| |
Sweat dripped as Jake pounded the tennis balls coming at him rapid-fire from the machine. Damned thing was rigged to send a variety of serves, and he’d been running the court for nearly an hour.
Still pissed but less likely to slam a fist into a wall, now. Not that violence was his go-to. But being grossly outnumbered, he was feeling the effects of his Y chromosome.
He liked to be in control. Hell, reveled in it. He was a problem-solver, a rescuer. A man of action, not idleness. He slammed another ball over the net. But he was trained to take orders and Grace was in charge, so he’d take them from her. Didn’t mean he had to like it.
Shoulder muscles gone to rubber, he drove a net ball.
He didn’t like Tara wandering around out there alone. What if she...
Another ball stuck in the net and he nearly pitched the racket after it. Instead, he slapped the switch to shut off the machine, scooped up the balls, and put the full baskets back where he’d found them, then headed for the pool.
Two hours later, he was in a better frame of mind.
Most of the group was already in the meeting room when he arrived. And there was something different in the air. Speculation? Fear?
Tara looked tired and held the sleeping cat against her like a shield.
Samuels was sitting across from her and, silently agreeing with his tactic, Jake chose the chair beside him. They’d both have a good view of Tara’s reactions, as they would of Grace, who flanked her.
Samuels was ready to get things started. “Is Kelton joining us?”
“No.” Logan closed the door, then nodded at Grace, who explained why.
“Kelton’s services won’t be needed. Tara regained her memories this afternoon and will be sharing the details with us in a minute.”
Jake kept his focus on Tara while Grace addressed Samuels. “We’re going to keep this simple. Tara will tell us what happened on the plane and answer a few questions. Then, she needs to rest. You’re bound to have more questions later, so we’ll meet again after breakfast tomorrow.”
Samuels nodded.
Tara cleared her throat and the hand stroking the cat stilled as she told them what she’d remembered. When she’d finished, Samuels began with the questions.
“How exactly did you get inside the crate? And tell us what you believed was going on?”
“I went in through the left hatch door. The horse was going berserk. I needed to get inside and calm him. Get tranq into him if necessary. Had I known he was dying, I wouldn’t have gone near him. Horses fight death. Fight blind and fight hard. Adrenaline makes them even stronger and believe me, they’re strong enough as it is.”
She inhaled deeply, held her breath for long enough to have Samuels leaning toward her, then exhaled slowly. “When I saw what kind of state he was in, I knew I had to get out fast, before he lunged over the front edge of the stall.” She licked her lips. “My eyes had adjusted to the dark by then, so I was able to see quite clearly, watch him as I backed toward the hatch door. That’s when it all went crazy.” She shuddered.
Jake hated that she had to relive it all, but they needed the details, and she needed to get it out or she’d have more than an occasional flashback to deal with.
“I don’t remember anything else until I woke up half under him.” Again she did that breathing thing, long and slow, in and out. Obviously a calming technique.
“My chest hurt and my legs were numb. His neck was slick and wet, but cold.” She put a hand to her face as though still feeling the dampness. “Terrified I’d be there until the plane landed and afraid the landing would shift the carcass and crush me, I screamed for help.”
She glanced at Samuels. “You ever been in a cargo hold? There’s no insulation from the noise of the engines. No one could have heard me and I knew it, but I screamed anyway. Then there was a sound, or maybe I felt some kind of movement or presence. I remember thinking help was coming.” She rubbed a shaky hand over her face.
“Then my head exploded and I woke up however many days later in the hospital.”
In spite of delivering a horrifying tale, she sat quietly. No fussing or fuming or shouting for justice. It was as though she’d accepted what had happened to her and wasn’t surprised to have been targeted by a monster.
Jake had fought the urge to ask questions, to shove back his chair and pace the room. Someone had tried to kill her. Had gone to great effort to see that she died. To make her death look like her own fault for making a rash error in judgment.
This was, of course, what they’d suspected, but the reality of it now couldn’t be ignored. Couldn’t be swept aside for another agenda. Samuels, Interpol, would be all over it. As would Meyers.
The family would be throwing everything they had at this one. Tara’s attacker needed to be found. Brought to justice. And Jake personally wanted, no, needed, ten minutes alone with the sonofabitch.
“Obviously, someone wanted me dead,” said Tara.
Grace put a hand on her arm. “Logan and I are your personal security team. We will guarantee your safety.”
“For how long? What if the person behind this incident isn’t caught? He could find me months or even years from now, and finish the job.”
