In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite), page 20
Come to think of it, he’d never actually said it was anything more than plain sexual attraction. He’d said he wanted her.
He’d never said he loved her.
Wake up, Abby. Why on earth would he?
“Thanks for holding on to this for me,” JP told the Picketts.
“Not a problem,” Asa replied. “If nothing else, I always knew Wade Price was as good as his word.”
“He’s really dead this time, isn’t he?” Dorie asked brokenly, her eyes shadowed with regret.
JP nodded somberly. “Yes, he is.”
Dorie bowed her head and reached out to grip Abby’s hands, which were clutched in her lap. “I’m so sorry.”
Abby sat there, holding the hand of the woman Wade had loved all those years ago—the woman who’d born her husband’s first child.
Asa Pickett joined his wife on the couch and put his arm across her shoulders.
“I know Wade never wanted anyone to know about us, but I’m glad you came. I’m glad he had you and that beautiful child in his life. He deserved that.” She leaned toward her husband, who hugged her.
“Thanks again,” JP said, walking to the door. With his eyes, he signaled to Abby. She stood.
“It was good to meet you,” she said, her voice thick. The couple nodded.
JP opened the door for her and she nearly ran into Wade’s son. She wanted to grab this big, handsome young man, tell him to get out of the Army, tell him to do something safe instead.
“Something wrong, Dad?” David Pickett asked after excusing himself for nearly colliding with her.
“Everything’s fine, son,” Asa replied.
He looked back at JP and Abby. “Sir, ma’am,” he said, with a nod of his head.
“Have a good evening,” JP said, taking Abby’s hand and leading her down the steps to the car.
They’d driven nearly to the paved road by the time she felt confident that her voice wouldn’t crumble. “He looks like Wade.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Cole will probably look like him when he’s that age.” Her baby. Who would never know his brother existed. How many times in one day could a heart break in two? “Can I turn on the phone to see if Steve’s called?”
JP looked across the seat at her, his eyes kind. “Sure.”
Abby found the cell phone in her bag, beneath the gun JP had given her when they left his safe house, and turned it on. She put it on the seat between them, waiting for it to catch a tower.
“Was the package really from Wade?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“What did he send you?”
He drove a few yards farther, then pulled up at a stop sign. He looked out across the pasture, his eyes on the horizon. “It’s a dead end,” he said finally.
“What was it?”
“A note that said ‘framed.’”
Her lips parted. “Then he was framed,” she said hopefully.
“He didn’t leave proof, Abby. Even if it’s true, it does us no good,” he said, turning to look at her.
“He was warning you.”
“Too late for that.” He still didn’t look convinced.
“He thought you’d get it right away. He was warning you. Who else could he have left that for?”
“He couldn’t really believe I’d ever find the Picketts,” he countered. “Not in time to do me any good, anyway.”
“He wouldn’t have risked them—risked his son—if he didn’t think so,” she insisted.
“Honestly, I don’t know what he meant by the note,” he said, his eyes on her. “I told you when we started that we may never know what happened.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. She was once again absolutely sure of it. Despite what she’d learned tonight—maybe in a twisted way because of it—she knew Wade was no traitor. No, she was more convinced than ever that Wade would never compromise his integrity.
JP looked at her for a second longer, then turned onto the paved road. Without another word.
…
JP had to give the woman credit for loyalty. Abby was willing to accept that Wade had been less than honorable with her, that he’d kept the secret of a child from her. But she wasn’t willing to accept that he was a traitor.
It almost put him to shame. Except for the past year of hell.
He kept his gaze on the road and ticked through the timeline of events as he knew them. If Wade was already bleeding by the time he wrote this note, then chances were good that he’d called Kyle at about the same time. Kyle had said Wade sounded rushed. Maybe he wasn’t rushed. Maybe he’d been out of breath because he was badly wounded, desperate, and unable to contact JP. Who knew how clearly he’d been thinking?
