Dead By Nightfall (36 page)
Authors: Beverly Barton
Chapter 37
“It’s time for the final game,” York told Griffin. “I can’t keep your wife alive much longer. She has become more trouble to me than she’s worth. She’s quite a feisty little bitch, isn’t she?”
Griff clutched the phone with white-knuckled anger. “Name the time, the place, and the terms. Just you and me, York.”
“Now, don’t be selfish. We can’t leave Sanders and Yvette out of all the fun we’re going to have, now can we?”
“I’m the one you want. It’s my wife you’re holding captive.”
“Yes, I want you, Griffin Powell. I want your head stuffed and mounted over my fireplace.” York laughed, the sound edged with hysteria.
The man was insane, every bit as insane as the real York had been.
“And I want to gut you while you’re still alive and make you suffer till you beg me to kill you.”
“What a bloodthirsty devil you are, Griffin. But we all have our dark side, don’t we? That sweet little wife of yours certainly has hers.”
“Tell me what you want. But before I agree to anything, I want to talk to Nic again.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You see, she’s being punished for an unforgivable crime. The crazy bitch actually tried to shoot me.”
That’s my Nic.
“Good for her.”
“Good for her.”
“No, actually, it’s bad for her, especially in her condition. I’ve had to put her in solitary confinement. Bread and water only, unless of course she can kill and eat the rats in her cell.”
Griff’s face heated with rage. His hand trembled. “What do you mean, her condition?”
“Oh, that’s right, you don’t know, do you?” York chuckled. “I could send you some photographs, but since you’ll soon be visiting me, you can see for yourself. Nicole is pregnant.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“As I said, you will soon be able to see her swollen belly. How does it feel, knowing the child your wife is carrying could be her lover’s baby?”
“You’re lying. Nic isn’t pregnant.”
“Oh, she’s pregnant, all right. But I can’t say just how pregnant. It’s hard to tell about these things. She could be far enough along for the baby to be yours. How about that, Griff? I not only have your wife, but I may have your unborn child, too.”
“No, I don’t believe any of this.”
“As I said, you can see for yourself. I’m inviting you and Sanders and our lovely Yvette to join me and my guests for the hunt of a lifetime. An exclusive guest list. And the prey will be premium quality—the three of you and Mrs. Powell, too, of course.”
Griff had known there would be a final showdown, that in the end York would want to kill him. Go ahead and try, you son of a bitch. The real York tried for four damn years and I outsmarted him every time. I can outsmart you, too.
“I want you to fly to Colorado tomorrow and land at the Denver International Airport,” York told him. “There will be a car waiting for you. You’ll find instructions in the glove compartment. I’ll have a small plane at a private airstrip ready for you and your dear friends. Don’t try anything stupid. If you do, I’ll be forced to kill Nicole.”
The last thing Griff heard was the sound of York’s maniacal laughter. Long after York had hung up, Griff still clutched the phone in his hand.
York had lied to him. Nic wasn’t pregnant.
But what if she was?
What if the baby isn’t mine?
Griff stormed out of his study.
“Sanders! Barbara Jean! Maleah! Derek!” He fired off the four names in rapid succession.
Sanders barreled around the corner, followed by Maleah and Derek, all of them coming from the office.
“What is it?” Sanders asked.
“What’s wrong?” Derek and Maleah questioned simultaneously.
“York called. He wants us—you, Sanders, and me and Yvette—to fly to Denver, Colorado, tomorrow. If you choose to go with me—”
“Of course we will go with you,” Sanders assured him. “He wants all of us. He won’t be satisfied with only you.”
Griff nodded. “Please contact Yvette and let her know that I’ve heard from York and explain that he has a special hunt planned, with the three of us and Nic as the quarry.”
“Oh my God,” Maleah said.
Barbara Jean arrived several minutes after the others. “Is something wrong?”
“York called with marching orders for Griff,” Maleah explained.
Before Barbara Jean could respond, Griff zeroed in on her and said, “I want to speak to you and Maleah in my study now. Please.”
“Yes, of course,” Barbara Jean replied.
