Page 59 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

I called Carter while en route to the warehouse and gave him a condensed version of what had happened after we’d been run off the road—including the fact that James had been kidnapped.

Carter let out a sharp gasp.

“I stole one of their SUVs,” I said, my voice tight. “I’m on my way to get him right now.”

“By yourself? I’ll send the team to the warehouse. Don’t go in alone.”

“Your team won’t get there in time,” I said, my stomach churning. They might not kill him, but they’d sure as hell hurt him.

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks and get yourself captured too,” Carter said. “That’ll make the rescue team’s job twice as hard.”

“Fuck you, Carter.” I hung up, furious. I knew he was probably right, but there was no way I was leaving James in their hands a second longer than necessary. God only knew if he’d regained consciousness yet, or what kind of damage they might be inflicting to his concussion.

Carter tried calling me back, but I sent him to voicemail. He wasn’t going to change my mind, and I wasn’t going to waste time for either of us by listening to him try.

I slowed as I neared the warehouse, pulling onto the shoulder. I parked a good fifty feet away and then approached the building through the woods. How ironic that James had wanted to meet my father at the very place Nicole Knox had ordered her henchmen to bring him.

He was right. Having prior knowledge of the layout gave me an advantage.

I exited the trees at the edge of the parking lot, wary in case she had called for reinforcements. A dark, bullet-ridden SUV sat out front, along with a black sedan that looked suspiciously like the one that had dropped Nicole off at my mother’s house.

This was a rescue mission, but I was also here for answers.

I slipped through a back door, rifle slung over my shoulder, the handgun tucked into the waistband at my back.

Voices echoed through the open space—muffled words in a woman’s voice, then Malcolm’s unmistakable, “Fuck you.”

Pride—fierce and undeserved—swelled in my chest. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him, but hearing it still made me beam. James wouldn’t go down without a fight.

And now, he had me to fight for him too.

I took cautious steps through the darkness, weaving around machinery that hadn’t run for years, probably decades. I knew the front of the building had multiple rows of empty metal shelving that reached about fifteen feet high, but there was also an open area.

Drew Sylvester had used that space to lure me in with little Ava Peterman taped to a chair. Would Nicole Knox do the same?

But first, I had to pass a block of offices that separated the warehouse into two halves.

I lingered in the shadows, mentally shaking my head at her lax security.

No guards at the front or the back—just four men stationed out in the open area—two on each side.

Sure enough, James was strapped to the same metal chair Ava had once been bound to.

A woman stood in front of him, her back to me, but I recognized the salt-and-pepper bob.

Nicole Knox.

Malcolm’s right eye was swollen shut, and dried blood streaked the side of his face. Rage burned in my chest at the thought that they’d beaten him, until I remembered it was from the accident. Still, he likely had other injuries I couldn’t see.

Rope bound his arms and legs to the chair. Another looped around his chest, keeping him upright. I doubted it was out of concern that he might fall over.

“I’ll ask you again, Mr. Malcolm,” Nicole said, her cultured voice laced with a genteel Southern accent. “Where is the documentation that Sarah Jane Adams collected from her husband?”

“I don’t know,” James slurred. “Have you tried lookin’ up your ass?”

She jabbed something metal into his side. His body convulsed and the room filled with the crackling sound of electricity.

She was jabbing him with a cattle prod.

Rage surged through me. The men who’d chased us were sloppy. Could I be lucky enough that these men were too? Or at least be slow to react? I was almost certain they were the only guards.

From the shadows behind the shelves close to the offices, I had a clear shot at all four men. I wasn’t sure I could take them all down at once, but I was damn well going to try. I just had to make sure James and Nicole weren’t caught in the crossfire.

Hiding behind a row of racks, I rested the rifle on a shelf, lining up the nearest target. I drew a breath, finger hovering over the trigger, then Nicole’s voice rang out.

“Where’s Paul’s daughter? Why haven’t they brought her yet?”

Two of the men flinched, one casting a sidelong glance at the other, but neither answered.

She stepped toward them, her free hand curling into a fist. “You said the others would bring her here any minute . I’m done waiting. Call them again.”

“They’re not gonna answer,” James slurred, his chin still on his chest. “She’s keepin’ ‘em busy.”

