Sinful Secrets

by Melissa Ohnoutka

  The man nodded again, lifting the receiver to make the call, his unbuttoned sleeve rising over his wrist. That’s when Ryker spotted the odd tattoo on his right hand. A tattoo he’d seen many times before—one that proved this man’s behavior was suspicious as hell.

  Foreseeing the inevitable, Ryker straightened to his full height and stared the man down. The piece of shit knew he’d been outed, too.

  “No answer.” The man sneered, placing the receiver back in its cradle. “How we gonna play this, pig?” He lifted the bottom of his crumpled jacket, revealing his weapon. “Sure are a lot of people in this lobby.”

  “Stay calm. There’s no need—”

  “Exactly. There’s no need for you to say a word. Just turn around and walk away.”

  Ryker noticed the black bag on the floor behind the man. Shit. So the crook hadn’t gotten away with the goods yet. Strange. But what to do?

  A young boy of about four ran through the lobby, plopping down onto one of the couches next to a woman in front of the ten-foot Christmas tree near the counter. Ryker’s chest constricted. He’d never risk hurting innocent people, the impact of such action a tough lesson learned. “I’m going. I’m going.”

  Hand poised to grab his weapon if the man made any move to use his, Ryker slowly turned around and started edging toward the front door. He felt the man’s gaze on him and knew there was no other option but to get outside and alert HPD somehow. Ironic. How many cops were already inside the building? Or maybe this guy was just plain stupid.

  Once he was outside the glass doors, the fist came out of nowhere, crashing into Ryker’s jaw like a wrecking ball.

  He went down hard. Lightning bolts of pain ricocheted through his brain. What the hell hit him? A brick? Ears ringing, he tried to get up. Another round of pain impaled his skull, momentarily blinding him.

  Before he could get his bearings straight and figure out what or who hit him, he was grabbed by the collar and jerked to his feet—a teeth-jarring action that had the ground teetering and spinning out of control.

  “Sorry it has to be like this, detective.”

  Ryker blinked against the pain exploding in his head as the earth righted itself. Detective? Did this man know him from his HPD days? Blurry images passed by, and he realized he was being dragged away from the entrance, down a narrow pathway between the high shrubs and building. What the fuck?

  Someone had not only struck him with one hell of a right hook, probably with brass knuckles, but they’d kicked the shit out of him while he was down. So not cool.

  The sound of a door slid open in front of them, and he was shoved against the hood of a vehicle, his hands tied behind him, his mouth covered with duct tape. The attacker, who he still hadn’t identified, gripped a fistful of his shirt, ripping his radio off then hauling him over to the open door. He pushed him down inside onto the floor.

  “Stay.” He heard the man laugh.

  This was not the least bit funny. “Who are you?” Ryker managed to get the words out through the tape even though his jaw hurt with every move.

  “You’ll know soon enough. And here I thought you’d run home to lick your wounds. It would’ve been in your best interest to let that fucking case go. Didn’t they tell you that? Why didn’t you just let it go?”

  Ryker lay on his side, his blurred vision keeping him from getting a good glimpse of his attacker. Why did the voice sound so damn familiar?

  “You get the laptop?” His attacker turned and asked someone else who walked up to the van.

  “Yeah, I got what we want. You got what you want. Now let’s get out of here and take care of this shit. This place is crawling with cops.” The clerk. So these two jackasses were working together. Of course there’d be an accomplice. Damn, it had only been six months since he’d left HPD, and he’d already started slipping.

  “What do you mean, what you want?”

  “I helped myself to some of the finer stuff being stored for some of the guests.”

  “Son of a bitch. Well, that explains the shitload of cops running around.” A whoosh followed and then a grunt from the clerk.

  “Shit. Why’d you hit me?”

  “The laptop in the hotel safe. That’s all you needed to swipe. The damn thing wouldn’t even be missed until McNamee went looking for it later today for his meeting. Now we’ve got cops all over the place.”

