"Was the wind blowing?"
"Yes, the gusts had started."
"Some believe the wind speaks. You were open to hearing the message."
"Oh, my gosh. I can't believe you just said that," she breathed. "That's what I heard."
"What did you hear?" Brett chimed in.
"Listen to the wind, it talks. Listen to the silence, it speaks. Listen to your heart, it knows."
Brett and Steve shared a look.
"That is…remarkable," Steve murmured.
"It wasn't the totem pole?"
"Perhaps being in its presence opened up your spirit," Steve suggested. "There are many ways we can tune into a higher power."
"I don't know anything about this stuff, but I think it has some kind of magic."
"Then it does," he said solemnly. "What you believe, is."
"What you believe, is," Amber repeated softly. "Wow. I love that," then pausing, she added, "I don't mean to change the subject, and I'm not trying to, I love talking about the totem pole, but I've been dying to ask how you can ride your horse with just a rope around his neck?"
"Catori and I have an understanding. He does as I ask because he wants to. Perhaps you can come down to the barn and let me introduce you."
"Thank you. That would be fantastic. Catori is such an interesting name. Is it Native American?"
"Yes. It means Spirit. Amber, thank you for a delicious breakfast. Now I must get back. The winds made a mess."
"Thanks for talking with me, Steve. I really enjoyed it."
"I did too," he said warmly, rising from the table.
"I'll be down shortly," Brett promised.
As Steve left, Brett reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around Amber's hand.
"I love you, Amber Scott."
"I love you too, Brett David."
Getting to his feet, he pulled her into his arms and dropped his lips on hers, but their kiss was interrupted.
"Damn phone," he muttered, breaking away and pulling it from his pocket to glance at the screen. "Darn. I need to take this in my office. Business stuff."
"Such is life," she sighed. "I'll finish up here, then I'm going out to the garden. I need to see the totem pole."
"Don't forget the sheriff will be here at ten," he said hastily, and accepting the call he hurried from the kitchen.
* * * * * * * * * *
A loud buzzing stirred Andrew from sleep. Slowly opening his eyes, disoriented and confused, he couldn't fathom where he was, then abruptly the memories blasted through his head.
"This is all your fault, Amber Scott. If you hadn't changed your mind I wouldn't be in this fucking mess. Oh, my hands. My head. My chest. My entire fucking body. I need something to drink. Goddamn you, you fucking cow!"
The continuous buzzing caused him to drop his eyes.
Staring down at the blood-stained shirt hanging from his hands, he let out a horrified cry.
Teeming flies.
Trying to shake them off, they flew into his face. Disgusted and wailing with pain he ripped the cloth from his hands, throwing it aside as he struggled to his feet, then taking a moment to catch his breath, he pulled his undershirt over his head and gently wrapped it around his freshly bleeding wounds.
"I'm going to get you for this, you fucking bitch," he snarled, moving away from the nauseating flies and on to the trail.
A joyous surprise greeted him.
In the bright light of day he discovered the trek to Brett's compound wasn't anywhere near as far as he'd thought.
Buoyed by the discovery, in spite of his sorry state he started forward with renewed vigor. As he followed the path around the curve and up a gentle slope, the heavy brush gave way to a large area cleared of vegetation. Gazing across at the high wall surrounding Brett's home, he caught his breath.
A gate!
Scanning the top of the wall and not seeing any cameras, he hurried forward and peered through the bars.
Fate had chosen to smile on him once again.
Amber was sitting on the ground staring up at the totem pole.
He needed a plan.
The answer came to him in a flash.
Spying the latch near the top of the gate, he carefully unwrapped his right hand, slid his arm through the bars, and cautiously lifted it up. Creeping forward, his eyes never leaving his prey, he circled around and approached her from behind.
"Hello again, Amber."
Her head darted around.
Filled with shock, her wide blue eyes stared up at him.
"Don't scream. If you do, you'll be very sorry, and so will lover boy."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Black from ash and covered in scratches, Andrew's face could have been a halloween mask.
Amber's heart leapt.
Panic seized her.
Then she spotted his swollen, bloody hand.
Tatters of limp skin swimming in blood resembled the pasta she'd enjoyed the night before, and the filthy red-stained shirt hanging from the wrist and fingers of his other arm lying limp at his side, showed it too, was severely injured.
"You'd better do exactly as I say," he sneered, "and don't even think of fucking with me."
Her eyes darted back up.
His voice was husky, and his breathing ragged.
She shook her head, relief replacing her fear.
"Give me a break, Andrew. You're a complete mess, and you sure as hell can't use those," she exclaimed, pointing to his hands. "I don't know how you can even stand up, let alone run after me if I take off. You're an idiot."
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone and tapped the screen.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm calling Brett! The sheriff is going to be here soon. You and your blackmailing hide is toast, though it appears that's already happened."
"You'd better end that call right now."
"Or what?"
"The world will see how fucking sexy you are tied up and bent over a pillow with lover boy spanking your ass and fucking your brains out! It's all on film."
"Don't even try that bullshit," she retorted. "I know your camera equipment was destroyed in the fire."
