The Billionaire's Dare (Book 4 - Billionaire Bodyguard Series) (18 page)

Stunned, Marissa experienced a rush of gratitude. “Why didn’t Marshal Sharp tell me?”

“I was happy to know you were making something of yourself. So was your grandfather. On the down-low, Tate once showed me a college graduation picture of you, then I never saw it again.”

Thinking back, Marissa remembered Marshal Sharp attending her graduation from Iowa State. He’d been the only attendee in the audience for her, and that had meant so much. He’d even brought her flowers to commemorate the occasion. He’d taken one picture, she remembered. Had the marshal been acting on Grandpa’s request? Had he guided and encouraged her like a mentor the past ten years on behalf of her grandfather? She’d had no idea the Marshal Sharp and Grandpa had kept in touch behind the scenes.

Brittany gave a thoughtful smile. “Tate was proud of you, girl. You got out of this dead-end town. You got a second chance. Fairy tale stuff, right?”

Marissa’s head spun with the revelation of all this new information, shedding light on ten years of shadows and questions. She threw her arms around Brittany’s neck and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” Her voice thickened with emotion. “I never knew.”

“Don’t wuss out on me, sister. No emotional crap now, I’m serious.” The afternoon sunlight caught her eyes and revealed liquid welling along her lashes, though her lips maintained a wry smile.

“Right. Sorry.” Marissa collected herself and refocused on the purpose of gathering the equipment from Brittany’s house, and their grim quest. A cold chill of caution coasted across her skin. “Are you sure we should do this without telling
anyone?
I mean, what if Butcher rides past the house and sees us snooping around the yard?”

“Your boyfriend nailed the auction, and put Butcher in his place.” Brittany straightened with proud satisfaction as if, through Adam, the entire town had triumphed over evil.

Marissa, however, didn’t expect Butcher to slink away quietly, tail between his legs. Far from it. She pictured him organizing a plan for retribution. A brutal one.
Possibly fatal.

Since Brittany had revealed the dark reasons behind the gang’s bid for the property to her an hour ago, she feared for Adam’s safety. She knew how far Ames Gray and Butcher had gone to cover up their vicious killing ten years ago.

Their brutality knew no limits.

Neither would their attempts for self-preservation.

And Adam stood with a bull’s eye on his back, in the middle of it all.

Hopefully the daring exploration she and Brittany had planned would
unearth the key to their
refuge. Possibly put the rest of the Gray Wolves behind bars for decades.

So much was riding on the next few hours, and what they uncovered—or didn’t—at the back of her grandfather’s property.

Nervous, Marissa fidgeted. “You don’t think the gang members removed Rachel’s jewelry before they buried her? They could’ve pawned it or something, in which case the metal detector won’t help.”

“Doubt it. They had it made back then, plenty of drug money flowing. They’d want her buried. Done.
Over with. Hands washed of evidence.”

“Smart,” Marissa acknowledged. “Burying her behind my grandfather’s house, while he was at the bar dealing with the fire. And us.” She swallowed. “We were in bad shape.”

“They might’ve ruled this town back then, but they needed insurance. If Tate ever talked, or interfered with their dealings, they’d send the cops to his backyard. Let’s hope we can turn those plans against them.”

“Hope and pray,” Marissa said.

“I believe Tate never knew what they had over him. The desert dust settled. All went back to normal. Until you and your dude show up and rattle the skeletons in their closet. I’m positive Rachel wasn’t the only one they covered up, but she’s the only one whose body can send them away for a good long time.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Marissa said solemnly. “We can still call in the local police to handle this.”

“I told you, the sheriff showed up with Butcher’s gang to the auction. The first place they’d start their intimidation tactics is the local authorities. Same way they bought their anonymity years ago. I don’t trust anyone but us and Adam.”

“What if we find something?” Marissa gulped. “Who do we turn to then?” She pictured coming across a shallow grave filled with bones and shuddered.

“Someone bigger than Sheriff Buxley, beyond the influence of intimidation and money.”

“What about Carl Weeks? We went to high school with him. I heard he’s carrying a badge now. He’s one of the good guys. Can’t we count on him to follow the law?”

“Not if Buxley shuts him down and coordinates a cover-up. Too risky.” Brittany shook her head with determination. “We’re on our own, toots. We can handle this. We dealt with the aftermath of that night, right? This is nothing compared to that nightmare.”

Marissa had never spoken of it to anyone. Had never dared to talk about it beyond the courtroom, God forbid she relive the gory details in slow motion and high definition in her mind.

Only Brittany understood the frozen terror. The horror of witnessing cruelty beyond comprehension.
The unreality of seeing a girl’s life leach from her fear-struck eyes.
The slaying of innocence at the hands of soulless demons.
The sickening
stench of burning flesh destroying evidence of rape and murder, right there in the bar.
No way out. Slaves to threats from men who’d committed the ultimate violation upon an unsuspecting, underage drunk girl, who’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong men.

Nothing she or Brittany said or did could’ve stopped it. They’d ached with fear and helplessness, tears streaming, their only protection running and hiding, curled in the fetal position in a cabinet, trying not to breathe. Petrified of being found.
Of the same thing happening to them.
Of staring into the cold eyes of men who dealt death
like a deck of cards.

“Hey, come back, Maria.” Brittany shook her gently. “Don’t think about that night. Damn it, I’m sorry I even brought it up.”

“It’s okay.” Marissa drew in a shaky breath. She felt cold to the bone. “I’m okay.” The lie sounded hollow to her own ears.

“We’re here, sweetie.” Brittany pointed to the familiar backyard of her childhood home. She’d pulled her station wagon behind the house, out of sight from the road. “Let’s get this search party started. We need to do this, Maria—together. Give Rachel the validation she never got and her family the peace they deserve.”

