In the Shadows (The Club, #10) (13 page)

“Let me drive you,” Zeke offered.

“I’ll be fine,” Vivian protested. “You should finish eating and looking over everything. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“The cops still haven’t caught the bastard,” Zeke argued. “I don’t like you going out alone.”

“You can’t be with me all the time.”

“Currently unemployed, darlin’.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse. “Really, Zeke?”

“Really.” He snagged his keys off the counter and jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

The lights in the rear of the bakery were on when they pulled up. “She must be in the kitchen still,” Vivian told Zeke as she got out of the car. “Hopefully it won’t take too long.”

“Want me to come in with you?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. Give me ten minutes.”

“If you aren’t back in ten, I’m coming in after you,” he called after her.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

She unlocked the back door and pushed it open. Heavy smoke drifted out, setting Vivian to coughing. “Yvette?”

Behind her, a car door opened and slammed shut. Zeke was next to her in a heartbeat. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Yvette?” Vivian called again, fear starting to creep in.

“Viv, we need to call the fire department.”

She ignored him and covered her mouth and nose with a sleeve, pushing her way inside. Zeke swore and followed her in. He talked into his phone as they hurried inside, the smoke growing thicker as they neared the kitchen.

Vivian’s heart stopped when they reached the baking area. Fire engulfed one of the ovens. Scraps of aprons and dishtowels spewed from the oven’s open door, dropping clumps of burning fabric to the floors. Some had clearly drifted toward the wooden worktables, which were starting to catch. Worse, bags of flour were scattered around the room, ripped open so everything was coated in a fine white powder.

Yvette was slumped in a corner near the sink.

“Zeke!” Vivian called over the sound of the flames. She pointed at Yvette. “Help me!”

Together, they made their way to Yvette. Vivian tried to get under one of her arms, but Zeke easily lifted the unconscious woman and carried her toward the doorway. Vivian followed behind him, lungs burning from the acrid smoke. They had to get out before the flour caught—

She watched Zeke’s broad shoulders as he moved out of the kitchen and toward the back door. They passed the hallway to the offices and dining area when Vivian turned back, catching one last glimpse of her kitchen going up in flames. Swallowing down her tears, she turned to continue following Zeke when she caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye.

Blinding pain exploded above her right temple and the world went black.

***

T
he fire crews were pulling in when Zeke emerged from Divine Twins, Yvette still cradled in his arms. A pair of paramedics were on him in seconds, barraging him with questions as they took her from his arms.

“I don’t know,” he kept repeating. “Viv’s the owner of this place–”

Silence.

Zeke spun. No one behind him but firefighters staging around the burning building. That strange heaviness had returned to his chest, pushing on his lungs until he had to fight for every breath. Now he knew what it was.

Fear.

“Vivian?” he bellowed. No answer.

Ignoring the orders of the paramedics and nearby firefighters, he rushed toward the back door of Divine Twins. Several firefighters got in his way, blocking him from entering the building. He grappled with them, pointing toward the doorway. “She’s still in there, you bastards!” He pushed against them, screaming her name.

Three firefighters, directed by someone, cautiously entered the building. He answered the fire chief’s questions in a daze. Where it had started. What was burning. Why they’d arrived there just as it had begun. And the entire time he answered those questions, he prayed that Vivian would walk out that door with one of the men who had gone in after her.

Instead, they emerged one by one, empty-handed. The fire chief moved off and Zeke sank to the ground. The pavement’s chill couldn’t rival the ice claiming him. He was dying from it—

“Mr. Harding?” Detective Mancini hurried toward him through the fire crews. “I just heard about the fire from dispatch. They said Ms. Bennet was missing.”

“She was right behind me,” he whispered.

“Mr. Harding, a witness said they saw a dark sedan leaving the building from the front entrance. The driver had put someone in the passenger seat before driving off.”

At least
that
broke through the haze. “What?”

“Do you know anyone who has a dark sedan, Mr. Harding?”

His mind scrambled, pieces falling into place. Glacial clarity dawned. “No.”

Detective Mancini glared at him, clearly mistrustful.

“I’m sorry, detective,” Zeke said, forcing himself to sound shocked. “I don’t know who it could be.”

