Oak, Sophie - Siren in Waiting [Texas Sirens 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (43 page)

“And it would have been easier to hide them here than his own place. That would have been the first place Bryce would look,” Bo reasoned.

“Maudine was sick the last few months of her life. It wouldn’t have been hard to hide something from her. I didn’t think she and Barry were that close,” Beth explained.

 
“They weren’t,” Shelley said. “When he started to visit her a couple of times a week, everyone thought it was because he was getting in good before she died. He told Bryce as much. He told Bryce that all the old lady ever did was watch TV and write in that journal of hers. He said she probably wrote pages about him since she didn’t have much else to write about.”

“The journals. Of course.” Beth started to cross the room, excitement lighting her step.

“Careful,” Carlo warned.

Beth held her hands out. “I have to get a box out of the closet. The woman who owned this house kept meticulous journals all of her life. They’re in the closet. Maybe she saw something. She would have written it down.”

Carlo nodded slowly toward the closet door, the warning clear in his eyes.

Beth opened the door and pulled out the box. She took a moment, searching for anything she could use. The closet was full of housedresses and sensible shoes and blankets. Nothing that would help.

“Miss Hobbes.”

Beth opened the box and pulled out the newest journal. “Found it. Give me a second.”

She scanned the last several weeks of Maudine’s life.

“‘Barry visited again. Vulture. The vultures are circling as my life comes to an end. He can’t fool me. I never even liked his father.’ And then she talks about her cats. There’s a lot about her cats in here. Apparently Mr. Sprinkles had bowel issues.”

“Beth,” Bo said, his mouth a firm, authoritative line.

She skipped the sections on cats. “Here we go. ‘Barry the vulture came again today. I don’t know why he bothers. He’s always on his phone. He never really listens. He offered to clean out the barn though. Why, I have no idea. No one has used the barn in fifty years.’”

Beth looked up. “The barn. We should look there.”

Carlo nodded. “We will look there. Mr. O’Malley, you will join us. I believe I will leave Mrs. Hughes. Her mouth has proven to be difficult to deal with. I can solve that problem for you, darling. I probably will. I’m intrigued. I believe you will make an excellent hostage. Otherwise, I might not make it out of this piss hole. Sleep well.”

He brought the butt of the gun down on Shelley’s head. She sank to the floor.

“Is she alive?” Beth asked. She wanted to go to Shelley. If Trev’s sister was dead, she would be devastated.

“Her head is very hard. She’ll be fine. On your feet, O’Malley.” Carlo kept the gun on Bo as he struggled to his feet.

Bo’s hair was in his face. He tossed it back. “It’s going to be okay, Beth. It’s all going to be okay. I’ll be okay no matter what happens.”

She knew what he was saying and dismissed it utterly. He was telling her to run if she had the chance. He was telling her that he’d rather die than watch something bad happen to her. But she could take whatever would happen if it meant they came out of this alive. She wasn’t fragile. She wasn’t timid anymore, either. She was his woman. She was Trev’s woman. She was going to survive.

Carlo nudged him with the gun. Bo moved forward. He tripped and fell against her. They went tumbling to the floor.

“Baby, he’s not going to let us live.” Bo’s plaintive words were whispered in her ear. “Run. Run and find Trev.”

Carlo held the gun to the back of Bo’s head. “I suggest you get up, O’Malley. I’m not fooling around.”

“Sorry,” Bo mumbled. “I tripped. I’m not used to walking around without the use of my hands.”

Beth fumbled to get up. She stooped to help Bo.

“I love you, baby. You run. You leave me behind and don’t look back. You tell Trev to take care of you.”

“Move away from him,” Carlo ordered.

Beth stepped back. She looked at the man she’d loved since she was a child. He’d been a strange child, quiet and yet filled with pride and rage. Tender and yet quick to anger. He’d been her friend even when it hurt him. He’d been afraid to move beyond friendship, but even that slight fell away in the face of his love for her. They’d been each other’s silent strength. It had taken Trev to get them to speak.

“I won’t, you know.” She didn’t care that Carlo was listening. Bo needed to understand. She wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t leave him behind. She would stand beside him even if it meant she died.

“You’re going to get in serious trouble, Bethany Hobbes.”

“I already am.”

She turned and started to walk down the hall. She heard Bo shuffling behind her.

“I warn you, I have a hand on him. If he ‘trips’ again, I will be forced to fire.” Carlo’s deep voice cut through the quiet of the house.

Beth took the stairs carefully. Bo was probably right. No matter what he’d said, Carlo would more than likely kill them. He wouldn’t want to leave any witnesses. Carlo was lying. He might take Shelley with him, but Shelley wouldn’t survive the experience. She would disappear somewhere south of the border and more than likely wish she was dead.

She walked across the lawn like an automaton, focusing on her feet. One in front of the other. She crossed over the grass and the drive. The barn loomed in front of her. She hadn’t been inside. It had seemed dark and foreboding. Most of the land had been sold to the O’Malleys and the livestock auctioned off long before that. Beth had planned on either tearing the barn down or turning it into a guesthouse.

