Running Wilde

by Tonya Burrows

  Jude straightened away from his wife and a rare flash of true anger darkened his eyes to navy. “Where the fuck is he? He should be here with us.”

  “That’s the thing—he’s always been here with us,” Reece said. “His entire life has revolved around us. Wherever he is now, whatever he’s doing, it’s something he needs, and we have to respect it.”

  “So he’s on some kind of Kumbaya self-discovery trip?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. The last time I talked to him, he only said there was something he needed to do and he’d be out of contact for a while.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck that!” Jude exploded, and Libby pushed out of her chair to wrap her arms around his waist. He hugged her back with one arm, but it didn’t cool his anger. “Right now, we need him more. Cam’s in serious trouble.” He poked his desk with his pointer finger, punctuating each word: “Greer. Should. Be. Here.”

  Reece held up his hands. “I’m not arguing with you, Jude. I’m just…making a point.”

  “Yo, guys.” Marcus walked to the center of the room and held up his hands as if he was wrangling raptors. “C’mon, sniping at each other is not going to help.” He turned to Reece. “What do we know so far?”

  Reece sighed and sat back. Rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I’ve been going through Bellisario’s real estate holdings trying to determine the place he’d most likely hide Cam, but the list is extensive. It’ll take me hours to go through it all, if not days.”

  “Time we don’t have,” Vaughn said.

  Reece looked at him, features set in grim lines. “Exactly. And this list doesn’t include any real estate he has under aliases. That will take me even more time to dig up.”

  “Okay.” Marcus nodded to the laptop. “Reece, you any good on that thing?”

  “I know a trick or two.”

  That was the understatement of the century. If it had a motherboard, Reece could make it his bitch.

  “Good,” Marcus said. “Vaughn, give Reece your phone. Bellisario’s going to call with further instructions, and we need all the information we can get from the call when he does. It’s the best chance we have of tracking Cam.”

  Vaughn dug the phone out of his pocket, slapped it into Reece’s hand. “Work your magic, bro.”

  “Yeah, if only it was magic.” Reece scowled at the cracked screen. “What the hell did you do to this, use it as a hockey puck? It’s a beautiful piece of technology, and you abuse it like—”

  Vaughn glowered at him.

  Reece gave a pained sigh and connected the phone to his laptop with a cable. “When this is over, all of you are getting a lecture on how to take proper care of your phones. I’m tired of fixing them,” he muttered, then hunched over the keyboard and disappeared into his task in the way only a computer geek could—physically present, but mentally entrenched in the virtual world.

  Eva finally stopped pacing. “So what happens once we know Cam’s location? We send in MPD? I can call my partner and have him mobilize—”

  “No, we don’t want to involve the police.” A shadow crossed over Marcus’s expression. “Believe me, if Bellisario catches even the faintest whiff of MPD, he’ll cut his losses, and we’ll find Cam in the Potomac.”

  “Then the bastard shouldn’t have abducted a former MPD detective who is married to a current one,” Eva snapped. “Bellisario had to know he’d have the whole of DC’s police force gunning for him.”

  As she spoke, Vaughn watched Marcus’s jaw tighten. The shadow in his eyes got a little darker, a little deeper. Shit. Marcus wasn’t just talking hypotheticals here. “You’re speaking from experience.”

  Marcus exhaled hard, and a weight seemed to settle around his shoulders, making them slump. “Yeah. Far more experience than I’d like. Trust me on this, Eva. We don’t want MPD involved.”

  “Oh God.” She hugged herself, bent double. “I just want my husband back. Please. I just want him back.”

  Under normal circumstances, Vaughn wasn’t much for hugging, but he couldn’t let her stand there, collapsing in on herself with grief and fear. He crossed to her, pulled her into his arms, and she clung like she needed the support more than she wanted to admit. Eva was a strong woman, but even the strongest had their breaking points, and she was getting close to the edge of hers. If Cam didn’t make it…

  He immediately shut down that line of thought, refused to acknowledge it had even occurred to him. But in the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew the truth. If Cam died today, Eva wasn’t going to be the only one who broke.

