by Barb Han
* * *
“I’M JUST GLAD you’re all right,” Rebecca said as she thrust the Tupperware toward Samantha.
Even though whatever it was smelled amazing, she didn’t think she could take a bite until Dylan came back.
“Thank you for helping us.” Samantha opened the container and found chicken and mushroom risotto. She grabbed the fork.
“He’s pretty special. Dylan. And his daughter is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” Rebecca said, sitting next to Samantha on the couch.
She moved a piece of chicken around in her bowl.
“You can eat that later if you want. It won’t hurt my feelings,” Rebecca said, smiling. “There’s a small fridge behind the desk. I totally understand if you want to wait for Dylan.”
“It looks amazing. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Samantha said.
“You’re worried. Like I said, Dylan is a remarkable person.” Rebecca smiled and something lit up behind her eyes.
Samantha chose to ignore the comment. Her friend was absolutely right. But Dylan had no intention of allowing anyone else into his life, and she understood that on some level. Her father had closed up to relationships after her mother had died. Once he’d sobered up, he’d thrown all his energy into being a good dad. If he couldn’t be at one of her volleyball games, he’d made sure one of her brothers could. He’d never raised his voice or given her pointers while he was watching from the stands. All he’d ever given was a few words of encouragement, lots of smiles and support.
Had he done all that because of a guilty conscience? Tried to make up for his greatest sin by being the perfect father to her? If so, that would make him almost as bad as the criminals who’d committed the crime all those years ago.
No. He’s a good man.
There had to have been extenuating circumstances for him to hide the truth about what happened that night. He was a father and knew what it was like to lose someone, and he wouldn’t want to put another family through the sorrow his family had endured in losing Samantha’s mother.
She wanted her father home more than anything. And not just to figure out what the heck was going on, although she wanted to know that, too. He was getting older, and he’d seemed frail to her lately. She feared his heart wouldn’t be able to take whatever these guys did to him.
Maybe his memories haunted him? And that was why he wanted to come clean now?
“How is Shane?” Samantha asked.
“Good. He’s overseas, so we haven’t had a chance to speak to him that much. He’s so grown now.” Rebecca had a wistful look in her eyes.
“Do you talk about what happened?”
“Not really. His calls are limited while he’s deployed. We’re just happy to know he’s healthy. We’ve promised to catch up when he has a little time to spend with us.”
“And your mom? How’s she doing?”
“Better, actually. She finally agreed to take the medicine the doctor’s been trying to get her to take for months and it seems to be helping. She’s still weak but improving. I know she won’t be around forever, but it feels good to be able to give her son back to her before she...” Rebecca focused her gaze on her shoelaces and twisted her hands.
“I’m so grateful that everything worked out.” Samantha hated lying to her friend, especially since Rebecca had been through so much already. And to think her dad had been somehow involved...
“We’ve spent so much time in the past.” Rebecca stretched her legs out in front of her. “Time to switch gears, you know? Besides, what can be gained by going back now? We have the rest of our lives to get reacquainted and it feels good to have my family back. Brody and I are starting to plan the wedding, and you have to be there.”
“I can’t wait.” Samantha managed a smile. It faded almost immediately. “Dylan should have returned already. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Rebecca put her arm around Samantha’s shoulder, careful not to touch the gauze. “He’s strong and he knows what’s at stake. He’ll walk through that door any minute.”
“I hope you’re right.” She closed the Tupperware lid.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but are you okay?” Rebecca asked.
How did Samantha answer that truthfully?
“When this ordeal is over, I will be.” She didn’t add if I’m still alive. Then there was her father to think about...
Or the fact that she’d never be able to forgive herself if anything happened to Maribel or Dylan.
“Can I ask a question?” Samantha needed to know more about Dylan.
“Anything.”
“How did Maribel’s mother fit into the picture?”
“She kept her pregnancy a secret, which tells me she didn’t really know Dylan very well.”
“For as much as he used to talk about never having kids, he would never walk away from his child,” Samantha agreed. “How did he find out about her sickness?”
“Dylan hasn’t said much to me. I don’t think he talks about it to anyone, not even Brody, and you know how close the guys are.”
Samantha nodded.
“Brody and Dylan lost touch during Dylan’s tour. One day, Brody gets this call out of the blue asking him to come to New Mexico. He took off that day not knowing what he was going to find, only that it wasn’t good based on the sound of Dylan’s voice.
“Dylan was holed up in a motel room, a mess. Brody asked what was wrong but Dylan was too inside himself to speak. He just held up a bottle of tequila, so Brody took it and drank with him. The next morning, Dylan was up by dawn. Brody was hungover and fuzzy but he hopped out of bed, showered. Next thing he knew, he dressed, followed Dylan to the car and then the two of them rode in silence to a funeral.”
It wasn’t the same thing, but she remembered the silent car ride to her own mother’s funeral. Everyone had been too overwrought with emotion, too spent, to speak. Samantha hurt from the inside out for Dylan.
