Undercover Fighter Read online

  Ruthie snapped her focus back to Kat. “Yes. He was just lying there. I mean, I didn’t check his pulse or anything, but there was blood on the floor beneath him, and he looked dead.”

  Kat sucked in a breath. “That must have been awful. Are you okay?”

  Ruthie nodded, looking shell-shocked. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, and her hands shook where they gripped the coffee mug. But she was holding it together.

  “And you think he was murdered?” Kat asked.

  “I didn’t get close enough to see any wounds, but why else would he be there?” She hesitated. “Do you think McCready killed him?”

  Kat shrugged. “I think it’s more likely he got someone to do it for him. Spider, maybe, or Weston.”

  Birds chirped, interrupting the silence as Ruthie thought about that. The peaceful sound was so incongruous to the conversation, making Kat feel eerily dissociated. Were they really here, casually discussing a potential murder?

  She may have been with McCready for five years, but this was way out of her depth, far beyond anything she’d had to deal with before.

  “What do we do?” Ruthie asked, turning to Kat as if she expected her to solve all the world’s problems.

  Kat stared back at her, no idea how to reply. She was well out of her depth. She was tempted to wake Wyatt and tell him about the situation, but it would make sense for them to gather some more information first.

  “How long ago did you see this guy?”

  “I think it was about one in the morning,” Ruthie answered.

  “And what did he look like? Maybe I know him.”

  “He was thin, kinda scraggly looking. Long hair, a piercing in one eyebrow. Like a bassist in a rock band.”

  Kat nearly smiled at the description, but it wasn’t right, not when discussing murder. “Okay, so about seven hours ago. A lot might have happened since then.”

  She paused, thinking. Did she really want to get involved in this? For so long, she’d let McCready run his business with no interference from her. She’d known he did horrible, violent, unforgiveable things, but she’d blocked them out, chosen not to think about them as a form of self-preservation.

  If she got involved now, she risked everything, even more so than befriending Wyatt and Ruthie had. She had no doubt if McCready found her snooping into his business—particularly this part of it—she would be dead on the spot. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave a witness. So there would be two bodies. Three if they counted Ruthie.

  But on the other hand, without risk there wouldn’t be reward. This information could be the end of McCready. Proof he was involved in a murder? It would be tough to come back from that.

  Kat was at a crossroads. Continue along her safe path, avoiding conflict, and waiting for McCready to set her free when he decided she’d paid off her sister’s debt? Or, take action, risk everything, and do her best to tear McCready and his empire down?

  There was no choice, not really. Perhaps she’d decided even before this moment, like last night when she’d realised she was in deep with Wyatt.

  He was another reason she was making this choice. She wanted to help him in his mission. She wanted him to find out what happened to his brother, to punish the guy who had most likely killed Dean.

  Kat turned to Ruthie and straightened her shoulders. “Let’s go find that body.”

  They snuck back into the house. Luckily, it was still early enough that no one was awake. Kat was conscious of the cameras as they moved through the hallways to the garage. Her neck wasn’t prickling with the sense of being watched, but how would she really know if McCready was sitting at the computer, watching them from half a house away?

  Kat suddenly longed for Wyatt. For his strength and honour. But she didn’t know whether he’d help her, not after he’d pulled away from her. She swallowed, desperately hoping things between them weren’t ruined forever, that Wyatt was still the man she’d thought he was.

  They finally reached the garage with no interference. Kat breathed a sigh of relief as she opened the door and they stepped into the large space. A roller door dominated the wall to their right, and the cars were lined up on their left, facing out. The space looked like a warehouse, with high ceilings and corrugated iron on the walls and the roof. But it was also insulated, temperature-controlled, and had even more security than the house. McCready really loved his cars.

  Five cars were lined up next to each other. She didn’t recognise the models by sight, but knew at least one of them was a Lamborghini, and another was a Ferrari. The walls were covered with shelves, storing all kinds of car maintenance equipment.

