by Freya Barker
All I can do is nod, remembering something about some software Neil had installed on just about everyone’s phone, allowing him to trace their whereabouts. My heart is feeling a spark of hope. In the meantime, I’m trying to block images of Jed laying dead in the office or Clint being maimed by these guys.
Half an hour later we’re still waiting. Mal with me in Arlene’s office, Seb in his kitchen while Arlene and Julie, who was called in for her shift early, are manning the tables.
“Should we call?” I ask Mal for the fifteenth time, and for the fifteenth time he patiently shakes his head and tells me they’ll call. I’ve tried calling Clint’s cell phone at least as many times, when finally Mal puts his hand on mine and takes my phone away.
“Beth,” he leans in, his dark, almost black eyes looking intently in mine, “they’ll call. I promise, honey. The second they know anything they’ll call.”
“O—okay,” I stammer. Finally the tears get the better of me and start rolling down my face.
Hooking his hand behind my neck, Mal pulls me up from the chair, sits down, and pulls me down on his lap, wrapping his arm around me while the other presses my face in his neck.
“Fucking finally,” he mumbles, “thought you were never gonna crack.”
How long I’ve been sitting in on Mal’s lap, face buried in his neck, I don’t know. All I know is his shoulder is soaked with my tears, and I can’t help but notice how good he smells. Outdoorsy with a hint of some spice. Nice. My little bout of hysteria over, I finally manage to get my crying under control and start to push back against Mal’s hand, which is still cupping the back of my head.
“Mal, I’m too heavy. Let me up.”
The hand at the back of my head is lifted away, but the one crossing my lap to the opposite hip is still holding me firmly in place. With his free hand he tilts my chin and focuses those dark eyes on me again. Obsidian, that’s what they are. The perfect description. “You good?” he rumbles.
“I’m good. Well...better anyway.” I try to get up, but he’s still holding me down with his arm.
“Mal...”
“I’ll let you go, but don’t let me hear you talking about being too heavy again. That shit pisses me off. That padding you’ve got on you? Makes you soft, pliable—the way a woman should feel. I’m thinking Clint’s a lucky man. Figure if I find me a woman like you one day—all soft and rounded in the right places, but hiding a core of steel—I’d count myself the luckiest guy alive.”
Knew it before, but now I know for sure; some woman is going to count her blessings one of these days with Mal. He’d treat her like a goddess, I’ve no doubt.
“Thanks,” I whisper, but just as I wrap my arms around his neck to give him a hug, a voice booms from the doorway.
“What the fuck?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Buddy, you okay?”
The voice, vaguely recognizable, and the hand on my shoulder, giving me a gentle shake, wake me up to find Joe leaning over me. Disoriented, I look around to find I’m wedged in the tiny bathroom off my office, my torso twisted in the space between the wall and the bowl, and my legs spread and bent at the knees. Joe is standing between them and reaching out a hand.
“Can you move?”
I clasp the hand he offers and let him slowly pull me up to sitting. Aside from the wave of dizziness that should probably concern me, if I didn’t have other things to worry about, I think I’m okay. It’s then I notice that Gus is right behind Joe, just outside the doorway, looking at me intently while talking on his phone.
“Remember what happened?” Joe wants to know, and I tell him what I can, realizing as I’m talking that I haven’t seen my brother yet, but I don’t get a chance to. Gus slips in behind Joe, his cell now tucked away, and mumbles something to Joe I can’t quite pick up.
“Sorry what?”
Gus’s eyes shoot to me. “I said the ambulance is on its way.”
“Is my brother okay?”
“Let’s get you out of here first,” he says, and between Gus and Joe, they pull me up and out of the tiny stall. I’m swaying a bit on my legs, trying to get my balance back.
“Whoa, my friend. Take a minute.”
I should, but I’m more concerned about why they haven’t answered my question, so I repeat it. “Where’s my brother? Is he alright?” This time I can read the answer in their faces, and still I stumble past them to see for myself. Fuck! When I swing around, I pin Gus with a stare. “Who?”
