Running Wilde (14 page)

“Yes, it is. Because if you don’t bring her to me, your twin dies.”

“How do I know he’s not already dead?” Voicing the question was like coughing up broken glass. So painful, his eyes started to water. Cam had to be alive. He would know otherwise, wouldn’t he?

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone, then a grunt of pain. “Vaughn…”

He sank to the edge of the bed at the raw sound of Cam’s voice. Bile burned up his throat. “Bro, I’m coming for you, okay?”

Silence.

“Camden!”

Bellisario returned. “You have twenty-four hours to get back to DC and hand Dahlia over.”

“That—” He swallowed down the fear, the rage. There would be time for that later. Right now, he had to think. “That’s not enough time, Bellisario. It will take at least half that to drive back to DC.”

“Then you’d better drive fast, huh? Twenty-four hours.”

He exhaled hard as the line went dead. Okay, he had to think. He’d been in plenty of hostage situations before—only he was always the guy busting in behind a flash-bang to solve the situation with an assault rifle. He was never the hostage’s family, and he had no idea what went on during the negotiation part.

Panic threatened to overtake him, but he beat it back by sheer force of will. His first instinct was to call his oldest brother. Greer would know what to do—but even as he dialed, he knew he wouldn’t get a response. Greer had dropped off the radar weeks ago.

And… yeah, he got nothing but Greer’s voicemail and his terse voice ordering, “Leave a message.”

He thought about it for a half second, but what was the point? Even if Greer was in a position to check his messages, he wasn’t going to make it back to DC in time.

He hung up. Tapped the phone against his hand a couple times. Who else could he—

Marcus Deangelo.

He started scrolling through his contacts, searching for the former FBI agent’s number, when the unmistakable sensation of a gun barrel pressed against his spine. He froze.

“Drop the phone,” Dahlia said, her voice shaking. “And lock your hands behind your head.”

He did as she asked, slowly lifting his hands and interlacing his fingers. The phone bounced off the end of the bed and landed somewhere on the floor by his feet. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t go back. I-I can’t. Where are your car keys?”

“On the dresser by my wallet.”

“Don’t move.”

The gun left his back, and he heard the clatter of his keys against wood as she picked them up, then the door creaked open. He dropped his hands and turned to face her. She was backing out the door, his keys and wallet in one hand and his own fucking gun in the other.

He took a step forward. “Dahlia—”

“Don’t move!” She raised the gun again. “I mean it, Vaughn.”

Betrayal coated his tongue, hot and bitter. “What? You going to shoot me?”

“I will, but please don’t make me.”

Goddammit, he believed her. She was shaking all over, tears streaming down her face, but she held the gun steady.

He lifted his hands again. “Dahlia, listen to me—”

“No! You can’t convince me to go back. Do you have any idea what Giuseppe does to the people who cross him? He breaks every bone in their body. If they pass out, he injects them with a stimulant to wake them up, then tortures them—slowly. And that’s just business to him.” She choked on a sob, and the gun wobbled in her hand. “So what do you think he’ll do to the woman who killed his son?”

Her fear was so real, so palpable, it was like a living, breathing thing in the room between them. She was breaking his heart, cracking it wide open. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise you’ll be safe, but I need your help. If you run now, he’ll kill Cam, and then he’ll still come after you. I know you’re scared, but we can end this, Dahlia.” He risked another step forward, slowly reaching a hand toward the gun so as not to spook her any more than she already was. “You just need to trust me. Please.”

Tears continued to flow. She shook her head. “No. I learned a long time ago not to trust anyone. I’m sorry, Vaughn.”

She raised the gun again and fired.

Chapter Sixteen

Vaughn hit the floor and rolled behind the bed, but the bullet never even came close to him. It shattered the bedside lamp and sent ceramic flying like shrapnel. One piece sliced across his forearm, but that was nothing compared to the wound he could have ended up with if she’d been aiming. She had been at point-blank range. There was no way she should have missed him…unless she hadn’t been aiming for him at all.

