“But I thought you worked at the DOJ?” she said weakly. This betrayal went so deep. All those years wasted.
Brit snickered. “Let me spell it out. Bart worked for the Department of Justice. Of the two of us, he was the dumb twin. I was the smart one. I worked on the drone project before I met you. I was the head electrical engineer. Anyway, one day your father called me to his office. Said he had a proposition. Said things weren’t working out, that he needed a competent heir to leave his business to. Said there was one catch. That poor bastard would have to marry you.”
Her father chuckled, if that phlegm-filled sound in his throat could have been mistaken for mirth. “I recognized a man after my own heart. You did good marrying him, little girl.”
“You…” Shannon took a deep breath to clear her head. “You knew Brit before he asked me to marry him?”
Paul Reagan coughed, his hand to his mouth. “I knew he’d make a better son than you ever would.”
“So what’d you do? Flip coins to sleep with me?” she asked Brit.
“Only after Tia came into the picture. We both had our flings, but Bart got too serious with that chick. He wanted out. We fought. I lost, and baby…” he patted both hands to his chest, “you got me.”
“That night. It was you…” Tears welled up as the humiliation of her night of spousal rape came back on her. He made it sound so cavalier, the jerk.
Brit shrugged. “Don’t take it so hard. I’ll take good care of Jimmy once you’re gone. After Paul gets him out of that farmhouse you’ve got him stashed in, we’ll bring him up to be a helluva lot smarter than you. He’ll go places. Too bad you won’t be around to watch.”
That stung, but Shannon pushed her humiliation down as the mother bear inside of her lifted its deadly head. They could do what they wanted to her, but not Jimmy. “You used me,” she bit out at her despicable father. “You set this whole thing up. You meant for that jet to crash on that specific island, too. You meant to kill me.”
He scowled and shook his head, but it was Brit who filled in the rest of the details. “Oh no. That one’s on you. You volunteered to accompany Stewart’s TEAM. After all of these years living with your father, you should’ve known. Nice guys always finish last.”
“Did you ever care about me?” she asked, not ready to accept that she’d been so thoroughly deceived.
Brit sniffed through that arrogant nose of his. “Not really. Look at it this way. In the end, you served a higher purpose, just like Bart did.” His gaze skimmed down to her cleavage. “Man, you could use a good boob job. Too bad you never listened. I could’ve made you, well, more noticeable at least.”
He might as well have slapped her in the face again. There was a day she’d very nearly succumbed to his nagging and done just that to make him happy. Him, the man who’d never loved her.
His words from her dream of months earlier revisited her. We have to take a shower. We have better things to do than waste time on you! Now it all made sense. Her brain had been trying to tell her something all along, that’s why the dreams.
“Grandpa Denver,” she blurted out, not knowing what she’d intended to ask.
“Oh, so you figured that one out, but not that you were getting screwed by two different men?” He shook his head, gave her knee a hard slap, and got to his feet. “Shannon, Shannon, Shannon. You’re the dumbest bitch in the world.”
“You killed him.” Shannon shook the last of the drug out of her head. “Your mother’s father. Why? How could you do that?”
Murdering someone kind enough to reach out to her in a dream seemed infinitely more diabolical than deceiving her through a traitorous marriage. Both were evil, but killing the man who’d raised you?
“Why not? We needed the old fart out of the way before you came into the picture. Didn’t want him to catch onto what we were doing.” Brit pantomimed being hung by a noose. “It was your old man’s idea. Kill the old geezer. Sucker you into marrying me.”
The idea galled her to her core, but it explained things, too. Like why Brit seemed cold one moment, warm the next; like how he seemed capable of working all the time. It made sense now. He never had boundless energy. He was just—two men. It also explained why her father liked him when she’d introduced them. Paul Reagan already knew Brit Paxton. Their plan was already in motion.
“But why, father? What did I ever do to—?”
“Because you’re no better than your cheating mother,” he hissed. “I needed a real heir. A chosen heir. Someone I could trust with my company, not some worthless bastard.”
