Authors: Sandra Brown
“That’s why you wouldn’t answer your phone. You didn’t have it. I’m sorry about earlier, Rex. I’m so sorry.”
He hesitated, and she feared he wouldn’t accept her apology, that he’d continue to be mad. But then his hand went to the back of her head and his body adjusted to hers. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have pressured you. We…we were good until I ruined it.”
“Last night was special,” she admitted. “I’ve never felt so close to anyone.” It wasn’t until he’d asked her to marry him that everything had fallen apart. After what she’d been through, she just wasn’t ready to make that commitment. She’d told him that before. “So don’t give up on me,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
Chin resting on top of her head, he squeezed her tighter. “We’ll work it out, huh? Somehow we’ll work it out. Don’t cry.”
She hadn’t even realized she was crying. The man in the store had frightened her, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She’d been afraid that this time Rex wouldn’t come back, that they were really over, and that had sent her reeling.
“You okay?” He pulled back to see her face.
Should she tell him about the panic attack she’d had in the store?
No, she felt silly about that now. The guy who’d spooked her was probably just some biker who liked tattoos and chocolate chips and hadn’t meant her any harm. How would The Crew ever find them here? They were in WITSEC, had brand-new identities.
No one
knew where they were. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go home.” She didn’t even want to go back for her groceries.
But the second he released her, the man she’d seen in the store stepped out from behind the van beside her car.
And this time she knew he was dangerous because he shoved the muzzle of a gun into her back.
* * *
It took a second for Rex to realize what was going on. He’d been so caught up in his emotional exchange with Laurel, he’d allowed The Crew to get the drop on them. After the uneasy feeling he’d experienced at the bar, he considered this an inexcusable mistake. But he hadn’t really believed The Crew could find them, not after everything they’d done to escape. Prison gangs weren’t usually that sophisticated, and The Crew was no exception. But they were determined and deadly and somehow they’d managed to follow them to D.C.
He had no doubt this man would shoot Laurel if he didn’t do something. And what about the kids?
“Let her go.” He raised his hands to show he was compliant. “I’m the one you want. I’m Rex McCready, Pretty Boy. Horse wants me, not her.”
The guy—Mose, according to one tattoo—was six foot, about two hundred pounds and solidly built. His dark eyes focused on Rex, but he had a grip on Laurel. One shot at such close range would almost certainly kill her. “He wants you both. Virgil, too. That’s my assignment and I’m gonna do it.”
Rex wished he had his own gun. Since he was an ex-con, carrying a firearm or any other weapon violated his parole, but he’d picked up a 9 mm on the black market. It was currently stashed under the seat of his truck, which he’d parked along the perimeter of the lot. He’d thought that was close and handy—until this moment, when it might as well be in another state. “You’d be stupid to get greedy. Take me and leave her to her children. She has no part in this, and neither do they.”
“Shut up and get in the car.” He jerked his head toward Laurel’s Volvo.
The kids stared out at them as if they couldn’t understand what was wrong. Rex hoped they wouldn’t figure it out. They’d already been through more than any kids should have to face.
“Look, you’re in over your head here,” he said to Mose. “Just let her take the kids and go, and I’ll do whatever the fuck you tell me to.”
“Sorry, not good enough.”
Another Hanley’s Grocery customer passed by, the wheels of her cart rattling against the pavement. Rex prayed she’d glance up, see the gun and scream or cause some other type of diversion so he could wrest the weapon away, but she was too focused on the baby she had in a carrier. She walked right past them without noticing a thing. That was when the real panic set in, when Rex had to accept that he wasn’t sure how to save them, not this time.
“Get in.” The guy with the gun indicated Laurel’s car again. “Or I’ll drop her right here.”
Shit!
If he resisted, Laurel would be shot. They’d all be shot, along with other innocent people. But if he complied, they’d be abandoning the relative safety of this public parking lot, giving their enemy even more power over them. Which didn’t seem like the best idea…
In the end, Rex had no choice. He’d do anything to delay Laurel getting hurt. He could only cooperate and hope he’d have a better opportunity to save them later.
