Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3) (28 page)

Zed stalked into the room, his mind on fire. He only had fragments of recollection but it was a start. It seemed like his brain fired with a missing piston or two, but at this point, he’d take it.

His naked beauty Beck sat at the edge of the bed, poised for action.

He took a second to regard her, to cherish her, smiling a little at the wonderful woman in his life.

She smiled back, making it seem like they were bound together, as one of those clichéd “two have become one” entities.

“Hold on. Let’s do this systematically and logically,” he said. He grabbed his pants off the floor and yanked them over his hips, fastening them. Retrieved his shirt and tugged it over his head. “Get dressed. I need to retrace my steps. I’ve got a memory or two. Let’s see if we can piece them together.”

“Okay.” She hustled around the room, retrieving panties, her pants and her shirt, drawing them on swiftly.

They seemed to move like a team, operating on the same wavelength. Zed stepped into the hall with Beck close behind. “So,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb anyone at this late, late hour. “Wait, one sec.” He took her by the shoulders, and brushed her mouth with his, softly and sweetly. “You’re an amazing gift, Beck honey. I couldn’t do this without you. Couldn’t face this, would never deal with it. I can’t thank you enough for being a part of my life.”

“Sure you can,” she said, with that playful teasing smirk he loved. “Get your damn memories back so I don’t have to worry any more. That will be thanks enough.”

He let out a low laugh before continuing. “Okay, so I raced out of the room when he headed for the back bedroom. We know that.” He strode to the elevator. “Took the elevator down to the lobby and then the lift to the garage.”

“What’s your memory?” Beck asked him as the elevator descended.

The door slid open at the lobby level and they stepped out at a brisk clip, nodding at the sleepy guy behind the counter, and heading toward the parking garage. When the doors enfolded them, he said, “He chased me into the parking garage. Maybe Nora rejected him. I told you I kind of spaced in my truck, hesitated, passed out, who knows what the fuck was going through my brain?

“He ran toward the truck waving a gun at me. Used the butt of the gun to break my window. Pointed it at my head. I don’t think he knew I was even in the truck. He probably only saw the enemy. So without thinking, I exited the passenger side and ran for my life. Me against a marine. What was I thinking?”

He hit his forehead with his palm, indicating his stupidity. “I ran up eight floors of stairs to get to the rooftop. Not my brightest move, but I was running on adrenaline and fear. I mean, I’d be trapped up there. I wasn’t using my head. Not a trained sniper.” He grimaced.

“I plastered my back to that little building up there and when he burst through the door, I moved as quietly as I could into the stairwell. From there, I entered the floor with the bar and used the elevator to get back to the garage. Got in my truck and got the hell out of there. Of course, he was two steps behind me. He’s like a beast. He moves on instinct. Smells your fear and it’s game on for him.” He stopped speaking when the elevator doors opened. “Then there’s that big, blank hole. That’s all I’ve got.”

“It’s a good start,” Beck said, enthusiastically. “Let’s see. Where was your truck?”

“Over here. Right here in this spot,” Zed said, pointing to the space marked fifty-two. He moved past the Kia Sephia parked in that spot, toward the wall. “Look. There’s even bits of glass pushed against the wall. I’ll bet it’s from my old truck. Damn. I wish I could remember something else.”

“Try to relax. See if you can get calm and clear headed.” She walked toward him and placed her hand on his back, making large sweeping circles.

Whenever she did this, he went into an insta-soothe drowse, almost like a child. “Mmm, I love your touch.” He placed his palms against the painted concrete blocks and hung his head for a moment, savoring her caresses. “That’s it!” His head swung up and he pivoted toward her.

“What have you got?”

“Still vague. Still fuzzy. But we were in some sort of high speed chase. It’s a wonder we didn’t get stopped by the police. It was late, prime time for cops and criminals to be out. I think he took a couple shots at the truck.” He ran his hand through his hair and began to pace. “I remember being freaked out, completely terrified, certain it would be my last night on planet Earth.

“He stayed on my tail all the way up the hill. The last thing I remember before the accident, was him…I dunno…somehow he stood in his Jeep…is that possible while you’re going ninety?” He shook his head. “No, this doesn’t make any sense. But I saw him in the rearview, holding his rifle pointed straight at my head. That’s my last memory.”

He shook his head like a dog trying to shake water from his face. “And I thought I crawled free of the truck, but I sorta remember crawling up the hill. There was no other vehicle around when my rescuer arrived. At least I don’t think so.”

“Who was your rescuer? Do you still have his name? His number? Anything? Maybe he saw something.”

