Wild Card (45 page)

Noah released him, slowly, watching as Grant stared back at him in something akin to horror.

He lifted his hand, rubbed at his neck. He started to speak, then clamped his lips closed.

"That's right," Noah said softly. "You don't want to say anything else. You want to walk right out of here. You want to drive away. Because we don't want your business here. You got me?"

Grant blinked back at him.

"You didn't answer me." Noah smiled slowly. "Do we want to discuss this later? Maybe around midnight." His voice went lower. "When you're in your bed, tucked in nice and tight. I could be there. I could slip right inside your nightmares, and we could chat about it then."

"You don't have it in you," Grant said softly. "Do you?"

Noah grinned. "Watch for me. If you have the nerve."

"Let him go, Noah. Now." Sabella's voice was inflexible. That tone that warned she could get

mad without much more provocation.

He let him go, watching as Grant slipped past him, and unhurriedly left the building.

He turned and stared at Sabella. Glared at her. "Don't interfere again," he warned her.

He turned and strode past her, moving back to the garage as rage pumped fast and furious

inside him.

His father. That son of a bitch was his father, and he could barely keep from hating him,

wanting to kill him as he heard him encouraging Rory to desert Sabella. To take away the last

link to family that she could have. It didn't matter that he knew Rory would never do it. What

pissed him off was that Grant was still pushing for it. And he didn't know why. He couldn't

figure out why. He jerked the cap of the water off, tilted it up, and tried to drink enough to still

the rage burning in him. It didn't work, and before he could control the impulse the half bottle

of liquid was slamming into the wall of the garage. A torpedo that smacked and burst against

the cement wall before falling to the floor.

Nik lifted his head from the truck he was working on, stared at the bottle, then Noah, before his

gaze moved to the office doorway.

Noah jerked around and she stood there, staring at him, her gray eyes bleak and filled with

pain.

This was one of the reasons why he couldn't stay. This. This burning need to rip apart anyone

who had hurt her. The rage that blazed inside him, that tore away logic and control, that left

him either tasting blood or tasting lust. Sometimes, he swore he could taste the need for both.

At the same time.

She licked her lips slowly and moved from the doorway, coming toward him. Her face was

pale, her eyes dark gray diamonds at they glittered with tears.

She stopped in front of him and simply leaned her head against his chest. That quickly the rage

burned out. His arms came around her, and behind the hood of the car sheltering them, he

jerked her to him, holding her. Holding her, and screaming inside. Because honest to God, he

didn't know if he could let her go.

"Back to work." He stepped back.

Noah pushed his fingers through his hair and fought to get a hold on the feeling of betrayal he

felt at hearing Grant's opinion of Sabella.

He'd asked only one thing of his father. In more than a decade, only one thing. If anything

happened to him, protect Sabella. Take care of her. And Grant had sworn he would. He had

lied. He had let Sabella suffer. He'd done everything he could to run her out of her home and

out of the business Nathan had left to her.

He shook his head and went back to his job. He pushed thoughts of Grant Malone to the back

of his mind, to deal with later. And he would be dealing with his father later, there was no

doubt.

Two hours later Noah stood in the closed office, his jaw clenching in rage as he held the

secured cell phone to his ear and listened to Jordan's report.

"Delbert Ransome was released on order of Federal Judge Carl Clifford, Houston, Texas,"

Jordan reported. "Federal Marshal Kevin Lyle arrived at the airport an hour ago on a private

flight, carrying the orders. He's taken over the investigation on the feds' end."

"And what do the feds think of this?" Noah asked carefully.

"My contacts are screaming," Jordan bit out. "Judge Clifford released Ransome on the fly-by-night excuse that Ran truck had been stolen and missing for several days around the time of the

death. Good ole Delbert just didn't report it because he was drunk at the time, and by the time

he sobered up, they found the truck parked in one of the pastures. He thought maybe he'd just

parked it in the wrong place."

Noah snorted at that.

"No shit. My opinion too," Jordan grunted. "We have the leads we need though. We don't have to play by the rules here, Noah. Our orders are to stop this, no matter what we have to do."

No matter who they had to kill. Noah didn't balk at killing when it was needed, but he'd like to

have a little bit of proof before he pulled the trigger or wielded the knife.

"We'll set up watch," he told Jordan quietly. "I'll put Travis back in place. We'll get what we need."

"I'm running background on the names you gave me and Tehya's running probables and pulling

in satellite time for the area. Watch your ass. When it hits, we'll have to move fast."

They were watching. Waiting. The next hunting party that went out would have a few surprises

waiting for them.

"Did they get anything during interrogation?" Noah asked, watching through the wide square

window of the door into the garage where Sabella was running a computer diagnostic on the

sports car she was working on.

She was sweaty, greasy, her hair was escaping her pony-tail, and she was the sexiest damned

thing he had ever seen in his life.

"Nada. He didn't say shit. Didn't even ask for a lawyer. Just sat there and stared at the

interrogators until the order came through on his release. Then, the bastard smiled."

He'd known he was covered. Whoever operated in those hunting parties knew their asses were

covered. Noah nodded slowly, plotting.

"We'll cover high cards of interest," he told Jordan, letting him know someone would be on the

federal marshal in town.

"Someone needs to get that sheriff out of the game while they're at it." Jordan said. "I hear he almost threw a punch at the marshal. He left the office in a rage. Apparently, there was a leak

in information. Word came down the line that physical evidence was collected before the

arrest. And it seems it might have come through his office, and back out of it. He threw his

deputy out the door, sent his secretary home, and locked up the office. No one's seen him

since."

Noah's eyes narrowed. It might be time to talk to the sheriff.

