by Rose Wulf
“Please,” Angela begged in blatant desperation, “help me. I want—”
“Shut up,” Eric snapped, a spark of stomach-twisting heat shooting up her elbow. “There’s no use begging, Angie.” He turned his attention briefly back to Sarah. “Send Jacob down when he gets home. And you probably want to stay upstairs today.”
Angela grunted when she was jerked roughly around, back in the direction they’d originally been heading. “Let me go!” she cried, struggling despite the futility of it.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Eric warned.
Behind them, Sarah dragged in a breath. “Eric. A word, please?”
“I take it you didn’t tell that lady about your plans to jointly murder me in her basement?” Angela taunted reflexively.
Glaring at her, Eric called over his shoulder, “I’ll come back up in a minute.” He said nothing else as he dragged Angela around a corner, tugged open a heavy door, and practically shoved her in ahead of him.
****
“I am not happy about this,” Sarah stated plainly several minutes later. Eric had barely stepped into the living room, let alone had he said a word. But she didn’t care. She’d just about reached her limit. “I never gave permission to turn my family’s house into a torture chamber!”
Eric slipped his hands into his pockets and narrowed his eyes at her. “Look, I’m sorry, but you should take that up with Jacob. It was his idea. I try to stay out of what you say to each other. How was I supposed to know you didn’t know?”
Sarah dragged in a deep breath and planted her hands on her hips. “How well do you know me? How many years have I been in your life? Does this seem like something I’d go along with?”
Scowling, Eric returned, “I thought you were onboard with this fight.”
Sarah waved her arm in the general direction of the basement door. “This isn’t a fight! This is murder!”
“It’s self-defense,” Eric said. “History’s proven time and again that our families can’t coexist. What’s wrong with wanting to survive? We’re almost an extinct species, Sarah.”
“We could have stayed on the East Coast. There would have been an entire country between our families. No one else would’ve had to die.”
Eric’s frown turned into a dark, dangerous glare. “Father gave his life to this cause. I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable with the way it’s playing out, but I’m sure you know where to find a good hotel for a couple days if you want. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a guest to entertain.” He spun on his heel and strode swiftly from the room.
It was immediately easier to breathe when he disappeared from sight.
Sarah sighed and slumped against the nearest chair. Her gaze drifted up to the ceiling and her vision blurred. William … is this the fate that would have awaited you, too? She just couldn’t imagine her jovial son growing into the twisted soul that Eric was. But Victor would have undoubtedly been a heavy influence on him if he’d survived. There was no doubt in her heart that the bitter old man would have done everything he could to shut her out of her own son’s life. He’d certainly tried driving a wedge between her and her husband once she’d made it clear she wasn’t willing to have another child. The irony, of course, being that he’d only managed to succeed in his own death.
Sarah straightened. There was no sense in denying it any longer. That wedge between her and Jacob was nearly insurmountable now. Nearly, but … she would give him one final chance. One chance to prove she wasn’t being kept around simply because he didn’t want to have to find his own place.
She heard the front door open a short while later. This is it, then. She assumed he’d try going straight down to the basement, since he was, apparently, expecting the Hawke girl. But he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. Not right away, and hopefully not at all.
His footsteps neared and she knew the moment was upon her. “Jacob,” she called firmly, moving toward the hall. “I need to speak with you.”
Jacob paused, standing with his shoulder to her. “It will have to wait. I have business.”
“It will not wait,” she returned bluntly. “I do not appreciate you deciding that it’s okay to use our home for your dirty work. This is no place for hostages and this house has seen enough death.”
Jacob was silent for a long second before finally, slowly, turning an arched brow to her. “What do you suggest, then? That we let our enemy go when we are finally so close to finding vengeance for the pain they’ve caused us?”
Making sure to keep her voice level, Sarah replied, “That girl is too young to have directly caused you any pain. As for what I suggest, I suggest you let her go.”
Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Sarah crossed her arms, unwilling to back down this time. “I refuse to stand by and let you defile my family’s home like this. Frankly, I would have expected this kind of disrespect from Victor, but never from you. You swore you would always respect me. Or don’t you remember?”
Silence hung in the air for a long second before Jacob strode forward, coming nearly nose to nose with her. “Do not speak of my father so irreverently. By doing this, I honor his legacy. This is the only way his death is not in vain.” He glared down at her for another beat, making sure she recognized the effort he was putting into restraining himself from any more of a direct threat. And she did recognize that. He turned around and added, “If you’re uncomfortable, feel free to spend the next couple of days in a hotel.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open for a second, but she snapped her jaw shut and glared at his back. “I suppose I have no choice, then.”
She couldn’t believe it had come to this.
Chapter Eighteen
Sarah tugged her keys from the ignition and sat back in the driver’s seat of her car, staring through the windshield at the impressive house before her. She’d never been here before, and she’d had to check the address twice, but she knew in her rebelling stomach that this was the right place. The front of the house was warm and peaceful. The kind of place you wanted to be, or at least wanted to visit. The salt in the air, combined with the midday fog, should have been relaxing. For most of her life, Sarah had loved that kind of atmosphere.
A lot had changed since those days.
She sighed and looked over at the photo resting on the passenger seat, propped up by her purse. William’s photo, the one she’d always kept by her bed. She reached out and brushed her fingers along the frame again, whispering, “I’m so sorry it’s come to this,” before grabbing her purse and popping the door open. It was best to just get it over with. The sooner everything was behind her, the easier it would be to breathe.
That didn’t make the climb up the short staircase any less daunting. She pushed the button for the doorbell with a lump in her throat. Standing there, self-conscious and alone, on a stranger’s front porch as she waited for someone to answer, gave her stomach plenty of opportunities to churn violently. Each approaching footfall on the other side of the door echoed in Sarah’s ears like the drum roll of death. Her stomach rolled again and she had to swallow back a wave of bile. She wanted to keep this conversation as brief and peaceful as possible. She doubted throwing up on some stranger’s shoes was the way to accomplish that.
The slide of the deadbolt refocused her and Sarah quickly wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her slacks. Here goes nothing.
The door was pulled open a second later, revealing a woman Sarah didn’t recognize. She looked to be in her mid-forties, with blonde hair and blue eyes. It clearly wasn’t Lillian Hawke, but Sarah still managed to find the eyes of a worried mother staring back at her with rapidly increasing suspicion. “Can I help you?” the woman asked with a faux-calm.
Swallowing again, Sarah replied, “I’m sorry, but I’m looking for Lillian or Christopher Hawke. Are they home?”
Another voice called their attention, from further in the house. “Thank you, Vanessa, but I’ve got it.” The woman stepp
ed up, and Sarah didn’t need to be told to know who she was. But she introduced herself anyway. “I’m Lillian Hawke.”
The other woman, Vanessa, stepped back but did not walk completely away. Whether she lingered out of concern for Lillian or suspicion of Sarah, or both, Sarah couldn’t tell.
“There’s no easy way for me to say this,” Sarah said awkwardly as she retrieved a folded piece of scrap paper from her purse, “but I’m here because I know where your daughter is. This is the address.”
Silence stretched as Lillian sucked in a breath and almost shakily reached out to take the paper from Sarah’s grasp. She continued to hold her tongue as she unfolded it and read the address. Only once she’d lowered the paper, now tightly clenched in one hand, did Lillian ask, “And why should I believe you? Who are you?”
Those were the questions she’d been dreading most. But I came this far. “My name is Sarah … Sarah Matthews. I can’t give you a reason to trust me, but you should know that Jacob and Eric won’t keep Angela for much longer. If you’re going to save her, you have to do it immediately.”
“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” Vanessa demanded, stepping up again to Lillian’s side. “You and your family have been tormenting them—us—for a long time.”
