to take advantage of the lake. The backyard of the Abernathy estate was an oasis—a beautiful area specifically for entertaining and enjoying the weather and the lake. There was an inviting pool that lazily wound around a spa and fountain where water spilled over rocks, falling from fountain to spa to pool.
The cabana and bar were located to the left on the expansive lawn that led down to the boathouse. The estate had a manicured landscape that rolled right into the large pier that ran out over the water. Two boats were suspended beneath a covered canopy just beside the pier.
The nearest neighbor was a good distance away, too far to ever question any noises coming from the mansion or guest cabins. Torpedo Ink had gotten a lucky break. The neighbor used his home as a vacation property, renting it out when he wasn’t using it, and Code had managed to get them in for a week’s use. The house came with all the amenities, including a boat. Of course, they’d paid extra for that, but money didn’t matter to them and finding Zane did.
Preacher lay up on the roof studying the estate, looking for signs of life. There were two trucks parked at the back of the house and one near the cabin. He’d been up there for hours—since before dawn. Humidity was a bitch and the mosquitoes could be a problem, but he didn’t move, nor did he take his eyes off the house. Transporter was on the other side with glasses watching the cabin. Mechanic was watching the road.
They’d sent the license plate numbers of each vehicle to Code. He hadn’t yet responded but Steele had a gut feeling they had come to the right place. Wealthy families weren’t immune from having sons like Boone, mean men who robbed others and felt they were entitled to take what they wanted rather than work for it. Boone seemed to have passed that trait on to Bridges, who’d clearly passed it on to Junk.
That made Steele think about what he wanted to give his son. Certainly, the ability to protect himself. He was going to continue Breezy’s self-defense training as well as ask the others to help him with that. All of the women and children should be taught. They needed a shooting range. He’d have to talk to Czar and have it put on the list of businesses they would open. An indoor shooting range would be good as well as one outdoors. Somewhere to teach self-defense classes as well. His mind went over the possibilities, allowing him to keep from losing his sanity as they waited.
It was difficult, looking at the serenity of that house in the early morning hours, to think that his son might be held prisoner there. For one terrible moment he remembered a little boy, no more than four, thrown down the basement stairs where he tumbled soundlessly, rolling until he hit Steele’s legs. Steele was in chains and couldn’t cushion him. Couldn’t reach for him. There was no way to help him. The boy had died three hours later staring at him. Never once did he make a sound until that last rattle of his breath.
Breezy came up beside him as he stared out the window, looking at the quiet estate next door. Her hand slid up his back as she moved into him and then she was in front of him, frowning. Her fingers slid over his face from his eye to his jaw and just that small touch seemed to quiet the demons in him.
“Honey.” She wrapped her arms around his waist in an effort to comfort him.
He felt like a fucking pussy to have her see tears tracking down his face. What the hell was wrong with him? “I’m good,” he said, his voice gruff. He was. He had to be. He wasn’t going to be worth anything to his son—or to her—if he didn’t stop letting the present situation trigger memories of his past. He couldn’t think about his son in the hands of madmen, not when he needed to be sane and rational.
Breezy didn’t respond to his bullshit, but then she often didn’t. She seemed to know when to soothe him just by staying quiet. He wrapped his arms around her and dropped his chin to the top of her head, inhaling her scent. He was supposed to be the one comforting her, but right at that moment, he knew it was the other way around.