Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) (54 page)

Roman looked at his watch and frowned. “She’s been gone a good long time, Boss. I better go check and see what’s holding her up. Probably stocking up on more cheesy souvenirs in the gift shop.”

Before Roman was out of his chair, Liam shot to his feet. “Something’s not right. I can feel it.”

Grabbing Rhiann’s purse, he dropped a huge wad of bills on the table—more than enough to cover their dinner and probably everyone else’s in the room—and bolted from the dining room with his bodyguard in fast pursuit.

“Where’s the ladies’ room?” he barked at the hostess who quickly pointed toward the bar with a shocked expression.

In seconds, he and Bishop were standing in a dark hallway with three marked doors. One was labeled the men’s, the other a ladies’ room, and further along was another door with an illuminated sign that read EMERGENCY EXIT. And it was open.

Roman didn’t hesitate to go barging into the ladies’ room while Liam stuck his head in the men’s room just in case.

“Nothing,” Roman barked. “Fuck,” he growled as he fired up his cell phone.

Liam could only stand there in absolute shock. What was happening? Where the hell was she?

“You looking for the lady you came in with?” asked a pleasant sounding voice.

Turning, he saw their waitress at the corner of the hallway where the server’s station was situated.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Have you seen her?”

“Sure,” she answered. “She just left. Maybe ten minutes ago.”

“Left?” he quizzed as panic grabbed him by the throat.

“Was she alone?” Roman asked.

“No. Actually she was with another customer. A woman. I saw them in the hallway together.”

He and Roman literally sprinted to the emergency exit and flung it open. Scanning the packed parking lot and finding no movement, they were about to go back in the restaurant when the surfer dude valet asked if they needed help.

Liam was pretty sure he was going to vomit all over the kid’s Vans. Roman put a hand on his shoulder for reassurance. How was that even possible? And then he morphed into bodyguard mode and began questioning the pimple-faced kid.

In under a minute, they knew that Rhiann was seen leaving with a dark-haired woman. They got in a yellow Jeep and headed for the main road.

Throwing the car keys at the valet, Roman barked in a brisk, businesslike tone to bring their car around then backed Liam up against the exterior wall of the restaurant.

“Do not move a fucking muscle. Understood?” he growled.

Liam nodded and froze. Roman had placed him somewhere where he could protect him—the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him.

With his back turned so he was facing the parking area, but close enough to Liam so he’d know if he so much as shuffled his feet, Roman got on the phone and began barking instructions.

Alert the local authorities.

Call Cameron Justice and have him pin down how she got a car and double check to see if she had a permit to carry.

Send Smith to the house—
apparently, Roman had given the couple a key for just such an occasion
—and check the place out.

And Liam? His fucking life was passing before his eyes.
Rhiann.
Oh, my god. Kim had her. He was going to murder the bitch with his bare hands when they found her.
If
they found her.

Rhiann was trying desperately not to hyperventilate. Kim, the psycho bitch, had duct-taped her mouth then her hands before shoving her face first into the rear storage area of a smaller SUV. She then managed to do the same to her knees and feet like an experienced rodeo calf-roper working against the clock.

She knew that keeping her wits about her was key to getting out of this mess in one piece so she concentrated on counting—slowly—hoping to establish a frame of reference for how long they drove. But it was nighttime and the darkness inside the car compounded her anxiety.

Making matters worse was the muttering coming from the driver. Rhi could only make out a few words here and there over the sound of her panicked heart rate and the blood rushing to her head. Of course, each time she heard
Liam,
her terror kicked up a notch. She had to concentrate on keeping the bile from rushing into her gagged mouth so she didn’t choke to death.

Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes later—dammit, she lost count and really didn’t know—the car made a series of stops and turns before slowing to a halt. Rhiann’s heart was well and truly pounding in her chest.

Kim appeared in her line of sight when the rear hatch flung open. She produced a knife and made sure Rhi saw it before sneering maliciously and quickly slicing the tape that held her legs and ankles together.

Fucking sick bitch.

“Move it, sister,” her tormentor barked. Hauled upright and dragged over the lip at the rear of the car, Rhi hurriedly glanced around. The car was backed into a space at a motor court. Looked to be about twenty rooms laid out in a ramshackle L shape. Maybe four or five cars dotted the parking area, but for the most part, it looked like their location was pretty isolated.

When Rhi’s bare feet hit the cold pavement, she shuddered. Clearly, Kim had a plan that she was working from because once she’d restrained Rhiann’s hands and knees, she’d torn off her boots before taping her ankles. At some point during the drive, Rhi was pretty sure she heard the sound of a window being lowered followed by crazy lady’s maniacal laugh as her boots undoubtedly went flying.

So . . . barefoot, gagged, and hands bound behind her back. Fun times.

It took only seconds for Kim to hustle her into a very small efficiency room and slam the door behind them. Shoving her violently, Rhi stumbled and fell to her knees while more insane laughter filled the air.

“That’s a good look for you, bitch!’ Kim cackled. “On your knees and trussed up like a pig being readied for the spit.”

Suddenly and without any warning, her captor slapped her across the face so hard she saw stars. Reeling from the hit, Rhiann struggled to stay conscious and alert. If she was going to die, she wanted to remember every detail so when she got to the other side, hopefully, some very ugly karmic retribution would be coming Kim’s way when Rhi unloaded just how despicable a creature she really was.

Before that thought cleared her mind, another vicious hit landed with painful accuracy. Almost immediately, she began to taste blood in her mouth.
Shit.

