by Lori Foster
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Maxi pulled away, a hand in her hair. “Miles suspected, but I didn’t believe it.” And now he’d have to face Fletcher alone. One on one, he’d annihilate Fletcher. But Fletcher wasn’t a dummy. He wouldn’t engage in a physical fight.
She remembered that rifle shot that hit her barn, and she knew without a doubt that he’d be armed. So was Miles, but he wasn’t a killer, not like—
“I’m sorry,” Woody said, walking farther into the house. “Sorrier than you know.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Feels like it is.” He lifted the collar of his jacket and slammed the hat back on his head. “I’m going out. I have to.”
She wanted to argue with him, but Woody looked so set, she nodded. “Please be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back, okay?” This time he headed for the back door. “Don’t lock me out.”
Hurrying after him, stepping around the muddy footprints, she said, “I’ll watch for you.” The second he was out the door, she grabbed her cell phone off the table and, standing at the door, divided her time between staring at what she could see of the barn and dialing Sahara.
Please let her be home. Maxi knew she had to do something to help.
And she couldn’t wait ten minutes to do it.
* * *
MILES APPROACHED THE barn cautiously. From around the cracks of the closed shutters over the windows and the loosely closed doors, he could see lights flashing.
What the hell? He felt the mud sinking into his athletic shoes but paid it no mind. The rain, softer now, dampened his hair and torso. He moved up next to the barn wall and inched closer to the door.
The screech of a panicked cat made his blood run cold.
Glock held close to his chest, he eased up next to the barn doors and tried stealing a glance inside.
The crazy strobe of bright lights made it impossible to see anything. That was a tactical light, possibly police issue, meant to disorient. He’d need to locate the source of that light and distinguish it first. Using the toe of his shoe, he edged the door wider. A few cats shot out, running like hell.
The screeching came louder.
Muddy footprints went in and out of the barn, reminding him of the time Fletcher had tracked mud up onto the porch.
But in weather like this, Woody’s feet had been mud-covered, too. He paused, thinking about that, but the sounds of the cat regained his attention. He had to do something.
He glanced in again, this time with a hand mostly covering his eyes, concentrating on the floor and corners of the barn. He didn’t see any feet, and other than the frenzied cat, he heard nothing. Another look, and he realized the light sat on a post.
Gaze averted, he shot in low and fast, arm extended, and knocked it to the ground. It hit with a clatter and died. At the same time Miles swept the room with his gun, searching through the sudden darkness for any movement.
The only thing he saw was Hero, the black cat Maxi had renamed. Fury erupted when he realized why the cat was so upset.
His tail was tied to a post.
“Hang on, baby,” he said softly, but the cat was inconsolable. No one had ever mistreated it and it didn’t understand.
He searched every corner of the barn, but the muddy prints showed clearly on the dusty, hay-strewn floor. They trailed in, around the floor, then back out again. No one had climbed the ladder to the loft, and the prints didn’t lead behind any of the equipment.
Fletcher had already come and gone.
Cautiously, Miles came forward. The cat was pissed, hissing and snarling, ready to lash out, but it calmed as Miles slowly got closer. Rough rope that had hung on a nail in the barn was now tied brutally tight around the cat’s tail, then high up on a cross post so that the cat couldn’t get all four paws on the floor.
I’ll kill the fucker. Trying to disguise his fury, he murmured, “Easy, baby. Easy now. I’m going to help you.”
Carefully he lifted the cat to his shoulder to relieve the tension. Wincing from claws that pierced his shirt and dug into his skin, he worked to loosen the knot. When the cat was finally free, Miles stroked his back, whispering reassuring words. The cat panted but was otherwise passive—until suddenly it hissed and launched away.
In the next second pain exploded in the back of Miles’s skull. He fell forward to his knees while the world spun around him, darkened and slowly closed in.
Well, fuck.
He’d been knocked out before during fights, so he recognized it for what it was—and did his best to fight it off.
If he lost consciousness, who would protect Maxi?
Something cold and hard clamped around his right wrist. Years of conditioning, of muscle memory, had him automatically shifting to a defensive position on his back.
His legs could be a deadly weapon.
Still seeing stars, he kicked out but only managed a glancing blow.
“Bastard! Try that again and I’ll kill you now, to hell with the consequences.”
Woody? It was difficult to think with his head still pounding so painfully.
A chain rattled and yanked his arm tight, wrenching his shoulder and making his throat burn with the need to puke.
Through bleary eyes he saw Woody picking up the Glock that must have fallen from Miles’s waistband when he hit the floor. Just as quickly, Woody backed up and out of reach.
If Woody was here, where was Maxi? If he’d hurt her...
He must have spoken aloud, because Woody said, “I’m getting her now. Be right back.”
“No, wait—” But Woody was already gone. After two slow, deep breaths, Miles forced himself more upright. It relieved a little of the tension on his arm, but not the turmoil in his brain.
Had Maxi already called Sahara? God, he hoped so. He knew Sahara, knew she wouldn’t take chances. Backup would be on the scene in minutes.
But did they have minutes?
