Undaunted Read online

  “That kid is trouble looking for a place to happen,” Axl murmured, smiling.

  “Tell me about it. If I make it through the day in one piece, I’ll be super impressed with myself.” She nodded to the wall. “I don’t know if I could’ve done that.”

  “You would’ve made a plan.” Axl dropped his head to kiss her cheek and she inhaled his scent, soap and happy and Axl. “You impress me all the time and I have no doubt that you can do anything. You are the most impressive woman I know. You don’t need me, Reagan.”

  ***

  You don’t need me, Reagan. Reagan heard Axl’s voice in her head as she opened the back door to her SUV, urging Rufus in. She’d heard the disappointment in his voice, the wistfulness, and she wondered if she was imagining the longing she’d heard. Did Axl need her to need him? Reagan slammed the back door and walked around to where Coe was sitting in his booster seat. She opened the door and stepped up to him, making sure that he was safely buckled in. Coe yawned and his eyes grew heavy, and Reagan ran her hand over his dark hair.

  She didn’t need Axl to protect her but she wouldn’t mind him loving her.

  She didn’t not want to have a relationship, she just didn’t want a relationship with anyone other than Axl. Being with Axl, being loved by Axl, was all she wanted. Reagan closed the door and replaced her hand on the handle of her door, feeling like she’d been hit by an emotional tsunami. She wanted Axl to love her because she loved him . . . she always had. From the moment she’d met him she’d known, subconsciously at a soul-deep level, that Axl was an important part of her life, that he could be, if she let him, the most important part of her life.

  That was why she’d avoided him, kept him at a distance, fought with him . . . why she still fought him and the craziness he hauled to the surface within her. In loving him she’d given him the power to hurt her, in big ways and small. It was like handing him a club and giving him permission to bash her heart around. Yet he was the only one she could see herself risking her heart for.

  He was her heart.

  God, terrifying. But fear was a habit. If she pushed past it she knew she was okay with that decision; her desire to be with Axl, to love him, was greater than her fear. She’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to fall in love with him, fall in love with anyone, but when Axl looked at her, smiled at her, or touched her, she felt complete. She felt happiness bubble and she thought, screw it. She’d take the pain for one tiny pop of ecstasy.

  She loved him.

  Reagan, deeply unfamiliar with the emotion, placed her hand on her heart. Love was both wonderful and scary, terrifying and exhilarating, and she didn’t quite know what to do. A part of her wanted to rush back inside and dump her thoughts and feelings—and her heart—onto him, wanting to see his reaction.

  Her brain, and her sense of self-preservation, told her that she had to take a step back, to think. This might be an emotional blip, a rush of blood to her brain . . . It could be hormonal. It didn’t mean she was, definitively, in love with him . . .

  Oh, God, she was so trying to talk herself out of this.

  “Reagan?”

  Reagan whirled around and saw the well-dressed man standing next to her. She moved to place herself between the man and Coe’s door, immediately defensive. Then she recognized the blond-gray hair, the ice-blue eyes, the dimple in his chin. Mickey Kane, the director from Knox’s movie. The same person she’d met numerous times on set, who’d spoken to her after the fire, so concerned about Knox and Coe.

  “Hi. What on earth are you doing in Mercy?” she asked, her hands dropping to her sides.

  “Ah, I need to see Knox but he’s not answering his phone and the guards won’t allow me onto the property without Knox’s notice and Knox’s permission.”

  Reagan shrugged. “Standard policy, I’m afraid. When I get back to the estate, I’ll get him to call you with a time that’s convenient.”

  Mickey’s hands were buried deep in his thigh-length, camel-colored coat, and Reagan thought that she would feel a lot more comfortable if she could see his hands. You are being ridiculous, she scoffed. This man is Hollywood harmless, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

  “Did you come by to check on Knox, to see how he is doing?” Reagan asked, folding her arms. He really was a good-looking guy, even though he had to be a good twenty or so years older than her.

  “Yeah. Knox and Coe have had it rough.”

  “They really have,” Reagan agreed.

  “Are they any closer to finding out who firebombed the trailer?”

