by Angi Morgan
Five years of “favors” were beginning to take their toll on him. And now those idiots had killed another woman. They should have killed the right woman in the first place, then life would be easier.
“I hate that bitch!”
No one heard him scream his frustration. He needed to be free from owing “favors.” But that should be soon. Constantly working or creating ways to launder the larger and larger amounts of money showing up each week was wearing thin.
The second phone he’d nicknamed his “favor” line vibrated on the bar behind him.
At first money laundering had been an easy way to pay off a gambling debt. Not too difficult to list fictitious surgeries. Animals would come in, he’d write up the bill and he’d be paid in cash. Several grand a week he could handle. Larger amounts of money caused problems when Sabrina began asking questions about unnecessary boardings or animals that weren’t there. She was gone and he had a new clinic that cost much less than the books showed, and here he was again on the verge of losing everything.
“I really do hate that troublesome bitch.”
If Sabrina hadn’t stolen his briefcase, he would have disappeared six months ago. He should be somewhere tropical, free of the money-laundering operation and this stress. Free of the threats from murderers and men who would never let him stop. He might escape if he got to the two million before his silent “partner” and if he could disappear during a blizzard.
The phone rattled on the granite countertop again. The wind shook the windows. Three in the morning and it hadn’t eased up for twelve hours. He’d have to get the roofer to verify the shingles were still attached.
He dreaded answering. There could only be two people on the other end of the call—Leroy or Leroy’s brother, Larry. Those weren’t their real names, but he hadn’t cared to learn the real ones. Larry and another no-name lowlife were following Sabrina and her cop. He didn’t want to hear from them until they found the money, but the damn blizzard was screwing with everything. In particular, the deadline to return the money.
“Hard to believe this started with a string of bad bets on a few football games.” He stood from the lounge chair and poured himself the remaining bourbon. The phone vibrated again.
Nothing in Amarillo was moving—not even the police. He could only assume that Larry was reporting that they’d stopped, too. He’d have to answer the blasted thing.
“Yes?”
“Something’s up, man. They’re in Wichita Falls talking to some old fart. We can’t get close enough to hear,” Larry whispered into the phone.
“What do you think I can do about it?”
“The boss said I should check in with you and you’d handle it. That’s what I’m doing. I can take my orders from him, but I’m thinkin’ that’s not exactly what you want me to do.”
Griffin understood the threat. Any problem and the hired muscle would eliminate him right along with Sabrina and her new boyfriend.
“Where are they?”
“Same place as every other car that could make it this far, man, a truck stop.”
That’s why it was difficult to hear Larry speak. The background voices and distorted music coming from overhead speakers nearly drowned out Larry’s voice.
“Does the man have a dog? She could know him from her pet grooming business. Or they could be asking a stranger about the freakin’ whiteout between there and Amarillo. Are they still talking to him?”
“It looks like they’re headed inside and the old guy’s heading to his big rig. Hold on—”
Griffin put the call on speaker and leaned on the bar, waiting. He’d stayed awake specifically to handle this mess.
“The old man’s looking through stuff.”
“Stay with them and keep back. Call me when they start moving again. If anyone gives them anything, make sure it’s the money before you move in. I don’t care what it takes, you have that money back here in twenty-four hours.”
“Do you still want the woman brought to you?” he asked.
“No, let’s let the police take care of the problem you created yesterday. Let her take the fall for the woman you killed. That’s only if you aren’t forced to kill her alongside her new boyfriend. I really don’t care. Just get me the money.”
He clicked the phone off and tipped the rest of the bourbon down his throat, hearing the fire pop behind him. He could finally get some sleep. He set the tumbler in the bar sink, feeling the past six months of stress lifting from his shoulders. It was nearly over.
“Hello, Griffin.”
The maniacal voice came from the dark near the kitchen.
“Leroy?” He was early. Most likely preventative insurance to make certain the money got back into their hands. “I wasn’t expecting you until Monday.”
He shrugged. “We ran into a situation that needed your input.” He crossed to the back door and shoved it open.
Three people stood in at least two feet of snow that had blown onto his porch. They were bound and gagged and he recognized them immediately. Sabrina’s family.
“They can’t be here. Are you crazy?”
“Some people have said so.” He yanked Darlene through the threshold and her parents followed.
Half frozen, pure hatred burned into him from the glares of the bitch’s parents. Confusion and tears from her sister. Griffin didn’t care. There was no reason to offer them comfort or feel pity for them. Now that they knew of his involvement, they’d have to be killed as soon as Larry arrived with the money.
Watkins should have shot these men before allowing them to take his wife and daughter. The man holding a gun on Sabrina’s family didn’t come inside. He scurried away like the scorpion he was, hiding in the dark until he could prey on his victims.
“What’s the problem?”
“The boss is closing down this branch of operations.” Leroy’s heavy-lidded eyes were dark slits in his squinty face.
No more favors? “When?”
