Nemesis (Southern Comfort) (38 page)

This was payback, pure and simple, for thwarting his carefully-laid scheme.

The dark hole of the vehicle’s cargo area was revealed like a gaping and avaricious mouth. Sadie focused all her will toward resisting becoming its next unwilling meal. She managed to lift the forefinger on her left hand.

Sadly, as far as gestures of rebellion went, it lacked something in presentation.

             
“Here we go,” Brady murmured, dropping her like a sack of potatoes. Then he contradicted the abrupt gesture by patting her on the cheek.  The surface beneath her shifted and crinkled when he began trussing her contorted limbs, and Sadie underwent the nauseating realization that he’d prepared the area with a sheet of plastic. 

No doubt to facilitate cleanup when it came time to dispose of her body.

Unwilling tears filled Sadie’s eyes, distorting her already impaired vision.  She really didn’t want to die.  Especially not now, when she was just getting her life back together.  An image of Dec flashed through her mind, and…

“Get your hands where I can see them and step away from the vehicle.”

They both froze at the unexpected command coming from directly behind Brady, and the hands poised above her ankles stilled their nefarious business.  Sadie’s eyes popped, hope and relief drying her tears as she recognized the voice of the patrolman who’d been eavesdropping on her earlier.  Thank God for nosy cops.  

Brady’s mouth twisted, the heat of rage suffusing his face. For a moment Sadie thought he might simply snap her neck and be done with it.  But the cool calculation that came into his eyes was more frightening than his anger.

With dawning horror she watched him slide the hypodermic he’d used earlier until it was hidden in the sleeve of his shirt.

Then he favored Sadie with a jaunty wink.

“I… I’m not armed, officer,” he stammered while his hands went up as instructed.  Then he schooled his features into a supplicant’s mask and allowed those hands to tremble.  “Don’t shoot, okay?  I’m fixin’ to turn around.”

He shifted and Sadie got a glimpse of the cop, his youthful face both stern and excited.  The brown eyes flickering wildly proved he hadn’t yet learned to keep his emotions from showing on his face.  He was nervous, and a little scared, but beyond that was cocky enthusiasm. Like a kid who’d stepped up to the plate for the first time and knocked one out of the park. 

The cops in three counties were looking for this man, and he was the one who had him.

If Sadie’s vocal cords had been willing to cooperate she would have screamed an angry warning.  Because unless she missed her bet, Brady was going to eat this kid for lunch.

Please call for backup, she silently implored when those inexperienced eyes flicked her way.  Please God, if you haven’t done so already, get on your radio right now.

“On the ground, face down” he ordered, his stance precision perfect even if the gun did shake in his hand.  And he watched, eagle-eyed and itchy with the trigger while Brady blubbered and rushed to comply.  One cowed
sociopath.

Sadie’s throat ached with the need to cry foul.

While Brady was pretending to prostrate himself, the cop’s gaze worked its way back to Sadie.  “You okay, ma’am?”

He grew visibly alarmed when she didn’t answer.

Sadie blinked, her own eyes straying toward Brady, and the young man tracked her stare.  He apparently assumed she was so frightened that she’d frozen like a cornered animal.

“Don’t you worry about him, ma’am, I’ve got him under control.  Hands on your head!” he barked, in a demonstration of his authority.  Then he began to pat Brady’s ankles down while carefully keeping his own gun trained.

“Your, uh, boyfriend was worried,” the cop told Sadie, perhaps to help her calm.  “Would have probably tried to come down himself if his dad hadn’t physically restrained him.  Good thing he was jealous of your, uh, other friend or I might have missed Mr. Marshall here.”

Pay attention, Sadie wanted to tell him.  But his excitement was overriding his sense, Brady’s possum act lulling him into a false sense of security.  Just like Brady wanted it to.  And which a seasoned cop would have known better than to trust.  But this kid was so new, he practically had a smell.

And like blood, Brady had scented it.

Sadie watched the cop work toward Brady’s head with growing trepidation.

Please, she thought again.  Please say you stopped to consider backup.  Hospital security, at the least.

But the vibratory hum of the security lights kicking on in the parking lot was the only sound that disturbed the chill night air.   No radios, no other voices.  No sirens growing louder in the distance.

Brady tilted his head slightly and looked up from his position on the pavement.  Sadie knew he was listening, too.  She saw the corner of his mouth kick up moments before he struck.

The gun went off, but it missed its mark as Brady deflected it by grabbing the cop’s arm.  With the other hand he plunged the air-filled syringe into the vicinity of the young man’s neck.

He went down like he’d been unplugged.

No, Sadie thought, heart rending.  Both for herself and for that poor baby-faced cop.

Tears began to course again, much more freely than before, as she helplessly watched Brady struggle to heft the dead man from the ground.

“This,” he told her, depositing the still-warm body in the truck beside her, “is why I found my brother so damn useful.  He may have been dumb as a brick, but at least he was really strong.”

With a huff he shoved the body toward her and everything decent in Sadie recoiled.  She closed her eyes, desperate to move away, but her body was no longer under her command.  The heat and the sweat of battle still clung to the flesh that had so recently housed a young man’s soul.  It invaded her nostrils, smothered her, until her throat closed in on itself in panic.

Brady reached over the cop’s body to readjust the angle of her head.

“Can’t have you suffocating,” he said evenly.  As if the murder he’d just committed had calmed him down. “And can’t have any dead bodies lying around to attract attention.”

Following another pat for her head, he hurriedly closed them in.  Though they were at the very back end of the parking lot, that gunshot had to have attracted some of the attention he wanted to avoid, so the bastard was in an obvious rush.  Hopefully someone had heard something.

Hopefully.

