Undercover Fighter Page 12

  Wyatt nodded. “McCready saved him?” he asked. Weston clearly needed a reason to trust him, to believe Wyatt was one of them. So Wyatt would have to convince Weston he belonged here.

  “Yeah, for sure. Got him clean, and fit. Kept him out of prison. He’s a good man, McCready.”

  Wyatt didn’t agree, so said nothing. “And you?” he asked Weston instead. “What’s your story?”

  Weston shrugged. “McCready saved me from prison, too.” He didn’t elaborate, and his closed-off body language told Wyatt it was better not to pry.

  “No wonder you’re loyal to him,” Wyatt said.

  Weston nodded. “Yeah.” He fell silent for a long while, and Wyatt sipped his coffee until the mug was empty.

  “You asked what McCready might make you do?” Weston asked.

  Wyatt stilled, tense with anticipation. “Yeah?”

  “Based on my experience, you’ve got one final test to pass.”

  “And what’s that?” Wyatt asked carefully.

  Weston looked him dead in the eye. “You have to kill one of his enemies.”

  Wyatt was silent for a long minute. Holy shit. To get into the inner circle—to gain their trust fully—he had to kill someone? He should have expected that would be the final test. He’d been hoping murder was something McCready only asked his inner circle to do, but this made more sense. McCready ran his operation like a cult. Once you were in, you couldn’t get out. And what better way to bind someone to your side, to force them to be loyal, than to make them commit a horrific crime. And, since this was McCready, he no doubt kept proof that person had done it, to blackmail them into doing his bidding if they needed the reminder of who was in power.

  “So you’ve killed someone?” Wyatt asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

  Weston shrugged. “A couple.”

  Wyatt nodded, not sure what else to say. If this is what it would take to gain everyone’s trust—to get the information he sought on his brother, could he do it? Wyatt didn’t think so. But he also knew there was no going back. He could only go forward.

  What the fuck was he going to do? His plan of gaining McCready’s complete trust and then straight up asking about his brother was already falling apart. He’d have to find out the information he needed to know as quickly as possible, before McCready asked the unspeakable of him. The only problem was he didn’t know how much time he had. McCready could test him anywhere, any time. Spring it on him when he would least expect it. He could even do it in the next hour if he wanted to.

  Wyatt would have to do whatever it took to destroy McCready, as soon as possible. He might even have to sacrifice the information on his brother he so desperately needed. Because if McCready went down, Wyatt couldn’t imagine him being willing to divulge information about what happened to Dean.

  All these thoughts swirled in Wyatt’s head, fogging up his mind until he could barely think. Outwardly, though, he just nodded. “Okay then.”

  Weston stood and poured them both more coffee, then walked to the door. “Shall we do this, then?” Weston asked.

  And what else could Wyatt say but, “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 14

  It took forever for Weston to leave. Kat and Ruthie kept alternating between checking the car with the body in it, and checking on Wyatt.

  The car was still there. Whoever was tasked with the body disposal was taking their time. Spider was apparently still feeling the effects of his unexpected dosing last night, and Weston was busy with Wyatt. So unless McCready was willing to do the work himself, which Kat doubted, they were probably waiting.

  But Spider could wake up any minute. And if Weston finished up with Wyatt and left with the body before Kat could explain the situation to Wyatt, then they’d be out of luck.

  Finally, Weston had run out of things to brag about to Wyatt. He clearly liked to feel important. Since Spider usually got the job of showing people around, it didn’t surprise Kat that Weston was milking the opportunity to play the big man for all it was worth.

  But eventually there was nothing else Weston could say, and he waved goodbye to Wyatt and headed off up the stairs.

  Kat didn’t waste any time, grabbing Wyatt and dragging him outside to where Ruthie was waiting for them.

  “What’s going on?” Wyatt asked as she towed him further into the garden.

  “Trust me.” She knew she was asking a lot, but Wyatt didn’t balk, just kept following along behind her. His hand was warm and steady in hers.

