Her trip was set. The tickets bought. Her bags packed. Everything planned. The only impediment to a happy reunion with her sister? Their wayward father.
“Goddamn it, Dad,” she muttered, stepping over a dented bumper on the floor, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. “Where are you?”
The question caused worst-case scenarios to stream into her head.
Halfway across the garage, fear for him pumped her brakes. She stopped before she reached the control panel that closed the wide steel door. Feet planted in a patch of sunlight flooding the garage, she stared out into the street. Questions poked at her. Was it too late? Was her dad already dead? Had he been buried in a shallow grave… or fed to alligators in one of the swamps surrounding Savannah?
The thought sent her into a tailspin as she watched a dark sedan roll up. Expensive ride. A newer model with blacked-out windows and no brand badges. The sight tweaked her antenna. Could be a Mercedes. Might be an Infiniti. She couldn’t say for sure from a distance, but after years of being forced to run with her father, she owned great instincts. Something about the car didn’t sit right with her. Overactive imagination, maybe. Paranoia, for sure, but…
Cate never forgot a car.
She’d seen the one idling across the street before—trailing behind her as she left work, parked outside her apartment complex, sitting curbside yesterday evening as she closed up shop.
Forcing her feet to move, acting casual, she crossed to the control panel. Closing the door and setting the alarm system just jumped to the top of her to-do list. She pressed the green button. Gears ground into motion. Heavy-duty rubber wheels squeaked against metal tracks. The door started its slow descent toward the concrete floor.
The sedan’s driver door swung open.
Built like a linebacker, a man in a dark grey suit stepped out from behind the wheel. Swanky kit. Suave appearance. Handsome face, pale eyes pointed in her direction. Her nerves jangled as a blond guy, light to the driver’s dark, followed the leader, planting shiny dress shoes on cracked asphalt.
Car doors slammed closed.
The pair shifted toward the shop.
Dropping all pretense, Cate tensed as she watched her uninvited guests cross the street. No question about their destination—her and the garage she stood inside. Willing the door to roll down faster, she backed away from the entrance. Halfway down, the door blocked her view, but she heard the clip of well-heeled shoes rapping across the driveway. Dread spiked through her. Her heart started to tango, dancing inside her chest as her fight-or-flight response hit, jetting through her veins.
Swallowing the bad taste in her mouth, she pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket, but… who should she call? Nine-one-one would be the smartest choice, but what complaint could she register? She could almost hear the conversation now.
Operator: Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?
Her: Well, nothing much, really. Just a bad feeling.
Operator: There’s no emergency?
Her: Yes and no. Two well-dressed male supermodels are approaching my place of business. They’re beautiful, but seem dangerous, and since my dad pisses off scary people on regular basis, I’m thinking—
Operator: Ma’am.
Yeah. Right. Like any of that would go over well.
Something told her telling the emergency operator potential patrons approached her front door wouldn’t rate a drive by any black-and-whites in the area.
Tapping her phone, Cate stared at the home screen. A family photo. One of the only ones she had of her and Nicole (ages six and seven) with their dad. Staring at her father’s face, she wished he’d been better that playing it straight. Wished he’d chosen a different life. Wished he’d stop dragging her into his messes. But wishing didn’t mean squat when faced with a couple of maybe bad guys wearing expensive suits.
Chewing on her bottom lip, she kept her eyes on the bay door, backed toward the stairs to the upper floor, and touched her phone app. She scrolled to down to the only person she trusted to answer and hit go. The Samsung went to work. She heard it ring, then—
“Bellmia,” a deep voice growled. “You done packing?”
Sleepy timbre. Thick Scottish accent.
Her lifeline the last few of weeks. Her calm in the midst of the storm.
Relief whirled through her.
Backing away from the still-descending door, Cate skirted a workbench and whispered, “Ran.”
“What’s wrong?” A rustle came through the line. A creak sounded, followed by a heavy thump. Sounded like bedsprings then feet hitting the floor. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet, but if something happens to me… if you don’t hear from me, if I don’t get on the plane—”
“What the fuck?”
“Ran, my dad’s in trouble.” Swiping a heavy wrench off the table, she watched a big hand reach under the door. Sensors detected the breech. Breath stalled inside her chest as downward momentum stalled. Rubber wheels reversed course, moving up, pulling the garage door away from the floor. Spinning toward the rear emergency exit, she searched for a spot to hide. Nary an obvious one in sight. The open plan and slick design didn’t allow for hidey-holes. “I’ve been looking for him. Asking questions. Now, there are guys here.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Description, Catie. Now.”
She rattled off the details, giving as many as she could. The squeaking stopped. Long shadows entered the garage as the duo stepped inside. “This is not good. Not good. So not good.”
“Rear exit?”
“Yes, but it empties onto an alley with a dead end.”
Rannock snarled, sounding more animal than human. “Fuck.”
Excellent summary. Perfect enunciation. She couldn’t have expressed it better herself.
“Run, lass—hide. Call the police. Get to—”
The emergency exit door slammed open. Hinges shrieked, cutting off Rannock’s instructions. Reinforced steel hammered the wall, making chunks of red brick fly toward the ceiling. Bigger than the other two, a third man stepped out of the alley into the garage, trapping her between the front door and the back of the shop.
Her brain took a snapshot as she lunged toward the stairs leading up the second floor. Dark hair. Dressed in jeans and an expensive long-sleeved sweater. Nasty expression on his face. Obviously related to the other two guys already inside.
“Shit.”
“Cate? Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening.”
Phone pressed to her ear, she locked eyes with the bad guy. “Three of them, Ran. They’re inside the shop.”
“Listen tae me,” Rannock said, voice even, but she heard the underlying fury in his tone. “They’re going tae take you. Don’t fight, lass. Stay alive. I’m coming for you, Catie-mine. I’m coming. I’ll find you. Just stay alive for me. Stay alive. Do you hear me?”
Terror gripped her. “Ran.”
“What’d I say?”
Her feet landed on the bottom tread. Pumping her legs, she sprinted toward the top of the stairs. “Don’t fight. Stay alive.”
“Good, Bellmia,” Rannock said, voice low, so deep and dark it grounded her. “I’m coming for you. I’m—”
A hand grabbed the back of her jacket.