“Stay here, Mr. Harding,” the woman ordered. She left him there, working her way back through the crowd toward the front of the building where another cop car waited, lights flashing. She yelled at him as he sprinted from the parking lot, rushing toward the only place he could think of where he could get help.

If Preston was surprised to hear Zeke was at the entrance of The Club, he didn’t act like it. He pulled Zeke inside past the bouncer, smiled disarmingly at a few of the patrons who gave them funny looks, and took him into a quiet office on the first floor. He didn’t care that he was having a hard time breathing. The heaviness in his chest had disappeared while he was running from that damn parking lot. Now he was carved out inside, like someone had been scooping against his ribs with a jagged piece of metal.

“I need your car,” Zeke said.

Wordlessly, Preston left the room. He returned a moment later and handed Zeke his keys.

“Thank you,” Zeke breathed.

Ten minutes later, he parked Preston’s truck outside John’s apartment building. A quick glance up confirmed a light was on. Zeke pretended calm long enough for an older man to let him into the building before he gave and sprinted up the stairs toward the right floor. Panting, he pounded down the hallway and came to a stop outside John’s room.

The door wasn’t closed. A sliver of sickly yellow light fell into the hallway and the icy fingers of fear tightened their grip on Zeke’s heart when he saw the limp form in the room. He pushed open the door slowly, checking what he could without his guns, and knelt beside the body. There was still a pulse.

“John,” he whispered, lightly pushing against his friend’s shoulder. No response. “John, wake up.”

The man groaned, a mangled sound of pain, and blinked a few times before his eyes could focus. “Zeke? How did you know–?”

“Viv’s been taken.”

John winced.

“Since you were lying here unconscious,” Zeke continued, rage growing, “I know it wasn’t you. Who did this?”

“She broke it off,” John mumbled. “And when she came back tonight, I was so damn happy to see her again...I didn’t even think...”

“Delilah? She’s Viv’s stalker?”

John groaned, but Zeke shook him, mind scrambling. “John, she has Viv. I don’t give a shit about your broken heart. Tell me where the bitch is.”

***

“H
elloooo,” the voice cooed.

Head protesting the movement, Vivian opened her heavy eyelids and tried to make the world stop spinning. Delilah crouched a few feet away from her, make-up and hair perfect as they’d been at dinner. If she hadn’t been holding a pistol in her hand, Vivian might have been glad to see her.

“Where are we?” Vivian croaked.

“Don’t you recognize it?”

It took a few moments, but details slowly sank in. A familiar rug. A picture she’d wanted to replace months ago, but never had.

“Why are we in my apartment?” she asked, wishing she didn’t feel so nauseous. What the hell had Delilah hit her with?

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for him?” Delilah said, ignoring Vivian’s question.

She was still too muddled to guess. “Who?”

“Quinn, of course.”

“You mean Zeke.”

The blow came too fast for her avoid. The crack of Delilah’s hand against her cheek echoed throughout the apartment, the thunder before the lightning-burn of pain.

“Don’t you dare talk about him,” Delilah fumed. “You’re not worthy to say his name!”

She stayed silent and Delilah’s anger dissipated. Conversationally, she explained, “He doesn’t go by Quinn anymore because he doesn’t want any other woman finding out who he is. He’s waiting for me to find him.”

Cunning eyes latched onto her. “You’re just a test. He’s testing me to see how much I love him.”

The gun rose, moving teasingly back and forth in front of Vivian’s eyes.

“Once I get rid of you, he’ll stay here. He’ll stay with me.”

Vivian swallowed. “What about John?”

The gun shivered and held for a second. “John?”

“He loves you.”

What could have been some emotion slid over Delilah’s face, only to vanish a breath later. “John’s weak. Quinn saved
him
, not the other way around. How could I be with a man like that?”

Delilah giggled at something. “He was so angry when I told him that. He threatened to tell Quinn. I couldn’t have him ruining the surprise like that.” Her eyes narrowed. “It proved what I thought. John didn’t love me. Not like Quinn does. And I forgive him for you. For fucking you and acting like he cared. He didn’t. He was waiting for me.”