Nicole spun to face him, her eyes icy as they swept over him. “Then you’ll pay for her tardiness.” She started toward him, the cattle prod extended.

I knew I was about to so something stupid, but there was no way I was going to let her shock him again.

I needed her alive, so shooting the prod wasn’t an option. A ricochet could hit Malcolm.

Before I could think it through, I aimed for her extended forearm and squeezed the trigger. Her scream confirmed I’d hit my target.

The men were already turning their weapons up. I dropped the closest two in quick succession. The remaining two opened fire. I ducked and took out the third, then swung to the fourth. He dove for cover behind a shelf. He died before he hit the floor.

Nicole clutched her bleeding arm and scrambled behind Malcolm’s chair, using him as a shield.

I emerged from the shadows, the rifle trained on her. “I heard you were looking for me.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

Malcolm lifted his head, giving me a grim look, not that I’d expected him to give me a wave and a smile.

I knew exactly what I’d just set in motion.

James had left this life behind, and I’d dragged him right back into it.

Sure, he was after Simmons’s successor, but if Gerry Knox wasn’t that guy, then I’d just made a powerful enemy—and brought him straight to James’s door.

Gerry Knox wouldn’t forgive me for taking out so many of his men, even if they’d struck first. And James would be caught in the fallout.

“If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was ask, Nicole.” I took two steps closer. “Because I want to talk to you too.”

She cast a nervous glance at the dead man a few feet away, then swung her gaze back to me. Some of her poise returned, but I saw it for what it was: false bravado.

“You have something I want,” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” I said dully. “I saw you at the bank, trying to get it yourself. I take it you planned to forge my mother’s signature?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she countered with a question of her own. “Where is it?”

“Somewhere you can’t access it,” I said. “But if you tell me exactly which document you’re after, maybe I can get it for you.”

Her upper lip curled. “You expect me to believe you don’t already know?”

“There are several documents,” I said, “You’ll have to be more specific.” I grinned when panic flickered across her face. “Then again, you’re probably not surprised. I’m sure your hands are filthy enough if you killed my mother for them.”

She didn’t deny it, which, to me, was as good as an admission.

“I know you showed up at her house last Tuesday,” I said, each word clipped. “What I don’t understand is how you got her to trust you.” When she stayed silent, I said, “Or how you got that burner phone number to her.”

“That part was easy,” she said with a short laugh. “Your mother was so gullible.”

“Funny. Gullible isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe her.”

She rolled her eyes. “People believe what they want to.”

“How’d you know she had the documents?”

“A month ago, your father warned me that your mother had been collecting papers for years. He was concerned she might have something that could incriminate my husband and our family. I told him to make certain it was recovered—or we would do it ourselves. Of course, I never expected Paul to come through. He’s incompetent on his best days.

But my foolish husband had a soft spot for him. ”

None of this surprised me, and I wondered if their meeting had taken place by the lake. I was guessing Dad’s partner had seen this meeting, not a lover’s tryst.

“So I took matters into my own hands,” she continued.

“Your father had left her in a last-ditch move of desperation. He was hoping to scare her into handing them over, but she wouldn’t budge.

I befriended her at the grocery store. I told her a sob story about my husband leaving me.

It took a couple of ‘coincidental’ run-ins before she trusted me enough to tell me she was separated too.

A few coffee dates later, she admitted she’d collected evidence of illegal activity. ”

She was discussing this so casually, as if my mother’s life meant nothing. Like she was merely a pawn in Nicole’s game.

“When I asked how she kept them safe,” Nicole went on, seemingly proud of her deception, “she said she’d put them in a safe deposit box. But she wouldn’t tell me which bank, no matter how I pushed. “

“Where did the burner phone number come from?” I asked.

“You found out about that, huh?” She chuckled, then winced as her injured arm shifted.

Her pain must have been covered by her adrenaline and the endorphins flooding her system as she regaled her accomplishments.

“I gave her the number the last time we met for coffee. I told her to call me if she was ever in danger. It only took her two days to call.” Her smile turned cruel.

“The threatening messages she started getting helped nudge her along.”

My mother had met this woman the Sunday before her death. I’d been too drunk to realize she’d even left the house.