“No. I was too dazed to remember anything. He was heading home, he saw me sitting by the side of the road, bleeding or something. Took me to an emergency room. I probably had a concussion. Don’t remember. You couldn’t miss the truck. It was brutal. Demolished. A maimed mess of metal and plastic. Crushed. Destroyed. Like I shoulda been.”

Her eyes moist, she said, making him happier than he’d ever been in his life, “Thank God you’re still here. You’re the one who’s a gift, Zed. You’re
my
gift.”

He inhaled, feeling like he had died—died and landed in heaven, with Beck, his beautiful angel.

She smiled, then paused. “Do you want to…you know, head back up there?”

“Nah. It’s a lot to process. My head’s in a spin, first from you not leaving me when I told you my story of being in the Bay Area and what went down there, and now getting some of my memories back. I’ve never told a soul about San Francisco, in case you wondered. No one but you, Beck, sweetheart.

“And now, well, hell. It’s like a missing part of me sifted inside. I’m in need of a drink, or a good sleep or, better yet…a really good love-fuck with my woman.” He smirked, thinking how easily he could distract himself in loving Beck. “You can consider our earlier attempts foreplay. You got any juice left for another round?” He sauntered toward her, taking pleasure at the easy shift in her face, in her body.

“I think I could use a little stress free loving, too, baby. You’ve accomplished a lot tonight. We’ve got a lot to deal with when we get back. For the next twenty-four, let’s pretend nothing exists except you and me. After that, you’ve got a race to prepare for – with a clear mind at last.”

Weeks later, blinking through sweat, Zed, jostling between other sweaty, sore, colorfully clad racers, finally saw the finish line ahead. Felt the fatigue in his body. His legs were wooden, thick, heavy, barely attached to his hips. His body drenched, dog-tired, somehow propelled forward through willpower, even though his muscles screamed. His foot caught on a rock, causing him to stumble.
I don’t think I can make it. I’m going to be a DNF. Beck’s going to leave me. Ricky will be embarrassed. I’ll be humiliated.
He felt like he might throw up. Either that, or faint from exhaustion.

Ricky stood ahead, cheering and waving.

You’re in the way, Ricky. Right in my path. Move.

His mother had planted herself next to him, hands on her hips, her lips pressed tightly, preventing any kind of pride for her son or compliment from escaping, shaking her head. His brother stood next to her, like a wall, giant, trained assassin, military arms folded over his massive chest, smirking. He reached behind him for…

Is that a gun?
Zed faltered. Tripped. Lost his footing. He watched, mesmerized, as his face prepared to plant itself in the dirt like a giant bulb, his body falling in slow motion, when the phone rang.
The phone?

Zed rocketed awake, grabbing the phone, yelling, “T1 transition. Got it. Finished swim. Remove googles and swim cap. Rinse feet. Take off wet suit. Dry myself. Socks on. Vaseline inside the heel of my shoe, applied before the race. Helmet on head, buckled or I’m disqualified. Grab the bike off the rack. Repair kit in place.”

“Zed. Zed. Stop. It’s me. Jace.”

Zed blinked at the weak, watercolor light of dawn barely dusting the room. He groaned and sat up. “What time is it?” He smoothed the sheets next to him, missing Beck. She’d gone to sleep at her house to give him prep time, saying she’d meet him at the race.
Dumb idea. I think a night of sex would have been far more fun and exhilarating.

“It’s four forty-five. Get up. We have to check in at six-thirty. Get your ass to the café. We’ll eat, go over last minute stuff.”

“I wonder why my alarm didn’t go off.” He thumbed his phone, searching for the clock function.

“It just did. I called.”

“Thanks. Okay, then. I have everything packed in the truck. See you in a few.” His mouth opened in a huge, lion-sized yawn.

On the way to Fort Marshall parkland, the place where he’d start the first leg of the race, the thousand-meter swim in fifty-degree water, he barely tracked Jace’s conversation.
I brought Ricky’s gift, right? The water bottles with pictures of Murphy he drew, right? Have I trained hard enough? Too much? What if I tweak a muscle? What if I fall? Will I black-out? And what about Lawson? Beck had to get herself reassigned from his case, he was harassing her so much. And I’ve seen glimpses of him over the last few weeks, like he’s tracking me, in the distance, letting me know he’s watching me. Or else I’m fucking paranoid and seeing things. But I haven’t seen him lately. It’s been eerie. He was everywhere for a while. Now? Nada. Shit.
An icy chill rippled up and down his spine.

