Page 102 of Mercenary
“I need you for something. Actually, for two things.”
“I’m not working for you.”
He shakes his head, then stands up and moves to the kitchen counter, where he rummages through a drawer. He withdraws a piece of paper and a pen. “Go into the bedroom and put one of Declan’s gray zip-up sweatshirts. One with a hood. Then meet me outside in five minutes.” He ignores me, writing out his shopping list or whatever it is that has him choosing his words carefully.
“And if I say no?”
Pausing, he turns. “I’ll tear up this note and you’ll never learn what could have been. A shame. I actually like you.”
“I wish I could say the same about you,” I reply, hearing him laugh as I do as he asks, finding the same gray sweatshirt Declan was wearing when I first saw him, and sliding it over my T-shirt.
I find him waiting for me on the wraparound porch. I resist the urge to shift away and hold my ground as he steps toward me, then tucks his note in my pocket.
“My deal is this. Whoever I send after your sister, I promise you they’ll be bending over backward to hear what lies she has to say.”
What? No. What kind of arrangement is this?
Hayden continues, unaffected by how the hope he’s intentionally built up inside of me comes crashing down around my feet.
He takes hold of my elbow and leads me away from the ranch house. “If Franco’s men haven’t butchered her yet.”
30
Madelyn
Hayden doesn’t say much. Not until he abruptly stops his cherry-red Ferrari—immaculately polished like his shiny black shoes—outside the gates of Freedom’s Bluff and plugs in digits on a cell-phone app. “Resetting the security code,” he explains in a brisk manner.
The phrase “ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies” runs through my head. I’ve had my fill of both.
It’s impossible to have a civilized conversation with a man hell-bent on destroying you, even if I wanted to. Driving like a lunatic must be par for the course for a man like him.
My stomach catches in my throat with every sharp turn as he floors the accelerator gear like the weight of the world is riding piggyback on top of his foot, while he follows the long expanse of dirt driveway leading away from what I’ve come to realize is a highly alarmed, well-secured ranch.
“Freedom’s Bluff,” I snort, the irony of the name giving me another nod hello then the Italian salute as we speed away. “Bluff like the verb. Yep, I get it now. Your doing, I suppose.” It’s not a question, more like a stated assumption. My amusement is reflected back to me within the mirrors of the sunglasses he still wears.
He keeps quiet next to me. Like the ranch’s name, this man is a surprise. Who would have thought there’s a wicked sense of humor buried inside a man whose power positively seeps out of his pores?
His eyebrows arch over the rims of his Ray-Bans, but he doesn’t confirm or deny anything. Go figure.
Less than a half hour later—which under normal circumstances is probably a two-hour trip—I catch the sun’s reflection dancing off of a large body of water in the far distance. A few more miles down the road, a sign appeared: lake eufaula, 15 miles.
I bite my lip, remembering how Declan questioned me about my family’s summertime vacations. His familiarity with the massive, sprawling lake, with its six hundred miles of shoreline and abundant nooks and crannies to get lost within. Remote areas. Where you might encounter enormous alligators and not see another human soul for weeks.
Hayden drives as if he knows his way around.
And Kylie? Is she out here somewhere, close by? I clench my fists, then release my hold, feeling a tingle through my fingers and up my hand. Not far enough though, to reach my heart.
Has Declan found her? Is she . . . are they . . . okay?
Hayden said they’re both trained professionals. Guns, knives, self-defense.
Manipulation.
Still, I suck air into my lungs, fighting back the worry.
The car veers off onto a narrow roadway that hugs the lake. We drive until we lose sight of vacationing beachgoers, boaters, and even fishermen as we head into an area of the lake where rocky outcrops replace soft sandy beaches. Where a healthy fifty-foot drop is to my right and a sharp mountain incline is to my left. A few miles further, we turn left, the luxury car expertly handling our journey upward on a steeply curved roadway that seems to last forever. We reach the top of the ridge and the earth flattens out beneath us.
Though I’m feeling anything but grounded.
