Taking the Reins(96)

“Dammit, don’t shut me out like some incompetent girl. I can help!”

“You’ll help more by staying alert and ready to call the cops if I need you.” He didn’t wait for her answer, just hung up and shoved the phone in his pocket. As he pulled his boots on, he looked at Trace. “Trouble at the main house. I’m gonna go scope it out.”

“I’ll come with.” Instantly looking dead sober, Trace was grabbing his jacket before he looked down once more at his son. “Or, shit. I guess not.”

“Guess not,” Red agreed. “I’ve got it. Just keep your phone ready. Maybe stand at the bottom of the stairs, keep the door cracked so you can listen for the kid and you’ll hear in case I need you.” With a last tug, his boots were on and he headed down the stairs as quietly as he could. Sound carried far in the dead of night, with nothing else going on and the air so open.

Once his feet hit grass, he hurried as fast as he could, as soundlessly as possible, creeping through the shadows and staying alert. He calculated the best way to approach the house without being spotted. And his mind hovered on the edge, terrified who he would find sneaking around.

He feared it would be his father. Almost knew it would be.

He’d made it to the barn without any problems when a muffled, deep shout cut through the night. Giving up all ideas of stealth, he broke into a sprint and followed the sounds of scuffling, the curses, the dull, unforgettable sounds of fists hitting flesh.

In the dark, as his eyes adjusted, he located two figures brawling in the dirt near the tree he and Peyton had once met under. It was no contest, one man outsizing the other by almost half. He heard a yelp and knew by the tone of the sound the smaller figure was Billy. Immediately he leapt into the fray, doing his best to spare Billy any more blows while prying the other man from the teen’s lax body.

“Jesus!” Red fought to knock the man to the ground. Though not as tall as Red, the stranger packed almost as much weight and didn’t go down easily. Finally, he managed to wrestle the man to the ground and pin his arms behind him. He whined and yelled like a little girl when Red wrenched his arm a littler harder than necessary. “What the hell are you doing out here, Bill?”

“Trying to keep him from escaping.” The teen stood, wiped at his nose with a sleeve. Red could easily guess it was blood he mopped up. “I didn’t want him to get away.”

Red couldn’t see well enough in the shade of the tree to make out any features, not to mention the man was facedown in the dirt. But he knew from the shape of the body, it wasn’t his father.

Relief, cool and sweet, swam through his system a moment before anger and rage blocked it out like an eclipse blocked the sun.

“Get. Off.”

The voice, now clear and concise, led him to the stranger’s identity in an instant.

Sam Nylen.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Red resisted the urge to shove the man’s face in the dirt a little harder.

“Why is that kid here?” he shot back, earning him an extra knee to the back. He grunted, then muttered, “This is kidnapping or something. You can’t hold me here.”

“Bill?”

“Yeah, boss?”

Red smiled a little at that. “Text Peyton again, tell her to call the cops, and that we’ve got this under control. We’ve got a trespasser and possible burglar.”

“Sure thing.” He heard the clicking sounds of the teen’s phone as he wandered away to catch a little spare illumination from the front porch lights around the corner.

“Burglar?” Nylen’s voice rose to a squeak. “I’m no burglar. I made a mistake. Drove here on accident. I used to live here, you know. Too much to drink. Can’t hold that against a man. No harm done, I’ll just head on out and—”

Red pushed his knee farther into his back, silencing the poor excuse for an excuse. “Shut up. Save it for the cops. I know it was you in my office, and my apartment, both times. Might as well tell me what you were looking for before the cops get here. I might just forget to mention to the police about the other break ins.”

“Your apartment?” He laughed, but the sound was more like a wheeze. “I sure as hell didn’t go in there.”

“How’d you break in to the office?”

“Had another key made before I got sacked. Idiot woman never changed the locks.”

“Shut up,” he said absently, leaning harder on his chest. So Nylen admitted the office, but not the apartment break ins. Which meant . . .

“Do you know my father?”

Nylen spit some dirt out the side of his mouth. “Shitty card player. Talks too much when he’s drinking.”