Nica, page 15
“Three years, nine months, and eighteen days,” he murmured, his fingers dancing across the custom keyboard. The tracking chip he’d had secretly implanted in Summers during what the good doctor believed was a routine tetanus booster had performed flawlessly. Military-grade technology had its advantages when you had the connections and the bank account to acquire it. It had been surprisingly easy to bribe a tech to inject the GPS tracking chip. Of course, the technician was no longer an issue either.
The photograph on his mahogany desk caught the lamplight—Melissa’s radiant smile frozen in time, her arms wrapped around eight-year-old Emma and six-year-old Jake at the beach that fateful summer. Their last summer together as a family. His throat constricted to the point where he could barely breathe as he traced the frame’s silver edge. They would have been his children by now. He should have been their father, teaching Jake to throw a football, watching Emma come down the staircase dressed for her first prom. Instead, they were living with Melissa’s ex-husband in Oregon, and probably forgetting what his voice sounded like, forgetting the man who’d loved them like his own.
All because of Dr. Gabriel Summers.
The secure phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. “Report.”
“The blonde’s getting sloppy,” came the gravelly voice of his lead operative in that crappy little town in Texas, the one where Summers thought he could hide out, build a new life. Like Melissa hadn’t even mattered. “Spotted Jennings twice this week. She’s rattled, boss. Keeps looking over her shoulder.”
“She was supposed to spot Jennings. He did his job and he’s no longer in Texas. He spooked her, and in turn pulled her husband into her paranoia. Fear keeps people predictable.” He pulled up another screen—surveillance footage from outside the bakery on Main Street, the one co-owned by Nica Boudreau-Summers’ mother. Nica walked toward her car, blonde hair catching the streetlight. So young, so vibrant, so blissfully unaware that with a single call her entire world would come crashing down around her. “What about our inside assets?”
“Rodriguez is in position at the hospital. Thompson’s got eyes on the sheriff’s department. And your boy at the FBI field office in Austin? He has been really helpful with intel on Agent Reynolds’ movements.”
Tapping on the keyboard, the computer screen on his right pulled up a photo of Michael Reynolds, the FBI agent who had traveled to Texas to help his buddy. Looking at his records, the man was intelligent, highly respected by his fellow agents in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and on the fast track for promotion. Yet, he’d put everything on hold to help his friend Gabe Summers.
A smile filled with cold satisfaction spread across his lips. Money truly could buy anything, even federal employees with gambling debts and expensive tastes. He’d managed to obtain a valuable asset in the FBI Austin office. He considered making Mike Reynolds an offer he couldn’t turn down but passed on the idea. Reynolds was too squeaky clean. Sometimes those Boy Scout types could ruin things with their holier-than-thou attitudes.
“Excellent. It’s time to accelerate our timeline.”
“Sir?”
“I’m tired of this game.” Turning back toward the monitors, he watched Summers’ dot move toward the apartment complex he called home, toward his pretty little wife and her warm, welcoming family. The Boudreaus embraced the doctor like a son, giving him acceptance and love, just like what should have been his when he married Melissa. “Summers has had months to wonder, to worry, to lose sleep. But he still gets to wake up next to his pretty little bride every morning. Still gets to play house with a family he doesn’t deserve.”
The memory of that terrible night rushed back—sterile hospital corridors, the endless silence after the infernal beeping of the machines and their death song, and Melissa’s hand cold in his as the life he’d dreamed about and planned for drained away. Routine surgery, they’d said. A simple gallbladder removal. But Summers had been impaired, his hands unsteady, his judgment compromised. The medical board could clear him all they wanted. He knew the truth. Knew its name—murder.
“He took everything from me.” His reflection shimmered ghostlike on the monitor’s surface. “My future, my family, my reason for breathing. Now it’s my turn.”
“What do you need, boss?”
