Stop at Nothing (21 page)

Abby bounced her knee rhythmically as she nibbled on the salad Emma had prepared for dinner, her nerves not any better after their walk earlier. Or their game of pool. Or the movie they watched. She still couldn't get to her phone and felt completely cut off from the world. And from Kyle.

She desperately wanted to talk to him, to try to explain again why she hadn't told him three years ago, hoping that maybe by explaining her reasons again he would understand. But her damned signal was completely nonexistent where they were.

“I'm going to town,” she announced abruptly, shoving her chair back from the table.

Emma and Tyler both stared at her for a moment before Emma gestured with her fork toward Abby's salad. “You haven't finished eating.”

Abby backed away from the table, eager to get going now that she'd decided to leave. “I know. It's delicious. Really it is. I'll eat the rest when I get back. I won't be gone long.” She glanced to Tyler and grinned. “How about I get some ice cream while I'm there?”

“Sweet!” he cheered. “I like mint chocolate chip.”

“You got it, buddy.” But as she said it, Abby felt a twinge of guilt at having to leave them alone for even the hour she might be gone. “You know what? Why don't you both come with me? We can go to the ice cream shop instead.”

“Can we, Mom?” Tyler asked.

Emma studied Abby for a moment, then patted Tyler's arm. “Why don't you stay here with me? I want you to show me the new game you got for your birthday. I think I'd like to learn to play.” When Abby opened her mouth to protest, Emma added, “Besides, I'm thinking Aunt Abby has a call she'd like to make while she's in town.”

Abby gave her sister a grateful smile. “Okay, then. I'll grab some ice cream and be back in a jiffy.” She hurried back to the table and dropped a kiss to the top of Tyler's head, then gave her sister a quick hug. “I'll be gone maybe an hour at most.”

Emma shooed her away. “Go. We'll be fine.”

Abby blew them a kiss before hurrying toward the door and snatching up her purse on the way out.

She was only a few miles down the road before she took her phone out to check for a signal.

“Damn it!” she hissed. “
Still
nothing.”

She tossed the phone onto the seat beside her and turned her attention back to the road. She'd just have to wait a few more minutes until she was actually in town. That last couple of miles felt like forever. When she finally pulled into the parking lot of the tiny grocery store tucked in between a bait-and-tackle shop and a take-and-bake pizza place, she snatched up the phone and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw she finally had a signal.

She also saw how many missed calls and texts she had. Many of them from Kyle.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “What the hell?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before playing the first one from Kyle. When she heard his apology, the heartfelt emotion in his voice, her eyes filled with tears. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest of her seat, letting relief wash over her.

Then she gave herself a mental shake, her spirits lifted now that she'd heard his voice and knew in her heart that they'd be okay. They'd talk it out when he got back from New Orleans. It'd all be fine.

With a renewed sense of hope, she got out of the SUV and went into the grocery store, playing the rest of her messages as she gathered a few items into the cart. But her raised spirits came crashing down again as she listened to the rest of her voice-mail messages, one urgent message after another from Tom and Kyle.

As she pulled a carton of mint chocolate-chip ice cream from the freezer, she dialed Kyle, eager to hear his voice. He answered on the first ring.

“Abby!” he said on a relieved sigh. “Thank Christ! I've been worried out of my goddamned mind.”

“I'm okay,” she assured him, her brows coming together at the concern in his voice. “I didn't have a signal. I had to come into town to check my voice mail. I had several from Tom telling me to call right away. What the hell's going on?”

Kyle quickly filled her in on the Whitmores and his suspicion that her brother-in-law might not be the man in the photo after all.

She shook her head, trying to sort through it all. “Curtis might actually be alive? Why wouldn't he contact Emma or Tyler if that's the case? Is it possible he's being held somewhere? That maybe whoever's behind this hasn't harmed him yet?”

“I'm going to check into it while I'm here in New Orleans,” he told her, but she caught a note of caution in his voice. He was trying to keep her from getting her hopes up. “I'm on my way now to meet with Peterman and see if we can get access to question Rhodes.”