  Reagan heard a note in his voice she couldn’t identify, and it had her cocking her head. God, she was suspicious! In the normal world—and even in Hollywood—friends checked up on each other. “Nope. Unfortunately, that investigation has gone cold,” Reagan told him. She looked over her shoulder to check on Coe and saw that he’d fallen asleep. Playing with Mac and climbing walls would do that to a little guy.

  Mickey leaned forward to look into the car behind her. “Where’s the bear?”

  Reagan felt every hair on the back of her neck lift. “Why are you asking about Coe’s bear?”

  “Where’s the fucking bear?”

  This wasn’t good. This was not good at all.

  Mickey’s smile turned from genial to threatening as he stepped backward, too far for her to strike. “Don’t even think about reaching for your weapon. I have my finger on the trigger and the muzzle is aiming at your stomach.”

  Reagan looked down and saw the fabric of his coat stretching over the muzzle of a small handgun. It might be small, she thought, but it would do some damage if he fired it. Reagan turned her hear to look at Coe and sighed in relief when she saw that he was still asleep, his head against the side of the booster seat.

  But shitcrapdamn!

  “Where is that bear and, more importantly, where is the flash drive?” Mickey demanded. This man was dangerous, she saw it in his eyes and all over his face. He wanted that drive and he’d use her, and Coe, to get to it.

  “We left the bear at home,” Reagan told him, holding up her hands so that he didn’t get twitchy and accidentally fire that pistol.

  “Why today? He always has it on him.” Mickey pushed a hand through his hair—a steady hand, Reagan noticed, and her heart sank. A steady hand meant that he was accustomed to violence, that he wasn’t likely to make a mistake. “It doesn’t matter. I have you to trade.”

  Mickey moved with surprising speed and yanked the back door open. He pulled his hand from his coat pocket and pointed the small but lethal gun at Coe’s head. “Drop your guns on the ground and get into the vehicle, slowly. Or I’ll shoot him.”

  “You shoot him and you’ll have nothing to trade because Knox won’t care about himself or what’s on that drive. And he certainly won’t care enough about anything to give it to you,” Reagan pointed out, darting a glance at the Caswallawn entrance, wishing that someone, anyone, would walk out the door and see what was happening in the parking lot. Use your spidey sense and look out of your window, Axe. I need you.

  Mickey jammed the gun closer to Coe’s stomach and smirked. “I’ll shoot him somewhere that’s not fatal; he’ll suffer and you’ll have to watch.”

  Rufus sat up and looked over the back of the seat, resting his head on Coe’s head, his eyes steady on Mickey’s face. He didn’t bark or make a sound, but Reagan thought that he was in protective mode as much as she was.

  Mickey jumped up into the seat next to Coe and nodded to the driver’s seat. “Last time I’m telling you. Drop the weapons, and that includes your backup piece, and get in from the passenger side. Take out your cell phone and remove the battery and put it and the phone under a tire. When you are done, in ten seconds, drive out of the parking lot like you normally would and head east.”

  East, Reagan thought as she quickly pulled her gun from the holster. She dropped to her haunches, th
inking that if she tried to get off a shot, Mickey would shoot Coe and then her. Both of them would be dead. No, she had to wait for a better opportunity to get out of this mess. She placed her gun on the tarmac, pointing the muzzle in an easterly direction. She placed her backup weapon on the tarmac too, pointing the muzzle of that gun to the east as well. Reagan quickly dismantled her cell and did as she was told, sighing at the thought of her brand-new, very expensive smartphone being destroyed. Even worse, with the battery disconnected, Axl and the Cas techs wouldn’t be able to trace where she was.

  Reagan climbed into the car via the passenger-side door and settled herself into the driving seat. She pulled on her seat belt and looked in the rearview mirror, her eyes meeting Mickey’s cold gaze. She turned the ignition on and backed out of her space and headed to the road, putting on the blinker to turn right.

  “Go west,” Mickey ordered, and Reagan sighed. Shit! There went her bread crumb.

  Reagan did what she was told.

  “About a mile from here you can pull off. You’re going to get out and release the dog; I’ve got enough on my plate without having a dog to deal with.”

