His amusement faded, and his icy eyes nearly bugged out of his face. “You wouldn’t.”
I smiled.
Behind us, the interview continued.
“By an overzealous fan that came to stay at the resort you own and broke into your home, correct?”
“I wouldn’t call him overzealous. Or a fan,” Liam said darkly.
“What would you say, then?”
The intensity Liam portrayed so easily slipped into his silvery eyes as he stared at the camera. “Obsessive. Sloppy. Cowardly.”
“Interesting. You think he’s a coward?”
“I do,” he said right away. “He came to my home when I wasn’t there to defend it.”
“Your girlfriend came home and interrupted him, is that correct?”
“She’s my wife now.” Liam corrected. “But yes, she did. Me and my father as well.”
“And your father was shot and killed. You were shot, too, weren’t you?”
“I was.” He stared into the camera. “It will take a lot more than that to keep me down.”
I shivered and glanced at Alex, silently asking if he still thought this was a good idea.
He patted my head like I was a dog.
“How have you been since those events?” the woman asked seriously.
“It’s been tough,” he said honestly. “My father didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“Renshaw was a big supporter of yours. Was his death a factor in your return?”
Liam looked past the camera crew, beyond the lights, and found me where I stood. I smiled at him, hoping he knew I was here supporting him.
“My father believed in me. Probably more than I did at times. But coming back, that’s something I’m doing for me.”
My heart squeezed. Pride overcame all other emotion I felt just then because I knew how hard it was for Liam to do something solely for himself.
The interview went on. He talked about our marriage and the Olympics. About his knee and training. It seemed to last forever, and when it was finished, he did a few other shorter interviews for the other networks.
By the time he was finished, I had long since retired to a chair and was daydreaming longingly of taking off my pants.
I had to face it. They were all too tight. It was uncomfortable. Not even the hairband looped through the button hole and around the button helped anymore.
Alex was right. I was getting fat.
A pair of very familiar, sexy jean-clad legs appeared before me, and I glanced up.
“Looks like you could use some Raisin Bran.”
“Mmm.”
He held out his hand, and I surrendered mine so he could tug me to my feet.
On our way to the Extreme, I said, “How do you think it went today?”
His reply was almost menacing and definitely strange. “Time will tell.”
Liam
I was too subtle. Something no one had ever accused me of before. Guess there was a first time for everything. I just wished this wasn’t it.
Another week passed without a peep out of Crone. I wasn’t relieved. I knew he was just lying in wait. But I was tired. Tired of hoping he would come to me.
According to the FBI, he was still in New York, lying low since the incident with the murderous repeller.
And just FYI, I was having bulletproof glass installed at our new house. Next time someone wanted to shoot through a window to get at my wife, he could think again.
I was beginning to wonder if maybe Bellamy was right. Maybe all the extra attention and press did deter Crone.
Or maybe, as I said, I’d been too subtle. I thought calling him a coward for coming at me when I wasn’t home would do the trick.
I’d been wrong. Fuck.
I was going to have to go to him.
My phone went off, and I glanced at the screen.
“Is Joiner giving you a hard time for staying home today?” Bellamy worried from her place in my lap.
Absentmindedly, I rubbed over her growing stomach. Beneath my hand, the baby rolled. “No. It’s Alex,” I answered. “He’s outside.”
“Does he want you to come out and play?” she teased.
No. I want him to come out and play. “Ha. Ha,” I said as we got up from the couch. “He wants me to let him in.”
“Or he could just come in?”
“You know he won’t do that, sweetheart.” I reminded her.
She sighed. “I feel stupid.”
“You aren’t stupid,” I said, firm. “You’ve been traumatized too many times. I can’t really blame you for jumping every time someone knocks or rattles the door handle.”
“I’m working on it.”
“I know.” I agreed, leaning down to kiss her. “It’s going to take time.”
“Stay with Bells,” I told Charlie and went down to open the front door.
Alex was standing there waiting, a box in his hand.
“For me?” I said, acting surprised.
“It was on the steps,” he said, his voice low and serious.
All humor and sarcasm evaporated, and I scanned the area behind him and around the house. The snow was pretty much melted now, the ground beginning to thaw from its frosty state.
“There’s no one here. I checked the perimeter before I texted.”
I cursed. “You know who it’s from.”
Alex’s face was grim.
I took the small white box from him as a sick, nervous feeling wormed inside me.
This was it. This was what I was waiting for. Whatever Crone sent in this box would determine my next move.
Both of us glanced around, making sure Bellamy wasn’t standing nearby. I pulled off the lid and looked inside. There was a note with a single line.
Watch this alone.
It wasn’t in Crone’s handwriting. It didn’t have his signature.
I held the note out to Alex and then reached in to pick up a small black flash drive. There was nothing else inside the box.
“Liam?” Bellamy called. “Is everything okay?”
I jammed the drive and note into my pocket and shoved the box at Alex. “Yeah, baby.” I spun around. “Everything is good. Alex was making me look at the new rims on his Hummer.
