Chapter 24
Gia put on a pot of coffee, stuck two slices of bread in the toaster, and gazed at the clock. Flynn had said he’d call as soon as he got word. He’d left early for Sacramento to see what intel he could dig up.
He was all business now, just as he’d been after her arrest. It hurt, but it was what she’d asked of him. Gia kept telling herself it was for the best; they never would’ve worked out anyway.
Besides, she had Evan’s arrest to worry about. It held the key to her freedom. All he had to do was tell the truth about her.
Flynn had warned that in all probability Evan wouldn’t lift a finger to help. “Guys like him cover their own asses. He’ll know his best defense is to keep his mouth shut . . . maybe even hang the whole thing on you if he thinks he can get a deal out of it.”
It made her queasy.
She poured herself a mug of the coffee, buttered the toast, and took a few bites, telling herself that breakfast was the most important meal of the day. The bread tasted dry as sawdust. After a few sips of coffee to help wash it down she dumped the toast in the garbage disposal, turned on the switch, and watched it get sucked through the drain. Then she left for the barn.
Rory stood in her stall and Gia led the mare into the center of the barn to saddle her. She wanted to see the seedlings Annie had planted. Last time she’d checked the ground had just been tilled rows of dirt. Still exciting because it was the start of something. Roots. A way to make a difference.
The day had turned out so lovely, she was anxious to get going before it got too warm and too buggy to ride. Before climbing onto Rory she checked her cell in case she’d missed a text or email from Flynn. She was scrolling through her messages when a sound made her jump.
“I’ll take that.” She didn’t need to look up to know whose voice it was. “Miss me?”
“Wha . . . what are you doing here, Evan?”
He held out his hand. In the other one he gripped a gun. “Give me the phone, Gia.”
She had no choice but to hand it to him.
“What, you’re not happy to see me?” He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, curving his lips in an unctuous grin. She questioned what she’d ever seen in him.
“Can’t say I am.” Her eyes darted around the barn, looking for a weapon.
A hay hook dangled from the gate of a stall two feet away. He followed the direction of her gaze and laughed.
“Gia, you really think you can overpower me with that?” He backed up to examine the hook, running his fingers over the sharp edge. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll give you a three-second head start.” He moved some distance away from the hook and grasped the pistol with both hands, aiming it straight at her heart. “Go!”
She stood stock still. “You’re supposed to be in—”
“In custody? Is that what you were about to say? So you know about all those agents climbing up my ass.” He laughed again. This time it sounded rusty, like old nails scraping a tin can. “Not the sharpest tools in the shed, those FBI guys. In fact, they couldn’t find their own dicks with a magnifying glass.”
“What do you want, Evan?”
“For us to do a little business together.”
“That’s not going to happen,” she said, trying to determine her next move. Knowing she’d never make it to the hay hook before he squeezed off a shot, Gia contemplated her alternatives.
“If you want to keep dear Iris alive you’ll reconsider,” he sneered and she froze.
“What are you talking about?” Evan had to be bluffing. She’d just spoken to her mother this morning and Iris had been fine.
“We’ll talk in the house.” He hitched the gun at her, demanding that she lead the way.
“There are people in the house.” Gia liked her chances better in the barn. At least Annie or one of her workers might notice Rory saddled with no rider. The horse had wandered over to the entrance of the stable where anyone could see her.
“Gia! After all we’ve meant to each other, why do you lie? I saw the cowboy leave this morning.” He raised his brow over the barrel of the gun. “A little earthy for your taste, don’t you think?”
Flynn was twenty times any man.
“And Little Orphan Annie is out in the field, digging in the dirt.”
Gia wondered how he knew Annie’s name. He’d obviously been doing reconnaissance and it scared her to think she wasn’t the only one in danger. She had to think of a way to stop him.
“Let’s go.” He tapped her with the muzzle of the gun and she reluctantly led the way.
When they got in the house Evan glanced around the kitchen. “Let’s go in the living room.”
He evidentially knew the layout. As they entered his eyes wandered to the open-beam ceiling and the animal heads mounted on the walls and let out a whistle.
“I like what you’ve done with the place. Sit down.” He still had the gun trained on her so she did what he told her.
