by Kat Martin
After a stop at the Holiday Inn to pick up the bags they’d left behind, Chase and Bran headed for the airport to catch the jet. Preferring not to leave the rented pickup in Shreveport, a possible connection to the dead man at the cabin, Reese drove back to Dallas in the truck. Griff and Kenzie had both stubbornly insisted on going with him.
It was four o’clock in the morning by the time they reached the city.
Unfortunately, a black-and-white patrol car sat waiting in front of the town house when they arrived. Ten minutes after they walked inside, Detective Heath Ford and two uniformed police officers showed up at the door with a warrant for Kenzie’s arrest.
THIRTY-SIX
Kenzie looked at Reese, fresh fear clawing at her insides. Griff had fallen asleep on the ride back to Dallas and Reese had carried him upstairs. Gran had taken over while Griff showered and got ready for bed, though it was almost morning. Fortunately, Griff hadn’t seen the patrol car or heard the police arrive.
“What’s the charge?” Reese asked as Detective Ford bulled his way into the living room, the officers close behind.
The detective’s jaw tightened. “Obstruction of justice for starters. You were both told not to leave the city. Instead, you were spotted crossing the state line into Louisiana.” He stared hard at Reese. “At the moment, I’m not bringing you in, Reese, but unless you tell the truth about your whereabouts the night of the murder, you’re next on my list.”
Reese swore softly.
“All right, I was home by myself that night,” Kenzie said, tired of the subterfuge and the unfair strain on Reese. “But I didn’t have anything to do with Lee’s murder.”
“Kenzie,” Reese warned.
“No, Reese. It’s time for the truth.”
Footsteps sounded. Apparently Griff had heard the commotion and come down to see what was happening. When he reached the bottom step and saw the police, he raced to Kenzie.
“You can’t arrest my mom! She didn’t do anything! She and Reese came to save me from the kidnappers!”
“It’s all right, Griff,” Reese said. “The police are just doing their job. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Don’t let them take her away!” Griff’s hair was damp and sticking up all over, his face flushed and his eyes wild.
Kenzie’s heart clenched.
For the first time, the detective looked uncertain. “I’m beginning to get the impression there’s a lot more going on here than I know about. I think it’s time you both told me what the hell is going on.”
Kenzie pulled Griff in for a hug. “Go back upstairs with Gran, sweetheart. Let Reese and me talk to the police.”
Gran stood at the bottom of the staircase. When Griff hesitated, she came forward and slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, honey. Let the adults handle this. You’ve had more than enough excitement for tonight.”
Griff cast Kenzie a last worried glance, then reluctantly, let Gran lead him back up to his room.
“Gran made coffee,” Kenzie said, resigned that the time for honesty had arrived. “We can talk in the kitchen.”
Reese did not look pleased. “Fine,” he growled, “but I’m calling Nate Temple. I need to let him know what’s going on.”
But all Kenzie wanted was to tell the police the truth and have them believe her. Maybe this time they would.
Detective Ford instructed his men to wait outside and the three of them went into the kitchen. Kenzie poured a cup of coffee for the detective, but after the long trip home, she and Reese were already suffering a caffeine hangover.
“Start from the beginning,” Ford said. “Talk nice and slow so even us city boys can understand.”
“Very funny,” Reese said, taking a seat at the table across from him.
“Who wants to go first?” Ford asked, lounging back in his chair.
“I will,” Kenzie said. “But you’ll need Reese to fill in the blackmail part of the story.”
One of the detective’s dark brown eyebrows arched up. “This I can’t wait to hear.”
Kenzie spent the next half hour laying out the details of the kidnapping, the beating she had taken, the men involved, and why they had abducted her son. Then Reese stepped in to explain about the gambling debt Arthur Haines owed Sawyer DeMarco, a member of the Louisiana mob, and the casino owner’s extortion attempt, an effort to gain control of an offshore drilling rig for Arthur’s company, Black Sand Oil and Gas, so he could repay his debt.
“I’m with you so far,” Ford said. “Griffin was kidnapped and taken to Louisiana to put pressure on Reese. The two of you went there to retrieve him. What happened in Louisiana?”
Kenzie didn’t miss Reese’s warning glance. “Nothing that has any bearing on why you’re here. Suffice it to say, we made a deal with DeMarco and brought Griff back home.”
The detective’s expression said he knew there was a lot more to the story, but he didn’t push it, at least not right then. “The problem remains, we still don’t have any proof Lee Haines was killed by someone other than his ex-wife.”
“Not yet,” Reese said, “but if you’ll give us a little more time, we can come up with the proof you need.”
Kenzie knew Reese was banking on Hawk Maddox. But anything could happen. Jeremy Bolt could have already disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again.
Ford rose from his chair. “I’ll talk to Arthur Haines. If he’s involved in a kidnapping, he’s got a lot of explaining to do.” Ford drank the last of his coffee and set the mug back down on the table. “In the meantime, I’m telling both of you again not to leave the city and this time you’d better listen.”
As soon as the detective was gone, Kenzie turned to Reese. “I feel terrible for putting you through all of this.”
