Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel) (49 page)

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Authors: Danielle Girard

BOOK: Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel)

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To hell with it, she cursed to herself, grabbing the car keys off her bureau and heading downstairs. She put on her coat and armed the house as she did even to walk to the small market down the street. She left the house through the back door and jogged to the green Jeep Cherokee that made her look like every other parent in California. She revved the engine, blasted the heat, and drove toward the Landons' house.

She shouldn't be going there, she told herself. She should trust R.J. He would call her before bed. Maybe Peter went to bed later. She knew his mother wasn't around. Maybe Landon let Peter stay up all night. Or maybe Landon had reminded R.J. and he'd just forgotten. But it wasn't like R.J. to forget. He remembered how important it was that they always be able to reach each other. He remembered that night in New Orleans.

The rain started up again and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she turned between the large stone pillars that marked the entrance into the exclusive community where Landon lived. The in-law attachments here were bigger than the house she and R.J. shared. She didn't care. Her life wasn't about money or power or any of those things. It never would be, and the thought brought neither disappointment nor envy.

She pulled the Jeep into the circular drive in front of Landon's house and killed the engine. Maybe R.J. had already called her at home and she'd simply missed it. She picked up her cell phone and punched four to dial her home voice mail. The electronic voice told her she had no messages.

Ending the call, she set the phone on the passenger seat and opened her door. She crossed the small grassy yard and took a deep breath before ringing the white bell beside an oak door that looked like it belonged on a king's castle. The sound echoed through what she imagined was an enormous entryway, and she waited to hear the sounds of footsteps. Landon had said the boys would be renting a movie, and she hoped he hadn't decided to take them out instead.

She turned around and looked back at the street as the misty rain turned to drizzle. She didn't see any cars on the street, but the garage was closed. Where the hell was Landon? Where was her son? She turned back and rang the bell again, feeling the fear saturate her blood like alcohol.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," came the scratchy voice.

There was the click of a lock, and the giant oak door opened with a resounding moan.

Travis Landon stood behind it in a pair of pajama pants and nothing else. She diverted her eyes from his tanned chest. He looked tired, but he was handsome the same way Mark had been. He had straight, medium-brown hair that appeared thick and slightly untamed. The whole effect was rugged, and she could imagine he looked slightly out of place in a suit, just like Mark. Travis frowned and ran his hand through his hair.

Cody kept her eyes on his face as she stepped into the foyer and tried not to wipe her wet feet on the beautiful, expensive-looking Oriental rug. The house was bigger than she'd thought, with a marble floor and the kind of grandiose style that felt gauche and overdone. "R.J. never called. I just wanted to talk to him for a second. I tried calling, but it went straight to voice mail."

Travis stood motionless with the door in his hand.

Cody shivered against the cool night air.

Travis blinked and looked outside and then closed the door. "R.J.'s—"

"It's okay. If he's asleep, I'll just go and talk to him for a second. I promise not to wake up Peter." She heard a squeak from the top of the stairs and looked up. Her heart danced at the form of a small boy standing at the top of the stairs, but she quickly realized it wasn't R.J.

"What's going on, Dad?"

"I'm not sure." Travis looked back at Cody and shook his head. "RJ.'s not here."

Cody turned to him, looking for the smile, the joke. No one was laughing.

Travis reached out to touch her, but she pulled away. "What do you mean, he's not here?"

Travis looked up at Peter and then back to Cody. "I called you twice on our way home, but no one answered." He raked a hand through his hair. "Jesus, he got picked up."

"Where is he? Where's my son?"

"His father picked him up. Peter, isn't that right?"

Cody nearly choked. She shook her head as her hand covered the gasp that escaped her lips. His father couldn't have picked him up. Ryan's father was dead.

Peter started down the stairs, his figure like a tiny ghost of her own child.

"Peter?"

Peter was nodding slowly, and in his eyes Cody saw R.J. as he had been that morning: his chin up, his eyes narrow as he demanded to spend the night at his friend's house. She'd deferred to his stubbornness, let him out of her protective shield. And now he was gone.

"Jamie told me he left with a man," the child whispered, now standing beside his father.

She blinked hard, forcing R.J.'s features off his face.

"Earlier you told me R.J. left with his dad. Was it a man or his dad?" Travis asked.

The words were like shots to her ears. "No one should have picked him up but me." She looked at Travis. "Where were you?"

"I was there, just a few minutes after three."

"You were late," she said flatly, turning her back on him. "Peter, who picked R.J. up? Can you remember, sweetie?"

The boy's wide eyes moved slowly between Cody and his father. "I don't remember."

Travis stepped closer. "You don't remember what Jamie said? This is serious, son."

He shook his head quickly.

Travis spun toward her. "Is he in danger? Is his father dangerous?"

She stepped backward and hit the solid oak of the closed door. She was moving her mouth, trying to get the air to speak. She saw Oskar Kirov as he had been in the courtroom the day he was sentenced to seven to ten years on a laundry list of convictions, including fraud, drug trafficking charges, and tax evasion. That day in the courtroom was the one time she'd seen him after her husband and his son had died in a shootout.

He had looked at her with glaring gray eyes and in a raspy accented voice had said, "You will pay. You and your son will pay for my son's death. I don't care how long it takes."

First Mark, then Ryan. What better way to make her pay for Viktor Kirov's death? It was Kirov—it had to be. She'd never even sensed they were close. She had no idea how they'd found her. But they had. Kirov had found her. The Russian mob had Ryan.

She clasped her hands together, wrestling her emotions. She wanted to scream and kick and also to collapse. Instead she ran her hands over her jeans and drew in a deep breath. Ryan. She kept her eyes closed and exhaled. Please, not Ryan. She smoothed the hair back from her face.

Travis's insistent voice invaded her desperation. "Is he dangerous?"

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. She felt the heat of his hands through the thin shirt. The reality of his touch shook her back.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, the coldness starting to set in. She could do this. She'd been through it before. She'd get him back and they would move on. By God, if Oskar Kirov hurt her child, she would tear his eyes out.

"Cody."

She looked up at Landon. Focus on getting him back. Kirov wanted her to suffer. That was what this was about. They wouldn't kill Ryan. Not immediately, at least. But how long did she have? The thought made her panic again.

"Jesus Christ, say something," Travis said. "Is R.J.'s father dangerous?"

"His father's dead," she said, expelling the words as if they were her last breath. It was exactly how she felt. She was dying. Ryan was gone. No, she refused to accept that Ryan was gone. Mark was gone. She'd seen his body. Held his cold hand in hers.

"Oh, Jesus," Travis whispered.

But not Ryan. He was vibrant, alive. He was his father's son. He would fight. And she would find him.