Hideaway Cove (A Windfall Island Novel) (27 page)

“I really want to get out of these shoes,” Maggie said, and headed for the door.

“I can imagine.” Hold fell into step with her.

“I don’t think you should come with me,” Maggie said.

“You really can’t stop me.”

“Not in these shoes, but when we get to the room, I’m going to change them and kick your ass. That’s if Jessi doesn’t do it first.”

“She’s already made a pretty good start.” Without landing a single blow or raising her voice.

“Yeah,” Maggie smiled. “I don’t know if it’s being a mom or what, but she can make you feel about two feet tall with just a look.”

Jessi had cut him off at the knees all right, Hold thought. Not because she was a mom. Because he was in love with her. Yeah, he hadn’t needed Maggie or Dex to point it out to him. The minute he knew Jessi had put herself in danger he’d known, and now he was so desperate to find her and tell her that it felt like he might explode.

“You wait here,” Maggie said when they got to the room.

“I’ll give you five minutes, then I’m storming the gates.”

Maggie came back in less than one. Paige was right behind her, and Hold felt his own face drain when he saw theirs.

“She’s not here,” Maggie said.

Paige added, “I haven’t seen her since you all left together.”

“She must be somewhere in the hotel,” he said. Maggie looked at him like she’d cheerfully strangle him. Hold couldn’t blame her. “Call her.”

Maggie stared at the Bluetooth in his hand. “She didn’t take her phone because she had that. Why didn’t you give it back to her?”

“She wasn’t supposed to leave the ballroom,” Hold said, staring at the small, bullet-shaped device in his hand.

“Shit.” Maggie kicked her shoes off—one then the other—and the thud of them hitting the wall cut through a silence weighted with helplessness.

“I’m going back downstairs. Maybe the desk clerk saw where she went.”

“I’ll go with you,” Maggie said. “Just give me two minutes to change.”

“I’ll meet you down there.” Hold took off, but heard Maggie say to Paige, “Honestly, men,” before she caught up with him.

“Do you really think she wants to see you right now?”

“Probably not.” But he had to apologize, had to tell her he loved her. Hell, he’d settle for seeing her face, for just knowing she was all right, even if she never spoke to him again.

When the elevator opened at the lobby level, they split up. Maggie took the security guards at the ballroom door.

Hold crossed to the desk. “Did you see a woman in a red dress, petite, curly hair?”

“Drunk?” the desk clerk added to the description, with a smirk that made Hold want to reach across the counter and throttle him.

“She wasn’t drunk. Careful,” Hold added.

The clerk, who’d started to shrug, straightened instead. And took a step back. “The guy she was with had to hold her up,” he said.

“What did he look like?”

“Shorter than you, attractive—”

“The security guards saw her with a man,” Maggie said as she hurried up, “but only saw him from behind.”

“I think she called him Vance,” the desk clerk put in tentatively.

“Lance.” Cold to his bone marrow, Hold started for the door.

Maggie dragged him back. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t—” He fought to see through the red haze, to think.

“Where did they go?” Maggie demanded, rapping her hand on the counter when the desk clerk only goggled at her.

“I-I don’t know.”

“To get Benji,” Hold said.

“Then let’s go.”

“You won’t be any good to me barefoot, Maggie. You find Dex, let him know. I’m going after Jessi.”

Maggie bit her lip, but she didn’t argue with him. “I’ll call the Keegans, let them know what’s going on,” she called after him. “They’ll protect Benji.”

“That’ll leave Jessi in danger.” Hold turned back, just for a second, saw the worry and fear in her eyes. “But not for long.”

W
ith her hands bound and Lance driving like a maniac, Jessi had no choice but to hang on and hope. Her wrists were raw and bloody from straining against the plastic ties, her head throbbed where Lance had fisted his hand in her hair, and her side…

She knew he hadn’t stabbed her very deeply, but he must have nicked something. The circle of sticky wetness on her side kept growing, and she felt a little nauseated, a little woozy.

