Backstretch Baby (37 page)

She stared in dawning horror. It was Liam? She gulped. “I’ll leave now though,” she squeaked.

“Too late.”

“No, it’s not,” she said quickly. “No one can prove anything. You haven’t hurt anyone.”

He looked down at her, his eyes cold, the silence in the kitchen like a tomb. And she could see it in his expression even while the sound of her own heartbeat thrashed in her ears. “No,” she whispered. “Not Camila.”

“She wanted to buy back her baby. Too stupid to understand there’s no going back. Even had the nerve to threaten me. Me!” His voice rose with scorn and Joey’s feet lifted further from the floor.

Eve’s cheek was flattened against a red footprint on the floor, the same color as the river bank. Yet Rick said they weren’t allowed close to the crime scene. Her mind skittered away. She didn’t want to accept that a killer was in her kitchen. With her son.

“You’re right,” she said, hating the quaver in her voice. “There is a real diary. But Rick already has it. So you should just run. He’s coming back after he talks to Marcus. He knows it was you.”

Liam snorted. “I knew Marcus would sing, that’s why I needed him gone. Paid him a thousand bucks for each girl he lined up. But he didn’t have the guts to see things through.”

Eve tried to control her terror. She moved her legs a cautious inch. Her left leg didn’t work, but her right leg twitched in response. That was the one she’d use to push for the drawer. Her head still reeled but Liam was a lightweight compared to a horse. And Rick would come once he saw her text. He’d promised he would if she ever needed help. He couldn’t be too far away.

“Where’s Marcus now?” she asked.

“Hiding somewhere in town. I can’t find him.”

“Oh.” Her despair rose. “I thought he might be here at the track.”

“No,” Liam said. “So your hotshot investigator is far away. And you’ll make sure he doesn’t follow me.”

“Yes.” She nodded, so quickly pain shafted through the back of her head, and black spots dotted Liam’s face. But her pain was tempered with relief.

“Because I’m taking your kid.”

She stared up, frozen in horror. “No. Take me instead.”

“The kid’s easier. And you can’t even walk. Besides,
he’d
come for you.”

“He’ll come for Joey too.” But she shook her head, trying to clear her vision, as well as push back her doubt.

“Then you’ll have to make sure he doesn’t,” Liam said. “I’ll let your kid go in a couple days. Long as he’s quiet and you don’t go to the police. Or send that nosy prick after me.”

“No, take me, please,” she begged. “Joey can’t walk far. He needs medication. He’s only four—”

But Liam had already turned toward the door with Joey tucked under his arm like a sack of feed.

She pushed herself up, collapsed then grabbed the side of the sink. She hung on, frantically yanked open the drawer and pulled out a knife, the biggest one she saw.

“Wait!” She burst through the open door, the knife pressed against her leg. Tripped and bounced down the steps onto the grass. Didn’t feel a bit of pain.

“Liam,” she called brokenly. “Take me instead. Please.”

She pushed herself up, hobbled a step then fell again. Liam and Joey were already beside the sand pit, close to the wooded path. Joey’s beseeching eyes clung to hers. Despite his terror he didn’t speak, was still trying to be quiet, as if confident she’d save him.

And then he was swallowed by the trees.

Moaning, she pushed herself up and stumbled forward. There was a rake by the barn door that could serve as a crutch. Liam must be taking the path up the hill, squeezing through the gap in the fence. She’d follow.

She turned toward the barn, crumpled, then pulled herself along the grass. Crawling was faster than her ineffective hobble, and fear galvanized her, so much that she didn’t feel a shred of pain, other than the sheer terror that gripped her heart.

Rick parked his motorcycle by the guardhouse and cut the engine. The man inside smiled and slid open the window. “Coming in for a coffee?”

Rick shook his head. “Just looking for Liam.”

He flattened his hands against his thighs, trying to keep them from fisting. He’d questioned Victoria’s involvement, ever since the frustrated note on Eve’s car. Victoria was cold and calculating, and that note had reeked of emotion.

But he’d completely overlooked Liam. Partly because of the guard’s friendship with Ashley. But mainly because his brain always shut down whenever people spoke of kids and babies. If he weren’t half a man, if he’d only stayed around the mothers and listened, he’d have figured this out much sooner.