Maleah seemed hesitant, but said, “Yeah, sure.”
Griff waited for the two women to move ahead of him, and when they did he followed them to his study and closed the door.
“York told me something that I didn’t want to believe. I called him a liar. But I don’t know if he really was lying.” He looked back and forth between the two, hoping that one of them could tell him what he needed to know. “I have to ask you both, as Nic’s best friends, if she shared a secret with both or either of you before she left Griffin’s Rest, something that, at the time, she didn’t want me to know.”
“No,” Barbara Jean said instantly. “Nic isn’t the type to keep secrets, especially not from you.”
Maleah remained silent. Griff looked at her.
“What about it, Maleah?” he asked.
“What did York tell you?”
“He told me that Nic is pregnant.”
Barbara Jean gasped. Maleah swallowed.
“He claims that he doesn’t know exactly how pregnant she is and doesn’t know if the baby is mine or the man he keeps referring to as her lover.”
“The baby’s yours,” Maleah told him.
Griff felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.
“Then she is pregnant?” he asked. “She was pregnant when she left Griffin’s Rest?”
“Yes. She just found out for sure a couple of days before and she wanted to wait until things calmed down around here before she told you.”
Griff stared at Maleah, his emotions all over the place. He was happy. He was sad. He was angry. He was hurt. He was racked with guilt and remorse.
“Why didn’t you tell me? All these months and you knew and didn’t tell me?”
“You may not believe me, but I didn’t tell you because Derek and I agreed that—”
“Derek knows?”
“You’ve had just about all you could handle dealing with Nic’s kidnapping and the sick games York has forced you to play. The last thing you needed was to know that Nic was pregnant. I didn’t tell you for your own sake.”
“Damn it, Maleah, you had no right to ...” Griff swallowed a gut full of tears.
Struggling to keep his emotions under control, he turned away and walked over to the window.
Several minutes later, he said, “Maleah, see to it that the Powell jet is ready to leave for Denver first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
When he heard Maleah exit the den, he slowly turned to Barbara Jean. “If you love Sanders, and I know you do, then make tonight count. There is no guarantee that he or Yvette or Nic and I will come back alive.”
Chapter 38
Sir Harlan had kept the location of The Hunt top secret, so it wasn’t until their jet had landed at the Missoula International Airport, that Rafe realized he was in the United States. He had wanted to get word to Griff ASAP, but found it impossible to get away from his traveling companion. The old buzzard even went into the men’s room with him. While in a private stall, Rafe had managed to get out a quick text message. Two words:
Missoula, Montana.
Missoula, Montana.
The driver who met Rafe and Sir Harlan had loaded their bags in a Land Rover and informed them their trip would take less than an hour. Sir Harlan chatted nonstop for the first thirty minutes, then dozed off, giving Rafe time to soak up their surroundings in peace and quiet. He’d never been to Montana. But from the view out of the SUV windows, he could tell why people raved about this state. The farther away from Missoula they were, the more scenic the landscape as they rolled along on US-93 South. Autumn in all her splendor. The boy he had once been would have loved capturing all the colorful beauty on canvas. Raphael had been an artist with the soul of a poet.
“We are going to a rather exclusive hunting preserve that our host, Malcolm York, owns,” Harlan Benecroft had told him before they left London. “Some people actually prefer hunting deer and elk and bears, but we will be hunting the most deadly creatures on Earth—humans.”
The Cessna Citation, a small eleven-seat jet, landed on a private airstrip in a valley cradled between snow-capped mountains, the foothills gleaming golden in the evening sunlight. When Griff stepped off the plane first, he breathed in the crisp, cool autumn air. A muscular, medium-height man, wearing sunglasses and a black Stetson waited at the bottom of the passenger steps.
“Hope you had a pleasant flight, Mr. Powell,” the man said with a slight British accent.
Griff descended the steps, Yvette directly behind him, and Sanders following her. As he glared at their greeter, he caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision of an armed guard standing beside a silver Land Rover.
The minute Griff’s feet hit solid ground, he turned to assist Yvette, who grasped his hand, more for moral support than for any other reason. Once Sanders joined them, their escort came forward, removed his sunglasses, held out his hand and smiled at Griff.