“Not sure. I have my suspicions and Neil is trying to track a few things down, but for now he’s in the wind. We’ll find him though. Better fucking believe it.” Gus’s words are delivered with conviction, which makes me feel a bit better. Then he tells me about the phone call Beth received, and how they managed to find me, and there is only one thing on my mind.
“Take me to Beth.”
“Buddy, we’ve gotta wait for the ambulance to check you out.”
“Now. I have to see her now.” I get right up in Gus’s face. Not budging, he gives me a thorough stare down before I can see resolve slide over his face.
“Anything wrong, and I mean anything, we head straight for the hospital. You get me?” His voice is clipped and I have no desire to fight him on that. At least not once I’ve seen her with my own eyes. To Joe he says, “Change of plans, redirect the ambulance to the diner.”
Within seconds they have me hustled into Gus’s big Yukon, but not before I snatch up the cowboy hat that lies abandoned on the floor next to the desk. Jesus.
Normally, it takes about ten minutes to get to the diner, Gus does it in a little over five and pulls around to the back parking lot. Seb’s eyes go wide when he sees me walking in the kitchen, flanked by the other two. He grins and with a lift of his chin indicates Arlene’s office, where the door is cracked a bit. I push the door open further, only to have the breath knocked out of me at what greets me. Before I can even begin to process, “What the fuck?” bursts out of me.
“Clint...” falls from Beth’s lips as she turns to face me, her face still wet with tears, sitting on the single chair the office contains, on Mal’s lap. Leaping up she slams into me, fresh tears instantly getting my shirt wet. My arms close around her but my eyes never leave Mal, who calmly stands up out of the chair and steps toward us. Apparently not at all concerned that I just found my woman, on his lap, with her face buried in his neck.
“Good to see you standing, Clint. Beth was scared.” With that, he claps me on my shoulder and slips past us out of the room, closing the door behind him. Point made.
With a bit of shuffling, I manage to plant my ass in the chair Mal just left and pull Beth on my lap.
“Beth, baby—look at me.” I try to get her to lift her face from my chest but she burrows even deeper. “I’m fine. Just got knocked out, that’s all. I’ll be right as rain. Beth, please look at me.”
Slowly her head comes up and her eyes, swollen from crying, turn into slits. “They hit you over the head?” she hisses, before repeating, “They hit you over the head?” in a significantly louder voice, before her hands come up and start smoothing over my face and around my head. “Oh my God, Clint; you’re bleeding!” When she pulls her hand back, sure enough, it comes away with a trace blood clinging to her fingers. “We’ve gotta get you to a hospital.”
“A scratch probably.” I try to calm her, but she tries to push off my lap anyway. Grabbing her wrists to try and hold her still, I stick my nose in her hair and breathe in deeply.
I love this woman. Not that it’s that big of a revelation. I’ve grown into it over a long period of time, but in this moment I feel it so strongly, I just say it, with my nose still in her hair and her body still struggling to get up.
“Love you, Bean,” I mumble, torn to know my brother is missing but needing to not let one more moment pass before I make sure she knows it. Her body stills, and I lift my face from her hair to find her staring at me slack mouthed and her eyes big.
“Wha—what?�
��
“I love you.”
Her eyes go soft. As soft as I’ve ever seen them and once again she does a face plant in my chest. “Baby...” she breathes, the heat of her breath coming through my shirt and touching my skin.
A short knock on the door is followed by Gus sticking his face around it. “EMT’s are here,” he announces, before backing away to allow two paramedics in.
-
Forty minutes later, after declared relatively healthy except for a small cut on my head, and alert, but left with a list of warning signs to look out for, the ambulance is gone. Beth is sitting on the desk, still reeling from the news that Jed is missing. I’m still sitting down, with Gus leaning against the doorway, briefing us on the course of events. He very pointedly includes Beth, making sure she’s included in the discussion and making good on our joint fuck up the first time.
“For now, I suggest we move to your house,” he says, looking at me. “You’ve got state of the art security now, motion lights outside, and then the cameras. Neil has screens set up to monitor and when that call comes through, in a few hours. He’s gonna be ready to triangulate the signal to see if he can pinpoint a location on them.”
