Deadly Sins

by Lora Leigh

  He had to force back the agonized sound of overwhelming pain that escaped only when he slept. That ripped at his throat each time it raged through him.

  She had been his soul and she had torn it out with such a lack of mercy that it had destroyed him. He had never imagined that woman, whose smile was so innocent, whose laughter had filled him with such joy, could rip him apart as she had.

  His sweet, precious—

  The door opened.

  Dark, silent. No flames flickered, no demons emerged, but he knew it for what it was.

  The entrance into hell, and he was going to walk into it willingly.

  For vengeance.

  Taking a deep breath, he stepped from the pickup and moved to the entrance of the old line shack. The one place he had known peace and happiness. Here where he had once met the only woman he loved.

  “’Bout time,” a voice drawled, dark and as merciless as pure, blood-red hatred. “Stay in the doorway. I can’t see your face; you can’t see mine.”

  But he had no doubt the shadow across the room knew exactly who he was.

  “I have no desire to see your face.” He knew who he was dealing with; that was all that mattered.

  “I received the down payment,” he was told. “The half million looked nice in my account. Just as the next payments will as well.”

  A half million per target, a half million on deposit. Two million dollars. It had taken a lifetime to embezzle the money he had hidden around the world, and now a hefty chunk was missing from it.

  “Are you certain this course is the one you want to take?”

  He was stepping into hell—for fury and for hatred.

  For a past he couldn’t forget.

  “I paid the deposit.” He shrugged as though he had never had a moment’s hesitation.

  “I have to hear the words,” he was told. “I won’t take the job without them.”

  “I paid the deposit,” he protested.

  “Doesn’t matter,” the assassin assured him with a slow, amused denial. “I have to have the words. You won’t cry later that you didn’t know the consequences.”

  He knew well the consequences, and they would result in the dream that had driven his family for far too many years.

  For the most deadly sin of all.

  “Rafer Callahan’s bitch Cambria Flannigan. Target one.

  “Logan Callahan. Any whore who slept in his bed within the past three months. Crowe Callahan. Any lover he’s had as well that could possibly be carrying his brat. I want no more Callahans to claim any part of Corbin County. And I want the Callahan cousins broke. Frame them for it if possible, but be warned, in twelve years I’ve not been able to frame them for breathing, even though everyone knows they have to do it.”

  Silence filled the darkness for but a moment. “Half million per Callahan lover. What if there’s no chance of conception with the lover? Or extenuating circumstances but no conception?”

  He stepped into hell for love. “No matter who whores for each of them, I want them dead if there’s even the barest chance of procreation.”

  “Done.” Silence stretched between them then. “You can go now. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll ensure the woman isn’t breeding before I go after the youngest of the bunch. I want the strongest targets first.”

  “Crowe,” he murmured.

  Laughter whispered through the room. “Ahh, how little you know your enemy. No, the strongest isn’t the eldest, nor is it the youngest. The strongest is the one with the least to lose, and the least to love. The other two have other concerns, but this one lives only to see those he loves safe. And there’s very little he loves.”

  “Logan.” There was no inflection in his voice; he ensured it.

  He was rather relieved actually. It was Logan whose eyes seemed to see the most, whose silence was always the most condemning.

  He nodded to the assassin. “Once each target is disposed of, then payment will be made.” Turning, he strode quickly, confidently, back to the truck, slid into it, and drove away.

  *

  The assassin moved to the window slowly, leaned against the frame, and stared out at the back of the truck as it drove around the bend of the rough track leading into the line shack.

  He scratched the side of his cheek before feeling absently at the growth of beard that shadowed his unshaven cheek and jaw. A frown pulled at his brows and a sense of disappointment filled him.

  Hell, sometimes a man just didn’t know people the way he thought he did, because he would have never guessed the Callahans’ enemy was the man who had arrived and reaffirmed the contract to kill.

  He just would have never guessed—

  The next day

  He watched Skye leave, his nostrils flaring, fury burning sharp and bright through his senses.

  Resentment was like a heavy, hot cloak, smothering him, weighing him down, and causing paranoia to creep inside.

  It wasn’t fair.

  It wasn’t right.

  He had found the other two.

  And now Jenny was dead. Her blood had tasted as sweet as hell as he filled his condom. Her eyes had been filled with agony as he slit her throat.

  He’d done everything perfectly when they’d kidnapped and killed Marietta. He’d left her broken body lying in her own blood. Her arms were left tied to the bed. One leg had become disjointed at some point and lay at an odd angle, but that was okay.

  And still, still, his boss said he was considering another route because Cami Flannigan still hadn’t been found. Because he hadn’t killed Skye O’Brien?

  Lord love them. Not yet. That would be idiocy.

  As he’d tried to point out, killing Skye O’Brien right now simply wasn’t a good idea.

  Let him take care of Ellen Mason and Cami Flannigan first, then they could discuss killing another of Carter Jefferson’s daughters. But if they killed her before they took care of the others, then the FBI was going to come down on them like a ton of bricks before they could ever finish.

