Dare to Dream: The Maxwell Series (3 page)

“Hunter, good to see you.” Jeremy Pitt hung to our left near a dented van with his hands in his dark pants. His daughter, Chloe, was next to him staring at Kelton and Seever.

Fuck me.
We were out here in the first place because of her.

“Have you made your decision yet? Your brother Wes speaks highly of you,” Pitt said in a gritty tone, as though he’d been smoking cigars since he was ten.

“What’s he talking about?” I asked Hunt without taking my eyes off the guns or my brother.

“Not now,” Hunt whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “Pitt, tell your men to lower their weapons. You have no reason to point them at us,” he said matter-of-factly.

I could always count on Hunt for not taking shit from anyone, even from a man who supposedly had ties to the Russian mafia.

“Oh, I do. You see, these two morons”—Pitt wagged a finger at Kelton and Seever— “have managed to spew blood all over my Mercedes. And my daughter doesn’t like the sight of blood. Also, I can see a dent from here. Which means someone is going to pay.” He gave me a death glare.

Sure, Kelton, Seever, and the Mercedes were spattered in blood, but why the hell was he eyeing me?

“Mr. Sullivan,” Pitt said. “Are you that stupid?”

All eyes went to Sullivan, who was on my right, halfway bent over, reaching for his knife.

“Stupid is too kind of a word.” Kelton licked the blood from his mouth.

Then all hell broke loose. Seever elbowed Kelton. My brother stuffed his fist into Seever’s gut, slamming him against the Mercedes. By the time Kelton was done with him, we were all going to be tied and beaten. As Pitt tucked his daughter behind him, Sullivan picked up his knife. Hunt reacted quickly, knocking it from him. When the knife hit the ground, Pitt’s daughter flinched.

With one gun trained on me, I held my breath, afraid to move until the scar-head twin slid closer to Seever and Kelton. He aimed the gun inches from my brother’s head.

Death flashed before my eyes. The rage lingering inside me exploded. I was hotfooting it toward Kelton when a gun went off. I dove in between the Mercedes and a truck, hoping and praying that the pain searing through my right shoulder was not from a bullet, but rather from the impact of my body slamming onto the concrete. I pushed to my feet quickly, checking myself for any signs of blood. I sighed heavily over the ringing in my ears when my hands came up clean.

What the fuck happened? Where was Kelton? My heart was in my throat.

I cautiously moved out from between the two vehicles. After several scans of the garage, all I saw was Seever squatting down in front of two cars a few paces away from me. He was trying to help someone while Hunt and Pitt watched. At that moment, I almost puked. I couldn’t live with it if one of my brothers died.

I rushed up, praying like a priest that the body on the ground wasn’t Kelton. I lowered my gaze, and my heart stopped then started again. Sullivan lay on the ground with his eyes open and blood seeping through his left jeans leg. As much as I hated him and wanted to settle our score, I was glad he was alive.

“Where’s Kelton?” I asked Hunt, blowing out a breath, trying to slow my pulse.

“Pitt’s man dragged Kelton with him to flag down the ambulance.”

Immobilized, I glared at Pitt then past him to his other moronic bodyguard, who was shielding Pitt’s daughter. I didn’t know if the gun had gone off accidently or if one of the two bodyguards fired on purpose. Sullivan had been stupid enough to reach for his knife. Regardless, I had to get out of here before I killed someone with my bare hands.

“Bloody bastard,” Sullivan said through clenched teeth. “Your employees are idiots.” He winced at Pitt as Seever removed his belt then wrapped it around his cousin’s leg to slow the bleeding.

I had to agree with him.

“You’re the idiot, Mr. Sullivan,” Pitt said. “That’s what you get for trying to get my men to do your dirty work.” Pitt scoffed. “I despise anyone who wants to hurt a woman. You didn’t think I would find out that you”—Pitt tossed his head at Aaron—“and your cousin want to hurt Lacey Robinson?”

Hunt and I exchanged a what-the-fuck look. I wasn’t sure why I was surprised that Pitt knew about Sullivan’s plan. I’d been keeping my ear to the ground after I heard that Sullivan and Aaron had been seen with two of Pitt’s men at a restaurant we frequented in Ashford. They were scheming to ruin Lacey so she wouldn’t be able to play baseball.

I couldn’t see Aaron’s face. I didn’t have to. His hands froze on his belt.

“You mean you shot me over that?” Sullivan said
that
as if Lacey were the scum of the earth.

My muscles were vibrating with the need to crush his bleeding leg. “Dickhead. If Lacey so much as gets a broken nail, I’ll beat both your asses until you’ll need a wheelchair as a permanent part of your body.”

Pitt grinned as though he was a proud father.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I seethed at Pitt.

“No problem.” He set his sights on Sullivan. “You just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Karma’s a bitch. Now, while I have your attention”—he looked from Sullivan to Seever—“if I catch wind that either of you hurt Kade’s girl, I’ll be sure to send your parents the details about where they can find your bodies.”

Sullivan’s eyes got as big as golf balls.

