Behind her, Patrick stepped in as well as the young Breed that had driven the van. The door closed and locked behind them, sealing them into the warmth of a home that suddenly seemed more sinister.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Walt answered as he moved to the stove and stirred the contents of the pot, before turning back to her.
Dressed in a checkered shirt, jeans and boots, he looked just as friendly, just as unassuming as he had that morning in Glen Ferris. In his case, looks were definitely deceiving.
“I see you’ve met Patrick.” There was a wealth of affection in his voice as he nodded at her kidnapper. “Behind him is Keith. I trust they took good care of you.”
“Don’t place too much trust in them,” she suggested. “They’re severely inconveniencing me.”
Walt glanced behind her in surprise before a light chuckle escaped his lips. “Yeah, they have that small habit.”
“It’s going to be a fatal habit in this case,” she informed him. “You know Cabal, Walt. He’ll kill them both.”
Walt shook his head, though his face was lined with resignation. “He’ll be killing us all then.” He sighed heavily as he waved his hand to the table. “Sit. I’ll get you some food, maybe some coffee, and we’ll talk.”
She moved to the table and sat down, though she ignored the food and coffee set before her. She instead watched warily as Patrick and Keith each took a seat, then Walt. They had no problem digging into the chili or drinking the coffee as she watched them silently.
“Watts is in Virginia.” Patrick’s head lifted from the steady concentration he had been giving his food. “He’s been held in a prison in the Middle East since he was captured at that facility in Germany. One of Jonas Wyatt’s pet prisoners.”
Her brows lifted. Did everyone but her know about this prison?
“So I just learned.” Her hands clenched in her lap. She was almost shaking with nerves, with fear. The murders that had been committed in this small town had begun here. Perhaps all three men had been involved in them. They had been cold-blooded and bloodthirsty. Without mercy.
Patrick shook his head. “We’re not going to harm you, Ms. Hawkins, unless we have no choice.” His eyes were hard now. He would, if he had to, that was the message he was giving her. If she didn’t cooperate.
“Cabal’s going to start with Myron or Danna,” she said softly. “He’s going to hurt them, Mr. Wallace. Myron was a friend of mine; I’d hate to see that happen to him. But unless you let me go, nothing is going to stop it.”
“Myron knew the risks involved in this plan,” he told her quietly. “I just hope your Bengal knows that harming either of them will come with a price.”
She would be harmed. She was getting real damned good at reading between Breed lines here.
“So why don’t you just tell me what this genius plan of yours is?” She crossed her arms over her br**sts and glared at the three of them. “Don’t tell me you actually think Douglas is going to come for me?”
Patrick’s smile turned thin and cruel. “Do you think he will?”
She rolled her eyes at that thought before staring back at him steadily.
“You’re just a distraction,” he finally admitted. “And a bit of insurance. Jonas has a leash on Watts in the form of a Coyote Breed on the team that helped him escape. I just want to make certain he loosens that leash and gives Watts his head a bit.”
She shook her head. “It’s not going to work. Cabal won’t be distracted.”
“He’s not looking for Watts; he’s looking for you.” Patrick shrugged. “Jonas is trying to cover Cabal’s ass as well as keep up with Watts and look for the Dozen’s killer.” His grin was self-depreciating. “That would be me of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured as she sat back in her chair and watched him. “And you just want to be the one to kill Watts.”
“No, Ms. Hawkins, he wants to be the one to rip the identities of the last of the Deadly Dozen right out of Watts’s lying throat.”
She whirled around, eyes widening, lips parting in shock at the sight of the former mayor of Glen Ferris as he limped into the room.
David Banks had a bandage extending from his thigh to his ankle. There were healing wounds on his face, bandages were obvious beneath the loose T-shirt he wore, and as he limped forward on crutches, it was easy to see that whatever had happened to him had nearly been fatal.
She jerked around in her seat to face Patrick. “He was part of the Dozen.”
Patrick nodded slowly. “He was.”
“And he’s here? Why don’t you stop making me guess what the hell is going on here and just tell me? Because I’m getting damned sick of coming up with the questions and getting none of the answers.”
“That’s possibly my fault.” David eased himself into the chair at the other end of the table, wincing as he stretched his leg out in front of him.