by Jodie Bailey
“There were two. One subdued our men outside and one busted in and hit me and Howell.”
“You were shot?” But how? Nothing made sense. It was like the world was a thousand miles away, even as the pain cleared.
“We’re okay.” Agent Nance reached across Wyatt and lifted something from the floor. “Beanbag rounds.”
“What?” Wyatt grabbed his gun from the floor, slid it into its holster, then planted a hand on the agent’s shoulder and pushed himself to stand, the pain lifting slightly as he stood upright and took the pressure off of his rib cage. Bracing one hand against the wall, he held out his other, and Nance dropped the small beanbag round into his palm. A nonlethal solution, the rounds could be loaded into a 12-gauge shotgun and fired. They typically didn’t kill, but they could cause enough damage to stun a victim into inaction long enough for them to get Jenna out of the apartment. The pain in Wyatt’s ribs left no doubt. “You said they took down some of your men outside, but not us. Why not kill us all?” He held out a hand and helped Nance stand, shooting pain from his side throughout his body. He couldn’t have a broken rib. If he did, they’d have to tape him up in the parking lot, because he wasn’t going to any hospital.
He was going after Jenna.
“No idea. Meyer’s men have proven they’re not above killing. Sometimes they almost act as if they glory in it. But this?” His expression shadowed. “This makes me wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
A rustle from the end of the hall made them turn their heads, Wyatt with his hand on his pistol.
Howell appeared, one hand on her stomach and one sweeping her brown hair away from her forehead. “He thinks it’s an inside job and I wouldn’t hesitate to agree. This is the work of someone who’s after the money but not willing to kill to get it. Not the typical operating procedure for the kind of guys Meyer attracts.”
The pain alone was enough to make Wyatt sick. Nance’s theory made his stomach dive lower. He focused on the beanbag round in his hand, the weight of it heavier with each passing second. “I recognize this. At least, I think I do.” He closed his fingers around the round and looked at the two federal agents, who were watching him closely. “Mountain Springs is a small department, but we keep a handful of these on hand as a precaution. This brand. I’m not saying it’s one of my guys, but...” But there was a slim possibility. “He leave any shell casings behind?”
“Haven’t looked.”
The sirens outside grew louder and car doors slammed.
Agent Nance turned toward the door and pulled out his badge, prepared to identify himself when the police entered.
Howell picked up an object near the door and tossed it to Wyatt, who flipped the shell over in his hands, his pulse accelerating. “Make this quick with the locals and get me to Mountain Springs.” Wyatt tightened his grip on the shotgun shell he held, his last link to the person who’d stolen Jenna. “I can tell you exactly where she is.”
SIXTEEN
“How much did you give her?” The words cut through the gray darkness, pounding into Jenna’s brain even though they sounded far away. Her head throbbed with each heartbeat. She tried to ease her eyes open but the light was too bright. Too intense. It assaulted her senses, stinging her nose and dragging tears to her eyes. She moaned once, twice, tried to dig her fingernails into what felt like rough wood to keep the room from spinning.
Her senses came back slowly. The voices had lowered. Something smelled like dirt and an old, closed-up house. Damp. Musty. Where was she?
The last thing she remembered she was... She was... With Wyatt? No. Wyatt was... She inhaled sharply, the breath shuddering painfully in her throat. Gunshots. Wyatt. Dropping to the floor. Men stuffing her into a car, threatening her.
She came into full consciousness screaming, her voice hoarse and ragged.
“Are you kidding me?” A voice across the room cursed, then shouted, “Make it stop already.”
Jenna swallowed her next scream and worked bleary eyes open as a shadow kneeled in front of her and eased her to her feet, leaning her against what felt like a wall. It took so much effort to lift her head, to focus her eyes...
And when they did focus, she gasped, then melted in relief.
Officer Brian Early was looking at her, eyes dark with pity.
She was safe.
“She screams again, duct-tape her mouth shut. I can’t handle it.” The second voice from across the room was rough, harsh. “I get now why it was double to bring her to Meyer alive.”
