Silent Deceit (3 page)

  Well, hell for breakfast, this was
a fine turn of events. And it didn't look as if she had much of a choice.
Natasha could swallow her pride and let Skip head up the operation, or Blue
would take her off the case. And it would be a frosty day in hell before she'd
let that happen. "Welcome to the team, Skip."

  S
kip sweet-talked his way onto the
construction crew at
Trailblazer's
the next morning. Low on manpower,
Deuce signed him up with one condition. That he kept his hands off Natasha. No
problem there—like she wanted his hands on her anyway.

  The safety inspector released the
building and renovations got the green light. Skip watched with a wary eye as
he helped shore up the ceiling with steel supports. Until he was satisfied the
roof wouldn’t collapse, he’d keep his gaze heavenward, thank you very much.
Paranoid much? More like a healthy aversion to being buried alive.

  Mining coal as a teenager had done that
to him—the ghosts of dead miners convincing him to switch his college major to
police sciences. Yeah, his dream of being a mining engineer was buried deep,
along with his father and some other good men. Nowadays he focused on catching
badasses. And Kingman had his full attention.

  Natasha hefted a crate of glasses and
carried it out the door. She still wasn’t talking to him. Too damned bad. He
didn’t care whether she was in a snit or not.  Going off half cocked, not
requesting backup while searching for her brother was a rookie mistake. And
being emotionally involved made her doubly dangerous. He
didn’t want to see her hurt, which meant keeping eyes on her at all times.

  Hoisting a table, he followed her
outside. He figured she’d still investigate on her own if given half a chance.
Blue might have blown the lid off her plan yesterday when he threatened to yank
her off the case—hell, Skip wished he had—but his gut told him Natasha was
bound and determined to find Zach, no matter the consequences. And the fool
woman couldn’t afford to let her guard down, even for one second. Kingman would
kill her if he discovered who she was.

  Setting the table down in the parking
lot, Skip angled his head back to feel the warmth of
sun on his face. The air smelled crisp, not cold, a slight breeze ruffling his
hair. The freak storm was long
gone. So was the tree that had done the damage. Lumberjacks loaded what was
left of it into dump trucks, the screeches and beeps
from front loaders filling the silence. He’d watched the men working chainsaws
when he’d come back for his Ducati at sunrise that
morning. They’d done an impressive job.

  He snagged Natasha’s sleeve when she
brushed past him on her way inside again. “Take a
breather. There’s coffee and sandwiches set out on a table over there.”

  “Kiss my undercarriage,” she hissed.
“I’ve got things to do.”

  “We’ve been at it for hours, bluebird.
We’re no closer to finding your brother.” He wrapped her hand in his big mitt
and headed for the coffee urn. “We need to come up with a plan.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, accepted the
coffee he handed her, and moved to a picnic table out of earshot of anyone
standing nearby. “Cut to the chase, Skip. I don’t have time for this.”

  “I suggest you make time.” It didn’t take
a brain surgeon to look inside her head to see the chaos; the hurt because
she’d been shot down by Blue, and discovered Skip was a cop. Disappointment at
her brother for messing up again, and maybe with herself for not having a
crystal ball and rescuing Zach from his latest fuck up.

  She deserved better. Skip wanted to ease her pain. Erase the crease between her brows and
tears clouding her amber eyes. More than that, he wanted to feel her wrapped
around him on silky sheets—as
if that would happen.Hell, not today and maybe never. Not if he
couldn’t bring her brother back to her in one piece.

  “I’m mad at you.” Taking a hit of coffee,
Natasha glared at him over the rim of the cardboard cup. “You ratted me out to
Blue.”

  “Wrong. Blue sent me here to keep eyes on you.” Wasn’t it just like an ornery female to
change the facts to suit her situation? Try to fit a square peg into a round
hole? “You dug your own grave by not being honest with him from the get go.”

  “Still, you could have clued me in you
were on his team.” She scrunched her face into a scowl. Kind of cute, if there
wasn’t so much piss and vinegar behind it. “At least now I know why you weren’t arrested for murder.”

  “Wrong again, Tas.” She seemed hell bent
on thinking the worst of him, no matter what. Skip cupped her chin and turned
her to face him, holding her gaze with his own. “I walked because I wasn’t
guilty. If you think otherwise, you’re mistaken about me
and
about
Blue.”

