About his past.
About losing his faith. But anything that was lost could be found. Blair was living proof. Right now all she had was faith that God would keep her, Holt and Gigi safe.
And Jeremy.
What if Jeremy wasn’t safe, though? Could she handle it? Did that mean God couldn’t be trusted?
She rushed to the front of the store, jumping the picket fence that was part of the window display, and scanned the area outside. No one watching. She’d hidden the cocaine in the wrapped Christmas boxes under the Christmas tree. One kilo in each box. Hiding in plain sight. Lifting each box lid, she let out a pent-up breath. Not that having cocaine in her possession gave her any relief. But that meant whoever had been in here didn’t have it. And she had more time. Time to...what? Make a trade for Jeremy? No, they’d kill them both. She wouldn’t call Hector. Her only choice was to call the DEA and risk the whole town knowing her past.
She closed the lids and bent over, breathing deep.
“Blair!” Holt hollered as he rushed inside. “He got away. None of this started until you purchased that storage unit. There’s got to be drugs or money or both inside. Somewhere. They’ve searched everything and everywhere. If you know something...”
Blair couldn’t peer into his eyes and lie. Could she? Stomach churning, heart palpitating near the point of cardiac arrest, she pressed her lips together. Telling him put him at risk. Not telling him kept him at risk. Which was the safer choice?
Did she trust this man? Yes.
Did she love him? Yes. Oh boy.
When you loved someone, you were honest. “I’m going to tell you something. Because I believe in being honest with the person you...you care about. No secrets. I found what they wanted. I’ll tell you what it is but I’m not telling you what I did with it. It’ll keep you safer if you don’t know.”
Holt’s eyes held that same tortured expression she’d seen on a few occasions, as if he didn’t want her to confide in him—even if he did ask for it. She couldn’t quite make out what to think about that.
“What did you find, Blair?”
She stepped closer, grabbed his hand.
“What did you find?” he murmured.
“Eleven kilos of what I think is cocaine. I found them in the big wooden ducks. Hunter bought one that night his place was tossed. If we ask him about it—which we won’t—I’m guessing he’ll say it’s missing. So there’s twelve kilos if you count that one.”
Holt raked a hand through his hair. “Who knew Hunter bought the duck? Other than Gigi. Someone had to have seen him buy it. We need to ask Gigi who else was in the store at that time.”
“Let’s hope she remembers.”
ELEVEN
Blair sat on the banks of her pond, the scent of earth and fish invading her senses. The sun edged under the horizon, leaving it in swaths of orange, violet, fuchsia and periwinkle. Holt hadn’t left her store all afternoon. Not with the steady stream of tourists from the Magnolia Inn. Every time the bell had rung, her stomach lurched for fear it would be Alejandro Gonzalez again.
Twice Holt had asked if she’d share where she’d hidden the cocaine.
Twice she told him he was better off not knowing. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she explained Hector’s ruthlessness or capability to maim and murder, Holt wouldn’t give up or run away. She admired his bravery, loyalty and strength, but she feared something terrible might happen to him. Instead, he ground his jaw and kept that cool look in his eyes. Yeah, he was mad. But she’d rather him be mad than dead.
A bull frog croaked as a fish plopped in and out of the water, leaving soft ripples in its wake. Just as Blair’s past romantic choice had left a string of ripples, stretching into the here and now. Threatening everyone she loved.
With choices came consequences, and she’d accepted that. God had been gracious to her. But what was happening now hadn’t been a consequence, had it? She’d bought one lousy storage unit. Anyone could have bought the thing and they’d be in Blair’s shoes now. Ronnie’s broken-down truck had been a blessing in disguise for him. He had a wife and two kids. These heinous criminals wouldn’t hesitate to use children as leverage—or to take one of their lives. The drugs they trafficked erased the lives of children every day.
She could use a blessing right now. She stood and dusted her damp hands on her jeans as she headed to the house. Better to be inside come dark-thirty. She edged the tree line.
A twig snapped.
An eerie chill finger-walked up her back.
She needed to move forward, but fear kept her planted to the ground, scanning the thick cluster of trees. She swallowed and forced a step...then another.
Continued crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs matched the blood whooshing in her ears. She broke into a sprint when, suddenly, a biting pain ripped through her skull. Someone had yanked a handful of her hair.
She cried out and worked to wiggle free, but her attacker had an iron grip. “Where is it, Blair? What have you done with it?”
The voice sounded distorted, but familiar. Where had she heard it before? “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t have anything.” He had her in a choke hold, forcing her breaths to come in gasps.
“You leave it in your back room—unlocked—by midnight. Or everyone dies!”
She landed an elbow to his sternum and he grunted. She broke free and raced across her yard toward Holt’s house, praying he was still there.
She smacked straight into him in her driveway.
“Whoa, honey!” Realization dawned in his eyes and he blinked, then darted a glance to the woods. “Where?” Already he was racing toward them.
“The east side!” she hollered. “Holt!”
“Get in the house!”
She flew up the porch and into the living room. Gun. She needed her gun. Hurrying to the kitchen, she snatched it up and headed for the back door. Holt couldn’t be out there alone.
