Hell or High Water (17 page)

“You don’t get it. Most of my kills were by rifle, but a few with my bare hands or a knife. Whichever way, a lot of people died.” His expression was solemn. “Don’t misunderstand. I don’t regret my actions.”
 

“And you shouldn’t.” She wanted him to unburden and share his pain.

“I was proud of what I did for my country. My team went places where most men would’ve died. We were selected because we’d get the job done, regardless of the cost. Some of us didn’t come home. Part of me wonders, why was I spared?”

“Maybe there’s something you have to do before you die.” Her heart ached for all he’d been through. She rested her hand on his back, the muscles tightening at her touch. Arguing that he wasn’t to blame for lives lost during war would be futile.
 

His scoff said he didn’t agree. “Right.”

“Is that when you got out of the military?”

“No. I went back to Afghanistan after a few weeks R&R. Things got ugly after that.” A cruel smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Hate can take control, snake up from down deep and squeeze the compassion right out of your soul. Trust me, I recognized the guy on the phone.”

He’d spoken the words with such hate and thick emotion Kay realized she’d stopped breathing. Her mind searched for words of comfort and found none appropriate.

“I don’t know how you survived, but I’m glad you did. You’re home now. I promise the world offers plenty of reasons to be alive, but the only way you’ll find them is to move on.”

“The way you moved on?” His cool gaze pinned her. “This rift between you and your dad, is it your brother? What about his death weighs so heavily you can’t take your own advice?”
 

She squirmed at the shift in conversation. “We were talking about how you survived Afghanistan.”

He pushed off the bed. “Bullets, blood, and memories kept me alive.” In two long strides, he’d left the room.
 

She went back to her search, wondering if the ring had been passed to her before her last visit to the hospital. She dug through her briefcase, while trying to remember what she’d worn to an interview with Leann the week before she was murdered. Kay searched through pockets, found two dollars and a dry cleaner claim check but no ring.
 

The light in the living room was still on. Kay succumbed to the urge to walk down the hall.
 

Nate had unbuttoned the top snap on his jeans and stretched out on the couch with his eyes closed. Long black eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. A white T-shirt hugged his chest, outlining the hard ridge of the Saint Jude’s medal tucked inside. Even at rest, Nate’s body looked coiled and ready to spring.

She ached to run her fingers though the shoulder-length black hair, to rub her palm over the day-old scruff across his chin. Longing, desire, and need settled deep inside her, low in her belly.

She ignored the craving inside and reached to turn off the light.
 

“Don’t. I’m not asleep.”

His eyes opened, hitting her with a sultry gaze that shot through her and left her feeling naked. Years ago, that same expression had melted her resistance and rendered her unable to think straight. Tonight, she discovered it still had the same effect.
 

He lifted up on one elbow. “Did you come to talk about your brother?”

“I didn’t. We all carry guilt tucked away somewhere private Let’s leave it at that. Like I said, some of us move on.” She stood over him, dumbfounded, as he reclined, closed his eyes and effectively blocked her out.
 

Frustration boiled through her, and she slapped the claim check on the coffee table, gritting her teeth when he didn’t look at her. “I’d forgotten all about picking up my cleaning. I need to do that in the morning.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

****

Johnny paced up and down the hall outside the woman named Holly’s holding room. He’d fucking gone over the edge. The boss would be at the warehouse in a few hours, and Johnny still wore yesterday’s clothes.
 

He scanned his card and slowly opened the door. The tiny bundle curled into a fetal position lifted her bruised face, eyes wide and full of horror. Her body trembled.
 

“Sit up.” He waited until she’d righted herself before snapping a picture with his cell. The Taylor woman wanted to know her friend was alive. He’d send her something to prove his point.
 

“Did you come to kill me?” The blonde shoved her matted hair over her shoulder and stared wide-eyed at him.
 

“Not yet. Your friend wants to be sure you’re alive.”

“Let me talk to her.”
 

“Not unless you know where the ring is.” He advanced a step, and she cringed. Her reaction sent a blast of pain over his right ear.

“I’m freezing,” she said. “Can I at least have something warm to drink?”

“This isn’t the Ritz.” He couldn’t hold back a smile as he tossed her the blanket he’d brought, which she greedily dragged up and under her chin.

She’d kept her shit together, at least momentarily. Brave. He liked that. He lifted his phone to get another shot. Damned if she didn’t do a faux quick draw with both hands and point at him just as the camera clicked. “You like to have your picture taken?”

“Not particularly. I’m betting I look like shit. My appearance will motivate my friends to find me. It won’t be pretty when they do.”

“You’ve got a smart mouth.” He narrowed his eyes to make a point. “I’d advise keeping it shut when Hank or the boss is around.”
 

Her bravado withered, and oddly enough, he preferred her defiant side. He texted both pictures, slipped the cell back in his pocket and turned to leave.
 

“You seem like a nice guy, not like that bastard Hank. Please let me go.”
 

Without turning around, he huffed out a breath and said, “I’m not a nice guy. Not sure I ever was.”
 

****

Nate blasted off the couch and was standing next to Kaycie’s bed before she picked up the throwaway phone. Was the bastard trying to keep her awake? Nate could go for days without sleep. Been trained to rejuvenate on twenty minutes of shut-eye. He didn’t know what to expect from her. How long would she hold up to pressure when she was running on adrenaline?
 

“Nothing’s written in the text, but there’s an attachment.” She opened the first picture and gasped. “Oh God.”

Nate wrapped a protective arm around her and pried the phone from her grip. He studied the proof-of-life snapshot on the small screen, memorizing every bruise. He’d seen worse than this. A hell of a lot worse, but this was Kaycie’s friend who’d been beaten. He opened the next picture. Holly’s eyes and face still reflected agony, yet she’d hiked one eyebrow and pointed her index fingers at the camera.
 