“Get up, you miserable slut,” Kim hissed. “On the chair. Now!” she screamed two inches from Rhi’s face.

On shaking limbs, she climbed unsteadily to her feet only for Kim to propel her onto a rickety desk chair with force.

“Move and I will gladly kill you.”

Now that she was off the floor and could look around, Rhiann saw that they were in a dinky room with two double beds, a pretend kitchen, and no means of escape.

Kim sat on one of the beds—the other was piled with bags and clothes—and stared at Rhiann. Taking a handgun from the pocket of her jacket, she laid it aside and tore off the black wig with a grunt.

She looked at the clock on the bedside stand and smirked. “Now let’s see how long it takes that testosterone monkey you’ve been running around with to find us.”

“I
T’S NOT THAT EASY,” LIAM overheard the police officer murmur to Roman. “A yellow Jeep might stick out like an eyesore where y’all come from but round these parts, they’re pretty common. Especially with the beach patrol folks.”

Almost an entire hour had gone by. They could be anywhere by now. Liam had never felt this helpless or afraid in his entire life. Numbly sitting in a wooden chair, Rhiann’s purse still clutched in his hands, he hung onto the leather bag like it was connected to her.

He’d nearly knocked Roman on his ass when he took it from him, only backing down when his bodyguard told him rather tersely to sit the fuck down. Going through her purse might reveal clues. They didn’t have any choice.

The only thing dumping the contents out on the chief’s desk got them was a big fat nothing. Her phone was there. Fully charged. The last outgoing call had been to Brynn’s number, which was also logged as the most recent incoming.

A small can of pepper spray on a keychain tumbled out. It was pink. Not badass black. Pink.
Only Rhiann.

A wallet with a wad of crumpled bills, mostly fives and ones, offered no clues other than the fact that Rhiann wasn’t one to carry cash around. Her ID and credit cards were all there, and she’d even tucked Liam’s BPG business card in the back, which was where he’d written his private number.

The chief, his deputy, and Roman all sent differing glances his way when a hotshot officer thought there was the imprint of lipstick visible on the card. Had she kissed the white rectangle with his handwriting on it before she squirreled it away where nobody but her, she thought, would see it?

It still wasn’t too late for him to be sick.

“We’ll start patrolling, don’t you worry about that,” the chief assured them.

Liam got the distinct impression the gruff and burly man with his horseshoe mustache and shaved head was not happy that the quiet in his beach town was being shaken up by a bunch of northern city people.

A phone went off, filling the cramped office with the disco beat of Roman’s tongue-in-cheek ringtone. It might have been funny under different circumstances.

After a few quick words, he put the call on speakerphone.

“Gentlemen, this is Cameron Justice. He’s a licensed investigator—a service buddy of mine—who’s been working the case.”

Nods of understanding could be seen.
Was every fucking cop former military,
Liam wondered. Some brotherhood.

“Go ahead, Cam,” Roman said.

“The car is a rental,” Liam heard the disembodied voice state. “Cash up front and a very fake license. She was prepared. Don’t waste time poking around the rental houses. Anything that went through a property management company would require a credit card or personal check. She’s quite obviously trying not to leave a trail and is operating on a cash basis. Focus on the motels and if you can pinpoint them, the properties that rely on Craig’s List. Any place where cash would be in play.”

“What about the permit?” Roman inquired abruptly.

“Nothing that went through the system but her gangbanging fuck buddy has at least one weapon’s offense on his record.”

“NYPD is all over that asshole,” Roman murmured.

“One more thing,” intoned Cam. “She made a mistake. They always do. Amazingly, she purchased a prepaid phone then stupidly loaded it up using a credit card. I’m sending you the details now. She’s been using it to hop around social media sites. Info stalking. Waiting for one of you to post a picture or something. Fuel the insanity, y’know?”

“Understood,” Roman growled. “I have Miss Wilde’s phone, and it happens to be overloaded with just what you’re talking about. Maybe we should post something on her Facebook page. Try and force her hand.”

“Got anything that’ll rattle Walsh’s cage?”

Roman’s snicker was menacing. “Oh, definitely.”

Cam chuckled. “Send it to me, dude, and I’ll get into Miss Wilde’s account and get it up for all the world to see.”

Oh, fuck.
Liam didn’t like the way that sounded. Rhiann was always so private and guarded with her personal life. Just like him.

“Bishop,” he muttered—amazed that his voice worked. Scowling for all he was worth, Liam shook his head at the forbidding face of his friend.

“Relax, Boss. Cam is right. If she wants a reason to go off, let’s give her one. She’s already making mistakes. This is how we catch the . . .”

“Precisely,” Cam chimed in. “And now that I have the number, the minute she uses the phone again, we’ll be able to pinpoint her location. She’ll surface, gentlemen.
Guaran-fucking-teed.
She wants something. The longer she stays silent, her crazy compounds. Poking her to get a response moves the ball back into our court.”

The rest of the conversation went on in a hazy bubble above Liam’s head. He needed to do something besides sit there looking stunned, but no amount of research or web surfing was going to make his nerves settle down.

Glancing at Roman, he studied the man in whose hands he’d placed Rhiann’s life—and his. The thunderous glare of hostility coming off him was positively animalistic. It dawned on Liam, now that he knew about the heartbreak in Roman’s past, that maybe he’d gone into this line of work as an act of . . . something. Contrition, perhaps. He hadn’t been able to save his own wife. Spending his days protecting others could very well be how he dealt with the pain of his loss.