“Interpol will do everything possible to bring the perpetrators to justice. And it’s quite possible that the horse was the target and you were only collateral damage.”
“I was dumped into a small closed space with a thrashing, dying horse. What part of that suggests I wasn’t meant to be killed? Then I was hit over the head after the horse was dead.”
“Perhaps the perp was coming into the crate, not knowing you were there, and had no choice but to eliminate you or be caught?”
“In my gut, I know I was the target.”
Samuels leaned forward “Why? What makes you think that way? There has to be something.” Elbows on the table, he held his hands out to her, palms up. “Talk to me, Tara, or I can’t fix anything. What do you know? What are you leaving out?”
Her shoulders came up and her nostrils flared, but she said nothing.
“Tara, I can’t help you, can’t guarantee to catch the people if—” Samuels nodded when she stuck her chin out. “Yes, people—plural—because this wasn’t a one-man show. This was a plan conceived, rehearsed, and well-executed by a team of at least two people, possibly more.”
“How can you protect me if you believe there were multiple people involved? How can you be sure you’ll identify all of them?” She glanced at Grace. “I never should have told. I should have kept it to myself.”
“You’d already agreed to undergo hypnosis so your memories could be recovered,” said Samuels.
“I could have lied. Could have told you my memory came back and there was nothing to tell.”
Which is why, thought Jake, they were here now, instead of waiting until tomorrow. If Grace had given her the night to think about it, Tara might have lied. But he didn’t think it would keep her any safer.
“The fact that you’re still alive is a problem for the perps, whether you remember, or lie, or whatever. You’re a loose end, so you’re at risk. Period. Which is why Grace and Logan are going to be your personal security team. They’re the best, and they’ll keep you safe. It’s what they do.”
Tara understood that they really believed they could hide her, protect her. But how many women toted around a one-eyed gray cat? Charlie would always put her at risk because he’d make her stand out, but she would never part with him. Ever. He was her lifeline. She’d have to make sure Grace understood.
She ran both hands over him. No one will separate us.
We would never try. We’ll keep you both safe. I promise. But it would be a whole lot easier if you’d tell us the truth. The whole truth, Tara.
I can’t.
You won’t. I’ve been where you are, so I understand. But having been there, I know you need to tell your secret. Whatever it is will be resolved by its telling.
You’re wrong. I would have to live with it, and I can’t go there, so please don’t ask me.
Tara glanced at Samuels and something in his eyes made her wonder if he knew about Grace’s telepathic abilities, and therefore wondered...
“Tara,” said Logan. “I know you must be twice as tired as the rest of us, and I’m beat. How about we call it a night and meet again in the morning?”
She nodded. “That’s fair. I am about done in.”
“I’ll walk up with you,” said Jake, and a dozen scenarios flitted through her mind. Would he try to kiss her? Did he expect to be invited in? Would she invite him?
“Actually, Logan wants to talk to you, Jake, so I’ll go with Tara,” said Grace.
“I really don’t need an escort to my room,” Tara muttered as she went out the door.
Of course you don’t. But we need to have a private conversation.
Tara kept her thoughts to herself as she strode through several passageways. Once inside her suite, she ignored Grace, set Charlie on the bed and spotted something odd in her peripheral vision.
“What in heavens...” She went into the bathroom and peered inside a bright green doll-sized tent. A litter box. “Is there anything you don’t think of?”
“Oh, something gets by me every now and again. But not much.” Grace grinned. “I thought he should have his privacy.” She chose one of the oversized wingback chairs in front of the fireplace, and looked as though she had no intention of leaving anytime soon.
Tara leaned against the door jamb, trying to appear relaxed. “So, what now?”
“Now, my friend, you’re going to tell me what you’re hiding, and then I’ll tell you how we’re going to protect you.”
Tara tugged on the edges of her sleeves and crossed her arms. “Hiding?”
“You know far more than what you shared with us tonight.” Tara’s eyebrows went up, and Grace continued with a deadpan expression. “For the record, you have no future as a spy. You can’t lie for shit.”
“Nothing I said was a lie.”
“You lied by omission, Tara, and you’ve been doing so since we met.” Grace held up a hand. “I get that you’re scared. There was a time when I was scared too, and yeah, just as pigheaded and shortsighted until someone stepped up and suggested I grow a pair.”
“You know nothing about my life.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. I grew up with a lot of misconceptions, too.”
Skin gone cold, Tara forced words out. “You have no freaking idea what you’re talking about.” She marched to the door and wrenched it open. “I want you to leave.”