He sneaked a peek around the edge of the bed and saw that she was gone, the motel room’s door hanging o
pen. Already he heard the sirens of an approaching police car. Fastest response time in the South, he thought bitterly.

Frustrated, he sat up against the wall and assaulted his scalp with both hands. He should’ve realized she’d pull a stunt like this. Should have known she’d run again—but when it came to that woman, his judgement was clouded. Always had been. He’d wanted her to be more than the coward she’d seemed, but he was wrong. Points to her—it wasn’t often he so thoroughly misjudged a person.

He noticed his phone under the bed and reached for it. Marcus’s name was still highlighted on the screen, so he hit the call button and leaned his head back against the wall.

“Dude,” Marcus said in greeting. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I know why Sage looked so familiar. She’s—”

“Dahlia Bellisario,” Vaughn finished in tune with him, then added, “Yeah, I know. She told me.”

“She told you?” A pause. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“No.” He gave Marcus the Cliff’s Notes version, and by the time he was done, the former FBI agent was cursing, succinctly summing up Vaughn’s feelings about the whole clusterfuck. “I’m currently sitting here in a motel room without a car, my gun, or my wallet, and I have twenty-four hours to get home or a sociopath is going to torture my brother. So, no, everything is not okay. I don’t suppose HORNET is up for a hostage rescue mission?”

“We would be if everyone wasn’t on leave,” Marcus said and swore again. “It’ll take too long to round them all up and get them to DC.”

Vaughn rubbed at his eye as a headache drilled into his skull behind it. “That figures.”

A beat passed in silence. “Okay, dude,” Marcus said finally. “Get your ass to the nearest airport and call me with the location. I will pull every string, call in every favor I owe, and have a plane there to pick you up. With or without Dahlia, we’ll get your brother home.”

…

The first exit to Atlanta was only a mile away, but Dahlia didn’t take her foot off the gas. Dammit, her tears wouldn’t stop. As much as she tried wiping them away, they just kept flowing, pouring down her face, blurring her vision. She probably shouldn’t be driving in this state of emotional upheaval, but like her tears, she couldn’t seem to stop.

She’d known, as soon as Vaughn demanded where his brother was, she’d known it was Giuseppe on the other end of the line and not Cam. She’d also known in that second what Vaughn would ask her
to do and sheer, cold terror had propelled her off the bed.

She didn’t remember grabbing his gun, hadn’t consciously plotted an escape—she’d been operating in adrenaline-fueled flight mode. How could he ask her to walk in to the lion’s den when she’d spent the last five years of her life running terrified of that very beast?

I won’t let anything happen to you.

She wanted to believe him, she did. But if it came down to a choice between her and his twin, he was going to choose his brother. She couldn’t fault him for it—it was what anybody would do in his situation—but because of that, she couldn’t trust him to keep her safe. She’d learned a long time ago if she didn’t look out for herself, nobody else was going to.

The exit zoomed by.

Shit. She wasn’t paying attention. She swiped at her face with her sleeve and told herself she’d catch the next one.

We can end this, Dahlia.

No. Didn’t he understand there was no “we” in this situation? There had never been a “we” when it came to them. There was only her, always only her. She’d been alone her entire life. Even when she was married, she’d felt adrift on her own little island—cut off from her peers, who were all going to college, floating along the outermost ring of the Bellisario family, who never quite accepted her as one of their own. Always alone. A few rounds of good sex and some tender words from Vaughn weren’t going to change that.

Another exit passed. She still didn’t slow down. There were plenty more.

She was the only one who could end this—she knew it, but she wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t brave enough. She wasn’t a skilled warrior like Vaughn, with heroism pumping through her veins instead of blood. Despite everything, she was still nothing more than that selfish seventeen-year-old girl, so alone and desperate to be loved.

You just need to trust me.