“Just be careful, Kyle,” she pleaded.

“Don't worry,” he assured her. “I'll be fine. I'm just here to ask a few questions.”

There was a long, awkward pause before Abby finally took a deep breath and said, “I'm sorry. About earlier. About how I told you everything. I should've told you sooner… I should've—”

He interrupted her with a heavy sigh. She knew what that sigh meant. She could picture him running a hand through his dark hair, his eyes squeezed shut in a pained frown of frustration. She'd seen it the day she'd broken things off with him, had seen it the night before when she'd told him the truth.

“We'll sort it out, Abby,” he finally said, his voice gentler than she was expecting. “I just need a little time. I promise, when I get back to— Shit. I gotta go.”

“Kyle, is everything okay?” Abby asked in a rush, but he'd already hung up. She tried calling him back, her heart pounding with dread, but the call went to voice mail. Her knees suddenly feeling weak, she hurried to the counter to pay for her groceries, barely registering the cheery comments the cashier made to her.

Abby forced a smile, nodding absently as her thoughts whirled. She waved a good-bye and grabbed her bag, hurrying out to her car and dropping the bag in the passenger seat before getting behind the wheel. Then she remembered all the missed texts she hadn't bothered reading in her eagerness to talk to Kyle.

There were a few from Tom and Kyle, both insisting that she call them right away. Then she saw two from a blocked number. Her breath caught in her chest and her fingers trembled as she went to the first one.

My gift to you.

The man in the photo was clearly dead, his neck broken if the angle of his head was any indication. He was dressed in black, and a black knit cap lay on the ground beside him in what looked like some kind of ravine.

But who was he? She didn't recognize him, had no idea why the sender would consider the dead man a gift.

She went to the next text message. This one didn't contain a photo, just a message:
A “thank you” would be nice. If not for my intervention, you and your boyfriend would be dead. P.S. Please give my regards to your lovely sister.

She frowned, wondering what the hell he was talking about. The dead man in the photo had been killed while trying to kill her and Kyle? That was hard as hell to believe. Why would the bastard who'd abducted her sister try to save her life from some unknown assailant? And how had he known someone was going to try to kill them?

Or was this all just a ruse? For all she knew, the man in the photo could've been anyone, could've been a fake.

Fake.

She scrolled back through her messages until she found the one that had been sent from New Orleans. She brought it up, looking it over with fresh eyes. The man in the photo was definitely the same build as Curtis and appeared to have the same hair color. And even behind the bruises and blood he
looked
like her brother-in-law. But as she looked closer now without emotion and fear clouding her judgment, she could see the slight differences… A cleverly constructed fake.

But why?

Or, more importantly,
by whom
?

* * *

“I thought I was meeting you at headquarters,” Kyle said, trying to shove his carry-on into the trunk of Peterman's Lincoln. For a guy who was so uptight, the trunk of his personal vehicle was a serious frigging mess. It was almost completely full of shit. “Why the change of plans?”

Kyle's eyes swept over everything, trying to figure out if he'd be able to fit his other bag in among the clutter. It looked like the guy had emptied out his frigging garage. There were tools, drop cloths, a spare tire, and a gas can that Kyle hoped was empty. Who the hell drove around with a gas can in their trunk in the Louisiana heat, for chrissake?

Peterman shoved aside some blankets and a tire iron to make room for Kyle's duffel bag. “Thought it'd save us some time if I just met you at the airport instead of you having to try to deal with a cab and all that.”

Peterman grabbed the edge of the trunk lid and started to slam it shut but Kyle caught it. “Hang on. Gotta grab something out of my bag.” He quickly unzipped his duffel bag and slipped his hand between a couple of shirts to pull out the gun case where he'd secured his sidearm before shoving it into his checked bag. He quickly entered the combination on the lock and took out his unloaded weapon. “Can't forget this.”

Peterman chuckled. “You think we're going to be ambushed on the way to meet with Rhodes?”