  When she finally felt they were far enough away from the house and the microphones contained inside, Kat swung around.

  “OK, here’s the deal. Ruthie and I found something that might help you.”

  Wyatt’s eyebrows shot up. “You found out something about Dean?”

  Guilt swamped her at the excitement in his eyes. She should have been clearer. “No, sorry. But it’s something you might be able to use against McCready.”

  Wyatt’s face changed. Not to disappointment, as she might have expected, but more like the hard look of a predator detecting wounded prey.

  “That’s good. What is it?”

  Kat turned to Ruthie, who was still hanging back behind her. “Ruthie, can you tell him what you told me?”

  Ruthie eyed Wyatt, then shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. Kat frowned at the younger woman’s display of fear. She turned fully away from Wyatt and gripped Ruthie’s upper arms.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  Ruthie’s gaze darted to Wyatt, and then back to Kat. She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

  Kat sighed. “Yes, I think we can.”

  “Even after what he did to you?”

  In her peripheral vision, Kat could see Wyatt straighten at the words, but she didn’t have time to deal with that now. Weston could, at this very minute, be driving the body away to a place they’d never find. She needed to clue Wyatt in before then, or it would all be for nothing.

  “He didn’t do anything to me, Ruthie. I promise. In fact, he was careful not to. It was all for show, for McCready’s benefit. We can trust him.”

  Ruthie slanted a gaze to Wyatt, more assessing than scared this time.

  “At the least, he’s better than McCready, right?” Kat asked a little desperately.

  “I suppose so. Promise he won’t rat us out?”

  “I promise. I can tell him what you told me, if you want, but I think it’s better coming from you.”

  Ruthie thought about this, then nodded. She turned to Wyatt with determination in her eyes. “I found the body of a murdered man in the garage last night.”

  Wyatt’s eyes lit. “Who was he?”

  “I don’t know. Thin, long hair—”

  “Piercing in one eyebrow?” Wyatt interrupted.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “He was at the party last night. Weston dragged him in and McCready had words with him. Damn it, I didn’t realise he’d been killed.”

  His jaw clenched, guilt and regret in his eyes.

  “You can’t have known,” she reassured him.

  “Maybe not, but I should have been more curious. I could have saved him.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Kat said, gripping his hand.

  “It’s too late now, anyway, I suppose,” he said, then visibly shook himself. He squeezed her fingers. “Where’s the body now?”

  “In the trunk of the black SUV, under a tarp. At least, it was a few minutes ago.”

  “So, they’re planning to take it somewhere to dispose of?” Wyatt asked.

  Kat nodded. “That would be my guess. But we don’t know who’s meant to do it, or when.”

  “Okay. Whoever it is, I’ll follow them to the dump site. If it’s their usual place, we could find all of McCready’s victims. It’ll be the end of him, for sure.”

  “Exactly. We should get to the garage now, before they leave. McCready won’t ask if you take one of his cars.” Wit
hout waiting for an answer, she strode off in the direction of the house.

  Wyatt jogged to catch up to her. “I’ll take my car,” Wyatt said, brooking no argument. “I don’t want anything of that man’s.”

  Kat smiled at those words, but the fear from before hit her again. Did he mean her, too? Was she too tainted by what she’d been through in the mansion for him to want her? Is that why he hadn’t slept with her last night? Not because he was being noble, but because she was soiled goods?

  Her heart cracked at the thought. Maybe she’d never be free of her time here. Maybe it would poison all the rest of her life.

  What good man would want her after finding out she essentially prostituted herself for five years, doing the bidding of an evil man?

  She swallowed bile and tears sprang to her eyes.

  Later, she’d no doubt cry for the first time in years, overwhelmed by all these thoughts and doubts and emotions. But now was not the time. First, she had to destroy McCready for what he’d done to her and all the other women like her. Then, and only then, could she wallow in her grief.