He hadn’t suspected Woody—and neither would Maxi. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she would follow him out.
He had to do something.
Recovering by the second, he ignored the pain in his skull and instead stared in disgust at the metal handcuffs, one tight around his wrist, the other fed through a chain wrapped around the same post that had held the cat.
He had to get free.
Every movement sent pain slicing through his head, but it was nothing compared to the fear for Maxi. Bracing his feet against the post, he pulled as hard as he could. The cuffs were solid, but the chain might give. All he needed was for one of the rusted links to open. The muscles in his arm and shoulder complained, but he didn’t let up.
Not until Woody walked in with Maxi. At first, she only looked confused, but then her gaze landed on him and she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Miles?” She started toward him in a rush.
With a hand twisted in her shirt, Woody roughly jerked her back, then gave her a shove in the opposite direction.
“Stay away from him,” Woody ordered.
“But he’s hurt!”
“Yeah, and next time I hit him, I’ll cave in his skull.”
Shock, confusion and then outrage all flashed over her face. She rounded on the older man in a fury. “Don’t you touch him!”
Jesus, Miles thought, the last thing he needed was for her to do something reckless.
“Maxi,” he said sharply, to cut through her anger, “I need you to calm down, okay? I’m fine.” The link would give. It had to. “It’s going to be okay.”
Woody leveled a rifle on her. “Yeah, listen to him.”
It chilled Miles’s blood to see the weapon trained on her. “Woody, what are you doing?” Look at me, you bastard, not her.
“For now I’m just separating you
two,” Woody said, and then to Maxi, “Back up there. All the way back to the corner. That’s it. Now sit down, legs out. If you try to get up, I’ll shoot him first, and then you.”
With a threat like that, Maxi sat. “You told me it was all clear, that the cats needed me.”
Woody chuckled. “One did, but looks like Miles already freed it.”
In a low, mean voice, she asked, “Did you hurt one of my cats, Woody?”
“More worried about that damned rodent than your boyfriend?” All the menace left his expression when he smiled with a memory. Once again he spoke to them like they were his friends, instead of his captives. “Just like your grandma. She loved those critters, too. I remember when she found kittens once. She was so sweet and excited.”
Miles stared at him. The obvious insanity made him even more unpredictable. Why was he doing this?
Different cats tried creeping in, wanting to get closer to Maxi. Even Hero now peered around the barn door. The cat still looked wary, body arched, fur standing on end, teeth showing.
Miles couldn’t blame him, but he hoped Hero didn’t give Woody another chance to abuse him. Maxi might well lose it if he did, and she needed to stay calm.
He silently strained against the chain.
“Let me get this out of reach, before you do something stupid.” Woody carried his Glock to a ledge on the opposite side of the barn.
Hoping to send Maxi a silent message, Miles glanced at her, but the second their gazes met, she flashed up the hem of her shirt to show the small revolver tucked into the waistband of her shorts.
No. Hell no. Woody was certifiable and Maxi’s aim still sucked—a very bad combo. If she tried to shoot Woody, she was as likely to hit Miles...if Woody didn’t turn his rifle on her first.
Miles gave a small, stern shake of his head, warning her against any spontaneous action.
But she’d already looked away to Woody, her dark eyes pinning him. Mixed with her obvious fear was pure, red-hot rage. He understood, because he felt the same.
Unfortunately, that emotion could make her impulsive.
However this went down, he had to be ready to act.
He loved her. No way in hell could he lose her now.
* * *
GOD, PLEASE DON’T let Miles be seriously hurt.
It worried Maxi, seeing the blood in his hair and on his shirt, knowing he’d had concussions and that Woody had likely given him another.
To buy herself some time, she asked, “Why are you doing this, Woody?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Miles straining against the chain. Did he honestly think he could break it?
Yes, she knew he didn’t want her to take matters into her own hands, and she wouldn’t—if she could avoid it. But Miles was already hurt, and by God, she wouldn’t let Woody touch him again.
If she had to, she’d shoot Woody, and this close, surely she’d be accurate.
When Woody glanced at him, Miles went still. Her heartbeat skipped, then blasted into overtime as Woody turned to face him, his gaze suspicious.
She had to draw his attention away, so she demanded, “Did you kill my grandma?”
“What?” Genuinely baffled, Woody glared at her. “I don’t kill innocent people!”
Maxi noted the qualification on “innocent.” Had he killed bad people, then? More to the point, she and Miles were innocent. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. We’re here, after all. You’ve wounded Miles, and with the way you keep aiming that rifle, am I supposed to assume you just want to visit?”
Chagrined, he growled, “I loved that woman. I tried to get her to marry me! If she weren’t so cursed stubborn, saying we could just carry on as we had been, she wouldn’t have been living alone. I’d have been there with her when she fell.”
Relief briefly closed her eyes. “So she did fall, like you said?”
Woody’s hold on the rifle loosened. “It about killed me, finding Meryl like that. It’s true that I wanted to marry her so this place would be mine, but I loved her, too. Her dying not only broke my heart, it ruined everything.” Suddenly he brought the rifle back around, now pointed at Maxi. “If your grandma had just given in, it’d all be fine and no one would’ve ever known. Hell, if you’d given in...” In a blast of irritation, he asked, “Why didn’t you just sell the place to me? Stubborn, just like your grandma. Now I have no choice but to kill you.”