So Wade had left two messages. Hurt, bloodied, he’d mailed one to the only address he had on his mind. The Picketts. He’d called another message in to Kyle, knowing JP might go there after going to Abby’s, either by the clue he’d left with her, in the hidden zipper bag, or by his own ingenuity.
Forget rule three.
Abby’s house.
JP scoured his mind for something he could have missed. He thought about Wade’s last phone call to Abby, when he’d given her the “Springs” clue.
Then he remembered something else. Wade had told her to go to her brother’s place until she heard from him.
Why had he told her to leave the house?
Because he wouldn’t endanger her or Cole. He’d know his killers were searching for any evidence he’d left against them.
But what if he’d told Abby to leave so he could retrieve something already hidden at their house? Then the message to Kyle made more sense. And even if JP didn’t understand the clue, he still might find the papers that led to the Picketts. And the bloodied note.
“Where to now?” Abby asked.
The sun would set in an hour. He had time to contact Ethridge again. The man might turn him in, but he was ethical and by-the-book. He’d protect Abby. That was all that mattered.
“I’m taking you to a safe place.”
“What about the men who tried to kill us in Ocean Springs?”
“I’ll get you protection, Abby. Protection I can trust.”
She said nothing for a moment, then, “What about you?”
He had to search Abby’s house. Had to get inside and figure out if Wade had left something there, something neither she nor Brooks had found.
The phone between them beeped, saving him from answering her.
“There’s a message,” she said.
“Turn off your phone. Use the disposable to call your voice mail.”
She grabbed the other phone and powered it on.
He concentrated on the road, letting her get the reassurances she needed from her brother.
She punched a few buttons and then listened. The first indication there was a problem came when her left hand clutched the seat. Hard. She let out a little breath, a gasp, and stared down at the phone.
“What is it?”
“Pull over and listen to this,” she said, her voice tight.
He came to a hurried, jarring stop on the shoulder of the road and took the phone from her trembling hand.
“Punch two, so you can hear it again.”
He did, and listened.
“JP,” a male voice said. “I have Cole and Steve. You want ’em alive, call me.” There was shuffling on the line, as if whoever had spoken was handing the phone to someone else. The man didn’t have the phone to his mouth when he said, “Go ahead, boy, say hi to your mother.” There was a pause, followed by a muffled, “Steve, bring him over here.”
Then the clear sounds of a little boy. “Mommy, Mr. Ron says Unca Steve and me are playing a game, so we have to leave the cabin.” The connection was broken before he could hear Cole’s next words.
Abby was staring at him, fear and confusion clouding her horrified face. “Oh, God. Why did I go off on this fool’s errand? Why did I let him go anywhere without me?”
JP turned in the seat, grabbed her shoulders firmly. “It’s not your fault.” This was his fault, his alone. If only he hadn’t— But no, second-guessing, dwelling on what-ifs, was pointless. “Whoever has them knows both your brother—and me.”
Which told him it had to be either Brooks wanting to capture him, or the man who’d framed him, wanting to kill him. Willing to trade two innocent lives for his.
Why? What did JP know that was so important three people had to be killed to keep him silent?
Abby looked shell-shocked, dazed. “It’s Ron. It has to be. It sounded just like him.”
“Ron?”
“Ron Hodges. He’s a neighbor. He volunteers with Search and Rescue.”
JP frowned. “The one who came to the house that night?”
“Yes. He and Wade fished together sometimes.” Her eyes widened on his. “Damn! I forgot to tell you. The last day I was home, Ron said he knew what Wade did—he called him a ‘spook.’” She shook her head. “Wade would never have told him. He wouldn’t have told anybody.”
No. Wade had definitely proven he could keep a secret. That meant Ron Hodges knew from some other source. Who? Was Ron one of the bad guys, or just a hired thug?
“What are we going to do?” Abby cried.
He turned on her cell phone again, waited for the signal, then punched through until he found the missed call. Then he pressed the callback button.
