Dare to Dream: The Maxwell Series (24 page)

I
plowed
through the door in between the garage and the kitchen, my pulse slamming in my ears and my head buzzing. “Dad!”

Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.

The house was eerily quiet. I knew I hadn’t imagined the sound of a gun going off. I scanned the kitchen and the sunken family room from where I stood near the refrigerator, thankful for the full moon and its light spraying in from the windows in the breakfast nook. After a sweep of both rooms, all the air I’d been holding in came rushing out in relief that there weren’t any dead bodies.

“Dad!” I called again.

Buzz. Slam. Buzz. Slam.
That was the sound in my head—a foreboding tune.

I walked around the island to the wall between the family room and kitchen and snatched the first thing I could find—a frying pan that had been sitting on the stove. Gripping the handle like a baseball bat, I continued to the light switch. Broken glass crunched beneath my flats. When I turned the lights on, a shadow skated across the floor.

Icy fear washed through my veins, and that tune in my head reached a crescendo. The edges of my vision blackened. I dug deep within me to stay in the moment. I had to find Dad. My body wasn’t listening. My breathing was off. I shook my head back and forth, but no matter what I did, neither the fog nor the noise was fading. The head shaking only served to make me dizzy. I stumbled and caught onto a barstool to steady myself. The pan banged against the stool, severing the deadly silence that had filled every corner of the house.

The shadow grew, emerging from the family room and growing into a body—a male body that was pointing a shotgun at me. “Glad you could join us. Do you like how I set the scene for you?”

I clenched my eyes shut then opened them. I was in a dream. I had to be. Otherwise why would Shaun be standing in my house with a weapon and a bloodthirsty expression on his face?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Barry Weeks.”

A nervous laugh escaped me. “Come again?” I sounded like I’d just inhaled a tank of helium.

“You heard me. I’ve been waiting weeks to get my revenge.” Disdain rang through his voice.

The frying pan became heavy in my hands as I tried to meld Shaun the gentleman with Barry the hungry revenge-seeking stranger. “Revenge?”

“Lacey, you’re a smart girl.” He kept the gun steady, the barrel aimed directly at my chest. “But let me spell it out. You killed Dennis Weeks. My father.”

Sweat broke out at the base of my neck. “Your father? I didn’t kill anyone.” I had to do something other than stand there like a human flypaper. I pushed off the stool, hoping I could walk without crumpling. “Your father killed my mother and sister.” I rolled back my shoulders and raised the frying pan as though I was standing in the batter’s box.

Shaun’s lips curled into a diabolical grin as he stood near the breakfast nook, the glow from the moon displaying his new features. Gone were the shaggy blond hair, quiet demeanor, and friendly personality. I was now in the presence of a predator with slicked-back hair tied at his nape into a short ponytail. He wore black gloves, black jeans, black boots, and a black T-shirt like he thought he was some cool cat burglar.

“I’ve always liked your spunk, Lacey. I particularly enjoyed the show you put on at your boyfriend’s party. But tonight, I’ll be the star of the show.” He moved forward. “I’ll never see my father again because of you.”

My heart thumped fast and furious as my brain thawed. “So, you were helping your father? You were Lorenzino’s source? How did you know my father had the ledger?”

He stopped three feet from me, gun ready. “I didn’t. I overheard your conversation with your dad that day you, me, and Becca were sitting in the courtyard. You said something like you hoped the ledger was in the box.”

Suddenly, I remembered the conversation between Becca and me before Shaun had sat down with us. Becca had said that he’d seemed attached to us.

“You’ve been stalking me the whole time?”

“It’s time to end this. An eye for an eye.” He closed the distance between us.

I swung the frying pan. It dinged off the gun, sending a vibration up my arm before the pan crashed to the floor.

His expression was caustic with a hint of smugness shining through as he pressed the shotgun into my chest. The cold metal awakened my subconscious, reminding me of advice Coach Dean had once given me.
Facing your fears scares the demons away
. If I was ever to overcome my fear of the dark and get past my PTSD, now was the time. I couldn’t stand around waiting for that gun to go off. I had to find my dad.

I puffed out my chest. “So you’re here for revenge?” I shifted my glance from his narrowed gaze to the block of knives on the counter near the stove. I shuffled toward it.

With a quick turn of his head, he followed my line of sight. “You think those knives are going to overpower a shotgun?” He laughed, low and lethal.

“Where’s my dad?” I swallowed, but it was more of a loud gulp.

He laughed again, raising the hairs on my arms. “Daddy is taken care of. Now it’s your turn.”

I sucked in a sharp breath and halted in my tracks. The buzzing in my head was as loud as a jet engine. The room grew darker as my body quivered. I wobbled before my legs gave out. Tiny pinpricks of pain poked into my hands and knees as I tried to push upright. Pain seized the leg where Shaun’s father had stabbed me. I sat on my haunches as I pulled a shard of glass from my knee.