Right.
Beth grabs hold of one of my hands that are clenched into white knuckled fists on my knees. Folding my fingers back, she slides hers in between and leans down to me. “Jed will be okay,” she whispers, “It can’t be any other way.”
Now that I’ve seen Beth, know she’s all right and coping, I want nothing more than to get out there and hunt those fuckers down, but I wouldn’t know where to start.
By the time we’ve been force-fed Seb’s admittedly fantastic goulash by Arlene, who wouldn’t let us go on an empty stomach, it’s nearing seven fifteen, and it’s full on dark outside. Beth and I are in the truck with Gus, and Mal is driving Beth’s car home. My truck is still sitting in the parking lot at my office, where Gus said to leave it for now, right beside Jed’s truck. I’ve been hanging on to my cool this entire time, but it’s wearing fucking thin. This inactivity when God knows what is going on with my brother is getting to me.
“You know we’re not sitting still; Joe is out beating down every resource he has to find even the slightest of leads. Neil and Katie are working the computers at her place, and Caleb is getting in touch with every contact we have within the law enforcements agencies.” Gus looks sideways at me. “I can feel the frustration and anger come off you in thick waves, eager to do something, thinking we’re not doing anything. Truth is—we are. Every last resource is being pulled as we speak. Even Emma couldn’t sit idle, and rather than have her come to the diner, I’ve asked her to look after the boys, so Katie has her hands free. Apparently, Naomi is joining her there as soon as the clinic closes at eight.” He gives my knee a squeeze before turning his attention back to the road in front of him.
My head is spinning. Evidently, I’ve been so far up my own ass I didn’t notice all this activity around me. Suddenly I find myself choked up when it hits me. They’ve got my back. I never even had to ask. A year ago I rolled into town, put my foot in it with just about everyone I encountered, and somehow, I got swallowed up in this community. This great group of people, who when the chips are down, all square up behind me. I shake my head and swallow hard, but it doesn’t quite clear the stinging in my eyes or the fear burrowing in my stomach.
-
-
The moment Gus shuts the engine off outside Clint’s house, he tells us to sit tight while he checks the house. Armed with Clint’s keys and after a brief discussion with Mal, getting out of my car beside us, he disappears inside, leaving Mal standing in the driveway scanning the surroundings. I lean over and put my hand on Clint’s shoulder.
“You okay, honey?”
For a moment he doesn’t move, but then he turns in his seat, lifts my hand from his shoulder and turns it against his cheek, leaning into it with his eyes closed.
“Grateful for you, baby. And scared shitless that just now I’ve reconnected with my brother after so many fucking wasted years, I stand the risk of losing him.” Slowly his eyes open and I can see the emotions swirling around in them. “But it helps having you right here.”
“Always, honey.” I lean forward and touch my lips to his. A knock on the window shows Mal, who’s motioning for us to come inside. The moment we’re out of the car, Clint grabs my hand and laces his fingers with mine as I follow him into the house. Mal, apparently, isn’t coming in, he just closes the door behind us and stays outside.
“Why’s Mal not coming inside?” I want to know.
“Best to keep one set of eyes outside. Mal’s eyes are the best ones around, at nighttime especially. I swear he’s part big cat.” Gus smiles reassuringly, but I’m still twitchy as all get out. Never did have any patience but this; this waiting around while Jed was out there, is testing my limits. I about jump out of my skin when a phone rings, but it’s not mine. Gus grabs his from his pocket, looks at the screen and swears. Loudly. That does not make me feel good. I haven’t moved from behind the couch and when Clint bends in asking me if I want a drink, I just shake my head. He heads into the kitchen and I just stand here, listening to Gus’s conversation.
“Damien. Why do I get the feeling the feds are up to their fucking necks in this situation?”
Feds?
