Hero Book 3 - The Battle: Military Romance (19 page)

I sat down on Dr. David's couch, a lump forming in my stomach. “What should I tell Leighton?”

“You'll tell her what I'm sure is true about her brother since you're not acting like he's an idiot. He's got a good head on his shoulders and he's holding tight. She's just got to let him get through. The cell service over there ain't what it should be.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “And I'm going to tell you this because I can read your goddamn thoughts. You cannot go over there until you're sure she's safe here. You face that young soldier and tell him his sister's still in danger, and he'll never forgive you.”

I sighed. He was right. “You'll let me know as soon as you hear something more?”

“Affirmative.”

I shook Captain Fordman's hand and marched down the hall. I wasn't even close to a hundred percent, but I didn't have a choice. If I was going to find Ian for Leighton, I had to find her kidnappers first.

Chapter 23

Haze

The
police officer standing outside the hospital room looked increasingly uncomfortable as I marched towards him. The man who'd shot me had ended up as a patient after I'd fractured his skull against the pavement. Apparently, there'd been some brain swelling that had delayed his transfer. I wasn't sure if the cop’s presence was to keep the man secure or keep someone like me from finishing the job.

I stopped in front of the officer and held out my hands, palm up. “I just want to ask him a few questions.”

“No, sir. I'm sorry, but I know who you are, and you're not allowed in the room.”

“Did your captain tell you who I am? Did he also tell you that I'm Leighton Machus' private security? It's my job to talk to that man and find out who hired him.”

“The police have already questioned him.”

I had to give the man credit. I was leaning into him, but he wasn't budging. I’d have to try another tact. “Do you know who Leighton Machus' grandfather is? Devlin Pope.”

The man swallowed hard.

“If you don't let me talk to that man, I guarantee you, Devlin Pope will use quite a bit of his vast resources to make sure you're writing parking tickets on the nightshift for the rest of your life.”

As I entered the room, the man in the bed shrank back against his pillows, his eyes wide. “What's going on? I don't understand?”

His speech was blunted, his expression foggy. He was clearly on some serious pain meds. I was just thankful he wasn't on a ventilator or in a coma.

“Don't worry,” I said. “I'm going to make it easy on you. Just describe to me who hired you. We don't even need to start with names, just tell me what they look like.”

He frowned at me, but didn't look frightened anymore. “I don't know. Never saw them, just the waitress. Wait, what do you call a coffee shop girl?” The man drifted into incoherent muttering. “Black hair, like silk, satin. I dunno, something nice.”

“I'm not looking for the barista,” I said, then did a mental double take. “Wait, what about a coffee shop?”

“That's how I found out about the job,” the man said. “I got a cup of coffee and the beaut-ista made my coffee, but the other guy delivered it with an envelope. Wished she would've. She was pretty.”

He closed his eyes and made kissy noises. Thankful I was alone, I grabbed the patient's wrist. His eyes flew open and I clamped my other hand over his mouth as I twisted the wrist.

“I know how it works in the coffee shop,” I said, squeezing harder. “Now you're going to tell me who sent the envelope to your table.”

“How do I know?” the man yelped when I removed my hand.

“Same way I know you're a boxer and you need your wrist intact if you ever want to fight again. I see your name on your chart and I've seen it before, on a poster at the same gym a man by the name of Lennon worked out at. Lennon and I know each other too.”

I put my hand back on his mouth as I pulled harder and the ligaments in his wrist creaked. The man's legs scrambled against the hospital bed mattress as he tried to get away. I removed my hand.

“I never checked for sure. Why would I when the envelope had the money in it?”

“Tell me who you saw,” I growled. My patience was wearing thin.

“This little woman with wavy hair and light green eyes. You know, pretty except for a pinched face. Woulda liked to tap that ass.”

My fingers flexed, but I tried not to jump to any conclusions. “Was she with anyone?”

He scowled. “Some really rich dude. Total asshole. Made a scene over the cream being out.”

“Would you be able to pick them out of a photograph?” I asked. When he nodded, I dropped his wrist and got out my phone.

I had a few large group shots from one of the house parties I'd worked. I didn't remember which one exactly, but at some point, Leighton had stolen my phone and snapped a bunch of random shots. I just hoped my hunch was right.

Or not, because it would crush Leighton if I was.

I flipped to one that showed both of them.

He had a little trouble focusing, but once he did, I saw the recognition in his eyes right before he said it. “Yeah, sure. She's in that little sequin number, but her man's over there with the leggy blonde.”

I called the police on my way to the car. Thanks to their reluctance to work with me, I ended up being halfway to Silverlake Java before my call finally got through to Detective Travis.

“What do you want, Welch?” the detective asked. “I thought you'd be recuperating.”

“I'm on my way to Silverlake Java to question an eye witness who helped two people hire Lennon and two of the men who attacked us yesterday. Thought you might want to come along.”

I was sitting at a window table with Raul the barista when the two detectives marched into the coffee shop. As I stood, Raul repeated to them exactly what he had told me: he'd made three hundred dollars every time he handed a customer an envelope. He then described Lennon, the other two men...as well as Paris and Ricky. I had no doubt he'd be making a deal in exchange for his testimony.

“Where do you think you're going, Welch?” Detective Travis asked.

