Finding Leigh: Dark Horse Inc. Book 3 Page 2

  Chapter 2

  A flip of the coin. Two locations. One choice obvious, considering the time, 4:25am. The other option, a long shot. If he chose wrong, Rick could tip his hand and run the risk of alerting Sutton. He figured the bastard might think he’d bought himself some time.

  Marcus likely thought Rick was down, maybe even dead or dying. Dark Horse would grieve, lick their wounds and regroup. Or so the bastard would assume.

  He would take Marcus’s underestimation and use it to his full advantage. The elements of time and surprise were Rick’s biggest assets.

  He sat in front of a desk in his new, virtually empty home and typed the two addresses into his laptop. The screen’s bright glow cast shadows and gloom over the cavernous office. Pete might be Dark Horse’s technology expert, but Rick wasn’t without his own skills. He’d traced the plate number Addie had given him to L and S Consulting. Among other things, the company touted a reputation for donating half of all profits to providing medical supplies and services to third world countries.

  Rick’s longshot for finding Leigh? A smaller branch of the so-called consulting firm, called Beating Heart Industries. It used a large warehouse on the outskirts of town near the river to receive, store, and ship secondhand medical supplies and equipment for the nonprofit arm of the business.

  Then there was the obvious choice. He’d found residential property recently leased by L and S. The home sat in one of the most expensive neighborhoods, just outside the city limits. Any normal person should be at home in bed, oblivious to the monsters lurking in the dark, waiting to attack.

  Tonight, Rick was that monster, and heaven help the sorry bastard who got in his way.

  He memorized both routes and closed the computer’s screen. Using his good leg he awkwardly stood, ignoring the pain in his wound. The lidocaine used for his stitches had worn off, leaving him with an itching, screaming ache.

  He’d leashed his impatience while focusing on his search, but now it raked at his insides, fighting for control.

  Leigh was alive. Marcus, the sick fuck, would want to play with her first. Rick’s only hope was that he got to her before Marcus had any significant time with her. Hopefully, with one portion of his heroin distribution operation in shambles, he was busy tying up loose ends. Rick’s gut said that he’d likely hidden Leigh somewhere until he had time to savor her.

  Nausea and blistering anger roiled up inside Rick until he had to swallow the urge to vomit. He fought to slow the air rushing in and out of his lungs, focusing on a mirror hanging on the wall until his vision cleared.

  He tossed the laptop in his duffle then slung the bag over his shoulder. Exiting his home, Rick locked the door behind him and paused. His jeans stuck to his thigh. He ran a palm over the spot and cursed. The wet denim felt warm against his palm.

  How long do I have before I fall flat on my face?

  Anger, adrenaline and raw, burning determination would only get him so far. I’m not invincible. Even now, exhaustion grabbed and pulled at him with greedy fingers. Pain pounded at him with every single heartbeat, each pulse stronger than the one prior.

  But, damn it all. This was his mess. It was his fault that Marcus had taken Leigh.

  He opened the door to his SUV and threw his duffle across to the passenger side. The circular driveway led to an even longer path through his silent and empty property.

  What would happen if he didn’t survive the night? He had confidence in his skills, his equipment. He knew enough about himself to know that he’d rescue Leigh or die trying.

  But, he wasn’t a superhero, not even a mortal one. If he didn’t survive, he knew Joe and Trent would pick up his trail and take up where he left off. His crew would miss him, but they’d be okay. His father, his only family, would be fine without him. In fact, he had been for over twenty years.

  Guilt and worry swallowed him into a yawning, hollow pit. He could make all the justifications he wanted, but if something happened and he didn’t make it out of this, he’d be leaving a huge—possibly the most important responsibility he’d ever claimed—hanging out to dry.

  He fished out his phone and dialed number at the top of his call log. Just like every other time he called it, the generic voicemail greeted him.

  With a croak in his voice, he answered the robotic request for him to leave a message. “Hey, Addie. It’s Rick. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to get Leigh back. I promise you that.” He carefully swung his leg into the SUV and his wound protested with a burning, ripping pain. Stars spun in the periphery of his vision. “If something happens to me, I want you to know that you can call Kate and Trent. Trent’s number is stored in your contacts. He and Kate are the people taking care of your foal.” He closed his door and started his truck.