  The governor would make damned sure of it, and the assassin wasn’t ready yet to have to attempt to kill three other women and try to do it around a federal investigation that would all but shut the fucking county down.

  He hadn’t had time to find Cami, but he’d been working on it. Rafer Callahan had her hidden. They were good at hiding. It wasn’t his fault.

  Hell, he wasn’t even going to bother telling him about the contact he’d made, the bodyguard he might have in his pocket now. The one looking for her.

  His boss was going to have to give him more time. But as he stared into the other man’s cold, cold eyes night before last, he’d seen the refusal to do so, even though he’d said he would consider it.

  He drew in a deep breath.

  Jenny’s body would be found in a few days, but it wouldn’t take much longer than that. She might be a little nobody, even to most of the people she worked with, but she did have that brother in Arizona. He would check on her when he missed her calls after a day or so.

  If he was lucky, sooner.

  Maybe by then his boss would be done considering it.

  Consider it? After all the work he’d done, it would be considered?

  He would follow her at a sedate pace, joining the other individuals walking to the town square for the weekend social, a weekend of music, food, and socializing hosted by the county every weekend during the summer months.

  His employer was making this job more difficult than it had to be. All his meticulous planning for what? So he could decide that actually watching the house the night they kidnapped Marietta wasn’t as important as being a part of the kidnapping?

  Then to decide that because in a matter of days, just fucking days, he hadn’t found the Flannigan girl he was too slow and they needed help?

  That because he’d allowed Logan an alibi, that perhaps he might not be effective?

  Might not be effective?

  Yeah, he could predict that little fucking whore would be scre
wing around with Logan Callahan at three in the morning, couldn’t he?

  What the fuck was his boss’s problem?

  Was he losing his mind?

  Hell, he couldn’t do it all.

  He was one man.

  He couldn’t watch those Callahan bastards, find the women his boss liked to play with before he killed them, women the Callahans had had, and find a missing Callahan and his woman, and kill the girl.

  It wasn’t his fault that those stupid women who gave birth to the Callahans had written their trusts to try to ensure that no one killed their boys for their inheritances.

  It wasn’t his fault that the only way to steal everything the Callahans had was to either see them in prison or force them to leave the county before this year was out.

  What he knew was that this wasn’t working and his boss was now trying to blame him.

  Callahan had an alibi, but it was her word over the witness’s. Unfortunately, Skye’s word actually seemed to carry a little weight. Not just in Sweetrock but in the state itself because of her foster father.

  Who would have figured?

  Carter Jefferson had lost his daughter in Corbin County twelve years ago to the Sweetrock Slasher, and now the girl he’d all but adopted was here trying to pull the same shit his daughter had tried to pull.

  She was trying to identify the Sweetrock Slasher. And he was willing to bet his life that good ole Logan Callahan had no idea little Miss O’Brien was using him just like good ole Amy Jefferson had been.

  He didn’t mind killing her. It would be a pleasure.

  But it had to be done carefully. He had to take her without witnesses. Not even witnesses that thought he might be Callahan. Without anyone being the wiser. Especially his boss. She could just disappear.

  Unfortunately, his boss had made a major mistake twelve years ago when he targeted the governor’s daughter just because he didn’t like the politician and because she was friends with Logan Calllahan.

  She wasn’t his lover. She had just been his friend.

  Carter Jefferson held a grudge. If they dared to strike against his foster daughter, then all hell was going to break loose in Sweetrock.

  He would follow her tonight as he was ordered.

  He’d chitchat, mingle, be himself, and decide the next move to make.

  The one move he hesitated to make, though, was the one his boss was demanding.

  Kidnap Skye O’Brien and hold her for him.

  He shook his head as he moved closer.

  That wasn’t a very good idea.

  Carter Jefferson was a very, very bad enemy to have, whether he knew who you were or not.

  He wasn’t an enemy he wanted to make.

  Not even the unlimited license to kill that he’d been given was payment enough.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  She had a headache.

  A headache, a strained muscle in her neck, and she was riding low on sleep.

  That was what she got for watching the video cameras for most of the night. Now her ass was dragging as she walked to the town square the next night and her enthusiasm for her volunteer night at the community center was lagging.

  Seven-to twelve-year-olds.

  She loved children dearly, but tonight all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep away the feeling that no matter what she did, what she said, no matter which way she turned, Logan still wasn’t there, and he wasn’t going to be there.

  She couldn’t give up. She was in too deep for that. The fact that there were already two different operations being run in Corbin County was a damned good sign that sooner or later this place was going to explode from the inside out.

  Turning the corner and heading up the sidewalk, she smiled at the sound of the music rolling from the center of the square and the people milling around.

  They could bitch all they wanted about the subtle blackmail the town placed on attendance, but once they arrived, they had a damned good time. It wasn’t as though everyone was just sitting around morosely and putting in their time before leaving.

  Hell no.

  Small groups were forming, the food and drinks were flowing, and the sound of laughter was echoing from the square. Glancing up the street at the small group who had amassed on the corner, she couldn’t help but grin.