I didn't stop. “I'm going to go babysit your suspects just in case your paperwork falls through. Don't worry, I'll keep in touch.”

I
paused and considered waiting for the police, but then I remembered what they'd done to Leighton. And from the sounds I was hearing, they were doing it again.

The door was unlocked and that decided things for me.

Ricky looked up when I came in, but was apparently too drunk to either notice or care since he didn't stop. Paris was bent over the white sofa with her short dress hiked up over her hips, the top pulled down so her breasts were hanging out. She didn't even notice the interruption as she pushed back against Ricky.

“Harder, harder, you know how I like it,” she said between thrusts. “I know you like it dirty, honey. I let you do it dirty like that uptight bitch never would. You like it, don't you, Ricky, baby?”

He pushed her head back down against the white cushions and grunted as he increased his speed. He screwed his face up, concentrating as he pumped into the now shrieking Paris, her cries muffled by the cushion.

I'd seen enough.

“Picturing someone else, Ricky?” I asked. “I'll bet that's the only way to make it happen with her, huh?”

Paris pushed up from the couch and came with a guttural wail. I felt sick as she smiled, making it clear that my being there was the thing that pushed her over the edge.

How the hell could Ricky give up Leighton for this woman?

Ricky pulled up his pants, and staggered over to the bar to make a drink. “Yeah, well, you do what you gotta do, right?”

Paris was still fixing her dress as the conversation registered. “Wait, you were picturing someone else? Leighton? You were picturing her when you were fucking me?!”

“Come on, Paris, you had to know that.” Ricky shrugged and took a shot of tequila.

The girl’s face was red. “You make me sick! You kept begging to get in my pants, and once she dumped your ass, you came crawling back to me. And now you're picturing her while you're fucking me?”

“I didn't beg you,” Ricky said, raising his glass. “You lifted your skirt, just like you always did.”

I leaned against the wall, wondering if I’d be lucky enough to get one of them to say something incriminating.

Paris stamped her foot. “What is it about Leighton? Why is she different? Why does everyone want to be with her and not me?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “She's just classy or something. Better.”

Paris sneered at him. “She wasn't so classy when she was crawling through that basement with my foot in her face.”

I tensed, reminding myself that I didn't hit women.

“You were there?” Ricky asked and stumbled sideways before righting himself. “That wasn't part of the deal.” He shook his head. “You really are a sick bitch, aren't you?”

How stupid could two people be?

I knocked the second tequila shot out of Ricky's hand. “You'd better tell me exactly what part you had in all this before you're tied in with her.”

“Don’t say anything, Ricky,” Paris warned.

He sneered at her. “Shut up! You fucked this up. Not me.”

“Fucked what up?” I prompted.

He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it at the roots. “I was jealous, hurt, you know?” Ricky whined.

“Shut up, Ricky,” Paris hissed and took a step toward him. I stepped between them, keeping an eye on the little bitch.

Ricky went on, slurring drunkenly. “Leighton dumped me and I wanted to get back at her, but I also wanted to get her back. So, when Paris told me her plan to fake kidnap Leighton to scare her, I went in on it with her. I figured after it was done I could, I dunno, comfort her and be there for her.”

“You've never been there for her before,” I said, disgusted. “And no one was surprised when you weren't there after she was found.”

“I couldn't.” He made a face that I only half-blamed on the alcohol. “I didn't know she'd be all bloody and bruised. It was sick. It wasn't the plan.” He looked at Paris and frowned. “I didn't know Paris would be there. How did Leighton not recognize you?”

I couldn’t believe it when stupid woman sauntered to her purse, rummaged in it for a moment and then pulled out a small device. She held it up to her mouth and, in an electronic voice said, “You should have seen her face when he started beating her.”

I was trying to hold myself in check when Ricky shocked me by throwing himself across the room at Paris. It took me a minute to respond, but it didn't take much effort to hold him back. Alcohol – and probably some drugs mixed in for good measure – kept him from putting up much of a fight.

The combination also kept both of them from realizing they should keep their mouth shut.

“You let that sick fucker beat her?” Ricky shouted the question.

Her mouth twisted and I clenched my fist to my side. “I let him do more than that to me. Let me tell you, he knows how to do it hard.” She flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “And I would've had fun watching him do her too.”

“You are one sick bitch!” Ricky stared at her.

“She's been planning this for months,” I told him. “Leighton's been getting death threats in the mail, and I bet the police will find traces of Paris' DNA on the paper.”

“I'm getting really sick of you, Mr. Bodyguard,” Paris pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why can't you just give up? I mean, you've been beaten and shot and you still won't just let her go.”

“What's she talking about?” Ricky looked up at me.

I didn’t take my eyes from her. “She hired two men to try to kidnap Leighton again. I stopped them and got shot.”

“That's some serious shit, Paris. Way more than I signed up for. I'm out of here.” Ricky bolted for the side door and I briefly considered going after him.

Then I turned around to see Paris trotting toward the stairs that led down to the beach. I caught up to her easily, but a few stitches popped loose when I grabbed her before she could take a header down the stairs. The pout on her face when I saved her made me wonder if a serious injury had been her plan for getting out of jail time.

I was already going through ideas for finding Ricky again when Detective Travis came around the side of the house.