  “So what can we do?” Libby asked, finally breaking the heavy silence. She was sitting on her husband’s lap with Jude’s arms wrapped tightly, protectively around her. “I mean, if we can’t call the police and HORNET won’t get here in time to help, what do we do?”

  “We need Bellisario to make contact again,” Marcus said, “and when he does, I’ll speak to him. Until then…” He met each of their gazes. “All we can do is wait.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The waiting was going to drive him into a straightjacket.

  Restless, Vaughn pushed out of his chair and paced several steps, then grabbed his phone and checked the screen again. Reece had worked his technological magic on the thing, and now they had the ability to record the conversation and track Bellisario in real time.

  If only the fucking phone would ring.

  What were they doing to Cam? Was his twin in pain? Unconscious? Cam was definitely still alive, because without him, Bellisario had no leverage. Still, Dahlia’s words kept bouncing around in his skull.

  Do you have any idea what Giuseppe does to the people who cross him?

  Jesus fucking Christ. He was going to explode if he didn’t do something. Any-fucking-thing.

  Marcus stepped into his path, which just pissed him off, like throwing accelerant on an already out-of-control fire. He didn’t think, just reacted to the anger and annoyance and took a swing.

  Marcus ducked the punch—fucker was fast on his feet—and grabbed Vaughn’s arm, twisting it up behind his back. He shoved Vaughn into a desk as Reece and Jude both jumped to their feet, their chairs flying back and banging into the wall.

  Vaughn hit the desk hard enough to have pain singing through his abused ribs. Fuck. He pounded a fist on the desktop in frustration, but stopped struggling.

  “Are you done?” Marcus asked.

  “I’m done,” he agreed and the pressure lightened on his arm. He straightened and sneered at Marcus as he pressed a hand to his sore ribs. “You only got the drop on me because I’m not at full strength.”

  “Sure. You tell yourself that, big guy.”

  Vaughn stepped forward, fully intending to pummel that smirk off Marcus’s face.

  “Boys,” Libby snapped, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Now’s not the time for a testosterone pissing match.”

  Vaughn glanced over at her. She and Shelby had taken up posts next to Eva, who had worn herself down during the endless minutes of waiting and now stared off into space with tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

  Libby was right. Punching Marcus, as satisfying as it would be, wasn’t going to bring Cam home any faster.

  Vaughn drew a breath and shook out his hands. “I need some air.”

  He didn’t wait to hear any of their responses, and he pushed through the door into the now empty parking lot. February slapped him in the face, but he welcomed the bite of cold and tugged on the collar of his shirt. The office had been too stuffy, too packed with tension and fear. At least out here he could breathe.

  He checked his phone’s screen again even though he knew it hadn’t rung. Damn. He stuffed it into his pocket and paced the sidewalk.

  All they needed was a location. And as soon as they had one, he was gone. He’d tear the place down brick by brick to find his twin and then he’d bury Giuseppe Bellisario in the debris.

  Nobody threatened his family and got to walk away unharmed.

  A door shut softly across the parkin
g lot. Still spoiling for a fight, he whirled toward the sound and found Dahlia beside the car she’d stolen from him, twisting her hands together in front of her.

  For one shining second, elation bubbled up out of all the other poisonous emotions roiling inside him, because she’d come back to him.

  She’d come back.

  But that bubble of happy popped the moment she opened her mouth. “Vaughn, I-I came to explain—”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation.” He turned away, pissed off all over again. He should have known she’d not come back to help. Altruism wasn’t in her nature. “But I would like my fucking gun back if you’re done threatening me with it.”

  She ducked into the car and reappeared with his weapon, holding it out in a peace-offering. “I was just scared.”

  He stalked forward and grabbed it from her. “Yeah, you don’t trust me. I get it.”

  “But I do, Vaughn.” She moved closer. Her scent wrapped around him, something both sweet and tart like strawberries, and he steeled himself against the memories of her rising up over him, riding him so slow and easy as he drowned in that beautiful scent.