“I know,” Sarah acknowledged with an inclination of her head. “And nothing I can say could possibly make up for what they’ve done. All I can offer you is this information. I’ve decided to leave my husband, Jacob. I can’t stomach the thought of what he intends to do to that girl. Jacob and Eric have no idea that I’ve left, let alone that I’ve come out to speak to you. This is your best—your only—chance. But I understand you can’t take my word for that.” She focused her attention on Lillian and forced herself to ask the hardest question. “Just ask yourself, Mrs. Hawke, if not looking into this tip is worth the risk.”
Without waiting for a response from the wide-eyed woman, Sarah inclined her head again and turned toward her car. She’d said her piece. There was nothing more she could do or say to improve the situation.
Now all that was left was getting to the airport.
****
Vaughn startled awake, echoes of a gunshot ringing in his ears. He bolted up, sucked in a sharp breath, and immediately winced. Pain burned through his torso and made his vision blur for a second. He had to blink several times before he could really focus on his surroundings, and what he saw threw him for another loop. He was staring at a wide-eyed Madison Hawke, and he was sitting in Angela’s parents’ living room. He and Madison were the only ones in the room. Except, that didn’t make any sense.
How’d I get here?
Then he remembered. The gunshot hadn’t just been a dream, it had been a memory. They’d turned their backs on Geoff, Angela leading the way back inside, thinking her pain-in-the-ass ex would leave on his own. Then there was the gunshot, a blurry moment where all he remembered was pain, and then … nothing. Until this.
“Vaughn…?” Madison asked in a careful stage-whisper. “How are you … awake? Are you all right?” The shock that had been apparent on her face was equally obvious in her voice. “I don’t think Lillian’s even done healing you…”
Vaughn frowned and swung his legs around so he was sitting properly. “Lillian?” he repeated. “Where’s Angela?”
Madison opened her mouth, but it was another second before she made a sound. “Ah,” she finally hedged. “Angela’s—” The ringing of the phone clutched tightly in one of her hands interrupted her and she glanced at the readout. “Hold that thought. Nate?”
Familiar voices drifted from the other end of the house, in the direction of the front door, competing with Madison’s murmured comments. He recognized those voices. One of them was his mother’s. Maybe they would give him better answers. So he tuned Madison out, ignored the persistent sting in his side, and pushed to his feet. Somehow, he’d gone from Angela’s front lawn, with a fresh gunshot wound in his torso, to Angela’s parents’ house. Sans Angela. It was that last part that had fear clenching his stomach uncomfortably.
Vanessa was easing the front door shut, Lillian standing almost exactly between her and Vaughn. Lillian’s back was turned to the hall and she seemed to be staring down at something in her hand. Through one of the side windows, covered only by a thin curtain, Vaughn caught a glimpse of movement. That was undoubtedly the third voice he’d heard.
Looking again toward his mother, Vaughn asked, “What’s going on? Where’s Angela?”
Both women started and snapped their attention to him. From their expressions, they were clearly astounded that he was awake. And if what Madison had said was true, he supposed he could understand why. He was pretty sure—with a wound like he’d received—he should’ve been unconscious for a while.
“Vaughn?” Lillian mumbled, her eyes wide.
“My goodness,” Vanessa declared on a rushed exhale, “you shouldn’t be up. Why are you walking around? You were shot. You need to be resting.”
Vaughn narrowed his eyes at his mother. “I can rest later. Where’s Angela?”
“This … is impossible,” Lillian said slowly, taking a step toward him. “I barely finished healing your wound.”
“Yeah,” Vaughn said impatiently, moving to glance out the window just in the name of releasing some of his restless energy. “So I gathered. Why is no one answering my question?” Even as the words left his lips, his stomach clenched tighter. He recognized the woman who’d just ducked into her car. He’d seen her somewhere before. Recently.
“Vaughn,” Vanessa began carefully. “I’m afraid Angela is … missing.”
