Retribution: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Secrets & Lies Book 3) (19 page)

J
ackson has
a gas can in each hand, swinging them up and into the bed of the truck, and I feed him the cargo strap, where he puts them under the handles before clipping it to the eyelet and ratcheting it tight. “Not too much,” I remind him. “These are plastic cans. We don't want to crack them.”

“Roger,” Jackson says, stopping the ratchet and checking. “Good?”

I check, and there's just a little bit of slack. It's tight enough the cans won't slide, but we can still get them out if we need. “Yeah, good. Eight cans, forty gallons. That's a tank and some change extra, we can make about eight hundred miles on what we have.”

Jackson nods and looks inside the cab, where BA's baby seat in the back looks strange considering everything else. “It's going to be tight in there. Five people and a baby in a crew cab.”

“I know. Do you want to leave BA and Andrea here?.”

Jackson thinks, then shakes his head. “Katrina would want to keep Andi with us, make sure she's as connected as possible. And Katrina's only got the one laptop.”

I nod. “Do you want to bring the van so there’s more room?”

Jackson considers the vehicle, with its busted back window, and nods. “It'd help.”

I point, showing him my concern. “The window? A cop could pull you over for that.”

“We plasticked the thing once, we can do it again. If Carson or I drive it, the worst we'd get is a ticket from some cop. Actually...” Jackson says, looking at the window, his eyes going bright, “I think I can fill that in.”

“How?”

Jackson ignores me and runs toward the house, and I watch him go. I'm running out of things to do to keep myself occupied while Katrina's banging away inside, trying to keep her sources going on finding Peter. She's working hard, and last time I checked Darcy's got every underground hacker and member in New Orleans searching for us. But that means I've got little to do other than sit around with my thumb up my ass and make sure everything's ready to go.

Jackson must have found what he wanted because he comes running back out of the house, a piece of paper and a tape measure in his hand. He measures the width and height of the broken window and then runs around the back of the house, the whine of the electric saw starting up a moment later. I start to go around the house to see if I can help, but before I can, the door to the house opens and Carson sticks his head out. “Nathan! We got something!”

“What?” I ask, running inside. Carson hands me my phone, and I hold it up. “Melissa?”

“
Non, mon ami
,” Isis purrs into my ear, “but I have her with me.”

I want to threaten her. I want to scream to bring Melissa back. Instead I take a deep breath, and remind myself that I have to be a pro, at least for a little while. “What do you want, Isis?”

“Lafayette Cemetery, midnight tomorrow night. If you and your entire family are not there, including the baby, she dies.”

“Including the baby? He's a sick fuck, Isis. You know that, right?”

Isis hums before she answers. “Most of my clients are not what the world would consider normal. But those are his terms. If not... she gets mailed to that clinic in pieces.”

I can't help it, I shiver at the image. “I understand. One question.”

Isis pauses before answering. “What? You want proof of life?”

“That... but also a question. How did you know to look in Asheville? The clinic I understand, but why Asheville?”

“A couple of things,” Isis says. “First, those pictures. That granite is amazing, by the way. Then I remembered you talking about setting up a property in North Carolina right before our last mission. Who knows, maybe I was jealous and thought you were getting tired of me? Maybe that's why I shot you in the
derrière
.”

“Cashing out on an investment?” I ask, surprisingly not hurt at all. “If you say so. In any case, let me talk to Melissa. I know, it's just for a few seconds.”

“So much nicer to do this with pros than amateurs,” she replies, and the phone crackles for a moment before Melissa comes on. “Quick, and no clues, Melissa.”

“Nathan?” Melissa asks, and I feel my knees go to water, she sounds healthy at least so far, and not as scared as I thought she'd be.

“Yeah. Are you hurt?”

“I told Peter I'd bite his cock off, but so far I'm fine,” Melissa says, and I have to smile at the spirit in her voice. “Isis has been... professional.”

The phone moves again, and Isis comes back on. “So nice to be complimented for my work. Remember, Nathan. Midnight, Lafayette Cemetery. Everyone, or Melissa dies.”

The call ends, and I close my phone, tossing it to Katrina. “Track that number if you can. In the meantime, everyone get ready, we roll out in thirty minutes or as soon as Jackson's done with the van. Isis says we need to be at the Lafayette Cemetery at midnight tomorrow, or else.”

“You don't plan on making that meeting, do you?” Katrina asks, plugging in my phone. She gives me a smirk and starts typing, keeping an ear cocked even as she starts to work.

“Hell no,” I reply, a grin coming to my face. “I plan on finding Isis and Peter and making sure the only reason they need to go to Lafayette Cemetery is because that is where they're going to be spending eternity.”

Andrea, who's been watching the whole exchange, shivers and turns away. I grow concerned and come around, taking her hand. “Andi? Are you okay? Is it the baby?”

