Nauti Nights (39 page)

“Turn at the next light,” he ordered. “We’re going to head out of town. I’ll let you know when to turn

again.”

“We’re not going to Johnny’s?”

“Why would I do that?” Jim asked her as though surprised. “That would be like hanging a sign on his

door. We’re going to meet him somewhere else. That’s all.”

“Where he’ll kill us both.” She was certain of it. “He killed the driver of the transport truck for no reason, Bedsford. He’s not going to let you live. Or me.”

“Johnny loves me.” The belief in his voice terrified Crista.

“Johnny loves the money his mother gives him, trying to steal more from his cousins, and convincing

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everyone how socially acceptable he is,” she said. “He won’t see that destroyed. And he won’t allow

either of us to live.”

Her eyes scanned the road frantically. At each stoplight she searched for someone she knew, anyone who

could help her. And no one met her eyes. Time was running out, and she knew it.

Jim chuckled at her assessment. “When I came back eight years ago, Johnny was a mess over his uncle’s

death and what Dawg had stolen from him. Chandler Mackay tried to do right by Johnny. He knew

Johnny was smarter, better than his son was. And Johnny knew how much Chandler wanted to make

certain he was rewarded for being the son Dawg wouldn’t be. Dawg stole that inheritance, Miss Jansen.

And I built Johnny back up. I helped him regain his confidence and his sense of place in the world. He

loves me. And he will leave with me. What his mother or the Mackays have is nothing compared to what I

can give him in Nicaragua.”

“A country filled with war and death. With insurgents, rebellions, and terrorists?” Crista shook her head.

“He will never leave Somerset for that, Jim. You know he won’t.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to blow your head off right here in the middle of town.” Once again, his voice only became harder, darker. Vicious. There was no conscience there, no regret, and no second

thoughts.

Crista inhaled roughly, then flinched at the sound of a cell phone. It wasn’t hers. No, she couldn’t be that lucky. Hers was back at the office.

“Hey, baby,” Jim answered the call, his voice gentling. “I’m heading to the meeting point. Do you have

everything ready?”

Crista gripped the steering wheel harder, knowing she couldn’t go much farther. If she actually managed

to let him get her out of town, then no one would ever know what happened to her.

She stared at the traffic around her, in front of her. There was one more stoplight. If she timed that one right and ran it—

A car pulled in front of her, and from the backseat, a hand waved. Crista focused, nearly whimpering in

relief at the sight of Rowdy Mackay.

She didn’t know who was driving, but Rowdy was in the backseat. He was holding up fingers. Six fingers.

Pointed around her.

Six. Six people following them. She didn’t dare nod, couldn’t do anything to draw attention to herself.

She checked the rearview mirror but didn’t see Dawg. He would be there, though. If Rowdy was here,

then Dawg was close.

Rowdy held up a piece of paper then.

“Do as he says!” The thick black wording glared back at her.

She lifted one finger from the steering wheel to indicate she understood.

“Don’t worry, Johnny. I’m watching her,” Jim assured him. “We’ll be there soon, and everything can

proceed as planned. Just make certain you’re ready.”

She glanced back at him. He kept his eyes trained on her, his scowl firmly in place.

She turned back. Rowdy was holding up another note.

“You’re covered!”

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She lifted her fingers to indicate that she understood. Then he turned around; the car changed lanes again and let the van pass them.

She was covered. She inhaled slowly. Deeply. Dawg wouldn’t let anything happen to her now. She just

had to stay calm.

“I love you, baby. Just stay cool. Another fifteen minutes, and we’ll be there.” Jim’s rough voice softened, almost making Crista ill. And it had nothing to do with the obviously sexual relationship between him and Johnny. But how could a man love anyone that much and be a killer?

Jim shifted then, moving between the seats and glancing out the front window. He looked around with

quiet satisfaction, checked the rearview mirror, then moved to the back of the van to look through the

dark, tinted windows.