Heart slamming against his chest, he opened the back door, slid Jake to the middle and got in. He hoped Laurel would be able to make a break for safety the second the guy left her side, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Mose trained the gun on the kids as he moved around the car—first one, then the other—and Rex knew she wouldn’t do anything to make him fire. He couldn’t blame her.
“Where are we going?” she asked, once they were all in.
The guy kept his gun low so the people around them couldn’t see it. Neither could Rex, but he had no doubt it was aimed at Laurel because her eyes kept flicking toward it.
“Let’s head to Virgil’s.” Mose tossed a grin over his shoulder for Rex’s benefit. “I think it’ll be fun to surprise him, don’t you?”
* * *
Laurel had no intention of leading this man to her brother. Virgil had a wife and a new baby at home. He was finally happy, and she planned to do everything possible to keep it that way. She knew he’d do the same for her if their roles were reversed. She only hoped The Crew didn’t know where he lived, that the man holding the gun wouldn’t realize she’d led him to Rex’s house instead.
Would Jake or Mia pipe up? It would be so like them, so like any child to declare that she’d gotten it wrong. They certainly knew one house from the other, but they seemed subdued. They hadn’t said a word the entire ride. She wondered if they, too, were reliving what had happened in Colorado… .
“Not bad,” Mose said, admiring Rex’s home as they came to a stop at the curb. “Ratting out your friends must pay well.”
Virgil had received nothing from the government for the information he’d provided, except a promise of protection for him and those he loved. He’d been given nearly $700,000 for wrongful imprisonment, however, which he’d insisted on sharing. That money had provided them each with a down payment on a house, but they worked to cover the mortgages. Laurel suspected Rex had bought this house hoping she and the kids would move in with him. Even she’d believed she would live here someday.
She’d never dreamed she’d die here instead.
“Virgil didn’t rat anybody out until you tried to kill me,” she said. “All he wanted was his life back.”
“He swore an oath and then he broke it. That means he pays the price.”
“But he should never have gone to prison in the first place!”
“That’s
his
problem. We’re not gonna sit back while he lives in some fancy-ass house like this. A house he bought with blood money!”
She wasn’t going to convince him so she quit trying. She knew what these men were like. “Let my kids go, at least,” she said. “Let them walk over to the neighbor’s, where they’ll be safe.” She hoped to win their freedom before he became aware that she’d led him to the wrong house. After that, anything could happen.
Jake whimpered. He was catching on—or what they were saying had confirmed what he’d feared since they left the store.
“Mommy? I want to go home,” Mia said and began to cry.
Laurel felt as if she was on fire, burning from the inside out. She’d never experienced such a sensation before—such a mixture of fury, righteous indignation, determination and fear. It was different from before because there was a certain amount of resignation involved, too. She’d been expecting this for so long. “You’re going to be fine,” she said even though it was probably a lie.
The man with the gun twisted around to face them. “Mommy’s right—
if
she and your friend here cooperate.”
But she wasn’t cooperating. She was doing whatever she could to protect Virgil, Peyton and baby Brady. It didn’t make sense to put them at risk, too, but the fact that she was endangering her own children in the process made her clammy with sweat. What would this asshole do when he realized? Shoot them all and go after Virgil on his own?
Even if he did, at least Virgil would have a chance to get away… .
No longer hiding his weapon, Mose waved the pistol at her door. “Shall we go in?”
Her eyes met Rex’s in the rearview mirror, and she hoped he could read the message inside them:
Do whatever you have to
.
* * *
Rex made his move as soon as they got out of the car. He couldn’t afford to wait, had no idea what might happen if he let this go on. At least outside, the children had room to scatter and hide, and if the gun went off there’d be a greater chance that a neighbor might hear it and call the police.
But the man was prepared. Dodging Rex’s blow, he grabbed Mia by the hair and dragged her up against him. “You try that again, and she’ll be the first to die,” he snapped.
“Run!” Rex stood in front of Jake and tried to shoo him away. He didn’t think this man would kill Mia over the loss of her brother. The kids didn’t matter that much to him. This wasn’t about them. But Jake wouldn’t leave—he sidled over to protect his mother.