“The fuck you say!” Gus’s voice thunders and has Clint come out of the kitchen, looking from Gus to me and back again. I’m frozen in the spot. I’ve seen Gus pissed maybe a handful of times since I’ve known him, since he’s a good-natured guy. Angry once or twice in a stressful situation but never like this. Not ever. His eyes are mere slits and his face a deep red when he spits out his next words. “Got a woman here who’s supposed to let those fuckers know in a few hours time, if she’s made any progress locating her son. They’re holding a man they think is her man ransom. Except it’s not. They’ve got the wrong fucking guy! And you say you’ve had eyes on it the whole time? Then why the fuck did you not intervene?”
I can feel Clint stepping up behind me, wrapping his arms around my stomach. I’m glad for the support because my knees feel kinda wobbly. Gus seems to listen intently to what this Damien guy has to say, running his hand through his hair repeatedly. “Not going to do it, Damien. Not gonna beat a retreat because your case might get compromised. We’re talking fucking lives here. Of people I happen to care about. You know you should’ve given me a head’s up about this a long time ago. This shit? This is on you. Had you done what you should’ve, I could’ve been prepared. Now we’re behind the eightball. Cause you fucked up.” With that he snaps his phone shut and hauls his arm over his head to toss it, when Clint pipes up behind me stopping him mid-move.
“Gus. Reckon you might need that phone tonight,” he says calmly.
Gus slowly lowers his arm and looks at the phone in his hand before slipping it into his back pocket, tilting his head our way. “Could do with a stiff drink, but given the circumstances, maybe a pot of coffee is the better option.”
“I’ll see to it,” I mutter and grateful for something to do, I slip from Clint’s arms and start a pot. By the time I’ve got a tray set out with mugs, sugar, and some milk, the coffee is ready. I carry the whole thing inside, where the boys are already having a quiet conversation that stills the minute I set the tray down. “It’s clear you’re trying to keep shit from me, but before you do, let me remind you of what happened last time you tried.” I look at each of them before giving my full attention to the coffee. Once seated with my own mug, after having supplied the guys with theirs, I’m the one to break the silence.
“So what I gather from your side of that less than friendly conversation just now, is that your contact at the FBI knows more than they initially led you to believe?” I look at Gus and he looks right back at me, not saying anything.
After a minute of stare down, he shakes his head and mutters, “Stubborn as shit,” before the corners of his mouth tilt up a touch. Lifting his eyes he
turns them first to Clint, who’s been quiet through our little stand off, shrugging and then turns them on me again.
“You cottoned on to the basic gist of it. Scoop is, they’re no strangers to what’s going on. And when I say that, I mean they’ve been working for a year and a half putting together a case against one Stan Jablonski. I’ve heard his name before, was a big name on the Denver scene but apparently has moved to the desert now and rules his syndicate from Vegas. Hanging with the big rollers now. Not a nice man, Stan. He’s wanted for a laundry list of federal and state offenses, both in Colorado and Nevada. Feds tried to get something to go on for years, finally got a break last year when a guy was pulled over with a stolen luxury vehicle in Ouray and got into it with the cop. Facing not only theft but now assaulting a police officer, he talked. Feds came in when he mentioned the name Jablonski. Unfortunately he was found dead the next morning in his holding cell, but he’d already given the feds a thread, now all they had to do was unravel it, which is what they’ve been doing.” He pauses and looks first at Clint, then back at me. I brace myself because something tells me what is coming isn’t going to be good, judging by the silent communication he just held with Clint. “The FBI’s had eyes on you from the moment Max was dropped on your doorstep,” Gus says with a grave face.
“What? Why?”
“They were trailing Dylan. They know about his debt to Sam, who by the way is Sam Blazek, not just part of a ring of car thieves but one of Jabslonski’s goons—something Tammy’s brother either failed to mention or doesn’t know—and coerced Dylan into becoming an informant.”
It only takes me a minute to realize that that is not necessarily good news, especially when I combine that bit of information with what’s been happening. “This Jablonski character knows, doesn’t he?” I put to Gus, who only nods to confirm.
“Dylan was supposed to gather information for Damien’s team, was confronted by Sam while going through some files, and the wire he was wearing was discovered in the resulting scuffle. The feds and local law enforcement were listening to the whole thing go down and stormed the place. In the scuffle they lost sight of both Dylan and Sam.