  They made it to the garage, Ruthie hurrying along behind them. Her eyes immediately searched for the black SUV.

  “Thank God, it’s still there,” she said.

  “Okay. I’m going to grab my car.”

  Wyatt strode off, and Kat had to jog to catch up to him. “Wait. I’m coming, too.”

  Wyatt stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to her. “No, you’re not.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I am.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Then you shouldn’t go alone.”

  He was about to say something more, but he faltered, staring at her.

  “What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

  “Nothing,” he said softly. But he looked different now, and Kat couldn’t quite place why.

  His gaze roved her face for a heartbeat longer, and then he turned away, looking at her over his shoulder. “Please stay here. Call me when the SUV leaves the garage, and tell me which direction it goes in. If McCready gets suspicious, call me. If you get in trouble, call me. Okay?”

  Kat hesitated for a long moment, then nodded. Wyatt pulled Kat’s phone from her pocket and entered his number, then handed it back to her. He hesitated for a brief moment. Then, he leaned close and gently pressed his lips to her forehead.

  Before Kat could react, he was gone.

  The second Wyatt’s phone beeped with the signal, he put his foot on the gas and rocketed around the side of the house. The black SUV farther down the street turned out of sight, so Wyatt sped up even more to catch it. This was his chance to catch McCready and his goons in the act, and Wyatt wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers.

  He finally caught up once the car left the suburbs and hit a main, straight road. Wyatt hung back in traffic, trying not to draw attention to himself. He was glad he’d chosen his nondescript sedan to tail the car, rather than one of McCready’s flashy sports cars.

  The driver—he didn’t know whether it was Spider, Weston, or someone else entirely—didn’t seem to notice him following them as he cruised the streets. They didn’t pull any evasive movements to lose him, anyway.

  Finally, after about twenty minutes, the car turned left into a gated parking lot. Wyatt kept driving past so as not to draw attention to himself and tried to get a glimpse of the sign on the gate. A large truck passed when he was at the right angle, inserting itself between Wyatt and the sign.

  Frustrated, Wyatt turned off at the next side street and pulled over. He got out his phone and opened the maps. It took him a second of searching to find what he was looking for, not sure whether this was really the place McCready was disposing of bodies.

  But there it was: a graveyard.

  It made so much sense. A graveyard would be the perfect place to hide murder victims. There were bodies everywhere, often close together to save space. All McCready would have to do is pay off one employee, and he’d have constant access to a perfect body dump.

  Even cadaver dogs would be useless for searches, because of course there were dead people everywhere. And with society’s aversion to digging up remains, disrespecting the dead, it was likely no one would ever find the victims stashed here.

  Wyatt got out of the car and hurried into the graveyard through a side entrance. He needed to catch this guy in the act. The sun was setting by now, casting a golden glow over everything. It was almost beautiful, but Wyatt was too distracted by the morbidity of being surrounded by death. There was something about graveyards that gave him the creeps.

  He couldn’t see anyone immediately. He walked to the parking lot he’d seen the car turn into, but it wasn’t there. Wyatt panicked for a moment, afraid he’d made a mistake. Maybe they’d been picking something up and had already left. But he couldn’t be wrong, the graveyard was too perfect for what they needed to do.

  He noticed a small lane leading off the parking lot and followed it at a jog. He was conscious of the time ticking down. If he missed the handover of the body, he’d have no evidence. It would disappear into dust and he’d be stuck with McCready.

  And so would Kat.

  The overwhelming need to protect her welled up inside him. He liked her, a hell of a lot, and more than anything he wanted her to escape the horrible hold McCready had over her. The thought that she’d been forced to do far worse than what he’d done with her last night caused a sick churn in his stomach.

  Ruthie’s words ‘after what he did to you’, haunted him. What had Kat told her about their time together? Afterwards Kat had defended him, yes. But she must have expressed some disgust for Ruthie to say those words.