“Jake, do as I say!”
“No, Uncle Rex.” The boy’s chest rose and fell so fast Rex could tell he was terrified, but he was equally resolute. “He’ll shoot my sister. Then he’ll shoot my mom.”
Rex couldn’t believe he’d refused to obey. The odds were already stacked against them. He didn’t need Jake to get stubborn, even if he couldn’t help admiring the boy’s courage. “Jake!” He hated the risk he was taking but he had no choice. If they went inside, this man would shoot them all the minute he understood that they weren’t giving up Virgil.
Then Jake surprised him. He shoved his mother so hard she stumbled back and fell over the planter behind her, and he started jumping and shouting and waving his arms as if he thought he could force the man to fire at him instead of his sister.
Jake’s sudden reversal had taken the bastard off guard. Mose paused for a second. Apparently he couldn’t decide whether he should actually fire, or even who he should fire at. He glanced behind him almost as if he feared Virgil was already on his way out of the house and that was what had set Jake off.
That brief hesitation gave Rex the opportunity he’d been looking for. Launching himself forward, he tackled the guy.
Mia fell when they did, which probably hurt, but it wasn’t going to kill her. The man had to let her go in order to keep control of the gun he was trying to turn on Rex.
She wiggled out from between them and ran off crying almost as soon as they hit the ground. While he wrestled Mose, trying to subdue him, Rex didn’t know where she went. He didn’t care as long as she remained safe. He hoped Laurel was taking her kids and getting them the hell out of here—he trusted she was. He knew how much they meant to her. He knew how much they meant to him, too, all of them, because he felt a huge surge of relief even as the gun went off.
* * *
Laurel had a large rock in her hand when she crept toward the two men lying, one atop the other, on the ground. She’d yelled for her children to go next door and call 911, and they’d dashed off, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave Rex.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she drew closer. He’d been shot. She was pretty sure of that. But where?
“Rex?”
He didn’t answer. She got the impression he was struggling just to breathe and felt the tears come faster.
“Rex, answer me.”
Finally, he rolled off the guy and lay there, gazing up at her. Blood covered his shirt, but it wasn’t
his
blood. It belonged to the man who’d come to kill them. The Crew had lost another member. The sightless eyes of their attacker stared skyward as the red staining his shirt seeped farther and farther from where the bullet had entered his chest.
Dropping the rock, she sagged to her knees at Rex’s side and buried her face in his neck.
“Are you okay?” he murmured.
A surplus of adrenaline had left him weak and shaky. She could tell by the limp way he lifted his arm to hold her, and because she felt the same. “I am now.”
* * *
“I’m glad you changed your mind.”
Rex glanced across the table at Virgil, who was watching him with a crooked grin. “What’d you say?” The pizza parlor where they’d met Virgil, Peyton and the baby for dinner was too loud to be able to hear unless he raised his voice a bit more. They were no longer in D.C. Now that The Crew had found them, it wasn’t safe anymore. They had to decide on a permanent location but for the time being they were in Little Rock, Arkansas.
“I said I’m glad you changed your mind.”
Rex drummed his thumbs on the table. “About…”
Virgil jerked his head toward Laurel, who’d left Rex’s side to refill her children’s glasses. “Staying with Laurel. She loves you, you know.”
Leaning back, Rex returned his friend’s smile. “I know.”
* * * * *
WED TO DEATH
Vicki Hinze
Hinze has penned a heart-stopping story about true commitment. You may need a hanky. ~SB
Her mother screamed.
Startled, Sara English paused in the middle of refilling her maid of honor’s champagne flute. She shushed her mother and followed her horrified gaze around the table past her groom-to-be, Matthew, to his uncle Paul. Why was he listing in his chair? Paul’s skin was as gray as winter sleet. Chills streaked up her spine. “Matthew, what’s wrong?”
“I—I don’t know—”
Paul crumpled, fell nose down onto his plate.