Her fervent hope was that someone would see them through the windows and call for help. A long shot, she knew. Annie and the others would be in the field for much of the day and Gia didn’t expect any visitors.
“What do you want, Evan?”
He pulled her phone from his jacket, scrolled through it, and pushed the screen in front of her face. It was a picture of her mother, bound and gagged. The front page of the Miami Herald lay on her lap. The corner of the paper showed the date. Today’s. Gia felt her face drain of blood.
“You bastard.”
“She’ll be fine, Gia, as long as you do exactly what I tell you. I’ve got a plane waiting at that piece of shit you mountain people call an airport.”
It was a private landing strip in Beckwourth that Gia had passed many times without giving it a second thought. All she knew was that Clay had a couple of hangars there.
“In an hour you’ll be getting on that plane and flying to Miami to persuade Tiffany Cleo to transfer money to a new account,” Evan continued. “As long as I have that money by the end of the day, sweet Iris goes free. If not . . .” He pretended to pull the trigger and suddenly she had trouble breathing.
“You’re crazy, Evan. Cleo’s house is swarming with agents; there’s no way.”
“Gia, Gia, Gia, when did you become such a pessimist? I have the utmost faith in you.” His smarmy smile reminded her of a snake. How had she not seen the evil in him?
“You must be truly desperate,” she said, trying to bide time so she could come up with a plan. “How do I know you won’t kill my mother anyway . . . or me, for that matter?”
“You don’t. But rest assured, if you don’t get me the money you’ll both be dead by nightfall.”
Gia flinched. The man was diabolical.
“Doesn’t it make more sense to pay off someone at the bank to move the money? What makes you think Mrs. Cleo will listen to me?”
“I’ll be real honest with you, Gia. I tried the bribery route . . . didn’t work. You’re my last-ditch effort. What do you have to lose . . . unless you count Iris?” His expression was mocking. “The way I look at it, even if you have to kill the Cleo bitch you’re already looking at fifty years behind bars. Yeah, I read the papers. So what’s a few more for murder? At least Mommy dearest gets to live out her twilight years in that fancy Boca condo you paid for.”
“I don’t know how I didn’t realize it before, but you’re mentally disturbed,” she said.
He shook his head. “You always did have a smart mouth. Don’t worry, Gia. If you pull this off I’ll have plenty of money to get the help I need.” He glanced around the room again. “This is nothing like your penthouse.”
She followed his gaze to the moose head and saw the Winchester hanging on the wall. Flynn had said it wasn’t loaded and she still didn’t know where the safety was. But if she could get to it . . .
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.
“Gia? What do you take me for?”
A sleazy son of a bitch. “What do you want me to do, hold it in?”
“I want you get me a cup of that coffee I saw in the kitchen. And if you behave I’ll let you go to the bathroom when we board the plane.”
He jerked up the muzzle of his pistol, letting her know to get off the couch. Then he followed her toward the kitchen. This was her chance. But as long as his gun was pointed at her back . . .
The Winchester was just an arm’s length away. Gia’s heart pounded and a trickle of sweat dripped down the valley of her breasts. Though Evan wasn’t a particularly large man, she was no match for him strength wise. She saw her mother tied up in that chair, she thought about Flynn and how he would misinterpret her involvement, and she feared what might happen to Annie if she returned to the house before they caught Evan’s plane.
Her panic was so palpable she wondered if Evan could smell it on her. She certainly felt his breath on her neck. That’s how close he was. One step . . , two . . . there was the rifle, right in front of her, just hanging on the wall. She sucked in a breath, her hands trembling. All I have to do is grab it.
“Move!” Evan jabbed his pistol between her shoulder blades and she passed the rifle, losing her only chance.
When they came to the kitchen he ordered her to pour him a cup of the leftover coffee. He sat on one of the barstools at the center island while she got a mug down from the cupboard. The pot was still hot. She filled the cup and noted that he’d put the gun down on the counter. The grip lay next to his elbow, which was propped on top of the granite. In her head she calculated how much time it would take for him to grab it and pull the trigger. Mere seconds, she suspected.
“What’s taking you so long?” He eyed the coffee mug in anticipation. “And while you’re at it, make me something to eat. I’ve been crawling around your bushes all morning and we’ve got forty minutes before takeoff.”
