Rough Ride Page 3

  But what was worse had been the weird letter from her brother starting with a comment about the country band Montgomery Gentry. Karl hated country music, which sucked since he lived in Nashville most of the year. But maybe he’d developed a taste for it in the last year or so.

  Cassandra hadn’t made a good effort to get to know Asia. Cassandra thought they married too quickly, and of course, running off to Vegas, where her father lived, seemed like a stupid thing to do considering what her father had done. Add in the fact that Karl never hid meanings in words. He constantly argued with his literature professors that authors should write what they mean. That every other class taught him to be concise and to the point.

  Karl never did well in English and not because he couldn’t find the hidden meanings, or all the subtext, but because everyone in the Sweet family had a stubborn streak. If anyone told either of them they couldn’t do something, they dug their heels in and did it in spades, proving everyone wrong. It’s how Karl became the starting goalie for the Predators. Everyone told him he just wasn’t good enough.

  He showed them.

  Then the asshole had to go off himself.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, keeping the tears from streaming down her cheeks. There was no way her brother did such a thing and until the medical examiner told her otherwise, she held out some hope that if she dug deep enough, she’d find the truth. Sucking in a deep breath, she lifted her lids, blinking. It hadn’t even been a week since Karl’s death.

  “Truck is on the way.” Kick took her bag and tossed it into the cab of his truck. “We should be on the road in twenty. I can have my buddy on the other end of the radio give your friend a call, so they know you’re going to be late.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she said as she took the hand Kick offered. “This is one hell of a truck.”

  “Brand-new, special order.” Kick knocked the hood three times. “She’s my baby.”

  “She sure is pretty.” Cassandra settled herself into the plush black leather seat. Her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. Her head throbbed from days of crying and searching for questions that didn’t seem to have any answers. All she wanted to do was find a place to sit in a corner and sob for hours.

  Kick lifted a microphone from a cradle hanging on the dashboard. “Hey, Dustin. Can you give someone a call for me?”

  “Sure thing, man.”

  She held out the phone, so he could read the number and name.

  “Tell Monty that Cassandra Sweet ran into car trouble. Give him the address of the towing company and let him know we’ll be there probably in forty minutes. Give him my cell as well.” Kicked glanced in her direction, giving her a reassuring glance.

  But it didn’t help. “I never told you my last name,” she whispered, gripping the door handle.

  “Sweet? As in Arnold Sweet of the Country Sweet Ranch?” Dustin asked.

  A gasp escaped her lips. Sure, a lot of people in Montana knew her dad and his ranch. He was a well-respected, rich man in the community. He’d also hired the Brotherhood Protectors a few years back when one of her father’s business associates tried to sabotage the ranch. That’s when her dad became good friends with Swede and Bear.

  Did any of these men go by their first name?

  Kick lowered the mic, letting it rest on his leg, thumb off the speaker button. “I took a stab at your name when you said your brother played in the NHL and his death made national news.”

  She let out a dry laugh. Don’t give away information that isn’t asked. It will always be a mistake. Another quote from her father that she should have taken to heart more. Loose lips were not her friend.

  “I didn’t say anything because I figured you had enough to deal with and didn’t need some fool asking you questions about something so raw.”

  “I suppose I should thank you for that,” she muttered. “My father is going to kill me when he finds out I’m here.”

  And then he’d bring her back to life, just to ream her a new one for not telling him about the break-in the second she got off the phone with 9-1-1.

  Her father had taught her to be a tough cookie, yet he handled her with kid gloves. Made her crazy.

  Kick lifted the mic to his lips. “That’s the one, but don’t tell Swede or Bear. She doesn’t want her father to know she’s back in town, just yet.”

  “Too late,” Bear’s gruff voice bellowed over the speaker. At first glance, Bear looks like a man you don’t want to mess with, but the longer she stayed under his protection, the more she could only describe him as a big, old grizzly bear.

  But she still wouldn’t want to cross that man.

  “Is she right there with you?” Bear asked.

  Kicked handed her the mic.

  This trip wasn’t happening as planned. “I’m here,” she said.

  “Tell me why we’re going to keep this from your father? Especially right now. I talked to him yesterday. He’s not handling your brother’s death very well. And your mom, she’s worried sick. They told me you’re not answering your phone,” Bear said. A tinge of sorrow laced his harsh tone.

  The last thing she needed was a lecture from Bear about how badly Karl’s actions affected her entire family. Karl’s memory would be forever tainted as a murderer and a coward.

  She needed to give Bear something to get him to agree to keep her visit to himself. But if she told Bear anything about the break-in, he’d probably shove the Brotherhood Protectors down her throat. “There is a reason the police are still investigating my brother’s death. While the media says it’s a murder/suicide, the medical examiner hasn’t made any ruling yet, and my friends at the police station tell me that it’s because they are still investigating. That tells me there is something suspicious, which could mean my brother didn’t do anything wrong and is a victim himself.”

  “That may all be true. But what does that have to do with you being a couple hours away from your parents?” Leave it to Bear to cut to the chase.