“Uncle Paul?” Matthew stretched over, checked for a pulse. Horror flitted over his angular face. He dragged his uncle onto the floor and began CPR. Between breaths, he darted a stricken look at Sara. “Call 911.”
Her brother Hank, Matthew’s best man, whipped out his phone. “On it.”
Matthew was fighting valiantly to save his only living relative’s life, but his panicked expression made the truth clear. The CPR wasn’t working. Ignoring the murmurs, Sara asked, “Is he responding?”
“Not yet.” Matthew kept working diligently.
Mayhem ensued across the rehearsal dinner and the din of murmurs grew to a roar.
Paramedics rushed in and took over the CPR. For the next forty minutes, they tried to revive Paul, but finally one told the other, “It’s time to call it.”
The man working on Paul stopped and looked over to Matthew. “I’m sorry.” Pity filled his eyes. “We did all we could do.”
Sara’s heart clutched. She clasped Matthew’s hand. Heard him swallow hard. He blinked fast and nodded. Regret warred with grief and pounded off him in waves that tore at her heart. “Oh, Matthew. I—I’m so sorry.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Can you get everyone out of here? I’ve got to stay. The hospital will need information and the coroner…”
“Of course.” She released his hand, stroked his forearm, turned and issued the order to vacate to Hank and then Angela, her maid of honor and best friend.
“What about the wedding?” Her mother asked, fishing at her feet for her purse.
Matthew had just lost his only living relative and she was worried about the wedding?
“Don’t look at me like that, Sara. People need to know.”
Sara cringed, but her mother had a point. “We’ll postpone it, of course.”
“No.” Matthew cleared his throat. “You’ve been planning this for a year. Uncle Paul wouldn’t want that.”
The coroner had arrived. Squatting, he examined Paul. Sara looked from him to her fiancé. “Don’t worry about that. Things will have to be done. The funeral…” Their rehearsal dinner would forever be marred. Starting over on the planning would be an ordeal, but having their wedding day forever scarred by sadness…That was a bigger one. Paul had raised Matthew. He was father, mother, uncle and best friend. Tomorrow would just be too soon. “The funeral and settling his estate—all that will be up to you. I think we should wait.”
“His funeral won’t be tomorrow, but there are things that will have to be done.” Matthew touched her face. “Can we compromise? Get married tomorrow and postpone our honeymoon for a while?”
“If that’s what you want, yes.” She said and meant it. She had loved Matthew St. John from the moment she’d met him. Marrying him mattered. When, and when they honeymooned in Fiji didn’t.
“It’s what I want.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “You go home now. Your mother will be swearing this is another bad sign and you shouldn’t marry me. You’ll have to talk her down.”
He was so right about that. After their engagement party, they’d had a near-miss car accident. It’d taken three days to get her mother back on an even keel—and she didn’t even know someone had cut Matthew’s brake lines. That detail Sara would take to her grave.
She had asked Matthew who would do such a thing. He’d responded with a terse, “Has to be work related,” and they hadn’t discussed it again. Sara didn’t need a hammer to the head to know Matthew’s job with the government wasn’t reading and reporting on books as he claimed. No one cut anyone’s brake lines for reading books. What his job was, or what agency he worked for, she didn’t have a clue, but not knowing didn’t bother her a bit. Not knowing was safer for them both. “I’d be happy to stay with you.”
“No, you go on. I’ll see you at the church. Two o’clock.” He released her hands. “I’ll be the penguin down front who can’t wipe the smile off his face because he caught the most beautiful woman in the world in a weak moment and she said yes.”
Sara stepped closer, hugged him and whispered. “It was the smartest decision I’ve ever made.”
The coroner’s voice lifted, calling out to his men. “Don’t touch anything—especially his glass and flatware. And stop everyone at the door. No one enters or leaves.”
Matthew frowned, stepped back and swung his gaze to the still-squatting coroner in the rumpled gray suit. “Why not?”
He frowned, his thick brows flat-lining nearly the width of his forehead. “Because unless I’m mistaken, your uncle didn’t have a heart attack.”
