Private Bodyguard (17 page)

“I'm not afraid of my father,” he spat.

“Then why do all of this?”

Jace cracked his knuckles. More of his calm fell away.

“I wanted to be a painter, once upon a time. Travel the world, find beauty in everything, set up shop in Europe and start a family with a woman with dark hair and an accent.” His voice trailed off for a moment before clear anger started to shine through. “But Nigel already had plans for me. He had high expectations, and I wanted to meet them all. I graduated at the top of my class in high school and college—where I pursued a degree he picked out—and when it was all done, I went straight into Charisma. I didn't even take a break.

“I rose up through the ranks the right way. No special treatment from Nigel...and no appreciation or approval, either. I gave up the life I wanted to live for the only one I thought would make him happy. Not once has he ever given me a ‘good job, son' or ‘I'm proud of you.'” His fists balled. Darling readied herself for whatever outburst she was sure was coming. “Then Jean shows up after all of these years, and suddenly Nigel is laughing and smiling? Changing his will to include her even though she didn't want a dime? Giving her a job in the company without her having a college degree? All of it finally helped me come to the most important realization of my life.”

Darling gave him a questioning look when he didn't continue. He opened his fists and rubbed his palms against his pants. A small smile lifted up the corner of his lips. He looked as if he had mentally checked out.

“I realized that I could never please my father. So, I found a way to hurt him instead.”

Darling swallowed. The bravado she had started to feel stalled at the callousness in his words. “But she was your sister,” Darling started.

Whatever thread of calm he had was severed at her statement. He stood so fast that his chair toppled over. Less than second later he was in her face, hands on the arms of her chair.

“She was a stranger,” he roared. Any facade of a sane man vanished as his anger reverberated off the walls, making its way around the small room. He was seething, chest heaving. It wasn't until that moment that Darling felt absolute fear. Jace managed to calm himself enough to keep talking. But when he spoke, his tone was nothing but ice. “And you're about to find out how little sympathy I have for strangers.”

Darling didn't try to hide her new fear. Instead, she let it show clearly across her features. There was no hope for Jace. There was no turning back. He had chosen his path, and there was no doubt in her mind that he would kill her when his story finished. Though Darling didn't want the end of it to be the end of her. She also refused to let an angry gate guard be the end of Oliver.

Darling gave the man in front of her a quick once-over. She met his gaze when she spoke.

“You don't have a gun.”

And then Darling threw her entire weight against the man who dared threaten her happiness.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jace was taller and heavier than Darling, but she had the element of surprise on her side. He let go of her chair, and together they fell to the ground.

He let out a moan as his back met the concrete. With her hands still tied behind her back, Darling fell against his chest. She didn't want to lose her momentum, so she brought her knee up hard against his groin. He cursed loudly and swung up, his fist meeting her jaw. The blow was hard enough to make her see stars but also had enough power to push her off him.

Trying her hardest not to pass out, she managed to rock up into a crouching position and, using the wall, eventually stand. Jace wasn't fast to respond, still writhing in pain. It gave Darling all the time she needed to get to the door. She backed against the door and was thankful she could still move her wrists enough to grab and turn the doorknob.

“There's nowhere to go,” she heard Jace yell out as she ran through the poorly made hallway to the next door that led into the house. With adrenaline pumping through her body, she opened the door and immediately backtracked to shut it. The task of throwing the deadbolt took precious seconds, but she managed it by getting on tiptoe to lift her hands up. She heard Jace laughing from the workshop but didn't let it slow her down.

The Slate House had three stories. The basement was dark and damp, and had one half bathroom in it. Its stairs were located next to the kitchen—the room she was currently in—but Darling refused to enter a room with only one exit. Without any lights on, the natural light that filtered in through the upper stories' windows wouldn't touch the lower level. The main floor, if she remembered right, had four rooms and no real place to hide since there was no longer any furniture. That left the top floor and its three bedrooms and attic space.

Darling had started to move through the kitchen when a shot rang out behind her. Unable to stop the scream that tore from her throat, she looked, terrified, at the bullet hole in the door she had just locked. Jace had a gun after all.

With more urgency than before, Darling hobbled down the hallway and turned at the stairs. Quickly yet quietly, she took the steps two at a time until she was at the landing. The pain in her foot was incredible, even though she was trying her best to only put pressure on the very edge of her foot, but she knew she had to keep going, If she could find a place to hide, maybe it would buy Oliver enough time to get to her.

She just hoped Oliver would see George Hanley coming.

* * *

O
LIVER
RACED
DOWN
the road, determination pushing him. The pleas from Nikki to wait for the police replayed in his mind, but he paid them no heed. This time he wasn't going to count on them to guide him to Darling. She had been gone too long. Every second counted now.