“No, everything's fine there,” Andrea replies with a shake of her head. “Just... when you smiled, I saw what you used to be, Nathan. I hoped I'd never see that side of you again.”

I nod, patting her on the knee. “Twenty-four hours, and hopefully you never have to again.”

* * *

“
I
got something
,” Katrina says as we drive down the interstate. It's nearly three in the morning, and behind us on the bench seat BA is trying to sleep in her car seat, while up front Jackson is driving the van and behind us, Andrea is tailing in the truck.

“What do you have?” I ask, trying not to jump all over her. Katrina's been a trooper, working in the pitch blackness of the back of the van's rearmost seat. The satellite connection seems to be holding relatively steady, but I can't really tell, and she's been constantly working. “You have their location?”

“No, Darcy thinks Peter's got his car off right now,” Katrina says. Figures. If Coup De Grace can't get it done, BlakDhal1A can. It makes sense, too. Darcy in her home has the higher speed connection and a better setup than a laptop. But she's got confirmation of the system attached to that Porsche he's driving, and even had a two second signal, enough to get a general location, but not enough to give her a full GPS location.”

“What does she say about the feed?” I ask, and Katrina taps away for a second.

“She says it got her a lock to the center of New Orleans, but that she couldn't get closer in the time she had. But she doesn't think that's where he's holding Melissa. She got a reading within a mile, but most of it is either nice housing or nightlife. Not the sort of place to stash a kidnap victim.”

“Okay. Then next thing I want you to do is get some rack time,” I tell Katrina. “When we go unleashing hell tomorrow, I need you rested.”

“But...” Katrina says, then sighs and nods. “You're right. Okay, five minutes, then I'm moving closer to the front to catch Zs.”

“You can move at the truck stop. How's BA?”

“Amazing. I have the world's best daughter,” Katrina says softly, looking over at the baby seat. “I've got a nearly perfect family.”

“What would make it perfect?” I ask. “Better care of our rear windows?”

“Oh, I don't know, I think Jackson did pretty good,” Katrina says, glancing back and smiling. “We get Melissa back, and you officially join the family... that'd make it damn near perfect.”

“We'll get her,” I promise Katrina. “And I’ll do everything I can to keep you all safe.”

Katrina shakes her head and pats me on the shoulder. “You do that, it's the perfect recipe for getting one of us killed. You fight, you focus on rescuing 'Lissa. We'll take care of ourselves.”

We ride to the truck stop, where we pull in and do a quick bathroom break. I top off the gas tanks for both vehicles, I don't want to use the gas cans unless we have to, and besides it gives everyone a chance to do what needs to be done in terms of changeover, piss breaks, and even grabbing a snack as needed. If we move quickly, we can have more than twelve hours to put something into motion in New Orleans itself.

While I'm paying for gas Katrina comes up, putting an energy drink on the counter. “Make sure you're able to make it another two hours. This one's for Carson, you need one?”

I shake my head, giving her an appreciative look. “I'm good. Remember, I racked out for the first two hours of the trip. When we get to outside New Orleans, I'm halting everyone for an hour as well, unless something changes. I'll be able to sleep.”

“Gotcha,” Katrina says, handing me a five. “By the way, the download's going well, I'll have it running on my laptop soon. Darcy says she's staying up, Jeff's working the NOPD side, and we've got support all night if we need it. She'll call my cell if there's anything immediate.”

“Okay. How're Andrea and Carson doing?”

“Andi's tired, but Carson's good. Andi's been driving since we left, so Carson's gotten a good amount of sleep. We're looking good.”

I nod, and lead Katrina outside. “Okay then. You and Jackson go down, crash out. I've got the wheel for the next three hours.”

Katrina nods and yawns, climbing into the van where Jackson's already laid out, giving him a kiss on the cheek before curling up on the bench seat. I go over to the truck, where Carson is already behind the wheel. “Here. Katrina thought you'd appreciate it.”

Carson takes the can and nods. I look over, where Andrea's already snoring lightly, and Carson follow my eyes. “She's a trooper.”

“She is,” Carson says softly. “Nathan... I didn't want to say anything around the others, but if the shit hits the fan tomorrow, and I don't make it out...”

“I'll take care of them both,” I reassure Carson, patting him on the shoulder. He doesn't know it, but I've already thought about that, and have positioned him in a way that gives him the best chance of survival. “But don't even think about that. You know what you need to think of?”

“What?”

“Safe driving, and what you are going to name your baby. You hoping for a girl or a boy?”

“A boy,” Carson admits with a little sheepish grin. “Someone to balance out BA. Then we look at who you guys will have, or we just work on more. I'd like three, maybe four kids.”