That didn’t leave much time. The tiny airport was at least ten minutes away.
“Where’s your car?” she asked. No way could he have driven in with the locked gate.
“Gia, food for fuck’s sake!”
Back in his banking days he hadn’t sounded like a Neanderthal. It must’ve taken a lot of spit and polish to pull off the refined stockbroker act.
She took a few steps forward, threw the hot coffee in his face, and ran as fast as she could, listening to him scream as she struggled to get the rifle off the wall. Her hands shook and sweat dripped into her eyes. Finally able to pry the gun loose, she made it as far as the front door when she felt a hand clutch the back of her shirt.
“You little bitch,” Evan said.
She spun around, wielding the Winchester, waiting for a shot to ring out from his own gun. None came. There was nothing in his hands.
“Forget your gun, Evan?” She shoved the muzzle into his gut. His face was red and still dripping. She wondered if the coffee had been hot enough to make his skin blister. “Back up.”
He laughed at her. “You won’t shoot me. I doubt that thing is even loaded.”
“Only one way to find out. Now back the hell up.”
She saw the wheels in his head turning; then he slowly inched away. Just when she thought she had the upper hand he grabbed the barrel and began twisting the rifle away from her. She struggled to keep a firm hold on the butt, but it was a tug of war. And Evan was winning.
* * *
“What the hell do you mean they lost him?” Flynn hung a U-turn on the highway, tires screeching, as he yelled into his Bluetooth. “Why didn’t you call me last night with this news?”
“I literally found out five minutes ago,” Toad said. “The feds were acting squirrelly, but I figured they had a bead on him. Then this morning I find out that the whole operation is FUBAR. They let him slip through their fingers, the idiots.”
“Jesus Christ! So Laughlin’s been in the wind for at least fourteen hours.”
“Roger that.”
“I left Gia alone.” Flynn wanted to smash his fist into something.
“Laughlin won’t come to California. Too risky and too far away from the money.”
“Still, the Bureau should’ve told me. I should’ve been on top of this.”
“I hate to break it to you, boss, but you’re no longer on the FBI’s payroll. No way you could’ve known. It wasn’t as if the feds wanted to publicize their mammoth screwup, especially to Gia Treadwell’s defense attorney.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Flynn banged his hand on the steering wheel. Laughlin’s arrest might’ve helped Gia’s case. Now they were back to square one.
“I’m returning to Rosser Ranch. You stay in Florida and keep your eyes and ears open. Maybe they’ll get a lead on him.”
“No problem,” Toad said. “I’ll check in later today.”
Flynn disconnected and immediately punched Gia’s cell number into his phone. When she didn’t answer he tried her landline. He thought about leaving a message, but she was probably riding Rory or overseeing the planting of the Christmas tree seedlings with Annie. Why freak her out when he’d be there soon and could explain everything in person?
He’d left before she’d gotten up this morning. The night before it’d been difficult keeping his distance. He’d wanted to tell her how he felt about her. How he thought they’d started something good. But that would be a violation of the state bar’s ethical code. Anything that could be perceived as coercion or extortion was strictly out of the question. Gia was the client and got to call the shots.
He passed the Nugget sign and turned off on Gia’s road. Less than a mile from her gate he saw light glinting off something metal out in the field. Probably a pile of tin cans left over from someone’s target practice. But the ex-cop in him couldn’t let it go. He pulled over and grabbed his sidearm from the glove box to investigate. A few yards off the road he found a car neatly tucked behind a cluster of trees, hidden from the road. If it hadn’t been for the fender reflecting off the sun the car would’ve gone unnoticed.
Flynn circled the Chevy Malibu. It had a bar code sticker on the back windshield, a telltale sign that it was a rental, which could mean anything. He used his phone to shoot pictures of the car’s California license plates, sent them off to Rhys, and called the chief at the police department. “Can you run the plates I just texted you?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Flynn imagined Rhys was looking at the photographs.
“I’ll run them,” the chief finally said. “In the meantime, I’m sending a patrol unit. Could be nothing, but I’m thinking more snoopy reporters.”
“Thanks, Rhys. I’m on my way to the ranch now. I’ll leave the gate open.”
