Sinful Secrets

by Melissa Ohnoutka

  Using his last bit of sheer determination, Ryker sucked in his gut, braced himself for the pain, and pulled his left hand upward with such force he was momentarily blinded by the agony screaming through his body. Pure torture. But it worked. The rope slipped, his left hand shifting just enough to slide out of the knot.

  He gritted his teeth and held his breath. Son of a bitch, that hurt. But he was free. And these two dumbasses were in for the surprise of their life.

  Royally infuriated now by the pain and the man who’d caused it, not to mention wondering if he’d possibly dislocated his shoulder, he readied himself for battle.

  When the door opened, he’d be all over these two bottom-feeders before they knew what happened.

  “Probably cause she’s got some score to settle with the daughter this time around.”

  The van jerked to the right, the driver slamming on the brakes so hard the tires squealed before he jammed the gearshift into park. He turned and grabbed the clerk by the collar. “If that bitch leaves one mark on her, I’ll skin her sorry ass alive and make you watch!”

  A series of coughs and gasps for air escaped the startled clerk.

  “Do you understand?” The driver released his grip and shoved the man against the passenger door.

  The man didn’t respond. Only coughed and sputtered.

  “Fuck! I can’t believe you two have gotten this so fucked up. First the jewelry and now this.”

  Completely baffled, Ryker listened and watched the exchange through a small opening beneath several of the laundry bags now sitting on top of him from their abrupt stop. Who the hell was this guy? And who was the daughter he referred to?

  “I told her you wouldn’t be happy. She made the decision to go after McNamee on her own. I had nothing to do with it.”

  Ryker’s mouth dried to the point he couldn’t swallow.

  Jo Jo? So she wasn’t involved. She was a target. Who would want to hurt her? Wasn’t she on her way to help her friend?

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to the old man or his money as long as I get the codes on that laptop first. But touch one hair on Joanna’s head and you’re both going to wish you’d met the devil instead of me.”

  Old man? Money? Details of his last case bombarded him. The woman working with these two, could she be the Black Widow he’d been after the last three years of his stint with HPD? The one who’d left a trail of dead husbands behind in eleven states without a trace? The one who’d married and killed his father’s close friend, turning the case into Ryker’s personal vendetta?

  She was clever, careful. Changed her appearance, her identity after each murder, making it difficult to pinpoint her next location until another wealthy businessman died of mysterious causes. There’d been speculation about a drug in their bloodstream, but the victims were never found in time to obtain solid proof.

  Jo Jo’s father was an extremely wealthy man. And he remembered Jo Jo’s crew talking about a younger girlfriend. He craned to get a view of the driver in the rearview mirror through the small hole between two of the bags. Could this guy be the link? The reason the case had been yanked out from under him and labeled a cold case? 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?

  He’d been so close to nailing the senator’s nephew—the link to the Black Widow—that he could taste it. Needed to question one more witness to prove his suspicions. But the witness went missing. His partner lost his life at a botched raid on a warehouse where the witness was thought to be held captive. And then his captain ordered him to turn his back and cut all ties to the case. Weird shit.

  Was the driver who attacked him today Senator Whalen’s nephew?

  If he was, as of right now, the rules hadn’t just changed.

  The entire fucking game had changed.

  …

  Joanna’s brain pounded as she came to with her hands bound in front of her and her mouth taped shut. Vision distorted, nothing more than shadows and light danced around the room. The citrus scent of her friend’s shampoo clued her into the fact it was Sam’s crumpled form beside her, and her heart raced. God, her head felt so heavy. But she forced it to turn so she could squint and try to get a clearer picture. Sam’s eyes were closed, but the steady rise and fall of her friend’s chest calmed her nerves. She was alive. At least for now. Several seconds and deep breaths of her own passed before she remembered exactly what happened.

  Fear spiked through her body. Someone had drugged her. Just like Sam.