Bellamy appeared at the top of the steps. “Hi, Alex.”
“Hey, girl,” he said, sounding like his usual relaxed self.
“Aren’t you going to come in?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
We moved as a unit into the house, me staying slightly in front of Alex so the view of the box was obscured. When the door was closed behind him, I said, “I gotta piss.”
“And you felt the need to announce this?” Bellamy quipped.
“I didn’t want you to miss me,” I said, winking.
She shook her head and laughed low. “Alex, I made pumpkin bread!” she called, going into the kitchen.
Alex slipped around me, slyly stuffing the box in my hand. “Girl, you better break me off a piece!” he hollered, running up the steps after her.
I went down to our bedroom and quietly shut the door. Pulling out my laptop, I booted it up and plugged the drive into the side.
It felt like I waited years for whatever was on this thing to show on the screen.
And then it did.
White, grainy static filled the screen, along with a bunch of white noise. “What the fuck?” I muttered and smacked the side of the laptop as if that would somehow fix the issue.
The picture blinked on, and I stared at the grisly scene.
It looked like a bad home movie taken on a jumpy camera with bad audio and lighting. Still, the quality was good enough to know exactly what I was seeing.
I sank beside the bed and pulled the laptop close to watch the unfolding scene.
There was a man tied to a chair perched in the center of an empty concrete room. His hands were bound behind him, and his feet were bound to each leg of the chair. He was bloody and beaten, his head lolled to the side, blood leaving a trail from the
corner of his mouth all the way down his ripped-up and dirty white dress shirt.
There were what looked like knife wounds in his chest and one in his side. There was so much blood I might not know his shirt was white if it wasn’t for the collar.
I watched as someone moved from just beyond the frame of the camera, tossing a bucket of what I assumed was frigid water all over the man.
He gasped and lurched up, unable to go far because of the binds.
It was Perry Crone.
Someone sent me a video of Perry Crone being tortured.
It was sick and wrong, but I kinda wished I had some popcorn to enjoy the show with. I also wished I was there, landing a few punches of my own.
As he sputtered, someone moved in the frame again, and white static covered the screen. I grabbed the laptop and shook it, wanting the screen to clear.
The audio worked fine, though, because the blood-curdling scream that Perry let loose filled my ears.
Seconds later, the screen cleared. Perry was still there, alone, and he was crying. His ear hung off the side of his head, only attached by a thin band of skin.
“You’re going to pay for this!” he vowed. “My family will avenge me.”
“No.” A distorted voice came out of the dark. “No, Crone. We will not. You’ve brought shame and heat on this entire organization, and when you die, all of this ends.”
He sat up, his ear swinging as he stared off to the side of the room. “You!” he growled. “This was you! My own—”
“No.” The voice cut him off. “This is on you. You’ve made too many enemies. The FBI watches like a hawk. This was too good of an opportunity to end all of this. To end you.”
He started to rock back and forth, trying to dislodge the chair. It fell over, and he hit the ground, crying out.
Someone covered from head to foot moved forward. The screen went fuzzy again, but I heard the groans of Crone coupled with the sound of flesh hitting flesh.
When the screen came on, Crone was upright again, bloodier than before. And his ear… it was completely gone.
“Please,” he groaned, sounding pathetic and terrified. I had a moment of pity for him, and then I remembered what he’d done to my father. To my wife.
“Rot in hell, you son of a bitch,” I whispered.
“Just let me go—” He didn’t get to finish because the sound of a gun going off cut off his words.
I jerked when the bullet slammed into his head and watched as brain matter and blood splattered everything. The person holding the camera moved, walking close to the body, looming over him while filming.
Blood seeped out around him like a black halo, and his eyes stared, glassy, into hell.
The camera zoomed in, giving a grisly up-close and personal view of the bullet hole in the center of his head.
“Confirmation of elimination.” Another distorted voice spoke, the one I assumed was holding the camera.
It was indeed a confirmation. Perry Crone was dead.
A victim of his own making.
I stared at him a moment longer, and then the picture blinked out, white static filled the screen, and then everything went black.
I hit a few keys, trying to call up the video again. I couldn’t. It was gone. Erased.
Just like Perry Crone.
Bellamy
I was beginning to wonder if Liam fell in.
Surely it didn’t take this long to pee.
Maybe I should stand in the bathroom with him while he did his business, too.
He’d probably enjoy it. Perv.
Alex was plowing through the generous serving of bread and coffee I’d set before him. He paused long enough to say, “This bread is the shit.”
I cut off another hunk and slid it onto his plate.
“Bless you,” he said, shoveling in more.
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” I asked, horrified by his manners.
He shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
“Stay for dinner.” I offered.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“Bellamy!” Mom called from the other room. “Bellamy!”
Alex stopped chewing, and we looked at each other, alarmed. “Mom!”
“Come quick!”
