Jazz grinned. “What’s the theme?”
“Money.”
They both laughed. Lindsey ran to the closet, changed his shirt, grabbed a jacket, and went to the bedroom door. “Have fun, you two. I shouldn’t be long.”
Jazz waved. “Okay. Thanks for the talk.”
The talk that wasn’t over.
Outside the door, he stopped. Hard to catch his breath. What would he have said if Bruce hadn’t called? He shook his head. What the hell did Bruce want? What was he up to? He sounded desperate, but that was Bruce. And the man’s whole kidnap story reeked of mendacity. This could be a trap. He glanced at the door. But rather than have that conversation with Seth, he’d take a trap any day.
Might as well hurry.
In the car, he activated the GPS on his phone and followed it to a broken-down warehouse building in a bad section of Hartford. It looked oddly familiar—like the buildings the kidnappers used. He reached under the seat to a special compartment where he carried a gun. Granny could never have too many. This place was creepy, and better safe, as they said. He slipped the weapon into the waistband of his jeans, pulled the sweater over it, and got out.
A door in the side of the building creaked open, and Bruce leaned out. “Lindsey, here.” He looked around frantically and waved Lindsey in.
Hmm. He walked over to the door, glancing around as Bruce was, but stopped before he entered. “What’s this all about? What is this place?”
“Get inside, quick. Someone may see us.”
“My car is not exactly invisible, darling.”
“Oh God, right. Can you put it in back and then come in? Hurry, please.”
The guy smelled like fear. That part was genuine, whatever else he might have going on.
Lindsey trotted to the Tesla, drove it to the back of the building, and returned to the door. Bruce stood inside, looking frantic and terrified.
Lindsey leaned in and glanced around the large, low-ceilinged room. No one except Bruce. Okay, a trap he could take, as long as it wasn’t a wolf trap. He stepped into the room, which contained a few crates and boxes but was otherwise empty except for a metal staircase that led to an upper floor. It felt a little like the spider and the fly, but he wasn’t going to find out what he needed to know standing in the parking lot. Plus, he had his gun.
Bruce looked both ways and closed the door behind Lindsey. He waggled his hand. “Come with me.”
“Uh Bruce, this whole thing feels weird, and since I was kidnapped the last time I was with you, forgive me if I’m not dying to follow you anywhere.”
“Oh God, Lindsey, I’m so sorry.” He pressed his back against the wall and slid down until he was a crying heap on the floor.
“Sorry for what, Bruce?”
“I got you kidnapped.”
“You couldn’t have known that the doorman was leading us to the kidnappers. I was as much responsible as you.”
He looked up. “No, I led the kidnappers to you. I chose the tree so they could slip out of the forest and take you.”
Lindsey frowned. “They took you too.”
“No, I just pretended.”
Son of a bitch. “I see. I had suspicions but none confirmed. And are you setting me up again?” He flicked a glance at the room.
“No, honestly. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I’m going to die if I don’t confess.”
He wanted to bite the guy’s head off. “So why did you come to me? The police take confessions.”
He shrugged. “I guess I wanted you to talk me out of it. I thought maybe you could see a way to get me out of this without going to jail.”
Lindsey walked farther into the open room, then turned toward Bruce. “Why did you do it?”
Bruce sighed audibly and banged the back of his head against the wall. “My father made a number of bad business decisions. He was facing ruin.”
“Yes, I’ve been noticing those as I’ve been trying to track the kidnappers.”
Bruce’s head snapped up. “You’ve been tracking the kidnappers?”
“Yes, a bit. Helping the police. After all, these people are my friends. So what happened? The kidnappers contacted you and said if you’d lure me, they’d pay you?”
Bruce stared at his feet sticking out from under his bent knees. “Not exactly.”
“So what, exactly?”
He shook his head.
“Bruce, you can’t confess if you won’t tell me anything.”
“M-my father.”
“You did it for him.”
“No, he did it.”
“What?”
“He did it. As in, I did it. Don’t move, Lindsey.” The voice came from behind him. Damn. The man’s cold voice slithered up Lindsey’s spine. Westerberg, senior. Shit. Had he been inside a packing crate? “Please, very carefully remove your weapon from your waistband and place it on the floor, or I’ll shoot you and perhaps my idiot son as well. I should have drowned the little homo at birth.”
Lindsey looked at Bruce, who was staring behind Lindsey like he’d seen a cobra. Yes, he felt a little snaky himself. Which was okay, as long as he didn’t feel wolfy. Stay calm. Could he outgun Westerberg? Obviously, threatening to shoot Bruce would probably elicit applause from his father. Much as he detested Bruce at the moment, getting the man shot might be overkill, literally. Slowly, he removed the gun and lowered it to the floor. Maybe he could shoot between his legs….
“Don’t even think about it.” Westerberg sounded closer and icier.
He placed the gun and stood.
“Kick it away.”
He complied.
“Turn around slowly.”
Lindsey rotated and finally saw the slick silver hair and stony face of Hanson Westerberg. He pushed down the rumble of a growl in his chest.
The man glanced at his son. “So, Bruce, you ass, you felt so badly about Lindsey having to spend a little time tied up that now you’ve managed to get him killed.”
“What?” Bruce came up onto his knees like he was praying. Yes, and it sounds like prayers are in order. “What are you talking about?”
“You fool. Don’t you see that now that he knows who’s behind this, I can’t let him live? Do you ever have two intelligent thoughts in a row?”
“You can’t kill him! You’ll have to kill me too.”
“That can be arranged.”
Bruce’s face went white. He knew his father meant it.
Lindsey felt his hackles rise. Attack. Kill. It whispered along his nervous system. Deep breath. Sadly, the situation was much as Westerberg described it. The kidnappers couldn’t continue to ply their trade if Lindsey lived.
Westerberg glanced around the room. “Vanessen, get over there.” He pointed toward the metal stairs. Lindsey moved slowly in that direction. Choices. Which gave him the best opportunity for survival—a gunshot without silver or a fall from a great height? Because clearly that must be Westerberg’s plan. Those stairs looked like a great place for an accidental fall. Lindsey’s wolf blood made him harder to kill, but neither choice was a stroll in the garden. Better to shift and eat the guy, but the moon was no longer full. Could he still muster the energy to shift? Westerberg could kill him while he tried. Plus, he didn’t want to kill Bruce, but the guy was a wimp who couldn’t be trusted, so shifting in front of him was dangerous to everyone. Well, hell.