“What?” Again she had no idea what he was talking about.
Paul pulled the wheels of his wheelchair close enough that he grabbed the collar of her flannel shirt and jerked her into his face. “Didn’t you know? Your slut of a mother cheated on me with every man she ever met. I only kept you because I hoped you’d turn out different once she was out of the picture. My mistake. I never chose you. You’re a bastard.”
“I’m... I’m not your daughter?” His words cut her down as much as they lifted her up. Not being of Paul Reagan’s flesh and bone actually brought a surge of hope. “You did kill her, didn’t you?”
Brit grunted. “Yeah, definitely not genius material, Paul. Damn, you sure know how to pick ’em. It’s a good thing you came up with plan B.”
“Why not just sell your business to Brit? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
Paul coughed up a wad of something into the tissue in his hand. “And what? Tell the world that my marriage was a failure? Admit that my wife cheated on me. Me! The richest, smartest man in the world? Let her sniveling bastard traipse the world for everyone to fawn over? How would that make me look?”
“So you killed all those people because you didn’t want to look bad?” Shannon rolled her eyes in disgust. This time Paul Reagan’s hand snaked out and slapped her face. She turned from him and stopped asking questions. Maybe she was the dumbest bitch in the world. Paul Reagan wasn’t just sick. He and Brit were—psychotic.
The picture on the screen diverted her attention from the bizarre kangaroo court taking place in the Reagan study. Something moved within all that murky, splashing water. She could see it now. Something big with—arms? Hands? Boots?
Oh, my God. Faces. Adam! Alex!
“You’re killing them! Stop it!”
Brit scrubbed his hand over her head, mussing her hair. “She’s got it now.”
Paul turned to watch the screen with her, the skin at his neck crepe-like as he stretched his chin forward. “Trust me, it won’t take long. The three of you needed to disappear. After tonight, I’ll wait a day or two until the authorities—”
“You can’t do this,” she screamed at his calm prattle. “Let me go. Stop it!”
Brit grasped her head and forced her to watch as the water filled the small room in the basement, that windowless room that had always creeped her out. The one with the open-ended pipes in the wall, filled with spider webs and funny whispers. A dim yellow light flickered on revealing Adam’s and Alex’s final moment, their faces tilted upward to the last pocket of air. She watched in horror as that air bubble shrank then disappeared. Bowing her face to her knees, she pleaded, “Please! Stop this! I’ll do anything you want. Anything!”
Paul leaned in confidentially, his elbow on the arm of her chair. “It’s too late, little girl. All you need to do tonight is die just like them. Just like your mother.”
“Don’t you want to watch?” Brit changed the subject, his face alongside her cheek, his mouth nearly on hers as the screen displayed nothing but shadows and bubbling, swirling water. The cold barrel of a gun slid along the hollow of her throat. “Or would you rather go first? It’ll be easier than watching these suckers drown.”
Shannon tilted away from him. There had to be a way to save Adam and Alex. And Jimmy! She couldn’t just sit here and watch. She wouldn’t! Something snapped deep inside. The feral darkness Paul Reagan had fostered leapt forth, tearing its way out of h
er with claws, teeth, and—the cunning wisdom of a desperate mother’s rage.
“You can’t do this,” she whimpered, like the weakling they thought she was—just before Brit leaned in close with another line of bullshit. Just before she bashed her forehead into the long, straight, elegant nose.
Crack!
“Shit! You bitch!” He dropped his pistol and jumped to his feet, his hand to his face. Blood spurted from his nostrils. Bright red rivulets of red ran through his fingers and over his perfect white teeth and that stupid goatee.
Jerking sideways, she lifted both feet and punched them into the middle of Paul’s chest. He was an easier target. Brittle. Old. Slower than dirt. He fell out of the chair to the carpet. Kicking his empty wheelchair out of her way, she turned her body into a twisting, flailing, battering machine. She needed out of those ties before either of these madmen could get to her!
