Saturday
GALE-FORCE WINDS shrilled around the corners of the inn all night. Raindrops struck like pellets. Landon woke early after a troubled sleep, second-guessing her decision to trust Shaun. She clicked on her bedside lamp and bunched the pillows behind her against the four-poster’s headboard. Sitting up, laptop on her knees, she typed the band’s name into the search field.
So Shaun Riggs was his real name, but on stage, he went by Rigged. At The Ovens, he’d told Zerkowsky that Shaun was a nickname for whatever was on his passport.
Ignoring the videos, she skimmed news reports and gossip sites, grateful for her ad-blocker. What she saw didn’t match the man who risked his life to save a stranger. Obnoxious as he still was, his “temporary reform” had made a difference. Not that she trusted everything she read. His behaviour was part of his star persona, calculated to drive publicity. The media would reflect that.
He’d never been arrested, but article after article spoke of wild house parties, domestic disturbance calls, drug allegations. This was who’d befriended Ciara. Landon shuffled her feet under the covers. How much had he changed and why? Change on a whim wouldn’t stick.
She clasped her hands behind her head and leaned back, bouncing her knuckles against the satin-smooth headboard. Across the room, the butterfly prints caught her lamp’s soft glow. Bright orange and soft yellow wings, black accents giving each a stained glass effect. God’s specialty was bringing beauty to the broken. She prayed Shaun would experience that truth.
Stories of his past aside, the speculation about his present made her shake her head. Most thought he’d killed himself or checked into a substance abuse facility. Or he was living on the streets in Memphis. She skimmed past a video of a homeless man singing what the post claimed was one of Shaun’s songs. As if that proved it was him. From the band itself, nothing official. Rumours claimed they were auditioning a replacement.
She closed the laptop and swung her legs over the side of her bed, feet landing on the braided mat. Ciara’s insistence on maintaining boundaries with Shaun was a good thing. If only she didn’t end up giving more trust than he could keep.
Downstairs, Ciara and Zander shared breakfast in the kitchen with Landon and Anna. Anna insisted the designated eating area was for “outside guests.”
Anna had all the lights on against the storm, making the stainless steel appliances and white cabinets gleam. The oven added a cozy warmth, producing plump, golden-topped tea biscuits to go with their sausages and eggs.
None of them had slept well, and Ciara flinched whenever a gust slammed the house. When the lights flickered, her yelp sounded so much like Moxie that Landon pressed her napkin to her lips to stop a giggle.
Anna laughed, warm and comforting. “This old house was built to last. The power grid’s fairly stable too, but if the lights do go out, we’ll be fine.”
Ciara shuddered. “The guy who’s after me could be waiting for a chance like that. Everybody charge your cell, just in case.”
Landon’s phone app projected the hurricane’s eye to bypass them to the east. For all its wind velocity, the storm’s forward momentum lagged, leaving them in the grip of wet and nasty weather.
The day limped along. Halfway through the afternoon, engine revs outside drowned out the wind. In the common room, Ciara shrieked. Her chair shot back from the puzzle table where she and Landon had been half-heartedly piecing together Anna’s latest choice.
She sprinted for the rear of the inn. Landon dropped a segment of bright red dory and ran after her.
Ciara had the door open. “Shaun, you crazy fool, get in here!”
His boots clomped across the deck. For once, he wasn’t all in black. A bright yellow poncho, hood down, covered him from neck to knees. Rain cascaded from his shoulders like he’d emerged from a river. He stopped in the entrance and flipped up his helmet’s visor, grinning like a kid with an unlimited carnival pass. He drew a pastel pink pastry box from beneath the poncho and held it out to Ciara by the string.
She took it, sputtering. “You are certifiably insane.”
“Heard that before. You may be right.”
When they stepped aside to let him in, he winked. “At least this time I’m sober. I’ll remember every glorious second.”
“You’ve done this before? Impaired?” Ciara retreated farther, pushing Landon along with her.
“Weather like this begs for it. And the higher you are, the better you hear it.” He surveyed the puddles forming around him. “Can I come in, or are you sending me back out to play?”