Something moved across his features and flashed in his eyes. Instead of reaching for her, pulling her into his arms, he remained distant, his careful control back in place. He’d been quiet since they’d left Louisiana.
“We were both targets,” he said. “We’ve been working together from the start, and in the last few days, we’ve made a lot of headway. Griff’s home safe. We know who killed Lee, and Hawk is hunting him. We have to hope something will break.”
She looked at his hard, remote expression, and her heart squeezed. With Griff riding between them in the pickup, they hadn’t talked about what had happened at the cabin. Griff had been strangely silent, as well. She’d heard the gunshots, but with all of them safely returned, the details hadn’t been a priority at the time.
Now they were alone.
“I think it’s time you told me what went on at the cabin,” she said. “Sooner or later, Griff’s going to want to talk about it. I really need to know.”
Reese scrubbed a hand over the several days’ growth of beard along his jaw and leaned his hips against the kitchen counter. His shuttered expression didn’t change.
“You heard some of what was happening on the radio. Bran took out two of the perimeter guards with the tranq gun and we moved into position the way we planned. Then things went to hell when Griff broke free and tried to escape just as we were ready to go in. One of the gunmen caught up with him on the front porch and used him as a shield.”
Her stomach knotted. “Oh, my God.”
“Bran and Chase followed the plan, went in, and took down the two kidnappers inside. Both men were shot but their wounds weren’t fatal. Chase called 911 on the disposable and anonymously reported the incident as soon as we were in cell range.”
“So you were...you were out in front?”
“That’s right.” His eyes seemed bluer, more intense. They never left her face. “I took out the guy who held Griff.”
Her heart twisted, began to beat like a bird trapped in her chest. She studied his expression, unable to read his thoughts. “By took out, do you...do you mean you killed him?”
>
“If I’d let him leave with Griff, we might not have been able to find him again. I didn’t have any choice.”
Her mind spun. She had been so worried about Griff, she hadn’t considered what might happen to the kidnappers during the rescue attempt. She had thought about someone dying, but mostly she was worried about Griff and Reese and his brothers. “And Griff saw this?”
Reese just nodded. “I’m sorry. If there had been any other way...”
“No wonder he was so upset.”
Reese made no reply.
“He’ll need counseling,” she said. “Someone he can talk to about what happened.”
“I know. Whatever it costs, I can pay—”
“No! Griff’s my problem, not yours.” She held his gaze. “What happens when Griff tells the doctor you killed one of the kidnappers?”
“It’s doctor-patient privilege. Nothing they can do. But it isn’t a secret a little boy should be burdened with. When the time is right, I’ll tell Ford what happened. Considering the circumstances, I’m sure we can work things out.”
Her mind was spinning. She needed time to process the information. “I’ll speak to Griff, tell him not to talk about it at school. He won’t want to get you in trouble.”
Reese fell silent. He glanced down at the floor then back, as if he wanted to say something more, but in the end, he just pushed away from the counter and prepared to leave.
“I’d better go,” he finally said. “If you need anything, just call.”
Her heart throbbed. She didn’t want him to leave. “What about work?”
“Take whatever time you need.” He didn’t touch her, made no effort to kiss her goodbye, just turned and walked away. Long strides carried him across the living room. Reese pulled open the door. His gaze ran over her one last time. “Good night, Kenzie.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to leave things so uncertain between them, but she needed time to figure things out, time to decide what was best for Griff. This was a different man than the Reese she knew. Harder, tougher. A man who could kill another human being.
She had to think of her son. Had to be sure being with Reese was the right thing for both of them.
And what about Reese? Since they had been together, she had brought him nothing but trouble. Women loved him. Why should he stay with her when he could be with someone else and leave all the problems behind? And what would the police do when he told them he had killed a man?
Kenzie stayed silent as Reese walked out the door.
* * *
It was almost dawn, the sun lurking below the horizon, casting the city in an eerie purple glow. Hawk had spent the night digging for information in the underbelly of the city, starting in the seedy hoods of Shreveport, the Downtown Riverfront, then the dive bars of Lakeside and Allendale, coming up without much for his efforts. He knew more about Bolt than before, but not enough to find him.
From what he’d learned, Jeremy Bolt was in his late forties, a shadowy figure reported to have once worked for the CIA. Rumor had it, he lived a double life, one under an alias as the reclusive son of a wealthy entrepreneur who had left him a sizable fortune. The other as a hired killer, one of the best in the trade.
Jase had a lead on Bolt that might pan out, but he’d been up all night. He needed to be at the top of his game to take on a predator like Bolt.
As the first rays of light broke over the city, he checked into a motel with a two-diamond AAA rating on the sign out front, figuring it would at least be clean. The room was small, but most of them felt that way to him. He stretched out on one of the beds to catch a few z’s and closed his tired, heavy-lidded eyes.
When he woke up, he would call Kate, mostly just to hear the sound of her voice, but also because he didn’t want his wife to worry. As soon as it was dark, he’d start again, pick up Bolt’s scent, follow the trail wherever it led. Long Bailey was still in the hospital, still guarded by the protection detail Chase was providing, but soon he’d be released.