The vehicle’s engine turned over and from across the distance of two rows of seats Sadie could hear her abductor whistling.  Happy as a homicidal clam.

He’d shown no emotion whatsoever when discussing his dearly departed brother, nothing other than mild… enjoyment when he’d killed the cop.  Bainbridge. Sadie committed the unusual name to memory as she strained her eyes to read the kid’s nametag.  Officer Bainbridge.  It seemed important that she know that.

From behind Sadie, toward the middle of the truck, another muffled noise emerged over the disturbing whistling. And unless her ears were playing tricks on her, it sounded like a man’s low moan.

“Uh-oh,” Brady chirped, downright chipper in the driver’s seat. “Sounds like somebody’s waking up.”

Sadie’s heart squeezed painfully.  Not again, she thought frantically, a hundred different nightmare scenarios flashing before her.  Surely the bastard hadn’t found a way to kidnap Declan right out of his hospital room. 

But the reality was somehow worse.

“Since your other lover-boy was inconveniently indisposed, I thought you’d like another playmate to keep you company.  This one has better taste in clothes.”  The comment was off-hand.  The cruelty premeditated.  “You think I’d look good in those fancy loafers?”

When Sadie managed a small cry, Brady’s whistling turned to laughter, and the sheer wickedness chilled her blood.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, and the whistling resumed, and all Sadie could think was
Rick
.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“DAD
, I really don’t want to hurt you, but I swear I’m going to if you don’t get out of my way.”

Patrick Murphy looked his youngest child in the eye and very calmly told him “I don’t think so.”

“Dad…”

“Now Declan, I know you’re upset, but it’s not your place to interfere.”

“I’m going to marry her,” he said, all wild-eyed challenge.  Saying it out loud made his tongue feel like it had been dragged through sawdust.  “That makes wherever she is my place.”

Patrick’s grin practically split his freckled face in half. “I know that, son. Hell, your mother and I practically started planning the wedding when you were still kids.”

At the mention of his mother Declan looked for some sign of pain, of reproach, but saw only fond remembrance from his father.  And was humbled, once again.

Patrick gave his arm a squeeze.  “Only surprising thing is how long you two took to get with the program.  Of course, given the fact that you’ve had most of the country between you for the
better part of the past fifteen years, I guess I can cut you a little slack.  But despite all the understandable possessiveness you’re feeling just now, you need to back off and let Sadie handle this on her own.  She’s not going to appreciate your acting like an idiot.”  He steered Declan back toward the bed.

“She’s used to me acting like an idiot,” he countered, and tried to execute some evasive maneuvers.  His old man was built like a tank, but he was quick on his feet.  Declan got exactly nowhere for all his efforts.  Stupid drugs.  Stupid ribs. 

He found his butt planted on the scratchy sheets.

“In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a bigger picture here besides her shaking off that asshole.  Marshall’s out there, Dad.  And I’m telling you, he’s not going to forget Sadie.”

“I know, Declan.” His tone grew sober.  “And that’s why I asked that young policeman to go look out for her.  Besides that, every cop around is on his trail, and he’d have to be pretty damn stupid to try anything here.  He’s probably halfway to Mexico by now.”

Declan snorted his disbelief.  “That young policemen is probably videotaping Sadie and Tweed Boy as we speak, planning to put it up later on YouTube.”  But he felt the uneasiness settle over him again.  “She’s been gone for forty-five minutes, Dad.  How long does it take to tell the jerk to get lost?”

“What jerk?” a new voice piped in, and Dec peered around his father’s bulk to see Rogan’s girlfriend walking in.  Followed closely by Rogan.  His brother looked pale, and worried, and something else that Dec wasn’t sure he could identify. He remembered how it had felt for him when their situations were reversed.  When Rogan had been the one in the hospital bed.

It had been like… a fear of losing half of his own damn soul.  Like something necessary to his being had been threatened.

Their eyes met, and understanding flashed between them.

Understanding that they hadn’t shared in years.

Declan’s throat worked as he struggled to voice an answer to Kim’s question.

“Sadie’s ex made an appearance,” his dad stepped in and explained for him.  Then he made his way purposely across the room and took Rogan into his arms.  There was a lot of back-patting and murmured whispers.  His dad’s eyes squeezed in obvious relief.

Something had obviously happened.  But they’d kept Dec out of the loop.

Resentment ignited a nasty spark inside his already aching chest.

But one look at Kim’s face, and the tiny flame was smothered.  Her expression clearly stated that she knew the direction his thoughts had taken.  And that he didn’t understand anything at all.  Probably true, given he’d spent the better part of his adult life pushing his family away.  So if there were things he was left out of, he guessed he was mostly at fault.

There were a lot of bridges to repair, as far as his family went, and most of the manual labor by rights fell to him.  He was the one who’d burned them in the first place.

And they were all here for him now, loving him more than he deserved, so he’d just have to get over himself and stop pouting.

Except for when it came to Sadie.  He was pouting about Tweed Boy a lot.

Uptight, self-important bastard.

He should have broken his nose, and then they’d see who looked more masculine in a gown.

And just because he trusted Sadie didn’t mean he had to trust that jerk one bit.

He was deep in his own jealousy when a muffled noise reached him through the window.  “What was that?” he asked, heart skipping a beat at the sharp report.

Looking puzzled, Patrick stepped toward the glass.  “Probably a car back-firing.” He peered out into the rapidly darkening night.  But there was a palmetto tree in front of the window.  Beyond its fan-shaped fronds, the view was totally obscured.

Declan’s gaze shot immediately to Kim.  Whose hand rested on top of her holstered weapon.

And in her eyes he saw the flash of recognition that had sent his own instincts into overdrive. 

He’d heard a gun being fired far too recently to ever mistake the sound.