“I don’t get this one,” he said to Kaycie, whose head was turned into his chest. “This one is different. It looks like Holly posed for him.”
 

“Maybe he made her,” Kaycie’s tone was filled with hate.
 

Her voice grew weaker with each word. Worried she’d cave, he gently maneuvered her to sit on the bed. He turned the phone Kaycie’s direction, hating to hurt her but needing her help.

“Maybe he did.”

“If we argue, and it turns out I’m right, Holly pulls her finger weapons and fires. It’s her way of joking around.”

Kaycie stood and paced around the room.

She spun to look at him. Inhaled sharply. “I think she’s telling me I was right about Hank Walsh.” Her words, dripping hate, chilled the air. “That bastard hurt her.”

Chapter 17

Nate opened the door quietly. He shushed Tyrell before allowing him to enter Kaycie’s apartment. “She had a rough night. I’m letting her sleep a few more minutes.”

“That’s cool. I have an idea to run past you.”

“Coffee’s hot.” Nate waved toward the kitchen and returned to his chair. He’d brought his and Kaycie’s phones plus the throwaway out of the bedroom and placed them next to her laptop, ready to intercept any incoming intel. She’d left her e-mail logged on, and he watched for the information from her grandfather. “Talk to me.”

“We should pick up a change of clothes or two and crash here. Be together if something breaks. Neither you, me, nor Marcus need a lot of sleep. We’ll rest when this is over.”

“Agreed.” Nate had no doubt Tyrell’s training as a Ranger had taught him how to stay awake for days. “Kaycie needs as much support as we can give.”

“Holly’s been missing for twenty-four hours.” Tyrell scrubbed a hand over his chin. “Somebody needs to brace Kay for the worst.”

Nate didn’t disagree. “She knows.”

Tyrell collapsed in a chair across from Nate. “So you back for good?”

“Wouldn’t have opened an office otherwise. You looking for a job?”
 

“Maybe, but I wasn’t talking about work. I meant Kay. She’s nursed a grudge and a broken heart because of you for years. I’d hate for you to fuck up her head again.”

“That subject’s not open for discussion.” Nate leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
 

“Kay and I have been friends for a long time. Love her like a sister, and I take exception to anybody messing with my family.”
 

A frisson of resentment rushed Nate. “Don’t preach—”

Tyrell held both hands up in the surrender position. “I’m just saying.”

“Duly noted.” Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Nate appreciated Tyrell’s concern, but needed him to concentrate on Holly’s rescue. “You talk with Marcus this morning?”

“Yeah. I’ll let him know he’s bunking here for the duration. You hear anything?”

“She had two calls early this morning.”
 

“And?”

Nate pulled up Holly’s picture on the throwaway and passed them over. “The asshole left no doubt what would happen to her if Kaycie didn’t come up with the ring.”
 

“I’m gonna kill the motherfucker who did this.” Tyrell’s jaw worked from side to side as he gritted his teeth.

“I’m in.” Nate explained their visit with Kaycie’s grandfather. “He’s gathering addresses on all of Walsh’s properties. It’s thin, but what else have we got? Our best bet is for Walsh to lead us to Holly.”

“Maybe we should encourage him. Nothing’s keeping me from showing up at his door with a buttload of questions.”

“Go for it. Take Marcus and do that scary shit Kaycie was talking about.” Nate paused at the sound of the bathroom door closing. “I’d hoped she’d sleep longer.”

“How’s she holding up?”

“Not good.” Nate refilled his coffee and set it on the table. “The call and then the pictures wound her up. She took her bedroom apart looking for that fucking ring.”

“Didn’t you already search?”

“Exactly.” The ping from her computer grabbed Nate’s attention. “Hang on.” He opened the attached file and silently cursed the affluent senior Walsh. “Seven properties.” Nate’s gaze swept the room. “We need a Dallas city map.”
 

“Do it online.”

“I could and then print it. I’d rather have paper first.”

“Think I have a map in the console,” Tyrell said, heading for the door.
 

Within minutes, he was back, leaning against the kitchen counter and marking spots on the map while Nate read locations from the information Kaycie’s grandfather had sent.

Kaycie wandered in after her shower, dressed in jeans and a faded George Strait T-shirt. She accepted the coffee Tyrell poured. She lifted the steaming cup to her nose and breathed in deeply. Steam rose and drifted across the dark circles under her eyes.
 

Tyrell opened his arms, and she stepped into a bear hug. A ping of jealousy sizzled up Nate’s spine at the sight of another man holding her closely. The sizzle flashed to a burn when she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed.
 

Kaycie moved to sit next to him. She studied the computer screen. “I knew Papa would come through.” She leaned closer, shaking her head. “That’s a lot of places to figure out how to get inside.”

Her scent, clean and fresh, washed over Nate. He forced himself to concentrate on the business at hand.

“Tyrell’s going after clothes. He and Marcus will bunk here. We’ll take turns on the couch. When it’s time to take action, we need to be together.”

“Goin’ now. Little Mama, you got an extra key?”

“I don’t. Holly’s the only one who does. I’m not sure I should go in her apartment until I check with Tomas. I’ll call the complex office and ask them to let you in.”

“Tell’em I’m your cousin.” Tyrell winked. His wisecrack about the difference in ethnicity didn’t draw a response from Kaycie.
 

“We’ll get extra keys made today,” Nate said, walking his old friend to the door.

Kaycie hadn’t eaten worth a damn since this whole thing started. Breakfast was about the only meal he could cook, but he scrambled a mean egg. He opened the refrigerator and removed items.