The Littlest Cowboy (25 page)

Wes swore, slamming a fist against the wall.

Garrett felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. He glanced at the slip of paper again. “Ellis. Lord, she could be there already.”

“We have to go after her, Garrett,” Lash said. “De Lorean is a snake. He’ll hurt her, dammit. He wants her out of the way so there’ll never be a challenge to his keeping custody of the kid.”

Garrett swore, but ran upstairs to grab a shirt and fill Elliot and Jessi in on what was going on.

T
he place was like something straight out of “life-styles of the Rich and Famous,” Chelsea thought. She parked the car, lifted the gun and headed up the brick path to the front door of de Lorean’s home–a Spanish-style mansion, with adobe-brick arches and stucco everywhere. A tall wrought-iron fence surrounded the place, but the gate between the towering center columns stood open. Almost as if de Lorean was expecting someone.

Chelsea walked softly, eyes wide and alert. Around her, night birds chattered and chirped. Other than that, though, there wasn’t a sound. No movement. Not even a breeze. She tiptoed up the front steps, and peered at the stained-glass panels in the door, but couldn’t see through them. Her hand was slick with sweat when she closed it on the ornate door handle. She started in surprise when she turned the thing and found no resistance.

Pushing the door slightly, she looked inside. The entry hall towered and glittered. Her glance took in chandeliers and arched ceilings and marble tiles on the floor. On the far side of the room, she saw a silvery-haired man, reclining in a chaise, his back to her as he lifted a crystal glass to his lips.

She glanced to either side but saw no one else. She listened and heard only the soft strains of a Spanish guitar floating from a hidden speaker.

Swallowing hard, Chelsea stepped inside. She lifted the gun, leveled its barrel at the back of the man’s head and moved closer. He still showed no sign he was aware of her presence. She curled her forefinger, around the trigger, drew a deep breath.

“Vincent de Lorean?” she asked to be sure.

“That’s correct.” His voice was deep and smooth. He didn’t seem surprised or even unnerved. “Come in, Chelsea. The least you can do is look me in the eye when you kill me.” He rose in one smooth movement and turned to flash a brilliant white smile from beneath a thin, salt-and-pepper mustache. His deeply tanned skin didn’t sport a single wrinkle or flaw. “May I offer you a drink first? From the way that gun barrel is shaking, I think you could use one.”

She glanced down at her shaking hands, fought to steady them. “How do you know who I am?”

“I know,” he said softly. “I have ways of knowing everything.” And without batting an eye, he sipped his drink again. One hand remained casually in the pocket of his satin robe. He didn’t seem the least bit nervous.

“You killed my sister.” Her voice was trembling now.

He only shrugged. “A drink would really bolster you, Chelsea. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing, you know.”

“I don’t want any damned drink.”

Again, that careless shrug, accompanied by a tilt of his head. “I suppose you should get on with it, then. You came here to kill me, I assume?”

She blinked the moisture from her eyes. She hadn’t expected it to be this hard. Again, she steadied the gun, sighting the barrel at the center of his chest.

“It’s going to make a terrible mess, you know. That’s a rather large caliber weapon you’re holding. A forty-four, I believe. You shouldn’t have to fire it more than once.” He took a step closer, downed the last of his drink and set the glass on a marble table. Then, with one hand, he pulled the robe open, exposing his bare chest to her. “Go ahead. Pull the hammer back. And lift the barrel just a little. Your aim seems a bit low. I’d really prefer to die right away rather than lie around with a bullet in me and suffer untold agony.”

Chelsea stared at his exposed skin and imagined the bloody hole she was about to put in it. The bullet would rip right through the man’s body. There would be blood. There would be a lot of blood.

She lifted the barrel.

Her hands shook even harder. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn’t she just pull the trigger and end this? It was for Ethan, for Garrett and his family. She had to kill this man. She’d be doing the world a favor.

“Some would say, Chelsea, that you have a lot of your father in you. It surprises me, really. I didn’t expect it. But here you are, ready to kill like a vengeful god. You’ve decided I’m not worthy of living, so–”

“Shut up!” She gave her head a shake, blinked again. The damned tears were blurring her vision.

“You have a killer’s genes in you, Chelsea. We’re a lot alike, you and I. We do what needs doing, with no–”

“I said shut up!”

She lifted the gun higher, and her finger tightened a little on the trigger.
Kill him
, she screamed at herself.
Just do it!

“Don’t act so surprised, Chelsea. You’ve always known there was a lot of your father in you, haven’t you? Isn’t that the fear that’s been haunting you all your life, the fear that deep inside, you might be just like him? Isn’t that what made you believe you could come here tonight and execute me for my sins?”

She bit her lip, refusing to listen to his words, refusing to consider them. She steadied the gun, put a little more pressure on the trigger….

She couldn’t do it. There was nothing of her father in her, and Chelsea knew that now. She’d been afraid of the anger inside her, of the rage. She’d always had this horrible feeling she could be just as cruel, just as violent.

But she simply wasn’t. And taking a life, any life, was beyond her power. Even now, with so much at stake. There had to be another way. There had to. She’d seen too much violence, too much death. She couldn’t bear to be the instrument of still more.