The knock on the front door sent her two feet in the air. Holt peeped in the window. Blair hurried and unlocked it.
“Same truck I saw the other day just blew down the street. He’d be long gone by the time I pulled out of here. Did he hurt you? Say anything?” Holt grabbed her face and inspected her. Then he brought her close and kissed her forehead. “Why were you outside?”
“I guess part of me wants to believe I’m still secure on my own property.” She relished his strength, his warmth.
“What happened?”
She relayed the events. Even what the attacker said.
Holt led her to the couch and put his arm around her. “Well, that’s out of the question. You can’t give them the drugs.”
“I know,” Blair whispered. “I think I need to tell Beckett. Or the DEA or something. But if they get wind, they’ll kill Gigi. Kill you.”
Holt fidgeted while he stared at the ceiling, as if battling a mammoth decision. Well, they did have a mammoth decision to make. “I’m going to do one more check. You’ll be all right?”
“Yeah.” She locked the door after he left, put on a kettle of tea and waited until the whistle blew, startling her. She poured a cup of chamomile tea to try to soothe her frayed nerves.
Holt knocked lightly on the front door. Had to be Holt. God, please let it be Holt.
It was.
Blair let him inside. “Anything?” His jaw was clenched and his nostrils flared. Something had royally ticked him off. “Nothing.” He scowled and pinched the bridge of his nose.
A beat of silence passed.
“Did you talk to Hunter?”
Holt collapsed on the couch. “He said no one had been inside the shop that he remembered, but he talked to several people after he left. Anyone could have seen him with the duck, because it wasn’t in a bag. But no one specifically as
ked about it.”
Something really had Holt irritated.
“Did he give you any names? Of the people he talked to?”
Holt grimaced. “Mitch Rydell. The old lady from the Magnolia Inn, the tea lady, the Daniels lady, Ronnie Lawson, Jace...to name a few. The guy who owns that old music store and the woman who runs the candle shop. Hunter Black is right chatty.”
“So basically the whole town.” Blair sank next to him. “You give him the description of the man in my shop?”
“Yes.” Holt sat next to her, slipped his arm back around her shoulder and rubbed her upper arm, but his touch felt tense.
“I’m afraid. I’m afraid for us all. And for Jeremy. Could he be in cahoots with this man?”
Holt blew out a breath. “It’s possible Jeremy might have latched on to some information at his work about drug trafficking. And he may have gotten caught.”
“Did Beckett find that out?” Had Jeremy tried to do the right thing, only to be hurt?
Holt squeezed her shoulder. “Beckett’s working hard. So is my private investigator. It seems like the storage unit might have been a drop-off site for the traffickers.”
Blair shook her head. “But why dump drugs in a storage container that anyone could buy?”
Holt leaned his elbows on his knees. “Either they ended up in that container by mistake or they accidentally auctioned off the wrong container.”
Blair rubbed Holt’s back. “You regret getting out of your truck that day?” She tried to half laugh, to make light of it, but the truth was she’d brought Holt into a dark world.
He sat up and the intensity in his eyes sent a warm tingle through her. He framed her face. “I don’t regret any of this. I certainly don’t regret you. I don’t regret our kiss—”
“Kisses,” she countered, her heart thrumming.
Leaning in, he whispered, “Kisses.” His lips touched hers like an airy feather.
Glass shattered the front window, and stuffing sprayed from the couch.
Blair screamed.
Holt flipped her to the floor at lightning speed and shielded her with his body.
Another shot fired and the vase on the end table next to the couch exploded. Holt flipped the coffee table over and used it to cover them. “We have to get out through the kitchen.”
Blair’s ears rang; everything sounded as if it were underwater.
Holt’s gun glinted under the dim light. “Crawl to the back door. I’m right behind you.”
Glass shards on the floor left stings as they pierced her skin, but she continued army crawling.
Crack!
A lamp blew up.
It was almost like their attackers were aiming for glass items.
Holt fired his weapon out the window.
Blair inched toward the kitchen and back door. The smell of gunfire and fear permeated the air.
Picking her up off the floor, Holt swung the door open, hurdled outside and scanned the area. “Head for the pasture.” He grabbed her hand and they sprinted across the yard. Summer heat wilted Blair’s hair to her already sweaty face. Her lungs burned as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Holt switched directions, dragging Blair with him, nearly knocking her off balance.
The sound of metal hitting metal echoed. “They hit the tractor by the barn. We’re going through the woods,” he bit out.
“But someone was in the woods. What if it’s an ambush?” Blair couldn’t see a thing, but she believed in Holt and his sense of direction.
He growled, zigzagging north, ducking low as they ran behind a row of baby pine trees on the edge of the property. They were double-backing to the front of the house where the shooter had been.
“You wouldn’t happen to have your keys, would you?” he barked.
“No.”
She guessed he didn’t, either.
Holt cursed under his breath and darted across and down the road toward a neighbor’s home, sending Blair into a stumble. “Sorry, honey. We’ve got to move.”