  Reagan shook her head. “It’s a popular trucking road. He’ll get run over!” she protested. It was the same road that Flick had found him on after being hit by a car. Flick would be devastated if something happened to Rufus. They all would be.

  “Seriously? You’re worried about a dog? I have a gun pointed at a little kid! Shouldn’t he be your priority?” Mickey demanded.

  He was, of course he was. Sorry, Rufus. But if he, by some minor miracle, managed to make his way back home without incident—or dying—then maybe Flick would realize that something was amiss. Then again, Rufus routinely escaped, so she couldn’t rely on that.

  Reagan pulled over and exited the vehicle, walking around the back to open the door. She felt Mickey’s eyes on her and she grimaced when he lifted the muzzle of the gun to hold it an inch from Coe’s angelic face. She was on her own and she had to protect Coe. That was her job, the only thing that was important right now. It would be hours before anyone realized they were missing, hours before Axl or Knox got worried. She’d sent Knox a message to say that she’d take Coe to a movie and then to supper and he wouldn’t worry for a long time.

  Axl would only hear that she was missing when Knox raised the alarm. Reagan grabbed Rufus’s leash and pulled him, but Rufus dug in his heels, refusing to move. She looked at him and she knew what he wanted to stay, that he knew something was badly wrong. He whimpered as she tugged him again, putting her foot on the bumper to give her more strength.

  “Shit, Rufus, get out. If you don’t—” Reagan muttered.

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll shoot him in the head. His carcass will be easier to pull out of the car then.”

  Reagan tossed him a hot look. “You’re a monster.”

  Mickey just shrugged. “Probably. You have ten seconds or it’s bye-bye doggy.”

  Reagan pulled on his leash, looking and feeling desperate, counting the seconds down in her head. When she reached three, Rufus lumbered to his heels, licked Coe’s head, and quickly jumped down from the trunk. Reagan risked Mickey’s wrath by rubbing his ears and placing her forehead to his.

  “Run home. Be safe,” she said before kissing him on the forehead and slamming the back door shut. Reagan walked back to the front seat of the car, climbed inside, and started her SUV. She checked for oncoming cars and pulled off into the traffic.

  As she drove away she looked in her rearview mirror and saw Rufus sitting on the side of the road, his head cocked and looking at the departing car, looking like his heart was about to break.

  Reagan could relate. She thought hers was about to break too.

  Chapter Eleven

  JasonSturgiss. You were the tall brunette in the supermarket off Main last night, wearing pink jogging shorts and a black crop top. I was the tall guy you barreled into and pushed into the shelf of eggs. Despite the fact you neither apologized nor introduced yourself, I’d like to buy you a drink at the Smirking Fox whenever it suits.

  JoggerGirl: @JasonSturgiss: You weren’t looking where you were going, you were looking down at your phone. And you called me a klutz and a moron so no to the drink. And who shops while staring at his phone? How old are you, thirteen?

  KevTheFirefighter: Burrrnnnn . . . which is apt since you are the fire chief.

  In Sawyer’s office, Axl stretched out his long legs and lifted the beer bottle to his lips. It was the end of a long day and he’d snagged a couple of bottles from the minibar in the conference room and brought them to Sawyer’s office, yanking his friend off his computer and away from his beloved spreadsheets.

  “How’s Doug?” Axl asked, sliding his eyes to the black screen of his cell and trying not to obsess as to why Reagan hadn’t answered the text message he’d sent her earlier. She was normally quick to reply; maybe she was still in the movies with Coe or she hadn’t looked at her screen lately. Axl dismissed his feeling of unease, telling himself that Reagan was a big girl and fully able to look after herself. She didn’t need, or want, him hovering.

  “He made bail,” Sawyer answered.

  Axl pulled his attention back to his friend and noticed the deeper lines around his eyes, the grooves in his slower-to-smile face. Sawyer’s brother had been arrested a couple of months back and Sawyer was coming to terms with the idea that his normally laid-back but perpetually stoned brother, who never had any problem getting laid, was accused of rape. It didn’t make sense to any of them.

