Chapter 27
S
omething was wrong, Rick thought over and over as they walked up to Honey's house. The area was too quiet and the house seemed empty. Gray clouds scattered across the sky, and the occasional kick-up of wind bent the trees and promised rain.
The grim afternoon matched his mood. First, the tension with Taryn weighed on him, and now they might be walking into a trap. It was too coincidental that within hours of their meeting with Carl Evans, Brinkman was back online and trolling for dates.
He should call the police for backup, but he was sure that if Brinkman saw them coming, he'd run. Besides, getting a posse together would take too long, and he'd look foolish if the cops came down on the house only to find Brinkman barbecuing burgers on the back deck.
It was better to check the situation out first. Police could be called if things turned sour.
“That idiot had to have heard the car engine and crunch of tires on gravel. Why isn't he looking out the curtains or coming to the door? Where is he?”
“Good question.” Taryn was tense beside him. “When Teddy contacted my Match Mate profile this morning he seemed excited about the date. He should be at the door with flowers.”
“Or he saw me and bolted.”
Taryn smiled ruefully. “You are kind of scary.”
When Taryn called him at dawn with the address of Honey's house from Summer and the request and acceptance of the date with Brinkman, they'd shared their concerns. Why had Brinkman surfaced now? And why was his first date request to Taryn's fake profile?
The only way to answer those questions was to follow up, so here they were.
When they climbed onto the low porch and got to the door, it was cracked a couple of inches. His sense of danger slipped into overdrive.
“Dammit. The bastard is up to something.”
“This is the setup for almost every scary movie,” Taryn agreed. “We walk in and a demon jumps out and bites off our heads, or a killer sticks a knife between our ribs.”
“Thanks for those images.”
She brushed a long bang out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. “Just sayin'.”
Every part of him wanted to demand she wait in the car with her gun. Every instinct told him she wouldn't. Wasting time arguing would be counterproductive. Besides, he knew the two of them watching each other's backs was ideal. Taryn was well trained for dangerous situations.
It was he who wanted to protect her.
He pushed past his hesitation, pulled his Glock, then nudged open the door, peering through the space between jamb and door to see if anyone was hiding behind it.
“It's clear. Brinkman!” he called out. “Teddy Brinkman.”
Nothing. He adjusted the gun. “Stay behind me.”
For a second, he expected her to protest and give him a lecture about his caveman ways, but for once, she did what he asked. He lifted the Glock. “Is anyone here?”
Stepping over the threshold, he saw no immediate threat. The smell of lemon furniture polish hit him as he scanned the spotless space. The entryway opened into a large living room done up professionally in muted pastel colors familiar in a beach house: pale blue, white, and cream. A hallway led into the rest of the house and from where he stood, he could see down a wide hallway to a set of glass doors at the back of the house, and through them the lake beyond.
“It doesn't look like anyone's here,” Taryn said quietly.
“You'd think so.” He lowered the gun slightly. “A friend of mine was shot by a twelve-year-old in a closet who was protecting his mother's cocaine stash. Thankfully, Chip was wearing a vest.”
He continued forward. Sweeping through the downstairs of the house, they checked a family room off to the right side and the attached enclosed porch. He became resigned to the fact that they'd been duped. There was no sign of Brinkman. “Someone is playing games.”
“Could it be Evans?” she asked.
“The timing fits.” Rick looked in a closet. “Could he be working with Honey?”
“At this point, we can't rule anyone out.” They moved on.
Taryn stayed right behind him, her hand on her gun. When they stepped into the kitchen, he slowly lowered the Glock. “Damn. Where in the hell is he?”
Taryn checked the walk-in pantry. “No one in here.” She walked out. “Should we check upstairs?”
“In a minute.” He laid the Glock on the counter and texted Summer to see if Brinkman had messaged a change of plans. She texted back: no. Shit. Taryn walked to the deck doors and pulled them open. A cool wind swirled in and blew some food flyers off the table. The fresh smell of a coming storm erased the scent of lemon polish. The lake appeared empty.