Vaughn dropped the curtain and spun in place, heart leaping to his throat. “What?”
Lillian cleared her throat. “The woman who was just here, she said Angela’s being held at her home. Apparently, she’s Jacob’s wife.” Her eyes flicked down to the paper clutched between her fingers and she muttered, “Or it’s a wild goose chase to keep us from finding her.”
“Either way,” Vanessa continued deliberately, starting toward her son. “You’re sitting this one out. The boys and Bruce and even Riley are out looking for her. They’ll find her. You need more rest.”
“Is that the address?” Vaughn asked, ignoring his mother’s commentary and gesturing toward the paper in Lillian’s hand.
Lillian looked down at it again and nodded. “Yes. It’s in the city.”
That was where he’d seen that woman before. She was the one Geoff had been talking to the night he’d taken a drive into the city to look for the Matthews. He’d found them and he hadn’t even known it. Dammit. Still, he didn’t want to make a wrong assumption, so he asked, “Is it on Cedar Crest Lane?”
Both women blinked at him for a second before Vanessa’s gaze shifted to Lillian and Lillian’s dropped back to the paper. “Yes,” Lillian confirmed slowly. She looked up to Vaughn again and asked the obvious question. “How did you know that?”
Fists clenching, Vaughn replied, “I saw that woman talking to Geoff Solberg in front of a house on Cedar Crest not long ago. I know where Angela is.”
The paper crunched in Lillian’s hand and she turned down the hall, calling, “Madison! We need to call everyone!”
Vanessa’s hand landed on Vaughn’s shoulder when he took a step forward. Her voice was slightly hushed, to avoid catching Lillian’s attention. “I know what you’re thinking, and I won’t allow it.”
Vaughn faced her with a frown. “You can’t stop me.”
“You’re injured, Vaughn,” Vanessa argued. “How do you think Angela will feel if you get yourself killed trying to rescue her?”
“I’d rather die trying than sit around doing nothing.” He strode down the hall without another word, knowing there was nothing he could say that would change his mother’s opinion.
Madison was already on the phone when he reentered the room, so he shifted his attention back to Lillian. “Do you think Dean would mind me borrowing his Camaro?” He’d seen it in the driveway and since
he didn’t presently have his own car, his options were a little limited. It was Dean’s Camaro or Nate and Madison’s new, family-friendly BMW SUV.
Lillian shook her head slowly. “No, but … we don’t have the keys here.”
Vaughn’s frown deepened. Before he could respond with more than an expression, though, Madison had disconnected her call and shifted on the couch. “Here,” she said as she tossed a set of keys to him, “take mine.”
“Vaughn,” Vanessa started, the disapproval blatant in her voice
Vaughn lowered the keys to his side and turned to meet his mother’s stare. “You can’t change my mind. Lecture me later.”
She narrowed her eyes at him for a long minute before releasing a heavy, defeated sigh. “I never knew it would be possible to be so proud of you and want to strangle you so badly at the same time.”
“Vaughn,” Lillian called. When he’d returned his attention to her, she added, “Please … bring her home.”
“I will.” He didn’t say anything else as he turned and started down the hall again, Madison’s keys resting against his palm. His mother was probably right to be concerned. There was still a distinct discomfort in his side, reminding him with each step that he should, by all rights, be no less than unconscious. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding Angela before it was too late.
****
“Do you have any idea how cliché this is?” Angela asked before she could stop herself as Eric finished tying her to the standard—and very flammable—wooden kitchen chair he’d tossed her onto.
“Some things are cliché for a reason, Angie,” Eric returned calmly.
“Yeah. Because they’re tired and overdone.”
Eric arched a brow at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so? Then why don’t you just stand up if you’re so confident?”
Angela ground her teeth and glared at the annoyingly smug face of her murdering ex-boyfriend. Of course, he knew she couldn’t very well just stand up, as she was tightly tied to the chair with high-quality rope.