The second possibility was that the FBI would secure the totems, then put people on Carling to see if Rhomney went after him. They could arrest him for parole violation, at the least, and assault or attempted whatever, depending on what he did when cornered. That could have the potential of tying Freddie to it, adding conspiracy, and getting them both back off the street, but it wouldn’t be for very long. Pat and Freddie on the street put a lot of people at risk. The profile that had been written up on them put murder low on the probability scale. But Grant knew better.
He hadn’t allowed himself to think about his brother all week. He’d blocked off that part of him long ago, and was good enough at partitioning to look at it distantly, like something that had happened to someone else, even when Zoe dragged up the past.
But, hey, might as well add to tonight’s torture. The word immediately drew up his prevailing memory: The house Rhomney’s thugs had dragged him to. Grant had been thirteen and full of mixed feelings toward his brother. He’d worshiped him as a little kid, but that had faded as they got older and grew further apart. Jordie was smart but had no common sense. He liked people, and people liked him, and all it took was doing one favor for a friend who dealt drugs to drag him onto a dangerous career path. People gave him things, or did as he requested, a lot more easily than they did under threat. He got stuff done.
But he was never a bad kid. Rhomney had somehow found out about his “talent” and recruited him into his…cult, he supposed he could call it. Grant didn’t like giving them that much credit.
When Rhomney tracked down the totems, he tried to send Jordie to take possession of them. Jordie had come home one night agitated and snapping at everyone. Grant, mad when his brother yelled at their mother, chased him down to his room in the basement and pushed him to tell what was going on. His brother hadn’t had anyone to confide in, so he caved.
Jordie hadn’t known at the beginning, but after a few weeks he’d figured out that Freddie’s “daughter” wasn’t her daughter, but a girl being held against her will. He’d gone outside to take a leak one night and heard a couple of the “lieutenants” talking about the totems and how after they got them they’d have it made, and they couldn’t wait to do the ritual with the girl. He hadn’t wanted any part of that, but Pat had told him that night to get the totems or pay the consequences.
Grant tried to convince his brother to go to the police, but Jordie refused. He didn’t trust them to believe him, and his history meant he wanted to stay far away. But he’d been more cheerful the next morning and apparently went to tell Rhomney he wasn’t doing it. When Grant left school that afternoon someone hit him on the head and shoved him into a van, where they knelt on his arms until they got to the house.
Jordie was standing in the middle of the living room, talking to a ratty-haired redhead with big boobs sagging out of a tank top, when they shoved Grant to the floor in front of him. He’d never forget the way Jordie’s expression changed. The glazed look in his eyes gave way to horror, then fury, and he’d launched himself at the goon standing over Grant. But instead of fighting Jordie, the man held a knife to Grant’s throat, which of course stopped Jordie in his tracks.
There’d been arguing. Pat came in and calmly told Jordie to go get the totems. Jordie told them to let Grant go first, but instead the guy had sliced off Grant’s earlobe, tossed it at Jordie, and told him to do the job or he’d slice more pieces off his little brother.
Grant had spent much of the rest of the day in a haze of red pain and terror. They’d put him in a bedroom with Zoe, who bandaged his ear with a dirty cloth and held him, wiping away sweat and tears and giving him reassurances she shouldn’t have had the strength to even consider. Sometime after dark, Jordie snuck in. He came into the bedroom, apologized to Zoe, and carried Grant out to the van.
He hadn’t known it at the time, but Jordie’s goodbye had probably been intentionally final. He’d decided to let them do whatever they’d do to him to save his little brother. Grant had called Jordie when he got dumped in front of their house, told him he was home okay, and never spoke to his brother again.
Of course, the police had gotten involved when his mother took Grant to the hospital, but with the very little information Grant could give them, no trace of Jordie, and his history of screw-ups, the investigation had gone nowhere.
