Betrayals of the Heart (15 page)

Straining hard, he tried to pinpoint the direction he’d heard the motor coming from, but it too was gone now. “Keep your guard up, man.”
No more mistakes
.

They could still go through with the plan. No one, not the FBI, not Makayla or her new lover knew the truth about the boy.

He still had three men with him now and one patrolling the area searching for the damn rugrat. Under normal circumstances, if the Feds were on to his hiding place, they’d come fully prepared to take him down. He doubted three men would be enough to hold them back. The only thing stopping them at the moment was the fact they didn’t know if the boy was hidden in the warehouse or buried alive deep within a hole like the son of the last person who dared betray his wishes.

Chuckling, he rolled his head from side to side. Worked every time. Add a child to the equation and then sit back and watch the Feds, grown men, bend over backwards, trying to find them alive.

All he needed to do was buy a little more time and wait for reinforcements.

He smirked, loving how his reputation of being a cold-blooded killer always made the cops cautious. He never failed to use the fact to his advantage.

“Time for another phone call. See how much they know and what my precious Myka is up to,” Steven said, unconcerned that he now stood talking to an empty room. He could hear his men walking, running, turning over every moveable object as they followed his orders. The feeling of power is what drove him. These men did what they were told because they knew the consequences of disloyalty. Had seen it firsthand and he never hesitated to remind them.

Now why didn’t this work with Myka? To the day he died, he’d never understand that mystery.

Sliding down the wall beside the window, Steven sat on the cold cement floor and dialed Makayla’s home number. He tried to push away the anxious feeling stirring inside of merely hearing her voice. It had been way too long since she’d spoken to him in that scared little girl voice, since he’d touched her soft, silky white skin. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, with her slender athletic form, long brown hair, big innocent doe eyes and skin so perfect it didn’t look real. Growing up, he’d never been attracted to girls who shared his Welsh Italian heritage. They were pretty and all, but he just wanted someone different. Someone off limits. That someone turned out to be Makayla. From the first day she’d walked into the family restaurant looking for a job, he’d known he’d have her. Own her. Body and soul.

“Hello.”

The sound of a deep unfamiliar male voice destroyed his fantasy. Who the hell was this? A new man? A Fed for sure.

“Myka. Put her on the phone.”

“One minute.” A brief pause followed and he pictured them scrambling to get the call recorded.

“You have thirty seconds,” Steven said. What did they think? He was no idiot. He was in control here, not some cocky Fed man.

The seconds ticked by in slow motion and he began to think they might not let her speak to him. That would mean they’d figured out his dilemma.

But then, “Steven?” The soft hesitant tone he’d grown so found of sang through the phone like a panicky songbird, and his perfect world flashed back. He closed his eyes and savored the moment.

“Ahh. So good to hear your voice, Myka. I’ve missed you, my sweet.” He expected tears, pleas for her son’s life. What he got shocked him back to reality.

“Where’s my son, you sick bastard!” Her tone morphed into a strange bitter growl. No panic. No sobs.

“Myka?” His initial shocked turned to gut wrenching indignation. “How dare you speak to me like that? I taught you better.” Put the fear back into her. That’s what he needed to do.

The bitch actually laughed instead and his blood boiled hotter.

“Myka, what the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you care about your son?”

“Oh, I care all right. I also know your little secret.”

Steven’s heart hit rock bottom. Secret? Could she know? Did they all know?

No. Not possible.

“Myka, you’ve misjudged me. I only wanted to show a bit of mercy for my long lost love. The one who left without saying good-bye. Can’t you see, my pet? I only want us to be the way we were.”

“Liar. You’re full of nothing but filthy lies. What about your own son? Remember him? He’s fifteen, Steven. A mighty strong boy. A boy with many scars. A boy holding in a lot of rage. I hope you’ve not forgotten him. I assure you, he’s not forgotten you.”

Steven gulped back something that resembled dread at the thought of the small boy he’d terrorized now capable of staring him eye-to-eye. This was something he hadn’t dealt with since the death of his own cruel father. But the nasty emotions all came rushing back now. Would history repeat itself? Would his son be the one to punish him for his sins—kill him as he’d killed his own vile father?

“Myka, I don’t know what you speak of, my love. I gave you both the world at your fingertips. The beautiful home, the clothes, the gifts. You are the one who decided to end it all.” He heard her suck in a breath, knew she was struggling to keep it together. Perfect. He’d finally hit a nerve. “Myka, come back to me.”

***

Never in her wildest dreams did Makayla imagine how hard it would be dealing with Steven again. She’d blocked out his voice, his face, his evil nature. But the revulsion all zipped back in vivid color. ‘Come back to me.’ Is that really what he wanted?

She slammed the phone down in horrified disbelief, unable to answer.

Agent Harrington’s attention zoomed in on her and she felt her world spin. “Did you get anything? Do you know where Nicholas is?”

“Steven is still at the warehouse. But we have no idea if your son is with him. What do you think he is waiting for? Why hasn’t he made his demands known?”

“I have no idea. I thought maybe…” She stopped, unsure if she wanted to let him in on her suspicions.

“Thought what, Mrs. Carter?” His eyes drilled into her. The suspicions were there and they were being magnified with every new twist. How could he possibly believe she’d have anything to do with this? What would be her motive?

“I thought this would be easier. I thought after everything Steven’s done to me, I would be stronger. Now I may have made things worse for Nicholas and I can’t do it over. Why can’t you believe me?”

“We’re hanging back a bit, not because we don’t fully trust you, Mrs. Carter, but because in dealing with Steven, I’ve learned the hard way how quickly he can change his mind. Too much of a police presence and he’s out of here. Now what that would mean for your son, I have no idea. What I do know, is that we need you to hold it together just a little longer.”

