Sunflower Lane (25 page)

He called again. No answer.

Swearing under his breath, he suddenly remembered that a call had come in two hours ago. The number belonged to Walt Carruthers. Walt had left a voice mail, but Wes hadn’t had a chance to check it out yet.

“Now what?” He had a bad feeling as he peeled down the wet back roads toward Sunflower Lane. He clicked on the voice mail message.

“Wes, bad news. You need to watch your back. Call me when you get this.”

Wes swore. He knew in his gut that this day was about to get worse as he punched in Carruthers’s number, the rain lightening now to a faint gray drizzle.

“What’s up?” he asked brusquely as soon as his former boss picked up.

“Hate to tell you this, but they got Sutton. It was ugly.”

Sutton? Shit
. Wes’s stomach dropped. His hand clamped like a vise around the phone.

Rick Sutton had been his second in command on the mission that left Diego’s son riddled with bullets in a garbage-strewn alley. Sutton was good. Almost as good as Wes.

He gritted his teeth.

“Where’d they get him? When? And how the hell did they find him, Walt?”

“From all we can tell, Cal Rivers tracked him down night before last in Seattle. Sutton was home with his family. Gated community. Security system, the works. They still got in—and . . .” His former boss cleared his throat.

“They killed Rick’s wife, too, Wes. Left the kids alone, sleeping in their beds upstairs, but they shot both Andrea and Rick with a silencer.”

Cold shock swept through him. Icy, rigid, mind-numbing shock. Along with fury. For a moment, he couldn’t speak.

An ugly silence hung in the air as his mind filled with images of the night a few years back when he’d gone out to dinner with Rick and Andrea in their Seattle suburb. She was a kindergarten teacher, pretty, sweet, and smart. She’d ordered chocolate mousse for dessert, shared it with Rick. They’d held hands under the table.

Iron-hard rage pumped through him.

“When did this happen? You sure it was Rivers?”

“An undercover cop happened to be filling up at a gas station a mile away from the killings—he remembered a man and a vehicle pulling in earlier for gas and cigarettes. The guy fit the description given by a neighbor who apparently saw Rivers leave the Sutton house. They both described him to a T, even the baseball cap that mostly hid his face. Rivers ditched the vehicle within a half hour after the approximate time of the killings. No prints. There’s an APB out, but . . . it’s Rivers. He’s long gone by now.”

Wes’s eyes narrowed. He’d talked to Rick only a month ago. Had he mentioned to his former partner that he was headed home to Montana for a visit? If he’d told anyone, it would have been Rick. . . .

“If he found Arroyos and Sutton, you’re next on his list, Wes. You were the team leader and all. They’re working their way up the chain of command, saving the best for last. Wes . . . you still there?”

“Not for long,” he rasped. He had to leave Lonesome Way.
Now.
As soon as he made sure Annabelle was okay, he’d make a big enough noise to lead Rivers far away from her and those kids.

He couldn’t go to Wyoming yet and team up with Scott Murray, either. Scott had a family, too. He needed to lead Rivers into a trap and turn the tables.

End this once and for all.

His mind was already spinning out plans. Figuring a route that led far away from anyone he knew or cared about.

“I’m hitting the road, Walt. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Keep your eyes open,” the other man said grimly.

Wes was already shoving the phone in his pocket. He tried Annabelle again, the knot of worry in his chest tightening by the moment. Could Rivers have tracked him already, have found out he was in Lonesome Way, and where he was staying?

The bastard definitely could’ve traveled to southwest Montana from Seattle by now—especially if he had Diego’s resources.

Suddenly, Annabelle not answering her phone took on a whole new meaning. His muscles clenched with tension. Fear clamped in his gut, cold and hard as a boulder. If that son of a bitch even touched her . . .

Wes floored the truck and whipped down the road. Everything else was forgotten.

Annabelle’s face swam in his mind, lovely, gentle, and full of laughter. It was a face he cherished. A face he loved . . .

The tension of the night had cleared for him the moment he found Ethan and Jimmy safe, but now it returned tenfold. He sensed a cloud of death descending.

But his eyes glittered hard as jade in the darkness and he took the turns fast, flooring the truck, gripping the steering wheel in iron fists, and rocking through pinwheel turns on the country roads. He knew that every second counted.

No one he loved was going to die tonight. Not if he could help it.

“Get out of my house. Both of you.” Annabelle’s gaze was pinned to the tall man’s face. She tried very hard not to look at the gun.

“Not going to happen, sweetheart.”