Shaun set the barrel of the gun underneath my chin and guided my head upward. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear him. Tears pricked my eyes.

Get ahold of yourself. Stand up. Dry your tears, and do something about this jerk.
I didn’t have any weapons. I had nothing to fight with except my body and a small piece of glass.
Then fight. Outsmart him. Use your self-defense training. Do something other than sit on your ass and wait to die. Your father wouldn’t want you to give up, and neither would your mom and sister.
There’d been too many deaths, too many tears, too many nightmares.

I held the shard of glass in one hand, planted the other on the floor, and pushed to my feet, the gun still firmly pressed underneath my chin. I had no idea of my next move.
Keep him talking, and think.
Self-defense wouldn’t help against a weapon.
Why not? Go for his balls.
At least a hit to his groin would slow him down long enough for you to get out.

Once I was standing on shaky legs, I released a quiet breath, and with it some of the buzzing dissipated. I could stick the glass into his leg to slow him down.

“Pathetic. You’re making this too easy.” His voice sounded muffled.

Something thumped somewhere in the house.

Shaun flinched, and I took the opportunity to kick him in the crotch. He bent over and groaned loudly. As he did, I drove the glass shard into his thigh.

“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth.

I tore out of the room, running down the hallway. “Dad! Dad!”

A beacon of light spilled out into the hall from the glass-enclosed sunroom. Again, I was grateful for the moonlit night.

“Lacey.” Shaun said my name as if it tasted like rotten fish. Then two clicks sounded, sending severe chills down my spine.

I went rigid, one foot in front of the other, my heart jackhammering. Slowly, tentatively, I pivoted to face the creep.

“Now, running wasn’t nice.” He stalked forward, his face contorted in pain as his eyes flashed with fury.

“This isn’t either.” I dove into the sunroom.

A blast rang out.

I
drove
up to Lacey’s house, slamming on the brakes right behind her Mustang. Her car door was open, and the headlights were shining on a scene that reminded me of something out of a horror movie. Pure raw panic set up camp in my gut as I took inventory of the house and its surroundings. Her father’s car was in front of hers. The garage doors were wide open, and the house was as dark as the midnight sky. From where I sat, all I could think was that no one was alive in there. When the hum of a car engine reached my ears, I flew out of my truck, not bothering to close my door.

My old man pulled in. I’d called him back after I’d hung up with Tyler. I jogged up to his door and opened it.

“I just got here. Things don’t look good. The house is never dark.” I chomped on one side of my cheek then the other, fighting like hell to keep my nerves under control, but something worse than fear darted through me. It felt as if someone had taken a knife and was carving out my soul.

Suddenly, a faint sound of someone grunting caused me to jerk my head up. “Did you hear that?” I started for the house.

“Kade, wait.” My old man’s voice was firm but calm. “I called the police. They said someone called not that long ago about hearing what sounded like a gunshot. They already dispatched a patrol car.” He bent over, opened his glove compartment, and removed a Glock, then another. He handed me the one without the flashlight attachment as he climbed out of his car. He snatched two clips from the back pocket of his jeans then gave me one. “Let’s give them two minutes. But just in case, only use the gun if necessary.”

Necessary? Was he looking at the same dark house I was? Everything about the atmosphere screamed
necessary
, especially if I found Lacey… If I did, I’d go off half-cocked. Then people would die.

I took the clip and inserted it into the magazine shaft until it clicked into place. I pulled back on the slide then released it, allowing it to spring forward into position. My father did the same.

“Something isn’t right. We need to go. We can’t wait for the cops. Why aren’t they here already?” What the fuck was taking them so long? Every beat of my heart was like a timer on a bomb. If they didn’t get here in the next minute, I was going in without the law.

“Could be any number of reasons.” He checked to make sure the flashlight on his Glock worked.

As I watched him, real life came into focus. Gone was my bravado. In its place, I was unnerved and moved at the same time. I was standing with my old man, loading guns, getting ready to go into battle. We’d fired guns before at the gun club and in competition. He’d taught me everything I knew about guns and gun safety. But I wasn’t competing in an organized event. I wasn’t the student tonight either. I was walking into an unknown situation that could get me killed. Hell, any one of us could die. I could now sympathize with my father for the times he’d fought for our country. All that aside, my old man had confidence in me, trusted that I would do the right thing and that I knew the risks and the consequences. For all that I stood up straighter. I was the man he knew me to be. I was his adult son.

He glanced at his watch.

Within seconds, a boom rent the air.

We both exchanged a what-the-fuck look and sprang into action.

“I’ll lead. You follow my commands,” he said.