The hope swelling in her chest faded. Her head swung from side to side, a soft no escaping her lips. “Brian... Why?” He’d been the voice at the apartment, the one cautioning the other man. The one who’d shoved her into the back seat and planted a boot in her back.
It didn’t compute. While she didn’t know him well, Brian Early was a quiet, respectful officer. A man who, like Wyatt, did his job with professionalism and care, who loved his town and the people in it. “Why?”
His jaw tightened, his lips pressing tightly together as his eyes squeezed shut then opened again. “Meyer has my sister. He wired me. He could hear everything I said, knew everywhere I went...”
“No.” Nina Early was a sophomore at Appalachian State, as outgoing as her brother was reserved. A small-town girl with a ready smile and a sense of humor that lit the room when she came by to paint at the shop or to grab a cup of coffee. If Grant Meyer had her...
What would he do with a girl like Nina?
She laid a hand on Brian’s arm, torn between fear for her own safety and pity for the man who had been backed into a vicious dark corner. But her heart hardened as quickly as it had beat in sympathy. She lifted her chin, the room spinning less now. “You killed Wyatt. You—”
“I—” Footsteps on the porch silenced him, and he turned, dragging Jenna to her feet and easing her behind him.
She didn’t want a killer’s protection. Rage, grief and fear built inside her and she drew away, determined to plant a fist in his back, in his neck, wherever she could land a punch.
But the door opened, and a man appeared, flanked by two other men, who loomed over him. Dressed in jeans and a gray button-down shirt, Grant Meyer looked every inch the casual businessman he had once pretended to be.
Jenna froze. This was it. The end. There was no escaping now, not with the firepower he’d brought with him.
And not with the hate in his eyes when his gaze landed on Jenna.
“Hello, Amy.” He smiled, self-satisfied and smug, as though he’d read her thoughts and knew she realized the hopelessness of her situation. “It’s been a long three years.”
Jenna said nothing. Maybe he’d kill her quickly, believe he had Amy and drop the search. All she had left in life was to save her sister. Unless...
She laid a hand flat between Brian Early’s shoulder blades. “Please...”
His head dipped, his posture slumped. He glanced over his shoulder at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry.” With a deep breath he turned to Grant Meyer, his spine straightening. “I did what you asked me to do. I want my sister.”
“You don’t call the shots.”
Brian stood impossibly taller, blocking Jenna from Grant’s view. “Where is she?”
The silence stretched, heavy and dark. Jenna tensed, squeezing her eyes shut. Meyer wasn’t the kind of man who valued life. He’d kill Brian for bucking up to him if it suited his purposes. Her whole body ached, waiting for the gunshot that would silence Brian’s argument forever.
“She’s nearby. In the Scenic Heights Hotel. Room eighty-seven.”
Brian moved for the door and Jenna lifted her head as his shadow fell away, leaving her vulnerable and unprotected as she faced the man who’d destroyed her sister’s life and, by extension, her own.
He was watching Brian. “You can go in a minute. Let’s make sure you brought m
e what I wanted first.” Brian stopped as Grant aimed a finger at the wall beside the door. “Wait there.”
And then, he turned his attention to Jenna, surveying her, studying her.
Jenna shivered and tried to shrink from his leering assessment, but her muscles froze, fear rocking her from the inside out as he closed the small space between them. He grabbed her chin, lifted it forcefully and turned her head from one side to the other, his fingers rough on already bruised skin. His smug look slipped. He reached up with his other hand, lifted her hair from her neck, and fingered the ends, his eyes narrowing.
His touch slithered through her. Jenna was going to be sick. Right now. It would be her last act before she died.
Grant Meyer’s dark eyes hardened, and his nostrils flared slightly before hot, red rage coated his expression. He shoved Jenna away from him by her chin.
Her neck muscles screaming, she hit the floor hard, a cloud of dust mingling with pain to choke her.