Fingers flying across the keyboard, he pulled up floor plans, traffic patterns, and personnel schedules. The family-style diner in the heart of town would be perfect—public enough to send a message, chaotic enough to provide cover. And when the beautiful Nica Boudreau-Summers lay bleeding on the ground, when her family screamed and wailed over her body, Gabriel would finally understand the meaning of true loss.
“One bullet,” he said, his voice steady as granite. “That’s all it takes to destroy a man’s entire world. Contact our shooter. Tell him it’s time.”
“And if that FBI friend of his gets involved?”
Marcus laughed, the sound echoing off the glass walls of his fortress. “Agent Reynolds? He’s good, I’ll give him that. But he’s also predictable. Honor, duty, loyalty—such admirable weaknesses. He’ll come running to save his friend, and when he does…” He pulled up another file, photos of Mike Reynolds seated at a roulette table in Vegas, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, a look of desperation on his face. “Well, let’s just say I believe in comprehensive planning.”
The red dot on his screen stopped moving. Summers was home now, probably kissing his wife hello, asking about her day, making dinner plans. Living the life that should have been his.
Not for much longer.
Opening the drawer, he carefully placed Melissa’s photo in his desk, next to the small velvet box containing the engagement ring she’d never had the chance to wear with the matching wedding band. Soon, she would be avenged. Soon, Gabriel Summers would know exactly how it felt to lose everything in the space of a heartbeat.
“Send word to our people in Shiloh Springs. Tell them to get ready.” His reflection now sharp and determined in the darkened monitor, his mouth compressed into a straight line. “Game over, Dr. Summers. Your debt has come due.”
The line went dead, and he poured himself three fingers of eighteen-year-old single-malt scotch, raising the glass in a toast to the ghost who haunted him day and night in his memories.
“For you, my love. For our family that never was.”
Outside his windows, the valley sparkled with a million lights, each one representing dreams and futures and possibilities. Soon, Gabriel Summers would watch his own light go out, just as Melissa’s had that terrible day when everything changed.
The hunter had become the architect of vengeance, and every blueprint he’d drawn was about to become deadly reality.
Nica stepped out of the truck and inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the knot of unease curled in her stomach. The night air carried the scent of fresh earth and a distant trace of mesquite smoke drifting from someone’s barbecue, grounding her in the familiar comforts of home. But despite the warmth of the town, something felt…off.
She glanced at Destiny, who leaned lightly against Dane as they walked toward Daisy’s Diner. Her sister-in-law’s pale skin nearly matched the faded yellow glow of the overhead streetlamp, and though she was smiling faintly, exhaustion tugged at her features. Destiny’s pregnancy was taking its toll, the morning sickness relentless. She knew Rafe had pulled Destiny into checking up on Gabe’s background, since Destiny was one of the best computer experts she’d ever met, but it was hard to work on the computer when she spent half the day hunched over the porcelain throne.
“I swear, Dane, if you keep hovering, she’s gonna trip over your feet,” Nica teased, nudging her brother’s shoulder.
Dane shot her a smug look as he adjusted his arm around Destiny’s shoulder. “She’s carrying the next generation of Boudreaus, Nica. My kid and my wife deserve the best.”
“Well, considering the gene pool, let’s hope the little one gets Destiny’s brains,” Nica quipped, arching a brow.
Destiny chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. “I’ll take all the prayers I can get.”
Douglas held open the door to the diner, ushering them all inside. The familiar hum of conversation wrapped around them, along with the comforting scents of fried chicken, coffee, and fresh-baked bread. Daisy’s had been a staple in their lives for as long as she could remember—warm lights, linoleum floors, the same group of locals sitting at the counter sipping black coffee and dissecting town gossip.
But tonight, Nica felt a shift. A subtle, creeping sensation prickled the back of her neck. She hated this feeling, always looking over her shoulder, wondering which one of the people she passed on the street was watching her. Immediately her eyes scanned the tables, looking for the man dressed in black, the one she’d spotted watching her outside Gracie’s Grounds and at the gas station. The one who’d been bold enough to show up at the school library and deliver the roses. A soft sigh of relief escaped when she didn’t see him.