Grace didn’t move. Their gazes locked for long seconds, maybe even a full minute, before Tara slammed the door closed. “Fine. Stay. I’ll be in the shower.” She stormed into the bathroom, and twisted the lock on the door.
She would not be manipulated by these people. She’d managed to live her life just fine until they’d showed up. Meeting her own glance in the mirror, she shrugged. Up until Paris, at least.
Gripping the edge of the counter, she stared at her face. She’d seen that haunted look before. Recognized the same green and yellow of fading bruises. She hadn’t talked then. And look where she was now. Would the third time be the charm for her? Or would the tables turn in his favor?
Did she dare push Grace and the others away?
She sat on the edge of the tub, dropped her face into her palms and imagined her mother’s hand on her head. Stroking. Soothing. “What would you do, Mama?” she whispered.
You need a bit of starch for your backbone, sweetie.
Tara jerked upright, eyes wide and staring at the emptiness of the room. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard her mom when she’d needed her, but it didn’t make the experience any less startling.
Tara sighed. Maybe she was tired of living under the radar—of hiding out simply by living an unremarkable life. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a spine. Hell, she was strong to a fault. Except when it came to this one facet of her life.
Tara gritted her teeth and opened the door. Grace hadn’t moved, but Charlie—apparently showing his support for the other side—had curled up on her lap.
Traitor.
She caught the twitch of Grace’s mouth and reminded herself not to speak internally unless she wanted her thoughts broadcast to who knew how many others.
“If a man has already gotten away with murder, will Meyers and Interpol be able to put him behind bars?” Tara asked. “Will you be able to protect me from him indefinitely if he can’t be convicted?”
Grace leaned forward. “We’re not only good, Tara, we’re the best. We have secret weapons and ways of obtaining information. We’ve taken down human traffickers no one else could even identify. We’ve kept people safe from the worst criminals, and yes, even those branded worse than evil. If you come clean with me, I’ll guard you with my life.”
Tara understood how easy it would be to believe she was safe here. She’d seen the perimeter wall, had a glimpse inside the control room where dozens of screens lined the walls with views from security cameras. The place was a fortress, but how long could she stay here?
“I’ll want to keep my job. Travel.”
Grace inclined her head. “You will be on medical leave indefinitely so that we can keep you safe. Once the perp is secure, you’ll be free to do as you please.”
“Will I have to stay here in the meantime?”
“That will depend upon the investigation, but for now, yes.”
She and Charlie would be staying put. She’d keep him safe, he’d keep her sane. “In the morning. I’ll tell everyone the whole ugly story tomorrow.”
“You’ll be awake all night thinking about it. Why not do it now and get it over with?”
“The others might’ve gone to bed.”
Grace smiled. “They’re on their way now.”
Of course. Head, desk. Grace would’ve been in contact with Logan telepathically the whole time. “Is anything I say to you ever private?”
“Rarely,” said Grace. “For your safety, I will always keep Logan informed. And for the record—in the interest of disclosure—Logan kept both Samuels and Jake in the meeting room in the hope you would decide to talk.”
“More like, you’d convince me to talk.”
“Fair enough. Is that a problem?”
Tara shrugged. “I suppose not. But it’s good to know for future reference.”
Grace passed Charlie to her and opened the door for the men who filed in silently as though they’d been told not to speak. Once they’d all taken seats in her sitting room, Grace made an announcement.
“Tara has agreed to share the information she has about the person she believes is behind the attack.”
Without giving herself a chance to hesitate, Tara dove into the story. “When I was fifteen, my mother died in a plane crash. A man calling himself Butch, showed up at her funeral and told me he’d met my mom when she was at the races in Vancouver. They’d talked about his breeding farm, and she’d decided I could spend the summer with him, prepping horses for the yearling sale.” She went to the window, now black with night, and wished she was out there in the dark instead of in this brightly lit room filled with virtual strangers all wanting to know what was private. Hers. Hers alone.
“My dad and I didn’t talk much. We were both grieving and didn’t know how to deal with each other. So, a few months later, I ran off to Butch’s farm without telling Stan. Then, when things didn’t go as I’d expected, I didn’t know what to do.” Could she make them understand what it had been like? Did she want to? She spun around and locked gazes with Grace.
“Butch had a mean streak. He beat horses mercilessly, and when he nearly killed one, I stood up to him. Told him I’d report him to the police. He laughed, said he was somebody, and no snotty-nosed little bitch was going to ruin things for him.” Remembering the evil in his laugh, Tara shuddered.
