Blood and Roses (Holly Jennings Thriller) (21 page)

      
Contact:
He’s out.

      
Tieg:
What? When?

      
Contact:
A year ago.

      
Tieg:
And you didn’t think to fucking let me know?

      
Contact:
I am quite busy. I didn’t think he was a threat.

      
Tieg:
You didn’t?

      
Contact:
No. The man was completely beaten when he left here. You know how he was burned on his face and hands, and then the number your guys did on him. I arranged that, and I don’t feel so good about it. I don’t owe you.

      
Tieg:
The hell you don’t.

      
Contact:
Trust me. That guy is not coming back for you. He worked with shrinks. He did his time. He just wanted to start a new life. That’s all. Told me he was moving to the Caribbean.

      
Tieg:
You believed him?

      
Contact:
Yeah. I did, and you need to cut the shit. If the guy wanted your blood, don’t you think he would have come after you by now? All he wanted was to get out and start over. I don’t think he would risk going back to prison. It was more of a hell for him than most people. Face it. The man was innocent. You know that, and if you want me to continue to keep your dirty secret, I suggest another payday. I guess you shouldn’t have contacted me. I was happy until you did.

      
Tieg:
Fuck you!

      
Contact:
Same to you. You know how to wire funds. You know my expectations. I suggest you get on it.

That was the end of the correspondence. Holly blew out a deep breath. She picked up the phone and called Amar.

He answered on the first ring. “You read the exchange.”

“Yeah. How did your man get this?”

“He’s one of the best. It wasn’t easy, but cyberspace isn’t as protected as most of us like to think.”

“There is so much here, Amar. This case keeps revealing more twists and turns. This exchange has to be referring to the groom from the fire. Ted Ivy.”

“I think you’re right. You were not able to get to the prison in time today?”

“No. But I’m headed there first thing in the morning. If we’re right, and if Ivy has been let out, I think he’s our guy. He’s the one killing these people.”

“Why the jockeys? He had a motive to kill Tieg, and he may be going after the other guys involved in the fire frame-up. Do you have background on that?”

“Laugherty would be on that list, and maybe Jim Gershon. I talked with Chad. His wife is in labor, so he’s unavailable for us. He wasn’t able to locate Gershon. Santa Anita closed yesterday and Gershon mentioned that he didn’t have a horse running in the Infinity.”

“Maybe he went to Vegas to watch.”

“Maybe. Amar, we need to find him. I’ll call after I see what I can find out from the prison. Do you have a photo of Ted Ivy?”

“Yeah. There’s one from the newspaper stories back then. Kind of grainy. You should be able to google it.”

“I will. Let’s touch base tomorrow.”

“Holly?”

“Yeah?”

“Watch your back. I got a bad feeling.”

“Listen to you, Amar. I think we’re friends.”

He laughed. “I think so, too.”

45

Holly got up early the next morning and went for a quick run around Lake Barkley, near the motel. The prison was also close by and she’d learned at the sandwich shop the night before that locals called it the Castle on the Cumberland. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get into the prison gates until ten and her nervous energy fueled the run.

Maybe it was the proximity of the prison. Maybe it was being a lone woman jogging along the lake. Or more than likely she was edgy as all hell and had the feeling of being watched. She didn’t like that feeling at all and pushed herself harder and faster.

She got back to the motel and showered, leaving the TV on to keep her company. She opened up the small closet to retrieve her bag and grab the same pair of jeans and blouse she’d worn yesterday. If she was here any longer, she’d need to pick up some clothes. Bra and underwear on, she bent down to get the rest of the clothing when hands grabbed her from behind.

She struggled, squirmed, kicked, and tried every tactic she knew from her cop training. But this guy was strong. How had she not even heard him? She had no time to ponder the question as a handkerchief was placed over her face, and she soon passed out.

46

Holly struggled to open her eyes. As consciousness slowly crept into her brain, reality did as well. Her hands and feet were bound, and she was gagged.

She was in deep shit.

Her vision began to clear and as it did, she was shocked by her surroundings.
What the hell…
She would have to take in every detail that she possibly could quickly. She had no idea if she would be knocked out cold again, or worse, but if she had any kind of guardian angel watching over her—and she’d always thought that angel was Jack—then maybe she would get out of this alive.

She was locked inside a bedroom, a large one that spoke of a lot of money. The bed she was lying on, a four-poster, was made of some kind of dark wood. The linens were all white; black velvet curtains on the windows were closed and hung down to the floor. She wondered what was on the other side of them.

Red roses filled a vase on one of the nightstands, next to a lamp that was on. A black-and-white sketch of a nude woman hung on one wall, on the other a sketch of—what else? A horse. But this horse wasn’t racing and did not look to be a Thoroughbred. She’d learned a few things about horses since she’d been on these cases, and the breed looked to be an Arabian.

Where the hell was she?

She went to logic. What was the last thing she remembered before getting knocked out cold? She went jogging. Planned to go to the prison. She was in that tiny hole-in-the-wall motel room. How had someone gotten in without her hearing? How had they taken her without being noticed? She recalled the strength in the arms that had been wrapped around her.

Where was she? What in hell had happened?

She closed her eyes and heard the lock on the door.

When she heard her name and opened her eyes, everything in the room began to swirl. She grew dizzy; her stomach sank. She blinked several times. She spotted her plumeria charm on the nightstand next to the bed.

Was she dreaming?

No.

Her heart raced. Sickness rose in her stomach and confusion swirled around in her brain. How could this be? Could this really be?

As if he’d read her mind, something he used to be quite good at, her husband, Jack, who she thought had been dead for ten years, said, “I’m real. It’s me.”

47

Holly didn’t pass out, but every nerve stood on edge. Her body shook, and as he came closer to her and she could see that it really was Jack, the burn of tears stung her eyes.