“I don’t need your help,” I said, sneering at Pitt.

Hunt elbowed me. I ignored him.

“You may not, Maxwell, but I need yours.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “In hell,” I mumbled as I plucked my phone from my jeans pocket. “I’m going to find my brother,” I said to Hunt. If the goon had dragged Kelton out with him, I had to make sure Kelton was okay.

What could Pitt possibly need my help with? It didn’t matter. Aside from the need to lay eyes on Kelton, I needed to hear Lacey’s voice. Right about now, I’d even be happy to hear her voicemail message. She had a way of calming me.

I bagged the elevator and took the stairs. The adrenaline was pumping through my veins faster than the speed of light. If I didn’t keep moving, I’d collapse. What a fucked-up night. We were supposed to be rooting for Kross and having a good time. Instead, we ended up fighting to stay alive.

Once I made it onto the street, the line connected and her sultry voice filtered into my ears.

“Hey,” she said in a soft but low tone.

I relaxed my shoulders, closed my eyes, and let out a huge breath. When I opened them, Kelton was standing at the corner, battered and bruised, seemingly okay since he was arguing with one of the steroid twins. Across the street, Kross and Kody were just exiting the gym. I tipped my head at Kelton, and they both hurried to his side.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

I looked up at the dark sky. Everything was right in the world. Even if I suddenly felt like I’d lived forty years since the boxing match.

M
y life had settled somewhat
since Dad and I moved to Ashford, Massachusetts, about eight months ago. At first, the pressure of a new school and a new place heightened my panic attacks and blackouts. Somehow, though, when I started dating Kade, my PTSD symptoms lessened. Plus, my sessions with Dr. Davis were helping. I still had nightmares, but they weren’t as frequent. I still panicked but have had only three blackouts since the move. As I learned my triggers, I tried to push past the pesky demons in my head. Despite that, sitting in an interrogation room of the LAPD waiting on Detective Fisher stirred up the bad memories of the dead bodies, all the blood, and my mom’s lifeless brown eyes.

I shivered as my phone rang, breaking the silence. It was Kade. “Hey.”

“Why haven’t you returned my calls?” he asked. His tone held a mixture of emotions. I couldn’t quite figure out if he was frustrated, angry, or sad.

“I can’t talk right now,” I said as Dad, who sat to my right, raised an eyebrow. I figured he could hear Kade, he was talking so loud. “I’m in a police station, and—”

“What? Why? Are you okay?” There was no mistaking the panic in his voice now.

Detective Fisher, a large man, walked in with a folder in his hands. Rob, who sat to my left, kicked me under the table.

“Baby, I’m fine. I promise. I need to go. I’ll call you later. Okay?”

“If you don’t, I’m flying to California tonight.” The phone went dead.

I didn’t doubt him. He always backed up his words with action. One of the qualities I loved about him. Also one I didn’t. If he ever said he was going to kill Greg Sullivan, then he would, and that frightened me. Not that I liked Greg. The guy was an asswipe. Between my family and the Maxwells, death had been a staple in our lives. I didn’t need to see anyone else die and neither did Kade, not even his enemy.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Detective Fisher said as he sat down at the opposite end of the table from me and placed the folder on the table. “Thank you for coming in.”

I’d met the detective briefly when he was trying to ask me questions the night I’d found Mom and Julie. He hadn’t changed that much. He still had a big belly and a bald head. He seemed like a nice enough man. Since it was always my dad who spoke to him, I wasn’t sure how hard he’d been trying to crack our case.

“I won’t go into all the details. We’re working on a strong lead, and I would like to ask you a few questions.”

I straightened my spine and clasped my hands together on the table, excited that I might finally get closure. When we’d first moved to Massachusetts from California, I didn’t dwell too much on who killed Mom and Julie. The police didn’t think the killer had any interest in finding us, and I had been too absorbed in my own hell to even think straight, although the question had been simmering.

The detective played with the folder as though it held the answers to the one question we all had. “Shortly after the murders, we suspected that the home invasion was part of a string of robberies in a neighborhood not far from yours.” He pinned his dark eyes on Dad. “But a week ago we arrested the group responsible.”

I had been about to jump across the table and hug the man until he said that “but.” That freaking word severed an artery. I hated that word. Absolutely despised it.

Dad placed his warm hand over mine. Rob gnawed on his lip.

The detective scratched his head. “Their alibies check out. They weren’t anywhere near your neighborhood that night.”

I slumped in my chair.

Detective Fisher considered me before he set his attention on Dad. “Was anything taken that night?”

Dad let go of me. “How many times do I have to tell you? No.”

Rob fidgeted, and his jaw flexed.

“Mr. Robinson, we have reason to believe whoever invaded your home was after something specific. I know you want to put all this behind you. Frankly, so do we. So, I’ll ask you as many times as I think is necessary.” His tone was even.

“And what makes you believe that?” Rob asked.

I wasn’t aware that anything had been taken from our house that night, except two precious lives. Dad had mentioned several times that he went through his valuables and Mom’s and didn’t find anything missing.