The old man pushed forward, swearing, as her cell phone rang again from inside her purse on the kitchen chair.

“Don’t touch that,” the old man ordered once more. Grabbing the purse, he dug for the phone, dropped it to the floor, and stomped on it with his heel until it cracked.

“Now, pretty lady, where’s McPhee? Tell us and you won’t be harmed.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about. You’re in the wrong house.”

The old man’s eyes glistened with contempt. “Don’t you lie to us. People who lie to us get hurt very badly.”

“I’m not lying.” Annabelle heard her voice trembling and she reminded herself she had to stay calm. Fear needed to
be channeled into calm—and then action. She needed to keep her mind focused. Clear.

“A man was staying in the little cabin behind my house, but he moved on a few weeks ago. I live alone.”

“You’ll die alone, sweetheart, if you don’t tell us the truth,” the tall man growled, his voice rough with impatience. “There’s kids here. We saw a ball in the yard.”

Stepping forward before she could move, he pressed the butt of the gun against her forehead.

It felt cold. Deadly.

For a moment Annabelle’s knees trembled so badly she thought they wouldn’t hold her. She could smell his sweat and see in his eyes that he was enjoying this moment, drawing pleasure from her fear.

“Give her ten seconds and no more,” the old man rasped. He stood beside the other man now, both of them confronting her.

There was nowhere to run.

“All right. I’ll tell you where he is. Just put the gun down.” She allowed her voice to quaver pitifully. And took a small step backward.

“Talk. Now,” the tall man ordered. But he lowered the gun.

“He headed out to meet someone in Butte. He mentioned the name of the man he’s planning to meet with for a few days—I can’t remember it—but I . . . I wrote it down on a piece of paper.”

As she started to reach into her pocket, the tall man scowled. “Stop right there. I’ll get it.”

“No. Please don’t touch me. It’s just a slip of paper. . . .” She froze at the warning in his eyes.

He moved closer. With the gun still trained on her, his free hand stretched down toward the pocket of her hoodie.

He was so close she could see the dark swirl of black and purple vampire tattoos scrawled below his neck. So close she could smell his sweat and see the sheen of his skin. She
felt her blood thrumming in her ears as he moved even closer, his fingers grabbing at the pocket of her hoodie.

It was now or never.

Springing into a whirl of action, she shoved his gun hand up and away with her left hand exactly as she’d been taught, then rammed her knee hard into his groin at the same time. Then she slammed her closed right fist into his Adam’s apple, using every ounce of her strength.

The big man tumbled backward with a groan of agony that echoed through the kitchen.

“Bitch! You are
dead
!” the old man screamed, leaping forward. He was faster and spryer than he looked, Annabelle realized with a gasp. But terror made her faster. Her fingers had already dipped into the pocket of her hoodie and she yanked out the Mace. One quick blast right between the eyes as she’d been trained to do and his scream nearly burst her eardrums.

She stepped back, her breath hitching in her throat, as the old man covered his eyes with his scarred, dark-veined hands, still shrieking even when he fell to his knees. She was about to dart toward the big man and give
him
a super spray from the canister before he could shake off the pain, but then she saw movement and realized that a third man was running in from the living room.

With a cry, she spun toward this new threat.

It was Wes! Relief made her gasp as he moved like a bullet, mowing down the tall man, who’d just staggered to his feet. Wes punched him in the face, then slammed a fist into his stomach. As the man doubled over, Wes gave him a brutal chop to the back of his neck and his opponent slumped to the floor like a sack of rocks.

A moment later Wes was on him, pinning him down, landing blow after blow. The big man slumped unconscious beneath him.

“Don’t . . . kill him, Wes,” she gasped, clutching the kitchen table, her voice shaking.

He was back on his feet in an instant, racing to her side, enfolding her in his arms. “Sorry, baby. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” he said thickly, holding her tight.

“You got here just in . . . time. . . .”

“Nah, you had this. Good work, sweetheart. You could teach me some moves.”

He squeezed her gently, then let her go, his gaze cold as he trained it on the two men. “Call Hodge, Annabelle. Tell him to get out here right now, okay? Got any duct tape, honey?”

The old man was still coughing, on his knees now, his eyes red and inflamed, his face convulsing with pain. Wes unbuckled his belt and Annabelle ran to the storeroom, grabbing a roll of duct tape from Ron’s old toolbox.

“They . . . destroyed my cell phone,” she managed as she returned with the tape.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart. I knew something was wrong. I kept trying to call you. Ethan and Jimmy are safe. They’re on their way to be checked out at the clinic.”