I didn’t even think to argue. He was the one in charge. He was here helping me, and for that I was his soldier.

We used the lights from the Mustang to guide us into the garage. My mind was focused. My breathing was even. My heart was anything but calm. Adrenaline pushed through my system, spiking to new heights with each step we took.

The door into the house was open. My father held up a fist. I stopped. He poked his head around the door. When he lowered his arm, we moved cautiously into the kitchen. He circled around one side of the island, and I went around the other. Broken glass was scattered on the floor. I bent down and picked up a piece. Upon close inspection, I saw that blood coated the glass. This wasn’t the time for me to think the worst. I could only pray Lacey wasn’t hurt. I set the glass on the island and scanned the family room—no sign of anyone. I checked the backyard through the window in the breakfast nook. A shadow moved in the distance near a cluster of trees along the perimeter.

“Out back,” I said low. “There’s a sunroom down the hall with an exit door and another set of doors in her father’s office.”

“I’ll lead.” Quick movements had him through the family room and into the hall.

I hurried to keep pace. With stealth and precision, he eased down the hall with his arms extended, the gun ready for any enemy who dared to cross his path.

I kept flicking a look over my shoulder just in case.

The first room we came to was the sunroom. The door leading out to the backyard was open, and the entire back wall of windows was shattered. It looked like a war zone.

My heart pounded against my chest. Or was it the faint sound of someone grunting?

Oh shit! Mr. Robinson? I pointed to the next room down the hall, which was Mr. Robinson’s office. My father didn’t move. He scanned the yard with a mechanical precision as though he had x-ray vision and hearing. I didn’t doubt his senses were heightened and sharpened from years of fighting in the Special Forces.

“I saw a shadow out there earlier.” Unless my eyes were playing tricks or a cloud had passed in front of the moon. “You check the house.” We had to split up if we wanted to find Lacey. That way we could cover more ground faster.

He planted a hand on my chest. “No. Something isn’t right.” Matching me almost in height, he leaned in close to my ear. “You stay with me.”

“We should split up,” I whispered.

The muted groan sounded again from a room close by, and this time it was followed by a
thump, thump
.

“Son, you’re with me.” His tone left no room for argument. “Stay close.” He readied his gun and headed right out of the sunroom back into the hall.

For a brief moment, I hesitated, searching the yard. The trees were as still as a rock, not a leaf moving or branch swaying. I didn’t even hear the crickets. It was as though someone or something had disturbed the nighttime ecosystem. My gut told me Lacey was out there somewhere. I wasn’t about to argue with my father. He was a trained soldier. So I tabled my gut feeling for now and went to join him.

When I reached the doorway to the office, my old man raised his voice. “Kade, call an ambulance. And hurry.”

For a split second, my mind blanked. Mr. Robinson was sprawled on the floor, his mouth, arms, and legs bound together with duct tape. The rug beneath him was soaked with blood at his head and near his leg. My father ripped off his shirt, wadded it into a ball, and pressed the fabric onto Mr. Robinson’s leg. His eyes seemed to plead with me as my father tried to stop the bleeding.

I scoured the room. The French doors behind the desk were wide open. A lamp sat askew on the floor, and a leather desk chair was toppled over in front of the couch beside Mr. Robinson.

“Son, I need you to call the ambulance.” His tone hardened. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

The word
blood
snapped me out of my stupor. In quick movements, I had my phone out of my jeans pocket and dialed 911. I described the scene to the calm, cool, and collected lady on the phone. Thank God someone was calm.

I gave the operator the address then asked, “Where are the cops? They should’ve been here by now.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Busy night. The nearest car is still ten minutes out.”

I growled as I hung up. I tore off my own T-shirt and gave it to my father. While he tied a tourniquet around Mr. Robinson’s left thigh, I removed the tape from his mouth.

He gulped in air. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. “Lacey. Where is she? I heard her arguing with that boy. Then a gun went off. Is she okay?” His voice was weak but frantic, his breathing extremely labored. “He came at me through the French doors. Before I could react, he rammed the butt of the shotgun into the back of my head. When I came to, I was tied up. He said he was waiting for Lacey. He wants revenge. He thinks she killed his father.”

My old man and I shared an unspoken plea from a son to a father. I couldn’t wait for the ambulance or the cops. Nor could I look at Mr. Robinson in good conscience knowing that his daughter, and the love of my fucking life, was somewhere with a guy who wanted… what? Given the gunshot to Mr. Robinson’s leg, I had a bad feeling Lacey would end up like him or worse, unless she was already… I’d kill myself if I didn’t do something to find my girl.

