Sizzle (Buchanan-Renard #8)

Sizzle (Buchanan-Renard #8) Page 9

“One true love. Now go to bed.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a romantic,” Lyra said as she kissed her grandmother good night.

Once she was settled in bed, Lyra thought about all that her grandparents had accomplished. They had turned their small Texas ranch into an empire of fifteen thousand acres that produced oil and cattle and thoroughbred horses. It was a wonderful place to raise a family, and the couple had hoped for a house full of children, but they were able to have only one. They showered their son, Christopher, with love and attention and expected that he would take over the ranch one day. He grew up with every advantage, but showed little interest in the family business. After college he married Dallas socialite Judith Thorndyke and moved back to the ranch and, regardless of his parents’ efforts, managed to shirk any of the responsibility that came with living there. Lyra’s parents’ lives were filled with exotic trips and social obligations, interrupted briefly by three pregnancies. Lyra’s two brothers, Owen and Cooper, were born a year apart. Lyra came along five years later.

Despite the fact that her parents were seldom around, Lyra’s childhood on the ranch was idyllic, thanks to Gigi and Grandpa Tobias. While Christopher and Judith were jet-setting around the world, Owen, Cooper, and Lyra grew up under the loving and watchful eyes of their grandparents. They were encouraged to explore and to pursue their passions. For Owen and Cooper, that was the ranch. Lyra’s interests took a more artistic path: she fell in love with filmmaking.

Lyra’s parents were deeply disappointed by their daughter’s peculiar interests. They had hoped she would take her place in society by marrying into a wealthy and prominent family. Gigi, however, encouraged Lyra to pursue her dream. After Lyra finished college, her grandmother turned the ranch over to Owen and Cooper and moved to California. Lyra had decided to stay there in order to study at one of the country’s best film schools, and Gigi wanted to be nearby. For that and so much else in her life, Lyra was eternally grateful to Gigi. And she was also very protective of her.

Although her grandmother was a wonderful woman, she wasn’t perfect by any means. She held grudges. She only discussed politics with Democrats because, in her outrageously biased opinion, they were intelligent and sensible, and Republicans weren’t. She was stubborn and she was superstitious. And if one considered stealing holy water a crime, then Gigi was also a thief.

After mass on Sunday morning, Lyra went with Gigi to the market. They strolled among the vendors and bought oranges and grapes and bunches of bright-colored daisies, then they stopped for lunch at a cafe overlooking the beach before walking home. Lyra loved these quiet times they shared, but she knew she had to get back to Los Angeles, so by mid-afternoon, she had hugged her grandmother good-bye and was back on the freeway heading north.

As she turned the corner onto her street, her phone rang. She pulled over, put the car in park, and answered. Cooper was on the line.

“How’s Gigi?” her brother asked.

“She’s great.”

“Still ornery?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then she’s doing okay. I still think she should come back to the ranch where Owen and I can keep an eye on her.”

“She doesn’t want to come back, and she doesn’t need a baby sitter. She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

“Hey, I’m just as protective of her as you are. Listen, the reason I called … You’re not going to like this …”

“Tell me, Cooper. Just tell me,” she repeated impatiently.

“Mom and Dad just bought a house in La Jolla, not far from Gigi.”

“What?” Lyra nearly dropped the phone. “Why’d they do that?”

“Dad said they want to be nearby should Gigi need them in her final years.”

“Oh, right,” she scoffed. “They’re treating her as though she’s ancient. She’s in her seventies, and in this day and age that isn’t old. Besides, she’s in perfect health—”

Cooper interrupted her tirade. “I’m just telling you what they said.”

“I’m not buying it, and neither should you. Their only real motivation is Gigi’s money. They want to be near it far more than they do her. I swear I can’t understand why Gigi puts up with such blatant greed.”

“It could be because he’s her son,” Cooper said.

Ignoring that truth, Lyra said, “Every time those people do something horrible and I suggest she never speak to them again, she always says the same thing, ‘Don’t let it worry you,’ and that’s the end of the discussion.”

“Like I said, he’s her son.”

“I know,” she said.

“I’ve got to go. You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” she sighed.

“Stay in touch.” And with that, he was gone.

Lyra took a deep breath. She was determined not to let Cooper’s news upset her. She had a busy week ahead, but it would be an easy one if she stayed focused and calm. She wasn’t about to let this or anything else rile her.