  “I can’t believe Karl would kill Asia. He loved her, and she was pregnant. He was excited about his life.” And all she had done was shit on it. Something she’d have to live with for the rest of her life. “I have a friend that lives in Helena who digs into stuff like this, and he’s helping me.”

  “If you needed those kinds of services, you should have called me,” Bear said.

  “I don’t need protection,” she said behind gritted teeth. “I need answers. My friend can help me with that. Now, please. I’m begging. Don’t tell my dad just yet.”

  “Twenty-four hours. That’s all you got,” Bear said.

  She dropped her head back, handing Kick the mic.

  “Dustin has tried your friend, no answer so far,” Bear said.

  “Just let us know. Talk soon.” Kick set the mic in the cradle on the dashboard.

  “So, you’ve worked with Bear for how long?” she asked, trying to fend off sobs threatening to break free from her guarded heart.

  “Just about a year. Dustin, the man who took the call, we served together, though he’s much younger than I. Unfortunately, we were both injured and had to retire before we were ready. Another buddy of ours, Shamus, hooked us up with the Brotherhood Protectors.”

  “You’re rambling,” she said.

  “Just passing the time, trying to cut the tension that developed in the last five minutes.”

  “Sorry. Had I known you were with that organization, I would have told you to go find another seat.”

  “That would have sucked. I would have been stuck in a middle seat, and I’m just too tall for that.”

  She smiled, a little surprised her muscles had relaxed. Well, at least she knew he wasn’t a crazed killer. “You like working for the Brotherhood Protectors?”

  “It’s a good gig. I get to work on my farm between assignments helping people. The two things I love most. Outside of my family.”

  “You’re married?” She shouldn’t be shocked. A man that looked like he walked right out of a cowb
oy and puppy calendar would certainly have a pretty woman on his arm. Not to mention, he had all the charm and charisma of Prince Charming himself.

  He tapped at the screen on his phone, holding it out. “Nope. But my two brothers have kids. I was just visiting them.”

  She held his cell in her trembling hand. Her brother had been so excited to find out that Asia was pregnant. Cassandra wanted to be happy, but she worried Asia was just after her brother for his money, and a baby would seal that deal. Cassandra gripped the phone. “They are really cute.”

  “Even cuter when I get them all riled up and hand them back to their parents.” He pointed to the rearview mirror. “Tow truck is here. I’ll be right back.”

  She hoped she was doing the right thing by coming back to Montana and prayed Monty would find something that could prove her brother hadn’t done the unspeakable.

  Chapter 2

  Kick glanced at the sleeping beauty curled up in the passenger seat. She was a walking contradiction. She had all the style and grace of a movie star with a badass attitude the size of Texas.

  She was also not being totally up front with Bear in her reasons for lying to her father.

  This wasn’t Kick’s business, but Arny Sweet would make damn sure Kick would lose his job if he didn’t stick by Cassandra until he knew for sure she was safe. He just hoped he wasn’t sticking his neck in the middle of something that would come back and bite him in the ass.

  In his mind, he rolled around everything he could remember about Karl’s death. The article had mentioned the neighbors heard Karl and his wife fighting regularly the last few weeks before the murder/suicide, but especially that night. Kick remembered that whoever wrote the article had been at a loss as to why Karl might have snapped, stating that he appeared to be the quintessential boy next door. Even the cops were hard-pressed to come up with a motive.

  But they painted Asia as a woman with a past.

  And a record.

  The press had a field day with Asia’s past gambling problem, which she inherited from a habitual sports betting mogul. But Kick didn’t know much about that.

  For nineteen years, he went from one dangerous assignment to the next, only stopping back in Florida for a weekend here and there to see his family. Otherwise, he didn’t pay attention to anything other than what the government needed him to. But now that he’d spent a year on American soil, he found a passion for watching hockey, and the Predators became his team since one of his best friends lived in Nashville.

  Kick turned down a side road. The truck’s headlights cut into the darkness. According to the GPS, he was one hundred feet from Monty’s house, whoever Monty was. He reached across the truck and patted Cassandra’s muscled thigh.

  Impressive.

  “We’re at your friend’s house.” He pulled the truck into the driveway and swallowed as he stared at a run-down shack that looked more like the Unabomber’s cabin than a home. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to leave her at this dreadful residence or not. Hopefully the inside looked a lot better. Either way, he wasn’t hitting the road until he got a good look around.

  She flinched. “Oh”, she mumbled, brushing her hair from her face. “That was quick.”

  “Let me get your stuff.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He ignored the statement. His feet hit the pebbled driveway with a thud. The rocks crunched under his feet. Holding her suitcase, he glanced around. Pitch-black, other than the fog lights from his vehicle.

  “Why don’t you get in the truck,” he said. The hair on his neck rose to attention. His vision adjusted to the darkness as he made out what could only be described as a junkyard with a couple of old water tanks placed in the side yard with an old, rusted boat lacking an engine. The damn thing was propped up on cement blocks.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. Her thick lashes blinked frantically over her dark eyes. The beams of light hit her raven hair, making it shine against the starry night sky.