“Thank God!” Her eyes filled with grateful tears as he handed her his phone, and she quickly called the sheriff’s office.

Wes first strapped the big man’s arms behind his back, then duct-taped the old man to the legs of the kitchen table.

“It’s over, Annabelle. It’s all over, sweetheart.” He came to her again and wrapped his arms around her gently. She was shivering, damn it.

He pressed a soothing kiss to her forehead, his eyes dark with regret. “I’m so sorry, baby. This was my fault. I brought this scum here. I’d give anything if you hadn’t got caught up in it. I should have left town sooner—”

“No.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Don’t say that, Wes. It’s
their
fault. Not yours. You saved my life.”

“It never should have been endangered.” He felt shaken and sick just thinking what would have happened if he hadn’t come back when he did. And if Annabelle hadn’t fought back, hadn’t known how to protect herself.

“Sweetheart, if anything ever happened to you—” His gaze locked on hers as it struck him that he might have lost her for good.

Something turned upside down and inside out within him. He stood frozen, his heart slowing in his chest.

“It didn’t,” she murmured, touching his face. “Because of you.”

As he stroked a hand through her curls, he wondered how in hell he was going to leave this woman. This exquisite, brave, loving woman, who was looking at him with such softness and trust in her eyes. This woman who’d made him feel a kind of peace he’d never known.

But before he could find an answer, sirens sounded far off, quickly drawing closer.

The big man stirred and groaned on the floor.

Reluctantly Wes let her go and pivoted back to keep an eye on his prisoners.

“Soon as Hodge gets this scum out of here, we’ll go to the clinic and fetch Ethan. Where are the girls?”

“Charlotte’s. Oh, God, I need to call them. They’ve been so worried.”

“We’ll pick them up, too. Do you want to get checked out at the clinic? Did they hurt you at all?”

She laughed shakily. “They only scared me half to death.”

“They never will again. No one will ever lay a hand on you again. I swear it.”

Wes had never felt such a strong surge of emotion—relief, tenderness, love.

Love?

To his surprise, the word didn’t scare him. Though he
felt something he’d never thought would touch him, claim him, he recognized it as right and good and impossible to deny. He loved Annabelle Harper.

Leaning down, he caught her lips in his as sirens roared through the night, and came to a screeching halt right on Sunflower Lane.

They held each other, and the danger and the panic and the fear all faded.

The annual Fourth of July parade turned out better than its organizers could ever have hoped.

The sun shone all day in the huge blue Montana sky, glazing the lavender mountains with sheer light as crowds of people, kids, dogs, and babies lined the sidewalks of Lonesome Way.

Colorful floats and trucks painted red, white, and blue cruised down Main Street. People cheered almost nonstop. Those riding the floats waved American flags, singing “This Land Is Your Land,” accompanied by the Lonesome Way High School Marching Band.

The mayor and his wife were dressed as George and Martha Washington on their float sailing down Main Street. Then Madison Hodge, the sheriff’s granddaughter and an up-and-coming singer/songwriter, strummed her guitar on another gaily decorated float and sang “America the Beautiful,” while everyone in the crowd joined in.

Children walked and skipped in the parade and some rode bicycles decorated with red, white, and blue ribbons. The bake sale table at the very end of the parade route did fantastic business with not only apple and peach pies for sale, but cookies, brownies, peanut butter cups, and Fourth of July sheet cakes—as well as huge blue-and-white-frosted cupcakes with cherries on top.

Dogs walked in the parade, too—even Treasure, who wore a red leash with blue and white ribbons tied to his collar as a grinning Ethan led him along the parade route.

When all the floats had passed by, the entertainment portion of the celebration began. Annabelle’s tap class performed at exactly one
P.M
. The parents and onlookers cheered and applauded after the girls finished their routine, and then a jazz group rushed into the square to perform “It’s a Grand Old Flag.”

Annabelle rounded up Megan and Michelle, then spotted Ethan and Treasure in the park—Jimmy was there, too, his crutches beside him. She paused a moment to silently say a prayer of thanks. Thanks that the boys were safe, that the men who’d threatened her and Wes were in custody—and that the only place those monsters were headed after their trial was a very long, cold stint in prison.

Life was good. Sweeter than she’d ever imagined it could be. The only thing troubling her was tomorrow.

Of course, she didn’t know whether Wes was leaving
exactly
tomorrow—he’d promised his grandmother he’d stay until after the Fourth of July—and Ava had just gotten her cast removed from her wrist yesterday. But if not tomorrow, then most likely he’d be saying his good-byes the next day or the day after that.