He threw himself off the bed and into the bathroom to twist on the tap. Cold water splattered the countertop and numbed his fingers. He filled his palms and tossed the liquid onto his face. Then again. It did nothing to chill the burning pain or relieve the clawing in his throat. Water continued to gush as the edge of the marble dug into the heels of his hands. He stared through reddened eyes at a face he barely recognized, twisted with grief.
He’d opened the door. Now he had to walk through it: No outcome the government achieved would be enough for him. He’d started this because Zoe, the only woman he’d ever loved, had needed his help. He’d been able to keep his attention on that need, plus his desire to be back with her. But this could never be just about that. If Grant had been the one to spot Rhomney today, Zoe—or worse, Stone—would be bailing Grant out of jail right now.
Hell.
He slammed the faucet handle down and swiped a towel across his face, dropping it onto the floor. He returned to the bed, stretching on his stomach this time, and shoved his arms under the pillow. Would his brain shut the hell up and let him sleep already? Because if he had a hidden need for revenge, there was no way he could ever be with Zoe. She deserved a man without the ability to wreak vengeance at any cost.
A man like Stone. Fuck.
A door opened down the hall, then closed. A moment later, the sound repeated further along. Fuck again. Had Stone been with her all that time, taking the advantage back?
Grant should let him have it. Zoe had chosen Kell in a way she’d never chosen him. They’d been pushed together by crime, then by their mothers, who’d clung to each other in the aftermath of their tragedies, throwing Grant and Zoe together. For their part, they’d each latched on to the one person who understood what they’d endured. It had grown, and Grant believed the love they’d felt had been real, but it had never been choice.
He didn’t have much longer to decide if that mattered.
* * *
“You’re staying here.”
Zoe didn’t know why Henricksen didn’t trust her. They stood near the FBI trucks across the street from Carling’s mansion. No one had been able to reach Carling since yesterday, and Henricksen had worked all night to finalize a seizure warrant for the totems. He’d apparently been building his case for that all along, and was hoping to get it fast by showing a convincing connection between Cocalico’s assault, the totems, and her sighting of Pat.
He’d tried to get the three of them to stay at the hotel this morning, but gave up after two hours of arguing, knowing damned well they’d just show up anyway. They were waiting for the warrant now. She didn’t know what he planned to do with the totems, if he thought federal custody would be sufficient to stop Pat from doing anything else. She didn’t want to ask, because he had no idea her intention was to destroy them. Assuming, of course, she could find a way to get her hands on them long enough to do so without going to jail herself.
She folded her arms and paced along the side of the truck, wishing again that she’d never called him. That had backfired painfully. If the FBI took the totems out of her reach, that would put everyone in even greater danger.
Why hadn’t she just snatched them and run yesterday, when they were right there in her hands?
Because you couldn’t, moron. Will had only taken one out of the case, locking it back up as if it was an ingrained habit. Now, she realized if she could have destroyed even that one, it might have been enough to stop Pat’s plans. Maybe he’d have left them all alone after that. Or maybe he’d have just killed them all in retaliation.
She wished she hadn’t thought of that.
Refocusing on what was happening a
round them—which was nothing—she said to Henricksen, “What in our brief history has given you any indication I’m more than a coward? I’m not getting anywhere near you guys while you’re working.”
“Good.” But he eyed her mistrustfully, then gave a harder glare to Grant and Kell. “Keep her here.”
“No problem.”
She rolled her eyes. She wanted to bitch at Grant for dismissing her, but that was just impatience and frustration. She leaned against the truck, staring up the driveway the three agents would soon be ascending. As soon as the junior agent who’d been waiting to receive the paper warrant showed up with it. He was late.
Hopefully that was due to traffic or a printer out of ink. She’d give him a few minutes before turning the fret machine to that channel. Right now it had its hands full with the men flanking her.
She’d seen Grant first this morning, and he’d looked at her with such sad eyes she was sure he knew about her kiss with Kell the night before. Then Kell had left his room and hadn’t given any hint that anything had happened. He treated both her and Grant the same way he had all along.