Three rings. Four. “JP!” came the answer. “How ya doin’, buddy.”
JP didn’t recognize the voice. “Ron?”
“That’ll work. We both knew Wade,” Ron Hodges replied. “Careful, methodical, loyal Wade.” He paused. “Wade left you—well, he left you something. I’ll have to admit that dead, Wade is a problem.”
Did that mean this bastard hadn’t actually killed Wade?
“A problem,” JP said, “because now you can’t find what he left for me. Namely, evidence of who you are and what you did.”
JP sent up a heartfelt apology to Wade, wherever he was, for ever doubting his loyalty.
“He always said you were good.” Ron laughed. “I won’t make you guess anymore. It’s really simple. Give me what I want within twenty-four hours, or else the boy and his uncle are dead.”
“I need more time.”
“Tough. Twenty-four hours. Call me before that time’s up. Have whatever it is Wade left you, and you can have ’em back. Wherever you are, you’d best be in Abby’s zip code in twenty-four.”
“What have you done with Steve’s son and his friend?”
“Left ‘em high and dry in the woods. They’ll be found in a day or two. Good thing they didn’t see me.”
JP bit back a string of curses. “Let me talk to Steve.”
“No can do, buddy. He’s keeping the boy calm.” The line crackled. “Tell me, Wade ever talk about Frank Boyle?”
Wade’s first partner. The one who’d been killed.
“Just to say he was dead,” JP replied.
“Man, oh, man, could Wade keep a secret. The Agency gave me a fresh start. Kinda like witness protection.”
Mistrust filtered through JP. “That close to Wade’s home? Why?”
“Nah. I was already living there when Wade showed up. Surprised me, if you want to know the truth. Never expected the middle of nowhere to be so attractive.”
Frank Boyle. JP tried to remember what little he knew about the man. And figure out why he’d be mixed up in all this. He needed to think.
“Let Abby talk to her son.”
There was a pause. “How about she listens to him,” Boyle replied. “Put her on.”
JP handed her the phone. She listened for a few moments, tears streaming down her face even harder, before handing the phone back to him.
“Did you hear them?”
“Steve’s playing with him,” she said, and turned away.
JP put the phone to his ear. “Tell me why, Boyle.”
“You know what to do. Twenty-four hours.” Boyle hung up, leaving him more confused than ever.
Frank Boyle. Legendary. There had been rumors about Wade’s former partner. Impulsive. Too quick to disobey orders. He’d died during an operation in Afghanistan. Obviously he hadn’t died. And Wade had kept that secret, too. The one that had reared up and killed him, and was about to destroy his family.
“We have to do something!” Abby said. She’d wiped away her tears, but she looked—ravaged. Raw. Furious.
He had to think, had to quit feeling. Emotions get you killed.
Only this time it could be Wade’s son. Abby’s son.
Would be, unless JP could stop whatever was happening. Regardless of Boyle’s promises, no way would the bastard let Cole and Steve live. Not when they could implicate him in a kidnapping.
It was a little after seven o’clock. Twenty-four hours. They had until tomorrow night to find whatever it was Wade had hidden. And if they didn’t, he’d fake it.
“We have to search your house.”
“It’s been searched. Twice. I told you!” A sob of frustration cut through her words.
He shook his head. “We’ll do it with what you know now. What we know about how Wade thought,” he explained.
She just stared, her beautiful eyes, wet with tears, intent on him. Trusting. He never wanted to lose that trust. He needed to take care of this.
“I don’t have any idea of how Wade thought,” she said finally, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I didn’t know him at all.”
“You did, Abby. He took care of you and Cole. He protected you. If I hadn’t come along, you’d be safe—”
“And ignorant.” She shook her head. “No. There’s no blame here. Or maybe blame all around. But that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is Cole and Steve.”
She was right. JP’s training finally kicked in past the fear. Stay focused. He pulled back onto the road, thoughts churning.