Between worried glances at Miles, Maxi watched Woody closely. He chatted about loving her grandmother in one breath, and murdering her in the next. How should she deal with him?
If he decided to shoot her, she’d charge him first. She’d go down fighting—for herself and for Miles. “I didn’t know it was that important to you. Now that I do know, I’ve changed my mind. We could still work out a deal, right?”
Woody snorted. “It’s too late now. You already know.”
“Know what?”
The barn door shifted and Woody swung around, the rifle aimed.
Fletcher froze in the doorway.
For the first time it occurred to Maxi how much grandfather and grandson looked alike. They shared the same height, and although Woody had lost some muscle tone, it was clear he’d once been as fit as Fletcher.
Tension held them all silent as Fletcher’s steely gaze took in the scene, lingering on Miles for a moment before settling on Woody.
He said calmly, “Granddad.”
“Fletch.” Slack-jawed, Woody blinked at him. “What’re you doing here?”
“I came to help, of course.” He gave Maxi a look before his mouth lifted in a strained smile. “I think I know what happened, but it’s okay now.”
Maxi glared at him. So Fletcher was in on it after all? And to think she’d defended him! “What happened?” she demanded. “What are you talking about?”
“He doesn’t know shit,” Woody protested, backing to the side so he could keep all three of them in his sights.
Showing a healthy respect for Miles’s ability, even when chained to a pole, Fletcher stayed out of his reach as he answered Maxi. “My sister got in with a bad crowd. Drinking, drugs, armed robbery...it almost killed her. My guess is that Granddad did what he always did.” He looked at Woody. “You protected her, didn’t you?”
Woody straightened with pride. “Damn right I did!”
“But...” Maxi frowned at Fletcher. “I thought it was you who beat up the men—”
“I did,” Fletcher confirmed. “But that wouldn’t have fixed things. So many times we’d get her turned around, but then the addiction would steal her away again.”
Woody’s face went red, his eyes bulging. “That miserable dealer and his cronies were to blame!”
Fletcher agreed. Almost as if it didn’t matter, he asked Woody, “What happened to them?”
“I killed them.”
Silence weighed heavy in the barn.
“I had to! I couldn’t let them ruin Anna and you both.” He hitched his chin. “After that beating you gave them, they were going to press charges against you. And I couldn’t defend you without telling the world that Anna was an addict.”
Recovered, Fletcher said softly, “I understand.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What did you do with the bodies?”
Now Woody grinned. “Buried the worst one of the bunch in the ground—and put a pond on top of him.”
Bile rose in Maxi’s throat. “My pond?” she choked out.
“I told you not to swim in it!”
Her skin crawled. Hull and Armie and...dear God, Miles...they’d all been in the pond—with a dead body beneath them. “You said there was a turtle!”
“There was.”
She stared at him, taken aback by his insulted tone. “You didn’t make that up?”
“I’m not a liar.
”
In his twisted mind, Woody thought a liar was worse than a murderer? He seemed so volatile she didn’t dare move, didn’t even dare breathe.
“What else did you do, Granddad?” Fletcher asked, which gave her a chance to gasp in air.
Smug now, Woody said, “Buried one of the others to the side of the barn and just told Meryl I was replacing some of the wood.”
The answer surprised Maxi enough that she almost forgot her fear. “That’s why you didn’t want me to add on to the barn for the goats?”
“You wouldn’t leave well enough alone, girl.” As if he spoke only truth, Woody said, “This is your fault,” and again he pointed the rifle at her.
“Anyone else?” Fletcher asked, trying to distract him again.
Woody narrowed his eyes. “What does it matter?”
“How else can I help you unless I know everything?”
Woody shrugged his chin at Maxi. “Why don’t you ask her? She was probably ready to build something on it.” He muttered, “A dock for the pond, goats, for God’s sake. Anything else, girl?”
While Woody looked at her, Maxi saw Fletcher reach into his pocket, then toss something small toward Miles. It landed in the hay near his hip.
To keep Woody looking at her, Maxi said, “That willow tree in the side yard. It blocks my view of the pond, so I—”
“Goddamn it,” Woody exploded, stomping in a circle until he could glare at Fletcher. “Didn’t I tell you? She’d have dug up the last one!”
The suddenness of Woody’s violent fit sent Maxi’s heart hammering, but then his words sank in. “You’re not joking?”
He raged, “Who would joke about a thing like that?” as if she were the lunatic.
She’d only been making conversation, meant to keep him preoccupied, yet she’d blundered into a third site for a victim? “Dear God.”
He used the rifle to gesture at her again. “Why the hell can’t you leave well enough alone? This place was perfect as is. I’d have loved it here.” He swung the barrel toward Miles next. “You helped her to change so much, but I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”
“Except to add a few more grave sites?” Maxi asked, deliberately provoking him. She’d do anything to keep that rifle off Miles. Anything.