In seconds, the ties unraveled. Free of the wingback, she charged Brit. She needed that gun! Shannon flew at him, slapping and punching, scratching and kicking. Brit countered, swinging a fist, but he never connected. She didn’t know how to fight. Not really. She only knew what he treasured most. Cocking her knee, she nailed those really tender balls of his with as hard a kick as she could muster. Down he went, clutching his privates and whining.
She got to his gun before he could recover and hefted it like she’d seen Adam do on the island. Shooting was another thing she didn’t know how to do, but tonight? Scared little Shannon Reagan was gone.
The new wicked had arrived.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Thank God for good buddies. After Connor, Rory, and Harley stormed Regan Manor, they’d come to the rescue. Not a second to soon. Adam was on the edge of eternal darkness by the time they broke open the basement door, shadows inside his head and taunting him with the thought of never seeing Shannon or Squeaks again.
He took the winding stairs out of the basement two at a time, his heart stuck up high in his throat and his lungs on fire. He couldn’t get back to the study fast enough, not with Shannon in there with that murdering bastard, Paul Reagan and his sidekick, Paxton.
Alex followed closely somewhere behind. The rest of they guys, too, but hell! How could Paxton be alive? How was he here in Rosslyn when Adam knew damned well he’d left him dead on that island in the Pacific? It made no sense, but Adam didn’t really care. He didn’t have time to think. He could kill the son-of-a-bitch as many times as he needed killing.
Swiping a quick hand over the sodden holster at his hip, he loosed his weapon. That he still had his nine mil either proved how inept Reagan’s new security staff was, or how over confident. They hadn’t disarmed him or his boss, probably because they didn’t understand the first thing about how tough black ops guys really were. Well, guess again. A decent handgun withstood a helluva lot more than water.
Adam cleared the cellar door with one blast of his palm, surprising that weasel who’d tried to bully Shannon earlier. Hubbard, is it?
“Where is she?” Adam barked before he hauled off and punched that snotty face with the full force of his fist. Hubbard collapsed like the pantywaist he was, and Adam kept going.
“Study,” Alex growled, as if Adam didn’t know.
They hurried, but the damned study door wouldn’t open. He paused just long enough to detect Shannon’s voice raised in anger inside. “No!”
“It’s too late.” Paul glanced back at the television screen. Her eyes followed, listening for that rat bastard Hubbard, and keeping an eye on her whimpering ex, too. Bad move on her part. In that split second, Paul jerked a gun up from beneath the lap blanket that had fallen to the floor with him. Fatal mistake—for him.
“You think I won’t kill you?” she yelled, gripping the pistol like she knew what to do with it. It almost felt natural in her palm, but this was the first time she’d held a weapon. Surely Brit had turned the safety off. No way she could miss at this range, right? “Where are they? Tell me. Now!”
His lips curled back, his weapon shaky but trained on her. Yeah. He’d do it. He’d kill her in a heartbeat. Like she didn’t already know that?
“I said tell me where Adam is!” She fired a warning shot past his head.
Enlightenment flickered in Paul’s aged eyes. The gun in his hand wavered, then righted. “You’ll never get to them in time. They’re already dead and on the dock. Or under it.”
“Where?” she shrieked. “Which dock?” If not her, someone could still get to Adam and Alex and save them. Maybe the authorities. There was time.
“Now you listen, little girl—”
She straightened her right arm, peering down the length of blue steel, meaning every word. “You listen! If you value your life, you’ll tell me—”
He fired! He actually bared his teeth and fired! The shot burned her upper arm, but even after all of his crimes, it surprised the hell out of her. What am I thinking? That he’s still my father? That he cares? Hell, no!
Down she went to her knees, not because she was wounded, but because someone had pushed the door open behind her. It had to be Hubbard, the snake. He’d always wanted a piece of her. She shoved the door shut with a backward kick. Hubbard could wait his turn.
Shannon centered the reticle of her weapon on Paul’s chest.
He squinted down the barrel of his gun, his hand shaking.
She aimed, her heart pounding in her throat.