While Boyle had said to head back to Alabama, he wouldn’t take his hostages back to Abby’s house. He’d pick a spot he was familiar with, a place that gave him the advantage. Still JP’d have to be careful.
Within a half an hour they were on the interstate, headed for the airport in Amarillo. The drive took a little over an hour. Along the way, he stopped to buy some things for a disguise. He had to have at least a hope of getting past Brooks and his means of surveillance. Because in the airport, with security the way it was, there was no way to carry—not on his body, not in the bags. He’d have to toss his guns, get another when they landed in Mobile, the closest airport to Abby’s Alabama hometown.
He bought her a head scarf and a loose floral print dress that fell to her knees. He bought himself some cheap cowboy boots that he scuffed on the asphalt in the parking lot, and a long-sleeve denim shirt. They changed at a convenience store and drove straight to the airport to buy the tickets.
The Amarillo airport had no flights to anywhere this late. The best he could do was an early morning flight, connecting through Dallas, which he’d buy in the morning so as not to give Brooks the chance to find them.
He had no fake ID for Abby, nothing but her actual driver’s license, so he’d have to buy her ticket in her real name. Maybe Brooks would be so intent on looking for him that Abby’s name wouldn’t be flagged. He’d buy his ticket in the one alias he’d been saving, and use the credit card in that name to charge his fare. Abby’s would go on a different card.
It was nearly ten when they found a motel close to the airport. Their flight would leave at six in the morning and arrive in Mobile, an hour and a half from Abby’s house, a little after noon. He had yet to buy a gun, and with Brooks still on the lookout, they’d have to be careful when they got there. That wouldn’t leave them much time left to search, but the house was the only possible place left.
But JP had already decided. If they didn’t find what Wade had hidden—hopefully a record of Boyle’s actions that incriminated him, something JP was sure Wade would do if he’d had the time—JP was going to bluff his way to Boyle. And use the skills the Agency had taught him, skills that had been honed and practiced over the years with Wade, and before him with JP’s Delta unit.
Because no way in hell would Wade and Abby’s son pay for JP’s mistakes, for his lack of faith in Wade.
If it was the last thing he ever did, he would give Abby back her life.
…
Abby wasn’t sure she could climb the steps to the second floor of the chain motel JP had chosen. How he kept going, his energy level seemingly unfazed by the last few hours of emotional, breakneck activity was beyond her.
The deadline given to them seemed to focus him, while for her the nightmare prospect of losing her son and brother made her thoughts scatter in a million different directions.
The room was generic. Two queen beds, a floral print spread, a small table, a chair, the television. The bathroom was big.
“Go ahead and get a shower,” JP said, putting their pack and duffel down inside the small closet.
“Are you sure? Aren’t you tired?”
“I’m fine,” he said with a smile. A sweet smile that for some reason made her think of Cole. Which made her thoughts careen back into a black place she didn’t want to visit.
She didn’t want him to see her like this. Overwrought. Needy. Desperate. She grabbed her bag and went into the bathroom.
There, she managed to compose herself, to keep herself focused on showering, using the hotel shampoo, which didn’t seem to want to wash out of her hair. Soft water, she thought. Two of the bites on her back were red and inflamed. She’d scratched them during the day and irritated them. She combed out her wet hair, dressed in a clean T-shirt that would serve as her nightgown, and clean shorts.
JP was sitting on the bed when she came out of the bathroom, checking one of three guns he had next to him. He’d put one in her bag—she recognized it. One of the others was the gun he carried in the holster. But she hadn’t seen the third. A spare. One he’d picked up at his cabin and kept out of sight, she guessed.
He looked up.
“Bathroom’s all yours.”
“Thanks.” He put the small gun into his bag. The other two went on the night table between the beds.
Their beds. Where they’d sleep. The idea shot straight to some inner place she’d managed to avoid since she’d realized how she felt about him.