  “Are you sure this is the right address? Look at this place.” Kick had inherited his mother’s need for cleanliness and living a clutter-free life to the point that he’d become a tad bit obsessive. But hell, better than living like this.

  “I’m sure.”

  “I would think your friend would leave a light on at this hour for a guest.”

  “He probably doesn’t have any outside lights. Monty is a little eccentric.” She tugged at her suitcase, but he wasn’t about to let go of his grip. Something still didn’t feel right, and he couldn’t ignore the prickle on the back of his neck, as if someone were watching them.

  He took a couple of steps back, pulling her with him.

  “What are you doing?” she questioned, grabbing his arm with one of her death grips. Her face tightened.

  “Getting my weapon.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  With ease, he tossed her suitcase in the front seat and reached into the glove box. “Besides no lights on outside, I don’t see any inside, although that would be hard since all the shades are drawn. I have a bad vibe, and I always trust my instincts.”

  “Seriously, it’s just Monty. He doesn’t leave his house at all, so no way would he know about the lights not working outside.”

  “Better safe than sorry.” He held his arm across her chest when she tried to step in front of him. “If you insist on coming, please stay behind me.”

  “Like hell.” She shoved him. Hard.

  He stumbled, taking three steps backward until he caught his balance.

  “I’m not some little rich girl who needs protecting.” She waggled her finger.

  He rocked back on his heels, a tad surprised by her strength.

  “And put that damn thing away when you get my bag.” She marched toward the door with long strides.

  He growled. He didn’t need this shit. Racing past her, he made his way to the front door and pounded on the flimsy wood as it pushed open. “Monty?”

  Silence.

  “Does Monty always leave his front door open?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m not going to ask you again. Get in the truck,” he said with a grim tone, hoping to drill his point home.

  “No.”

  “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course you are,” he mumbled, snagging his phone. He flipped the flashlight on and raised his weapon. “Hello?” he called, shining the light into the dark, musty room. His nose tickled as the mildew smacked his throat. Eccentric wasn’t the right word for her friend.

  Hoarding might be a better descriptor.

  She held onto his shoulders, following closely. Her vanilla scent did nothing to mask the smell of rotting food, but it did slow his pulse, allowing him to stay focused on protecting her.

  His light caught a red liquid on the floor.

  Pop!

  Pop!

  “Hit the deck,” he yelled, shoving her to the ground, covering her body with his as he pushed them both across the room and behind the sofa, where he came face to face with a body lying on the floor. Blank, dead eyes stared at him through the light.

  Fuck.

  Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

  He held her close, keeping her face against his chest. He needed to return fire, but he didn’t want to let her go where she’d most definitely freak out seeing her friend in a puddle of blood. He shifted to the other side of the sofa. The shots had come from the back of the room, so he raised his weapon over the sofa and fired two rounds.

  The rev of a motorcycle engine filled the night air. Kick cocked his head, focusing on the noise. The sound definitely came from the backyard. Two engines. So, no more than four perps.

  “You okay?” He cupped Cassandra’s face, tilting it upward. The whites of her eyes glowed in the dark.

  “I’m fine. We need to find Monty.”

  He sucked in a breath. There was no easy way to tell her what he thought. “I’m sorry. He was either the person sho
oting at us, or he’s the dead man on the floor.”

  She wiggled, trying to push away from him. “Let me go.”

  “I need to check out around the house and out back, just to make sure whoever that was is really gone. But I don’t want to leave you if you’re going to—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? I need you to remain calm.” He held out his cell. “I want you to call my buddy Dustin at the Brotherhood Protectors. He has this address. Tell him to dispatch the locals and send someone from our team down here for us as soon as possible.”

  “Wonderful. No way will Bear keep his promise now.”

  “Right now, that’s not my concern,” Kick said.

  “Where’s Monty?” she asked.

  He pried open her fingers and placed his phone in her hand. “Can you do this for me?”

  She nodded. “Where’s my friend?” she asked behind pursed lips.

  “He’s behind us. It’s not a pretty sight.”

  “I’ve seen a dead body before,” she said. Her voice crackled with each syllable.

  He pulled his spare weapon from a holster on his ankle. It was a smaller gun, but it would do the trick.

  If necessary.

  “Do you know how to shoot one of these?” he asked. Something in the back of his mind figured she could shoot a hummingbird between the eyes two hundred yards away.

  She curled her fingers around the grip with the confidence of a seasoned professional marksman. “It’s a requirement of my job.”

  “Of course it is,” he said with a tinge of pride, though he had no idea why. After tonight, she would no longer be his problem. She wasn’t a client, and once they turned this over to the locals, he could wash his hands of the entire thing.

  Right.

  As if Bear, Swede, or even Hank would let him do that when Arny Sweet’s daughter was involved.

  Not to mention, if Kick was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to. “I’ll be right back.” He stood, making his way toward the picture window. He tugged at the shade. It coiled up to the middle and then stopped abruptly, but it let in enough light from his headlights to illuminate the room. Unfortunately, the beams landed right on the dead body.