“Welcome to Montana. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Powell.”
Griff ignored the man’s outstretched hand.
He dropped his hand to his side and said, “The lodge is only a short drive from here. Mr. York is eager to see you again.” He glanced at Sanders and nodded. “Damar Sanders. I’ve heard almost as much about you as I have about Griffin Powell.” Then his gaze settled on Yvette. “May I say, Dr. Meng, that you are even more beautiful than Mr. York described you.”
“Where is York?” Griff asked.
“As I said, he is eagerly awaiting your arrival at the lodge. He has instructed me to handle you three with kid gloves. It seems you are extra special guests.”
“And just who are you?” Griff asked, but suspected he already knew.
“Oh, so sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m Anthony Linden.”
Anthony Linden, the former SAS agent who had gone rogue and become a killer-for-hire. Employed by York and working under his direction, Linden had viciously murdered Powell agents and members of agents’ families earlier that year, all part of York’s plan for vengeance.
When Linden didn’t get the responses from them that apparently he had been expecting, he glowered at Griff and said, “Shall we go? I’m sure you’re eager to see your wife again after all these months. I’m afraid she is a little worse for wear, but she is still alive.”
At the mention of Nicole, Griff tensed, but quickly regained control, determined not to react to this vicious butcher’s taunting comments.
Nic stood under the warm shower, savoring the moment, enjoying the chance to cleanse herself. She had no idea how many days had passed since Jonas had been killed and she had tried to shoot York. Three? Five? More?
Afterward, she had thought for sure that York would issue an immediate order to execute her.
“I should kill you for what you tried to do, but considering this new and most interesting discovery”—he had glanced at her belly—“I believe I’ll keep you alive until I reunite you with Griffin, as originally planned.”
Keeping her alive was all he had done. She had been put in a shed somewhere away from the hunting lodge, a log structure without running water or electricity and no furniture, not even a cot on the floor. And no heat. The guard who had escorted her to her rustic prison had provided her with a two liter bottle of water, a loaf of bread, and a wool blanket. She hadn’t seen the light of day, except through cracks in the walls since he had locked her away. She had been forced to relieve herself in the shed, creating a foul odor. The mice and insects with whom she shared the tiny six-by-six-square-foot hovel hadn’t seemed to mind. During the day she’d been cold and had kept the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. At night, when she suspected the temperature dropped to well below freezing, she had nearly frozen to death as she had huddled in a corner and prayed for the warming relief of morning.
Since the bottle of water was nearly empty and there were three stale slices of bread left in the wrapper, she had begun wondering if York would actually let her starve to death or if her meager supplies would be replenished. Then less than an hour ago, when one of the guards had opened the door, she had assumed he would toss her more bread and water and leave her to rot. But he had ordered her to step outside. He hadn’t needed to ask her twice. Although extremely weak, she managed to stagger to the door, but the moment the sunlight hit her, she squinted from the overwhelming glare. She hadn’t seen sunlight in days, so it took her eyes several minutes to even begin adjusting.
No one had told her why she was being given a reprieve and she didn’t ask. She didn’t care. For now, she was back in her room inside the lodge.
After lathering and rinsing her hair, Nic opened the shower door and grabbed one of the fluffy white towels, wrapped it around her head, and reached for another. After drying off, she slipped into the baggy maternity jeans and bulky long-sleeved sweater that had been hung on the back of the bathroom door. No underwear. No socks or shoes. And no cosmetics—not even a deodorant stick.
But she did find toothpaste and a toothbrush. Strange how people took little things for granted, something as simple as being able to brush their teeth.
Nic walked into the bedroom, sat on the rug in front of the rock fireplace, and towel-dried her hair. After having endured the freezing cold in the shed, the heat from the burning logs felt wonderfully warm and cozy. During those first twenty-four hours in primitive solitary confinement, she’d been emotionally numb after what had happened during The Execution event in the old ghost town. She still couldn’t believe that Jonas was dead, that he had sacrificed himself to save her. And her baby. He had known he was destined to die that day and had possibly accepted his fate, but dear God, dear God ... She had cried all night that first night. Cried for Jonas and for herself. Cried because she had been cold and hungry and frightened. And alone, so alone.