“Nicholas and Michael don’t deserve this.” She gulped back the knot of despair and walked out of the kitchen and into her bedroom without another word. Her chest ached from the pressure, guilt and panic working overtime. Her boys were out there alone. She needed to do something. She couldn’t just sit and wait, hoping the FBI knew what they were doing.

Seconds later, she heard a chair scratch against the tile and pictured Agent Harrington or another stuffed shirt stationing himself outside the door. Her new guard. She sighed. Just peachy. “Men following orders, how freaking familiar.”

With one swipe of her hand, she knocked the contents off the dresser without even flinching as the picture frames hit the floor with a loud crash.

“Mrs. Carter, you okay in there?”

She wanted to scream. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They had been so careful.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just knocked over a picture.” Fingers rubbing her temples, she sat on the edge of her bed trying to decide what to do. Ryan hadn’t called back and worry over Michael’s safety threatened her sanity. But something bothered her more.

Nicholas.

If he managed to escape from Steven and his men, her young son was now not only alone, but afraid. It would be dark soon. He needed her. She bit at her bottom lip. Slipping out unseen this time would take some doing and she hated to get anyone else in trouble. Lord knows, she’d caused enough trouble for Eric to last his lifetime.

A war battled on inside her.

Would Ryan understand? She’d promised to stay put, to let the FBI deal with Steven and his goons. But that was before Steven’s last phone call.
Come back to me
, he’d said. A hint of desperation in his voice frightened her. Made her think he was on the verge of losing it.

A major detail that would prove disastrous for them all.

Ryan crouched low behind the long forgotten gas pump, assessing the situation. One ear trained on the warehouse, he hoped the sounds of the motorcycle’s approach wouldn’t be heard inside the building.

A million emotions sped through his body. Michael was as much his son as Nicholas. He’d never once played favorites. The idea this madman threatened his boys, his family, adrenalized all those feelings he’d locked deep inside years ago after losing his first precious wife and unborn son. No one really ever gets over a loss like that. It was more just a requirement that you pick up and live on.

The mind is indeed a pit of dark, lethal poison, if left to fester. No way was he willing to suffer that loss again? He’d fight till the very end.

One last deep breath and he leaped forward, propelling all his weight into Michael’s body as the motorcycle slowed to a stop just passed the first gas tank he was hiding behind. Michael never knew what hit him. They rolled to the cracked pavement and behind several rusty barrels before their momentum finally stopped.

Michael’s breathing rasped with each breath, his lanky form resting on top of Ryan’s and forcing him back to reality. The young man twisted around, furious. “What the—”

Ryan’s hand flew to Michael’s mouth before he could utter another word. “Shhh,” he warned, pointing toward the warehouse where three men exited, weapons drawn.

Michael swallowed hard.

His stepson understood the magnitude of the situation. Michael’s head bobbed up and down like Nicholas’ favorite toy, the tension in the air like a suffocating fog. In unison, they turned to watch the wheels of the motorcycle spin where it came to rest near the front of the old gas station. Thankfully, the beast had slid several feet around the corner of an old dumpster, out of sight of Steven’s goons. But Ryan needed to find better cover fast. The tall grasses hid the two of them only momentarily. If the goons headed in their direction, the gig was up.

Motioning for Michael to follow, he inched his way, belly to the ground, across the pavement until they came to the back of the station. Backs glued to the weathered wood building, they stopped and listened, trying to catch their breath. The sound of the dying motorcycle drifted in and out with the wind, the strong breeze carrying the sound away from the clueless men and the old warehouse.

Ryan found the suspects rattled behavior puzzling. Panic drove their actions. Not the determination to seek and destroy like he’d expected. He pulled his cell out and contacted the surveillance team. “Was there a gun shot?”

“Yep. From what we can tell, they’re short one goon now.”

“Do you think they made the boy?”

“No. They’re too busy worrying about their own hides, like a bunch of scared rats.”

Ryan looked at Michael for the first time. The boy’s dark eyes were wide as he stared down at his scratched and bloody hands. The loose and crumbling concrete had been brutal on his tender skin.

“Michael’s fine. I’m getting him out of here. Call Agent Harrington. Tell him to let Makayla know.”

“Will do.”

Taking Michael by the shoulders, Ryan turned him so they were face to face. Michael didn’t fight him. His entire body grew limp beneath Ryan’s grip.

“Michael. I’m taking you home. Do you understand?”

Michael lifted his gaze to meet Ryan’s with a challenging glare. “No. I’m not done.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Ryan remembered the gun Makayla told him about. With cautious precision, he patted Michael down the best he could in their sitting position.

“Where’s the gun, son?”

Michael looked away. His guilty reaction revealed he’d found the damn thing. Worse than that, Ryan had no doubt he planned to use the weapon.

Michael lifted the back of the Florida Gators t-shirt he wore and pulled the nine-millimeter from the waistline of his jeans. He studied the gun, twisting it back and forth, his injured palms bleeding and trembling.

“Michael, hand it to me butt first.”

Michael looked up as if hearing him for the first time. Then, he glanced back at the gun, a shocked expression on his young face. It was as if he’d awoken from a dream.

“I-I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” The tears were close, but he held them back.

“I know, son. Just hand it over and everything will be fine.” Ryan watched Michael’s fingers closely, making certain they didn’t come close to the trigger on the transfer. All he needed was for the gun to go off. Nothing would stifle the sound of a gunshot. Steven and every goon he had working for him would come running in their direction.

Michael grabbed the barrel of the gun, turning it slowly toward Ryan as he’d been instructed. When Ryan’s fingers closed over the gun, they grazed Michael’s. They were ice cold.