  What Kat couldn’t see, though, was a body.

  “Where did you see it?” Kat asked Ruthie, who was frowning at a spot a few feet away.

  “Right here,” she said, pointing to a bare patch of the floor.

  Kat crouched to examine the floor where she was pointing. Unlike most garages, the floor wasn’t concrete. McCready had got the whole space tiled a few years ago because he was sick of grease and oil stains that couldn’t be removed. He thought they were too dirty to stain the floors beneath his beautiful, expensive cars.

  The white tiles gleamed brightly. Almost as if they’d recently been cleaned. She peered closer, getting her face right near the floor.

  “Blood,” she said.

  “What?” Ruthie asked. “I don’t see it.”

  Kat waved her over. She pointed to the grout between the tiles. “See? It’s got a light stain. As if they couldn’t quite get it out.”

  “How can you tell it’s blood, though?”

  Kat shrugged. “I was almost a nurse before I came here. I know my blood.”

  Ruthie stared at her, eyes wide as if she was incredibly impressed. Kat shifted uncomfortably, worried the girl was developing a serious case of hero worship. Kat didn’t deserve that. Not after the things she’d done, and said.

  She cleared her throat and stood. “So the body was here,” she said, changing the subject. “Where would they have put it?”

  Ruthie stayed silent as Kat examined the garage. She was half afraid they’d already disposed of the body. Since she had no idea where McCready’s dumping ground was, that would be of absolutely no use to her. But she couldn’t give up hope yet. It was still early in the morning, and there was about a 50/50 shot they hadn’t done anything yet.

  She tapped her finger against her lips, thinking. If McCready had a regular burial ground, it wouldn’t be here on the property. He wouldn’t want anything that could be tied back to him. So, that meant he’d have to transport the bodies. Most likely…in a car.

  She turned and grabbed the keys for each of the five cars off their hooks near the door.

  One-by-one she popped the trunks. They opened with discreet beeps and rose up like dancers lifting their arms in sync.

  She and Ruthie stepped forward to look in the first trunk, that of a sporty orange race car-looking vehicle. Empty. Next was a green convertible. Nothing.

  The next two trunks were also empty, and Kat was beginning to think they were out of luck, and McCready had already disposed of the body. Disappointment filled her. Now she’d decided to bring McCready down, excitement at the prospect was racing through her, urging her to fight back. But if the body wasn’t here, there would be nowhere for her to direct that energy.

  They approached the final car—a black SUV—slowly. Almost as if the importance of this moment weighed on them both. They rounded the back of the car, and stopped in their tracks.

  A long, misshapen object, hastily wrapped in a black tarp, lay in the trunk. Dread pooled in Kat’s stomach. It looked too much like a body to be anything else.

  She stepped forward, whole body shaking. Ruthie gripped the back of her tank top, not to stop Kat moving forward, but for support.

  Kat reached a trembling hand out, and grasped the edge of the tarp that she assumed hid the head. She peeled it back, inch-by-inch, until the dead, staring eyes of a young man stared back at her. S
he stumbled back, swallowing bile.

  Ruthie made a distressed sound, and Kat reached an automatic hand back to comfort her.

  “That’s him,” Ruthie whispered.

  “Right,” replied Kat, voice coming as if from a long distance away.

  “What do we do now?”

  Kat hadn’t thought that far ahead. Did they call the cops? They couldn’t, not while still under McCready’s power. And they certainly couldn’t confront him with the existence of a murder victim to his face.

  No, there was only one thing Kat could think to do: tell Wyatt.

  She’d just have to hope he’d help her.

  Chapter 13

  Wyatt woke to an empty bed and felt instantly bereft. What had he expected? That Kat would stay and cuddle him? He scoffed at himself. After what she’d been through at McCready’s hands he shouldn’t be selfish enough to expect any normal relationship with her. Ever.

  Even if they escaped this place, they, and their relationship, would be too tainted by what they’d experienced here.