"Not before I emailed myself all the photos," he lied. "That's a habit of mine. I always do it as a back up in case anything happens. I've got over a hundred pictures waiting to be downloaded. If I don't get to them someone else will, and you know who that someone will be?"
Amber felt the blood drain from her face.
"That's right, sunshine, but don't worry. Not yet."
"Stop talking in riddles. Just tell me what you mean."
"Robert has no idea I took them. He knows I came up here, he ordered me to, but what I have is worth way more than he'll ever pay me. You and lover boy are now my golden geese."
"I don't have any money, you know that."
"But your asshole boyfriend does, or should I call him your dominant. Fuck me. Talk about a headline. Pervert Preston! Or maybe, Butt Spanking Brett. The tabloids will pay me a fucking fortune, unless…"
"Unless what?"
"You need to play nice, Amber. You're going to help me, and once I'm out of here, you're going to tell lover boy he has to fill a bag with one-hundred thousand dollars, give it to you, and you'll bring it to me. Alone! I want my party time with you, sunshine."
"Stop calling me that, and you're out of your mind. He'll never agree, and you're in no state to do anything."
"But I will be, and if he doesn't pay up, the tabloids will pay me. Maybe I'll even make a porno coffee table book. Full sized, glossy color pictures. You'll be famous."
"You can't do that!"
"Sure I can. Did I mention the one-hundred thousand dollars is payable every month? But right now you're sneaking me into the house and getting me something to eat and drink."
"This is insane. You're insane."
"Let me make this crystal clear," he growled, stepping towards her. "If you or that dickhead boyfriend of yours give me any problems, t
hen, you stupid bitch, all bets are off. Now take me up to that fucking house, sneak me in, bring me some food and something to drink, then make an excuse and drive me the fuck out of here."
"You can barely stand up. I seriously doubt you'll be able to make it, and it will be impossible to sneak you in anywhere. The dogs will start barking and come running out the minute we get near the house. As for driving you anywhere, all the cars are locked in the garage because of the winds last night, and I don't know where Brett put the keys. Last, but certainly not least, even if I was able to get you in, and I did find the keys, I know Brett. He won't put any cash in any bag unless he hears this from you himself. We're having sex, sure, but he's only known me a few days. Why would he believe me? He'll probably think I'm part of the scam, and if he does, there's no telling what he'll do."
"Fuck."
"Listen you moron, I don't want my naked body plastered anywhere. The only way I can stop that from happening, and the only way you'll get what you want, is to walk in the front door and talk to him, but we need to be smart about this. I'll call him and tell him a wounded man escaped the fire, found his way here and needs help. He doesn't need to know anything about you other than that. He'll come down in the ATV and pick us up. We can bandage your hands properly, you can get cleaned up and have something to eat and drink, then you can tell him who you are and what you want."
Andrew had no choice, but her plan was a good one.
Excruciating pain sparked through his hands.
His head pounded.
Breathing had become almost impossible.
He was sure he was about to pass out.
"Do it," he muttered, "but don't try anything. If you do, your naked ass will be plastered all over the newsstands."
"Hi, Brett," Amber said, holding the phone to her ear. "A survivor from the fire just stumbled through the back gate. He's in a bad way."
"You're a genius. I heard everything," Brett said softly. "Try not to worry, I'll figure this out. I'm going to send Steve to pick you up, but I want to tell him what's going on before he does. Let Andrew broil under the sun for a few minutes. The bastard deserves everything he gets."
When Amber had initially pulled her phone from her pocket and placed the call to Brett, though Andrew had ordered her to end the call, she hadn't. Lowering her arm, she'd prayed Brett would answer and listen to the conversation.
Her prayer had been answered.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Nine-thirty," Brett muttered, glancing at his watch. "Do I want to see the sheriff? Shit. Andrew's probably wanted for arson. If I don't tell him Andrew's here I'm aiding and abetting."
The phone still in his hand, he placed the call.
"Hello, Brett. Are we still on for ten o'clock? I was about to head up there."
"Hi, Ed. I'll get right to the point. I have a problem."
"What's that?"
"Andrew Stern is here. I don't know how, but he survived the fire. He's waiting at the back of my property with Amber to be picked up and brought to the house."
"That's great news."
"Yes, it is, but Sheriff, he claims to have, uh, very personal photographs of me taken last night, I guess before all hell broke out. If that's true, and I don't know that it is, I can't let them get out."
"I see."
"Can you give me a few hours? If I can convince him to stay here I might be able to find out if his threat is real. I have no proof those photos exist."
The sheriff's lack of response gave Brett a glimmer of hope.
He heard a sigh.
"I'm pretty busy right now. Do you mind if I postpone my visit until later today?"
Brett let out a sigh of his own.
"Thank you, Sheriff, many times over."
"You're welcome. I can only imagine how you must be feeling. Good luck."
Ending the call, Brett texted Steve.
Andrew Stern escaped the fire and is in the garden with Amber. Please pick them up and bring them to the house. I'll explain why I'm doing this later. Sounds like he's badly hurt. Treat him as best you can. I'll appear at some point, but if you need me I'll be in the studio.