  She tried to stand, but the room swirled before righting itself again, nausea looming close. Inhaling a slow, deep breath, she listened to the muted sounds and scanned the room, making out some objects while others wavered in and out of focus. On the king-size bed across from them sat a Ziploc bag with what appeared to be the wine glass she’d given Sam at the party, the one she wanted to have tested for fingerprints. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.

  This was all her fault.

  The bed looked like no one had slept there. The only clue to another person’s presence was the luggage sitting by the door and what sounded like a hair dryer coming from the bathroom.

  She ignored the sick feeling and scooted closer to her friend, bumping her with her shoulder. Sam didn’t move. Panic stirred the cool air around them. She’d probably been drugged again, which made Joanna’s stomach churn with an ugly sound. Could the drug be lethal? Did it have side effects?

  Working her hands back and forth, she tried to break through the tape on her wrists. Her efforts did nothing but make her skin raw and her head hurt. She kicked at the table in frustration, trying to knock the phone off, but only managed to cause a vase filled with red and white poinsettias to fall over and roll to the ground with a loud thud.

  She held her breath.

  After the muffled sound resembling a dryer stopped, light illuminated the room as a door opened and the figure of a woman emerged, her slithering steps somewhat familiar. Denise. Could it be? Dang her blurred vision. It wasn’t that farfetched an idea. All this time, the woman was playing her father. Wanting his money. And it now looked like she was willing to do anything to get it, including holding Joanna for ransom. Or worse.

  But how to be sure. Joanna swallowed hard.

  “Well, look who’s finally awake.” The woman’s voice echoed as if under water, still unidentifiable. And then she leaned in close and smirked, before pulling out the chair at the desk and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other. Yes. Although the woman’s facial features were still mostly blurred, it was definitely Denise—her strong, overly applied perfume a dead giveaway. “You must need a bigger dose than your friend here,” she said, picking up a small syringe-like object and flicking the side of the tube.

  Unable to give her a piece of her mind, Joanna glared her down through hazy vision.

  “Why didn’t you just go back to college like your father wanted? It would have made this so much easier on everyone. I thought for sure hijacking your crew at gunpoint would do the trick. Sabotaging Daddy’s Christmas party was supposed to humiliate you beyond repair, having you begging to go back to school. But no. You had to be Little Miss Fix-It and find the damn truck yourself. Pulled the party off despite it all, didn’t you.”

  The broken chunks of the puzzle dropped into place. Denise wanted her gone, out of the picture so she could…what? Steal from her father? She forced back another bout of nausea. Or did it run much deeper. Denise had been pushing him to marry her for weeks. Her body stilled as the woman’s words by the pool returned. Would she kill him to get it all?

  “Such a shame, really. I was hoping you and I could become close. You know, the grieving widow and her distraught stepdaughter taking on the world. I’ve never really had an opportunity to make friends in my line of work. It gets so lonely. But your father was going to be my last.”

  Last? Joanna clenched her fists in her lap. So Denise had done this before.

>   “That’s all changed now.” Denise loomed in close enough so she could see the syringe, pushing the bottom upward until a tiny bit of the clear liquid squirted out the top of the needle.

  Joanna felt seriously ill. Needles always made her queasy. But the look in Denise’s eyes gave nausea a whole new meaning. She glanced over at Sam, hoping the drugs weren’t doing permanent damage. Then she inched away on her bottom, down the wall toward the air-conditioning system, which switched on like a bad omen. The distant groaning noise the old machine made reminded her of something from a horror movie. Perfect.

  “No need to fight it, doll.” Denise sighed. “We were only counting on getting rid of two bodies. Now we have three.” She shook her head. “Tsk…tsk…tsk. Such a shame.” The annoying sound she made with her tongue bounced in Joanna’s head along with her last words.

  Three bodies?

  A wave of dizziness swept over her. Denise didn’t plan on letting her or Sam walk away alive. That was clear from the get-go. But who was the third person? Her father? That didn’t make sense. She’d need to keep him alive, get him to marry her without a prenup before she could collect any money.