Ms. Patti slid into the large corner booth next to Douglas, her gaze sweeping over Destiny with motherly concern. “Sweetheart, I know the idea of food isn’t thrilling right now, but you need something in your belly.”
“I know,” Destiny sighed. “I’m trying, but nothing wants to stay down.”
“Try harder,” Dane added, earning a soft swat on the arm from his wife.
Nica smiled at their exchange, but her mind wandered elsewhere. Would Gabe come? They’d talked earlier, but his words had been careful, measured. He’d assured her that he was staying near the clinic in case he was needed—but she wasn’t convinced that was the whole truth. There’d been something unspoken in the way he told her to stay at the ranch. It was only for a couple of days, like she’d planned with him and Mike, but something felt off, like worry…no, fear.
She glanced toward the window, the shadows stretching long under the diner’s sign. The threats against Gabe had started subtly—a whisper campaign to tarnish his reputation, anonymous phone calls, veiled accusations about malpractice that had no merit. Then there was the brick through the clinic window, the break-in and spray-painted threat on the clinic wall, a veiled threat containing the name of a former patient.
And the notes.
Nica shivered, remembering the envelope of newspaper clippings she’d received, the medical records of numerous patients Gabe had treated. The enclosed letter accusing her husband of murder—of malpractice. The most kind, loving, giving man she’d ever met, and this rotten slime, whoever he was hiding behind his anonymity, was trying to smear her husband’s reputation. Then this morning, she found a note tucked under the windshield wiper of her car: You should have learned your lesson. I tried to warn you, but now it’s too late. Your husband is a monster, a killer. You’d better hope you’re not next on his list.
She swallowed, willing herself to push it aside, but the sensation lingered—the weight of an invisible gaze, watching, waiting.
“You zoning out again?” Dane’s voice pulled her back.
“I was thinking,” she said.
“Ooh, it’s dangerous whenever you do that.”
She kicked him lightly under the table. “You’re gonna regret those words.”
“I doubt it.”
Ms. Patti sighed dramatically. “My children, always bickering. Why do I even bother?”
Douglas chuckled, shaking his head. “Dane, leave your sister alone or she’s gonna have Daisy put hot peppers in your food. You know she’s done it before.”
Nica smiled, grateful for the normalcy, but the unease remained, curling at the edges of her consciousness like a whisper she couldn’t quite catch.
And then…the bell above the diner door jingled.
She turned instinctively, heart leaping, hoping—expecting—to see Gabe.
But it wasn’t him.
It was a stranger. A man she didn’t recognize.
His gaze flicked across the diner, scanning the faces, lingering…before settling on her.
Then he smiled. Nodded his head just the slightest before heading toward a booth beside the large picture window that Daisy’s boasted, giving a perfect view to Main Street. A great place to people-watch during the day, but right now, she wasn’t worried about the people outside the diner. No, she had a gut feeling about the stranger who’d just come inside.
She didn’t recognize him—he wasn’t the man who’d been following her around town. This man had an olive complexion, with dark hair that was more wavy than curly, and a little long past his neckline, curving over the collar of his shirt. He was clean-shaven, not even a hint of a five o’clock shadow, and judging by his dark hair and eyes, that was surprising. While he hadn’t looked directly at her again, she had the feeling he was aware of everything happening inside Daisy’s, alert, and suddenly she knew.
He was there watching her. Because he’d been paid to—he had to be one of the men Mike said he’d be assigning to keep surveillance on her. Initially she’d refused, but she could see how important it was to Gabe to have somebody keeping an eye on her whenever he couldn’t be at her side, and she’d finally given in. She didn’t like it, but she understood the necessity. But she’d only agreed as long as somebody was watching Gabe too.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite family. Everything okay?” Daisy’s bubbly voice came from behind her, which was why Nica hadn’t noticed her. Her momma reached under the table and grabbed Nica’s hand, squeezing it gently. Trust her mother to realize she was on edge. No matter how much she tried to hide it, her momma could always tell.