The kiss and the report on Olivia had apparently canceled each other out.
When the junior agent’s few minutes had passed and he still hadn’t arrived, she pushed away from the truck, determined to go find out what was happening. She’d only taken a step when her phone buzzed in her jeans pocket. “Oh, no.”
Grant glanced down at her. “What?”
Kell didn’t move. “Her mother’s calling.”
Grant frowned. “How do you know?”
“She always calls Zoe at work on Monday mornings.” He leaned to look at her past Grant. “Did you talk to her last week?”
“Yes.” The phone buzzed again.
“Did you tell her not to call work this week?”
“No.” She hadn’t thought that far ahead, dammit.
Kell resumed his position. “They’ll have told her she sold the company.”
“No, they won’t.” She sighed and pulled the phone from her pocket. “Sherry knows better.” Kell didn’t respond. She sighed again and answered the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Zoebaby, where are you? What’s happened? I called the office, and they said…they said…” She began to hyperventilate.
“Mom, I’m fine.” She had to work to keep the anger from her voice. She’d thought Sherry knew better than to tell her mother about the sale. “Honest. I’m in California with Kell, on a trip. What’s going on?”
“They told me you don’t work there anymore!” The wail was so loud, Grant flinched.
“I don’t, Mom.” She sighed yet again. She couldn’t lie to her mother outright, but God, she hadn’t worked out what to say to her. Her focus had been too narrow once she started down this road. “I sold the company. I’m ready to move on to something else.”
“What? You…oh, nooooo, Zoe!” She started to cry. “You love that business! You’ve built something so wonderful! Why, just last week I was shopping for new draperies for the dining room online and the one store said ‘Designed by Zoe Enterprises’ and I was so proud! Now what will you do?”
She didn’t want to have this conversation. Ever. But certainly not now. The only way to cut off her mother’s histrionics was to be sharp and swift. “I don’t know. Listen, Kell and I are kind of busy. Can I call you next week?” She should have some idea of what her life would be by then.
“Oh, just a moment longer, dear.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I need to hear your voice. I thought you’d been killed and no one had told me.”
The sentence was too ridiculous to respond to, but it was the kind of thing Zoe had heard regularly since she went to college. “That would never happen, Mom.” Her attention was caught by everyone’s heads turning to the right, and she leaned forward to see what they were looking at. A black sedan sped down the street toward them. “Mom, I’m sorry, I gotta go. Love you.” She shoved the phone in her pocket as the car screeched to a stop and a very young, very lanky man stumbled out and jogged up to Agent Henricksen.
“Where’s the warrant?” The older agent gazed at the young man’s empty hands. “Didn’t you get it?”
“You won’t believe it, sir. The warrant’s in the car, but we can’t use it.”
“Why?”
Zoe, Grant, and Kell had all moved in unison, closing around the two men. She couldn’t seem to catch a breath.
“Carling had a break-in last night. The totems are gone.”
Chapter Fourteen
Grant and Kell grabbed Zoe’s arms with barely enough time to keep her knees from cracking on the pavement. They hit hard enough as it was, but the pain was incidental.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Henricksen roared. “How were we not informed about this?”
“It just came into the office half an hour ago,” the other agent explained. “I tried to call you, but…um…my phone went dead.”
“Son of a bitch!” Henricksen whirled and slammed a flat hand on the hood of the truck. The other agents fell in, and he started giving new orders.
Zoe knelt, numb, on the pavement. Gone. They were gone. It had been a miracle that they’d tracked them down in the first place, and now they had to start over. With only five days until the blood moon, Pat’s target for the ritual.
“Pat,” she managed to say. Grant and Kell both bent over her, and she felt a spark of annoyance at their hovering. “It had to be Pat.”
“No, it didn’t.” Grant moved to help her up, and Kell joined in, and Zoe gritted her teeth that she needed them to. But as soon as she was on her feet, she yanked her arms away and stepped back.