“I—I caught him switching the ID on foals. Witnessed him killing a foal and giving its mother a different mare’s baby. There was more. Other things. The night I took off, I believe he intended to kill me.” She clamped her hands together to still their shaking.
“What happened?” Logan’s voice was low and compelling.
“There was a colt I called Chewy. He was the one Butch put on a mare whose baby had jumped over the stall door and broken his neck. I never quite believed that story, but I can’t prove anything.” She’d seen the look on the bastard’s face that day and she’d known.
“Anyway, Chewy got his name because he’d gnaw on almost anything, my braids, other colts’ tails, their halters. He was always getting into trouble. He chewed Butch’s coat one day when it had been left over a gate. Ruined it. And Butch went ballistic. He used a chain shank on him, put it in his mouth and—”
She shook her head, shoved the visual away. “When I tried to intervene, he backhanded me, then picked me up like I weighed nothing, and threw me against the wall, screaming at me to get the fuck away from him. I ran. Hid in the farthest field, in the trees by a creek. Waited until dark because when he flipped out, he usually took off and stayed out most of the night. And when I finally saw headlights barreling down the driveway, I crept back to the barn.” She fought the lump in her throat, and swiped tears with the back of her hand.
“Chewy was still standing in the cross ties in the middle of the barn. Blood dripped from his torn mouth, foam had dried and matted his coat, and his eyes were swollen shut.” She’d never forgiven herself for running away instead of trying to make Butch stop.
“I fixed him up as best I could, gave him pain killer and tried to give him water. He couldn’t drink because his tongue was nearly torn off. I led him out to the field and let him go, hoping he’d still be alive in the morning. I thought Butch would be cooled off by then because that was his norm. He’d stay away all night then come home while I was doing morning chores, and he’d be all happy as though nothing had happened the day before.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.
“This time was different. I was in my room with Charlie—the barn kitten I wasn’t supposed to take indoors—when Butch came home around midnight and stormed into my room bellowing at me for moving the colt. He slapped me and I screamed which made him even angrier. He started yelling at me to shut up or he’d shut me up, and that’s when he grabbed me by the throat, and I couldn’t breathe.
“Charlie leaped at Butch’s face and must have swiped a claw into his eye because blood spurted, and he let me go to grab Charlie and throttle him before drop-kicking him under the bed. Then he raced out and took off in his truck again. Presumably to get his eye fixed.”
She glanced over at the cat. “Charlie saved my life that night, and when I dug him out from under the bed, he was still breathing, but barely. I stuffed him inside my shirt and bolted. I was afraid to go on the road for fear Butch would see me, so I went through the fields.” Through ditches, bushes, and across roads. For miles she’d run, all the while begging the tiny kitten not to give up.
“By the time I got to the vet clinic, Doc couldn’t save Charlie’s eye, and wasn’t even sure he would live. I sat with him in my lap all night, keeping him warm and willing him to survive.” Her head ached now, and she pressed her thumbs into the pain above her eyes.
“Stan came to get me the next day. I must’ve given Doc his phone number. I got home and never looked back.”
“And since then, have you seen Butch?” asked Grace.
“We’ve crossed paths twice. Both times he told me the only reason I was still breathing was because I’d kept my mouth shut.”
“How much does your stepfather know?”
“Only about the beating Butch gave me and...” She sat beside the cat and stroked a hand over him. “And Charlie.”
“The kitten you’d smuggled into your room,” said Grace.
Tara nodded. “Used up a couple of his lives that night, and saved mine.”
Silence hung in the room for a beat or two. Mr. Interpol, Samuels, was the first to speak, and bless him, it wasn’t to question what she had or hadn’t done. “To clarify, Butch was switching horses and falsely registering Thoroughbreds?”
“Correct.”
“He also abused animals and a child. Anything else?” He watched her face as though trying to see through her skin and into her mind.
“His girlfriend disappeared. They’d had a fight one night. They fought a lot. I fell asleep when it got quiet, and in the morning, they were both gone, but she didn’t take her purse. It was still in the cabinet by the door where she stashed it. But all her clothes were gone.”
“Do you know Butch’s last name?”
“I know he’s currently going by the name, Thomas Brady.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?” said Samuels.
“No.”
“Tara.” Logan’s voice was low and compelling.
She stared him down. “I will not be manipulated by your words or your voice. I won’t relive what he did to me, what I saw, what I tolerated. I gave up my power once and it will not happen again. Ever.”
Part Three