Steve immediately responded.
It will not be easy to show this man kindness, but I will do as you ask.
Typing a quick thank you, Brett left his office, and with Johnny and Cash at his side he marched down the hall. He needed to talk to Heath. His closest friend had a way of thinking outside the box, and that's what he needed. Entering the studio, he dropped into the couch and placed the call.
"Hey, Brett. What's goin' on?"
"Hi, Heath. Are you busy?"
"Always, but nothin' urgent."
"I've gotta problem. A big one. A photographer claims he has photos of Amber and me havin' sex."
"What?"
"His camera burned up in a fire, but he says he emailed them to himself before that happened. He says he's got more than a hundred, and there's more."
"More pictures?"
"No. More like, Amber and I were, uh, you know, playin'."
"Oh, shit."
"How the hell do I find out if he's tellin' the truth?"
"A left hook to the nose, then a gut punch."
"Yeah, well, I'd love to beat the crap outta the guy, but I'm not sure how far that would get me. Dammit, Heath, he's holdin' all the cards."
"You know, I just may know someone who can help," Heath said thoughtfully. "Give me a few minutes."
"Really? Can you give me a hint?"
"No, but hang in there."
Ending the call and placing his phone on the coffee table, Brett walked across the room and picked up his guitar. Nothing soothed him like plucking the strings. As he sat down and began to play, You Can't Hear My Heart, he knew it was time to bring in a producer and lay down the tracks. He began to feel calmer, but when his phone rang his pulse ticked up and he hurried to answer.
"Hey, Heath. What's the word?"
"My friend is gonna call you. His name is Caleb King. You should be hearin' from him any minute."
"Heath, I owe you one, but what can he do?"
"He'll explain. You can trust him. Good luck, and keep me posted."
"You know I will. Hey, a call's comin' in right now."
"That will be Caleb. I'll speak to you later."
"Thanks, Heath," he said hastily, then quickly hit ACCEPT. "Hello, this is Brett Preston."
"Hi, Brett. Caleb King here."
"Hey, Caleb, thanks for gettin' in touch so quick."
"No problem, and I'm sorry you're goin' through this. I love your music and I'm glad to offer my help."
"I sure appreciate it."
"The guy who can work this out for you won't talk on the phone, but he'll definitely be able to get the information you're lookin' for."
"How?"
"Sorry, I can't say, and I'm not sure how to put this. If the information is there, and isn't to your liking, he can get rid of it."
"Seriously? That's fantastic, but if he won't talk on the phone, should I email him?"
"No. He'll only do this in person, and Brett, he's one-hundred percent trustworthy. You don't have to worry. He's like Superman. He wants to rid the world of the bad guys. Would it be convenient for him to pay you a visit later today? Say around three o'clock?"
"He's willin' to come here?"
"Yep. You're in Arroyo Canyon, right?"
"I am."
"No problem. He's not far. He lives on the outskirts of the city about thirty-minutes away, and he's a huge fan. He's excited about gettin' you outta this nightmare."
"Caleb, this is amazin'."
"He's also horse mad, so he'll pester you about meetin' your herd, and just so you know, he'll arrive on a Harley."
"I like him already. What's his name?"
"Spike."
"Did you say Spike?"
"Yep."
"Do you think it'll take very long for him to—"
"Sorry to interrupt, but he'll shoot me if I let you fini
sh that sentence."
"I was gonna say get the information," Brett said with a chuckle.
"Sorry. I have to be careful, and no, it won't take him long at all."
"Caleb, thank you. Can I reach you on the number that's showin' on my phone?"
"Sure can."
"Great. I'll call you later and figure out a way to say thank you properly."
"Like I said, my pleasure. Scumbag jerks deserve to be skunked."
"Well said."
"Bye, Brett. Real nice meetin' you."
"You too."
Jumping to his feet, Brett punched the air in triumph, then texted Amber.
Where are you?
In the kitchen. Steve is trying to clean Andrew's hands.
Come and see me in the studio.
Be right there.
Pacing as he waited, the moment the door opened and Amber entered, he strode across and hugged her tightly.
"What's going on?"
"This afternoon we're gonna have a visitor," he declared, stepping back and staring at her intently. "Someone who can find out if that jerk in the kitchen is lyin'."
"How?"
"I guess he's a hacker."
"Holy crap."
"But that's not the best part. Apparently, if those photos are on Stern's computer, this guy can destroy them."
"You're kidding?"
"That's what I've been told."
"That's unbelievable. Uh, I just had a thought. We should be extra careful and make sure Andrew doesn't see him. What's this guy's name?"
"Spike."
"His name is Spike?"
"Yeah," Brett said with a grin. "That was my reaction too."
"Regardless, I don't think Andrew should know we have a visitor."
"That's a good point. He might get spooked."
"He was dodging the fire all night and he's really banged up. He'll probably pass out if we let him lie down somewhere."
"Hey, you've just given me an idea. When Steve's finished ask him to pop in here. I know exactly how to handle this."
To Con A Cowboy (Hunks and Horses Book 3) Page 14