  She set her hands on his waist and stood on her toes. Her lips were soft over his, gentle, a barely there caress that still sent shocks through his entire system. He didn’t move even though everything male in him screamed to accept what she was offering.

  She lowered back to flat feet and stared up at him. Searched his face. He made damn sure nothing of his feelings showed there. He wasn’t about to let her know just how much she’d hurt him.

  “You’re the only man I’ve ever come close to trusting,” she said so softly, it was barely a whisper.

  “Yeah? You have a shitty way of showing it.”

  She dragged her lower lip through her teeth, then nodded, dropped her hands from his waist, and stuffed them into her jacket pockets. She must have stopped for new clothes at some point, because she now wore jeans and a dark red sweater under a motorcycle-style jacket instead of the drugstore sweatpants and t-shirt he last saw her in. She looked good, her face makeup-free and her newly auburn hair wind tousled.

  Christ, he didn’t want to still be attracted to her, but he was.

  He turned away. “Leave.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He slammed to a halt. She was sorry? He didn’t need her to be sorry. Apologies weren’t going to bring his brother back safe and sound. And fuck her for that line about trust. If she truly trusted him, she’d help save Cam, because when he told her he’d never let anything happen to her, she’d believe it to the very pit of her soul.

  But she didn’t. Maybe she was incapable of it. Still, the fact that she didn’t trust him cut like a dull blade. He’d done nothing to earn her mistrust.

  He faced her again and had to unlock his jaw to speak. “If you’re still not going to help Cam, you need to walk away from me right fucking now because trading your life for my brother’s is looking better and better.”

  She flinched and backed a step away. “I really am sorry for everything I put you through. Please remember that.” She spun on her heel and ran. Same as she always did.

  Vaughn stood there for a long time, eyes squeezed shut against the intense hurt shredding his insides. He didn’t know why he’d expected anything more from her, but he had. When she’d appeared out of the swirling snow, he’d expected so much more than an apology and chaste little kiss.

  “Vaughn!” Marcus slammed outside. “What the hell? Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  “It’s not ring—” He reached into his pocket and came up empty. “Fuck!” He bolted into the office, hot on Marcus’s heels. “Dahlia was here. She must’ve lifted it off me.”

  Everyone was gathered around Reece’s laptop, which echoed each trill of the phone. It stopped just as Vaughn reached the desk.

  Dahlia’s voice came on the line, clear and strong. “Let Cam Wilde go, Giuseppe. He has nothing to do with this.”

  “Well, now,” Bellisario’s voice replied. “If it isn’t my long-lost daughter-in-law.”

  “Let him go, and I’ll come home.”

  Libby sucked in a sharp breath and stared across the desk at Vaughn, her cheeks draining of color. “Oh my God! Lark—or Sage or Dahlia or whatever her name is. She’s Giuseppe Bellisario’s daughter-in-law?”

  Vaughn nodded, his gut in so many knots it hurt. He stared at the computer and wished he could reach through the digital world and sever the connection. Jesus. She was trading herself for Cam. Why the fuck would she do that? He’d never have asked it of her.

  “Why?” Bellisario demanded at the other end of the line. “Who’s Cam Wilde to you?”

  “He’s nobody to me,” Dahlia said softly. “I barely know him, but he means a great deal to someone I love.”

  Vaughn’s knees went to water, and he sank into a chair. She knew he was listening, just as he knew those words were meant for him.

  “Someone you love?” Bellisario snarled. “What about my son? Your husband?”

  “No, I never loved him,” she admitted. “I thought so, but I was young. I didn’t know what love meant. I had no frame of reference—until recently.”

  “It’s that private investigator. Vaughn.”

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Cam had nothing to do with what happened to Marcel. If you want me, you have to release him. Unharmed.”

  “You’re willing to die to save him?”

  She was silent for a beat. “When you love someone—really, truly love them—any sacrifice is worth their happiness.”