“What if we don’t find her?” Marissa’s hands fluttered as panic overwhelmed her. “What if her jewelry is gone and the metal detector doesn’t pick up anything? What if the gang didn’t bury her here?”

“Why else would they want this property so badly, but not the bar? They hid something here.” Brittany nodded confidently. “And we’re going to find it.”

*

Every muscle in Adam’s body coiled with tension.

He kept glancing at the clock behind the bar.

Seconds ticked by like hours.

Waiting for the shutter doors to sail open—not knowing who might walk through—stretched his nerves to the breaking point.

He checked his phone again, texted Marissa
again.
What the hell was she doing? Why wouldn’t she answer his texts? He’d tried calling and it went straight to voice mail, pissing him off. Though the sweet sound of her voice on the recording reminded him why he’d taken the risks he had, and he didn’t regret a single decision he’d made.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Greenburg walked up beside him, placing paperwork and a pen in front of him on the bar. “Your signature, please.”

Adam nodded and scribbled his name at the bottom of the page beside the X.

Strangely, the letters aligned themselves and sentences made sense. He stopped to read the document he’d signed. Not perfectly, and he didn’t comprehend all the legalese, but this seemed like a breakthrough for him. Actually, he visualized himself speaking in front of the audience that their company had invited to the security conference in two weeks. The image didn’t make him break out in hives or cause his brain shut down. He saw himself striding to the podium with a measure of confidence he’d never known, reading from the teleprompter fluidly, describing the SOS drive he’d created for their clients. How the device, when plugged into a USB port, sent a signal to their emergency call center, engaging an instant alert dispatched to their specialized response team. A team still in its infancy, but he and Liam had plans for that, too.

The scenario of success in his mind was all because of Marissa.

He handed the paper to Greenberg without looking up. He focused on dark screen of his Smartphone in the grip of frustration.

“Damn it, sugar.” Concern tightened the back of his neck. “Why won’t you answer me?”

This boyfriend thing contained a serious flaw. Caring too damned much about someone else. Until his whole world focused on her, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything except needing to know she was okay. Safe.
Even when he wasn’t there to protect her. It sucked. 

The thought of anything happening to Marissa shredded him. He couldn’t imagine a worse agony.

Okay, one.

The only thing worse than losing her would be failing her.

He and failure had a long, twisted track record together.

It went back to the day the term dyslexia entered his vocabulary. Since then he’d faced the nemesis so many times he’d finally stopped fighting the battle and accepted his fate as the fuckup of the family. The kid who spoke with his fists, because his words didn’t work, turned into the adult who wore his resentment on his sleeve—he’d even inked it on his arm—and shut the world out before it turned on him like it always had.

But he couldn’t shut her out. Marissa was as indelible as a tattoo, on the inside, and he hated and craved how much she impacted him. She was a part of him, now and forever.

He’d never be able to erase her, and that recognition scared the crap out of him, but not more frightening than if she came to harm
while under his care.
It would wreck him.

Scrubbing his hands down his face, he inhaled a breath that didn’t quite reach his lungs. “Fuck me.”

“This is going to work out.” Greenberg’s assurance didn’t help, but Adam appreciated the attempt.

“God, I hope you’re right.”

“In my line of business, I see karma at work daily. Good things happen to good people.”

“There’s the flaw in your theory. I’m not a good guy.” He took a long pull of the lukewarm beer gripped tight in his hand. “Never have been. I’m the screw up.”

“I don’t believe our past has to define who we are today. Our actions make us who we are. You’ve proven you’re a good guy to this entire town—”

“Save it.” Adam cut him off. “Things will be good when I get her back home safe, in one piece, and we can put Butcher behind us.”

Greenberg pulled out a stool and sat. “What are your plans for Mr. Tate’s house?”

Adam picked at his beer label. “Probably turn the lot into something useful. A strip mall, maybe, since it’s three minutes from town. Where people can own businesses and find jobs. It’s amazing the sense of purpose it gives you, running a company.”

“Excellent idea. That would help this town immensely.”

Adam arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know about all that, but it’s something. More than they have now. It’s a start.”

“And you don’t see that as doing good?”

“It’s doing what’s right. Nothing more.”

“Trust me, Adam.” Sincerity deepened Greenberg’s voice. “You’re one of the good guys.”

The skin across Adam’s temples tightened. “We’ll see.”

“You know, Bill would’ve liked you.”

Adam slid the lawyer a cynical look. “Not after the night I spent with his granddaughter.” His head snapped up. His eyes widened with shock, and slammed his beer down. “Shit. You didn’t just hear that from me.” Frantic, he raked his hands through his hair. “Can I invoke that confidential clause or something?”

Greenberg maintained his subtle smile and patted Adam’s back. “Don’t worry. I already knew.”

“Jesus.” Adam hunched his shoulders, furious with himself. “Talk about a fuck up.”

“Mr. Tate would’ve been grateful for a man like you in his granddaughter’s life. The same one who will carry on his legacy.”

“You give me way too much credit,” Adam muttered.

“Only where it’s deserved.”

The shutters slammed open.

Adam shot off the bar stool. He barreled toward the door, ready to knock some skulls together.

“Somebody called for backup?”
Liam’s grinning face scraped away the haze of retribution over Adam’s eyes.

Heart slamming against his ribs, he tempered the wrath within enough to experience a rush of relief. “What took you so long?”

“You know. Annoying things like last-minute logistics.”

Never so happy to see anyone in his life, he clasped his brother on the shoulder and brought him in for a back-thumping hug.