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He couldn’t know Graham knew he was alive. He was suspected to be dead, and there was no way anyone could know Graham had even tied this to Betts Laren.
Unless Carmina Lucient’s presence at the inn had enabled her to learn far more than even Graham feared.
TWENTY-ONE
Lyrica remembered the years in Texas, before Timothy had found them and saved them. Before he had brought them to Kentucky and given Dawg the chance to show them what family really meant. She remembered the fear whenever Chandler had arrived, his strict, icy presence filling the house with a heavy, fearful tension.
And she remembered those few times she and her sisters had been separated from their mother.
Mercedes hadn’t sat at home worrying or pacing. She had searched for her children while they were in foster care. She had fought Chandler. She had even risked her own safety by threatening to report her daughters as missing. She had put her own life, her security, and her need to provide her daughters with a better life on the back burner to ensure their safety.
And Graham expected Lyrica to wait, knowing her mother could be in danger soon? Knowing her mother was worrying for her? She hadn’t even been able to talk to her mother or Zoey in the time Graham had kept her hidden. She had only seen her two older sisters because their fiancés were working with Graham on the investigation.
Pulling the pickup into the driveway of the inn, she was relieved to see that Carmina’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Timothy’s pickup was there, as well as her mother’s sedan and Zoey’s beat-up, too-fast, older-model Mustang.
Guests were normally absent through the middle of the day. Sightseeing, shopping, and other activities kept them busy, which left the inn reasonably quiet.
She was already throwing open the door to the pickup as it rocked to a stop. Running the short distance to the steps leading to the wraparound porch, she was certain she would hear the Viper racing behind her at any second.
Pulling open the door and rushing into the foyer, she quickly moved through the dining room to the kitchen.
It was empty, and that was unusual. Her mother was normally in the kitchen in the afternoons with whichever daughter was helping her that day, going over the next morning’s menu and preparing a light dinner for guests returning that evening.
The realization that she wasn’t there had fear sending Lyrica quickly to the other end of the kitchen, where Timothy kept a handgun holstered beneath the wide lip of a prep counter. Reaching beneath the counter, she found the holster empty.
Ice formed in her veins.
Secondary.
He’d placed a secondary in the kitchen after the trouble her sisters had faced the year before. Her mother was usually in the kitchen and Timothy wanted a backup that no one was aware of. Lyrica had been there when he’d placed it, but her mother hadn’t been. He’d warned her not to tell her mother because Mercedes tended to be very nervous in the areas where the weapons were hidden.
Moving silently, her gaze returning often to the dining room entrance, she went to her knees, quickly opened the lower cabinet doors hidden behind the prep area, reached up, and found the smaller-size Glock holstered there.
Extra clip, god love Tim’s over-prepared heart. Still kneeling, she pulled the weapon and ammo clips free and shoved the extra clip into her back pocket. Watching the entrance from between the boxes of dry supplies stacked beneath the prep counter, she chambered the first round as quietly as possible before rising to her knees and pushing the weapon into the band of her jeans.
Smoothing her T-shirt over the gun, she fought back the fear as she had when she was younger. She buried it beneath the knowledge that if she didn’t act, if she didn’t do what had to be done, then the consequences could be more than she could bear.
Before she could begin straightening, a scraping at the back door caused her to freeze. She eased back to retrieve the weapon she’d tucked into the band of her pants. Holding it in a two-handed grip, the barrel pointing to the floor, she peeped around the counter, her heart thundering in her chest as she watched the door slowly ease open. Mouth dry, her throat tight with the knowledge that whoever was coming in was coming in way too slow assailed her.
The house was too quiet. A heavy sense of impending danger seemed to slide through the air like a bad smell. Even the slight breeze that slid through the door as it swung slowly open couldn’t dispel the heaviness in the air.
No one stood in the doorway, though. For a moment, it looked as though a ghost had opened it.
“Lyrica, shoot us and I’ll crack your ass.” It was all she could do to hold back her sob at the sound of Dawg’s voice.
Dawg wasn’t the only one who stepped quietly into the kitchen. He came in, his stance watchful, covering the two men who moved in behind him.
Straightening slowly, she did nothing to hide the weapon she was carrying.
“Timothy’s spare weapon is missing,” she whispered, knowing Dawg was aware of the hidden positions of the guns. “The backup he placed beneath the cabinet last year was still in place, but I was the only one here when he placed it.”
Dawg nodded, his pale green eyes watching the dining room doorway carefully. “And he told you to keep it to yourself.”
She licked her dry lips nervously, all too aware of the fact that Graham’s eyes had flickered to the weapon she still held.
“Timothy, Mercedes, and Zoey aren’t answering their cell phones,” Natches stated softly. “Have you seen them? Heard anything?”
She shook her head. “There was no way to miss the fact that I arrived, though.”