  “They’re good people. The best people I’ve ever met. If I…if I don’t come out of this, if you don’t hear from me by lunchtime today, I want you to call Trent’s number and tell him everything. If you need even the smallest thing, you call them. I…goodbye, Addie.” He swallowed the basketball in his throat and disconnected the call.

  Contemplating his choices, he pulled out of his driveway and onto the main road. The dark, moonless, early morning sky settled heavily over the landscape. Acres of shadowed pasture lined with white fencing appeared to run beside him as he flew by his sprawling property. Trent would laugh his ass off when he discovered Rick had bought the old Underwood horse farm.

  To this day, I still don’t know the first thing about horses.

  Yet, he’d chosen to stay close to his friend. It hadn’t hurt that the sprawling property with a myriad of stables and barns could conceal any number of things. Vehicles, equipment, training rooms. Hell, he could even construct and hide a helipad or two, if he wanted. Like Walker Farms—it would be secure and no one would question the tight security because of the assumed value of the horses housed on the property. Kentucky, particularly this part of the state, was home to some of the most expensive horses in the world. Of course, he didn’t actually have any horses, but the neighbors didn’t need to know that.

  With his blue blood pedigree, he’d fit right in. But he knew on the most basic level, he didn’t deserve to be here. He knew nothing about horses or animals of any kind. He likely couldn’t cut grass or hay without making a total fool of himself. Equipment? A wide assortment of tractors and trailers had been included with the sale of the farm when the former owner retired due to a health scare that changed his priorities. When they negotiated the sale, he’d assured Rick that everything was in good working order. Rick couldn’t even put a name on the odd vehicles, let alone operate them. Maybe he could have Cara show him without telling the guys? The woman could drive anything.

  The road’s end came into view, signaling that the time to make his decision had come. A dark, empty intersection beneath a highway overpass never seemed so surreal.

  Left or right?

  The highway heading right led to the city’s eastern outskirts and Marcus’s neighborhood. The path to his left would take him to an onramp for the westbound freeway that would take him to the warehouse.

  Most people would be at home in bed. The approaching dawn waited—warm, muggy, and impatient around him.

  His time was limited. Trent and Dark Horse were breathing down his neck. They’d track him soon and, when they found him, it would not be pretty. Yes, absolutely, Leigh’s safety would come first. But after they had her safe?

  Trent would kick his ass, injuries be damned.

  He turned the steering wheel right and drove onto the highway headed east.

  Marcus stormed down the dim hall toward his office. Anger ripped through him, hungry and fierce. A living fire searched for a target, ready incinerate anyone in his path.

  No one in his employ dared come between him and what he wanted.

  And he’d wanted her badly. Still wanted her, with a hunger so savage that it made him pause for a moment. He never denied himself anything.

  He wanted. He
took, and there was no help from heaven or hell for those who hoped to deny him.

  He took a deep breath. This was Wen. He needed to chill. He took another deep breath.

  Nope. Still pissed. Ready to tear the head off any living thing that was stupid enough to get in his way

  Fucking Wen. His brother. Both the only person he loved and the biggest weight around his neck.

  One more reason he was happy to be a cold-blooded bastard. Not having a heart meant he felt no guilt, no responsibility toward anyone but himself.

  Except, twenty years ago, he’d been a child and dumb as a box of rocks when he’d fallen in love with his baby brother. Truly, he’d had no choice. He’d been forced to raise Wen, even though he’d only been a child himself. So, in a fucked-up sense of love, he continued to care for the weakling.

  Marcus threw open the door to his office. He allowed only one person entry to his space when he wasn’t present—his brother.

  Denny knelt on the floor, his hand on Wen’s neck, checking for a pulse.

  He snarled, “Get the fuck out.”

  “It’s bad, boss. You want me to call an ambulance? He needs help, like, yesterday. I know we don’t want to risk the heat, but...”