Before he returned to his truck Flynn peeked inside the car’s windows. There was a bottle of water and a map on the front seat. On the passenger-side floor, a Miami Herald.
Miami. Florida. His gut clenched.
Flynn punched in Rhys’s number again, blurted his discovery, and took off running for the gate. For fifteen hundred yards he barely breathed, adrenaline pumping through his veins like a bullet train.
“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he muttered to himself as he vaulted over the fence and took cover behind the trees that edged Gia’s driveway. At the house he crouched along the log siding and hunkered beneath the windows to circle to the back, undetected. The mudroom door was unlocked and he snuck inside, ducking behind the side of the washing machine.
He held his position, listening. Nothing; not a sound. Panic struck. What if they were somewhere else on the property and he couldn’t get to them in time? Soundlessly, he crept into the kitchen and found it clear. That was when he saw coffee splattered across the center island and a cup smashed to bits on the floor.
He pulled the Glock from the small of his back and skulked along the wall to the dining room, silently cursing the size of the house. It was reckless doing this without backup, but Flynn couldn’t afford to wait. Not until he knew whether Gia was all right.
Halfway there, he heard something crash.
“That was fun.”
Flynn’s gut tightened. It was a man’s voice and it sounded like it was coming from the family room. As he edged closer, the voice grew louder.
“You try that shit again and I’ll make you watch while my associate kills your mother.”
“Like you killed Rufus Cleo?” It was Gia, out of breath.
“That’s what you get when you try to double-cross me. The bastard hijacked the money . . . thought he could keep it all for himself. You should’ve seen him when I confronted him . . . begged for his life, crying like a baby.”
“So he was in on it?”
Good girl, Gia. Flynn crawled across the floor on his belly like a ghost, not even daring to breathe. Keep him talking until I can get to you.
The man—by now Flynn knew it was Laughlin—laughed. “Why do you think I suggested you sit on the board of his foundation? Cleo actually thought you were involved. He thought you were the one hooking the big fish.”
“Why, Evan?” Gia asked. “Why me?”
“Your big television name, the syndicated column, the books. You gave me credibility, got me into a lot of closed circles, and you weren’t half bad in bed.”
Flynn clenched his teeth. He was gonna kill the son of a bitch.
“In the beginning I was tempted to cut you in,” Laughlin said as Flynn inched nearer, hiding behind a pony wall that connected the dining area to the great room.
He inched up his head for a mere second and caught a glimpse of them on the couch. Laughlin held a Beretta inches away from Gia’s chest and Flynn’s heart lurched. The problem was he couldn’t go any farther, not without exposing himself, and he was still a good six yards away. He gripped his semiautomatic tighter, his finger on the trigger.
“Your weakness is you’re too damn honest,” Laughlin continued. “Too satisfied to earn a living when you could be sitting on a sandy beach on your own island.”
“You disgust me.”
“Yeah, I’m crying all the way to the bank. ’Tis a pity you’re such a Goody Two-shoes because you’re taking the blame anyway.” Laughlin glanced at his watch. “We’ve gotta go now. And Gia, you pull another stunt like you did with the rifle and I’ll make you pay.”
The Winchester. Flynn smiled, but it was short-lived as Laughlin got to his feet and pulled Gia up by the collar of her shirt.
“We’re taking your car. Get your keys.” He jabbed the semiautomatic in her back and it was all Flynn could do to keep from jumping up and breaking the guy’s neck.
Gia led Laughlin to her bedroom. Flynn knew her car keys were in her purse, which she typically left on the nightstand. As they started down the long hallway, he quietly jetted back through the kitchen and mudroom, went outside, and plastered himself against the side of the house. He slowly made his way to Gia’s French doors, his back hugging the exterior as if he was one with the building. A light came on in the bedroom. Flynn hunkered down, gathered up a handful of pebbles, and hurled them at the glass.
“What’s that?” Laughlin asked, and Flynn saw him press his face against a window screen to search the area.
Flynn tightened himself against the wall, sweat soaking through his shirt. On the ground he collected a few more pebbles and repeated the exercise. This time he threw them harder, making enough noise to rouse a heavy sleeper.