With each passing day, as desperation and hopelessness settled heavily on her heart, Nic had struggled not to give in to the depression threatening to claim her.
If Griff didn’t find her soon, it would be too late. Although she knew her baby was still alive, she feared for that little life growing inside her. York wouldn’t keep her alive indefinitely, and if she lived to give birth, what would happen to her child?
Surrounded by nature at its finest, the world alive in the most fundamental way, with mountains and valleys as clean and pristine as they had been a hundred years ago, Griff studied the scenery for a reason far more important than mere appreciation. Soon, tomorrow or the next day, he would have to survive out there in the wild, in the open grasslands, the woods, along the creeks and rivers and perhaps even in the mountains. He noticed that Sanders was soaking it all in just as he was, familiarizing himself with the terrain. They were veterans of warfare on Amara. It would be up to them to outsmart the hunters and keep Nic and Yvette alive until nightfall.
What makes you think nightfall will end the hunt? This is not Amara, and despite what that fool believes, he is not Malcolm York.
In the end, their ultimate survival would depend on one thing—the prey killing the hunters.
The driver turned the Land Rover onto the circular drive in front of the two-story lodge and parked in front of the massive front porch. A balcony ran along the length of the huge log house, as long and wide as the house itself. Two rock-and-wood wings on either side of the central structure jutted out about twelve feet, giving the building a shallow U-shape.
Linden and the driver quickly exited the Land Rover. They hurried to open the back doors of the SUV, and wasted no time ushering Griff, Sanders, and Yvette out of the vehicle. While the driver slid behind the wheel and drove away, Linden marched the three of them to the foot of the steps leading up onto the porch.
“Wait here,” Linden told them.
Before Linden’s feet hit the porch floor, the double front doors opened and four men emerged, one at a time. Griff instantly recognized Harlan Benecroft. Older, fatter, but otherwise unchanged. And directly behind him, Yves Bouchard, came to a halt at his friend’s side. Still devilishly handsome, if somewhat eroded by age, Bouchard, too, had changed very little in sixteen years. Although Griff had expected the third man to be part of this select group, seeing Rafe Byrne being so chummy with the enemy bothered Griff.
The fourth man exited the lodge. He was the spitting image of the real Malcolm York. Except, there were subtle differences. He was shorter, but only by a couple of inches. And his shoulders were not as broad. The silver color of his hair was a shade lighter and not natural.
York snapped his fingers and a woman stepped out from behind him and stood at his side.
Nic!
Griff wanted to run to her, grab her, hold her.
He didn’t move; he just looked at her.
“Welcome to Big Valley Hunting Lodge,” Malcolm York said. “We are delighted that you could join us. Everything has been prepared for your visit. Your rooms are ready and I’ve scheduled the first hunt for tomorrow morning.”
Griff barely heard what York said. He couldn’t take his eyes off Nic. Without makeup, her full, pregnancy-round face pale, her long dark hair uncombed, and the ill-fitting sweater she wore barely covering the swell of her belly, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Griffin, you’ll share a room with your wife, of course. Sanders, you and Yvette have your own rooms,” York said. He pulled Nic from where she waited at his side and pushed her a couple of feet in front of him. “Nicole, my dear, why don’t you go say hello to your husband.”
Nic stumbled in her eagerness as she came flying down the steps. Griff rushed toward her and caught her as she fell. She grabbed hold of him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on to him for dear life as he lifted her up and into his arms.
And then he kissed her.
Other books
Secrets of Midnight by Miriam Minger
Hosker, G [Sword of Cartimandua 03] Invasion- Caledonia by Griff Hosker
The Marriage Game by Alison Weir
Resistance (Replica) by Black, Jenna
Fire & Ice by Lisa Logue
Demon Camp: A Soldier's Exorcism by Jennifer Percy
More Than a Billionaire by Christina Tetreault
Con Law by Mark Gimenez
Devotion by Maile Meloy
