Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard 10)

“I always keep clean clothes and a shaving kit in the trunk of my car.”

Frowning, she followed him into the living room. “For sleepovers?”

“No, for the gym,” he patiently explained. He dropped the bag on the chair.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he wouldn’t let himself. It took all the willpower he could muster not to kiss her sweet lips.

“You’re sleeping here tonight?” she asked.

“Yes. I’ll take the sofa,” he answered.

“Why?” she asked, bewildered. “I think you’d better explain what happened at the birthday party, and if you tell me my father’s your new golf buddy, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“Olivia, sweetheart . . . ?”

“Yes?” she asked, trying not to be worried. Grayson couldn’t be fooled. Her father couldn’t charm him.

Grayson looked into her eyes for several seconds, then said, “Your parents are god-awful people.”

She was thrilled. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. That’s about the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

The doorbell rang. He took her hand and led her into her bedroom.

“Stay here,” he said. He was reaching for his gun as he left the room and pulled the door closed behind him.

She didn’t have to wait long. A minute later Grayson told her she could come out, and she emerged to find Ronan removing his coat. He tossed it on the back of a chair near the door, lifted a gun out of the back of his waistband, and handed it to Grayson. “I thought you might need some extra firepower. Never know. There are more clips in my coat pockets.”

Grayson turned to Olivia. “Ronan’s going to hang out for a while.”

Instead of asking why, she simply said, “Okay,” and waited for one of them to start talking. Her patience quickly ran out when neither of them spoke. Hands on her hips, she said, “Exactly what are you boys expecting to happen here? A shootout on the third floor? I’ll tell you right now, Mrs. Delaney won’t like that.”

Ronan smiled. “Mrs. Delaney?”

“The tyrant in three-ten,” Grayson answered. “She makes Olivia do her grocery shopping for her.”

“She does not make me grocery shop. I just pick up a few things for her now and then . . . that isn’t important now. What’s going on?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Ronan asked Grayson.

“I haven’t had time.”

“Tell me now,” she demanded.

Grayson told her about the party and his conversation with her parents. By the time he’d finished, Olivia had dropped down on the sofa and was speechless.

“She seems to be taking this pretty well,” Ronan remarked.

“Yeah, right,” Grayson said. Then he started counting. “Five, four, three, two . . .”

She bounded to her feet with a roar. Grayson smiled. “There it is,” he told Ronan.

“How dare he! If Carl Simmons comes through my door and invades my home, I want you to shoot him, Grayson. You can shoot him, too, Ronan. No, I’ll do it. Ronan, give me a gun, and I’ll shoot him. I’ll be doing the world a favor. That snake, that creepy slimeball, that . . .” She stopped sputtering for a second, searching for more names. “That no good . . .”

“Take a breath, sweetheart,” Grayson suggested. She was starting to wheeze as she paced back and forth.

“Yes, you’re right. I need to calm down so I can think. That’s what I need to do. That son of a . . . When do you think this will happen?”

“Soon.” Grayson took off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirtsleeves.

Olivia stopped in the middle of the room. It was really beginning to sink in, the lengths her adversaries would go to. “You really believe Simmons will bring men here to take me?”

“Yes, that’s what I believe. If you’d seen the look on his face when Asher was talking to him, you’d be a believer, too.”

“Your father’s in this, as well, Olivia,” Ronan said. “You need to know that.”

“Oh, I know.”

“I’m going to get out of these clothes,” Grayson said.

Olivia widened her pacing trail from the sofa to the kitchen and back. On one of her trips she noticed another FBI gym bag on the floor outside her office. “Are you staying over, too?” she asked Ronan.

“Maybe.”

Olivia walked into her kitchen. It was dark, and she stood in the shadows looking out the window, trying desperately to understand how it had come to this and how her father could justify what he was doing. She was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. How could she miss what she never had?

Oh, snap out of it, she scolded. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t accomplish anything. Besides, she had a family. She had Jane and Collins and Sam. They were her sisters. But as loving and supportive as they were, she had to admit she needed more. God help her, she needed Grayson in her life.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Concentrate on now. Don’t worry about the future; just focus on tonight. Stop thinking like an outcast daughter and start thinking like a smart, strong, independent woman.

Pep talk over, she went back into the living room. Who would come to get her? How many would there be? And where did they think they would take her?

“Wait a minute,” she said.

“Yes?” Ronan was carrying his bag into the guest bathroom. He turned back and waited.

“Simmons has to know I would never let him in my apartment.”

“Okay.”

“Wait . . .”

“Yes?” he asked, trying not to smile. She was so earnest.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Simmons knows I’ll be cautious, and I won’t let just anyone in. He’ll send someone I know, someone I’ll open the door for. That no good . . .”

And she was off on another tirade. Grayson came out of the bedroom just as she was winding down. He’d changed into jeans and a shirt and had his gun and holster back on his hip. He was on his cell phone.