Landon shook her head. “I’ll get the mop.” Turning, she dodged to avoid stepping on Anna. “We can’t let him go anywhere in this.”
Anna’s fists anchored on her hips, elbows jutting to the sides like a barrier. “He’s not staying if there’s trouble.”
Zander had crowded into the hallway, his expression sterner than Anna’s. “What’s going on here?”
At the same time, Ciara waggled the bakery box. “What’s this?”
“A treat for an exhilarating day. Something you said you liked.”
Landon shooed Ciara and Zander toward the kitchen with the mop, barring Shaun with a chest-height thrust. “Don’t mess with her. Reformed, remember? Think about Dylan.”
“Gotcha.”
He dragged the helmet from his head, tossing his hair. Face alight, he spun toward Anna, palm up like a pledge. “Nothing unnatural in my system, I swear. Sorry for getting a bit… exuberant.”
Ciara’s squeal pierced the moment. “Shaun, it’s perfect.”
Landon left the mop by the door and joined the others in the kitchen where Ciara stood at the table unboxing a layer cake swirled with thick, creamy frosting.
Zander had backed Shaun against the counter. “You are an utter cliché. A leather-jacketed, guitar-playing rebel with a motorcycle—either a rich trust-fund brat or a refugee from an inner-city gang. There’s not one original thing about you.”
Landon held her breath. One punch from Shaun, and Dylan would drag everything into the light.
Shaun sniffed. “Guitar’s acoustic. Not electric.”
“You’re a waste of oxygen.”
“Or a sinner in need of a saviour. You preach a great gospel, Mr. Righteous. Bet you change a lot of lives.”
The back of Zander’s neck flushed. His shoulders rose.
Landon started forward to grab him.
Instead of lunging at Shaun, Zander wheeled around and stalked into the hallway, tugging his cuffs into place and brushing down his shirt front. “I’ll be upstairs. I have calls to make.”
Chin tucked, Shaun glanced around the kitchen. His eye contact came in short, upward peeks like a little boy afraid the adults would scold him. Standing free of the counter, he let his hands hang at his sides. “For all the ones who’ve seen me at my worst, I’m trying to show you people my best. Epic fail.”
Feet planted wide, Anna crossed her arms. “And riding that bike in a hurricane?”
“It’s this storm. I haven’t felt so alive since—maybe ever.” He flicked his hair from his forehead. “Best behaviour doesn’t mean I’m any smarter.”
“Or more likely to die of old age.” Despite the barb, the lines softened around Anna’s mouth. “Now tell us about this cake you brought. What’s the occasion?”
“It’s my birthday, and this extrovert needed attention.”
Ciara squealed again. “Happy birthday!” She bounced as if she wanted to run and hug him but didn’t dare.
Anna pulled dessert plates from the cupboard, and Shaun left Ciara to cut wedges of moist carrot cake. He eyed his piece. “For a small girl, you serve a decent-sized hunk of dessert.”
“Birthday calories don’t count.”
When Ciara and Shaun moved to the common room, Landon trudged upstairs for the next round of reading. Breaking it into chunks made it manageable, but it felt like she was never done. Lights on, she settled into a comfy chair in the conversation nook. Between the dreary day and the beat of rain against the glass, she didn’t even try the read-aloud setting on her laptop. Today, she’d be powering through the textbook’s digital version with eyes on screen.
She’d been at it less than half an hour, a headache already building, when her phone buzzed a call.
Bobby? They hadn’t spoken since Jessie arrived. Maybe he thought she needed space to process what he’d said. Something she’d been stalling on because, after the initial warm gratitude, she’d feel guilty for letting him down.
The phone buzzed again as she snatched it from the coffee table. Tait. Not Bobby after all. Disappointment melted into sympathy. “Hi, Tait.” She caught herself before asking how he was.
“Is Ciara with you?” His words came fast, clipped.
“Want me to get her?”
“No. Listen, I need your help.” Before she could ask for details, he pushed on. “I came out to Orran’s. Wanted to check on the place. Plus, there’s a generator in case the power goes down. Moxie got away from me when I opened the car. He’s out there somewhere in the storm.”
“Ciara—”
“Don’t tell her. She’d freak out and trigger one of her concussion headaches. He likes you. Help me search?”