“I hope I didn’t push you too hard in insisting on a mid-range race. It’s your first time. Maybe we should have gone with a sprint. Better yet, an Olympic. Really test your mettle.”

“What did you say?” Zed blinked, coming out of his mental fog.

“I said, the weather’s not bad and there are chickens on the horizon.” Jace smirked.

“No there aren’t,” Zed said, peering around. “It looks like a cool day with light fog. Perfect.”

“I’ve been talking to you for fifteen minutes. I may as well have been talking to the window.”

“No, you said something about hoping you didn’t push me too hard or wishing we’d gone for something bigger. Don’t you think I can do this race?”

“Do you?”

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Zed chewed on his lower lip.

“Any blackouts?”

“Not a one since San Diego.”

“Is your brother around?”

“Hope not. Apparently he’s on his way to Canada. A friend saw him last week in Bellingham, heading north.” Zed kept thoughts of this brother stalking him to himself. No need to share that shit.

Jace nodded. “You’re ready, Zed. I have faith. I was only trying to get your attention. It’s go time.”

He pulled into the parking area where support staff, racers and their crew were all getting ready to race. “Go check in. You’ve got this, Zed.”

“I’ve got this.” Zed nodded and repeated Jace’s words.
Am I really going to do this?

Warm arms snaked around his abdomen. “Rebecca Tosetti, reporting for duty.”

Zed brightened. “Beck! I thought I wouldn’t see you until the end of the race.”

“What? And miss the opportunity of being one of your minions and cheering squad? No way.”

Zed leaned over to kiss her. “Mmm,” he said, releasing her. “Thank you.”

“Yep. Don’t you worry, champ. Jace and I have got you covered. After you take off on your bike, I’m heading over to the T2 transition with Jace to insure that’s set up. After that, you’ll see me here and there on the sidelines. Then, I’ll head to the finish line to watch your glory moment. Honey, I’m so proud of you, I could burst.” Her eyes glittered.

“That means the world to me. Thank you. I’ve got to check in.”

She gave him another squeeze. “Jace and I…we’re here to help. Anything you need.”

After registering, checking his gear at least fifteen times, slathering himself with lube and donning his wetsuit, at last it was time to begin. With one final nod at Jace and Beck, he entered the cold water when his division was called.

When the starter pistol went off, he jerked, hesitating for a moment, thinking his brother had fired a shot. But then, as he watched the others throw themselves into the water, he took off, slow and steady. Remembering Jace’s advice, he stayed to the outside of the pack. He tried to catch the draft of the guy in front of him, a strong, sure swimmer, until a swimmer to the left of him socked him in the face with her flailing arms. He moved out of her way, and continued, hoping he didn’t hit anyone along the way. He felt good as his arms stroked the water.
At least I’m not in the back of the pack,
he thought, lifting his head to see where he was heading. He narrowly avoided a buoy, barely missing a disqualification, and continued on.

Seventeen minutes and one thousand meters later, his fingertips touched the shore beneath the water, and he stood, trotting toward T1, peeling off his shiny black swim cap and removing his blue goggles as he followed the path.

Jace shouted, “Good time, Zed!”

Beck yelled, “So proud of you, baby!”

Zed barely tracked their comments, focused on his transition. He rinsed his feet in the kiddy pool, peeled off his wetsuit; socks, shoes, glistening orange helmet on and buckled; sunglasses, bib number in place; water and energy drinks at hand, and he was away.

As he pedaled, he glanced at the hills above the parkland where he’d spied the suspicious lights before, weeks and weeks ago, reassuring himself.
Lawless is gone. Ghosted in the wind. RIP, big brother.

Same as with the swim, he stayed to the right, trying to conserve energy while keeping up a steady pace. He kept up an easy comradery with the other participants, cheering them on when they passed, or when he passed them. It kept his spirit up, and allowed him to ignore the shooting pain in his right knee that yelled at him on occasion, or the twinge of pain in his wrist.

He sipped water along the way, smiling at the pictures Ricky had drawn on the water bottles.
Love that kid.
He passed Beck, cheering wildly, Jace, pumping his arm in the air, his wife, yelling encouragement, and later, his sister and her crew. Ricky looked like he might explode with joy.

“Uncle Zed! Look over here!” he hollered.

Zed lifted his hand in greeting.

The miles rolled by as they all cruised the Pacific Northwest trail, jockeying for position. He concentrated on his breathing. On the guy ahead. On the woman to his left. On maintaining an aerodynamic state. On his legs, making the pedals go ‘round and ‘round. Occasional glances at the green trees and blue-gray water surrounding them, blue skies peeking through the lifting fog. In the zone.