  She called them the Second Avenue and Main Street greeting party. Every week she could count on finding them on the corner of Second and Main. They sat on the knee-high stone wall that bordered the Baptist church, greeted everyone walking in from that direction, and kept a watch on parking along the three streets there.

  Jack Townsend and his wife, Jeannie, had just reached the corner, while Sheriff Tobias was already there, to Skye’s surprise, with Crowe, who was leaning against the streetlight. Tobias’ new deputy, John Caine, was cutting across the churchyard, his hard face and narrowed gaze giving him a dark appearance. Amory Wyatt, the Social Services director, was moving across the opposite corner with a wave and smile toward Skye as he joined the group while County Attorney Wayne Sorenson crossed from the town square to the corner as his Amelia and Anna Corbin parked their car in one of the reserved slots on Second Street.

  “There she is,” Jeannie called out, a smile creasing her face as Skye neared them. “I didn’t figure Logan would let you come out and play tonight.”

  She snorted at the thought and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t ask permission to go out and play. Was I supposed to?” She blinked back at Crowe innocently.

  “Probably,” Crowe drawled as he leaned against the steel support to the streetlight. “You know how he gets when he’s got a burr pricking his ass.”

  Her brow arched. “I’m not hard to find if he needs to see me.”

  She turned back to Jeannie to see her and Jack both watching in amusement.

  “I kind of doubt Logan would venture out here to drag you back,” Jack consoled Skye. “He hates these things, but he never tried to cause a scene.”

  “I think they’re a wonderful idea.” Perhaps some of her enthusiasm was returning.

  Music was drifting around them as the band prepared for the night, and the town square was starting to fill up.

  “A wonderful idea, yes, but one Logan doesn’t necessarily subscribe to,” Crowe stated, his brown eyes dark and quiet as he pulled two thin cigars from the pocket of his vest and handed one to Archer.

  Accepting the tobacco, Archer brought it to his nose, inhaled, then let a little sigh of pleasure pass his lips.

  Lighting it, then handing the lighter to the sheriff, Crowe continued to stare around, watching the crowd and the incoming attendees silently.

  Was his neck tight and filled with the same tension as hers?

  That tension that assured her she was being watched. Though admittedly, it had finally eased up several blocks before she turned up Second Street.

  “Amelia, Anna, I have the toddlers to the twelve-year-olds tonight.” Skye turned to the two girls. “Stop in and see me if you have time.”

  The two women volunteered often in the Community Center and always gravitated to the younger children and those difficult enough that most parents tended to ignore them.

  “Definitely,” Anna promised as she slid a look from her friend, Amelia, to the silent Crowe.

  Watching her head turn and the look on her face, Skye almost frowned thoughtfully, then caught herself.

  Amelia was watching him with a hint of anger, and though Skye would have loved to know why, still, this was the wrong place and time to question it.

  She wasn’t the only one who must have noticed something off about Amelia’s mood, though. As Skye left, Crowe was watching as well.

  Turning back to her before she could hide the fact she was observing him, Crowe narrowed his gaze on her. Evidently, Logan wasn’t the only one pissed off at her.

  “Time for me to go,” Crowe finally stated quietly as he straightened from his slouched position. “It’s time to head home and make sure that wolf bitch hasn’t managed to get b
ack into the house.”

  “I thought you fixed that dog door?” Jack asked in some surprise.

  “I did,” Crowe informed him. “Didn’t help. She’s heavy with pups and somehow found her way back in. If I don’t watch her ass she’s going to end up having those pups there in my living room, right in front of my fireplace.”

  The story had been told for weeks about the wolf Crowe had pictures of slipping into his house. There were even pictures of her circulating on the Internet now after someone had convinced Crowe to send the photos to them.

  What Skye was certain very, very few people knew was that Crowe had raised the she-wolf from an orphan of only a few weeks of age.

  “Look at it this way,” Jack suggested. “A momma wolf is better than a guard dog.”

  “Yeah, but the guard dog would let me in my own house,” Crowe drawled ruefully. “Sleep in my own bed. All that good stuff.”

  “I could send Animal Control, Crowe,” Wayne Sorenson suggested in concern. “They’d get her out for you and take her to one of the wolf preserves.”

  The offer surprised Skye. It was the first time she’d heard of anyone outside the very small circle of Callahan friends offer to do a damned thing for them.

  “Naw, I wouldn’t like it much if she were locked up that way.” He shook his head. “Let me see if I can’t figure something else out first. But thanks for the offer.”

  Wayne nodded his graying head, his gaze thoughtful. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I’m heading out of here too. Later.” Throwing a friendly wave to the group, Skye moved quickly across the street, up the sidewalk on the other side, passed the gazebo where the band had set up, and moved quickly to Central Street on the opposite side of the small park and to the community center. The two-story brick and yellow building housed a large central kitchen with scattered eating and amusement areas on one side and the other side set up with dozens of cots and a few cribs. Upstairs were meeting rooms; in the back were offices, a cinema room, and a nursery.

  There were dozens of kids between six and twelve years old whose parents had dropped them off for the weekend or were volunteering in other areas. The kids were divided up; those in the main room were those who weren’t interested in watching the movies being played in the cinema room or being with their parents outside.