The look of anguish in Vaughn’s eyes, the stark betrayal as she held the gun on him…she didn’t think she’d ever forget how horrible she’d felt in that instant. It had hurt like a knife twisting in her belly. It still hurt, as if she’d not only left the knife in place, but had shoved it deeper.

It was better this way. Vaughn would rescue his brother—of that, she had no doubt. But if she stayed, if she got involved, Cam would die. Vaughn would die. Once Giuseppe had her, he wasn’t going to let the twins walk away from this. It would end in bloodshed for everyone.

Another two exits, gone.

God, she was such a coward.

She’d told Vaughn she was tired of running, but here she was running again, hard and fast with her tail tucked firmly between her legs.

Atlanta was in her rearview mirror, and she was starting to see signs for Charlotte. Beyond Charlotte would be Richmond. Then Washington, DC, where Vaughn would be negotiating for his brother’s life without her as a bargaining chip.

Oh, shit.

Sick to her stomach, she slowed the car to the shoulder of the highway in front of an “emergency stopping only” sign and switched on her blinkers. She sat there for a long moment, letting tears fall as she gathered her courage.

She could do this. She
had
to do this.

For Vaughn. It might end in bloodshed, but if it did, she couldn’t leave him to face it alone.

With a shaking hand, she reset the GPS to take her to DC.

Chapter Seventeen

Vaugh
n arrived back in DC exhausted, aching from head to toe, and heartsick—but in record time thanks to Marcus. And he wasn’t at all surprised to see the man waiting for him on the tarmac as he descended the steps of the private jet that had picked him up at a small airport outside of Atlanta.

“Nice jet.” Vaughn tried for a smile. It felt like a lie, though, so he gave up on it.

“Not mine,” Marcus said. “The money working for HORNET is good, but not that good.”

“Tucker Quentin’s?”

“Who else?”

Vaughn nodded. If there was a pile of shit, the billionaire who had formed HORNET and who now funded Wilde Security had no problem jumping knee-deep into it. He often wondered if Quentin got off on danger. Why else would the man stay in the shadowy world of mercs and dirty wars? If Vaughn was worth billions, he sure as fuck wouldn’t be running around playing mercenary.

Or, no, that was probably a lie. He could see the appeal since he got off on danger, too—just not the kind of danger that hurt his brothers. And he was an ass for mentally bashing the guy who had provided him transpo back to DC.

“You look like shit,” Marcus said as they walked toward a car waiting by the hangar. “You okay?”

“One of the most brutal mafia bosses in recent history is holding my brother hostage. You think I’m okay?”

“Yeah, stupid question.” Marcus winced and opened the driver’s side door, but he paused before climbing in and gazed out over the top of the car. “But, Vaughn?” His expression turned as serious as Vaughn had ever seen it. Marcus was usually a joker, a laid-back, go-with-the-flow type of guy with an affinity for fedoras and an inclination toward surfer-speak—but in that moment, Vaughn saw a core of steel, the warrior he hid so well behind a panty-dropping smile. “We’re going to take Bellisario down.”

Vaughn studied him. “You have history.”

He shook his head slightly and climbed into the car. “You could say that.”

Forty torturous minutes later, Marcus steered the rental car into the parking lot of the strip mall that contained Wilde Security. Reece had bought the old mall on the cheap several years ago because—well, Vaughn was pretty sure his second oldest brother was a genius when it came to making money. Reece had seen the flood of young professionals and budding families pushing eastward looking for cheaper rent, knew the influx of money would clean up the formerly rough area, and now the brothers owned a prime piece of real estate.

But while the Wilde Security office and the empty stores surrounding it were no longer boarded up and covered with graffiti, the building was still the lone shabby holdout among a gaggle of shiny new shopping centers and apartment complexes. Reece was doing his best to rehab the old stores into rentable spaces, starting with the space directly next door to their office, which had recently opened as a coffee shop owned and operated by Reece’s wife, Shelby.

The shop was currently doing a steady stream of business—which was great, except that it left parking at a premium.

