Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(58)
“Jesus,” he growls as he squeezes me breathlessly. “Thank f*ck for Lorelei.”
I nod, because yes… thank f*ck. As soon as we returned to the house, only after Lorelei saw the first cruiser pull into the driveway, she called Rand and Jake to let them know what happened. I had no idea what she said because I was immediately pulled into an interview to try to get my statement while details were fresh and untainted. Three other cars pulled up within moments, with two officers heading off into the darkness to see if they’d luck out and find the guy who attacked me. An ambulance arrived moments later.
But here Rand is now with his arms banded around me tightly and for the first time since the man grabbed me, I feel a measure of safety.
Rand pulls back slightly and looks down at me. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Hospital?
Hospital!
“How’s Tarryn?” I blurt out, my hand coming to his chest. “Is she alright?”
Rand rolls his eyes and glares at me, pulling me back to the couch where he pushes me down and then squats in front of me.
“Forget about her,” he says as his fingers come to flutter over the white bandage on my throat that the paramedic put on me. He said it wasn’t deep at all and should heal up fine, so I refused a trip to the hospital. “He cut you?”
“I’m fine,” I say, rather than confirm the obvious. It turns out he didn’t cut me all that bad. A thin slice… more a scratch really, that produced a single large bead of blood that trickled down my chest.
Lorelei walks out of the back hallway and smiles at Rand and me. “I just put Amber down. Can I get anyone coffee?”
The detective looks up from his iPad and says, “I’d actually like to get your statement, Mrs. Gearhart.”
Lorelei nods and sits down on the loveseat while Rand pushes up off the floor to pace while she tells her story. He mutters and curses to himself as he listens, and I’m thankful he wasn’t here when I told the cop what happened, as it was far more unpleasant than Lorelei valiantly chasing him off with a gun.
“Give me as detailed a description as you can,” the detective prods her.
“He was about fifteen feet from me and my headlights illuminated him pretty well. Five-nine, maybe hundred and sixty pounds. Dark brown hair to shoulder, full beard and mustache. Jeans, black boots, and a long-sleeved dark t-shirt. Leather cut with an MC patch on the front that I couldn’t see all that well, but I saw a larger one on the back when he turned to run. Had a skull on the back. Oh, and he had a teardrop tattoo under his right eye, at least I’m pretty sure that’s what it was, but it all happened so fast. I’m not sure how much that helps.”
I stare at Lorelei, my mouth agape. How did she get all that in the few seconds she saw him? How in the hell did she see that tattoo when I was almost face to face with him and didn’t notice it. Or maybe I did notice it but it just didn’t register. Or perhaps it registered but I’ve forgotten it because I was more worried about not getting my throat slit.
Let’s face it… I’m practically useless at this eyewitness stuff. All I had was greasy hair and a preference for beer and hot dogs, which granted… if they had tracking dogs, they might be able to sniff him out based on that.
Detective Blanton nods as he types the information in, his mouth moving silently as he talks to himself at the same time. When he finishes, he looks up at me. “Did he say anything at all? Have a distinct accent? Anything else you can remember?”
Shit! He did talk to me and I didn’t even remember it until he asked. Absolutely f*cking useless, and I’m thinking there’s even more I’ve forgotten and he’s going to need to interview me several more times to get the entire store.
I nod effusively. “He said he had orders, but that he was going to have fun first.”
“Orders?’ the detective asks with raised eyebrows, and Rand comes to a standstill. I can feel the shock and anger vibrating off him, but I don’t dare look. I know what he’s thinking.
“Yeah… he said something like ‘orders were clear’ but that he wanted to have some fun first,” I confirm.
“Son of a bitch,” Rand says as he comes to the same conclusion I just did.
“Did someone have motive to hurt you?” the cop asks as he looks at me but cuts a quick glance at Rand.
I nod, but Rand answers for me. “Her late husband’s oldest son, Kevin Vaughn. Cat’s owed some money from the estate and he’s claiming there’s another will cutting her out. We’ve asked for a signed copy and he was supposed to deliver it today, but he never showed.”
“What kind of money are we talking about?” the detective asks, now very interested in this turn of events.
“Five million and a house here in Jackson,” I provide.
“And what is the estate worth?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Samuel was a billionaire. But a lot.”
“And you think five million out of a billion plus is worth killing you over?”
It’s a fair question and it’s something I’ve thought about to the extent I never understood why Kevin wouldn’t just let me have that. It was nominal in the grand scheme of things. “No, I don’t think that’s something that should cause someone to want to kill me,” I tell him with a measure of confusion. “But he kicked me out of my house, shut all my access to money off, claiming there was this new will that cut me out completely. He’s not been able to produce that, and he made an offer to buy me off a few days ago.”