CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Grace
As Matt and his mechanic walked Troy out of the garage, I decided to get ready for bed. I was too tired to take a shower and slipped into a pair of pink and gray comfy pajamas with the imprint of sheep. I was out of sexy lingerie and, besides, sex was the last thing on my mind. What was on the forefront were the steps to bring the info to the Department of Justice. I needed to make sure I crossed my T’s and dotted the I’s so the evidence would stick. There was also the issue of shutting down the entities on that list. That was the job for the DEA and FBI, and yet there were individuals from those agencies on that list. My brain was fried for tonight, so Matt and I would talk about it tomorrow. I was about to grab my toothbrush when I remembered that the memory stick was in my purse. It was supposed to be kept in Matt’s office safe but this thing with Troy sidetracked us.
I pulled out the flash drive and left the loft, padding down the hallway in my fluffy slippers. I was about to enter Matt’s office when Roger came bounding up the steps, a look of panic on his face.
“You have to come now!” he urged.
My heart leapt to my throat.
“Where’s Matt?” I asked as I pocketed the memory stick in my pajamas.
“No time to explain.”
I hurried down the stairs behind Roger and burst outside the garage in rising hysteria. There were two sheriff cruisers with their lights flashing, but sirens off, probably because of the time of the night. Matt was arguing with one of the deputies who already had his hand on his gun.
“What’s going on?” I cried as I rushed to my husband’s side but another deputy intercepted me.
“Ma’am, I suggest you stand back.” The officer put his arm out to block me.
Matt’s body whipped around, his already furious face darkening more in anger. “Don’t you dare touch my wife,” he snarled. “Damn it, Grace, get back inside.”
Troy pulled me back from the sheriff’s deputy which in no way made my husband feel any better, but he turned back to the officer to resume arguing.
“I had nothing to do with Kyra’s death. I just got back from out-of-state,” Matt growled. “How many times do I have to repeat myself?”
“Kyra’s dead?” I whispered. “Oh my God.”
“You’re not charged with anything, sir. But we have to bring you in for questioning. There are many people, including myself who had witnessed you threaten Ms. Dale with grievous bodily harm.”
“She pointed a gun at my wife.”
“Then that should have been reported,” the deputy replied. “Either you come willingly with me or I will put you in handcuffs. Do you really want your wife to witness that?”
“Where’s Millie?” I demanded of Roger.
“Millie Cross?” the officer who intercepted me spoke up instead. “She’s on her way to the medical examiner’s office to identify the body.”
This was a nightmare. Matt looked at me with anguished eyes. This was eating him up inside. There was too much coming at us at once.
“Go with the deputy, Matt,” I said. “You were with me the whole time so there’s nothing to worry about. We have our travel documents to prove it.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Matt countered brusquely.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured.
“I got her, boss,” Roger added.
“She can stay at the compound with me,” Troy said.
“Over my dead body,” Matt snapped. I wished my husband would stop throwing those words around. He was in enough trouble as it was. “Roger,” he said. “Call Cassie. I want her staying with you guys until I return, and tell her to call Trent. Damned time for Stone to be stuck in Atlanta.”
Trent, Lucas, and Colt were in Atlanta to attend a Homeland Security briefing tomorrow. I trusted our brother-in-law, being the sheriff and boss of these deputies, would get to the bottom of this soon enough. And poor Millie, she must be devastated.
Matt ignored the consternation on the deputies’ faces as he broke away from them to walk up to me. He pulled me from Troy’s grip and surrounded me with his own warmth.
“I’m sorry about this, babe.” He gave me a hard, but brief kiss. “I’ll take care of this as quickly as I can and get back to you.”
“You better,” I whispered, staring up into his stormy blue eyes. “And do one thing for me.”
“What?”
“Watch your temper. Please.”
His mouth lifted. “I will, babe.” He kissed me again, then he nodded to Troy and Roger before returning to the deputies and getting into the back of one of the cruisers.
As I watched my husband being driven away by the cops, Roger walked to stand by my side. “Don’t worry, Grace, they can’t keep him longer than twenty-four hours without charging him.”
“This is crazy. How could he even be a suspect?”
“Many people heard him threaten Kyra. Not once, but twice.”
I winced, remembering the scene at the restaurant.
“You sure you don’t want to stay with me, darlin’?” Troy butted in.
“You want your teeth where they are, mi amigo?” Roger challenged.
“Good point.”
Given other circumstances, I would had laughed at their banter, but my mind was worried about Matt. How did Kyra die? If they suspected murder, then circumstances around her death pointed to foul play.
I turned back to head back inside the garage, lost in my thoughts as the men talked, when I heard a couple of muffled pops and grunts behind me. Before my brain could process what was happening, Roger collapsed on the ground with blood oozing from his head. His eyes were open, unseeing.
He was dead. I saw the gun peeking from behind the waistband of his jeans, but if I grabbed it with an unseen shooter behind me, I’d be courting disaster.
I whipped around and saw Troy on his knees reaching for his gun. “Grace, run!”
The garage entrance was a couple of paces away, but before I could make a decision to run or fight, I heard another muffled pop.
To my horror, Troy fell on his side. I crumbled to my knees beside the fallen biker, feeling the weight of so many deaths sucking me into an emotional quagmire.
“Grace,” he croaked. “Give them what they want. Don’t fight them.”
The flash drive. The price was getting too high.
It was useless to run. If they wanted me dead, they would have shot me already.
An approaching figure I recognized as Cristiano came under the street lamp.