“I don't see a boat at the dock. Maybe they're on the lake.” She stepped out on the deck, paused, made a funny sound, and then backed into the kitchen.
Before Rick could move, a man of medium height followed her in, clutching a pistol. He glanced sideways at Rick.
Rick went hot with rage.
“Touch your gun and I'll shoot her.” The stranger smirked and stepped around behind Taryn. He took the gun out of her hand and tucked it into his waistband. “Now, let's go into the living room and have a little chat.” He waved the pistol at Rick. “You first.”
Had Taryn not been there, he would have gone for his weapon. But he couldn't risk her life. He loved her too much.
The thought startled him. But he didn't have time to focus on the feeling. He walked past Taryn, looked into her worried eyes, and headed down the hallway.
“Sit over there.” Rick took a seat on the edge of a chair. The gunman pushed Taryn down on the oversize couch and stood behind her. The pistol was pointed at her neck.
Satisfied his prisoners had complied, he put his face next to her ear and one hand under her chin. “Comfy?”
“Who are you and what do you want?” Rick said. Given the chance, he'd snap the gunman's neck for touching her.
“You haven't figured that out, dude? I know all about you from my brother. He's been spying on you online.” The stranger smirked. The guy was no genius, but he had a gun. That made him dangerous.
He tapped Taryn on the temple with the pistol. “And what about you? Here's a fancy PI who can't catch one old con man.”
“We're here, aren't we?” she said, smugly. “I'd say that I'm darn good at my job.”
The stranger stiffened. “If you're so smart, then who am I?”
Rick figured he was one of Honey's sons but wasn't in the mood for twenty questions. The hand on the weapon shook. Rick had to force himself to stay calm when what he wanted to do was jump between them. “Why don't you skip the games and enlighten us.”
Taryn spoke up. “You're either Joey or Ronnie. Which?”
There was a slight tremor in her voice. Knowing her as he did, he knew she'd never outwardly show fear in the face of danger; rather, she was probably plotting a way to save both of them.
That worried the hell out of him. One misstep and she'd die in front of him. Rick hoped to find a resolution that didn't involve a gun battle and her left dead. He hadn't had the chance to tell her how he felt, to earn her trust, to love her.
The gunman's stupid grin wavered. “Ronnie.”
The younger son. “Okay, Ronnie. I assume you know who we are, so let's cut through the crap and you tell us what you want. No one needs to get hurt here.”
“You know what I want, Mr. Silva,” he said, as if he were addressing a two-year-old. “I want the money that was stolen from my mom.”
Huh. He didn't use “Agent” or “DEA” in that sentence. If the two brothers had been spying on the two of them, why did he not know who Rick really was? Obviously they hadn't hacked into his background. They had been too focused on Taryn.
Interesting. This was one plus on their side. His title could up the seriousness of the situation. Criminals sometimes targeted law enforcement. It was safer to keep Ronnie clueless.
“What makes you think we have her money? I'm a PI, not a thief,” Taryn said before Rick could ask the question. “We're looking for Brinkman ourselves.”
Ronnie shook his head. His dark eyes went hard. “Bullshit. I know you found the Pinto. That's the only thing that piece of crap Brinkman owns. You must have found something when you searched the car. Cash, diamonds, gold?”
“We found nothing.” She kept her tone calm. “You and your brother chased us off before we could complete the search. If there's anything there, the cops have the car locked up so none of us have access.”
In not denying he was one of the shooters, he confirmed their belief that Joey and Ronnie had been at the storage unit, and that one of them also broke into Taryn's house. They'd been searching for the missing cash.
Releasing Taryn, Ronnie paced behind the couch. The way he twitched made Rick think the gunman was a tweaker. Adding meth addiction to an already unstable mind notched up the seriousness of the situation. His mind raced for a solution.
“I think you're lying,” Ronnie said without much conviction. He appeared confused. “Just because you're a PI doesn't make you honest.”