  “What’s so special about this damn laptop?” The clerk pulled something out of a bag and handed it over to the other man.

  “A revolutionary fracking formula. This thing has the notes and all the details. Worth a pretty penny and complete devastation to McNamee when his competitors get it first.”

  “What the hell is fracking? Some kind of new kinky sex act?” The clerk snorted.

  “Idiot.”

  “No, wait. I’m serious. I want to know.”

  “Let me see if I can put it in terms you’ll understand. Oil companies use this drilling process to get oil and gas out of rocks in the earth’s surface. A unique chemical formula is added to water, then injected in the ground at high pressures to accomplish their goal. And McNamee has stumbled on a shitting goldmine.”

  “Seriously? People gonna pay money for some watered-down chemical?”

  “Just get in the fucking van. We’ve got loose ends to tie up. And keep your head down until we exit the parking lot. We can’t risk someone recognizing you from last night.”

  The van door slammed shut, sending another bout of pain through Ryker’s head. His heart lurched to his throat. Pull it together. He couldn’t afford to panic. No one knew where he was, and these two men aimed to do a lot more than beat the shit out of him. Cut him into tiny pieces and feed them to a pack of wild dogs was more like it. A cop’s worst nightmare.

  Both the driver’s door and passenger door opened and closed. The two didn’t speak as the van inched forward. The blinker signaled, and they turned right onto the feeder.

  One way in and one way out of the hotel. He focused on the sounds and feel of the van’s movements. They slowed, and he counted off the seconds. Probably waiting for the light to change. Then the van picked up speed, the blinker clicking. Stopping. Clicking again. Helping him detect each lane change. The far-left lane was for faster traffic, so they would be on the freeway for a bit, which meant they were heading back into town instead of leaving Houston.

  Rubbing his face against one of the bulky cloth bags beside him, Ryker managed to ease one side of the tape from his mouth. The smell of sweat and a musty dampness lingered in the air. “You two think this is smart? I mean, kidnapping a cop will get you both life in prison.”

  The assholes laughed.

  “And killing one will get us the death penalty.”

  He gritted his teeth, unsure of which one spoke.

  Contemplating his options, Ryker tried loosening the ropes around his wrists. No luck. The bastard definitely knew how to tie a knot. And trying to roll over and position himself for better leverage when they attacked only proved taxing. He’d been tossed in between what looked and smelled like bags of dirty laundry. Waiting these punks out appeared the best plan of action, whether he liked it or not.

  Working through the details he’d picked up from his captors’ conversation, he leaned his head back in order to find fresh air and caught a whiff of sweet perfume from one of the bags. Jo Jo’s beautiful face flashed before him.

  She’d looked damn sexy in her tight jeans and pumps, despite the worry crinkling her cute brow. He should have been more up front with her, told her that the night they’d spent together all those years ago really made an impact on him. Maybe if he’d been braver in high school and taken that chance by asking her out, things would be different now. Shit. His partner’s recent death made him face his mortality—that had to be why regret hit him so hard. Running into her again. Knowing his chances of getting out of this alive were slim to none.

  Odds were she’d reject him anyway. Run away like she had last time. But at least he’d die kn
owing he’d tried one more time.

  Frustration and sheer determination had him working at the ropes once more. A small amount of hope built in his gut as one side of the rope slipped. He didn’t need a lot of slack, just enough to work the binding closer to his thumb joint. The flexibility in his left hand enabled him to escape handcuffs with some effort, and he hoped the ropes would be no different.

  All he needed was time.

  The van switched lanes suddenly. Then again and moved to the right. They’d be exiting soon. Too soon.

  Shit. All he needed was time he didn’t have.

  …

  After seeing the ambulance sitting in the circle driveway next to the curb, Joanna hurried into The Ashton Grande lobby, thankful she’d made it before they hauled Sam off to the hospital.