  Vaughn folded over in the chair and cradled his head in his hands. She’d been trying to tell him what she intended to do, but he’d been too much of an ass to listen. The apologies he’d thought hollow hadn’t been apologies at all. No, they’d been a good-bye.

  “Well?” Dahlia said, breaking the drawn-out silence, both on the phone line and in the room. “That’s my offer, Giuseppe. Cam for me. Going once. Going twice—”

  “All right,” Bellisario said.

  Marcus smacked the desk. “Damn. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. He’ll kill them both.”

  “Oh, she knows,” Vaughn said and straightened. “But she’s going to try anyway. For me.” He didn’t bother trying to hide his emotions—the ones always running fast and deep just under the surface that he usually kept locked up tight. Didn’t have the energy. Didn’t care that his brothers both gaped at the tears leaking from his eyes. Because, fuck, he couldn’t lose both Dahlia and Cam, which was exactly what would happen if he didn’t find a way to help them.

  “I have a warehouse in Ivy City,” Bellisario said. “Meet me there.”

  Marcus snapped his fingers and Reece nodded. “Yeah, hang on. I have the address here somewhere—”

  “No need.” Vaughn was already headed for the door. “I know exactly where it is.” It was the same fucking warehouse where he’d first drawn Bellisario’s attention to him.

  Marcus darted forward, blocking his path. “Whoa. Hold up. Last thing we need is to give him another hostage.”

  “He doesn’t want another hostage. He wants Dahlia dead.”

  “And unless you want her to end up that way with Cam as collateral damage, you need to listen to me on this.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Vaughn demanded.

  “I’m starting to. I need to make some calls. If I can get the FBI out there—”

  “I thought you said no cops,” Eva said, her voice rising in panic.

  Marcus glanced over his shoulder at her. “That was before this all went to hell in a frilly pink hand basket.” He returned his attention to Vaughn. “Give me ten minutes.”

  Vaughn shook his head and made to shoulder past him. “We don’t have ten minutes.”

  Marcus grumbled something that was probably very unflattering under his breath, but then relented with a heavy sigh and stepped out of the way. “Fine. Go be John McClane and yippee-ki-yay it up. But you get me those ten minute
s, whatever you do, and I’ll make sure all three of you get out of there alive.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The warehouse was in a part of the city the politicians downtown preferred to pretend didn’t exist. Rundown, abandoned, falling apart—Dahlia had seen plenty of places like this in her travels. She’d taken shelter in warehouses like this during the months she’d spent homeless, had slept on cold concrete floors, listening to the scurrying of rodents and other unwanted people echoing through the cavernous emptiness.

  Her stomach soured, and bile rose in her throat.

  She wanted to run.

  God, did she want to.

  She even took her foot off the gas and coasted to a stop still a half a block from her destination. Her hands shook, and she gripped the wheel harder to get them to stop.

  Her personal devil waited inside that warehouse.

  She couldn’t do this.

  She slammed the car into reverse—but stopped before taking her foot off the brake as a vision of Vaughn flashed in her mind’s eye. The hurt on his face when she’d left him at that motel outside of Atlanta, the pain in his eyes he’d tried so hard to hide when she approached him outside Wilde Security.

  She had to do this for him. It was a fool’s errand, but if she had even the slightest chance of saving his brother, she had to try. Because if Cam died, so would Vaughn. It might not be a physical death, but it’d rip out his soul, tear a gaping hole in him that nothing would ever fix. He’d never be the same. She knew all too well what it was like to lose so much of yourself you never found your way back, and she wouldn’t let it happen to him.

  She sucked in a deep breath and put the car in gear again, inching toward the warehouse. The side door opened as soon as she parked and Cristiano Bellisario stepped out, followed by his little shit of a cousin, Tommy. They were the same age as her, but seemed years younger due to either coddled, too-privileged upbringings, or a stunning lack of intelligence. Probably both. Cristiano wasn’t going to win any awards for brainpower anytime soon, and Tommy thought the world owed him anything he wanted. He’d always had an ugly mean streak, and the sneer on his face now sent shivers cascading through her. Obviously, five years had done nothing to mellow him out.