“But he’d come to her voice.”
“Not if he’s gone to ground. And she shouldn’t be out in this kind of weather. She’s barely over her pneumonia.”
Landon exited the textbook and closed her laptop. Indistinct words filtered through Zander’s closed door. He was on another call. “I’ll get Anna to bring me.”
“I’m almost there. I have you on hands-free. Figured you’d be home on a day like this.”
“Okay, I’ll be ready.”
“Don’t let Ciara suspect. I’ll confess once the little guy is warm and dry.”
“I’ll come out the back. She won’t see me.”
Call ended, she hurried to her room for an extra sweater and warm socks. She’d seen heavy-duty raingear and rubber boots downstairs. She ducked into the sitting room to whisper the story to Anna. “Pray we find him fast? Ciara’s lost so much.”
Anna caught her hand and squeezed it. “Will do. Tell Tait to join us for supper, and since we don’t have any outside guests, he can bring Moxie. Ciara will need time with the little fellow.”
“Timkin will love that.” The inn’s cat was still giving them the silent treatment from the Chihuahua’s visit earlier this week. Even today, when he wouldn’t step a paw out into the wet weather, he snubbed them both, glaring from the shadows beneath Anna’s desk.
Landon waited inside until Tait’s SUV appeared. Then she ducked out into the storm. The wind drove rain like needles into her exposed face. She tugged her hood lower and ran toward the parking lot.
Her fingers slipped on the wet metal handle as Tait nudged the door open from inside. “Thanks.” She scrambled in out of the rain. “Wow. Poor Moxie, out in this.”
Tait whipped around and navigated down the driveway. “He’ll be terrified. I had a rough drive getting here. Water’s over the pavement in a few places.”
On the other side of the road, huge grey waves tossed white streamers of foam. The ground here was elevated enough to be safe from a storm surge—she hoped—but it dropped to sea level nearer town. She clutched the seat belt, pushing down memories of her and Anna’s crash this summer. Anyone in that water today wouldn’t stand a chance.
Both hands on the wheel to steady the vehicle against the buffeting wind, Tait maintained a slow speed. They didn’t meet many other drivers. A gust slammed them sideways toward the water. Grunting, Tait wrestled back into position.
His confident skill reassured Landon. “Anna’s making a big pan of lasagna for tonight. Stay when you bring me home? Moxie’s invited too.”
He didn’t look away from the road. “Thank you. Man, I feel terrible. He twisted out of my hold and took off for the trees. Every step I took toward him, he ran further. Instead of driving him deeper under cover, I came for you.”
“Does he have a favourite squeaky toy?”
“Good idea. Most of his things are at my apartment, but there are a few toys at Orran’s.”
Tait worked through the side streets to the far side of the subdivision and along the rural road until he reached Orran’s long private driveway. Here, out of the wind, he picked up speed. They bounced through puddles, tires throwing water high to the sides.
The trees swayed and bent as the storm whipped their crowns. A massive root plate had clawed free to their right, a huge sentinel pine felled whole.
A gnarled branch lay in their path, and Tait powered over it. “If anything big comes down once we’re in, there’s a chainsaw at the house to get us out.”
“Good to know.” Landon’s hand ached from her hold on the door, but she couldn’t let go. The uneven ground tossed the vehicle side to side.
He must have heard her tension. Their pace slowed. “Sorry. I’ll get you there in one piece.”
They emerged into the clearing, and the wind blasted with full force, howling around the vehicle. Leaves and branches littered the lawn. Tait cut a loop in the driveway and reversed up close to the garage. “I was going to get in touch with your friend Zander today. One of my contacts forwarded a tip about Ciara’s stepfather. A past misdemeanour related to collectible baseball cards. It might be nothing, but it could be a clue.”
“It’s worth a look.” Landon’s seat belt clicked open, and she jumped from her seat. Turning to the trees, she called Moxie’s name. No response. She called again.
Tait’s door slammed. “Come into the house and help me pick the best toy? If he were a cat, we could just rattle treats for him.”