As much as she didn’t want Benji put in danger, she was relieved when Lance slammed on the brakes in front of the Keegan house. She couldn’t do anything to protect her son if she passed out.

Lance tossed a cell phone in her lap. “I entered the number. Call and tell them to send Benji out.”

“No.”

“
Jesus
.” He shoved a hand back through his hair, a hand that shook, Jessi was satisfied to see. “Do you want to die?”

“No, but I’ll die before I see Benji end up with you.”

Lance fisted both hands, even the one still holding the knife. “That’s fine with me. I’ll be paid for getting rid of you, then Clayton will pay me for waiving Benji’s rights to the Stanhope money. Paid, and paid, and paid.”

“You don’t need Benji to get paid, Lance. I’ll go with you, willingly. They’ll pay for me, too.”

“It doesn’t work without both of you!” he screamed, slamming a fist into the steering wheel. “Stanhope will come after Benji, can’t you see that? Do you want him ki—” He stopped, turned to stare at her from wild eyes. “You’re just trying to get me away from here. There’s no way you’d leave Benji unprotected.”

“He won’t be unprotected,” she said, even though her hope of maneuvering him away from Benji was fading. “Maggie won’t let anything happen to Benji. Neither will Dex and Hold—”

“
Don’t
,” he shrieked, “say that prick’s name!”

Jessi knew she was pushing him closer and closer to the edge, but what choice did she have? She was banking on the fact that he really didn’t want to hurt her. He wasn’t a murderer, just a spoiled kid who’d had some hard times and was blaming her for it.

Still, he was a spoiled kid with a knife and a slippery hold on his temper. “I’m sorry, Lance.”

“It’s Abbot’s fault as much as yours,” he ground out. “If he hadn’t come along, you’d have taken me back.” He waved his hands, had her ducking the knife again, “All this would be unnecessary.”

“I know you believe that,” Jessi said gently.

“I know it,” he said in a sulky voice that would have made her smile under other circumstances. It chilled her now, seeing how quickly his moods changed. Temper she’d called it, thought it, but she wondered now if he wasn’t losing his grip on sanity. “I’ll just grab the kid later, and you won’t have gained anything by being stubborn.”

“I won’t put Benji in danger, Lance. Can’t you see that?”

“I’m his father.”

“You’re holding me prisoner. You hurt me. Look, I’m bleeding.”

He glanced over, shook his head. “It’s your own fault,” he said coldly. “I wouldn’t need you if you hadn’t dumped him in a cop’s house.” He got out of the car, came around to the passenger side, and opened her door. When she simply sat there, he grabbed her by the wrists and dragged her out.

She stumbled on legs gone to rubber, but the pain from the zip ties cutting into her wrists help her stay upright and focused.

Lance shoved her toward the house, and when she stopped she felt the prick of the knife against her back.

“That’s right,” he sneered when she jerked forward a step. “You talk big. Let’s see if you have the guts to back it up. Now go get my son or I’ll go over your dead body.”

Jessi turned slowly, to face him. “No.”

Lance backhanded her.

She fell to the ground, wrenching her shoulder with her hands bound and useless to break her fall. Fire shot through her side, pain grayed her vision and fogged her senses. Fury and determination pushed her to her feet.

“You can kill me with that knife, Lance, or you can beat me to death, but you won’t get your hands on
my
child.”

Lance raised the knife.

“You don’t want to do that, son.”

Jessi swung around, saw Dex’s father standing on the walkway in front of his house. The rectangle of light from the open doorway behind him threw his face into shadows, but although his outspread hands were empty, she could see the gun holstered at his side.

“Mom!” Benji called out.

“Go back inside!” she yelled, but Benji ran out of the house.

Carter caught him, kept him from her. And seeing him threw Lance into a frenzy.

“I want my kid!” he screamed.

Jessi never took her eyes off Benji, took her first breath when she saw Peggy Keegan race out and bundle him up.