  Crap, her head hurt. And her vision kept coming and going.

  A cell phone buzzed on the table in front of Denise, and she picked it up. “Yes.”

  The conversation was pretty one-sided as Denise listened, nodding and rolling her eyes. “She’s here.” When the call ended, she glared down at Joanna with hatred seeping off her overly tanned skin.

  “It appears that once again you’ve screwed up my plans. But that’s going to end. Right now.” Her nemesis stood and moved toward her, the needle in her slim fingers shoring up Joanna’s resolve.

  Heart racing, she tried to position herself in the corner behind a chair, using her bound feet to impede Denise’s progress and objective. Whatever was in that syringe would end her life. The look on the other woman’s face assured her of that fact.

  A sound outside the door made Denise twist at the waist, and Joanna took the opportunity to kick as high and as hard as she could. She managed to knock the woman off balance, sending her falling onto the bed. But Denise hung on to the damn needle and recovered, coming at her with more determination.

  When the door to the room flew open, a mere second passed before a man bellowed, “What the fuck are you doing?” His back to Joanna, he stood between her and Denise before she knew what happened. “You stupid bitch. Why is she here?”

  At the booming masculine tone Joanna cowered farther under the table. Her groggy brain worked to place the muffled voice—familiar, but not. Shaking her head, she tried to clear her vision long enough to get a good look at the man, but his distorted form kept pacing back and forth, the action making her dizzy. Good grief. Stand still. His mannerisms reminded her of Toby’s. Tall, awkward, his shoulders broader than his skinny form could carry. Keith’s words about him having a thing for her drifted to the surface. Could it be him?

  “She came on her own. I didn’t plan this. But we have to get rid of her, too, if we want this to work.”

  The man slapped Denise. Hard. Something whirled out of her hand and fell to the carpet at his feet. It had to be the syringe.

  “I give the orders, remember? I told you not to get too involved with McNamee, but you didn’t listen. No. Took it upon yourself to make him your mark without my permission. All I needed was the information on his laptop. You were to find out where it was and when it would be easiest to snatch. That’s all. How dare you cross me? He’s worthless to me dead.” He drew in a deep, jagged breath. “You better not touch him ‘til I get that formula or so help me God.”

  “I won’t; I promise. We’re still on track.”

  The man growled. “You’ve added an assload of complications I don’t have time to deal with.” He hit her again, knocking her onto the bed, the sound of her cry reverberating through Joanna’s skull.

  Her dad’s laptop? This is what it was all about?

  “I’m sorry,” Denise whimpered.

  “Yeah, we’ve already established that. Now go get your sorry-ass self cleaned up. Your flight leaves in an hour.”

  The woman pulled herself up from the bed slowly.

  Joanna sat up straighter, wanting to scoot forward and see who the man was. But her legs wouldn’t move, and whenever she tried to concentrate on him, his features blurred in and out like a distortion of light and color that wasn’t quite right.

  “Can’t wait to plan my wedding,” she said clearly for Joanna’s benefit then returned to what Joanna decided was the bathroom.

  No. Surely her father wouldn’t run off and get married without telling her. Her head spun as she digested the news.

  The man inhaled air through his teeth and then bent down, the black object resembling a gun on his hip catching her full attention before he covered her head in one swift move with the dark pillowcase again. She tried to fight him off, get a clear view of his face, but her blurry vision made her efforts useless.

  “You’re safe now.” The man grasped her flailing hands, sliding the case down to her shoulders.

  No. No. No. Chills, tears, fear assailed her at once. This wasn’t happening.

  “Come now,” he said, pulling her forward. “Don’t be silly. I’m not going to hurt you, Joanna.”

  Something about the voice resonated deep within her. But clearly the owner knew she’d recognize him and kept his pitch low and eerie, his angry tone aiding her uncooperative vision in hiding his identity. Hesitantly, her hands still bound, she let him help her up and queasiness overwhelmed her. Her legs taped tightly together, she had no choice but to lean into his chest for support. And when he took that opportunity to hug her tight, a wide range of emotions welled up inside her.