She could hear her grandmother’s words echoing in her head: “Don’t let it worry you. Don’t let it worry you.”

SEVEN

LYRA DIDN’T HEED THE WARNING SIGNS.

She had punched in the code to open the parking lot’s electronic gate, and as soon as she had pulled through and the gate had closed behind her, she was home.

A big luxury sedan was parked in Mrs. Eckhard’s assigned spot next to Lyra’s. It sat on the line separating one space from another, and she could barely get her door open. Mrs. Eckhard’s Prius was at the airport for another week while she was in Hawaii. Lyra was collecting her mail for her. So who was using the space and being so careless about the way he parked?

She grabbed her purse and her keys in one hand and her overnight bag in the other. As she struggled to squeeze past the ridiculously big car, she noticed a triangular rental car sticker in the corner of the back window, and when she turned to cross the lot, she saw the trunk lid was slightly open.

One of the apartments on the second level had the television blaring. It wasn’t until she climbed the outside stairs and moved down the external corridor to her apartment that she realized the noise was coming from her own living room. It sounded as though cartoons were playing. That didn’t make any sense. Sidney’s car was in her assigned parking spot, so presumably she was home, but she’d be the last person Lyra would expect to be watching cartoons. Yet Lyra clearly heard “Yabba dabba do” coming through the door. She slowed her pace as she approached, perplexed at the sight of scratches on the new nickel-plated lock and a split in the wall at the doorjamb.

Finally, the warning bells went off. Was Sidney inside, and if so, who was with her? Lyra leaned closer to the door and nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a man’s voice.

“Turn that down,” he shouted. “It’s giving me a headache.”

Seconds later, the television’s volume was lowered. Then Lyra heard another man talking.

“Why do we have to wait until she wakes up to carry her down to the car and dump her in the trunk?”

“That’s not why we’re waiting. It’s because it isn’t dark yet. You want someone to see you?”

“No, but why don’t we just tie her up here?”

“You left the rope and the duct tape in the car, that’s why.”

“So why was that my job? You could have carried it up. And what are we gonna do if she don’t wake up? You hit her pretty hard.”

“Hey, she was making too much of a racket. I had to hit her to shut her up. If we had found what we were looking for, we would have been out of here.”

Lyra moved away from the door as quietly as possible and then ran around the walkway to the back of the building. Her heart racing, she called 911. Lyra told the operator what was happening, and though her voice was shaking, she tried to answer the questions as succinctly as possible. The operator dispatched the police to her address and instructed Lyra to stay on the line. Lyra couldn’t do that. She kept the line open but put the phone on top of her overnight bag, then opened the side flap of her purse and found the small canister of pepper spray. She had no intention of going into the apartment unless she heard Sidney. She would wait for the police, but in case something did happen, she needed another weapon. She looked around her. What could she use?

Her car … She flew down the stairs and hit the remote on her keychain to pop open the trunk. She found the L-shaped lug wrench and raced back up to her apartment door to listen while she prayed for the sound of sirens. What was taking them so long!

Pepper spray in left hand poised to fire, a lug wrench in the other, Lyra was ready. Scared to death, but ready.

She leaned toward the door to listen for Sidney’s voice. The television was still tuned to the cartoon channel. The men inside were silent. What were they doing? She held her breath while she waited.

When she thought she couldn’t stand it another second, they resumed talking.

“Maybe I did hit her too hard. See if she’s still breathing.”

As if on cue, Sidney groaned loudly.

“She’s breathing, all right. Seems to be coming around. Should I tape her mouth?”

“See if there’s tape in the kitchen. Can’t think where else it would be in this crackerbox apartment. And while you’re in there, see if there’s any beer.”

“Okay. Okay. Maybe after I tape her, I’ll take her into the bedroom. Have a little fun while we wait, you know?”

“She’s got a fine bod, doesn’t she? First, get the tape and my beer, then you can do what you want with her.”

“Oh, no,” Lyra whispered.

She heard sirens in the distance. Thank God.

Suddenly, Sidney screamed, and Lyra knew she couldn’t wait any longer. Ringing the doorbell, she stepped to the side so she couldn’t be seen through the peephole.

She heard a loud whisper from the other side of the door. “Keep your hand over her mouth.”