  “I said get the fuck out.” No need to raise his voice. From day one, he ruled with an iron fist. He paid well to ensure their loyalty, but they were also aware right from the start, no one defied him. His brand of pink slip came attached to a bullet and ended with a trip into the river.

  Denny had been with him for almost three years, longer than almost anyone in his employ. And he wasn’t stupid. He blinked and then he disappeared, shutting the office door behind himself.

  The moment the door closed, Marcus hurried to a potted plant on an antique table in the room’s corner. He lifted it and twisted off the false bottom. Setting the pot’s top half aside, he watched his brother’s thin, t-shirt covered, chest. Hoping he saw a faint rise and fall, he pulled a box from the bottom half of the vase. He dropped the base on the floor where it landed with a dull thud. He tore open the box of Naloxone nasal spray.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to use the opioid overdose med. What a shitty thing to have to be a pro at.

  He popped the caps off both pieces and assembled the kit. He dropped everything on his desk except the spray, then knelt at his brother’s side.

  This was his fault for leading them both down this path. The money. The drugs. The power. He wanted it all for them both. Demanded it. And in the process, he’d brought his not-too-bright brother along for the ride.

  Wen didn’t deserve this. But if he was too stupid to at least listen to Marcus, there was only so much he could do for the idiot.

  This was the last fucking time he’d do this.

  He felt for a pulse and found a weak one. Tilting Wen’s head back, he sprayed a half a dose into each nostril. Rolling his brother on his side, he cursed. “Man, you better fucking wake up. You have no idea what you just interrupted.” He smacked his brother on the back of the head. “Wendell!”

  “Wendell Alexander Lewis!” Fuck me, what a stupid name. Their mother had said that he needed a name that would sound proper when they attended parties and expensive schools. She hadn’t been any brighter than Wendell. He smacked his brother harder. “Wake the fuck up.” It summed up their life. Born dirt poor, grasping, fighting for more.

  “Ow.” His brother groaned weakly. “Don’t.” He tried to roll to his back.

  “No way. You stay right there. I’m not getting puked on again.” Angry and maybe even a tiny bit scared, Marcus smacked Wen again, this time far less hard. “You did it again, motherfucker. Almost killed yourself.”

  Eyes closed, with a weak hand, Wen swiped a hand over his brow, clearing the mess of greasy dark blond hair. The moment he dropped his hand, it fell back into place. “I know. Think I saw mom. She would make a pretty angel.” Squinting, he blinked his bloodshot, dark brown eyes several times.

  “Bullshit. Whores don’t go to heaven.” Holding Wen’s shoulder, he fought to keep the memories of a grasping housekeeper with the skills to get what she wanted but not enough brains to keep it. Each time he looked at his brother, he saw their mother in Wen’s fine-boned features. He’d be a good looking male, if he ever got his act together. Marcus didn’t see that happening any time soon.

  “Come on, do you think I’d go to heaven?” His brother laughed, weak and rasping. “I said she would make a pretty angel, not is one. Don’t think I was standing in front of pearly gates, Marc. I’d like to see her again.”

  He released his brother and stood. “She was worthless white trash. Get that shit out of your head.” He toed Wen in the back with his shoe. “Get the fuck up.”

  “Chill! I almost died. Give me a break.” As dramatic as it sounded, his brother was right. He swiped his messy hair out of his eyes and splayed his arms out to his side. This time, his too-long, shaggy hair stayed.

  They wouldn’t be in this boat if it weren’t for their mother and Wen’s father. She’d had the bastard in the palm of her hand, quite literally, at one point. When the time had come to use her brains instead of her body and display a little patience, she’d gotten greedy too fast. She’d lost sight of the big picture and settled for a minute fraction of what they’d been entitled to.

  Then she’d blown every last cent.

  Marcus sat in his desk chair and glared. “You look like shit. Would a shower and haircut kill you?”

  “Hey. Chicks dig the bad boy vibe.”

  “Trashy chicks might, but if you want sweet, clean pussy then you need to show them you have class. You’d have them eating out of your hand. I can pick and choose from a catalogue of women eager to please me.” Yet, the one he wanted waited, bound and gagged, in a storeroom.