Meyer whipped a pistol from his side holster and leveled it at Brian Early. “You brought me the wrong girl.” His voice was low, so much more frightening than a shout.
Deadly.
The other man, Brian’s apparent partner, rose from a scarred wooden table in the corner of the room. He stalked toward Jenna, his expression a mix of anger and fear. “He told me this was her.”
“No.” Brian stepped one foot away from the pistol pointed straight at his forehead. His voice remained strong. “This is Jenna Clark. This is the one your men told me I had to bring to you in order to get my—”
“No.” Moving closer, Meyer held the pistol tight against Brian’s forehead, pressing against skin, the point of contact from the barrel rapidly reddening.
Jenna tried to scramble backward, but an iron grip lifted her from the floor and held her forearms tight as she watched the two men locked in a death stare. She wanted to shut her eyes, to turn away, but fear left her paralyzed.
Grant Meyer knew she wasn’t Amy. He would kill her the same way he’d killed so many before her, and then he’d continue his hunt for Amy until she was dead, too.
Her sacrifices, her pain, Wyatt’s death... Everything had been for nothing. Jesus, I tried. I tried. I tried. It was a mantra, over and over, and it wouldn’t stop.
Meyer pulled a deep breath in and lowered his weapon, tapping it against his thigh. “Amy Brady is a blonde. A natural blonde.” He smiled a wicked smile and shook his head, turning to look at Jenna. He walked over, ran a hand along Jenna’s cheek and lifted her hair again.
She jerked away, his touch shuddering through her like spiders.
“Her twin sister? Genevieve? A natural redhead.” He ran his fingers through her hair again, then turned slightly to look at Brian. “One of the few I’ve ever met. It’s actually striking.”
“Maybe she... Maybe she dyed it. Hiding.” Brian straightened, emboldened by his own words. “Look, I did what you asked. All I want is my—”
“I know women, Early. They’re my business. They’ve made me a lot of money over the years. I’ve got clients around the world. Some couldn’t care less what they get. They buy in bulk. Others? They’re very...particular. And they don’t like getting something fake. This girl here is a natural redhead. I know. I know well. Girls like her put a lot more in my pocket.”
Jenna wanted to turn inside herself and vanish. The things he was saying, the way he talked... How many women had he treated like property, used to line his pockets, dismissed as inventory? A sob shuddered through her, pain digging into her stomach. She nearly doubled over, her knees weakening. She would have hit the floor if the hands holding her biceps hadn’t tightened.
Brian’s gaze bounced to Jenna then to Meyer, a look of fear swiftly covered over with defiance. “I did what you asked. Your men made a mistake. It’s not my fault they got the wrong woman. I was only told to bring Jenna to—”
“A mistake?” Meyer ghosted a smile. “I’ve got four of my best men sitting in an FBI holding cell right now because of your mistake. I’ve lost my stop in Mountain Springs, which means I have to cut my losses on property I’ve already bought and drop more money into a new location. I’ve come out of hiding to be here, to confront Amy Brady face-to-face for what she did to ruin me.” The gun tapped faster against the side of his thigh. “The Feds know it. They know I’m close. Your mistake could have cost me everything.” He turned toward Jenna, eyes narrowed scanning her from her head to her feet, then back again.
Then he smiled. Sick, twisted...as though he owned her.
In one motion, he lifted his arm and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the room, a loud crack that rendered Jenna temporarily blind and deaf as she flinched.
Brian dropped.
Jenna screamed and jumped backward, nearly toppling the man who held her. She turned her head to the side, slamming her eyes shut, wishing she could erase what she’d seen, praying she’d live long enough to forget.
“Get the car around to the front door.” Meyer’s footsteps came closer on the old hardwood, his shoes beating a death march. Laying a hand on each of Jenna’s cheeks, he turned her toward him as the man behind her let go.
When she opened her eyes, Grant Meyer was staring at her. “The bullet he took was almost yours, but then I thought what a shame it would be to waste a beauty like you when you’re worth so much more to me alive.”