Laughlin unlocked the doors and stepped out wary and alert, holding Gia like a human shield. One-handed, he swept the air with his pistol. “Who’s out here?”
It was exactly the idiotic move Flynn had expected. He tucked and rolled into Laughlin’s shins so that his knees buckled. Before Laughlin could right himself and maintain his balance Gia wrenched free of him. Once she was out of range Flynn jumped to his feet and slammed Laughlin’s arm against the wall until he heard a sharp crack. Laughlin let out a piercing scream and dropped the Beretta.
Flynn shoved the muzzle of his Glock into Laughlin’s gut. “It’s over, asshole.”
* * *
Sleepless, Gia climbed the staircase. It was past midnight and by the time the agents and police had left, her nervous system was on overdrive. Still, she couldn’t seem to close her eyes. Every time she did she saw Evan with his gun trained on her or her mother bound and gagged in a chair.
The FBI had arrested the man Evan had paid to hold Iris hostage. She’d been rushed to an area hospital. Though her injuries weren’t serious—dehydration and abrasions on her hands and feet where she’d been bound with tape and rope—doctors thought it would be best to observe her overnight. Thank goodness Toad was still in Florida. He’d driven the forty-six miles from Miami to Boca Raton to stay by her bedside. In a day or so he’d escort her to California. Gia needed her close for a while.
Upstairs she found Flynn’s room and tapped on the door. He opened it so fast she nearly fell in. Still dressed in the same jeans and T-shirt from before, he ushered her inside.
“You can’t sleep either?”
“I can sleep,” he said. “I was worried about you.”
She would’ve said she was fine, but clearly she wasn’t. “I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
Gia pierced him with an are-you-for-real look. “You saved my mother and me.”
He moved to the bed and sat on the edge where Gia joined him. “I wanted to kill him, Gia. When I saw him holding the Beretta on you . . .” Flynn stopped, as if he was reliving it all over again.
He’d been so calm among the agents earlier, but now she could feel anger thrumming through him.
“You okay?” He ran his hand down her back, then seemed to think better of it.
“I’m still a little freaked out.”
“You pulled the Winchester on him, huh?” He tilted his head and smiled at her.
“I tried. It worked on you after all.”
“Yep.” He held her gaze like he wanted to say he was proud of her—and something else. But the look quickly vanished and he was back to business again. “The U.S. Attorney’s office is dropping the charges against you. Prosecutors seized Tiffany Cleo’s account. The justice department plans to hold a press conference tomorrow to announce Laughlin’s arrest and to clear your name.”
“Will the victims get their money back?”
He nodded. “Not all of it . . . Laughlin and Cleo led lavish lifestyles. But Tim thinks there’s enough so that investors will get ninety cents on the dollar, which is a whole lot better than nothing. You too, which should help with your property taxes on this place . . . the tree farm and your program. Unless you want to go back to New York. This’ll restore your public image.”
“I don’t want to go back,” she said and took a deep breath. It was over. Truly over. “Without charges hanging over my head I can fully focus on the program. The neighbors are on board—at least the women.” She looked at him. He could use a shave, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. To Gia he’d never been more handsome . . . or more desirable.
“Flynn”—she drew back—“why did you put your property up for my bond? Why would you do something like that?”
Gia had learned that bit of surprising information from one of the prosecutors who’d come to the scene. Until then she’d been kept in the dark about Flynn’s generosity, which seemed above and beyond for a lawyer to do for his client. It was even too much for a close friend to do.
“Because yours alone wasn’t enough. Prosecutors were planning to eventually amend the charges to include conspiracy in Cleo’s murder. There’s no bail for murder. Knowing that the charge was imminent made you a high-flight risk. I figured that if I financially vouched for you, it would secure the bond . . . at least until they added the murder count.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to scare you until I knew for sure whether the feds were bluffing . . . using conspiracy to commit murder as yet another threat to get you to tell them where Laughlin was.”
She swallowed; the shadow of spending the rest of her life in prison still made her tremble. “Why would you risk your property like that?”
He drew back as if she’d slapped him. “Because I love you. I didn’t want to see you spend a second more in that shithole. You think real estate is more important to me than you are?”
Because I love you.