He’d never met their orange-striped stray. Landon clomped up the stairs behind Tait, glad of the building’s shelter while he unlocked the door. As soon as he shut them in, the wind’s howl died to distant shrieks at the corners of the building.
“His toys are in the kitchen.” As he spoke, he tapped the keypad to disarm the security system.
Washed with a sudden rush of shame for her and Bobby’s fumbled break-in, Landon stepped out of her heavy boots. “Okay, let’s see what we can find.”
A metallic click whirled her on the spot.
Tait’s stillness, his stance…
Her gaze dropped to the pistol in his hand.
Pointed at her.
Her heart kicked so fast she fought to breathe. She pulled her sight from the gun and locked on Tait’s face. The focused stare, the hardened jaw.
“Anna knows I’m here.”
“You won’t be when you die.”
She’d heard him angry, grieving, even playing the self-proclaimed ladies’ man. But she’d never heard raw hatred. It pebbled her skin clear through to the bone.
“Tait, why?”
“You killed Orran.”
“This is a mistake. I know you’re angry—”
“You might as well have pulled the trigger.” His mouth spasmed.
“No—I—”
“Shut it.” He scuffed his feet on the entrance mat. “Through the kitchen and down the stairs.”
The commanding tone meant compliance. Yet dread—and maybe anger—blocked its hold. If she dodged into the living room, could she break out through a window?
His fingers clamped her upper arm and thrust her toward the rear of the house. Down the stairs to the sumptuous man cave. Faint yips came from behind a closed door. She should be relieved Ciara’s Chihuahua wasn’t outside at the storm’s mercy.
Tait propelled her past fitness equipment, a big-screen television, and oversized brown leather recliners to a heavy, dark-stained bookcase. His fingers dug into her arm while his other hand reached past her to a row of matching hardcover books.
The move positioned his body far too close to hers. He must have stashed the gun in his pocket, but she couldn’t twist away.
He drew one volume from the line, shifted a few sideways to fill the gap, then slotted it into the new opening.
Unbalanced, she reached to steady herself on the bookcase but missed. It wasn’t her sight after all. The whole unit was retreating. Gliding away from her without a sound.
“Zane Grey. Orr’s father’s favourite author. They were lucky to have castoffs and library copies when he was young. When he hit decent money, he bought the complete works to honour his dad.”
The spines looked stiff and new. Unread. The bookcase stopped, then slid downward to reveal a panelled hallway lit with evenly spaced wall sconces. The bookcase top became part of the floor.
The way sloped down in a gentle incline. Further underground. Landon mashed a hand against her trembling lips.
Tait pushed her forward, but her legs had locked. A whimper escaped the pressure on her mouth.
He growled a curse. “You will not die on this property. I won’t even hurt you here if I don’t have to.”
“I can’t—”
“Move.” A shove between her shoulder blades sent her stumbling forward, arms out to break her fall.
By the time she’d regained her footing, the bookcase had risen into place. The way was shut.
Her vision greyed. Tait’s triumphant glare was the last thing she saw.
~~~
Landon woke in a warmly lit room, slumped in a soft chair in… a museum? Blinking, she searched her memory. She’d fainted in an underground passage—because Tait had a gun. A gasp jerked her upright.
Her wrists lay bound together across her stomach, hands curved around opposite forearms. A frantic flail of her feet revealed her ankles were tied as well.
Terror clawed her lungs.
“Those Fabergé eggs in the far unit are to honour his mother, legally acquired as his success grew. Everything else is his private obsession.” Tait strolled into view from behind her chair. “Making this a fine place to wait until it’s time for you to go.”
Arms drawn into her belly, she fought the shakes. Anchor. Breathe. God, help!
Tait stopped in front of her, feet wide and hands loose at his sides. A gallery guide with a gun stashed out of sight.
Soft track lighting illuminated a lavish mix of treasures. Paintings, maps, and sketches lined the walls. The nearer glass cases held jewellery and carvings. A massive bronze sundial caught light from overhead.
All these collectibles. It had been Orran and Tait all along. “So you attacked Ciara.”
He snarled. “Orran was furious. And you—I told you it was a mistake, but you couldn’t let it go. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
Heat surged through Landon’s body, launching her to her feet. Unbalanced, she fell into the chair. She fought to breathe over her racing pulse. “You attacked my friend and left her broken. Somebody had to fight back.”