  She took in the hotel’s luxurious atmosphere, their holiday decorations lavish to the point of overkill, and wished for the second time she’d secured this hotel for her father’s Christmas party. They were known for their top-notch security and meticulous commitment to assuring a satisfying stay. With the finest suites and unforgettable world-class spa services, few other hotels even came close. But they’d been booked on the day her father wanted, and the ballroom was small for the number of guests her father needed to invite. Throw in the fact that the nearest golf course was miles away and it just wasn’t meant to be.

  Not that any of that mattered now. Tapping the toe of her black Jimmy Choo pump, she waited for the elevator door to open completely. A paramedic stood to one side with a gurney. An empty gurney.

  “Excuse me. Are you here to take a woman to the hospital? Room 618?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But the room’s empty. The clerk at the front desk said no one’s checked in or out of that room for days. If someone was there, they left no trace of their stay. We checked the entire floor anyway just to be safe but found no one in need of medical assistance.”

  “What?” Panicked, she tried Sam’s cell phone again. She’d called her friend at every stoplight on the way to the hotel. Not once did she answer.

  She moved to the side to let the paramedic wheel the contraption out the doors. “So, you’re just going to leave? What about my friend? She’s in trouble.”

  “Sorry. We’ve done what we can. I hope you find your friend.”

  “Wait.” She grabbed his arm as he pulled the gurney around her and headed for the front entrance. “What about the other floors? Maybe she got the number wrong.”

  “Not much more I can do. The front desk clerk is checking into it, but there are way too many rooms and guests staying here to look in each one.” He patted her arm. “But we’ve alerted the police. They’re still trying to reach the officer who called it in.”

  “Thanks.” Her eyes shifted across the lobby. Where the hell did Kane go? He would have checked on Sam, right? Or had another officer fill in for him, if something else had come up? Could a small-town cop be that in demand in sleepy Bram, where nothing ever happened?

  She marched up to the front desk determined to get answers. Sam needed help. And she needed it now.

  “Excuse me. I need to talk to your manager.” She met the clerk’s gaze, an idea forming in the back of her mind. “I lost my key, and someone was supposed to have a new one waiting for me here at the front desk. But I’m here, and the key is not.”

  “I am sorry about that. What name is the room under?”

  It was a long shot, but she was going to take it. “Denise Miller.”

  As the clerk typed, sweat beaded on her brow.

  “Ah, yes. Ms. Miller. Here you are. Room 513. But I don’t show a request for a new key.”

  “Of course you don’t. I knew I should have stayed at the Houstonian.” The words came out snotty, exactly the way she’d heard Denise speak to others over the phone.

  “No problem. I’ll get one ready for you now.” The clerk worked quickly, obviously to avoid a scene. Evidently, Denise’s rude, obnoxious reputation preceded her. “Here you are. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you during your stay, Ms. Miller.”

  “I’ll do that.” Joanna snatched the card out of his hand and hurried off without another word. She prayed her awkward steps in the black pumps she still wore from the party wouldn’t have him chasing after her, screaming imposter.

  What were the odds Denise would have a freaking key at this hotel? And why? A chill speared through her body. Too damn big of a coincidence.

  Once the elevator doors closed, she leaned against the back of the cool mirrored wall and looked down at the key in her hands. Squinting, she tried to make her vision as blurry as possible. Sure enough, the six looked an awful lot like a five and the three looked like an eight. She shook her head. Sam gave Kane the wrong room number. That had to be it.

  Did she have time to stop the ambulance from leaving?

  “No. Find Sam first,” she said looking up at her reflection. “Then call 911.”

  The elevator dinged, signaling she’d reached the fifth floor, and she bit her lip as the door opened, hoping her suspicions proved right. Bolting into the hallway, she scanned the room numbers. Which way? So much time had already passed since she’d talked to Sam. According to the gold-plated sign on the wall, room 513 was at the end of the hallway to the right.

  Her heart pounded in her ears. Would Sam be there? Would she be okay?

  “She has to be,” she said. She couldn’t imagine living a day without her friend.

