
He and Finn exchanged a glance. That fit with the information Holly had gleaned.
“You guys the rescue party?” Harvey whispered as Finn cut his ties. Brent removed the covers so Harvey could flex his arms and legs to get the blood flowing again. It must have hurt like a bitch from the look on his face.
Brent grimaced. “I’m a friend of Katherine’s daughter, Anna. This is my house.” And damned if these bastards were killing the woman he loved in a place that meant so much to him. Damned if they were killing her anywhere.
“Cops are on their way,” Finn reassured the man. Finn went over to the bedroom window and opened it up.
Brent pointed to it. “If you can get out of there without making a sound, do it. But if you make a noise, I’ll shoot you myself.”
Harvey shook his head. “I’m not about to abandon a woman to these maniacs. Give me a weapon. I’ll help you.”
“You know how to use a gun?” Finn asked.
“US Marine Corps, soldier.” He obviously pegged Finn as part of the pack. Brent’s lip curled. Another clique he didn’t belong to.
Dark Waters (2013) Page 27