“Your meddling is why she lost her jade pieces. I’ll unload most of them.” He selected a green circle from one of the displays and held it up between thumb and fingertips. “This, I’ll keep. It should have been part of my inheritance all along.”
Ciara would be relieved to know Orran hadn’t betrayed her trust, though they were right about him being a thief. Nobody would keep a collection hidden like this if it was legal.
“You said inheritance. This is all his?”
Tait swept the room in an expansive gesture. “Everything you see. I preferred to convert mine to cash, but for Orr, it was all about the trophies. Proof he could crack the tightest security nets.”
“So the cameo—”
“He couldn’t resist. That guy practically begged to lose it.”
A dull ache throbbed behind her forehead. “The ruby pendant on the weekend. You must have stolen that. They say Orran was dead by then.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “That was my tribute to him. He’d planned to claim it himself.”
“But he couldn’t because he was already dead.” Landon’s teeth pinched her lower lip. They hadn’t found Orran until Wednesday. For Tait to know he was dead on the weekend—
Cold gripped her. “You killed him.”
Tait’s face contorted. “Orran should have lived his final years in peace. Enjoying his collection. Sending me out for the occasional new piece. But he started getting reckless. Stealing too close to home, too often.”
He clutched the jade bangle, shaking it at her. “The night Ciara brought up his injury, he told me what happened—and how she’d seen the goblet. I wanted to get rid of her before she could remember more details and put them together with the local thefts.”
He replaced the bracelet and moved to an oak cabinet, lit from within. Then he opened the door and lifted out a gold cup rimmed with rubies so polished they glowed.
“This is it. A kid might buy the lie about a theatre prop, but not an adult with her taste in valuables. It was a matter of time. Orran swore she’d never rat him out. But I couldn’t chance it.”
Head bowed, he returned the goblet to the cabinet. “Then he gave her the bangle. I misjudged him. Thought it was from a job before we met. If he was giving her stolen goods, it was over.”
“But you gave Ciara and Anna copies of the valuation papers.”
“Found after the fact. He may even have bought it with the intent to give it to her. Instead, it’s my revenge for what she stirred up.” He glared through slitted eyes. “Part of my revenge. I like what you suggested about the dog. I’ll install the cameras next week. Once she sees that, her death will look like suicide.”
“No! It’s not her fault. And it’s not mine. Why—”
His hand whistled toward her.
She flinched and tried to duck, but the chair held her in place.
Instead of a blow, fingers grabbed her hair and yanked sideways, fierce enough to bring tears. “Better if they fish you out of the water unbruised.”
Tait’s breath rasped. “You signed Orran’s death warrant with your relentless digging. You wouldn’t quit. You’d get Ciara remembering. If Orr softened, she’d have him confessing.”
Another scalp-ripping pull at her hair. “He’d have died in prison. Ruined and cut off from everything he’d built here. I couldn’t let it happen.”
Swearing, he let go and stalked away. At the far side of the room, he pivoted, expression empty of heat. “He saved me at my first heist. I was way over my head, and he grabs me, hustles me out to his car, and lectures me on my clumsy technique. Then he sends me back in to do it right.”
His shoulders sagged. “He’d been after a more valuable item in that museum, but he passed it up to help a worthless kid. He became my mentor. My friend. Everything a father should have been. I had to save him. Even when that meant ending his life.”
The revelation was too much to process—a storm surge of grief and tortured reasoning. Compassion flickered in Landon’s heart, but fear thundered louder. She couldn’t reason with him. He’d kill her, convinced it was payback for Orran. Justice in his mixed-up mind.
Tait prowled the displays, stopping to touch various items or to stare at others. At times, he murmured to himself.
She was melting in this heavy rainsuit. Moisture trickled down her spine. Tait had tied her around the coat and pant cuffs, maybe so the bristly nylon rope wouldn’t leave marks.
He’d bound her wrists so each palm lay against the opposite forearm. Mouth dry, she watched him move around the room. When he stopped with his back to her, reaching for an object in another cabinet, she tried to turn her bottom wrist.