She didn’t want to think of what would happen after he drove away, out of her life. An emptiness swamped her even when her thoughts wandered forward, trying to imagine that moment. She was trying to enjoy today. The parade, the
celebration, everyone in her family safe and healthy, and the cabin ready to be occupied by a paying tenant.

She had much to be thankful for. But . . .
crap
. She blinked away the threat of tears burning behind her eyelids as she walked over to the park.

Today, focus on today,
she ordered herself fiercely.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Wes appeared suddenly beside her and handed her an ice cream cone. He looked hotter than the July sun with his long legs encased in faded jeans, and a white T-shirt that had a small American flag emblazoned in the center of his muscular chest.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” The grin faded abruptly and his expression turned to one of concern.

“Nothing. I’m just thankful. For the way everything turned out.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He kissed her, a kiss that lingered on her lips and made her melt into him, but he drew back as Megan and Michelle suddenly raced up to join them.

Annabelle took a lick of her ice cream.

“Can we stay in town and watch the fireworks tonight?” Megan asked eagerly.

“Please,” Michelle pleaded. They were both smiling from ear to ear, still wearing their sparkly patriotic costumes, and Annabelle knew how they felt.

Beautiful, special.

That was how she’d felt when she’d danced and performed.

“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Wes answered, then glanced at Annabelle for confirmation. “How about I take you all to dinner at the Double Cross; then we’ll come back and sit on the grass in the park, watch the fireworks. What do you say?” he asked Annabelle over the girls’ screeches of delight.

Despite the heaviness in her heart, she couldn’t help but
smile. “I say yes.” She wanted this to be a special day for all of them. The girls and Ethan would miss Wes, too.

Treasure barked suddenly, and broke away from Ethan, who was loosely holding his leash.

“Treasure, come back,” the boy shouted, but the dog dashed over to Michelle, who threw her arms around him. When she plopped down on the grass, he sat beside her and licked her face again and again.

Megan was staring at her sister and the dog. An intent stare. There was fear in her face, but something else, too. Excitement, eagerness, along with wariness.

“Megan . . . honey, are you okay?” Annabelle knelt beside her niece as all around them, music swelled. The marching band was playing “Party in the USA.”

“I want to pet him,” Megan said so quietly that Annabelle thought she must have heard incorrectly.

“You . . . what?”

“I . . . want to try to pet Treasure.” The little girl looked up at her, with her lips set in determination.

“Well, then, why don’t you call him over to you, honey?” Annabelle stayed beside her, hope rising in her heart. “He’ll come to you. I bet he’ll even lick you.”

Megan drew in a breath. “T-Treasure, come!”

The dog leaped toward her, his tail wagging at a speed that would make a state trooper switch on his siren.

But Megan suddenly screamed as the dog bounded within touching distance.

Fortunately, Treasure froze immediately, scared by her cry. He stood just within arm’s reach, looking uncertain as she gasped and grabbed onto Annabelle’s arm.

“It’s okay. Why don’t you try going over to him, Megan? Nice and slow.”

Her niece seemed to steel herself for something very difficult and dangerous.

But then, before she could move, Treasure leaped again, landing in front of her. His tongue shot out, licking her cheek. Megan yelped at the sudden appearance of the dog right in her face, but the cry quickly turned into a laugh as he rolled over onto his back, his front paws waving in the air.

As her laughter faded, the little girl in the sparkly costume knelt down and tentatively began to rub his belly.

The dog writhed, rolling back and forth in ecstasy.

“Wow. Miracles do happen,” Annabelle breathed, as a small, pleased laugh escaped her niece.

Wes wrapped his arms around her waist. “Don’t I know it. I’m standing beside one right now.”

She felt warm and flushed all over as he lifted her long hair and kissed her neck. Heat tingled through her. If only there weren’t three hundred people roaming around, including Ethan and the twins, she’d pull him down onto the grass and jump his bones right now.

Here they stood in the center of town, looking like a couple, a happy couple, and all the while she knew it was a false impression. Why was he bothering? Wes cared about her—yes. She knew that.

He liked making love to her, yes, he did . . . almost as much as she loved making love to him.

But it didn’t mean anything to him beyond the moment. Tomorrow or the next day he was moving on. She wondered whether he’d take Treasure with him, or if now that Megan seemed to be conquering her fear, he’d leave the dog with them.

She swallowed hard and steeled herself to accept the inevitable.

One way or another, he was going away. Any day now.

And that will be that.