Slowly, she lowered the gun. De Lorean’s smile grew wider. “A wise decision, Chelsea,” he purred. And before she’d even seen him move, he’d pulled his own gun from the deep pocket of his robe. She realized it had been aimed at her the whole time. No wonder he hadn’t been afraid. “Don’t lift that Magnum again,
chica
. If you do anything other than drop it on the floor, you’ll find yourself in excruciating pain. I know how to inflict it. Believe me.”

She swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and let the heavy weapon fall from her hands to the floor. It didn’t matter now. He’d kill her anyway.

“Very good. I believe I have finally figured out how to get my son back, Chelsea. And you’ve helped me. I thank you for that.” He grabbed her arm, bruising it with the force of his grip. He pulled her forward and shoved her down onto the chaise where he’d been sitting before. “Now, if you’ll just be still for a moment, I have an important call to make.”

G
arrett’s earlier ascent upstairs had been stopped cold by the ringing of the phone. Now, he stood at the foot of the stairs, feeling sick to his stomach just from the look in Wes’s eyes as his brother swore into the receiver and finally slammed it down. “What is it, Wes? Who was on the phone?”

“De Lorean.”

Garrett closed his eyes.

“He has Chelsea, Garrett,” Wes went on. “Says he’s gonna kill her unless we hand little Ethan over to him.”

Garrett’s legs wouldn’t hold him. He sank down onto the bottom step feeling as if all the bones in his body had just dissolved. The air rushed from his lungs.

“What else?”

“We’re supposed to keep quiet. No police. No Feds, or he’ll kill her anyway.”

“And he’ll know about it if you do report this, Garrett,” Lash added. “He has enough turncoats on his payroll that he’ll know. We have to handle this ourselves.”

A sob from the top of the stairs drew Garrett’s gaze upward. Jessi was standing there, her face colorless and damp. “Dammit, Garrett, what are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” Garrett turned back to Wes. “When is this supposed to happen?”

“He said he’d contact us in twenty-four hours to tell us where to meet him for the exchange.”

That brought Garrett to his feet. “He expects me to wait that long? To leave Chelsea alone with that bastard for–”

“You have to, Garrett. You try to go after him now, you’ll be signing Chelsea’s death warrant.” Lash paced the living room, shaking his head. “He won’t kill her. Not yet, not when he sees her as the key to getting his son back.”

“You sure about that?” Wes asked.

“As sure as I can be.”

“I can’t just wait,” Garrett said tightly. “I can’t just sit here and wait.”

“Don’t wait, Garrett.” Jessi came down the stairs and slid her arms around her brother’s waist from behind, hugging him hard. “Use the time to plan. We have to be ready. We have to get Chelsea out of this alive, and we all know we can’t hand our sweet little Bubba over to that animal.” She released him and he turned to face her. “We need help, Garrett.”

“No.” He answered her before she said what he knew she was going to say. “Jessi, I don’t want any more people I love risking their lives over this.”

“Adam and Ben will never forgive you if you don’t let them help. And you’ll never forgive yourself if something goes wrong. They’d be here in a heartbeat if they knew what was going on. We have to tell them, Garrett.”

He shook his head.

“She’s right,” Wes said. “This involves all of us now, Garrett. Not just you and Chelsea. We’re family. We stick together.”

Garrett met Wes’s eyes, and again his heart damn near burst with pride at the way his brothers and his baby sister had turned out.

“That’s true,” Lash said. “Even if de Lorean gets what he wants, he’s going to have to get rid of everyone who knows what went down. And I’m afraid that includes all of you.”

“Which is why I’m going to send them all away.”

Jessi gasped. Elliot had joined them in the middle of the conversation, and as Jessi quickly brought him up to date, he stared at Garrett with accusing eyes.

“Don’t argue, Elliot. You have to go. You, Wes, Jessi and little Bubba, as well. I want you all to get as far away from here as you can until this is over one way or another. Lash, if you had half a brain, you’d take off, as well. This is my fight. I don’t want anyone else getting caught in the crossfire.”

“Garrett–” Jessi began to protest

Elliot silenced her with one hand on her arm. “Come on, sis. There’s no sense talking to him when he gets like this. Let’s go check on the little one.”

Garrett watched them go, his heart twisting. Then he turned to Wes. “I’ll book a flight for you in the morning. You can all go visit Adam in New York for a few days.”

“They can go, you mean,” Wes said, his voice level and deadly. “If you think you can bully me the way you can the kids, you’d better think again, brother. I’m staying. You want me on some flight out, you’re gonna have to knock me out cold to get me on the plane. And we both know that won’t be easy.’’

Lash’s eyes widened a little at that.

Garrett saw it and shook his head. “What I have in size, Wes has twice in speed and pure meanness,” he explained. “I’d hate like hell to have to find out who’d still be standing if we ever went at it.”

“So don’t force me to show you,” Wes said. “I’m staying.”

Garrett nodded once. He’d known Wes would argue, just hadn’t been sure how hard. “It might get ugly.”

“You’re my brother, Garrett. And that kid upstairs…” He glanced at the staircase, and Garret thought he got too choked up to say more.

And with those words, Garrett knew the tension between him and Wes was over. Buried. A thing of the past. One of the burdens weighing on his shoulders floated away. Too bad the remaining ones were threatening to break his back.