Benji struggled, yelled, “Don’t you hurt my mom!” then sobbed as Peggy, with a last tortured look at Jessi, took him inside and shut the door.

Jessi saw the desperation come into Lance’s eyes then, watched his jaw set, and knew she was going to pay for keeping Benji from him.

Lance raised the knife.

Carter Keegan stepped closer and held out his hand. “Why don’t you give me the knife?”

Lance pressed it to Jessi’s throat. “I just want my kid,” he said, his breath sobbing out with each word.

“You hurt her, you’ll never see Benji again.”

“It’s all her fault. First the kid, now this. I just want what I deserve!” he shrieked, dragging Jessi backward to the car.

Carter pulled his gun. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The front door of the Keegan house flew open again. Benji raced out of the house. Peggy Keegan followed, limping, too slow to stop Benji from racing around her husband. Benji launched himself at Lance, kicking and punching with his little fists.

Lance grabbed him, one-handed, and tossed him into the back seat, shoving Jessi away at the same time. She struggled to her feet, thanking God two steps took her to the car, and that she had enough strength to climb in with her son before Lance jumped in the front and started the car.

Everything seemed to happen at once then.

A car screamed up behind them, headlights blinding, until Hold stepped into the beams.

Lance put the car in gear and Hold started to run.

Jessi opened the rear door, held it with her foot while she scooped up Benji. “Take him!” she screamed at Hold. “Please, Hold, please,” she begged when she saw denial in his eyes. He could only save one of them, and it wouldn’t be her. “Please.”

He reached out, his fingers just brushing hers as he wrapped his arms around Benji. She jerked to her knees in time to see, through the rear window, Hold crashing to the frozen ground. Benji was cradled safely on top of him, his little arms outstretched for her. It was the last thing she saw before Lance skidded around the corner, sideswiping a parked car and sending her off balance. With her hands still bound and no way to catch herself, she slid across the back seat to smash against the side of the car.

But Benji was safe. All that mattered was that Benji was safe.

Carter Keegan pulled up in the rental Hold had left idling in front of his house. He reached for Benji, but the kid had a death grip around Hold’s neck.

“I have to go after your mom,” Hold said to Benji.

“You should let the police—” the older man began.

“The hell with the police. No offense.”

“None taken. If it was Peggy…” Carter shook his head. “Come on, Benji, you and I have to do the hard thing and wait. But I know you’re strong like your mom.”

Hold climbed into the car, looked Benji in the eye, and said, “I’ll get her back, Ben.”

“Promise?” Benji sniffled, his lower lip wobbling.

“I won’t come back without her.”

“Okay.” He buried his face in Carter’s shoulder.

“If he wants to get away fast there’s only one place he can go,” Carter said, rubbing soothing circles on Benji’s back. “Take the first right, then a left, and you’ll be at the highway.”

Hold barely caught the last few words, already putting his foot to the floorboard. He drove faster than he ever had in his life, although it felt like he was moving through molasses. He should be a wreck, but there was a coldness inside him. He grabbed onto it tight. The alternative was to succumb to fear, debilitating fear, and he’d made a promise—to Benji and himself. He couldn’t live without Jessi.

He raced onto the highway, slaloming around cars and trucks, calculating the lead Lance had on him and pushing the rental car for every ounce of speed it could give as he searched for the car Lance was driving. Just as doubt began to creep in, just as he began to fear Lance had taken a different route, just as he started to lose the iron grip on his emotions and hear the gibbering laughter of panic bubble in the back of his throat, he spotted the car.

Anger took over then—laser-focused pure rage that pushed everything else aside.

Every time Lance changed lanes, Jessi was thrown across the back seat. Luckily at some point in the swerving and shifting, the open back door had slammed closed. She barely noticed the new bruises, the ache in her side or the blood coating her wrists. She could still see Benji’s face, still feel what it was like to have to hand her son off, see the terror on his little face.