  Wouldn’t it?

  Wyatt shook his head and rolled out of bed. Why was he even thinking about this stuff? He barely knew Kat.

  But, he admitted to himself, they shared a connection. One that had started with a shared dislike of their circumstances and the trap they’d found themselves in, but had grown beyond that. He admired her, more than any other woman he’d met. Kat was so brave, to keep surviving in this world. To do the things she was forced to do and still stay strong. She didn’t break, just forged forward. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d fallen apart, but she hadn’t.

  Last night she’d been willing to do what it took to get through, but had been totally game when he’d suggested a different way. And she’d found humour in a bad situation.

  But he shouldn’t be thinking about that, about her. There’s no way they could make it work. Her leaving early this morning told him that—she hadn’t stayed to talk to him, she’d disappeared, getting as far away from him as she could.

  His heart ached at the thought.

  Wyatt collected his clothes from the bathroom and slowly dressed. He was torn between wanting to see Kat again, and being worried what her reaction might be.

  But when he finally left the room, it wasn’t Kat he saw. It was McCready.

  He was in the room the party had been in last night, lounging back on one of the couches with his arms along the back, his left ankle sitting on his right knee. The room was mysteriously cleared of the evidence from the night before. It was once again back to the pristine white it must have been when it was first built. Wyatt didn’t know what the man paid his cleaning crew, but it definitely wasn’t enough.

  Unable to escape, Wyatt braced himself, plastered a smile on his face, and strode forward.

  “Hey man,” he said, shaking McCready’s hand.

  McCready gave him a once-over. “Have fun last night?” he asked.

  Wyatt nodded. “I had a good time.” The words stuck in his throat, but he managed to force them out.

  McCready seemed satisfied by his response. “Well, welcome to the team. I’ll be glad to have you around.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Wyatt blew out a breath in relief. Clearly he—and Kat—had passed the test McCready had given them. They’d proven their loyalty, at least for now. Wyatt had crossed some kind of threshold. He’d stepped past a barrier, and if he turned to look back he’d find the entrance had disappeared.

  There was no going back now.

  Yesterday, if he’d walked away, Wyatt was pretty certain McCready would’ve let him go. But now that McCready had publicly welcomed him into the inner circle, even on a trial basis, Wyatt was certain he wouldn’t be so forgiving.

  He couldn’t escape. He had to forge forward or perish. And if his deception and disloyalty were discovered, Wyatt was certain McCready wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

  This is what he’d wanted, but now he was here, he had to ask himself if it was worth it. To put himself in this do-or-die scenario, literally, and put his life on the line to find out what happened to his brother and maybe, hopefully, destroy McCready.

  But he had no choice, not really. He couldn’t regret the choices he’d made. They were done, and he had to live with them.

  “So, what happens next?” he asked.

  McCready considered him for a moment. “Well, you now have access to everything I have. My cars, my house, my women. Take any you want, as long as you bring them back in one piece.” He smiled an unpleasant smile and a chill ran down Wyatt’s spine. He was careful not to let his disgust show.

  “All you have to do in return,” McCready continued, “is whatever I ask of you. When I ask it.”

  Wyatt swallowed and nodded. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t like whatever McCready was planning to request of him. If it was anything like what Spider and Weston did, he wasn’t entirely sure he could go through with it.

  But he’d have to. He didn’t have a choice now. And that made him sick to his stomach.

  Rather than voicing these concerns, Wyatt smiled. “Sounds like a sweet deal.”

  “It is.” McCready stood abruptly. “Now, I have some things to take care of. But Weston is around and he can show you the ropes.”

  “Okay,” Wyatt said, wondering how he could get out of that.

  McCready’s eyes narrowed. “It was meant to be Spider, but, well. Seems he got a bit out of control last night.”

  McCready didn’t look pleased. Wyatt was about to ask what Spider had done when he snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to know. And from the look on McCready’s face, he wouldn’t like to know what Spider’s punishment was, either. For all he knew, McCready had already killed the man.