  He toed Wen in the side of his head to get his attention. “Do I need to drop you off at the ER? How much did you take? This one was bad. You can’t do this shit again.” They’d been lucky this time. If he hadn’t been nearby or had the Naloxone handy, things could have had a far worse ending.

  He’d be dumping his brother’s body in the river.

  Resignation darkened Wen’s tone. He knew what was coming. “Not much, I swear. You’re going to make me suffer for this aren’t you. Last time was bad.”

  “Yup. We’ll go back to my place. You can suffer through the withdrawal there. I’ll lock your ass in the bathroom again.”

  Wen visibly shuddered. “Fuck. Me.”

  “Man. I love you, but I don’t have it in me to keep this shit up. I’ll throw your ass in the river before I let you ruin everything I’ve built.”

  His brother responded as if he understood it was only a matter of time. “I know you will.”

  Chapter 3

  Joe MacDonald stood on his friend’s front porch, completely oblivious to the sliver of dawn kissing the horizon of Trent’s horse farm. He listened to the phone pressed against his ear, praying that Detective Bowie with Kentucky State Police had something. Even the smallest crumb of news about his sister’s abduction might give them somewhere to start their search.

  “We’ve got two men on Boyd, and they’ll let me know the moment he blinks. Right now, it’s not looking good. He’s on a ventilator, so even if he wakes, he won’t be talking. The doc is worried about possible brain damage due to severe blood loss and lack of oxygen. Even if his condition improves, there’s no guarantee he’ll have anything useful for us. I don’t know much about Sutton, but I have a feeling these two aren’t the best of friends. Sorry, Joe. We’ve exhausted every possible lead. I swear, I’ll update you the moment we have anything at all.” The call disconnected without another word, but Joe clutched the phone, unwilling to release his hold on hope.

  A gentle presence pressed into his side as Cara wrapped an arm around his waist. He shifted to bring her closer, and she laid her head against his shoulder. God, how he loved this about her. No meaningless words or false promises. All she offered was her love and support.
He squeezed her tightly and kissed the top of her head.

  He’d be lost without her.

  “How are your parents and Kylie?” Her soft-spoken question punched him in the gut.

  He’d checked on them first. They were saying up at the big house with Harlan and Sandy Walker. They’d only balked for the briefest moment before conceding that, with so much going on, he would have one less thing to worry about if he knew they were secured at the horse farm. “Upset. Confused. And terrified. But my parents are two of the strongest people I’ve ever known. They’ll keep it together, just to keep things as normal as possible for Kylie. They haven’t told her yet, and I agreed. Maybe once we know more… but we don’t see any point in scaring a six-year-old. They’ve told her that her daddy is working extra. She’s used to that. God, their trust in me is staggering. My father told me not to worry about Kylie, that she’ll be fine with them while I concentrate on finding Leigh. He was so confident that I would be able to find her. I mean, there wasn’t the slightest shred of doubt in his voice. Their faith in me brings me to my knees.”

  Cara squeezed him tighter. “They know you won’t stop until she’s home. That’s all they need, a little hope and their trust in you. They’re not the only ones who believe in you, and you’re not alone in your search.”

  “I know.” And he did. Until he’d fallen hard and fast for his sweet little soldier, Cara, he’d never understood the power of having someone walk by his side. Not just in the sunlight, but who was also willing to fight beside him in the darkest hours of his life. “Let’s go see if the guys have had any luck.”

  Hand in hand, they went inside, where an exhausted and frustrated Trent was answering his cell. He turned on the speaker function and laid it on his dining room table. “Pete, tell me you’ve found something, man.” The small black device held everyone’s attention.

  Pete’s voice came over the phone as Trent braced his arms on the tabletop, wide shoulders tense and palms flat against the surface, as if willing the phone to give him the info he needed. “Okay, I’ve run multiple searches, and you’re not going to believe this. I found a property, not more than eight miles from your place. Underwood Stables. It was sold recently and—”