Cold dread washed over Jenna, hardening her muscles into iron. No. No. No. He wasn’t going to kill her but... No.
She would walk out of here alive, but there were fates worse than death. So. Much. Worse.
* * *
Wyatt winced at the gunshot and pressed his back tighter against the oak tree in the woods along the edge of Brian Early’s family hunting property, his grip on his pistol tightening. The old original log house sat in the center of a small clearing.
Jenna was inside. His aching side mocked him, the ibuprofen he’d taken from the paramedics doing little to touch the pain. Please, Lord. Please don’t let the shot have been for her. Not when he was this close. Not when he could save her.
The radio in his ear whispered, “Eyes on Jenna. She’s standing.” From his vantage point in the woods at the front of the cabin, Chief Thompson must have a better view than Wyatt.
Wyatt exhaled slowly, his heart racing. Jenna was safe for the moment. He peered around the tree again, careful to stay concealed, fighting dark memories.
Memories of the Iraqi desert.
Of the Afghan mountains.
Of a house not so different from this one, in the humid heat of a North Carolina summer, and two gunshots that rang out while he watched, wounded and helpless.
Here he was again. Watching. Wounded. In Asheville, he’d rushed the paramedics along, refusing to go to the hospital. They’d wrapped his ribs the best they could in the field and he’d raced to Mountain Springs to the station, where plans were already underway to rescue Jenna.
The shell from the beanbag round had told Wyatt all he needed to know. In permanent marker, familiar handwriting scrawled...
Early.
No one had seen or heard from Early since late the afternoon before, when he went off shift. His cell phone was off. Calls to his sister—his emergency contact—went unanswered. Everything made sense now... The way Meyer had known they were at Christa’s. The beanbag rounds in the rifle. Somehow, Meyer had gotten to the other officer, and he was cooperating under duress, which meant they had two hostages, possibly three, since his sister seemed to have disappeared as well. Brian Early wouldn’t fire live rounds at law enforcement, ever... But he could make Meyer’s men think he was by loading beanbag shells in a standard 12-gauge.
He’d left a message behind on those shells. The Early family had two properties, Brian’s house in town and a small, rarely used hunting cabin a few miles into the mountains. Two teams were readying to locate Jenna, one team for each
location. With permission granted to pull surveillance and nothing more, they’d moved out. Wyatt joined the small group making their way through the woods to set up a fragile perimeter around the Early cabin, certain the isolated location was the one Meyer would choose.
A hostage rescue team was en route from the FBI and a smaller unit was headed in from the state, waiting for surveillance to tell them which location was the right one.
The right one was the cabin.
Now, they waited. But the gunshot had nearly driven Wyatt to violate orders and rush in for the rescue. Someone was surely dead, and the next bullet might have Jenna’s name on it.
Another radio transmission. “Movement.”
Wyatt leaned around the tree again. A man jogged down the stairs and headed for the dark blue SUV sitting near the front corner of the house.
His muscles tensed. Early had been able to leave them one clue, and the chances of another were slim to none. If Meyer moved Jenna again, the odds of losing her forever increased exponentially.
He rose slightly, itching to move in. He couldn’t fail this time. He couldn’t let someone die while he was in saving distance. The stakes had been high enough and devastating enough the last time.
This time he might not survive because the victim was more than an acquaintance...it was the woman he loved.
“We can’t let them leave.” He spoke low into his radio, hoping to convey urgency, straining not to shout his insistence.
“Hold position.” Nance’s voice was firm, brooking no argument.
Wyatt glanced to his left and his right. Somewhere concealed in the trees at the front of the house were Chief Thompson and Officer Mike Owens. A couple of Mountain Springs officers and Agent Nance were all Jenna had. By the time the hostage rescue team arrived and got into place, she’d be gone.
The SUV pulled close to the door, blocking the view the agents had of the front of the house. From Wyatt’s position, he had a clear view of both front and back doors.