  “I’ll go find Weston,” he said instead.

  McCready nodded and strode away. Wyatt wandered into the kitchen, wondering if he could find some coffee before he found Weston. Unfortunately, Weston clearly had the same idea, because he was at the kitchen bench—marble, and white like the rest of the house—cradling a coffee cup. He looked pretty worse for wear, with bleary eyes and sallow skin, like he was ill. Wyatt figured it was more likely to be a raging hangover, so stayed quiet as he poured himself a cup of coffee and took his first sip.

  “So, I’m meant to show you around today,” Weston said from behind him. Wyatt started, then turned slowly.

  “That’s right,” he said cautiously.

  Weston groaned. “Let’s stay here for a bit first, yeah?”

  Wyatt grinned. No doubt the big man wasn’t too steady on his feet this morning. Wyatt sipped his coffee in silence, glancing around the white room. What was it with this house and white? So far every room he’d been in except the study had been almost universally white.

  He dismissed the question as unimportant and focused on Weston. He might not want to spend time with the guy, since he and Spider were both bullies, but it would be a good opportunity to pump him for information while he was vulnerable.

  Wyatt cleared his throat. “So, Weston. McCready said I basically had to do what he asked when he asked it. So what kind of things does that entail?”

  Weston’s head snapped up. “Oh, anything.”

  “Like?” Wyatt pressed.

  Weston considers him for a moment. “You’ll find out when you do your final test.”

  Wyatt sighed in annoyance. “I’m in the team now, aren’t I? Can’t I get a clue?”

  “Look, here’s the thing, pretty boy. I’m not sure you’re ready for this. McCready thinks you might be, but I don’t buy it.” The coffee was clearly working its magic on Weston, because he was suddenly more alert.

  Wyatt straightened, trying to wake his brain up enough to get where Weston was coming from.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Weston narrowed his eyes. “Lots of reasons. Starting with what happened to Spider last night.”

  Wyatt blinked. “Spider?”

  “Yeah,” Weston spat.

  “I have no idea wha
t you mean. McCready told me he got out of control, that’s all I know.”

  Weston narrowed his eyes. “Spider wouldn’t do that. Maybe in the early days, but he’s better now. He’s an athlete. And since you’re the new guy, you’re the only one who would’ve done it. I just don’t know why.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.” For once, he didn’t have to lie.

  Weston cocked his head. “You must be a good liar.”

  “Or I have no idea what’s going on. What happened to Spider?”

  “He was drugged,” Weston said, slumping back into the barstool he’d been sitting on. “Heroin. Sound familiar?”

  “Huh,” said Wyatt. He thought about that for a moment, putting the pieces together. An image flashed through his mind of Kat leaving the party, a syringe in her hand. He kept his gaze steady on Weston even as shock raced through him.

  Kat? Could she have drugged Spider? He wouldn’t put it past her, but why? She’d been so clear she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise her chances of leaving here, of angering McCready. So why would she risk all that to drug Spider?

  He didn’t know, and it was a contradiction he intended to solve.

  “Could Spider have done it to himself?” Wyatt asked, determined to protect Kat, no matter her reasoning.

  Weston sighed. “Yeah, I guess. He says he doesn’t remember.”

  “I guess maybe we should keep an eye out for him, then. Make sure he’s careful and stuff.” Wyatt had no intention of doing any such thing, but maybe it would make Weston believe in his innocence.

  It must have worked, because Weston made a sound of frustration. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I thought he was clean.” His eyes grew sad. For all his many faults, Weston really did care for his friend. It didn’t make up for all the horrible things he’d done, but it humanised him in Wyatt’s eyes. It also made him more dangerous. If Wyatt started seeing the good qualities in all these bad people around him, it would make his job so much harder. He couldn’t start identifying with them.

  “Spider was a junkie,” Weston explained. “When McCready found him.”