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He'd made a point of doing some scouting in the area. Making a few contacts with men he had once worked with when he drove for Preston back in the day. When he didoddjobs. Men who would have kept their ear to the ground since Preston had been arrested.
Men who had their own secrets to hide.
What had Preston been thinking? Attacking a deputy sheriff like that? Whatever beef Preston had had with Bruce's nephew over that inheritance that Gil Tyler guy had gotten, it had made Preston stupid.
Stupid men made stupid mistakes.
Now the sheriff was looking in to everything to do with Preston. Wayne had been associated with Preston for more than twenty years before he'd even met Linda. If someone in Masterson recognized him, that could mean trouble.
Preston's daughters could recognize him, too.
He wasn't going to do anything to come face-to-face with one of those young women. He just wasn't.
Jason wasn't having that. “You need to get in there, fast. I heard some things in town today. I’m going to hit that inn in the middle of the town on the way back through. See…whattheyknow, too.”
He was talking about Geena again. Jason was obsessed with that woman. With finishing what he’d started so long ago. Geena was the one who’d gotten away, after all. Who’d bested him. Jason couldn’t stand that.
“Like what?” Wayne straightened his suit. He hated the damned thing. It was cheap and ill-fitting and still smelled like mothballs. But Waylon Price—now Wayne Pryor—from years ago wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit. It was about as much of a disguise as he could get.
“Nothing for you to worry about. Just…do what I need done and we’ll call it…square.”
“I need to get in when the house is empty. I told you that.”
“I don't care if it's empty. Get in there, kill the stupid bitches and the kid, if you have to, and get what we need. So we can get out of this damned town.” The cold light of evil was in Jason's eyes.Madness, for certain.
It sent chills up Wayne's neck. This guy? This guy wasevil.There was no other way to really describe him. There just wasn't.
“I am not doing a damned thing to hurt those girls. Hell, man, they are your half sisters. Don't you give a shit at all?”
He smirked. “Can't say that I do. Why should I? Everythingtheyhave should have been mine. I am the damned firstborn. Isn't that how it works with all the moneyed set?”
Wayne leaned forward. Let his hand touch the gun under his suit. Jason's eyes followed. He was a cold son-of-a-bastard, no denying that—but he feared one thing. A gun.
Jason always had.
Since Morris Preston had held a .45 to Jason's head when he was thirteen and told him to keep his fucking mouth shut about his parentage no matter what.
Such a lesson had left an impression.
Wayne didn't think Jason would have ever mentioned being Morris Preston's son ever again.
Wayne damned well wouldn't have.
Morris Preston was a monster. Wayne should have seen that when they'd been boys and playmates together so long ago. He hadn't.
To his shame, that was only his first mistake. One thing he’d learned—one mistake so often led to another. And just kept building. Until it destroyed everything that mattered. “I’ll get you what you want. But you won’t hurtanyinnocent young woman or innocent little kid on my watch, Jason. Understand me?Especiallyyour sisters. Or it’ll bemebringing you down. Remember that. Be a good boy now. Or else.”
Be a good boy now.Words Morris Preston had used to control his son so long ago.
16
Dylan Brown was a complete lie.Everything about her was a lie. She stared at her parents as what they’d told her started to sink in. “Is my name evenDylan? Are they Devaney and Dahlia and Dorothy, or are our very identities lies, too? How many times have our names changed?”
Her mother was shaking. Dylan was aware of that on some level, but all she could thinkabout was the lies. Besides, something wasalwaysupsetting her mother. That was just something that just was.Sometimes Dylan thought her mom panicked when she didn’t have something to panic about—so she’d have something to panic about and everything.
“We have other siblings.” Devaney was the one who said it aloud. “Four of them. Older than us. Four.”
“Yes.” Their father was as stoic as he always was. No emotion showed on his face. Just like in every other family crisis they’d ever had.