He glanced at the gun on the passenger seat. Rarely did he find a good excuse to bring it out, but he couldn't think of a better reason.

Rachel had traced Jace's cell phone to a piece of land in the middle of Mulligan. George's phone had last been used at the gatehouse, so that had been a quick dead end. Oliver was betting that Jace believed no one else had figured out his connection to the murder or the kidnapping. He had the confidence of his father. Though when Nigel had come to the realization that his son was one of the two behind everything that had happened, Oliver could hear the man crumple.

He had no time to sympathize.

If Darling had been hurt or worse...

He crushed that thought. The private investigator was strong and clever. She wouldn't let someone like George or Jace end her life.

Oliver pictured the two men trying to hurt her, and anger instantly filled him. It took him a few seconds to realize his phone was ringing on his lap. Not recognizing the number, he answered on the second ring.

“Darling?” he asked, hopeful.

“It's Derrick,” the deputy replied. “I heard you're going after her by yourself.”

“If you're going to tell me to wait, you can—”

“I'm not,” Derrick interrupted. “You're driving up to a house that's three stories. There's a front door, a side door that leads to the attached workshop from the kitchen, and a back door that leads off of a second sitting room.” Oliver didn't stop the man as he continued to give him a quick layout summary. After detailing the rooms on the main and top floor, he said, “There's also no cover driving up to the house. Whoever is in there will see you coming a mile away. So I suggest you go in fast and hot.”

“No problem there,” he assured the cop.

“Good luck, Oliver. Backup should be there a few minutes after you.”

They hung up without any more comments. Oliver visualized the house from the deputy's description, already forming a plan for entry.

Crash.

A car from the opposite direction slammed into the side of the SUV.

Oliver tried to keep the vehicle from going into the ditch, but the impact was too great. The SUV went to the left just as the airbags deployed, and the SUV flipped before he could do anything to stop it. The windshield blew out and an awful metal crunching sounded before the world stilled.

Oliver gasped, trying to suck in some air while getting his bearings. His seat belt kept him upside down but still in his seat. Below him he could see the ground where the windshield should have been. He tried to look out the driver's side window, but the door was too damaged. When he could catch his breath, he undid his belt. The fall to the car's roof wasn't graceful, but he was glad when he didn't feel any broken bones. Though his left shoulder didn't feel the best.

He tried to open the door, but it wasn't budging. As quickly as he could, Oliver crawled to the passenger's side door, grabbing his gun as he went. He wouldn't have left the vehicle without it. Whoever had hit him had done it on purpose. That he was sure of, at least.

He had been hit about five minutes from his destination, which meant that on either side of the road there was nothing but open fields with trees in the distance. That meant no cover. Oliver kept that in mind as he exited the flipped SUV and moved around its side to the back to get a view of the road he had just been on.

The car that had hit him was in the middle of the road, the front right side dented but mostly intact. Oliver checked his gun, wincing at the pain in his arm. It was Darling's car he was looking at, but it was empty.

“You're harder to kill than I thought.”

Oliver spun around, gun raised.

George Hanley met him with his own raised gun.

“Where's Darling?” Oliver yelled. The gate guard was bleeding from his forehead and shoulder.

“Does it really matter?” he said with a smirk.

Oliver pulled the trigger and jumped to the side before George could do the same. The bullet hit the gate guard in the shoulder, and he dropped his gun in surprise. He hadn't expected Oliver to act that quickly.

George tried to bend down to get the gun, but Oliver wasn't through with him. He closed the space between them and punched the sleazy man for all he was worth. George crumpled to the ground.

It was an instant knockout.

“I don't have time for you,” Oliver said to the unconscious man. He didn't give him any more thought before jogging back up to the road. The keys were still in the ignition of Darling's car. He hopped into the driver's seat and sighed in relief when the car started. Although the door didn't shut all the way and the window was gone, it did the job of turning around and speeding down the road.

George had been dispatched to take care of him, which meant that Darling was alone with Jace. It was a thought that kept his adrenaline running high.

Derrick had been right about the house being in the middle of nothing but open space. Minutes later, Oliver was speeding up its drive. Darling's car was quiet, but anyone looking out of the windows would see him. Pain went through his shoulder as he cut the engine and opened the dented door. He knew he'd feel more of the crash's damage as his adrenaline wore off and he was able to rest, but for now he needed to find Darling. Thinking of losing her tightened his chest. He pushed the feeling away. He needed to focus.

