Blood And Bone (32 page)

Christ, had that house merely been a convenient place to dump her body, or had she been alive when she’d been taken there? He couldn’t even begin to imagine the fear, the horror she’d felt being dragged into that place. Dying within those walls.

Why would Anderson have killed her? He’d already served his time.

Des swallowed the bile creeping up the back of his throat. That man’s blood flowed through his veins. The genes of a sick, deranged killer made up his own. No wonder Shayne wanted nothing to do with him after all this was over.

Ian stopped the car, and Des sank lower in his seat. He hoped his uncle would hurry and finish whatever he needed to do. He wanted to get to the police. After all, he had about a million questions for them.

“Come on,” Ian said, opening the car door. “I need your help. The sooner we finish up here, the sooner we can go.”

Des rolled his eyes. He popped open the door and started for the cabin. As he climbed the short flight of steps to the deck, his phone started to buzz inside his jacket. He shouldered the screen door open, reached for his cell with one hand and unlocked the door with the other.

As he slid the phone from his pocket, he pushed wide the heavy oak door. Shayne’s number flashed on the screen, and a tiny bolt of panic punctured the fog encasing his mind. Was she okay?

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this, you little shit.”

The deep voice dragged Des’s attention from the cell. He looked up, and barely had time to register Warren standing just inside the cabin, arm cocked, before the man’s fist plowed into his face.

His head snapped back, his phone went flying. Brilliant agony exploded as his nose crunched. Blood flooded his nasal passages, dripped down the back of his throat, filling his mouth with the meaty, iron flavor. He stumbled on the top step before free-falling and landing flat on his back.

The impact thrust the air from his lungs. His head struck something hard, then there was nothing at all.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Investigators considered many motives for the murders of Gwendolyn Grey-Anderson and her son. Jealousy, betrayal, rage—unfortunately no one took into account old-fashioned greed, and a murderer went unpunished for more than two decades.”

—excerpt from
Blood and Bone
by Shayne Reynolds

“What are you doing? Whom are you phoning? I asked you a question.” Heddra Grey’s sharp words pricked at Shayne’s last nerve like stinging bees. She stood and pressed a finger to her free ear in an effort to drown out the older woman’s voice while holding her phone to the other. The ringing stopped with a click, and Des’s voice instructed her to leave a message.

Crap.

“Hi, it’s me,” she said, after the beep. “I need to speak to you about your sister. Please phone me back. It’s important.”

She hit End and looked down at the phone, willing it to ring. Icy knots twisted her belly. There could be a number of reasons Des wasn’t answering his phone. He might be busy, or maybe he left his cell in the car, or maybe he believed she was responsible for his sister dying and he didn’t want to talk to her.

Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling something was very wrong. She whirled around to face the old woman. “Why would your son lie to us about something like that?”

Heddra’s lips thinned until they all but disappeared. “I couldn’t say. Was that Desmond you were calling?”

Shayne nodded only half-listening. What could Ian gain by telling Des that his sister was dead? Had he wanted Des to go somewhere with him? Maybe get him out of the house and leave her vulnerable to Tic? That was a distinct possibility.

“He didn’t answer?” Heddra asked.

“What?” Shayne asked, her tone sharp. Why couldn’t the woman stop pestering her with stupid questions? “No, I left a message on his voice
mail. Did you send Ian to get Des out of the apartment to give Tic another shot at me?”

The old woman blew out a sigh and reached for the cup and saucer on the table beside her. “This is the second time you’ve insulted my intelligence. I don’t appreciate it.”

Shayne rolled her eyes. Like she cared if she offended the old harridan or not.

“Mrs. Grey, shall I call the police?” Deirdre asked, still standing in the doorway and wringing her stubby fingers.

“Not just yet, I think,” Heddra said, lifting the cup to her lips and sipping noisily. When she lowered it, the china
clinked
on the matched saucer. “I’m curious about my son’s behavior as well. Call him and tell him I wish to see him immediately.”

Could Ian have killed Gwen? Why?

Because she was coming home, giving up her husband and returning to her mother’s side. Returning to take charge of her mother’s empire…or at least that’s what he believed. He had no idea Gwen and Robert had planned to leave Dark Water.