A rustling sound and then nothing. Lyra held her breath waiting. An eternity seemed to pass, and nothing but silence came from inside her apartment. Then she heard faint whispering and a scuffle. She had to do something! Edging toward the door, she carefully inserted her key. With one motion, she unlocked the door and pushed it open as she jumped out of sight. Swinging the lug wrench back, she waited.

A man bolted out the door with a gun aimed to fire. He was huge, wide in the chest and stomach. He wore a black ski mask, and all she could see of his face were his beady eyes. As soon as he turned in her direction, she sprayed. He screamed and grabbed at his eyes. Lyra swung the wrench with all her might at the hand holding the gun. The weapon discharged before it flew out of sight, the bullet grazing her leg.

Stumbling back into the apartment, the man shouted to his cohort. “Get her, get her. Don’t let her grab my gun.”

Right … the gun. Lyra spun around to look for it, but it must have fallen through the railing. The other man tossed Sidney aside as he reached into his own pocket for a gun. He started running toward the door and Lyra, but was stopped in his tracks when Sidney swung a table lamp full force into the side of his head. Howling, he tripped and went tumbling into the sofa.

Lyra rushed forward to pull Sidney outside. Her friend looked dazed and confused. In seconds, the two thugs would be coming out after them.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Lyra urgently whispered.

A shot rang out, hitting the doorjamb. They ran down the stairs and ducked beneath them. On the ground a few feet away, Lyra spotted ski mask’s gun. She had it in her hand a second later.

“Stay behind the post,” she told Sidney as she lifted the gun and took aim toward the stairs, waiting for the two men to emerge. When nothing happened, she took hold of Sidney’s hand and led her into a hallway that connected the front of the building to the back. Standing against the wall in the shadows, they heard footsteps pounding down the apartment complex’s front stairs. Lyra leaned forward just enough to see the two men jump into the rented sedan next to hers. They threw the car in reverse and tore out of the parking lot, slowing only to let the electronic gate open automatically. Their tires screeched as they careened out of the lot and disappeared down the street.

Lyra slumped back against the wall and finally took a breath. “Are you all right?” Lyra whispered.

“I think so. You?”

“Still scared.”

“Me, too.”

Seconds later, two police cars, lights flashing, slammed to a stop in front of their apartment building. Four policemen threw the doors open and got out with guns drawn.

Lyra stepped from the hallway, bent down and put the gun on the ground, and motioned for Sidney to come forward. Police surrounded them.

“She needs an ambulance,” Lyra said. “I think she has a concussion.”

“I’m all right,” Sidney insisted.

“We got reports of gunshots. An ambulance is on its way,” a policeman said. Noticing that Sidney was swaying on her feet, he led her to the steps to sit down while he took a look at her head.

Two paramedics arrived on the scene a minute later. One tended to Sidney, and the other examined Lyra’s leg wound. While he was applying antiseptic and a tiny Band-aid to the minor cut, two police officers questioned her. She couldn’t tell them how the men had gotten into the apartment or what they wanted.

“We don’t have anything of value except our laptops,” she told them. “I did hear one of them say they were going to take Sidney somewhere when it got dark.”

“Then how did they get in?” one policeman asked.

Sidney heard the question and came to stand beside Lyra. “They were already in the living room when I came home, and they weren’t interested in robbing us. They were waiting,” she explained.

“Waiting?” Lyra asked. “Waiting for what?”

“You,” Sidney answered. “Lyra, they were waiting for you.”

EIGHT

SIDNEY KNEW THEY NEEDED HELP.

Even with a police car stationed outside the gate, she didn’t feel safe.

Deciding whom to call was the problem. Of her six brothers, three were FBI agents and one was a federal attorney. Even her sister, Jordan, was married to an FBI agent. All of them would come if she needed them, which was a blessing, but it could also be a curse. Her brothers could be overly protective.

Siblings in large families usually found it impossible to keep secrets from one another, and the Buchanan brothers were no different when it came to their two sisters. If either Jordan or Sidney were in trouble, all the brothers rushed to get in the middle of it, and they couldn’t understand why their sisters weren’t grateful for their assistance. The lack of appreciation didn’t stop them, though. Fortunately, not all of the brothers were available to interfere. The youngest, Zachary, was in the Air Force Academy and, therefore, out of the loop. He and Michael, a Navy SEAL, were usually the last to know what was going on.