  Wyatt hated himself for it. For the position they’d been forced into, possibly ruining any chance he and Kat had had at a future.

  He didn’t know when his mission had changed from needing to find out what happened to his brother, to needing to save Kat. But he couldn’t deny Dean was almost forgotten now as he followed the path winding through the graves into the setting sun.

  Finally, he came across a second, smaller parking lot, next to a squat building and spotted the black SUV. Wyatt left the path as soon as it came into view, ducking between the graves and the trees that shaded them. He crept as close as he dared, eyes alert for any sign of Spider or Weston. When no one was immediately visible, Wyatt assumed they must be inside the building.

  He took a few steps out from behind the oak tree he’d used as cover, intending to check the body was still in the trunk of the car.

  The door to the building swung open and Wyatt dove back behind the tree and pressed his back against the bark, his heart hammering. He willed it to calm, taking measured breaths to slow his heart rate. After a few seconds, feeling more in control, he carefully peeked around the trunk of the tree.

  Spider and Weston were standing by the open trunk of the car. A painfully thin man with greying hair stood next to them, peering at the body still wrapped in a tarp.

  Wyatt got out his phone and began snapping pictures.

  “Bring him inside. I’m digging a new grave tonight, so he’ll disappear quick.” The old man’s voice floated on the breeze.

  The light was fading now, and Wyatt’s phone camera was struggling to take clear pictures. He needed to get closer, but dare he risk it?

  Spider and Wyatt stripped the body of the tarp and hefted it up, Spider at the feet, Weston at the head.

  “Hey, cover that thing, would you?” the gravedigger said urgently, hurrying to stand in front of the body and looking around nervously, as if he could hide the dead man from any prying eyes.

  “We need to reuse the tarps,” Spider growled. “If we buy any more, the hardware stores will start to think we’re serial killers.”

  Wyatt snorted. The hardware store employees wouldn’t be too far off in that assessment.

  The gravedigger threw up his hands in defeat and hurried inside, Spider and Weston trailing after him as they manoeuvred t
heir awkward load.

  Wyatt kept his camera snapping, but he had no idea how good the pictures were. Right before they got to the door, the floodlight attached to the building’s roof switched on, clearly scheduled to turn on at a certain time. It illuminated the whole area, and Wyatt got a crystal clear picture of Weston’s face, the dead body he was carrying, and Spider, half-turned towards the camera. It was the exact proof he needed.

  Elation swept through him. This was it. This is what he’d wanted. It was unfortunate Wyatt hadn’t yet found out about Dean, but he had a pretty damn good consolation prize. He got to bring McCready down like the piece of shit he was.

  Wyatt stayed behind his tree until Spider and Weston had left the building, gotten in their car, and driven away. The gravedigger watched them go, then shuffled back inside the building with a shake of his head.

  As soon as the coast was clear, Wyatt sent the incriminating photo and his location to Darrell.

  The second the photos were sent, he called his old partner.

  “Detective Albany,” Darrell answered.

  “What did I say about caller ID?” Wyatt asked with a grin. He was on a high from his successful mission, and his grin stretched from ear to ear.

  “You said I should ignore your calls,” Darrell replied with a chuckle.

  “Whatever, man. Did you get the photo?”

  Darrell sighed. “I was attempting to look at it when you called. Give a guy a few seconds. I’m not as quick as I used to be.”

  “You’re not old yet,” Wyatt said with a scoff. “Can I tell you what the photo is?”

  “Sure, saves my eyes from squinting.”

  Wyatt laughed. Darrell was a few years past forty, and hardly nearing retirement age. “It’s photographic proof of McCready’s right-hand men disposing of a guy they killed.”

  Darrell was silent for a long moment. “Shiiiiiit,” he said eventually, drawing out the word.

  “And if you get here quick, you could pick up the body before it goes into the ground. The gravedigger said he planned to bury it tonight.”

  “I’ll work on getting a warrant right away.”