  “You’re right. He wouldn’t have let you
off the hook if he thought differently.” She sighed, blinking back tears. “I’m
sorry for being such a jerk. I just want to find my brother. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Skip curled his fingers into the collar
of her sheepskin jacket. He whispered in her ear. “How lucky am I going to get
when we find him?”

  She indulged in an eye roll, a smile
tipping the corners of her mouth. “Not lucky enough.”

  “Spoil sport.” He laughed, kissing the
top of her head. “Let’s get back to work.”

  She tossed her cup in the garbage,
shoving her hands deep in her pockets. “How do you want to handle this?”

  “You help with
the clean up.” He held her back as they neared the door to the club. “And keep
your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. We’ll come back tonight to do
a thorough sweep after the place is deserted. Agreed?”

  "Absolutely. And thanks."

  As Skip enjoyed the view of her excellent ass swaying
through the doorway, he knew she had played him. She would try to investigate
on her own.

  "Get over it," he said to himself. He had worse
things to worry about, like hiding his semi-erection while he followed her
inside. The damn woman drove him crazy.

  For Natasha’s
sake, he prayed Zach was still breathing. But, after
all the trouble the guy got into on a regular basis, Skip didn’t hold out much
hope.

––––––––

  N
atasha awoke with a jolt, a hand clamped
over her mouth.

  “Shh.” Rena’s fingers trembled a little
as she released her hold. “I heard voices... someone’s outside.”

  “Okay, I’ll handle it.” Natasha
whispered. 

  It took a few seconds for her to get her
bearings and remember where she was—Rena’s upstairs apartment behind
Trailblazer's
.
She moved off the couch and pulled on jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers, adding
the Colt .380 to her jeans front pocket. The little gun helped her feel in
control...even if it was a big fat lie. God, what she'd give for her police issue
Glock. Too bad it was too big to conceal. She peeked through the verticals
hanging in the front window. One of the slats swished back and forth. Grabbing
for it, she bumped another one, setting the entire blind in motion.  

  Two men below her in the parking lot—one
of them Deuce—caught the movement and broke for the stairs.
Crap! They know
someone’s watching them!

Ducking
below the window, Natasha crawled on her hands and knees to reach Rena.
“They’re coming. Quick, get under the bed while I take your place.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Not when
they know I live here.” Rena’s voice wobbled, barely a whisper. “
You
hide!”

  “Rena, don’t argue with me. Please—”

  Footsteps creaked on the outside landing.
The snick of a key in the lock and the door swung inward on its hinges. No more
time. Natasha rolled under the narrow bed and plastered herself against the
wall. The light flipped on. She held her breath. Two pairs of XL work boots strolled into view.

  Rena shrieked as Deuce and his thug
overpowered her. The mattress bounced above Natasha's head.
What are they
doing?
Heart pounding against her breastbone, her instincts focused on
protecting Rena. She two handed the Colt, aiming at the footwear in front of her face.

  But, if she fired she'd lose her chance
of finding Zach. Damn it, where was Skip when she
needed him? Like she didn't already know. He was off in the land of
I’ve
been screwed
. Because she'd flat-out ditched him tonight. A really stupid
move, one she'd regret for the rest of her life if something bad happened to
Rena.
Hell for breakfast, he's probably back at the hotel. Cursing a blue
streak and wondering where I am.

  "Make sure you don't hurt
her," Deuce said. "I don't want her following us, but be careful you
don't give her an overdose."

  A minute later, Rena stopped fighting, a
soft moan escaping her lips. The mattress stilled.
Dear God, have they
killed her?

  “She’ll have one hell of a headache in
the morning, but she'll be okay,” a guy grunted. Moshpit,
Deuce’s nasty bodyguard.  Natasha cringed. God, she hated his voice. “Don't
worry boss, she won’t remember a thing.”

  “As long as we aren't disturbed. Take the
evidence with you and let's get to work.” Deuce laughed, the son of a bitch. He
crossed the room, opened the door, and they disappeared into the night.

  Creeping out from under the bed,
Natasha’s knee landed on something hard lying on the carpet. She felt for it
with her hands, connecting with a plastic syringe cap. Suspicion confirmed.
Rena had been drugged. She felt for a pulse in the other woman's neck. Strong.
Steady. But she was out for the count, which left no one to sound the alarm if
things really got dicey. Still...no pain, no gain. This was Natasha's chance to
follow Deuce. Maybe he'd lead her to her brother.