“When my mother passed away, it was tough. I can’t imagine losing a spouse.”
“If anything happened to Brody, I’d be lost,” Rebecca said wistfully. “We could never be sure if Dylan and Lyndsey were married. In fact, I don’t think they were. He never talks about it, though.”
“Brody never mentioned anything about going to a wedding?” Samantha asked.
“No. You know Dylan, though. He’s always been private. He doesn’t let anyone in.”
“True.” Samantha could attest to that. She’d been close a few times, but each time it was as if a door had been slammed in her face. When she really thought about it, he’d always been like that. He was the first person to jump in if a friend was in need but she couldn’t remember a time when he’d asked for help. And he could be trusted with secrets. “Remember that time when we all decided it would be a good idea to go swimming in the lake after school?”
“What was that? Fifth grade?” Rebecca asked thoughtfully.
“Yeah, it was. I’d just moved here and someone, I can’t even remember who now, thought it would be a good idea to welcome me by taking me to the lake.”
“Which was strictly forbidden without an adult present, but what did we know?”
“We came running back, laughing, soaking wet, the whole lot of us, and Ryan’s dad stopped us in the street.”
“He had such a bad home life. We knew it wasn’t good to see his father.” Rebecca’s eyes grew wide as if they were reliving the episode.
“His dad was so angry we all froze. Not Dylan. He stepped up and said we were walking home cutting across the McGills’ yard when the sprinklers came on.”
“I do remember that. We all smelled like lake water, so Dylan stayed in between Ryan and his father.” Rebecca smiled. “He most likely saved Ryan from another beating.”
&nbs
p; “Then he hosed us all down to get the lake-water smell out of our clothes. He thought of just about everything.” She didn’t say why he’d learned to be so diligent. His grandmother had been kind enough to take him in, but she had been a spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child type. And that was probably half the reason her daughter, Dylan’s mother, had taken off and not returned. Growing up in a house with an iron fist tended to create rebellion.
“This group has been through a lot together,” Rebecca said. “You guys were a lifesaver for me, which is why I’d like to be there for you. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about whatever’s going on? I know you, and there’s something you’re not telling me. There’s nothing you could’ve done that can’t be fixed.”
Didn’t that make shards of guilt pelt Samantha’s skin like a needle shower? What if her father could’ve saved Rebecca all that heartache but didn’t? Everything inside Samantha wanted to come clean with her friend and tell her everything. The right words didn’t come, so she said, “No one’s perfect, including me, but I didn’t do anything illegal. My situation is...complicated. It involves more than me and I hope you can understand that I need to protect the other person right now even if that means keeping secrets from my friends.”
“Just know that we’re here for you, no matter what.” Rebecca nodded her understanding, but her eyebrow lifted so slightly that Samantha thought she might’ve imagined it.
She’d told the truth. Even though she felt like the biggest liar, she had to protect her father. He owed them an explanation. A piece of her couldn’t think that he’d knowingly done anything illegal.
Samantha hated secrets.
If her father hadn’t kept his, none of this would have been happening right now.
Oh, Daddy, what have you gotten us into?
“I better get back to the house,” Rebecca said, looking Samantha in the eye. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you for dinner. And everything else.” Samantha hugged her friend.
For now, all that mattered was bringing her father home alive. Dylan and his daughter, too, for that matter. Samantha glanced at the clock. It was nine thirty. He’d been gone four hours and twenty-seven minutes.
Where was he?
“No problem. If you need anything, use the phone in here to call the house. It’s just me and Brody, so one of us will answer.” Rebecca rose and started toward the door. She stopped short. “And be careful.”
“Of course I will.”
“Not just with what’s going on. I’m talking about with Dylan.”
Had Rebecca picked up on the fact that Samantha had feelings for Dylan? Had she been that transparent?
“Don’t worry. We’re good. It’s nice to have a friend who has your back,” she managed to get out, hoping the emphasis on friendship would throw Rebecca off the trail. Samantha wasn’t sure why she wanted to keep her feelings for Dylan private, but she knew that telling everyone wouldn’t change the fact that a relationship between them wasn’t going to happen.
Samantha sat quietly for a long while after the door closed. She tried to get food down, remembering what Dylan had said about how important it was to keep nourished. It was no use. She couldn’t manage more than a couple of bites.
She’d been pacing for a solid hour when she decided to venture outside, knowing full well she’d face his wrath if he caught her.
It didn’t matter. The thought of him lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding out, spurred her to make the decision. She’d deal with the consequences of her actions when she had to.
Chapter Twelve
Dylan was sure he’d been hit by a semi. That was the only logical explanation for the degree to which his head pounded, other than Bearded, of course, who’d gone to town with the butt of his gun on Dylan’s face. That’s gonna leave a mark.
He had to be amused. He’d had no plans to fight back. All he’d done was protect his head and vital organs as best he could.