  “Thank God I got here when I did.” He eased her back to sit on the bed.

  Who was this man? And what was it about his voice that rang a familiar chord with her? The raspy tone filtered through her brain like it emanated from a long tube, but the voice pitch fit Toby’s. She tried to gather her scattered thoughts and stifle the nausea gaining ground.

  “Where’s Frank?” Denise’s voice was louder, like she’d stepped from the bathroom, sounding put back together and sleazy as ever.

  “He’s in the van with our other problem.”

  “I still don’t understand why that small-town cop has you so riled up.” A multitude of bracelets jangled on the woman’s wrists, and Joanna wished she could see her. No doubt she’d be decked out in more jewelry than any woman should even own.

  “That small-town cop is our biggest problem,” he grumbled. “He was well on his way to putting two and two together.”

  Denise huffed in disgust, and Joanna tried to figure out who they were talking about. Small-town cop?

  “If you hadn’t hijacked the damn truck, Mr. Nosey Shit for Brains would never have gotten involved.” He sucked down a breath that sounded like it hurt.

  Wait. Her heart stopped. So this was one of the men on her crew. Joanna stifled a gasp, trying to figure out which one. Toby? Or Jerry? She’d fired them both after the Christmas party, despite their begging. Neither had been happy about it. But it was Toby who’d been sloppy drunk the night of the party, the way he’d looked at her in that moment now giving her chills. She gulped back the bitter taste in her mouth. Would he devise a scheme like this? Partner up with Denise? And then it hit her. Maybe it was both men. They’d already been working against her, sabotaging her business for months. So why not? This had probably been the goal all along.

  The realization that Denise had been behind the hijacking and not her father gave her a small moment of comfort. But the idea that the cop they were talking about had to be Ryker made her heart dive to the bottom of her queasy stomach.

  “Deputy Ryker Kane.” The man’s voice turned evil. In a slow, sensuous motion, his hands slid down the outside of her thighs to the tape holding her legs together. She closed her eyes, praying he wouldn’t hurt her but fearing the wors
t. Thankfully after unwrapping the sticky mess from her pants and then her wrists, he straightened to his full height.

  “Can we get this over with already?” Denise pulled something along the floor, which sounded like a suitcase when the wheels clicked on the tile as they left the carpet. “I thought we had a plane to catch.”

  “Call down and make sure Frank has everything under control. Tell him to bring up the laundry cart so you can get Sam out unnoticed.”

  No. She couldn’t let them take her friend. Her mind screamed for her to do something. But what? Tears pooled in her eyes beneath the soft fabric even though she fought to keep her composure.

  “What about her? You can’t walk around the hotel with her like that.”

  “Unlike you, I’m not stupid.” His hands rested on Joanna’s shoulders as he moved around the side of the bed. “Turn around. And don’t look back or your friend dies right now.”

  She swallowed hard, stifling a whimper as she twisted at the waist away from him. Her body shook.

  “Good.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear through the material, then sniffed deeply.

  Her skin crawled as the pillowcase was lifted and her eyes tried to adjust. A second later, another piece of fabric completely covered her eyes, but left her nose and mouth free. A dark scarf, she decided as he secured the ends behind her head.

  “Give me your sunglasses.” His voice turned toward Denise.

  “But their Gucci. And brand new.”

  “Now, Denise,” he hissed.

  After a few agonizing seconds, the glasses were placed on Joanna’s face over the cloth, making it impossible for her to see even the tiniest flicker of light. Then he spun her back around to face him slowly.

  “Nice.”

  This man, his eerie tone, not to mention the darkness and fear of not knowing what to expect next, only enhanced Joanna’s anxiety. She needed to fight. Make a scene. But her body wasn’t complying. Her movements were sluggish, the effect of the drug still not wearing off.