  She dialed Skip on her cell phone. Left a
message when he didn't pick up. Cracking the door, she scanned the parking lot.
No one there. She locked up behind her—for all the good it would do—and eased
down the stairs. Her back pressed against the side of the building, she led
with the Colt as she peeked around the corner. Pale light shone from a single
bulb at the entrance to the club. Enough to see Deuce and Moshpit skulk through
the doorway. The light switched off.

  Natasha scanned the area looking for more
of
Trailblazer's
thugs. She couldn't see anyone on guard duty. Which
didn't mean much. Not with black clouds darkening the sky tonight. Another
storm must be moving in. Still, it worked both ways. If she couldn't see them,
they couldn't see her. It was time to move. Inhaling a steadying breath, she
zigzagged across open ground. Another few feet and she'd breach the door.

 
Oh my God!
Agonizing pain shot
through her foot. Her leg buckled midstride, a scream clawing up her throat.
She held it back and collapsed in the dirt. Sweet baby Jesus, something
horrible had penetrated the sole of her sneaker.
Please, don't let it be a
used syringe!

  Heavy footfalls vibrated the ground
beneath her. She dragged herself behind a pile of lumber and froze. Held back a
whimper and clutched the Colt to her chest.  

  Paralyzed with pain, she thought of Skip.
Needing his razor-sharp skills and muscular strength. Wishing she hadn't
sneaked off on her own. But, damn the man, he made it impossible for her to
find her brother, cutting her off at every opportunity. Never mind her
ridiculous fantasy of making love with him, the possibility of a solid
relationship, and maybe even a happy ending. Feelings she couldn't explore. Not
while making her mark as a tough undercover cop. Besides, she didn't need
anyone, least of all a man who melted her insides to quivering jelly. Life was
simpler when she'd hated him. When she’d thought he was a criminal.

Two men
approached, one at each end of the stack of wood. Deuce's thugs. They'd found
her. The beam of a flashlight hit her eye-level. She raised the Colt, knowing
she'd only hit one of them before they killed her.

  "Drilling me with that pea-shooter
will only piss me off. Stand down."

––––––––

  C
hrist, she looked a mess. Skip could see
the pain in her eyes and her face was ashen.

  "I can't walk," she whispered.
"I stepped on something."

  "No shit, Sherlock." He dropped
to his haunches, flashed the light over her injury and scooped her up. Blue
kicked dirt over the blood on the ground then watched their backs as they
hustled for the woods and the pickup stashed on an old logging road. Thank God,
it seemed whatever Deuce was up to, no one was guarding the premises.
Suspicious? For sure. It meant Deuce didn't want his people to know about his
midnight forays. What was that about? "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to
wear soft soled shoes to a construction site?"

  "Guess I didn't get the memo."
Natasha snuggled against him, sweat tracking her temples and her teeth
chattering. No wonder, considering she had a three inch nail puncturing her foot.
It must hurt like the devil.

  "Wait. We have to go back." She
struggled in his arms. He damn near dropped her.
"Put me down."

  "Forget it, Tas." Skip
strengthened his hold. "Your sleuthing is done for the night. You need a
doctor."

  "Rena's unconscious in her
apartment." Natasha's small hands pushed against his chest. "Deuce
drugged her with something, and he has a key to get back in. He thought it was
her watching him from the window."

  "Fan-fucking-tastic." Blue
tapped him on the shoulder. "Take my bike off the truck bed and stash it.
Then get her to a hospital. We'll meet up later."

  Skip eyed his CO, knowing he wouldn't
leave a woman behind on his watch. But he suspected there was more. He hadn't
missed the sparks flying between those two at their last meet and greet. If
Deuce or his buddies came back tonight to do more damage to Rena? They would be
in for a surprise party.

  As Blue disappeared like smoke, Skip
turned back to the trail. Another few minutes and he lifted Natasha into the
truck. He backed Falcone’s
bike off the tailgate, secured her seatbelt and keyed the engine. She whimpered
when the truck bounced on the way to the highway. He felt bad about it, but
there was nothing he could do to ease her pain.