The line pulled tight. Stopped her motion. Sweat prickled her hairline as she strained to keep twisting her arm.
It shot around with such force that she grunted.
Tait spun toward her.
Screwing up her face, she wrinkled her nose as if fighting a sneeze. A second sneeze if she could fool him about the first sound. She held her arms with the repositioned hand underneath.
When he looked away, she worked her wrist into its original alignment. The movement was easier now, as if the sweater under the rubber coat was compressing.
Such a small motion. What was the use?
She drew a slow breath, praying with open eyes fixed on her captor. God saw her. He was here. She might die today, but He wouldn’t leave her alone. He’d help her bear it. Or He’d help her escape. Her part was to notice any options. Right now, that meant a wrist that could turn.
Her pulse throbbed in her throat. Last time she’d confronted death, she’d had Bobby. God had given them what they needed to keep their heads and escape.
Bobby. If she died today, it’d break his heart.
A chime rang from somewhere behind her. Three quick dings, like a fasten-seat belt warning in a car.
Tait’s head jerked toward the sound. With a swift but reverent motion, he returned the ebony elephant he’d been holding, then strode past her.
The sound repeated.
Tait swore. “Better and better. Anna was going to receive a text from your phone that you’d asked me to drop you in town to follow up on a clue. Before I dumped you in the water near the docks.”
“Tait, please—”
“Now you and Zander will go together. Shot instead of drowned. Or maybe a car accident in the storm. I knew I’d have to deal with him before this ended.”
“Zander’s here?” Landon’s heart jolted. Tears flooded her cheeks.
Somehow he’d get in. He’d find her. It’d be okay. She craned around in the chair until she saw a bank of monitors. Zander addressed one of the cameras. “Let me in. We need to talk. Or do I call in a 9-1-1 hostage situation?”
“On my way.” Tait pulled his finger from the talk button before the scream left Landon’s mouth. He whipped around. “Shut up.”
Zander spoke again. “If you’ve harmed her, there is no mercy. No escape.”
Tait gave her bonds a quick tug before snatching his gun from the monitor station and heading for the door.
She should give him time to reach the bookcase, in case he doubled back. Her thrumming pulse wouldn’t let her. Zander had found her—somehow. He’d have a plan, but so would Tait.
Desperation twisted her wrist in the bonds, turning her hand out like a claw. Bent double, the bulky sweater digging into her stomach, she strained toward her ankles. Clutching her pant leg, she hauled the rubberized material upward. Nothing.
She stretched her arms longer, shoulders burning. Hooked the toe of her sock with her fingers. Tugged. Again. Again. Until her sock slipped down and loosed the pressure on her ankles.
Now she could pull up the pant leg. She dragged her foot free, tender skin scraping against the rope, and kicked the loop off her other foot.
She stood, wobbled, and cast around for a weapon.
On the monitors, Tait strode through the house. Almost to the front door.
Scanning the display cases, she spotted a sharp-tipped hunting knife. She sprinted for it. The handle looked like ivory. Old, yellowed. It lay smooth and cool in her grip.
The screens showed Tait opening up to Zander. Not much time.
Back in her chair, she wedged the knife under her thigh, blade forward. With a deep breath, she inserted the point under the rope and dragged her wrists back and forth.
The yellow nylon cord parted and fell away.
The knife wouldn’t work against Tait. She tucked it into her jacket pocket and seized a three-legged wooden stool. Too light.
On the monitors, the two men walked through the house, Zander in front. His rigid gait suggested Tait held him at gunpoint.
As soon as Zander stepped into the room, while his body blocked the sight of her empty chair, she’d hit Tait.
There. Against the far wall. A field hockey stick. Dark with age, smooth from use. Straight, with an umbrella-handle U-curve at one end. She grasped it in both fists and took a practice swing in the air.
Yes. She ran for the door and flattened herself against the wall, heart hammering.
Moments later, footsteps rang in the tunnel.
The door opened inward, and Zander stepped through. He paused, blocking the opening. “Someone’s been busy.”
Landon held her breath, poised to strike.
“Move.” Tait’s voice.