The words left her speechless. When had he begun loving her?
“I thought you were embarrassed of me . . . the charges, the incarceration, my past relationship with Evan. When I was arrested you were so businesslike, so cold.”
He jerked his hand through his messy hair. “Gia, I was trying to get you out of jail. I was going a little crazy.... Fifty freaking years in prison, not to mention the charge of conspiracy to commit murder hanging over you. Sorry if I didn’t have time to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Is that why you bolted? Jesus Christ.”
“I didn’t know,” she said, a world of regret in her voice. “I thought you’d be better off without me. We’d only just fooled around and I didn’t want to ruin you the way Evan had ruined me. I thought it would be best if you were strictly my lawyer.”
“Best for whom? We didn’t just fool around; I took you home to my family, Gia. Your problem is you don’t trust. I don’t want to share a bank account with another person. I don’t want to make financial decisions by committee. I don’t want to be dependent on someone else.” He spat her words back at her with anger.
“I’m not your goddamn father and I’m definitely not that dirtbag piece of shit Laughlin,” he continued. “In fact, I’m no longer your lawyer. You’re free now . . . do whatever the hell you want.”
It was a dismissal, pure and simple.
She got up off the bed. “I was wrong, Flynn. I was only trying to protect you.” And me. Because compared to Evan the damage you could do to my heart would be irreparable. I’d be broken forever.
Her throat tightened, but she needed to say it. “I love you too, Flynn. So much that I would do anything for you.” Even shield him from herself.
Afraid that he’d tell her to go to hell, she didn’t wait for a response. She left the room, went downstairs, and searched through the cupboard for a drink. A bottle of Jack Daniel’s peeked out from a row of good red wine. Whiskey wasn’t her thing; it was Flynn’s. Despite it, she poured herself three fingers, hoping it would help her sleep away her mistakes and the horror of the day. God, she’d screwed up royally with Flynn, the best man she’d ever known. The only man besides her father she’d ever loved.
She closed her eyes as the whiskey burned its way down her throat and spread warmth through her belly. A few more sips and she’d try to go bed. Gia took the glass into the great room, curled up on the couch, and scanned the former crime scene. The Winchester was missing from the wall; the police had taken it as evidence.
The staircase creaked, she looked up, and her heart stopped.
“Don’t ever drink alone.” Flynn came down, took her whiskey, and drained it. “More?”
She shook her head. “I love you. Please believe me when I say I love you.”
“But you don’t trust me, do you?”
It should’ve been the most difficult question she’d ever had to answer. More than fifteen hours ago her ex, the man who’d sworn his everlasting love, had threatened to kill her and her mother.
“I do,” she said and meant it from the bottom of her heart. “I trust you, Flynn. How could I not? You saved my life and everything that’s precious to me.”
He sat at the other end of the couch. “I don’t need to share a bank account with you, Gia. But I do need us to be dependent on each other. That’s the way a true relationship works. You lean on me, I lean on you; you trust me, I trust you. For me it can’t be any other way.”
She scooted closer to him and put her hand in his. “I think I can do that.” Leaning on anyone since her father . . . it was difficult.
“Not ‘I think.’” He lifted her chin with his finger. “You need to say you know you can do that. It’s the only way it can work between us. When circumstances seem insurmountable, like they did with your arrest, you can’t just walk away.”
She climbed into his lap and twined her arms around his neck. For a long time she’d been solely reliant on herself. Asking to put her faith in another person . . . well, she would’ve thought it was impossible. Until Flynn. “Do you really love me?”
“Yes, I really love you. But I need you to say it . . . say you can lean on me. Say that when the chips are down you know I’ll always be there for you, and you for me.”
She exhaled. It was like jumping off a very tall cliff. “I can lean on you and when the chips are down I know you’ll be there for me. I’ll always be there for you, Flynn.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She loved Flynn so much she could hardly breathe. “I can trust you and I love you so much that I’ll never give up on you again.”
Flynn’s eyes shone with so much need and emotion that it floored her. In a rough voice he said, “You’ve said the words. Now show me. Make love to me like you mean it.”
And there on the couch, and later in her bed, she loved him with her body . . . her heart and soul . . . well into the next day. And she’d continue to love him forever.