“Sounds good. You use what we've practiced, and the wits you have already shown, and you will be coming home to Andrea safe and sound. First step though, we get to New Orleans safe.”

Carson nods, and cranks the engine on his truck, the powerful motor idling contentedly. “I'm ready.”

Walking back to the van, I think that Carson's right. We're as ready as we can be.

“
W
ake up
, bitch.”

The sunlight isn't too bad, but my body is stiff after spending the whole night in the rocking chair. I wince as I struggle to wake up, when suddenly I'm doused in nearly ice cold water, and my eyes fly open, too shocked to scream.

Peter's standing in front of me, a hungover grin on his face, a bucket in his left hand, his hair hanging in limp cords down his face, obscuring some of the scars. It doesn't help with the overall look though, he just looks crazier than before. “That's better.”

“Wha... why?” I sputter, looking around the room. We're alone, Isis seems to have left in the middle of the night, and behind him I can see I was right, most of the land beyond the house seems to be a swampy mess. But I'm only kind of aware of this, I'm still trying to get the water out of my nose. I must have been leaning back in the chair when I got soaked.

“Rise and shine,” Peter explains, laughing maniacally. “Oh, and if you want to know, your little cunt buddy Isis is out, getting the last of what she needs for tonight's little family reunion. She's not going to be interrupting us while you and I have the long-awaited get to know you session.”

I snort, blowing out most of the rest of the water, and shake my head, clearing my vision the rest of the way as well. “You... you wouldn’t dare,” I huff, licking my lips. At least the water is helpful, my mouth feels like it's been packed with cotton and my lips are dry.

“Oh, still got some fight in you?” Peter retorts, chuckling. “Well, I know how to handle that. You know, I knew about you for years, I mean, Janice came to me as soon as she got pregnant. Good fuck, but one dumb bitch.”

“She made her mistakes,” I admit, trying to not let him get to me. For too many years the memories of what my mother did have haunted me, and I will not let them anymore. “She loved you, for one.”

“Like I said, she was one dumb bitch. Coming to me, rubbing her belly and acting like I suddenly had this obligation to take care of her. I was like, 'you've got a husband, let him take care of you. You're just my side piece.' She didn't like that, but she still couldn't say no to me.”

“You mentally screwed her up for the rest of her life,” I shoot back, still trying to control my temper. “Your evil screwed me up for a long time, too.”

“Who the fuck cares? I heard about that, back when I sent Vadim after you all. The social issues, the hermit-like behavior, the anxiety attacks. Actually, I found reading your shrink's files quite interesting. He was hesitant to give them up, but after three broken fingers, he remembered where he had them. Too bad you stopped seeing him five years ago, I think you two were making good progress,” Peter taunts, still grinning.

I make an image of Nathan in my mind. It helps me, I can find strength in it, and I don't feel the urge to scream or lose it like I did last night. “You know, I understand now what Jackson said about you.”

“What?” Peter asks, his smile changing, like he's slightly surprised I'm not shaken up by his taunting. “That he realizes he fucked up?”

“No, actually Jackson's happier than ever with his beautiful wife and daughter,” I answer, chuckling. “No... but one time, right around Halloween when everyone got together and we got dressed up and had a little party at the farm, I asked him about you. After all, I've never really gotten a chance to know you. And you know what he said? He told me, and I quote, 'Melissa, Peter DeLaCoeur is a spoiled brat of a child in a middle-aged man's body. If it wasn't for his ability to make business deals, he'd be nothing more than a pathetic loser who sits around watching women's wrestling and jacking off, or watching UFC fights and talking about how much of a badass he was back in high school.' Honestly, I think Jackson was being nice, or maybe you've regressed since then.”

Peter's face goes that same angry brick color it did last night, and he steps forward, his hand cocked. I have an instant to brace myself before his slap catches me hard on the cheek, just under the left eye and my head is slammed to the side. He may be jowly, overweight, and out of shape, but he’s still got two hundred and ten pounds of weight that he can put into a swing, and he knows how to slap. I can taste blood on my tongue, and I grin, spitting onto the wood floor. “I thought slapping was the way girls fight.”

“You wanna see me fight?” Peter yowls, cocking his arm back for a punch, but before he can, Isis grabs his wrist, pushing him away.

“What are you doing?” she asks. I see she's dressed for action again, and this time the gun in her hands isn't a pistol, but some sort of assault rifle. I don't know much about them though. “I told you to leave her alone.”

“You told me not to fuck her,” Peter counters, his eyes flickering to Isis' rifle. “Not to leave her alone. I was doing a father's duty.”

“You've never been her father, and you never will be,” Isis says, a hint of anger in her voice. “Back off. It’s time to get her ready to move anyway to the staging area. But if you touch her again, you will find that my FAMAS can put a hole in you just as easily as your offspring.”