As it was, Marcus’s confession had barely surprised him. Liam and Marcus had a profitable gig, running a despicable baby market for almost three years. Marcus befriended pregnant immigrants, stoking their fear about losing their jobs in the States, while Liam fronted the sales.

If a woman hedged about turning over their baby, Liam ruthlessly severed all support. In Camila’s case, he’d planted heroin in her boyfriend’s dorm, forcing the man to flee to Mexico. Since many workers were illegals, Liam had wielded frightening power.

They’d paid five thousand to the girls, a huge sum for a track worker, and pocketed up to fifteen. When Ashley arrived, fair-haired and pregnant, Liam had hoped to clear twenty-five.

But Eve’s support had united the women. Meeting friends at the sand pit, having a chance to talk and learn about support programs had boosted their confidence. They’d even started their own hair business. All had hoped to emulate Eve, a confident single mother who’d carved out a career in the competitive race industry and was all too happy to help other women do the same.

Liam had been infuriated and determined to run Eve off. It had been simple to cause problems. Especially since Ashley served as an information funnel. The self-absorbed girl had no idea Liam was using her information for sabotage. And ultimately murder.

Rick’s fists tightened, his fingers pressing into his palms. He was determined to talk to Liam before the police were involved. Quite likely the man would turn belligerent and take a swing. Marcus said Liam was unraveling.

When Camila insisted on returning her money in exchange for getting her baby back, apparently Liam had exploded. Marcus hadn’t remained by the river that night and claimed he never thought Liam would kill her. Marcus had sounded truly shaken. Kept insisting he shouldn’t be blamed for her death. He’d known Liam was frustrated about the imploding baby business but hadn’t dreamed he was capable of such brutality.

And Marcus could be telling the truth. He was too jumpy to meet Rick in person, opting to talk on the phone and claiming he wasn’t safe from Liam. Rick hadn’t been able to track down Marcus, not yet, so all he could do was listen.

But Liam was easy to find. And learning details about the backstretch babies only stoked Rick’s anger. He despised anyone who exploited the weak, and Liam was a soulless predator. Little wonder people here thirsted for vengeance. He’d listen to Liam’s side of the story, but it was horrifying to imagine the families that had been ripped apart—the destruction, the despair, the heartache. And Camila.

 “Coffee’s fresh,” the guard said, opening the door and gesturing. “Come on in and wait. We even have some of those maple doughnuts, the kind with apple—”

“Where’s your boss?”

The guard’s smile faded. “Don’t know. But his Jeep’s here. Guess he walked somewhere.”

Rick scanned the parking lot. Eve and her son were visiting the fun-loving guys in barn nineteen where they kept a friendly pig named Benji as their mascot. She’d be safe there. But if Liam cut across the east end, he’d only be a five-minute walk from the barns. And Rick didn’t want that man anywhere around women.

“Can you call him?” he asked.

The guard shook his head. “Tried. He’s not answering the radio or his cell. But I can send car six out. They’ll find him.” He reached across the desk for his mouthpiece.

Rick dragged a hand over his jaw. He still wasn’t used to the smooth skin and quickly dropped his hand. “Don’t bother calling,” he said. “I’ll find him.”

He didn’t want to spook Liam. Neither did he want any other guards around. According to Marcus—and to Rick’s instincts which he valued more—the rest of the guards were a decent bunch. But it would be safer, and infinitely more satisfying, to handle this alone.

“I’ll come back later for that coffee,” Rick added.

“Sure thing,” the guard said, his amiable smile returning.

Rick’s phone pinged, announcing an incoming text. He pulled it out and scanned the screen. And for a moment he quit breathing.

Help
, was all Eve had written.

Rick cranked the throttle, roaring the motorcycle down a straight stretch. His heart pounded with terror, matching the pulsing throb of the bike. For Eve to ask for help, so succinctly, she had to be desperate. And his return call had gone straight to voice mail. She only turned her phone off when she was riding.

The paved drive split. He hesitated, not sure if she was still at the pig barn or walking back to the RV. He swerved left, deciding if she were close to the main barns she wouldn’t be alone. Best to backtrack from the RV and check the walkway.

Probably there was no reason to panic. Maybe a horse was loose, or sick, or her car wouldn’t start. Or maybe Joey had fallen off the swing—that tire should have been hung another inch lower—and knocked out a tooth.