“Excellent,” he grunted. “See, we got away free and clear, Crista. Dawg didn’t even know when you left. I wonder if he’s even realized that you’re not at the store any longer.”

“He’ll know.” He would have known within minutes.

Jim laughed. “He doesn’t know shit. I made sure of it. He had such a mess to untangle in the lumberyard

that he’s probably still trying to figure it out. I planned this very carefully, you know.”

Not well enough. Crista stared straight ahead and tried to concentrate on just breathing. Dawg was close; she could feel him. Everything would be okay. She repeated it to herself over and over again and prayed

she was right.

Dawg kept the van in sight from the backseat of the bright red extended-cab pickup truck Cranston and

Dane had been waiting in outside the front of the store.

He was sweating. He could feel the moisture rolling from his forehead and dampening his back. He had

promised to keep her safe. He remembered that. As they drove to Johnny’s, he had promised her that

nothing would happen. They were just going to let him know they were onto him, make him mess up.

Everything was going to be just fine.

He should have known better. God help him, he should have figured out a year ago that he couldn’t tempt

fate that damned far. He should have known Johnny had an accomplice. Someone close to Dawg.

Someone who had somehow figured out he was working with the ATF.

That someone was Jim Bedsford. Ex-military with contacts that Dawg was certain extended into the law

enforcement community. Jim had been involved with Special Forces and deep cover investigations during

his time in the Army.

“Someone messed up on this one,” he commented as though he weren’t imagining drawing someone’s

blood for the mess-up. Particularly Cranston’s.

“We have her covered, Dawg,” Cranston assured him, not for the first time. “We have a tracker on Alex’s

vehicle as well as that purse we found in Grace’s house. His tail verified he left the house by the back door dressed as Crista, and he’s driving Alex’s car. We won’t lose him.”

Surveillance video on the detention center had managed to identify the car Johnny had been using to visit his buddies. Alex’s car was supposed to be locked in the unattached garage behind the house he and Crista had grown up in. Johnny had her house keys and the keys to that garage and to the car.

“Do you know how many different ways I’m going to kill you if you do, Cranston?” Dawg asked him

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softly.

Cranston cleared his throat uneasily. “I don’t have a worry, Dawg. We have it covered.”

“Grace just turned off the highway and headed up a hunters’ road to the lake,” Greta Dane reported. She

pulled up a map on the laptop she held on her lap, the moving red dot indicating the car Johnny was

driving.

“Natches, are you getting this?” Dawg asked over the speaker line set on his cell phone.

“I have it here, Dawg,” Natches said softly. “He’s heading toward the old Bridgeland hunting cabin. I’ll circle around and get in place. Don’t worry, Bro. I’ll cover her.”

Dawg heard the complete unemotional determination in Natches’s voice and felt the tight knot of fear

begin to uncoil in his belly. Natches’s loyalty was unquestioned, as was his ability with the rifle Dawg knew he kept close by.

“I’m heading there,” Dawg told him. “Don’t take any chances, Natches. I don’t care if Bedsford and

Johnny both lose gray matter. Keep Crista safe for me.”

“No fears, Bro.”

Dawg knew that tone of voice. There was every chance in the world that Bedsford and Johnny would end

up with a bullet in the head anyway.

“Natches, you follow fucking orders,” Cranston snapped out furiously as he flicked Dawg an enraged

glare in the rearview mirror. “We need those two alive.”

The call disconnected.

“Damn it, Dawg,” the special agent snarled. “If those two end up dead, I’ll take it out of your hide.”

“If those two end up dead, I won’t lose a single night’s sleep over it,” Dawg growled in return. “Don’t

fuck with me, Cranston. You knew Bedsford was involved in this, and you didn’t deign to tell any of us.

And don’t bother denying it.”