“I thought that would make you happy,” he mocked. “You’ll know when soon enough. You got a place to keep these three awhile? A secure room? Maybe a cellar?”
“I have a storm shelter out back. Once it’s locked, there’s no getting in or out. The key’s by the back door.”
Watkins made a muffled protest or something. His wife’s tears continued to fall. The two of them knew they were going to die and had no idea why any of this was happening. Just like they had no idea Sabrina was still alive. It helped having friends in the Amarillo P.D., who switched the dental records.
Leroy whistled and his apprentice scurried back through the door. “Put these three in the storm thing in the backyard. Key’s by the door.”
The three were shoved through his kitchen at gunpoint. He caught himself opening his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t show that he cared. And he didn’t. Not for the reasons someone might think.
The only reason he’d protest is that the Watkins family would probably be shot in his storm cellar and be left to rot there. If he got the money before Leroy, he would be out of here so fast.
“Larry called. Did he get the money?” Leroy asked, sitting on the arm of the lounger.
“He thought Sabrina would have it soon. Once he gets it, he’ll call again.”
“Right.”
The fire crackled and popped in the background, and the wind still shook the windows during its bigger gusts. He was at a loss. What kind of a conversation was he supposed to have with a hit man for gamblers? He stood there like an idiot. He hadn’t had too much contact with Leroy since the fire and still didn’t know the true identity of the woman who died instead of Sabrina. He didn’t want to know. The less he knew about the operation, the better.
He’d do his favors until they shut him down or until he could skip town with the money. Whichever situation prese
nted itself, he’d take advantage. He always had.
“Want a drink or something?”
“Do you have a beer?” Leroy asked, standing and following him to the bar.
Griffin moved to the small fridge behind the counter and grabbed an import. “So how long do you think until they’re through with me?”
He stood and was met in the face with a gun barrel.
Leroy shrugged. “Now?”
The urge to run was great, but for some reason he couldn’t move. The bottle dropped, shattering at his feet. Leroy threw back his head, laughing. He focused on the finger squeezing the trigger and—
Chapter Seventeen
“You’re really okay waiting here?” Jake asked one last time.
“Jerry’s a professional driver. If he says he can’t drive your truck to Amarillo, then we’re forced to wait. I’m not thrilled about staying in the sleeper of his rig, but I admit that neither of us has slept in two days. He made a good point about how ineffective we’d be rescuing my family. It’s hard to argue with him, but that doesn’t make the worrying go away.”
Jake had compromised with Jerry. Logic told him that the guys in Dallas were following. He wanted a chance to flush them out, to see if Larry or Griffin Tyler would call, asking why they were delayed in Wichita Falls. The GPS phone was in his pocket and they were inside the convenience store where the signal was stronger.
“Ten more minutes and we’re hitting the hay.” So far the phone hadn’t rung and he hadn’t spotted anyone interested in them. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had eyes on his back. “I admit your uncle isn’t exactly like I imagined.”
“What did you expect? Some grumpy old fat man who drove a truck?” She laughed exactly like she had at the diner the day before. “I’ll have to tell Uncle Jerry. He gets a kick out of proving people wrong. He’s not shy about working out in public—rest areas or places like this. If there’s room, he exercises.”
“I didn’t expect him to be...a marine.”
“If I’d told you that about him, would that have made a difference?” she whispered, pulling one of the last packages of powdered doughnuts off the shelf.
The conversation seemed almost normal—or as normal as his life got. Bree was excited to see her uncle, but Jake had a creepy feeling tying his guts in knots. A feeling like he was being watched. It was bad enough that he wanted to put his back against a wall and come out fighting.
He’d dealt with the strain of going against orders—sort of. Going against his principles by breaking the law was worse with his conscience. But if he’d followed his instincts those last four months in the marines, he might have... He couldn’t play the “what if” game any more than Bree should. He’d given her the same advice that he lived by. That’s how you got through the beginning days and the only way it got easier as time dragged on.
“Jerry just wants to help,” she said in a low voice.
If she spoke much lower, he’d have to bend to her height to hear. The truck stop was crowded with people and chaotic noise. The café was packed with stranded motorists camping in every available corner. No one was leaving. The same was true for the store. The shelves were being depleted of food since the highway had been closed for going on eight hours.
It was worse than an airport with stranded travelers.
“We stick with the plan. If we’re stuck here while the road’s closed, he’s right, we should get some rest. He’ll keep watch so we can.”
“He could come with us and leave the phone with one of his friends.”
“Do you trust them like you do your uncle? We stick with the plan and take control of the situation by getting your family to safety. Then we go to the police. That’s the deal. We can’t fight an unknown enemy. Agreed?”
She abruptly nodded and picked up some oversize gloves. “You’re one proud marine, Jake Craig. Too proud, if you ask me.”
The feeling of being watched intensified. He kept his head down looking at a portable heater for a car, pretending to read the details but looking around him at all the possibilities. He’d have no problem recognizing the kid who’d shot him.