But his sweating palms tightened around the rubber handles. Because Eve never asked for help. She squared her shoulders and fought her own battles. That gritty courage was one of the reasons he loved her.

And he’d left her alone with a killer on the grounds, a volatile sociopath who blamed her for rallying the women.

He blasted his bike around the last corner, craning to see the RV. The barn.

And then such a fierce pain rocked him, it felt like his gut had been lanced. His bike was making weird noises and it took several seconds to realize the moans were coming from him. He’d seen blood and carnage before, but when he spotted Eve’s twisted form inching over the dirt, the sounds escaping his throat were inhuman.

He vaulted off, letting his cherished bike crash to the ground, the engine still running. Dropped in the dirt beside her, pressing 9-1-1 even as he called her name.

She barely looked at him. Kept crawling toward the barn.

“Don’t move,” he said, his voice rough with fear. He ached to touch her, wanted to stretch out on the ground and hold her and reassure himself that she was alive.

But he spoke crisply on the phone, detailing the situation, even as he assessed her injuries. Broken leg, bruised neck, shocked and traumatized. Blood on the mouth, possible broken ribs.

She needed to stay still so he could take her vitals. Luckily there was an ambulance on the grounds. First responders would be here in minutes.

But she wouldn’t stop crawling. She kept shaking her head, even during his second call to the police. Tears stained her cheeks and the red welt on her forehead stood out in stark contrast to her bloodless face.

“No police,” she repeated, her voice hoarse and whisper thin. “It’s Liam.”

“We know.” Rick lowered the phone. “Police are blocking off the area now. They’ll catch him. I’m going to get you a blanket.”

“But he has Joey. And he said no police. They went through the path. I have to get him.”

She dug her nails into the dirt and pulled herself another foot closer to the barn. And it was then he saw the serrated bread knife clutched in her hand.

“Don’t move, Eve.” He placed a knee on the ground in front of her, blocking her progress.

“But I need a crutch. I have to get Joey.”

“Your leg is broken. And maybe your collarbone, some ribs—” His voice broke, overcome with guilt, fear and a white-hot rage.

“Then you get him,” she said. “You go for me.”

He shook his head, not wanting to leave her side. “You’re hurt. I’ll wait until the ambulance comes.”

“No!” Her face twisted with anguish. “Liam killed Camila. He’ll hurt Joey.”

“Police will cordon off the area around the farmhouse. They’ll bring in a negotiator. They’re equipped for this.”

She stared up at him, her eyes beseeching. “But Joey can’t be with that man.”

He shook his head, the movement in sync with the fresh helplessness worming through his gut. He wasn’t the best choice for a hostage situation. And there was no way he’d risk going up that hill, and quite possibly losing Joey.

Liam was unhinged. If it went south, she’d hate him forever.

“You get him.” Her voice firmed. “Scott says you’re his best man. Go, bring him back.”

But still Rick shook his head. “It’s better if the police do it. Safer.”

She reached out and gripped his hand. And even though the movement must have hurt, she gave him a nod full of nothing but confidence. “I know you can do this,” she said, her voice fierce. “Get him for me. Please. I’ll wait here until you come back.”

A muscle spasmed in his jaw.

“Please, Rick,” she whispered.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll get him.”

He rose and yanked his Harley upright. Thrust his leg over the seat and gunned it toward the woods.

The path was narrow, barely wide enough for a single person but he bulled through, weaving in and out of trees and bouncing over exposed roots. He rode the bike like it was stolen, not caring about the polish or the shocks or the mirror that smashed the side of a gnarly tree and now hung uselessly.

He couldn’t be more than ten minutes behind them, judging from the time of Eve’s text. And he’d make up ground on the powerful bike.

He burst from the trees and throttled the bike even higher, heading for the hole beneath the chain link fence. The gap beneath the fence was surrounded by scuff marks. But the hill was bare, empty of everything except faded grass, their tips bleached to a familiar bone white.

He dropped his bike, barely slowing as he launched himself beneath the gap. A twisted link grabbed his back and he heard the rip of his shirt, felt the tear of skin. But it only spurred him. He could move a lot faster than most men, and Liam was carrying a forty-pound boy. Surely he could catch them.