In the neighbor’s yard, Holt pointed with his gun. “ATV. Let’s go.”
“You want to steal their children’s four-wheeler?”
Holt skidded to a halt in front of it. “You want to knock on their door and invite them into this mess?”
“No.” Blair stared at the red four-wheeler. “I don’t see the key. Now what?”
Holt searched the yard. Stopped his gaze on the work truck in the driveway. He hopped off the four-wheeler and rifled through the bed of the truck, bringing up a screwdriver. “Now we borrow it without asking. Get on!”
Blair gawked. She’d never stolen anything in her life!
“Get on!” he growled.
Blair did exactly what he said and gawked again when Holt ripped the ignition from the top console, exposing the wires as he worked to remove it. He slung the part with the key hold on the ground, then yanked the starter, bringing it roaring to life. Tossing one last glance back at the neighbor’s home, he hollered, “Hang on!” over the deafening motor.
Blair clung to his waist for dear life as he peeled out of the yard and barreled down the road. The wind, hot and sticky, blew in her face, causing her hair to flail and sting her cheeks.
Headlights blinded them. Blair spun around to see a truck gaining, but the beams were too bright for her to identify the driver.
She ducked her head, resting her brow on Holt’s back. He made a hard right, causing the wheels on the left side to lift off the ground. She clung tighter and held in a wail.
The truck inched closer, lights continuing to blind her.
“Holt!” she screamed.
Swerving off the road, he cut a left and dipped into a ditch, sending them airborne and into a soybean field. Switching gears, Holt bucked and tossed them, but he didn’t let up. Dirt and soybean plants exploded into the air and pelted their skin.
The lights disappeared down the road and Holt brought the four-wheeler to a stop, letting it idle. Blair collapsed against his back and breathed deeply. He took her arms, which were still around his waist, and held them tight against him, stroking the side of her hand with his thumb.
“How did you know how to do that?”
“Don’t all country boys do that?” He laughed softly and brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, but never turned to look at her.
Why would they give her a drop-off time for their stash and then come right back and try to kill her or kidnap her? Something didn’t make sense. Either way she was thankful Holt had showed up. Blair was well aware what came with a cartel kidnapping.
Torture.
* * *
Sunday morning, Holt sat across from Beckett at the Black-Eyed Pea and salted his home fries. It was business as usual in Hope. As if there weren’t a drug cartel in town. As if Blair hadn’t almost been abducted. As if bad things weren’t happening to the people he loved.
“Where’s she staying?” Beckett asked.
“I told her she couldn’t go back home. Especially with the mess the assailants left behind. Mr. Weston reinstalled her windows this morning.” Blair hadn’t gone to church and opted to clean up her house. “I let her and Gigi stay at my place.” He’d taken down the surveillance equipment the day after he started sleeping on her couch. Couldn’t get any closer than that.
“The Millers reported their four-wheeler stolen.”
“It’s in my garage. I’m trying to keep what’s happening as hushed as I can. I know how Blair feels about her reputation in this town. She doesn’t want people to find out about her past.” Holt sipped his coffee.
“They think it was a high school prank. So you’re home free. Tonight, you can put it back in the bean field, and I’ll haul it to their house. Tell them where I found it and leave it at that.” Beckett t
oyed with a biscuit.
The easy atmosphere did nothing to soothe Holt’s taut nerves. Someone had tried to make Blair disappear. Holt guessed they didn’t count on him being there. More than likely, they didn’t care and had every intention of disposing of him, too.
Holt’s phone dinged, alerting him to a text. He checked the screen. “This is interesting. We were looking into a guy named Keith Hill. Worked with Jeremy and had a few drug possession charges. He’s missing.”
“How long?”
“Hasn’t shown up for work since Friday. The manager says he won’t answer his calls or return voice mails. Sounds a lot like Jeremy Sullivan’s vanishing act.”
Beckett tapped his fork on his lower lip. “You think this Keith ran the drugs and money and Jeremy found out, so they abducted or killed Jeremy and then killed Keith, too?”
That was an excellent question. “Could be doing away with collateral damage. Who knows? They’re merciless. They might have killed him simply for allowing someone to get information on them. I’m hoping they have Jeremy and are—” he swallowed “—questioning him for information.” Torture was the right word, but it implied Jeremy wasn’t dead...yet.
“I don’t get why you would place drugs in a storage container you know is going to be auctioned off?”
“Something fell through the cracks. Auctioned the wrong unit or misplaced the drugs.” Unless... Holt excused himself, leaving the building to have some privacy, and called his handler.
“You got my text?” Drake asked.
“Yeah. I was curious about Hollow Chest again. Any new information or connections? The managers, owners, auctioneers...one or all have to be in on this on some level.”
“Looking into that now. But we do have something else. I was about to call you. We searched Keith Hill’s next of kin and something interesting popped up. His cousin lives in Hope. Owns a used sporting goods store on the outskirts of town.”
Holt’s stomach bottomed out. “Ronnie Lawson.”
“Yeah. Ronnie Lawson.”
Concealed Identity Page 15