Marcus whistled as they cruised the lot, looking for a space. “You guys have made some big improvements since the last time I was here.”

“Yeah, that’s Shelby’s new place. The Bean Gallery.”

“Looks like she does good business.”

“She does. She has a head for it.” Looking back, it wasn’t such a stretch that the vibrant splash of color that was Shelby Bremer had ended up with uptight, repressed Reece. They were at opposite ends of the spectrum, the two of them, but it was the same spectrum. They both had an eye for business and a talent for making money, and they were both total nerds.

Vaughn grumbled, impatient as they circled the lot again. “This parking situation is getting annoying, though. Cam’s been telling us we need to put signs up to reserve our spaces.” It was supposed to be a casual remark, just small talk, but saying his twin’s name sent a spear of agony through him.

Jesus, he hoped Cam was holding up.

“Hey, we’ll get him back,” Marcus said and finally snagged a spot directly in front of The Bean Gallery.

As Vaughn climbed out of the car, he caught sight of Shelby through the front window—her hair was bright pink this week, so she wasn’t hard to miss. She stood behind the espresso machine fixing a drink, but when she spotted him, she passed the task to one of her baristas. She flew across the shop, shoved open the door.

“Vaughn!” She threw her arms around him and squeezed hard enough that his bruised ribs protested. “Oh, God. We’re going crazy here. Reece told me to keep working like everything was normal, but I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she squeezed him again. “Libby’s sick with worry, which can’t be good for the baby. Eva’s scared out of her mind—which, you know her, means she’s pissed off at everybody. Reece and Jude have had a hell of a time talking her down from launching a full scale assault.”

Yeah, that sounded like Eva.

Vaughn gave himself a second to hug his sister-in-law, to draw strength from his family. Then he set her back at arm’s length and met her gaze. “Shel, listen. Reece is right. We’re probably being watched so you should carry on as if nothing—”

“Uh-uh.” She shrugged away from him and held up a finger, pushing it into his face as if daring him to argue. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m closing down for the rest of the day. I’ve already told the customers we have a family emergency. Seriously, how can you guys expect me to pretend everything is a-okay when Cam’s in trouble? He’s my family now, too, and I love him just as much as you do.” She nodded, a gesture that very much tacked on a
so there
to the end of her sentence, then marched back into the coffee shop, pink ponytail swinging.

Marcus snorted. “Man. I like her. You Wilde boys sure know how to pick them.”

Yeah, all of his sisters-in-law were pretty great. His brothers had good taste. Him, not so much. Of course he’d be the one to go and fall for the selfish femme fatale-type.

Jesus. The more he thought about how Dahlia had threatened him with his own weapon, how she’d run when he’d most needed her help, the more pissed off he became.

Yeah. He sure knew how to pick them.

He strode into Wilde Security and found Eva pacing laps around the three desks lined up in the main part of the office. She was pale and looked shocky to his trained eye. She kept rubbing the band of her wedding ring like it was a magic lamp, but no genie was going to pop out to solve their problem. Reece sat at Vaughn’s desk, frantically typing on a laptop. Jude bounced back and forth between keeping Eva calm and comforting his wife Libby, who sat behind his desk and looked as if she had been crying for hours. Apparently fear and pregnancy hormones made for a volatile mix.

Reece looked up when the little bell over the door signaled Vaughn and Marcus’s entrance. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of Greer since you called. Nothing but voicemail.”

“Yeah, I tried him, too,” Vaughn said. “Same thing.”

Jude straightened away from his wife and a rare flash of true anger darkened his eyes to navy. “Where the fuck is he? He should be here with us.”

“That’s the thing—he’s always been here with us,” Reece said. “His entire life has revolved around us. Wherever he is now, whatever he’s doing, it’s something he needs, and we have to respect it.”