“Of course, madam,” Deirdre said.

“Wait, don’t.” Shayne lifted her hand. “Des is with him. We don’t want to let on we know something is wrong.”

“She may have a point,” Heddra agreed. “But keep paging Hudson. We may need his help.”
 

The digital pulse of her phone cut through the quiet. Shayne jumped. She glanced at the screen where Des’s number flashed, and let out a slow breath, her muscles turning soft.

She pressed the phone to her ear. “Thank God. I was worried about you. Listen, I’m—”

“No, you listen,” a deep, muffled voice cut in. Definitely male, but beyond that unrecognizable. “I’m going to give you a series of instructions and you’re going to follow them to the letter. If you don’t, we’ll kill him.”

“Des?” she asked, stupidly still processing what he was saying.
We
. He’d used the word
we
—whoever was calling wasn’t working alone.

“You have twenty minutes to bring us every piece of information you have about Gwendolyn Grey.” He rattled off an address she didn’t recognize. “If you do as you’re told, I’ll let you both live. If you don’t, or if you do something stupid like call the police, I’ll kill him. Twenty minutes. Or his blood will be on your hands too.”

The line clicked and the dial tone buzzed in her ear. Shayne pressed End. Her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn’t lose Des, not like this. God help her, what if he was already dead? Her knees trembled, threatening to buckle. She grabbed the back of the nearest chair to steady herself.

“Was that Desmond?” Heddra demanded.

Shayne shook her head. “I don’t know who that was. I think he was trying to disguise his voice.” If it was Ian, the man was no criminal genius—she’d watched Des leave with him. “Whoever he was, he’s not working alone.”

“Well, what did he want?”

“My notes. He wants everything I have about your daughter’s murder, and if I don’t bring it to him, he’ll kill Des,” she spoke the last on a whisper, pressing her fingers to her mouth. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t. She had to do something.

“Call the police,” Heddra said, waving one skeletal hand as though she were swatting away a fly.

“No. He has Des, and he threatened to kill him if we call the police.”

Those black eyes narrowed and Heddra jabbed a bony finger at her. “You can’t possibly be considering doing what he asked. You must realize you’ll be killed too. And if Ian murdered my Gwen, by God I will see him punished.”

Even if it means her grandson dies. Shayne swallowed down her slow-building anger. If she wanted to get Des and herself out of this mess alive, she might need the old woman’s help.

“Ian doesn’t know I’m here, that I know he lied about Julia.”

Heddra blew out an impatient sigh. “What’s your point?”

“I’m going to get what he asked for—”

“Nonsense. Desmond is probably already dead, and Ian will only kill you too. You’re being foolish. I’ll send for the police.”

At the idea of never seeing Des again, Shayne’s heart clenched, her throat squeezed tight. No, she refused to believe he was gone. She had to pull herself together. “Give me a half hour’s head start, then call the police.”

Heddra tilted her head, and pursed her lips. “You’re being foolhardy, letting sentiment cloud your decisions. Where does he want you to meet him?”

Shayne told her the address.

“That’s Tic’s place. Are you sure you don’t want to call the police?”

Could Tic be the other half of
we
? She swallowed hard, ignoring the ice flooding her veins.

“A half hour,” Shayne said. “Besides, look at it this way, after all these years there may not be enough evidence to tie Ian to Gwendolyn’s murder. If he kills Des and me, the chances of his being sent to prison are a hell of lot better.”

Heddra smiled. “Good point.”

Des remained still, his eyes slit so he could watch his captors without either of them realizing he was awake. Sticks and pine needles jabbed his cheek, and something hard dug into his hip, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to give himself away. With his hands and feet trussed up behind him, his only hope of survival was surprise.

His nose, crusted with dried blood, ached—probably broken—and a shrill throb beat at the back of his head where he’d hit something sharp. A rock, maybe. His face and neck were sticky with blood. That had been a hell of a sucker punch Warren had landed on him. If he ever got the chance, he’d pound that fucker’s face in.

Des shifted and tried to tug his hands free of the bindings, but the ropes tightened, biting into his wrists and ankles. Nausea swept through him, and he clenched his teeth, swallowing back the hot bile bubbling up the back of his throat.