“What are you saying?” Sara couldn’t wrap her mind around his comment. Paul hadn’t been ill. He had no medical issues. He was, as he put it, disgustingly healthy.
The coroner stood, his knees crackling, and removed his gloves. “I’ll get lab tests to confirm, of course, but I’ve been at this forty years. Every sign I see tells me this man was poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” Sara lifted a hand to her chest. “But—but that would mean…” She couldn’t say it; shot her gaze to Matthew.
“He was murdered?” Matthew tensed. “Are you sure?”
“Not without the lab results, but I’d be shocked if I’m wrong.” He turned to speak to one of his men.
The look on Matthew’s face turned dark, forbidding. Sara whispered. “What is it, Matthew?”
“Maybe something, maybe nothing.” He locked their gazes. “The waiter passed me a glass of champagne. I passed it to Paul.”
Matthew didn’t drink. Sara’s chest went tight. “You think someone meant to poison you?” Fear rippled through her.
First the brake lines and now this?
“We don’t know that it was the champagne.”
“No, we don’t.”
He’d agreed with her but the worry in his voice said all that needed saying. Matthew believed that for the second time, someone had just tried to murder him.
* * *
“You’re being selfish.”
“I love her.” His cell phone at his ear, Matthew stepped out of his building to the curb and then slid into the waiting limousine. “Is it so wrong to want a wife?” His boss should understand. He’d gotten married nearly twenty years ago, and he’d been in the job then.
“Look, the brake lines were one thing, but they got close enough to poison you last night. Your uncle is dead. How many more near misses do you think you’ll get before one hits? And what about Sara? Will she be collateral damage? Targeted?”
The thought made him queasy. Matthew shut the door and nodded at the driver. “Was it the champagne?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Then we don’t know it was them.” The driver pulled away from the curb. Matthew checked his watch. One-thirty. He should be at the church in plenty of time. “You can’t expect me to walk away from the best thing that’s happened to me when I don’t know for a fact I have to walk away. You can’t.”
“We don’t know that it was the champagne. But no one else is after you, Matt…or is there something you haven’t yet told me?”
“No, nothing.” Where was this joker driver going? He should have turned right. “I’ve got to go. Apparently my driver doesn’t know the way to the church.” Heading to the industrial part of Destin. The man had to be a plant with the drug cartel.
“Matt, listen to me. Listen. Don’t do this. They’ll kill you both. If you love Sara, then let her go.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t.”
Thumbing off his phone, Matt chose a low-key tactic and banged on the glass separating them. “Hey,” he told the driver. “You’re going the wrong way. It’s St. Andrew’s.”
The driver glanced back in the rearview mirror and stomped the gas.
Definitely cartel.
Matthew kicked at the glass. Bulletproof. Tried to open the door. No handles or way to unlock them. He darted a glance through the windshield, got his bearings. In two minutes or less, they’d be in the isolated industrial park. Working quickly, he raised the privacy panel, tore down the backseat and then crawled through into the trunk and jerked the safety-release lever. The trunk lid popped open.
A swoosh of wind gushed in; the driver sped up. His hair blowing in his eyes, Matthew shoved at it, gauged their speed.
Forty. Forty-five max.
If he landed right, he could survive. He leaped, reverted to training tactics, tucked and braced for impact with the sandy dirt. Hitting with a thud, he sucked in a sharp breath. Pain shot through his shoulder, arm and right leg. His elbow scraped over a loose rock. Rolling on the soft shoulder, he gained his feet then scanned for somewhere to hide.
The limo screeched to a halt, its tires squealing and churning smoke that filled the street.
Parking lot. DCE Industries.
Matthew ran full out for it, then ducked behind a blue Toyota and skimmed the street for the limo. The driver turned around, entered the parking lot and inched down the row, turned and searched another.
Three slots down, a man driving a green pickup parked then got out, carrying a black lunch box. Matthew made his way over. The fiftyish guy saw him coming and took in his wrecked tux. “Tough day, eh?”
“Yeah.” The guy looked like a regular Joe. Trusting his instincts, Matthew admitted, “I need help.”
The guy took his measure and apparently decided Matthew was okay. “What do you need?”