“Yes, I’ll tell her.” He ended the call and said, “That was Agent Huntsman. He’s helping us out with Jeff Wilcox’s old attorney, Asher. He said to tell you that you owe him one, Olivia.”

“I do? Okay.”

Before she could ask what Huntsman was doing to help, Grayson said, “You were right, Ronan. Asher was going to try to disappear. He was getting in his car with a suitcase and files when they picked him up.”

“Is he being arrested, and if so, on what charges?” Olivia asked.

“He was taken in for questioning. No charges yet,” Grayson said. “He’s going to explain where the twenty-thousand-dollar deposit came from.”

“What twenty thousand?”

“That was the amount of cash deposited in Asher’s account the day before he offered his services to Wilcox.”

“How did you get that information so quickly?” Olivia asked.

“Our resources are extensive,” Ronan explained.

“Didn’t you need a court order or a . . .” She stopped when Grayson gave her the look. She was getting used to seeing that expression, the did-you-really-just-ask-that-question look.

“Never mind.” She went into the kitchen and got a grape Popsicle from the freezer. She was about to tear the wrapper off when Grayson grabbed it from her.

“Oh no, you don’t. I’m not going to be distracted tonight.” He put the Popsicle back in the freezer.

She followed him. “I wasn’t going to . . .” she whispered. “You know.”

“Do you mean drive me nuts like you did with the last Popsicle?”

She smiled. “I drove you nuts?”

“You know you did.”

She laughed. “Yes, but it’s good to hear you admit it.”

Olivia realized there was nothing she could do now but wait. Grayson had taken his laptop into her office to write a report, and Ronan had turned on the television. She sat next to him and watched him channel surf. He settled on a station and leaned back when the news came on.

“Does Agent Huntsman know why you’re here?” she asked.

“Yes, he does. I told him.”

“Is he your superior?”

He flashed a smile. “No, we just help each other out every once in a while.”

“What happens if Grayson’s wrong?”

“He isn’t wrong. He’s got this way of reading people. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s something he sees in their eyes maybe. He’s saved our lives more than once. A couple of years ago we were called in to help on a case with Huntsman. There were five of us and an informant who had worked with Huntsman for over a year. Very trustworthy,” he added. “We knew there was a deal going down, and we were waiting for the suspect to show up with his crew. We got there real early and had time to set up the ambush. We had a good two hours to wait. Anyway, Grayson’s watching the informant talk to Huntsman, and he goes over to the two of them and chats for a minute, surely no longer. The informant’s supposed to leave, but Grayson grabs him and puts him in cuffs. Then he tells all of us we have to get out.”

“Why? What happened?” she asked when he hesitated.

“He won’t even take the time to explain, so we all hightail it out of that house. We’re all in our cars down the street, parked behind an abandoned building, and we’re waiting there for maybe ten minutes. No one’s saying anything to Grayson, but I know Huntsman and the other agents are thinking, what the . . . has Grayson lost it? We’ve got a major bust about to happen, and he’s screwing it up.”

“But you weren’t thinking that.”

“No, I trusted his instinct. And about five minutes later the house blows up. And I mean blows. It was like a nuclear bomb went off. Even tore out the foundation. From that night on, Huntsman doesn’t question Grayson. If he says he’s got a feeling or he’s read something in the guy’s eyes or in the way he’s behaving that none of us notice, we listen. Grayson would make a hell of a profiler,” he added. “But that doesn’t interest him.”

“And tonight he saw Simmons’s reaction to Asher’s news.”

“Yeah, but that was easy. Grayson said anyone with half a brain would know Simmons was going to do something crazy. You know those cartoon characters that have fire coming out of their eyes and ears when they get mad? According to Grayson, Simmons looked like that.”

“He compared him to a cartoon character?”

He nodded. “He won’t admit it, but I’m pretty sure he watches cartoons with Henry.”

Olivia imagined Grayson kicking back with his nephew and laughing at some juvenile TV show, and she got a warm feeling. No wonder she loved him.

“Anyway, he knew Simmons was going to do something because you . . .”

“I what?”

He grinned. “You really pissed him off.”

She laughed. “Oh, I hope so.”

“After we chatted with your father, we knew what the plan was, especially after he said he was going to see that you were put somewhere safe. Grayson’s convinced it’ll happen tonight.”

“Was my mother with him?” she asked. She didn’t wait for a response. “Of course she was. She never leaves his side if she can help it.”

Grayson joined them. “Huntsman’s here with Larson. One will stay in the security room off the lobby watching the garage and the front entrance, and the other will watch the back steps. They won’t be seen.”

“All the floors are on closed-circuit,” Olivia said. “I hope Simmons comes. I’d love to sit down and have a chat.”

Grayson shook his head. “He’ll stay away and wait to hear.”

“What if they’re coming here to kill me? Have you considered that possibility? Hide my body where it won’t be found. Simmons would like that.”

She saw the look on Grayson’s face and went to him. She didn’t care that Ronan was watching as she moved into his arms. “I’m just saying—”

“No one’s going to hurt you ever again,” Grayson stated with an unflinching resolve.