Rick glanced at Taryn. To his surprise he saw not a scared hostage but a confident investigator. She'd taken control of Ronnie by using reason and calm and the idiot didn't know it yet.
He wanted to kiss her.
“I swear, we didn't take anything,” she said. “If you know Brinkman, then you know that he's a skilled thief. He wouldn't hide valuables in that car. He probably pawns the items and banks the cash, or spends it gambling with hookers. Who knows? I think rather than waving a gun and making threats, we should all work together to take that conning bastard down.”
Ronnie stopped and glanced up at the ceiling. “I can do this on my own. I don't need you or Joey to get her money back.”
Her? Was this about looking like a hero to his mother? Rick might be able to use that against him.
They didn't have to wait long for the situation to turn around in their favor. The front door opened and, to everyone's surprise, Honey walked in wearing a pair of shorts and a red tank top. She appeared completely at ease, for a second anyway. Glancing around the room, she stared at Rick and Taryn, then focused onto her son.
“Ronnie. What is all this?”
The guy flushed beneath outdated blond Bieber bangs. The twitching got worse. Rick felt the situation take a downturn. He had to get between Taryn and that gun.
“He's kidnapped us.” Taryn said matter-of-factly. She introduced herself and rushed through an explanation of their presence in the house. “He thinks we have your stolen money and hopes to retrieve it for you.”
Honey paled. She placed a pair of grocery bags on the floor and put her hands on her hips. Despite pushing fifty, Rick could see her appeal to youngsters like Chad the Surfer. She was fit and built, though tanning had aged her face. Brinkman would have thought he won the dating lottery with her.
“That's sweet, baby, but these people don't have my money.” She walked to her son and reached out a hand. “Give me the gun before you hurt someone.”
Ronnie looked at Rick, then Taryn, then back to his mother.
“But, Mamma.” She snapped her fingers. He handed her the gun. Rick exploded up from the chair, jumped over the coffee table, and hit Ronnie, knocking him back and against the wall behind them. Honey screamed. While he pummeled the gunman to the floor, Taryn took her chance, bolted for Honey, and disarmed her before she could use the gun to protect her son.
“Please don't hurt him!” Honey pleaded.
Rick rolled Ronnie onto his stomach and put a knee in his back. A pained grunt followed. “Taryn, get me something to tie him with.”
Taryn glanced around the space.
“There are zip ties in the drawer to the right of the stove,” Honey said. At Taryn's surprise, she shrugged. “Just trying to be helpful and to keep my son safe.”
Honey was sharper than her kid.
Once Ronnie was secured, Taryn collected the guns and called 911, while Rick dumped Ronnie facedown onto the couch. Honey hurried to him and checked for injuries. Other than a banged-up face and some whining, he appeared okay. His mother sat at his head and played with his hair.
“You can't go around kidnapping people, baby,” she cooed. “I told you that before. We don't have another spare room for hostages. What did you think we were going to do with them after the kidnapping?”
“Shoot them?”
Honey clucked her tongue. She glanced at Rick. “He doesn't mean that. He's just distraught.”
“He kidnapped a federal agent at gunpoint,” Taryn said. “Despite his noble reasons, he's in some serious trouble.”
Silence filled the room.
Then she said, “Oh, dear.” Honey placed a hand to her ample chest and scanned Rick up and down. “Are you with the FBI?”
“DEA.” Rick sat on the coffee table and leaned toward their captive. Ronnie blanched. His mother tried to shield him with her outstretched arms should Rick decided to punch him again.
Done with the bullshit, Rick told Ronnie his rights off the top of his head. “Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”
Ronnie nodded.
“Would you like an attorney?”
Ronnie shook his head. Satisfied, Rick pulled out his phone and started the recorder app and began questioning the guy. The dope was quite forthcoming.
Yes, Ronnie had been the shooter at Affordable U-Store. “Joey freaked out when I pulled out the gun that night. Wimp.”