In the last three miles, passing the twenty-one-mile marker, he caught himself clenching his muscles. Doubts began to surface.
Come on, you can do this,
he thought.
You’ve come this far. Keep it up.
His legs burned, fatigue snaking through his muscles. Sweat poured down his face, dripping in his eyes like a salty stream.

He continually lifted his sunglasses, wiped his face, and kept going.
Come on. Don’t quit.
He relaxed his jaw, and shook out his arms. Replenished fluids. Even congratulated himself on making it this far.
No brother, no blackouts.
Love in his heart for a good woman. “On your left,” he yelled to the two guys ahead of him, as he prepared to pass them.

As he neared the finish fifty-five minutes later, he slid his feet from his shoes, the way he’d practiced, resting his socked feet on top. Let one arm dangle loose for a moment, then, the other. And there, near the end, stood Beck, sun glinting in her fiery tresses, Jace, Zoe, Ricky, Caitlin and the rest of their crew, all enthusiastically shouting. An official stood nearby, telling them to slow it down and prepare to dismount. At one hour and two minutes later he crossed the bike segment finish line, behind about a dozen other racers.
I made it this far. Fucking awesome.

“Fantastic time, Zed!” Jace’s voice boomed over the crowd as he whooped with glee.

Zed turned and grinned, still keeping his momentum. Once dismounted, gripping his bike by the handlebars, he jogged to the transition area in his socked feet. Placed his bike in the correct slot. Removed his helmet. Grabbed the gear out of his bag and changed into his orange, black and gray running clothes and fresh socks. Jammed his feet in his Nikes, tossed back a swig of water and an energy replacement liquid, and he was off, jogging with the masses in the last leg of his journey.

As he moved with the other triathlon participants, an edginess stabbed at his mind like a fork searching for food. He kept glancing around for signs of a huge marine, gun in hand.
What if he’s waiting for the end to finish me off? Take me down at the end? What if he misses and kills other people and it’s all my fault because I never dealt with him? What if…
He stumbled, grabbing the arm of the male next to him to keep from doing a face plant.

“Hey!” the disgruntled male shouted.

“Sorry, man,” Zed said, as he found his stride in the 10k foot race. His mind continued to whirl, jacking up his anxiety.
Maybe he never went north. This last leg is lined with trees. The jackass could position himself in the woods. Hide in branches.
He gave his head a shake.
Focus, man, focus.

His mind began to regurgitate fragmented images, shook free by his feet pounding the pavement. He saw his truck speeding through twisting turns in So Cal. Lawson, on his tail. The truck wrapped around a tree-trunk. And then, there it was, the missing memory. Him, coming to on the forest floor and his brother, the psycho, thundering down the hillside.

Lawson threw himself at Zed, straddling his body, taking his neck between his two massive hands and squeezing hard.

Zed flailed, his arms batting Lawson, unable to breathe, stars dancing around his eyes, when his hand landed on something sharp – a piece of the bumper flung from the vehicle. He lifted it and swung it, again and again, consciousness fading, when he caught Lawson’s cheek, almost nicking his eye.

Lawson roared, brought his fist back to pummel Zed’s face.

Zed aimed the deadly shard at Lawson’s face again.

The male wrenched his head to avoid the sharp metal, and Zed took advantage to wrestle free, scrambling to his feet. He picked up a rock and hurled it, the stone connecting with his brother’s skull, causing Lawson to fall to his hands and knees.

Zed ran at Lawson like a gladiator, waving the metal fragment like a sword. With both hands, he swung it like a mighty bat, as Lawson lurched to his feet. The jagged edge tore through Lawson’s hand, and a single digit flew into the air, with both brothers tracking its graceful slow-motion seeming arc. It plopped in the dirt with a soft, innocuous rustle.

“My fucking finger? You sliced off my fucking finger? I’m going to fucking kill you,” Lawson screamed. “I’m going to tear you limb from limb.”

“Hello? Who’s down there? Is everything all right?”

Zed’s rescuer. His ticket out of there. The man he’d never be able to thank.

Lawson took off at a furious sprint.

Zed collided with another runner, jerking him back to the moment.

“Watch out!” the runner shot him an angry glare.

“Sorry, man. Sorry.” Intense, ugly panic pushed through him. He glanced at the other runners, at the trees, at the road, looking for signs of his psychotic brother.
He wants to kill me. He fucking wants to kill me.