Delilah’s words descended into crazed babbling. With her hands tied behind her back and legs duct-taped together, Vivian wouldn’t be able to escape without drawing her attention. Even in a struggle, she’d be at a marked disadvantage.

She tried to fumble with the knot binding her wrists together. Her fingers stretched, muscles complaining as she extended each to its maximum length. The end of the rope was still out of reach.

“Ready to die?” Delilah asked.

Vivian’s world narrowed to that dark hole of the pistol’s barrel.

“You were going to start without me?” The crisp question lilted across the room.

Air rushed into Vivian’s lungs with such speed that spots appeared in her vision. Delilah spun, turning the gun from Vivian, and froze, drinking in the sight of Zeke.

He leaned against the doorway into the bedroom, arms crossed in front of his chest, mouth pressed in a tight line. Not a hair was out of place, not a sliver of affection tainted his blue eyes. This wasn’t Zeke, her lover. This was Quinn O’Neill, soldier.

“You’re here?” Delilah breathed. Vivian hated the wonder in the woman’s voice.

Zeke said nothing. The only change was the way his chin lifted a fraction of an inch. Delilah shivered and took a delicate step closer to him.

“You weren’t supposed to kill her without me,” Zeke said.

“I’m sorry,” Delilah said. “I was afraid you’d change your mind about her–”

“Her?” Zeke scoffed, finally looking at Vivian. “As if she could hold my attention.” She knew he was playing a role, distracting Delilah only, but his words still cut.

Delilah loved them. A sharp trill left her and she twirled in the middle of the room, gun spinning with her, coming to rest on Vivian’s form. “I knew it.”

Zeke stepped toward her, holding up his hands when she jerked and trained the gun on him. “Can’t I touch you?” he pleaded. “You’ve been teasing me for months with your letters. How you acted with John at the restaurant. Right now. Let me touch you, Delilah. Please.”

Bile rose when the woman smiled at him and reached out for his hand, wrapping it around her waist and sliding it lower, holding it against the juncture of her thighs. Zeke didn’t flinch, didn’t break. Vivian couldn’t help it though. She hated when tears dropped to her shirt, staining the fabric with dark spots, while Delilah’s laughter filled her apartment.

“Let’s do it together,” Delilah urged, leaning back into Zeke as he wrapped another arm around her shoulders, draping a muscular forearm over her collarbone.

“Whatever you want,” he murmured, nuzzling against her neck.

“This is just like that dream I had,” Delilah said with a smile. “Do you remember the letter I sent about it?”

Delilah may not have noticed Zeke’s stillness, but Vivian did.

“How could I not remember it?” he covered.

“I knew you’d come for me,” Delilah said, lips curved in a sickening smile, eyes faraway. “Only a hero like you could save me.”

She looked up at Zeke, waiting for him to continue the dialogue. When he didn’t, her smile faded, lips trembling.

Only then did he smile back at her, a dark, terrifying twist of his lips. “Fuck you.”

He disarmed her too quickly for Vivian to follow the movements. And Delilah’s wordless scream of rage broke off when Zeke brought the pistol grip down against the side of her head. The woman dropped to the ground. Zeke crouched, checking her pulse. He unbuckled his belt, wrapped her arms with it, and ripped a nearby lamp from the wall, binding her ankles with the power cord. Only then did he rise and move to Vivian.

“You hit her,” Vivian whispered, eyes fixed to the limp form in the middle of her living room.

“Not a hero, love. Already warned you that.”

“The police–?” she asked as he ripped the duct tape from her ankles.

“On their way. John called ahead for me. Are you okay?”

She winced when her hands came free. Zeke rubbed them, making the tingles worse for a few painful breaths before they faded from her fingers. “My head hurts, but other than that I’m fine.”

He pressed her to his chest without warning, his arms banded around her back. Now the tears came, hot and thick, wetting the collar of his shirt where she buried her face against his skin. “Is–is John okay?” she managed through the gasps.

Zeke shook his head. “Of course you’d be more worried about him than yourself. He’s embarrassed and pissed and has a giant fecking bump on his head, but he’ll live.”

“Thank God.” The horrible thought that Delilah could have taken away one of the only men who understood Zeke’s demons didn’t completely leave, but at least now it was muted, overwhelmed with other concerns.