“To get to St. Andrew’s.” He was their target. They wouldn’t go after Sara unless they couldn’t get to him. He’d eluded them. Now he had no choice but to go to the church, make sure she was okay, and make sure they saw him. Then she’d be safe. “I’m supposed to be getting married in fifteen minutes.”
The man spotted the creeping vehicle. “That your limo?”
“It was supposed to be.” He shrugged. “Not everyone wants us to walk down the aisle.”
“Understand.” He unlocked his truck. “Get in—and don’t linger. He just made the turn onto our row.”
“Thanks.” Matthew entered through the driver’s side and hunched low. The man got in and cranked his engine, put the truck in Reverse, and headed out. “Name’s Ray.”
“Matthew,” he said. “Is he following us?”
“Not yet.” Ray made a turn and hit a bump. Turned again and was on smooth pavement. “He’s still looking for you.” Ray glanced again into his rearview. “Which St. Andrew’s?”
There was more than one? He hadn’t been in Florida that long. “Highway 98.”
“That’s my church,” the man said. “You marrying Sara English?”
Matthew thought hard.
Was he? Did he dare?
“Two o’clock.”
“Best move it then. Don’t want to leave that sweet one waiting at the altar.”
Matthew’s face went hot. Under the circumstances, that would probably be the greatest kindness he could do for her.
Every atom in his body rebelled. He wanted her, a family of his own. He’d waited for this day his whole life. He couldn’t just walk away. He…couldn’t.
The phone vibrated at his hip. Matthew checked the number. His boss. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
“Still have my head.” Not many who went up against the cartel did. “Slight interception incident.”
“Fatalities?”
“No.”
“Glad to hear it.” He sighed. “The labs are back.”
Matthew checked the side mirror. No signs of the limo. “And?” He knew, but he had to hear it confirmed.
“Cyanide.” He paused, hesitant. “It was in the champagne, Matt.”
“No.” His chest went tight. He was the target. Uncle Paul was dead, and it was his fault. Guilt swarmed, settled in and suffocated him. He coughed.
“Look, I’m sorry. If I could change it, I would, and I know you would. Neither of us can. All I can do is be straight with you. You’re in too deep, Matt. You’ve got to take the meeting with the drug cartel personally. Otherwise, this whole operation blows up in our faces, and we both know what that means.”
The cartel had identified him as an agent. Either it got him or it would do exactly what it swore it would do. Release biological contaminants in multiple locations at once and destroy the entire city. But which one? Destin, Fort Walton Beach, Pensacola. Regardless, it had the means and will to attack, and because it would, a hundred thousand people, maybe more, would be going about their lives just as they did every day, only this day, they’d die.
It also meant that word had come down from on high to his boss. Matthew was the designated sacrificial lamb. If things went south, the agency and brass would be covered. Matthew, who’d argued vehemently against this operation from the start, would be tagged with the blame. And that meant the question confronting Matt had changed. Now it was who would kill him first?
The cartel, or his own?
* * *
Sara stood before the full-length mirror in the church’s bridal room, her heart pounding. Her mother and Angela fluffed her dress, adjusted her veil for the twentieth time, and all she could think about was that in minutes—mere minutes—she was going to marry the man she’d loved for three years.
“Matthew’s eyes are going to pop out of his head when he sees you in that dress.”
Sara smiled. “I hope not.”
“What?” Angela looked perplexed.
“His eyes are distinct—the first thing I noticed about him. I hope they stay put in their sockets.”
“She’s being ridiculous.” Her mother slapped the air with a dismissive hand. “You do look lovely, Sara.”
“Thank you.” She was well pleased. The dress was simple, classic, beautiful, and it fit. That was the best news. All her nightmares of a zipper trying to cinch an extra inch gap were over. She let out a relieved sigh.
“Matthew!” Angela squealed. “What are you doing here? You can’t see the bride before the ceremony, it’s bad lu— What on earth has happened to you?”
“Sara, I need to talk to you,” he said, trying to skirt around the maid of honor bent on blocking him. “It’s important.”