“We’re doing fine, Daisy,” her dad’s deep voice answered. “Decided we needed some of your delicious cooking tonight. What’s your special?”
Daisy moved around to stand next to Destiny and put a hand on her shoulder. Nobody outside the family knew about her pregnancy yet, because she and Dane had decided to keep it to themselves until after they got through the first trimester, but she had the feeling Daisy had figured it out. Sometimes, she wondered if Daisy had a sixth sense about these kinds of things, because she always seemed to know instinctively when somebody was hurting or needed help.
“Ike decided he wanted to do fried chicken today, and y’all know he makes the best fried chicken in the state. Mashed potatoes and homemade creamed corn. He also made some of that sweet cornbread I know you like, Dane.” She smiled at him as she said it. “If you’re not feeling like chicken, there’s also meatloaf with all the fixings and of course burgers and fries.” Daisy patted Destiny’s shoulder again. “How about a bowl of chicken noodle soup for you, hon?”
“That sounds good. Thanks.” Destiny leaned her head against Dane’s shoulder, and Nica couldn’t help noticing how pale she looked.
“I’ll have the fried chicken,” Dane answered.
“Me too,” her dad and momma agreed.
She must have waited too long before answering, because Daisy prompted, “What about you, Nica? What’ll you have?”
“Sorry, gimme the burger and fries. No onion, no tomato. Thanks, Daisy.”
“You got it. I’ll be back to check on y’all in a sec.” She walked away, headed toward the kitchen to put in their order, and Nica glanced toward the stranger again. He hadn’t moved, and though he still wasn’t looking her way, she knew he was aware of every movement, every person inside the diner.
“If y’all will excuse me, I’m going to use the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.” Nica scooted out of the booth and stood, grabbing her purse. From somewhere behind her, she heard a cracking sound. She started to turn, wondering what it was, but Dane sprang to his feet, grabbing her as her knees buckled. Screams echoed through the diner, and she saw tears streaming down her momma’s face as she bent over Nica. She could hear Dane yelling but couldn’t understand what he said.
“Gabe,” she whispered as pain blossomed through her chest, as Dane held her against him, rocking her gently. “I need Gabe. Tell him…I’m sorry. Tell him I’m sorry.”
“I’ll get him, sweetheart. I’ll get him.” She heard her dad’s voice, though it seemed so very far away.
That’s good. Gabe’s coming.
Closing her eyes, there was nothing more than blackness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gabe stood at the window of his home office, watching the sun dip below the tree line as shadows stretched across the parking lot of his apartment complex. He’d grown to hate the view from the small window, wanted to give Nica a better home. Buy a place where they could have room to spread out, where she could have a yard. Not too big, but where she could plant a small vegetable garden, like the one Ms. Patti had outside her kitchen. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d watched Nica digging in the dirt, pulling weeds and planting seeds.
His fingers drummed against the window frame, a nervous habit he’d picked up in the weeks since his life had turned into a nightmare of anonymous threats and carefully orchestrated terror. How much more was he expected to stand, always on edge, always wondering when the next call would come, when the next threat against his beautiful wife would occur?
Nica was safe. That was all that mattered. He’d convinced her to stay overnight at the Big House, to help Ms. Patti take care of Destiny. He wasn’t Destiny’s obstetrician, but he knew she’d been having rough bouts of morning sickness, and it hadn’t taken much to talk Nica into staying overnight. The clincher was reminding her that her daddy’s ranch had security that nobody could bypass, not even the man after him.
Right now, she was at Daisy’s Diner with her family, probably laughing at one of her brothers’ terrible jokes while picking at a piece of pie she didn’t really want. The image should have comforted him, but instead it felt like a knife twisting in his chest. He wanted to be there, wanted to slide into the seat beside his wife and feel her hand slip into his, wanted to pretend for just an hour that their world hadn’t tilted off its axis.