The toe of Bearded’s boot could have done a lot of damage to Dylan’s spleen or any number of other essential organs. And after Dylan had split the guy’s nose, revenge was fresh on Bearded’s mind.
Dylan wanted the guys to take him with them, hazarding it was his best chance to get answers or get closer to Maribel. He’d made a promise to himself that she’d sleep in her own bed before first light, and he had every intention of following through on that commitment. He didn’t care how determined these guys seemed to be that this would go down another way.
There’d most likely be more beatings tonight. They’d want to try to scare him to find out if he knew where Samantha was hiding. And he’d act the part.
And then when he was ready to walk out the front door with his Maribel, he had every intention of doing just that, too.
Timing and discipline were two of Dylan’s best virtues.
For now, he needed information, so he’d let the bad guys think they’d won. He’d played the role of the broken victim, needing to know more. His fear was that this operation was bigger than anyone had imagined. Texas was the perfect place to move “product.” And that meant innocent kids. His hands involuntarily fisted and he realized his nails were digging into his flesh. Not good to let them get at him emotionally.
Dylan needed to remain calm and cool, ready to play his part when they came back to teach him another “lesson.” And they would come back. But first he needed to survey his surroundings. They most likely wouldn’t take him straight to the boss, whom he fully expected to be Charles Alcorn.
That would be a stupid move.
However, they might take him to a warehouse on the outskirts of town. He blinked his eyes open, squinting through the burn. He tried to move his arms, but they were bound behind his back at the wrists. Had they subdued him enough to throw him into something... A locked room? Maybe an office?
This was not the time to be thinking about the feel of Samantha’s body against his, her silky skin or the lilac smell of her hair. He especially shouldn’t be thinking about those intelligent dark eyes staring into his. Or the sexy way her lips parted for his.
Distractions had no business on a mission.
Footsteps echoed from down the hall.
Dylan wiggled around on his side. He blinked to try to get his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
His legs were loosely bound and he was on top of some kind of wooden table. He rolled onto his back, ignoring the piercing pain screaming between his shoulder blades, and looked up. A single bulb hung from a socket. There were plastic-looking panels on the ceiling. When it was light outside, sun would stream through the half wall of windows. How many hours had he been knocked out?
There was one thing this place would be good for. Torture.
Dylan thought about all the scenarios that could possibly go down. He visualized his movements in each, prepping for the very real possibility he’d be fighting all three men or more.
He wanted time to investigate the building, figure out if this was a holding cell for their product. He hadn’t heard a noise in the few minutes he’d been conscious, and that led him to believe he might be the only one there.
As he tried to finagle his arms free, something stirred down the hall. He stopped and listened carefully.
The sound moving toward him was boot on concrete. It would be Bearded or one of the other guys. Maybe all three.
Dylan’s senses were dulled by the ache splitting his head into two pieces. Damn. If only he had time, he’d be more than happy to return the favor to Bearded. A few punches in the gut should do the trick. It wasn’t as though the guys were in shape. Dylan was almost embarrassed about letting the guys get the drop on him. Their skills weren’t exactly what he was used to coming up against in the military. But then, that had played to his advantage, so he’d swallowed his pride and let them think they had him.
Getting Maribel back was the goal.
That was the only thing that mattered.
He imagined gently placing his sleepy girl into her bed, tucking her under the covers and retreating to the corner to watch her sleep. When he got her back, he had no plans to let her out of his sight again.
The metal door creaked and groaned as it opened. No doubt whoever was there intended to torture Dylan. He could only wonder what they would use. Waterboarding? Nah. That was probably too sophisticated for these small-time criminals.
The ceiling was high, but they could still manage to throw a rope around the exposed beam and tie him up, beat him with a pipe or other metal object, use pliers to pull his fingernails or use wire cutters on him. They could shoot his feet so he couldn’t try to run, blindfold him and perform the ever-popular mock execution. That generally got the blood pumping.
Either way, they wouldn’t be able to get him to tell them where Samantha was hiding.
“Sit up.” The deep-boom voice belonged to Bearded.
“I’m a little tied up at the moment.” Dylan quirked a smile as he raised his head.
His smart-alecky retort was rewarded with a punch to his face. His head popped back but he kept on smirking.
“That all you got?” Dylan turned his head to the side and spit blood. All he needed to do was keep them off balance just a little. Have them thinking about how much they hated him rather than wondering why he’d give up so easily in the first place. He moved his jaw from side to side, his hands still bound behind his back as he tried to work the bindings. He wasn’t getting anywhere on freeing himself. Rolling to the side earlier, he’d realized that they’d taken his cell. That was a bugger.
Bearded reared his balled fist back to take another swing, but one of the other guys grabbed him at the elbow.
“Save it for later. He’s just being a jerk. We’ve been told what to do with him.”
That sounded ominous.
The other guy who had been silently standing near Bearded had moved behind Dylan.