“What do you mean, it didn’t?”
“It didn’t have to be Pat. Remember, there are—”
“It was him!” She didn’t care what cold logic Grant had to offer. She wasn’t operating on logic right now. “It was Pat in the car yesterday, in this neighborhood. I led him to the totems, and now he’s got them, and now what do we do?” She struggled not to imagine what was coming next. Olivia is protected. He can’t get to her. “Don’t you want it to be him?” she demanded, only partially aware of everyone staring at her, including Kell. She just wanted Grant, the one person who could know what this meant, to crack a little, goddammit. “After what he did to your brother? Don’t you want an excuse to—”
Grant’s hand slapped over her mouth, and he yanked her against him with his other arm tight across her back. She struggled to breathe through her nose, but it was agitation, not because he was cutting off her air. One of the standby agents stepped forward, but Kell stopped him.
“That’s exactly why I don’t want it to be him,” Grant growled low in her face. “I’ve been fighting bloodlust since I found out he was free. I’m not that man, Zoe. I won’t become that man.” He eased off a little, resting his hand lightly on her mouth now, holding her a little more loosely. But she could still see desperation in his eyes, something he’d never let her see before, not since that night in Ohio.
“If someone else has them,” he continued with less vehemence, “one of the treasure hunters they hired, maybe double-crossing Pat and Freddie, then those two are no closer than we are, no closer than they were yesterday.”
Blinking back tears, Zoe nodded. Grant removed his hand, and she said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“It’s all right.”
But she shook her head. “It’s not. Because you’re right, if someone else took them, that might mean Olivia is safe. But it won’t stop them. Time is getting short. We can’t split our focus when the likelihood is that Pat has them now.” Her mind raced. “The key. He can’t use them without the key.”
“He might have it,” Grant said reluctantly. “We found no trace of it. If he has it already—”
Kell cursed and whipped out his phone. “I need to go back to Boston. I can’t be this far away when my sister—”
Henricksen interrupted, ending his own call. “Delmarry jus
t talked to Carling’s housekeeper. She reported the break-in and the missing totems, which she said was an odd coincidence since they were the last thing you looked at yesterday.” He held up a hand when Zoe opened her mouth to protest. “Obviously, you’re not suspects. You were with me. But she doesn’t know where Carling is.”
“He’s not here?” Zoe’s blood had gone cold so often in the last few days, it should be slush by now.
“She claims he had a date last night and didn’t come home, which isn’t unusual, but he doesn’t answer his phone, either.”
Zoe didn’t know Will very well, but even after one meeting, she knew that wasn’t right. The foreboding she’d had all night grew. “Shaun…”
“We’re on it. We’ll track him down, don’t worry. The cops already have his outdoor surveillance tapes, so we’re getting those. A team is coming to print the house, determine how they got in, etcetera.”
“Then what?” Kell asked.
“Then we investigate.” He opened the driver’s door of his vehicle and motioned to the back seat. “Get in. We’ll drop you at the hotel.”
“Wait here,” Grant ordered Zoe and Kell and walked over to confer with the agent. Zoe would have followed if Kell hadn’t been holding onto her. She was steady, but didn’t tell him so. She had a feeling he was stabilizing himself by helping her.
Grant came back and nudged them to the side as the junior agent backed up his car and the other agency vehicle headed down the street.
“We’re not going back to the hotel,” he said. “Another agent will drop me there to get our stuff while Henricksen takes you two to the airport to buy tickets. I’ll get a cab over and meet you there.”
Zoe stared at him. “Where are we going?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Stone wants to go to Boston. I want to take you back to the Keys, but that’s up to you. I don’t think we should hang around here.”
“But the totems—”
“Whoever took them, they’re not staying in San Francisco. And if you’re right, and it’s Pat and Freddy, you may still be part of their plan. I want you away from them.”
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