Zander jolted as if poked by Tait’s gun. He walked forward with slow, measured steps.
Tait followed.
Lungs bursting, Landon sliced the stick downward at his head. It smacked the back of his neck, knocking him forward.
His arms flailed. The gun went off.
“Zander!”
Zander didn’t need her warning. He’d spun and kicked the weapon out of reach. Flipped Tait onto his back and dropped a knee on his chest before pinning Tait’s free arm.
“Get me the gun.” The words barely penetrated the roaring in her ears.
The compact pistol grip would have fit her palm if she’d been willing to touch it with more than thumb and fingertips. A silencer extended the barrel. Keeping her feet away from Tait’s clutching grasp, she pressed the awkward metal weapon into Zander’s hand. “How did you know?”
“Shaun recognized the SUV leaving the inn. It was at The Ovens the day of the attack. When Tait claimed he was elsewhere.”
The man on the floor cursed. His shoulders heaved as if to throw Zander clear.
The hate in his glare matched the fire in her veins. Safe. She was safe. Tremors swept her body, but her fists clenched, remembering the feel of the polished wood. The satisfaction of striking back.
If Zander hadn’t been here, if she’d had the chance to make the same defensive move… Gaze locked on Tait’s, she swallowed a sob. That first blow was necessary. But on her own, she wouldn’t have stopped. Her hands knew and the sinews in her arms. She’d have kept pounding him where he lay, for herself and for Ciara. Maybe to death.
She choked back a sob.
Zander spoke without taking his eyes off his prisoner. “Landon, go to the main basement and free that supposedly missing dog. I’ll finish here.”
“There’s rope for you to tie him up. I’ll get it.” Thank God Zander was handling this. She hurried back toward the chair.
Grunts erupted behind her. A scuffle. Another gunshot. She whirled with a scream.
Zander straightened to stand over Tait’s bleeding torso.
Tait twitched twice. Then, with a wet rattling rasp, he sagged flatter against the floor tiles.
“No mercy. No escape.” Zander stepped over the body and walked to the monitor station. He placed the gun on the shallow desk. “We may have to leave this room to get a cell signal.”
Landon stared. He’d just ended a man’s life.
Her stomach was a heaving mass.
The body on the floor drew her. She knelt at Tait’s side, hesitant fingers stretching to touch his forehead. The vengeance she’d thought she wanted, feared she’d have taken… meaningless now that a man lay dead. “God—” Words of prayer wouldn’t come, but He knew her heart.
Tait’s hazel eyes had a glassy look. Landon gulped against rising bile.
Zander waited in the doorway. “Don’t waste your effort. He’s gone.”
Dry-mouthed, she focused again on the body and the way it lay, remembering Zander’s posture. If he’d been off-balance in a struggle for the weapon, he wouldn’t have gained his footing so fast. And he’d have been breathing hard.
Muscle by muscle, she pushed to her feet. “You didn’t have to kill him.”
His thin lips set into the sorrowful expression reserved for his most hurting clients, and he spread his palms. “Self-defence. Unfortunate but necessary. He grabbed for the gun.”
In this climate-controlled room, layered in heavy clothing, the sweat she’d built up turned to ice. Shaking, she backed against the nearest display case. To her questing fingers, the case seemed to rock to the same unsteady rhythm.
Zander beckoned, patience in his gaze and a sympathetic smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “The police won’t thank us for delaying. You’re safe now. Let’s go.”
Cold consumed her, froze her in place. “You… executed… him.” As casually as flushing a toilet. With less emotion than swatting a fly.
He stiffened. Took a step toward her.
So her lips worked and her brain didn’t. She needed to play dumb. Get out of here. Let him call the police. Get Dylan or Zerkowsky alone and tell him what she’d seen. “I’m sorry, Zander. You’re right. I—I’ve never seen someone die before.” She forced her feet to walk toward him. Toward the door.
He took her hand, and his head started a slow shake, a small motion back and forth. “Not until we agree on what happened here. We need to talk this through. You need to understand.”
Her lips clamped against the words that wanted to attack him. She understood. One of the most trusted figures in her life had just killed a man in cold blood.
And she was alone with him in a room no one else knew existed.