“We have a reliable confidential informant who has given us some information. Right now we’re checking into it, so I can’t divulge much.” He scrubbed fat fingers over his bald head. “It would be nice to know from you what they were looking for. Frankly, if they didn’t get what they wanted, there’s a possibility they’ll be back.”

The tension in the small room was climbing. Detective Fisher stared down Dad, who in turn wore a pinched expression.

“It’s been over a year since the murders,” I said. “Maybe they did get what they wanted.” My nerves were ready to burst out of my skin. I chewed on a fingernail. What if the detective was right? What if they were hunting for something specific and didn’t find it? Dad, Rob, and I had always assumed that the home invasion was random. Now that my head was clearer, I suddenly remembered Mom had once told me she kept family heirlooms in a safe place. Maybe something in her collection was of interest. I knew Dad had all those treasures somewhere.

Dad gently pulled my hand from my mouth. “Maybe you should wait outside.”

The police station could burst into flames, and I still wasn’t leaving. I lowered my hands to my lap. “I’m not going to freak.” This would be one time when I would welcome a panic attack if it meant I got to hear some news, even if it was scary.

Detective Fisher’s eyes turned soft. “Lacey, while I tend to agree with you, sometimes criminals do things that don’t make sense. Sometimes they lay low until they think we’ve forgotten about them. And as long as we’re still beating the streets asking questions, they probably won’t surface.” He rubbed his unshaven face. “Do any of you know the name Dennis Weeks?”

“No,” Dad said flatly.

I shook my head.

“What about you, Rob? You manage your father’s club. Ever hear that name around there?”

Rob eyed Dad. “Can’t say I have.”

With my brother’s nervousness and curt responses, I was beginning to get the feeling he knew something. Then I dismissed the thought. He would tell the police if he knew anything. He wanted justice just as strongly as Dad and I did.

Detective Fisher opened the folder, pulled out a picture, and slid it across the table. “Maybe this will jog your memories.”

Dad studied it briefly. Rob hunched over the table, quickly checked the photo, then sat back in his chair. I picked up the picture. A mug shot of a Caucasian guy with red hair, gold- rimmed glasses, and a peace-sign earring in his left ear held up a numbered sign in front of him. He had pockmarks on his face, and if he hadn’t had red hair, he probably could have passed for Tommy Lee Jones’s brother. I’d remember a guy who looked like the actor.

“Is he in jail?” I asked.

“Weeks did some time, but no. He’s not behind bars anymore,” the detective said. “Does he look familiar to any of you?”

I pushed the picture back to the detective. “I’ve never seen him before.”

Dad and Rob said the same.

“So is this Weeks guy your suspect?” Dad asked.

“Not sure.” Detective Fisher unfolded his bulk to stand. “That’s all I have for now. If you can think of anything, please give me a call. We’ll be in touch.” He stretched to his full height. “Thank you for coming in.”

A feeling of hopelessness clung to the pit of my stomach. I was beginning to think we would never find the person responsible, and we had to. I had to understand at least why someone would kill my family. More importantly, I wanted someone to pay for their sins.

Rob jumped to his feet. Dad was quick to stand too. They made their way out as if they needed air. It still puzzled me why Rob was so nervous.

“Should we be worried about these people coming back into our lives?” I knew Detective Fisher couldn’t say for sure, but I had to ask.

“Like you said. They probably got what they wanted. Although if I knew what that was, it might blow this case wide open.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket. “If you need to talk or if you think of something, I want you to call me.”

I slipped his card into the back pocket of my jeans. “I will.” I started for the hallway then turned. “Thank you.”

He angled his bald head. “For what?”

“For sticking with this case for so long. I know it’s your job, but you seem emotionally involved for some reason.” That softness returned to his eyes again, and it spoke volumes.

He smiled, showing a crooked eyetooth. “Sooner or later we’ll get them.”

I left the police station with my mind twisted in a heap of worry and a little bit of excitement. While Detective Fisher hadn’t given us great news, he did have a lead.

Once Rob and I were in his car and on our way, I asked, “Why were you so nervous in there?” Rob had a way of closing down when something was bothering him. Sometimes getting him to talk was like pulling a chew toy from a dog.

He sucked in his bottom lip as he braked for a red light. “I hate talking about this. I just want our lives to be normal. I just want to stop hurting. I just want the fucker who killed our family to rot in hell.” His voice shook.

My mouth fell open. Rob had said more in a few seconds than he had since Mom and Julie’s funeral. Like Dad, he always avoided the touchy-feely topics.

The light changed to green. As we inched our way through the LA traffic to the next stoplight, I asked, “What do you think the person was after?”

He gave the car some gas. “Lacey, if we knew the answer, it still wouldn’t bring back Julie or Mom.” His voice was calmer. “Dad and I have been through all the valuables we own. Nothing was taken.”

“I get that. But what were they looking for?” That was the million-dollar question.

He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I wish I had the answers.”

I wished he did too. I wished for a lot of things. Like time travel back to the past, which was impossible. I made a mental note to go through some of Mom’s things when I got back to Ashford.