Olivia had just looked at the time on Grayson’s watch—it was straight up midnight—when a knock sounded at her door. Then the doorbell rang.

Grayson motioned for Olivia to go into the kitchen. Both he and Ronan had their guns drawn. Ronan looked through the peephole. The only man visible was George Anderson, Olivia’s brother-in-law.

The banging got louder. George shouted her name. “Come on, Olivia. Open the door. I’ve got to talk to you. It’s important.”

It got quiet for a minute while George conferred with the men accompanying him, and then he started banging on the door again. “There’s been an accident. Open the door.”

Olivia could hear him, of course. She came out of the kitchen and shouted, “All right. I’m opening the door. Hold on.” She’d tried to sound sleepy and thought she’d done a good job. She stood there smiling over her performance until Grayson tilted his head toward the kitchen. Nodding, she went back to hide.

Ronan waited just inside the entrance to Olivia’s study. Grayson opened the door and moved out of the line of sight.

There were two men with George. They knocked him to his knees as they pushed their way inside. They were in such a hurry they got halfway into the living room before they realized their target wasn’t there.

George didn’t wait around. He staggered to his feet and ran down the hall to the elevator, frantically hitting the button.

The men Simmons had sent were big and looked like bodybuilders. Dressed alike in black pants and white shirts with identification cards clipped to their pockets, they were obviously trying to look like hospital orderlies. Damned scary orderlies who would give patients nightmares. One was bald and had an eagle tattoo on the back of his head; the other had a scar that cut into his chin. Tattoo held a gun, and Scar carried a small black bag.

Disarming the man with the gun came first. Grayson didn’t waste time. He came up behind him and clipped him hard on the back of his neck. The hit didn’t seem to faze him, but the barrel of Grayson’s gun pressed against the face of the eagle got his attention.

“Drop the gun,” Grayson ordered.

“Hey, we’re just here to—”

“Drop the gun.”

Ronan had his weapon pointed at Scar. “Shoot him,” he told Grayson. “We only need to interrogate one.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Tattoo heard the click of the weapon and quickly dropped his gun. “Don’t shoot,” he cried out.

Thirty seconds later, both men were handcuffed and sitting side by side at the kitchen table. They’d been read their rights but thus far hadn’t asked for a lawyer.

“You’ve got this all wrong,” Tattoo said.

They had been searched and their wallets were now on the table. Grayson found their drivers’ licenses, read their names, and said to the tattooed man, “Where did we go wrong, Kline?”

“We were sent here to get Miss MacKenzie and take her to Marydale Hospital, where she can get the treatment she needs.”

“Marydale is at least a hundred and fifty miles from here,” Ronan pointed out.

Kline shrugged. “It’s where we were told to take her.”

“Who told you to take her?”

The two men looked at each other. Then Kline said, “I guess her doctor.”

“You guess?” Ronan asked.

Grayson opened the black bag and held up two vials of a milky substance. “What were you planning to do with these?”

The other man, whose name was Vogel, answered. “We were going to sedate her because we were told she was violent.”

Grayson found a third vial in the bag. “There’s enough here to put down a horse.”

“Did you know how much to give, or were you just going to guess?” Ronan asked.

“I knew about how much.” Vogel was becoming defensive. “And it was going to be a long drive. I didn’t want her to wake up.”

“About how much? You could have killed her.” Grayson was trying to keep his temper under control. He was so furious, he wanted to throw both of them out the window.

“I would have been careful,” Vogel insisted.

“Oh, then that’s all right.”

Vogel perked up. He obviously didn’t understand sarcasm. “I didn’t want to hurt her, but . . . you know . . . she’s . . .” The way Grayson was looking at him broke his concentration. He looked at Kline for help.

“Violent,” Kline whispered.

“Right. Violent.”

They were following a script, and any deviation rattled them.

“Were you just going to drop her off at the door?” Grayson asked.

“No, we were going to take her in and then . . . you know . . . leave her because . . .” Vogel answered.

“She’s violent?” Grayson supplied. He glanced over at Olivia. Had he not known better, he might have given some credence to their claim. She was standing behind Vogel with her lips clinched tightly, looking as though she could strangle the man with her bare hands.

“How come you’re dressed like orderlies?” Ronan asked.

“We wanted to look professional,” Vogel explained.

“Yes, professional,” Kline agreed.

“Cut the BS.” Ronan shouted the order. Olivia flinched in reaction.

“I’m going to go get George. I’ll be right back,” Grayson said.

Olivia couldn’t believe he was leaving now. They hadn’t gotten Kline and Vogel to tell them anything yet. She followed him into the living room. “You’re leaving now? George is long gone. Don’t leave.” He gave her the look again. “Oh . . .” she said, suddenly understanding. “George isn’t gone. Where is he?”

“I imagine he’s beating the hell out of the elevator button about now. The elevator is locked on the ground floor.”