He hurried to the back door and moved beside it. It was locked. Derrick had said there were two more ways to get into the house. As much as he wanted to burst through the door, he didn't want to give up his location until he had a better handle on what was going on. If he went in, guns blazing, he might spook Jace into doing something he would seriously regret.

Oliver would make sure of that.

Following the wall closely, Oliver crept along its length until he turned the corner to see the workshop extension. He held the gun firm and listened for a beat. Nothing. He turned the knob. It opened with ease. With gun raised, he went inside.

There had been a struggle but thankfully no blood. Two chairs were knocked over and Oliver could see through the open door, down the walkway and into the kitchen. He imagined Darling running into the house and hoped his mind wasn't inventing a wishful scenario instead of a plausible one. He moved quickly through the windowless pathway and into the kitchen. The house wasn't as well-lit as he would have liked—shadows stuck to the corners—but Oliver was thankful the house was devoid of furniture. Only a random assortment of bottles and trash was scattered around. He sidestepped a glass bottle and moved into the adjoining room.

It was empty, and so was the room opposite.

“Here, here, little Darling,” Oliver heard Jace taunt.

Oliver pushed himself against the living room wall, looking out through the double-framed archway to the base of the stairs.

“Come out so we can get this over with,” Jace called in a singsong voice. “You can't hide forever.”

Sweet relief swept through him. Darling was alive.

But where was she?

Oliver looped around the archway, and instead of going for the stairs, he went to the front door. He threw it open, making as much noise as he could, before retreating to the living room again. This time he positioned himself with his gun held high and steady.

Footsteps sounded against the landing and then the stairs as Jace ran down them. Oliver waited until the man was in his sights before he spoke.

“Don't move or I'll—”

Just as Oliver had done to George, Jace raised his gun and shot before Oliver could finish talking. The bullet hit the wall beside him, and he returned fire.

But nothing happened.

His gun jammed.

Oliver pulled back deeper into the room as another bullet struck the wall. He could hear Jace move back up the stairs in a hurry. Oliver cursed under his breath and ejected the jammed bullet from the chamber. Now that Jace knew he was in the house, he might get more desperate to find Darling. Oliver couldn't have that.

Readying his gun, he swung around into the hallway and started to run up the stairs. He didn't expect Jace to keep shooting blindly. Oliver had already made the judgment call that the younger Marks lacked courage unless he was confident everything was on his side. Less confidence, less control. Stepping out to gun Oliver down on the stairs would mean that he would have to put himself in a compromising position. No, Jace was probably already setting himself up in one of the hallway's corners, waiting for Oliver to step onto the landing. The question was, was Jace to the left or the right?

Taking a deep breath, Oliver stepped past the last stair and pointed his gun to the right. It was the wrong way. A bullet whizzed by his ear and shattered the top portion of an already broken window at the right end of the hallway. Another noise filled the air, but he didn't have time to register it before turning and shooting to the left. Jace ducked into one of the bedrooms to avoid the hit. That's when he realized the noise he had heard had been Darling's scream.

He turned his head back to the now fully broken window. Standing on the outside of the house—on what must have been the workshop walkway's roof—was his private investigator. She was bleeding across her chin and her hair was wild, but she didn't seem to be in any major physical distress. She watched him with wide eyes as he ran over to her. Had the bullet hit her?

“I'm okay,” she answered his unasked question. “It scared me.”

Oliver looked over his shoulder, expecting Jace to pop back out. He needed to get Darling out of the way. She must have been reading his mind again. She ducked to avoid a low-hanging shard of glass. Her hands were bound, so he helped guide her through the window until she was standing inside.

“Oliver!” she yelled before he could usher her to safety. He spun around, gun raised, but it was too late.

Oliver put his body in front of Darling's and felt an explosion of hot pain searing into his stomach. Only on reflex was he able to return fire. It put Jace back into the bedroom, giving Darling enough time to drag Oliver to the left.

“No, no, no,” Darling chanted, putting her body under his arm to help him walk. The pain was excruciating. It took all he had not to fall to the floor. The bedroom was empty save for a dark oak bed frame in the middle. Darling guided him to the side farthest from the door. They all but fell to the ground next to it. “Oh, my God, Oliver.”

He looked down at the bullet wound and winced at the sight. A bullet in the stomach wasn't good—though most bullets anywhere weren't—and he knew he was in a bad situation.

“You need to put pressure on it,” she whispered. “I can't. My hands are tied.”

Oliver put down the gun and reached into one of his pockets. The movement made him see stars.

“Lucky you,” he said, pulling out his pocket knife. Darling turned and scooted toward him. He cut through the ties easily enough. As soon as her hands were free. she surprised him by taking off her jacket and putting it against his wound. He couldn't stop the yell of pain at the pressure.