"I'll lay out the deck," he told Jordan, indicating he would place the members of the team where they needed to be. "I have priority here, and we're searching for the missing." For Chuck Leon, who Noah was beginning to suspect was more than a mechanic, or even a militia plant.

"We're tracking for the leak," Jordan promised him. "We should have it soon and you can bet the sheriff is searching as well. I'll update you as I have more."

Noah closed the cell phone slowly and continued to stare at Sabella.

She brushed back a wisp of hair and left a smear of grease at her temple.

She was damned good in that garage. She didn't do auto body work, but she was mean as hell

on a car motor. He'd seen the auto manuals at the house, knew she kept up with the latest

reports, standards, and trends. She had even signed herself and Rory up for classes in Odessa

on the new crossover vehicles.

His perky little wife was a tomboy and he had never known it. She was strong, resilient, and

she was slowly moving away from the memory of the man that had loved her with every part of

his soul.

She had taken a lover. It didn't matter that her lover had also been her husband, and she didn't

know. She had exorcised her husband's ghost in her bedroom, in her home, and in his pickup

truck.

He lowered his head and stared at his oil-stained work boots. She'd moved on. He didn't have

the right to change that. Once he left this time, she might shed a few tears, but she'd pull herself

up, and she would find someone who deserved her. Someone whole. Without demons. Without

a past to hide or hell burning just behind his back.

His head jerked up as Rory stalked into the office and closed the door. The boy was still pissed

off. Closed, set expression. His eyes burning in pure anger, he tossed Noah a half sneer before

he glanced out the window into the shop.

Sabella was watching Noah. Noah had felt that look, had kept his head down, almost afraid to

meet her eyes.

Rory turned back from the door and glared at Noah. "If you leave her again, don't come back."

Noah rubbed at his jaw before shaking his head slowly. "Do your job, Rory. Stop bitching at

me."

"I'll tell you the same thing I told the old man, piss off," he retorted. "And wrap those damned fingers around my neck again and I'm going to Grandpop."

"You sound like a ten-year-old," Noah snorted.

"If it works use it," Rory muttered, grabbed a clipboard, and headed back into the convenience

store.

Noah wanted to grin. Rory wasn't above tattling and Noah knew it. He'd have to kill him to

keep his mouth shut if the boy was determined to go to Grandpop.

Damn. Grandpop. Sabella. Rory. He shook his head. What the fuck was he doing? What the

hell made him think he could do this and still survive walking away?

Because he was a fucking fool.

They closed the garage at seven. Business had been steady through most of the day, with only

occasional lulls. The gossip running through town and hitting every business was high. Most of

it made it to the garage; what didn't, had been picked up in town as Nik and Micah made their

way through it. Travis was watching the Patrick ranch house, where, surprise surprise, Federal

Marshal Kevin Lyle had arrived late that afternoon with Delbert Ransome.

Chuck Leon was still missing and Rick Grayson was locked in his office going through files

and on the phone yelling, it was rumored, and demanding answers about the leaked

information.

Noah could feel the mission brewing now, a sixth sense warning him that something was

getting ready to hit.

As he walked into the house ahead of Sabella, his senses seemed ultraalert, each speck of dust,

each crack in the hardwood floors remembered, as he went through the house, checking it out.

As he returned downstairs it was to find Sabella sitting in the chair by the door. Like she used

to do. But she wasn't filing her nails or watching television. She was staring at the floor and

twisting the wedding band she had slid back to her marriage finger.

She was frowning at it, glaring at it. Twisting it on her finger as though trying to figure out

exactly what it was doing there.

"Everything's clear." He stepped from the stairs before turning and heading into the kitchen. "I could use some dinner. How do you feel about pizza?"

He stepped into the kitchen, his gaze caught again by that damned bottle of what used to be a

hundred-year-old wine. Hell, he had been saving that for the day they paid off the mortgage on

the house and garage. He'd gotten it for a song. Traded it for a '57 Chevy he'd rebuilt for a

collector for next to nothing.

Beside it was the bottle of wine she and Kira had polished off. He didn't wince, but at one time,

he probably would have pulled his hair out. His lips quirked at the thought of it as he felt

Sabella step into the kitchen behind him.

"Making awful free use of my house now, aren't you?" she asked him as he grabbed the

cordless up from the kitchen handset and punched in the number taped to the wall beside it.

Evidently, Sabella ordered pizza often.

"What do you want on your pizza?" He paused before hitting the button to dial it in.

The look she shot him was mocking. "Anything including the kitchen sink." She shrugged.

At least that hadn't changed over the years.

He hit the dial button, gave the order, and then disconnected. He lifted one of the bottles and

turned back to her.

"Have more of these?"

She glanced at the bottle, then back at him. "Plenty. My husband collected them."

"We could share one with the pizza," he suggested.

She frowned at the bottle as he set it back on the counter.

"They're in the basement." She pointed to the door. "Pick out whatever you like."

There was one in particular he wanted to sip from her body. A light-bodied, priced-out-the-ass

vintage he'd been saving for something extraspecial. Their twentieth anniversary. Their first

child. But he'd always meant to share it with
her
. He fully intended to share it with her.

"Don't open the door," he warned her.

She rolled her eyes. "I had no intention of it."

He nodded and moved to the basement, opening the door and stepping down the wooden stairs

he had built himself.

He looked around the open, well-lit basement. There were few things stored there. The cover

over his pool table was dusty, the heavy wooden wine shelves were shadowed, the bottles

covered with a layer of dust as well.

It was obvious Sabella didn't get down here very often. Not that he had expected her to. This

had been his area, a place she'd seemed to understand he needed to get things in perspective

sometimes.

He chose the bottle of wine, stared at the label, and felt that slicing pain in his chest again.