“So he’s on some kind of Kumbaya self-discovery trip?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. The last time I talked to him, he only said there was something he needed to do and he’d be out of contact for a while.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that!” Jude exploded, and Libby pushed out of her chair to wrap her arms around his waist. He hugged her back with one arm, but it didn’t cool his anger. “Right now, we need him more. Cam’s in serious trouble.” He poked his desk with his pointer finger, punctuating each word: “Greer. Should. Be. Here.”

Reece held up his hands. “I’m not arguing with you, Jude. I’m just…making a point.”

“Yo, guys.” Marcus walked to the center of the room and held up his hands as if he was wrangling raptors. “C’mon, sniping at each other is not going to help.” He turned to Reece. “What do we know so far?”

Reece sighed and sat back. Rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I’ve been going through Bellisario’s real estate holdings trying to determine the place he’d most likely hide Cam, but the list is extensive. It’ll take me hours to go through it all, if not days.”

“Time we don’t have,” Vaughn said.

Reece looked at him, features set in grim lines. “Exactly. And this list doesn’t include any real estate he has under aliases. That will take me even more time to dig up.”

“Okay.” Marcus nodded to the laptop. “Reece, you any good on that thing?”

“I know a trick or two.”

That was the understatement of the century. If it had a motherboard, Reece could make it his bitch.

“Good,” Marcus said. “Vaughn, give Reece your phone. Bellisario’s going to call with further instructions, and we need all the information we can get from the call when he does. It’s the best chance we have of tracking Cam.”

Vaughn dug the phone out of his pocket, slapped it into Reece’s hand. “Work your magic, bro.”

“Yeah, if only it was magic.” Reece scowled at the cracked screen. “What the hell did you do to this, use it as a hockey puck? It’s a beautiful piece of technology, and you abuse it like—”

Vaughn glowered at him.

Reece gave a pained sigh and connected the phone to his laptop with a cable. “When this is over, all of you are getting a lecture on how to take proper care of your phones. I’m tired of fixing them,” he muttered, then hunched over the keyboard and disappeared into his task in the way only a computer geek could—physically present, but mentally entrenched in the virtual world.

Eva finally stopped pacing. “So what happens once we know Cam’s location? We send in MPD? I can call my partner and have him mobilize—”

“No, we don’t want to involve the police.” A shadow crossed over Marcus’s expression. “Believe me, if Bellisario catches even the faintest whiff of MPD, he’ll cut his losses, and we’ll find Cam in the Potomac.”

“Then the bastard shouldn’t have abducted a former MPD detective who is married to a current one,” Eva snapped. “Bellisario had to know he’d have the whole of DC’s police force gunning for him.”

As she spoke, Vaughn watched Marcus’s jaw tighten. The shadow in his eyes got a little darker, a little deeper. Shit. Marcus wasn’t just talking hypotheticals here. “You’re speaking from experience.”

Marcus exhaled hard, and a weight seemed to settle around his shoulders, making them slump. “Yeah. Far more experience than I’d like. Trust me on this, Eva. We don’t want MPD involved.”

“Oh God.” She hugged herself, bent double. “I just want my husband back. Please. I just want him back.”

Under normal circumstances, Vaughn wasn’t much for hugging, but he couldn’t let her stand there, collapsing in on herself with grief and fear. He crossed to her, pulled her into his arms, and she clung like she needed the support more than she wanted to admit. Eva was a strong woman, but even the strongest had their breaking points, and she was getting close to the edge of hers. If Cam didn’t make it…

He immediately shut down that line of thought, refused to acknowledge it had even occurred to him. But in the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew the truth. If Cam died today, Eva wasn’t going to be the only one who broke.

“So what can we do?” Libby asked, finally breaking the heavy silence. She was sitting on her husband’s lap with Jude’s arms wrapped tightly, protectively around her. “I mean, if we can’t call the police and HORNET won’t get here in time to help, what do we do?”

“We need Bellisario to make contact again,” Marcus said, “and when he does, I’ll speak to him. Until then…” He met each of their gazes. “All we can do is wait.”