“Son, go. I’ll stay with Mr. Robinson. I need to keep pressure on the wound. You be careful.” Resignation infused my father’s tone. “You hear me? Remember what I taught you. Use your senses, and follow your gut. Do not, I repeat, do
not
let your guard down for one second.” His brown eyes held mine, steady and confident. Then a flash of worry washed over him before he banked all his emotions. “Only shoot if you have to. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” I jumped up. “Can I have your gun?” His had the one with the flashlight. I placed mine on the floor next to him.

“Gun is at my back.”

I grabbed it.

“Kade, please find her,” Mr. Robinson pleaded. “I can’t lose her.”

Neither could I. The adrenaline poured through my system as I flew through the French doors and out into the backyard, my gun out in front of me at the ready. Both sides of the yard were fenced in, but the back perimeter wasn’t. A small path through the dense wooded trees led to a creek that Lacey and I had ventured down to on occasion.
Use your senses
had been my father’s command.

I listened. Sirens sounded in the distance. I sniffed. Crazy. But I had a keen sense of smell, and Lacey’s shampoo had a strong orange scent. The only thing my nose picked up was the faint aroma of a skunk.

As I tuned out the blaring sirens, a rustling in the trees caught my attention. I darted my gaze from right to left in a slow, methodical sweep, using the light from the gun to cut through the darkness. A tall figure ran away from me, jumping over a branch. Then a gunshot echoed, followed by a wail of a scream.

I sprinted into the dense brush. When my feet landed on the dirt path, I slowed, listening, praying like a motherfucker that the shot hadn’t hit Lacey. Praying her heart was still beating. Praying I would feel her warm body in mine again. Praying we would walk down the aisle one day. Praying we would have kids together. Praying my dream of her and me together forever wasn’t just a dream.

I was almost to the creek when someone roared and followed it up with, “Fuck!”

I froze.

A man began moaning. “This isn’t over, Lacey. I’ll get what I came here for. I’ll get my revenge. I swear, if it’s last thing I do,” he yelled, as though he was admitting defeat. Or was it a trick?

I killed the light on the gun. I didn’t want to be lit up like a target on a battlefield. I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the darkness. Then I swung to the right and went in search of the asshole. I maneuvered through brush and around trees, guided by the tiniest glow that sprayed down between the tree’s branches from the moon above. His moans and a slew of swear words about his leg pulled me toward him.

As I drew close, his moans died. I edged back a step, scanned the immediate area, then listened. Ahead of me was an open area laden with rocks, small and large, and several tree stumps. The creek lay beyond. Crickets sang. Water trickled, and a shimmer of light reflected off the glassy surface of the creek.

Where was the fucker? I checked left then right then repeated the same arc before a sound split the air.

Chik, chik.

My knees locked into place. Instantly, chills blanketed my body, making me sweat.
Fuck me.

“I never liked you,” Shaun said at my back.

The air left my lungs. How the hell did he get behind me? With the Glock ready to fire, I pivoted ever so slowly, like the ballerina in my mother’s jewelry box. Cautiously, I switched on the flashlight. When my gaze landed on the asshole, one side of his mouth curled into a freakishly sadistic grin. He had that shotgun pointed at me. A standoff.

“Where’s Lacey?” Instinct drove me to look away, to search for Lacey, but the minute I diverted my gaze was the minute I died.
Never take your eye off the enemy
—wisdom my old man had drilled into my brothers and me.

“Floating face first down the creek,” he said with a deadpan expression.

I wrestled with the mental picture of Lacey’s dead body floating downstream as I locked my elbows to keep them from buckling. “Bullshit. If she were, you wouldn’t be standing here.” I strained every muscle to keep from either shooting him or charging the motherfucker. I couldn’t risk it. I had a sinking feeling he’d pull that trigger.

I counted the rounds. Pump-action shotguns held at most five, one in the chamber and three or four in the magazine tube. He’d used one on her old man, one to blow the glass out in the sunroom, and one a few minutes ago. I had to assume he had the shotgun fully loaded. Therefore, if my assumptions were correct, he had one or maybe two rounds left.

An eerie silence sealed us into a bubble only he and I could break. We glared at one another. My mind worked to find a way out without any of the guns firing. I didn’t want to shoot him. Well, I did, but certainly not to kill him. He’d made Lacey run for her life, and God knew what else. He’d shot her father, and his old man had stabbed Lacey and killed her mother and sister. It wasn’t up to me to be judge and jury. I might be a dick, but I wasn’t a murderer.

“I didn’t count on killing anyone except Lacey and her father. Now, though, third’s a charm.” He held the gun steady.

“She didn’t kill your old man. The cops did. I was there.”

“All the more reason for me to kill you, too.”

“Don’t you think enough people have died?” I said as though I was talking Hunt down off a ledge.

I caught movement behind Shaun. A shadow emerged, and my heart sped up. Lacey was creeping toward us with a branch the size of a baseball bat in her hands.