  Standing in front of the door to room 513, she took a deep breath and then knocked. Muffled words sounded through the door.

  “Sam, is that you?” Joanna tried the key and got the green light, unlocking the door. Slowly pushing the door forward, she peeked inside. The room was dark. Only the sound of the air conditioner rumbled through the cooled air escaping into the hallway.

  “Sam?”

  Another round of muffled words.

  Joanna shoved the door all the way to the wall, giving her a clear view of the entire room. That’s when she saw her friend huddled on the floor in the corner behind a side table. She still wore the same dress from the party, her hair was disheveled, her mouth duct taped, and her hands behind her back. “Sam, what on earth?”

  After she stepped farther into the room and flipped on the light switch, she saw the tears in her bleary eyes. The horror on her face. “Sam? What’s going on?”

  Something soft and black flew over Joanna’s head, and she felt a sharp pinch on her upper arm. Clarity hit with fine-tuned precision. She’d just been stuck with a needle. God only knew what it contained.

  Twisting around at the waist, she swung her arms wildly, trying to make contact with the assailant. But the room started spinning, her body numbing from her toes to the tips of her fingers. She felt her body collapsing and was helpless to do anything about it.

  Someone caught her under the arms from behind before she hit the ground. Even though the person wore long sleeves, she could tell by their build it was a woman. Denise. She tried fighting harder, tried to struggle against the strong effects of the drug. But it was little use. A few more seconds and all hopes of an escape vanished.

  “Daddy,” she moaned.

  A deep raspy laugh followed as she lost consciousness—a door closing in the background on all her hopes and dreams.

  Chapter Seven

  Ryker flinched as the van slowed suddenly, the contents in the back shifting and squishing his body between the bulk. He could barely breathe.

  They must be taking the exit ramp, getting off the freeway. Hurry, damn it.

  He’d almost freed his left hand from the tight ropes, but the stinky laundry bags hindered his progress. There just wasn’t enough room. He’d need to move to his stomach to complete the process. No way that was going to happen.

  His predicament looked pretty grim.

  He went through the sequence of events again, believing more than ever everything from the truck-jacking to the jewelry theft had ties to something much bigger. Beyond s
ome fracking formula on McNamee’s laptop. What, he had no idea.

  The most puzzling piece had to be how Jo Jo and her party-planning business fit into this mess. No amount of evidence would lead him to consider she played a part in the hotel robbery. What would have been her motive for hijacking her own truck? And what the hell did his attacker mean when he’d called him detective and said Ryker should have let it go? Had he meant his last case with the Houston police?

  Damn, his head hurt. The annoying throbbing brought on by the beating he’d taken worsened the harder he worked to solve the mystery. There sure as hell would be swelling. He could barely open his left eye, and red staining the outside of the laundry bags by his head clued him in to the fact he was still bleeding.

  “Did you call?” The man who hit Ryker sounded so familiar it prickled the hairs on the back of his neck, but he couldn’t place from where.

  “I did. And we may have a problem.”

  “Problem?”

  The clerk turned and looked over his shoulder at Ryker. “Yeah. Might need two more body bags.”

  Ryker’s stomach churned. So they did plan on killing him. And others as well. The idea that someone else might die ignited a fire in his gut. Frustration building over his mistake at the hotel fueled his adrenaline and gave him new purpose. This would not go down as these two assholes hoped—he’d give them one hell of a run for their money.

  “What is it with you two? I gave you one simple task.” The driver pounded the steering wheel.

  “Hey, don’t look at me. I held up my side of the bargain. It’s your lady friend who deviated from the plan.”

  Lady friend? What the hell? The third member of their group was a woman? Could it be Jo Jo? She’d been very evasive answering questions about her stolen truck… A new round of pain shot through his head as pieces started falling into place. Aw, hell no. This wasn’t happening.

  “That bitch is not my friend.” The driver’s tone turned evil. “I should have known blackmailing someone with half a brain wouldn’t work. She’ll pay for messing this shit up.”