What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(102)

Then again, he didn’t mind being the one to put a bullet in Baylor. There would be a nice symmetry. He was the one who started the Kill Club. He would be the one to end it.

But only after the others were dead.

Ronnie came to a halt, sending Baylor an impatient glare. “Why are you just standing there?” he demanded. “We need to find Griff and get rid of him before he shoots us or finds some new way to be a pain in the ass.”

Baylor shrugged, his gun held loosely in one hand as he offered a mysterious smile.

“Actually, there’s been a change of plans.”

Ronnie’s brows snapped together. No one changed his plans. No one.

“What are you talking about?”

Baylor’s smile remained as he took a step toward Ronnie. “The problem with the endgame was making sure the authorities believe that all the bad guys are dead.”

Ronnie shrugged. He’d already planned for that. Baylor just didn’t know that his death was going to be the “endgame.”

“The cops are too stupid to figure out anything,” he said. “We already proved that.”

“So we did.” Baylor held out his hand. “But just to be sure, I need to borrow your gun.”

Ronnie took an instinctive step backward. “You have your own gun.”

Baylor’s features tightened, but his smile never faltered. Ronnie had learned over the years that the older man shared many of Ronnie’s own talents. Including the ability to hide his true emotions.

“Yes, but when I put a bullet into my brother’s heart, I prefer to use your weapon.”

“Brother?” Ronnie felt a stab of surprise. “Matthew is here?”

“Yes, I found him in the security office when I went in to change the passcode for the locks. I assume he was trying to figure out how to open the doors.”

Ronnie cursed. How many people were waltzing in and out of the warehouse? It was a wonder the National Guard hadn’t shown up.

“He’s the idiot who led Griffin Archer to the warehouse,” Baylor said.

“Oh.” Well, that explained how Griff had found him. “What did you do with him?”

“I bashed him on the back of the head,” Baylor admitted, his tone revealing zero regret at having wounded his brother.

The lack of empathy convinced Ronnie the older man hadn’t been lying about wanting his brother dead.

“You’re really going to kill your own brother?”

“That wasn’t my intention, but now I realize that I’ll never have a better opportunity to have what I deserve.” A cold glimmer in his hazel eyes. “The company. The estate. The money. I couldn’t have planned it any better.”

Ronnie’s uneasiness deepened. There was something different about the man standing in front of him.

Of the two Jacobs brothers, Matthew had always been bold and brash and charming, while Baylor was quiet and studious, and watchful. When they’d been young, Matthew would enjoy tormenting Ronnie, and it was Baylor who would whisper in Ronnie’s ear how to get back at the older boy. He was the one to urge Ronnie to toss the keys of Matthew’s expensive Corvette in the lake. And it was Baylor who’d been encouraging when Ronnie had confessed that he was certain Stuart Jacobs was his father.

Now there was an arrogance in his expression that Ronnie didn’t like.

“Planned what?” he demanded.

“First you got rid of my uncle for me.”

For him? What the hell was he talking about?

“You know why he had to die,” Ronnie argued. “He was punished because he refused to admit the truth.”

Baylor shook his head. “Christ, you’re the most gullible fool I ever met.”

Ronnie stiffened. Enough was enough. How dare this man act as if he was more than a mere disciple?

“Don’t say that,” he snapped.

“It’s true.” Baylor’s voice held a hint of derision. “I’ve been using you since you were a creepy kid, trailing behind my uncle like a pathetic stray dog.”

Ronnie shook his head. “I didn’t trail behind him. My father—”

“He wasn’t your father, you moron,” Baylor interrupted.

Ronnie’s breath was wrenched from his lungs. What was going on? Was Baylor trying to confuse him? But why?

“He was. I have the proof,” he rasped. “You saw the letters and said they had to mean that he was my father.”

Baylor clicked his tongue, taking a step forward. “Poor Ronnie. I wrote those letters.”

Ronnie lifted his gun, waving it toward Baylor. “No.”

The man stopped, his gaze on the weapon in Ronnie’s hand. Still, his expression remained taunting.

“Yes. I copied them from a stack of love letters I found in my aunt’s desk.”

Ronnie grimaced. There was a pounding behind his right eye. He should just shoot the bastard. It was what he was planning to do eventually. Right?

But he couldn’t squeeze the trigger. Not until he’d reasserted his dominance over the man.

“My mother’s name was on them,” he reminded his companion. As if that explained everything.

Baylor arched a brow. “A simple enough change.”

Ronnie struggled to grasp what he was saying. “Why?”