  Doug was a drug addict, but a rapist? It didn’t compute. But the idiot couldn’t remember the night or the girl, and his DNA was present—under her fingernails as well as internally—on the girl, and it wasn’t looking good.

  “What did he take that night that he can’t remember a damn thing?” Axl asked, frowning.

  “He doesn’t know that either,” Sawyer replied, his green eyes hard. He raked his hand through his hair and frowned. “Asshole.”

  Sawyer looked up from picking the label off his beer bottle and lifted his eyebrows. “So what’s going on in your life? Apart from the fact that you and Reagan are—”

  “Don’t go there,” Axl said, whipping the words out. He and Sawyer and Kai had discussed many women over the years, sometimes not as well as they should, but he couldn’t talk about Reagan that way. She was different and could never be, would never be, the subject of locker room talk.

  She was different. Dare he say it? Even special.

  God, she was more than special, she was fast becoming the beat of his heart, the reason he stood up—mentally and sexually—in the morning. She was his smile, his laughter, his happy place. With Reagan the world felt bigger and brighter and it made more sense than normal.

  Dammit.

  Uncomfortable with the route his thoughts were taking, he glared at his unresponsive cell phone again and changed the subject. “So how long have you been sneaking into Pippa’s house at daybreak?”

  Sawyer stared at him over the rim of his beer bottle, looking almost panicked. Whoa, Sawyer was the most laid-back guy on earth and nothing ever rocked his boat.

  “How did you—what makes you think—fuck!”

  Axl smiled. Sawyer never panicked and he never stuttered, so he must have hit a very big nerve. Because he was a very good friend, he decided to place the heel of his boot on that nerve and grind down. There was a huge story here and he intended to find out what it was. “Well?”

  “What makes you think that I’m sneaking into her bedroom?”

  “I said house, I never mentioned her bedroom,” Axl pointed out, delighted at having caught Sawyer slipping up.

  The tips of Sawyer’s ears burned. “So how much must I pay you or what must I do to keep this between us?”

  Whoa. That was a hell of an offer. Before Axl could answer, Kai walked into the room and slapped his hands on h
is hips. “What’s being kept between who?”

  Axl looked at Sawyer, letting him field this one. It was his secret to tell. “Ah, fuckaduck.”

  “I’d really prefer not to,” Kai said, lifting his eyebrow at Sawyer.

  Sawyer used his beer bottle to gesture to Axl. “You might as well tell him; I can see that you are dying to.”

  Axl didn’t give Sawyer any time to change his mind. “You know those mornings when Sawyer bats away our offers to run with him?”

  “Yeah?” Kai sat on the edge of Sawyer’s desk.

  “Turns out he’s running to Pippa’s house and sneaking upstairs.”

  Kai slowly turned and nailed his friend with a surprised look. “Seriously? I thought you two don’t talk much anymore. Flick told me that you and Pippa used to be the best of friends.”

  “We don’t. Talk, that is,” Sawyer agreed, going back to his task of removing the paper from his beer bottle. “We have sex, that’s it.” Sawyer lifted his head, and his hard glance landed on Kai’s face. “You cannot tell Flick. Pippa hasn’t told Flick. We haven’t told anyone and we would never have told anyone if big mouth over there hadn’t opened his big trap. How the hell did you find out anyway?”

  “Reagan is renting a room at Pippa’s, I was with Reagan. Two plus two . . .” Axl replied.

  “Crap! Pippa could’ve told me that!” Sawyer muttered.

  “You two really don’t talk,” Kai commented, folding his arms. “So, how long?”

  “How long what?” Sawyer asked, looking irritated. “Pippa and I?”

  “No, you and the tooth fairy.” Axl rolled his eyes. “Yes, you and Pippa.”

  “On and off? For about nearly a decade,” Sawyer admitted.

  Axl stared at him, unable to believe what he was hearing. He and Pippa had been sleeping together for nearly a decade—on and off—and nobody knew about it? Holy shit, Batman! This had to be a Mercy first.

  Kai opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, his cell phone rang. He exchanged a can-you-believe-what-we-are-hearing look with Axl before answering the phone in his hand. “Hey, babe.”