Death was about to come to Reagan Manor only this time, Paul Reagan would die.
Damn it to hell! Adam only got one quick glimpse before the door slammed in his face, but it was Brit Paxton in there, alright. The blood covered son-of-a-bitch lay on his side, a pocket pistol in his hands and pointing it behind the door. That was why Adam couldn’t get in. Shannon must have taken refuge behind the wingback, now overturned and blocking his entry. Paxton meant to kill her!
Not going to happen. Adam lowered his shoulder and plowed into that solid oak door. The chair would move, by hell, and this time, Paxton would stay dead.
“Damn you, Hubbard! Stay out!” He’d effectively shoved her out of Paul’s line of fire and into Brit’s. The cheater had a smaller pistol in his hand, and where it came from, she had no idea. She ducked behind the wingback and kicked at the open door.
It didn’t shut. Instead, it bounced off the well-muscled arm that had just stretched into view. Small-arms fire in close quarters exploded. One crack of death. Two! She flattened her belly to the floor, needing to take stock of her desperate situation. The odds were bad, three against one. What the hell was going on? Did Hubbard have a gun? Who was he shooting at?
Paul Reagan glared at her from the other side of the wheelchair, seemingly unafraid of the gunfire, his teeth still bared like fangs. He meant to kill her.
The time had come. There was no other way. He wouldn’t tell her where Adam and Alex were. Worse, if she died, they would, too. This evil man had to die, so she could at least call for help. That accurate assessment had no more registered in her brain when it instantly transmitted to the tip of her index finger and—BOOM!
Every sliver of muscle and bone from that fingertip to her shoulder blade reverberated with the powerful discharge. A different kind of enlightenment blossomed over Paul’s countenance. His lips curled back in surprise as dark red blood spurted out of his kneecap. He stared straight at her, his pistol still on target. “No!” he hissed.
She couldn’t stop. Thunder cracked from her hand again. The second shot shoved him backward into the front of his desk. His body went limp. The pistol in his hand sank to the floor, but Shannon had a head full of adrenaline and two men to save. She pushed to her knees ready to take on Brit and Hubbard too if need be.
The open study door still blocked her view. It couldn’t be Hubbard. Someone must’ve called the police. Get out of my way! There’s still time. I can save him!
She jerked the door aside and ran into the solid wall of—Adam?
Her eyes lied. How could he be there? He’d drowned.
<
br /> But it was him, and Alex too. They were both dripping wet and looking like hell, but breathing hard.
“You’re alive!”
Adam nodded, his jaw clenched tight. Hard. Her gentle warrior stood too somber. He should be happy to see her, but no tender smile welcomed her. No sweet words graced his lips. Instead, he looked incredibly—sad? His gaze flickered to the weapon in her hand. Easing it out of her clutch, he tucked it into his belt and locked onto her elbow instead of hugging and kissing her like he should have.
A scuffle sounded beyond the room as a crowd of men in black pushed their way through. Adam tugged her under his arm and stepped into the hall, letting them pass. “We have to move,” he whispered. “Now.”
Wordlessly, Alex led the way into the grand marbled entry. Men garbed in FBI SWAT gear streamed through the open doors. Connor, Rory, and Harley stood with Hubbard, his hands cuffed behind his back, his nose still upturned.
“Did you get it all?” Alex asked.
Harley nodded. “Every last word.”
Shannon broke free from Adam to confront the traitorous butler. “You knew that Paul Reagan killed my mother all this time,” she hissed. “You knew he meant to kill me, but not once did you lift a finger to help me.”
Hubbard stared her down. “You weren’t even blood.”
“And you are?” she shrieked. Man, did everyone know she wasn’t Paul Reagan’s flesh and blood but her? Her hand snaked out of its own volition and struck that smug face. “I was my mother’s blood! And until tonight, I thought I was Paul Reagan’s! Did you help him kill her? Huh, did you? Did you help him drown her, you sick excuse for a human being? You know what? You’re fired!”
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