He couldn’t let himself puke, or he risked alerting the two dark figures on the far side of the clearing that he was awake. He was in a hell of a spot, and damned if he could figure out how to get out of this mess.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the forest interior darkened, turning gray and shadowy. Despite the gloom, and having been dumped in a heap at the edge of the woods, Des recognized Tic’s house—the peeling paint and sagging roof. As the minutes ticked by, Des waited for the man to appear, but he didn’t. Only Warren and his uncle stood thirty feet to his right, muttering quietly to each other.

Ian. There had to be a mistake. His uncle wouldn’t be doing this on his own. He must have been acting under orders from Heddi. How did Warren fit in? Des had no idea, and he sure as hell didn’t have time to figure it out now. He had to get out of here.

Ian moved closer, holding something to his ear. Des closed his eyes, forced his body to relax and struggled to keep his breathing even.

“…instructions…to the letter.” Ian was on the phone. Des strained to hear more.

“…twenty minutes to…Des…I’ll kill him.”

Bait, they were using him as bait, but for who?
You know who.
Shayne. His stomach clenched, bringing with it another wave of dizzying nausea. He gritted his teeth, clammy sweat springing to his skin.

He had to get loose. He had to keep them away from Shayne.

Ian stopped next to him and Des held his breath. The pounding of his heart reverberated through his body. Surely, Ian would hear it.

“Twenty minutes.” The icy mirth in his uncle’s voice chilled his blood. He’d never heard Ian speak that way to anyone. “Or his blood will be on your hands.”

“She’s on her way. Dig,” Ian shouted over his shoulder.

“He still out?” Warren called.

Ian chuckled, hard and humorless. “Yeah, he’s out. He hit that rock so hard, he probably won’t wake up until next week.”

A sharp pang sliced through Des. Christ, Ian sounded so damned pleased with himself. So damned pleased to be doing away with Des.

The crunch of Ian’s footfalls on the dry leaves and pine needles moved toward the metallic scrape of a shovel in dirt. Des cracked his eyes, peering at the two men, one digging a pit, the other standing next to it. Not a pit. A grave. They were digging a grave…and not just for him.

He had to get free, get to Shayne, before they did. He wriggled his hands in the ropes, trying to slide them free. Instead, the knots tightened, pulling his feet closer to his back. Frustration built like a geyser ready to burst. Shit, shit shit! How the hell would he get out of this?

“When will you shoot him?” Warren asked, panting a little. Des froze straining to listen.

“Not yet,” Ian said. “She may need reassurance he’s alive to get her close enough to grab. Actually, it may be smarter not to shoot either of them. Someone could hear gun shots. Tied up, they won’t be able to dig their way out.”

Buried alive? No thanks. But how the hell could he get away trussed up like a goddamned turkey?

Shayne parked at the side of the road, cut the engine and waited in her seat as the headlights dimmed. The sun had slipped behind the horizon, leaving the sky streaked turquoise and indigo, and the woods dark. Forest stretched up on either side of the narrow road like fortress walls. For a moment, Shayne couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. Silence closed in around her as thick and oppressive as the trees outside.

What the hell was she doing? She should go to the police, let them save Des and stop Ian. But if she did, she risked the chance his uncle would kill him. She couldn’t let that happen. At least this way, Ian would think he was in control and she could stall him until the police arrived.

As plans went, it was pretty weak. But it was the only one she had.

Fear and guilt tangled inside her, tying her stomach into knots. This was her fault. Des was in this mess because of her book, and if Ian was telling the truth about Julia, she was dead because of her too.

Shayne swiped her trembling hands down her face, drew in a deep breath and snatched her Leatherman from the passenger’s seat beside her. One of the few items in her car to survive Tic’s assault, she’d grabbed it when she’d picked up her notes from Des’s apartment. The tool, which was like a Swiss Army knife on steroids, was the best she could find to use as a weapon besides a knife from Des’s kitchen. And the tire iron from the trunk of her rental car.

She popped open the door and stepped out into the chilly night. The earthy smell of damp leaves filled her nose. The cold air brought a wave of goose bumps to her skin. She slipped the Leatherman into the back pocket of her jeans.