I started to rush forward, but Alex moved in front of me, blocking me with his body and reaching behind him to keep me there.
His hand brushed against my stomach, and the baby kicked.
Her jolted and spun around. “What was that?”
“The baby moved,” I said and tried to rush by.
“Hell no you don’t,” he quipped and moved back in front of me. “Stay behind me.”
I made an impatient sound, but he moved, and I followed along, racing out to where Mom was standing in the living room.
“What is it?” I asked, worried.
“Look!” She gasped, pointing at the TV.
Moving from behind Alex, I stepped up to stare at the wall-mounted flat-screen.
Mom turned the volume up as I read the large headline at the bottom of the screen.
Crime boss Perry Crone found slain.
I gasped and threw out an arm. Alex grabbed it and pulled me into his side.
“Perry Crone is dead?” I asked.
“Seems so,” Alex answered, watching the unfolding story. The view was aerial, and it appeared the camera crew was filming overhead Crone’s estate. Below, I could see a ton of police officers and government vehicles, along with an ambulance.
The front door opened, and the camera zoomed in as several EMTs filed out pushing a gurney with a zipped-up black body bag lying atop. I watched as they loaded it into the waiting ambulance with CORONER written on the back.
“Liam!” I screamed. “Liam!”
He pounded up the stairs in record time. “What! What is it?” he demanded.
I pointed at the TV just as Mom had. “Perry Crone is dead.”
His eyes flickered and then went to the screen. The four of us listened to the anchor go on about how he was found early this morning by his housekeeper, who called 9-1-1. His body was said to be in bad shape, and he was pronounced dead on arrival.
Liam came farther into the room and pulled me out of Alex’s side and into the circle of his arms.
“There is no news or leads at this time about those responsible for this grisly murder, but police will be investigating. The director of the FBI released a statement earlier today stating they will be looking at the case from every angle and there are many. As we all know, Perry Crone is the most notorious modern mobster of our era and was not too long ago released from prison, having his life sentence reverted to time served for good behavior.
“Sources speculate that this could be the work of any number of his enemies, as he had many. Some also hypothesize that this could be the doing of his own organization because of all the unwanted press and heat he’d brought to organized crime in the past few years.
“Either way, it seems like we might never know what actually happened to this crime lord, and as hard as it is to say, this is one murder that I don’t think many people will be losing sleep over.
“Back to you, Bob.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry.” My mom was the first to break the silence. “I, for one, am glad that monster is dead.”
Liam and Alex both made sounds of agreement.
I stared at the screen a few more minutes, shock still rippling through me.
“Bells.” Liam nudged me gently, stepping around so he could stare at me directly. “Are you okay?”
My eyes fixed on his. “It’s over,” I whispered, relief flooding my entire body. “It’s really over.”
He nodded, his eyes glimmering. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s really over. We’re free.”
I collapsed against him and cried. I couldn’t even begin to voice the way it felt to know Crone would never be coming after me or my baby ever again. That he finally paid for what he did to Ren and our family.
In the middle o
f sobbing all over Liam’s chest, I gasped and pulled back.
“What if his family comes for us? What if they blame us?”
It was hard to actually believe this all ended here. Now.
“That’s not going to happen,” Liam and Alex both said at the same time.
I glanced between them, my sight blurred with tears. “How do you know?”
“You heard it yourself,” Liam explained, brushing away the wetness on my cheeks. “They said on the news his own organization is who likely did this to him.”
“They’re the only ones with enough ability to get close enough to kill him.” Alex reasoned.
“You think so?” I asked, wanting so badly to believe.
“I know it,” Alex said, his voice ringing with certainty. I couldn’t help but notice that iciness he usually hid was back in his eyes. That calm, deadly air around him was on full display.
I looked at Liam, wondering if he saw it, too.
He was watching me, reassurance in his face. “It’s over, Bellamy. You can believe him. Trust me.”
I did trust him. More than anyone. Liam had risked everything time and again just to make sure I was safe. If he said we didn’t have to be scared anymore, then I believed him.
I fell into him again with a relieved cry as more tears soaked into his shirt.
Holly came rushing into the house, up the stairs. “Did you hear?” she cried. “He’s dead!”
“We just saw it on the news,” Mom answered.
I pulled back and looked at Holly. She was crying, too.
She held her arms out to me, and I went into them. We clung to each other and cried. “The man who killed my husband has finally paid for his crimes,” she said into my ear.
I pulled back and stared into red-rimmed eyes. “The man responsible?”
She touched my face and smiled. “Yes, honey. The man. Not you. Him.”
I hugged her again, feeling a million times lighter than before. Between us, Ren’s namesake kicked. I pulled back and put a hand to my belly.
Holly reached out, and I nodded.
She felt her grandson move, and more tears fell.
“He’s happy, too,” I told her. “Renshaw William Alexander Mattison can be born into this world without any fear.”
“You’re naming him after my husband?” Holly gasped.
Frostbite (BearPaw Resort Book 3) Page 28