A black van pulled up behind him as a couple of his cohorts fanned out to guard Troy’s treacherous second from the trickling of concerned Misty Grove residents.
“You bastard,” Troy growled. “I trusted you like a brother.”
“Your first mistake,” Cristiano sneered. “I just want the girl.”
“Leave Grace alone. It’s not worth it to have Foster hunting you down,” Troy gasped heavily. His whistling breath indicated his lung was collapsing. “You want the memory stick.”
“We want Grace,” his second insisted.
“What do you want me for?” I asked, confused.
“You come with us now or deLamar dies,” Cristiano ignored my question, pointing his gun at Troy.
“Dammit, Cristiano, don’t …” the biker boss wheezed.
“You have three seconds,” Cristiano’s voice wavered and so did the gun that was pointed at Troy’s head. He was getting nervous. I would’ve been too. To pull this shit in a town full of former assassins, he had a lot of balls or was plain fucking stupid.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Someone must have called 911.
“Whoever’s paying you, better be worth it,” I said, standing up.
“Grace …”
“Don’t die on me, Troy,” I said softly, walking toward his second—or rather his ex-second.
“Dammit, Grace.”
“You’ll let him live,” I said, stopping in front of Cristiano.
He looked at his men. “If he moves before we leave, shoot him.”
I glanced back at Troy, begging him with my eyes to stay alive and not do anything idiotic.
I saw shadows lurking around the buildings before I stepped into the vehicle. I didn’t think anyone had a plan to save me as the van’s door closed upon me. But I was hoping the quicker I complied, the quicker someone could help Troy. My heart was only now processing the loss of Roger— my constant shadow and a good man. He didn’t deserve to die this way.
Now, I just had to stay alive for Matt and our baby.
We were on the road for about twenty minutes. I didn’t know which direction we were headed since I was hooded with my hands cuffed behind my back from the moment we left the small town. I was in my pajamas and slippers, not exactly ideal attire if I had an opportunity to run from these bastards.
Judging from the conversation in the car and on the radio, only Cristiano and a driver were in the van with me. His other two men followed in a sedan behind us. Before they threw the hood on me, I recognized them as part of Troy’s gang.
“So why take me, Cristiano?”
“A certain assassin seems to be obsessed with you.”
“You’re working for El Segador?”
The biker laughed. “Hell, no. No money in that. The cartel wants us to get rid of him, and you, my dear, are our bait.”
“I don’t understand. He works for the cartel.”
“The Reaper works for himself and he can’t be trusted anymore. The cartel wants to reinvent itself and remove every trace of the Vargas leadership. Do you think they didn’t know about the accountant wanting to get out? They had their smugglers bring in the heroin that day, and orchestrated it so the last remnants of the Vargas regime converged there and got wiped out—the accountant, his trusted smugglers, and his hit squad, including The Reaper—all supposedly wiped out by an act of terrorism. They’ve got their new distributors in play as emergency personnel, but they underestimated The Reaper’s cunning. He never shows up in public places and prefers working in the background.”
“But the men who abducted me worked for him.”
“There was confusion in the change of orders. The Reaper managed to maintain control of one of the ambulances meant to ferret out the heroin and used it to whisk you out instead.”
My head was beginning to hurt. “So, The Reaper knew about my deal with the accountant, but not the airport bombing?”
“Correct.”
“He must be pissed that he’s been betrayed.” Lots of cross and double-cross. I remembered the warning from the dying man.
Trust no one.
“I imagine the cartel is a bit nervous,” Cristiano admitted. “They’re thankful that you’ve preoccupied their assassin while they figured out ways to solve the problem.”
“They came to you.”
“I wasn’t planning on betraying Troy, but when he made a deal with that accountant, he turned pussy.”
“Don’t you want to lead a more honest life, Cristiano?” My thoughts went to the accountant’s “cousin.”
“Doing what?” the biker responded. “Working as a mechanic? Like Roger?”
My blood boiled. I had the sudden urge to head butt him. “You murdered a good man in cold-blood, you asshole,” my voice turned thick. “He’s twice the man you are.”
“Being twice the man doesn’t keep you alive, does it?” he mocked.
“Why am I even trying to reason with you?” I asked wearily. “You’re a soulless bastard for killing your own friends.”
Cristiano was quiet for a beat, and then. “You don’t know that.”
“Are you going to pin this on The Reaper too?”
“You can shut your fucking cunt now,” Cristiano growled.
Did I just hit a sore spot? I did have a tendency to push when I was riled.
“What’s the matter, Cristiano, your conscience bothering you?”
“Shut up!” He shouted before a fist cracked against my jaw. I saw stars in the darkness as I fell against the side of the van. I thought it was my own dizziness that caused the van to rock, but the vibration came from behind us.
I heard Cristiano shout in alarm and then a louder explosion tilted the front of our vehicle upward before it slammed down.
Someone was groaning and muttering. I smelled smoke and gasoline. A bad combination. Was I on the floor of the van?
I heard gunshots and then a breeze swept in.
Matt?
Did my husband come for me? The police must have heard the call-out and turned around to pursue us. Hope bloomed in my chest.
“No. No. Please!” Cristiano pleaded
“You dare steal my woman?” A chilling voice said, a voice that did not belong to Matt.
There was a single gunshot and then I heard the biker no more. I heard his body dragged from the seat and land on the ground. Then I felt a presence hover over me as I shrank back against the side of the door.
“Are you okay, cara?”
Those words turned my blood to ice.