Kyle offered him a cockeyed smile, glad his former partner didn't seem to harbor any lingering animosity toward him. Too bad they hadn't been able to get along when they had been partners. He grabbed the clip he'd brought—a “reasonable” amount of ammunition by TSA standards—and loaded the gun before tucking it into the holster at the small of his back and slamming the trunk. “Can't be too careful. How'd you finally find Rhodes?”

“Didn't. He contacted me,” Peterman explained as he got behind the wheel. He started up the Lincoln and pulled away from the curb, merging into the airport traffic. “Well, his attorney did anyway. Said he had persuaded Rhodes to talk to us.”

Kyle's brows lifted. “That's an interesting turn of events. What do you think made the attorney suddenly want to work with us on bringing him in?”

Peterman shrugged. “Got me. But he didn't want to bring him into headquarters. Worried about being recorded and incriminating himself. So we've arranged an alternate location. ”

Kyle's brows came together in a frown. “How'd you manage that?”

“It's called
networking
, Dawson,” Peterman said with a grin. “You might try it sometime instead of pissing off everyone you work with. You'd go farther.”

“Thanks for the tips on how to make friends and influence others,” Kyle drawled. “Glad to see those self-help books are working out for ya.”

Peterman laughed aloud at this, making Kyle grin. Yeah, it was definitely too bad they hadn't gotten along before. Of course, Peterman was right. The fault was mostly Kyle's, and it was a mistake he was determined not to make again in his new assignment back home. He was done with the rebellious bullshit. It was time to grow the fuck up and get over his daddy issues. If not for his own good, then for the sake of his relationship with Abby.

And as soon as he got back home, he was going to spill his guts, lay it all out there, and ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.

“You married, Peterman?” Kyle asked out of the blue, genuinely curious to know more about the guy since he'd never really bothered before.

Peterman grunted. “Used to be. The bitch took everything I had and then some. You should see the alimony check I have to write every month. You'd think I was a fucking millionaire.”

“Sorry, man,” Kyle said sincerely.

Peterman shrugged. “Good riddance, you know? The only thing she let me keep was my baby girl.”

Kyle's brows twitched together at the slight hitch in Peterman's voice at the mention of his daughter. A daughter he didn't even know Peterman had. He probably should have. And now, come to think of it, he seemed to recall him mentioning something… “How old is your daughter?”

Peterman's jaw tightened, then he coughed, clearing his throat before answering, “Sixteen.”

Kyle nodded, somewhere in the back of his mind wondering if his and Abby's baby had been a boy or a girl. Not quite knowing what else to ask about the daughter that Peterman seemed reluctant to talk about, Kyle switched back to what seemed like safer ground. “This is a nice car. Is it new?”

Peterman cast a glance his way, then shrugged. “I got it a few months ago. You really
weren't
paying attention at all while we were partners, were you?”

Kyle shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry. I was dealing with some shit, man. It had nothing to do with you.”

Peterman glanced away from the road to give Kyle a probing look as if he wasn't quite sure how to process what Kyle was saying. “Didn't think it did.”

Kyle cleared his throat and glanced around the car, taking it in. The thing was loaded with all the bells and whistles. Clearly, seniority at the Bureau had its perks. Peterman had to be pulling down a fat salary to afford such a nice ride, especially with the alimony check he said he was sending to his ex.

Kyle thought about his tiny apartment, still unpacked. Maybe it was time he looked at buying a house, settling down… He chuckled to himself, wondering when the hell he'd become all domestic and shit. Some rebel he was. He had a feeling that his days of pizza and Chinese takeout every night were coming to an end.

“What's so funny?” Peterman asked, breaking into Kyle's thoughts.

“Just thinking about my…” Kyle paused. “Hell, I don't even know what to call her. Girlfriend, I guess? She's the one who I've been working the case with in Indiana.”

Peterman chuckled. “Yeah, well, sounds like that's not all you're working. She's one nice piece of ass, Dawson. I'll give you that.”