Hawk wanted Bolt out of action before that happened. Word was the assassin had a long memory. He wouldn’t forget what he considered Long’s betrayal.
A grim smile surfaced in the darkness. Before this was over, he wouldn’t forget Hawk Maddox, either.
* * *
Arthur Haines pulled into the parking lot of the Pot-of-Gold casino and walked to the separate hotel entrance that led up to the penthouse suite.
DeMarco didn’t go out a lot. Odds were good he’d be home. Arthur pushed the intercom button next to the private elevator.
One of DeMarco’s no-necks answered. “Yeah, who is it?”
“Arthur Haines. I need to speak to Mr. DeMarco.”
“Hold on. I’ll see if he’s here.” Mob speak for whether or not DeMarco would see him.
The man’s voice came back on. “Mr. De Marco says you can come on up.”
Arthur stepped into the elevator and pushed the button. The carriage didn’t move till a code was keyed in from the penthouse.
The elevator began to rise and Arthur’s hand shook as he reached in his jacket and wrapped his fingers around the revolver in his pocket.
The gun wasn’t fancy, not one of those big semiautomatic pistols in all the gangster movies. It was just a weapon he’d bought years ago for protection. You didn’t have to be a marksman to use it. Just aim the gun and pull the trigger. If he got close enough, it wouldn’t matter that he had only fired the pistol a couple of times before he’d locked it in his safe years ago.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out onto the black and white marble floors in the garishly over-decorated penthouse suite. DeMarco ambled toward him, shorter than Arthur, his barrel chest puffed out, a heavy crystal glass of expensive scotch in his hand.
“You look tired, Arthur.” DeMarco’s raspy voice always grated on his nerves. “By now you must know that your grandson has been rescued. That means you aren’t getting that drilling platform you wanted so badly, and you still owe me several million dollars. So why are you here?”
Two of DeMarco’s dim-witted bodyguards stood at the back of the room. Arthur had purposely chosen an ill-fitting worn tweed jacket and a pair of scuffed shoes. Nothing threatening about him. By the time they figured it out, it would be too late.
“I didn’t know my grandson was safe. But I’m thankful for it. That isn’t why I came.”
“No? Enlighten me.”
“Would you mind if I poured myself a drink?”
DeMarco snapped his fingers and one of the bodyguards came forward. “A scotch for my guest.”
When the bodyguard started for the bar, Arthur headed in that direction, which brought him closer to DeMarco. His hand went into his pocket. If he hesitated, he’d lose his nerve. He pulled the pistol, aimed, and fired from no more than three feet away.
The stunned expression on Sawyer DeMarco’s face the instant before blood gushed from the hole in his throat was worth the hail of gunfire that slammed into Arthur’s chest. As he hit the cold marble floor, his last thought was of Daniel.
At least his precious son was safe.
THIRTY-SEVEN
After leaving Kenzie’s town house, Reese went home and made a brief attempt to sleep. When the effort failed, he rolled out of bed, showered, dressed, and went into the office. It was early Thursday morning. He filled the day with meetings and appointments, then worked late that night.
Anything to keep his mind off Kenzie.
The office felt empty without her. He’d grown used to her presence, her willingness to help with any problem that came up, used to the warmth she exuded just being near.
But Kenzie needed time with her son. She was doing her best to help Griff through an extremely traumatic experience. Since their return to Dallas, Reese had talked to her only once. Neither of them had mentioned their relationship—or lack thereof.
>
He’d asked about Griff, and Kenzie had told him she’d made an appointment that day with a child psychologist named Margaret Stone. Reese had checked Stone’s credentials and found the woman was considered one of the best in Dallas.
He was sitting behind his desk Friday morning, going over company financials and checking in with some of his VPs, when the intercom buzzed.
Louise’s voice came over the line. “Detective Ford is calling, sir.”
His pulse kicked up. He intended to talk to Ford about the shooting, but there were other matters to take care of first. Maybe this was the break they’d been hoping for.
“Put him through.” Reese picked up the phone and settled back in his chair, the receiver notched against his shoulder. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“Arthur Haines is dead.”
“What?” Reese shot forward.
“That’s right. So is Sawyer DeMarco. Shreveport Police got a 9-1-1 call from the Pot-of-Gold hotel. Apparently, Arthur Haines showed up looking for DeMarco and made it up to his penthouse suite. I guess it never occurred to DeMarco that Haines might try to kill him. Arthur put a slug in DeMarco’s throat before his bodyguards took him out.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. This thing just keeps escalating. I’m beginning to believe your Ms. Haines could be telling the truth.”
“She was set up, Heath. Haines was killed by a mob hit man.” He didn’t mention Bolt’s name. Hawk was tracking Bolt, putting himself at risk. Police interference could make the danger even greater.
“Assuming you’re right,” Ford said, “why would the mob hit Lee Haines?”
“I asked Arthur about it before we went to Shreveport. He said DeMarco arranged the hit on his son as a warning. Apparently, the debt he owed was substantial. Lee’s death was a way of convincing Arthur to repay the money.” He didn’t mention the gaming permits. Too much information might be worse than not enough.