It had taken Dawg a few minutes to put it together, and if he hadn’t known Cranston as well as he did, he wouldn’t have suspected it. But he did know Cranston. Throw a wild card in the mix, and he was

killer-cold. Cranston wasn’t cold. If he wasn’t driving, he would be rubbing his hands together in glee.

“How did you figure out Bedsford was involved in this?”

Cranston cursed under his breath. “He’s related to the dead transport driver, Private Dwayne Stockton.

There were cell phone calls to Bedsford in the weeks before he was killed.”

“And I didn’t know this why?” Dawg had to force the words past his lips and his hand off his weapon.

“Because he was working for you, and I decided to wait before informing you of the fact.”

Son of a bitch. “You thought I was involved.”

“I didn’t believe you were involved, but I had to be certain. By the time I was certain, Miss Jansen was involved, and I had to decide the best way to handle it. I handled it by watching your back and hers until I knew what was going on.”

“The van is turning off,” Dane said softly. “Natches has directed our men in front of him using an

alternate route. Grace is in place, and Natches has him in sight.”

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“Turn right at the next road,” Dawg directed them, hating the thought of losing sight of Crista in that

damned van. “The next road will keep us parallel to him and put us in place to move on foot to the cabin.”

The Bridgeland hunting cabin had more than one dirt track leading to it due to the four-wheelers often

used to access it.

Dawg wiped his hand across his brow, his gaze locked on the van ahead of them until Cranston made the

turn. The coil of fury and fear iced in his gut then.

Dawg pulled his handgun from the holster at his back and checked the clip. Replacing it, he pulled the

extra clips from the supply Cranston had tossed in the back, checked them quickly, then loaded the

bulletproof vest before pulling it on and strapping the sides in place.

God bless Layla Matcher’s heart. If it hadn’t been for her standing at the window and seeing Jim Bedsford forcing Crista into that van, then Dawg would have never found her.

Cranston had been watching for Johnny Grace in the main customer parking lot. It was evident that no one had expected Bedsford to move this fast or to do so without Johnny physically backing him.

“Bedsford had the contacts for the black market buyers,” Cranston told him. “We found that out only in

the past twenty-four hours. The Swedish mercenary making the buy finally made a deal with the federal

prosecutor. He didn’t have Bedsford’s name, but he had enough information for us to ID him. He spent

his time in the Army making contacts in the black market and setting up weapons deals.”

“You should have been on the ball, Cranston.” Dawg strapped a backup weapon to his ankle and stuffed

several spare clips for it into another pocket of the vest. “You fucked up.”

“Information was slow coming in.” Cranston shook his head. “Our sources do have other things they’re

working on as well, you know.”

“You fucked up. And if Crista gets hurt, then you’ve really fucked up. Because I’ll kill you.”

Dawg didn’t let free the fury burning in a small corner of his mind. He kept it bottled, kept it contained.

He couldn’t afford it now, not when logic and clear thinking alone were going to get Crista through this.

His cell phone beeped.

“Give me the goods,” he answered with the order to Natches.

“I’m positioned in one of the pines beside the cabin on the side Bedsford’s van will have to use. Johnny’s here in full Crista disguise. Hell, Dawg, he looks hot.” There was murder in Natches’s voice. “Want me to draw a little blood?”

“Hold tight. Cranston has a transmitter in that damned pocketbook Johnny’s carrying as well as in the wig.

I’ll be in place before Bedsford gets there. We’ll go in together.”

“Here.” Cranston tossed him an earbud. “We’re close enough to use these. Tell Natches to put his in place now. Don’t fuck with me, Dawg. This is a team play, not a vendetta.”

“Use the earbud, Natches.” Dawg grinned back at Cranston through the rearview mirror. The sight of that

smile had the special agent’s gaze flickering.

Attaching the communications device, Dawg activated it, then tested it quickly before disconnecting the

phone. Cranston and Dane were both similarly wired as, Dawg assumed, the rest of the team was.

“Now, we’re all here,” Cranston spoke into the device.

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