Peter huffs, his fists clenching at his side, then nods. “Fine. I'll go get my fucking gun.”

He storms out of the room, and Isis rolls her eyes, shaking her head and muttering in French, something about killing an arrogant bastard
.
She kneels and takes out a knife and handcuffs, laying the knife to the side. “At least with me, your death will be... clean.”

“Why do you care how I die?” I ask, not angry but fascinated. I don't remember a lot of the French I studied years ago in my art studies, but I know that if Isis means what she just said, Peter's not going to survive this either.

“Perhaps you’re not the only woman in the room who was mistreated by the man who was supposed to be her father,” Isis says softly before her voice hardens. “Either way, it will not change your fate. Now, right hand first, time for the handcuffs again.”

She puts the cuff around my right wrist before undoing the strap, then with a solid but not painful joint lock brings it over to the other side, where she repeats the process before picking up the knife and going around to the back of my chair. She cuts the rope with a snapping sound, and suddenly my waist and legs are both free. “Stand up, it’s time.”

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, and Isis takes my right arm just above the elbow, pushing me along. I start to push back, but her index finger presses in, and my arm turns into a wave of fiery pain, and I whimper, my knees going weak.

“Don’t mistake my respect of your body and mind for weakness, Melissa,” Isis growls. “Now walk. We’re taking you closer to the Lafayette Cemetery, where the meeting is set for.”

I walk, and Isis lets off on the pressure, my arm still aching but at least the fire is gone. She steers me toward the kitchen. “Now come.”

Peter's in the kitchen, an M-16 I think in his hands, glowering when Isis brings me in. “You two cunts done having your Lifetime channel moment?”

Isis opens her mouth to reply when suddenly a ripple of gunfire tears apart the kitchen window and I duck, bullets and glass flying everywhere. Peter half-turns, ducking as well. “What the fuck?”

“We're under attack, you damn idiot!” Isis yells, cocking her rifle and pointing. “Go, cover the side of the house!”

Isis returns fire, ducking behind the kitchen cabinets and shooting out the shattered kitchen window. I can see a man running across the empty grass between the bayou swamp and the front of the house, and she shoots him, his head exploding in a wet rain of scarlet and his body dropping. I stare, horrified, and Isis glances back, her eyes wide and her lip curling. “Go! They'll be circling around!”

Peter nods and grabs me by the arm, dragging me with him even as I kick and fight, but he cracks me across the face again and I'm dazed, dragged along with him toward the back of the house. “They'll be coming here,” Peter gasps, his breath whistling in his chest, bringing his rifle up. I go to move away and he kicks me, knocking me to the ground and putting his foot on my neck and jabbing the barrel of his rifle against my head. “Don't move, and you might just see them go first.”

The gunfire continues, and someone starts screaming in pain, a high-pitched scream so high I can't tell if it's a man or a woman. I hear a crunching, massive explosion outside, then silence before the next volley of gunfire, and Isis is screaming in French. She doesn't sound hurt but rather angry and in full-on battle mode, and whoever's she's facing is in a world of pain.

Peter's muttering to himself, so fast and frantic I can't tell what he's saying, but suddenly a crash comes from the direction of the bedroom I'd been kept in, and the barrel of his rifle lifts away from my head slightly. “If they get me, I can still get you,” Peter rasps, giggling madly. He's totally over the edge, and I wonder how the man could be driven so insane, but then there's heavy footsteps in the bedroom coming toward the hallway, and Peter yells. “Stay back, or else I blow her fucking head off!”

“You do that, and you miss your chance at me... Pops,” Jackson says from the shadowed hallway, stepping out of the bedroom, a strange-looking gun in his hand. “You don't want to miss out on that, do you? After all, I'm the one who started all this shit for you.”

Peter gulps, and I can't see anything except Jackson walking toward me, and in the background more flashes and shots from the kitchen. But I feel Peter's foot relax just a little bit, and Jackson lowers his gun. “Come on, Pops. I'll even make it fair, you can have at least a chance.”

“You're right,” Peter hisses, taking his foot off my neck and stepping to the side. “You did start all of this.”

“No, I did,” Katrina says from the side door, a pistol shot cutting off the end of her words. Peter falls to the side, and I stare at his empty eyes as his body hits the floor, a neat hole in the middle of his forehead. I roll away in disgust, and Jackson's there, helping me to my feet. Katrina kicks in the door and helps me the rest of the way up. “You okay, 'Lissa?”

“Yeah,” I say, hugging Jackson. “Oh God, you guys came!”

“It ain't over yet,” Jackson says, turning and raising his rifle.

Katrina puts her arm around my shoulders and triggers a microphone on her shoulder. “We've got her.”

A crackle comes over the radio, and Nathan's voice comes back. “Isis is out of the kitchen, neutralizing her now.”