She hadn’t planned on it becoming her tomb.

“Open the door, dear,” Carlo ordered. His politeness seemed a nasty, suspicious thing.

She would find the drugs. She would find them, but Carlo might not like the way she handed them over. She wouldn’t allow Bo to die. And if she went down herself, she would go down fighting.

* * * *

Trev parked a half a mile away. He didn’t dare get closer. He needed the element of surprise. If Leo did his job, it wouldn’t be too long before the sheriff made his way here.

At least he hoped it would be the sheriff.

Fuck, he was on his own. Bo had taken a gun. Maybe Trev was panicking for no good reason. Maybe Bo had realized something was wrong and gotten Beth and Shelley away. Bo might have started talking to his brother and put off bringing Beth out to her place. They could be perfectly safe.

In the distance, he saw Aidan’s truck. Bo had borrowed it because they’d all come in one truck, a happy family off for a Sunday afternoon.

They were here.

Trev moved off the road and into the woods that separated the Bellows home from the Gates house. Clarissa’s house was a mile down the road, too far away to hope for help.

He ran through the woods, deeply grateful that he’d kept to a fitness regime that rivaled any pro athlete’s. He didn’t even break a sweat as he sprinted, his body moving with the grace of long training. He avoided the trees and stones, leapt over the small creek. He was barely breathing hard as the Bellows House came into sight from behind a swath of trees. He slowed, forcing himself to stop. He wanted to run into the house. He wanted to scream and fight, but panicking wouldn’t help them.

The barn came into view. The big structure was solid but in deep need of paint and refurbishment. Odd. The doors were open. He was absolutely sure they had been closed when they had left earlier in the day.

He stared across the expanse. The barn was on the other side of the yard, in the back of the house.

And then he saw Bo. There was no mistaking the sandy-blond hair or the broad set of his shoulders. Bo’s hands were caught behind his back. He was on his knees. A man loomed above him.

“You will bring it to me.” The man’s voice carried across the yard.

A gun. It glinted in the late-afternoon light. It was pressed to Bo’s head.

Trev closed his eyes. He had no doubt who the man in the suit was talking to. Beth or Shelley. Hopefully both.

Beth walked out, a package in her hand. Wrapped in plastic, he knew exactly what it was. Cocaine. A lot of it. So much it would cost both she and Bo their lives if he didn’t find a way out.

“You will put it in Mr. O’Malley’s truck and get the rest for me. If you move in any way other than the one I’ve directed, I will kill him.”

Play it safe. Play it safe, darlin’
. How many trips would she have to make? How much time did Trev have?

A million scenarios ran through his brain. He could cause chaos by running at the man with the gun. It would give Beth a chance to flee. It more than likely signed both his and Bo’s death warrants, but it gave Beth a shot.

She wouldn’t take it. She would try to save them.

He could try to make his way around the house and sneak up on the other side. He could quietly make his way up behind the man and take him down. If he made even the slightest mistake, they were all dead.

Every way he went the odds were hell.

He was stuck watching without even a gun. He looked around. What was he going to do? Take the asshole down with a stick?

A large rock sat at his feet. It was jagged, with edges that could cut through skin.

He felt utterly impotent. A scream lodged in his throat as Beth walked back across the yard. Was he going to stand here and watch them die?

What the fuck was he going to do? Throw a rock at the asshole’s car?

Trev stopped, so much of his life falling into place.

For years he’d cursed the talent that had led him to the football field. It had seemed a useless thing that had only led down a path to ruin. Now it might be the only thing that saved him.

Trev McNamara had been praised for having the strongest arm in his class, the most accurate arm in a decade. He could throw a football through a ring at forty yards, never once touching the target. He’d been forced to hold back, or his receivers complained that he threw too hard.

His arm had caused him nothing but heartache.

And every second of that heartache had led him here, to this place where he had only one way to save his love, his friend, and his sister. Every moment of his life, each lesson he’d learned, had brought him here. In a single second, the ache he felt morphed into something different. Strength. He had survived. He had fought. And he would win.

Trev McNamara picked up the rock. It filled his palm, the weight reassuring. It would do the job. Fifty yards. It was only fifty yards. He’d thrown for far longer than that and with far less on the line.

He took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs. He dropped back as though coming out of the pocket. It was a habit from years of playing. His vision focused, the world narrowing to a pinpoint—an inch of skin right in front of the man’s ear. His target.

He brought his arm back and let the rock fly.

One last Hail Mary.

And Trev took off. If he failed, he would go down with them. His eye tracked the rock as it flew through the air, and his heart soared. He knew his aim was true. His throw had been quick, accurate, and deadly.

The man with the gun didn’t stand a chance. There was a sickening thud that split the air, the sound of rock hitting soft, vulnerable flesh.

Trev saw the rock connect, nearly burying itself in the man’s head before bouncing back and falling to the ground.