He came to the edge of the bed and sat. She tried to push herself back and as far away from him as she could. This had to be some kind of nightmare. There was no way this could be real.

“I know what you’re thinking. I know you. And this is real. I am real. It’s me. Jack.”

The tears began to stream down her face. He reached out and wiped them. She shrank from his touch as memories flooded her, and questions ached to escape her. So many questions.

“I know you have a lot of questions, and I’m sure my answers will never be good enough.”

Her brain kept replaying the thought:
ten years, ten years of questions. Ten years of—YOU WERE DEAD.

“Listen, I am not a bad guy. I know about the case you’re working. I need to talk to you about what you’re investigating. I promise that I’m not bad. If I take off the gag, do you promise not to go insane and scream?”

She nodded.

“Okay.” He untied the kerchief stuck in her mouth and she spat it out. For seconds no words were spoken, until she finally whispered, “A good man doesn’t leave his pregnant wife, allowing
her to believe for
ten years
that he’s dead, only to suddenly pop back into her life by kidnapping her. You may be Jack Jennings, but you are not the man I married. Where are we?”

He lowered his hazel eyes, his long lashes shrouding them. He looked almost the same as he had a decade ago, except for some silver scattered through his hair. “We’re back in Lexington. I knew I needed to get you here, and I doubted you would come if I just asked.”

She could not believe what she was hearing. “What? Why?
Why
, Jack?”

“I had to do what I had to do, Holly. If my death hadn’t been faked, then it’s more than likely neither you nor I, nor
Chloe
, would be here today.”

“Don’t you say her name.” Holly’s words were laced with disgust.

“Holly, you have to trust me. I would never in a million years have hurt you, but I had no choice.”

“What do you mean, you had no choice?”

“The case we were on back then, ten years ago…what you didn’t know was that I had been working with the CIA.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?” Had her entire marriage been nothing but lies and deceit?

“I couldn’t tell you. I was investigating the cartels, and there was a price on my head—and yours.”

“No. I don’t believe you. You could have found a way.” She shook her head, not completely grasping his words. “Who else knew?” she asked, raising her voice. “Someone else had to have known!”

“No one knew. No one on the force, that is.”

“How in the hell do you expect me to believe that you were on a task force for the CIA, and no one in the department knew?!”

“From my years in the military,” he replied. “I still had contacts there. There was so much about that case, Holly, that even our department didn’t know about. I was approached by a former acquaintance from my Marine days. They needed my help.”

“They needed your help? They needed your help! And you agreed? You faked your own death, Jack. You left! What about me? I was your goddamned wife! Don’t you think that I needed your help?” Tears streamed down her face as she grew angrier by the second, disbelief giving way to hurt and rage.

He shook his head and sighed. “Honey, I had no idea it would go so far. If I had known, I would have turned down the assignment. If I had known that I would be ordered to leave you to keep you and our baby safe, then I would have told them forget it. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought wrong.” He brushed his own face with the back of his hand.

“You could have come home. You could have told them no!”

“No. I couldn’t have.” He walked over to a desk in one corner, where he picked up an eight-by-ten envelope. He pulled out a stack of photos and set them down on the bed. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I mean, why would you? The whole situation is insane. But it’s true.”

The photos sickened her—a woman with her throat slashed, her child next to her. There was another photo with an older couple slain in the same fashion. Jack pointed to the mother and child. “DEA agent Pedro Suarez. Remember him?”

She did. The slayings of his wife and daughter had been all over the news. The cartel had been suspected. Suarez was later found hanging in his garage, presumed to have killed himself because of the pain of losing his family.

Jack pointed to the photos of the older couple. “CIA agent Bill Benington. These are his parents. Again the cartel was suspected. I was next.
You
were next. There was no way in hell I was willing
to risk your life, or that of our daughter. No way. The CIA got me out of there. I’ve been working undercover for several years in the Middle East, and my current assignment brought me back here—and it now involves you.”

Holly was so confused. She didn’t know what to think, or how to feel. “The cartel, though. The guys we were after are gone now, or in prisons around the world.”

“But they weren’t that long ago.”

“You could have come back. You would have been out of danger.
We
would have been out of danger.”

“Not likely, Holly. The cartel has far-reaching branches and long memories. The risk will always be there, and besides, even if I felt it might be safe, I had to question whether it was fair to you and to Chloe. You had a new life, a new love.”

Brendan.

“It would not have been right or fair,” he continued.

“Then why do you think it is now?”
she screamed at him, her voice filled with rage, her body shaking.

He touched her shoulder and then reached out to wipe her tears again. She continued to shrink back. He untied her hands and feet.

“I’m getting the hell out of here!” She stood.

Jack grabbed her wrist. “Please don’t run, Holly. Please hear me out.”

48

It had been four years since Quentin was relieved of his duties for the United States government.

He had been working with an informant named Zahoor, who was in tight with the Taliban. Money talked with some of these guys, just as it did with a lot of people. Money remained the universal language.

Quentin was also in deep, working side by side with a guy he thought was his man—someone who had his back.

Jack Jennings.

Quentin had gotten Jack out of that mess in San Diego ten years ago. If he hadn’t, the guy surely would have been dead at the hands of the cartel, and not an easy death at that. Jack’s wife and unborn child would have been murdered, too. The government had gone in to pull off a fake death and stage a rescue—Quentin had gone in and rescued the guy—seeing that Jack had been an asset.

Jack turned on him, though.

If Quentin didn’t have a master plan to manage, he would be taking some time to harass Jack’s wife, Holly, in her pursuit to catch her man. He’d like to do that out of spite, but had no time, and, anyway it was all going to work out rather nicely. Detective Holly Jennings would get her man. Joque. Ted Ivy.

Afghanistan had been hell.