There were a lot of people around, but most were staying put, not wandering the aisles. Not many—if any—had arrived after them, either. Maybe the fear of being caught off guard again was just making him paranoid. There was a strong possibility that Larry and the kid hadn’t made it as far north as he and Bree. He needed to make her understand that it wasn’t his pride unwilling to accept help.
He tapped her shoulder and she raised her purple eyes to his. Her skin was clear with a spattering of freckles across a straight nose. He wanted to stroke the bruise he’d heard Larry give her before pure rage that anyone had flawed her skin rushed through his veins. He had to cap it and let the anger go.
“If I were you, I’d probably be listening to my uncle, too. You’ve known him longer. But you have to trust that I know what I’m doing.” And won’t make any more mistakes like the previous day. “What we’re doing isn’t for public knowledge. I’m willing to break the law to help get your family to safety, but if we accept help from your uncle, then he could go to jail. I don’t think you want that.”
“It’s nice to see a familiar face, that’s all.”
“I know how you feel.” But he was looking for a young, chunky face that could barely shave. Sifting through all the noise for a rough voice he’d heard only once on the phone. And hoping that the GPS phone would ring so he could get Bree away from all these witnesses and just kiss her senseless.
He had to be as tired as Jerry had proved with that punch to think about kissing her in the middle of all this chaos.
“Do you? How?”
“Hmm?” He shook his head. He’d forgotten what she was asking. The man two aisles over turned his face to avoid eye contact or so he couldn’t get a look. Time to go. “Let’s pay for this stuff.”
“What’s wrong?”
His arm was around her shoulders and he got a good grip on her before she could react. He didn’t resist sliding a finger over her bruised cheek. Then he tilted her chin toward him to keep her from searching the room, leaning close to her ear as he whispered, “I think the guy in the black coat and stocking cap a couple of rows behind me has been shadowing us around the store. We’re paying for our snacks and walking outside. Can you do that without being weird?”
“Sure.”
“Good. ’Cause I don’t want him to have any idea about what hits him when he rounds the far corner.”
“He’s coming over here,” she said, her lips inches from his.
If they hadn’t been in the middle of a hundred people, stuck in the middle of a blizzard whiteout with two murderous bastards on their heels...well, he might have kissed her then and there.
“Pardon me?”
Jake spun around, keeping Bree behind him. The guy was young all right, but his face was drawn and more slender than the man who’d shot him.
“What?” Jake snapped. His adrenaline was on overdrive along with every sensual cell in his body that he knew about and some that he didn’t. The guy’s face looked embarrassed. “Sorry, you caught me off guard.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry, man. I guess I’ve hit up everybody else in this place, but I’m trying to hitch a ride west when the storm breaks.”
“Can’t help you there.” Bree tugged on Jake’s sleeve and he dug some bills out of his pocket. “This might help.”
“I don’t want no charity, man.”
“Someone gave me a break once. Pass it on when the time’s right.”
He smiled, took the money, said thanks and left. Jake barely heard him. The GPS phone was vibrating.
* * *
“THIS IS CRAIG.”
Bree listened to the one-sided conversation, glad Jake didn�
�t lose his cool telling Larry the murderer they were staying in Wichita Falls. The conversation only had two or three sentences. Jake kept her against his back while, she guessed, he kept an eye out for a man on a cell phone. That’s what she would have been looking for if she could see over the rows of items for sale.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, guiding her elbow to the counter.
They zipped their jackets while the cashier totaled their doughnuts, milk and gum. Her heart was just beating normally again when they pushed their way through the door. Each step was a struggle. Not only did they have to walk through the snowdrifts, but each time one foot was off the ground, the wind gusted to blow her to one side.
They got to the rig and her uncle took the dogs to the truck so he could keep watch. He had everything ready for them to rest in the sleeper section.
“I have had serious bed envy over the past couple of months. And let me tell you, none of them looked as good as that thin mattress and old, thick comforter.” She pulled her jacket off, then her shoes, and had every intention of stripping the uncomfortable wet jeans off, too.
Warmth was definitely more important than modesty.
“Bed envy?” Jake asked from the driver’s seat, where he was peeling his hat and gloves off.
“I’ve been sleeping in a different bed every four or five days for several months.”
“Or not sleeping in one at all when you sat at the diner. I get it.”
“I wanted to crawl into yours so badly last night.” Too late she realized what she’d implied. “Not that I meant while you were in bed, ’cause you weren’t while we were there. Dallas was and that’s why I was even looking.”
“I understand, Bree.” He smiled and rubbed his jaw, then used his nails to scratch near his sideburn. “Think Dallas will be okay with Jerry? She seemed to like Charlie good enough.”
Short, manly nails rubbing across manly beard stubble on a manly, square jawline.... Her insides turned to mush. He stopped and looked at her as if she might just be crazy. “I’m sorry. What? I must be really tired.”