Anger burned through her, the kind of anger that surged into her muscles and hazed her mind. The kind of anger that wanted blood.

She shoved her upper body over the seat, but by the time she’d located the knife Lance had already closed his hand around it. She ducked, timed his wild swings, and pressed herself into the back behind him where he couldn’t reach her, at least not while he was driving.

He met her eyes in the rearview mirror, and she could see the homicidal intent there. The Lance she’d thought mostly harmless was gone.

“Kill me and you’ll never get a penny from the Stanhopes.”

“I think we both know that ship has sailed. You’ll never cooperate.”

He was too calm, Jessi thought, while anger still surged like lava in her veins, looking for a place to erupt. Lance had already decided she was excess baggage. She knew that as long as he was alive, Benji would be too big a temptation for him.

“I told you before, you’ll never get your hands on my son.”

He ignored her, checking the mirrors, now driving the speed limit. He kept the knife out of sight, calm enough to think about not drawing attention to himself. There was nothing she could do but wait him out.

“You have to stop sometime, Lance.”

He just hunched his shoulders, gave her no choice but to settle back to wait for an opening. But the interval worked against her: all of her adrenaline drained out of her, leaving her suddenly exhausted. She was fighting the urge to sleep when the car lurched once, then again. The movement against the car was accompanied by the sound of tearing metal.

“What the fuck!” Lance shouted.

Jessi dragged herself onto the seat, but all she saw out of the rear window was a galaxy of headlights.

A horn blared. She jerked around and saw Hold in the car next to theirs. He was shouting, words she couldn’t make out, but just seeing him was all it took to put the fight back into her.

She spun around, braced herself, and put her zip-tied wrists around Lance’s throat. She wanted him dead, frightened, miserable, and dead.

He clawed at her wrists, and when that didn’t work, he swung out wildly between the bucket seats. She felt the knife slice her side, skitter along her ribs. But she pressed herself against the door, as far away from his knife hand as she could get, and bore down until she could hear Lance wheezing and choking. Then reality hit her: if she killed Lance, she might be killing herself.

She forced herself to ease up, but it was too late. She felt the tires hit the warning strips on the side of the road, then heard the crunch of gravel before they went airborne for a weightless second. She saw a flash of green in the headlights and realized they’d gone off the road and onto the median just before the thud and bounce of impact shook her.

Then her hands broke free. She saw the knife and realized he’d cut the zip ties. And her. Blood ran down her wrist—too much blood. She didn’t care.

“Jesus, Jessi!” Lance shoved out of the car.

She clambered out after him, giving in to all the pain and—yes, the hate—for what he’d done in the past, what he was doing to her now, what Benji would have to deal with going forward. It all twined up inside her, braiding itself into a white-hot ball of anger.

“You could have killed us,” he whined.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She stepped toward him, stumbled, and stopped to slip off her shoes. And hefted them consideringly. “You were supposed to kill me and Benji.”

“Yes. No. I mean, that’s what Stanhope wanted, but I never intended—”

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much is the going price to murder your own son?” She ended on a shriek, knocking the knife out of his hand as she beat at him with her shoes. When she realized she couldn’t kick him with her bare feet, she used her knee, cursing because she wasn’t tall enough for more than a glancing blow. But it was enough to have him staggering toward the car.

She tried to go after him, but she was suddenly lifted away and restrained.

“Let me go,” she panted, watching through a red haze as Lance bolted for his car.

He jumped in and gunned it. The wheels spun in the ruts torn into the grass, not making much headway until they suddenly found purchase. Lance shot the car into traffic and there was a horrendous crash of metal and shattering glass, but the sounds seemed to come to her from a great distance as the energy drained out of her. The world grayed, which was odd, she thought numbly, considering it was nighttime.

Then Hold’s face was there, filling her vision. He was talking, but she couldn’t make out the words, and when she tried to lift her hand to his face, something held it back.

“Jessica,” she heard faintly, smiling because she’d always liked the way he used her whole name.