“I thought Saxon said he left them alive.”
Victor bent next to Tommy Haines’s body. He recognized the guy who’d been one of Taggert’s flunkies. At least six bullet wounds covered the guy’s chest—and one had been fired right into his head. “Yeah, that’s what he said.” He paused. “So that means our killer attacked after Saxon was clear.” Because he didn’t believe for a moment that Saxon had killed those three men. Saxon wouldn’t lie to him about something like that.
His gaze slid over to the other two bodies. Both men had also been shot in the head, execution-style. “We’ll need full work-ups on the bodies. Hopefully, the killer left behind a clue we can use to track him.”
Tracy whistled.
“Who the hell are we dealing with here, boss?”
He didn’t know, but he was sure determined to find out. “Cancel that APB,” he said again. His gaze swept the room. When folks in this motel had heard the first blast of gunfire, they would have hunkered down. The less they saw, the better—that was always the mantra in places like this one.
Victor headed back out into the sunlight. He sucked in a deep breath, one that didn’t taste like death, and gazed out at the empty parking lot. Sonofabitch. Everyone had definitely cleared out of dodge. He turned toward the check-in office. Maybe the young clerk had managed to catch a glimpse of the killer.
He headed into the check-in area. The bell over his head gave a little jingle when he opened the door. “Hey, kid,” he called out. When he’d gotten the room the night before, the guy behind the counter had barely looked eighteen. “Kid?” No one else appeared to be in the small office.
His gut clenching, Victor strode forward. His leaned over the counter and glanced down to the floor behind it.
The desk clerk wasn’t going to be ID’ing anyone. He was in a pool of blood. Just like the others, he’d been shot in the head. Another body, another damn pool of blood—when did this shit become my life?
“Fuck,” Victor muttered. Someone hadn’t wanted to risk being spotted by the guy. You came in here, didn’t you? Because you wanted to question the guy about Saxon and Elizabeth. Then when he’d stopped asking his questions, the perp had eliminated the witness.
We’re dealing with a professional. One who can kill just as easily with his gun as he can with his knife. A guy who didn’t care how many people he took out.
But something was nagging at Victor. If the guy was a professional hitter—and it sure looked that way—then why had Taggert been the one with Elizabeth Ward at The Blade? That part just didn’t make sense to Victor. Why hire out work that you could just do yourself?
This case was spinning out of control. The bodies were piling up, and, so far, they had nothing to show for their months of undercover work.
Nothing but the dead.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth opened her eyes. There was a wooden ceiling over her head. She frowned up at that wood. The ceiling in her bedroom was white. Not a cherry wood.
Her heart started to beat faster. She turned her head—and met a pair of dark, glittering eyes.
It wasn’t a nightmare. Oh, damn. Wesley is dead, and I’m being—hunted.
She swallowed. “I don’t care what you see in movies, that shit is creepy.”
Saxon frowned at her. “What?” He was sitting at the little table, his chair turned toward her.
She sat up in bed, making sure to keep all of her important parts covered. “Staring at a woman while she sleeps. It’s not sexy. It’s straight-up stalker-like.”
He blinked. He might have even flushed a bit. With his tanned skin, it was hard to tell for sure.
“It’s creepy,” she continued, “so don’t do it again.”
“I was keeping watch on you,” he muttered.
“Uh, huh…”
“And you’re f**king cute when you sleep.”
Now it was her turn to blink.
“Besides,” Saxon continued, voice deepening a bit. “You were the one calling my name.”
She shot out of the bed. “I was not!”
He leaned back in the chair and his gaze slid over her. “Yes, you were. So I thought I’d stay close in case you…needed me. I’m a helper like that.”
He was lying. Had to be lying. There was no way she’d called for the guy in her sleep. She put her hands on her h*ps and stalked toward him. “Did you talk to Agent Monroe?”
“Um.”
Um was not an answer. “Did they catch the guys at the motel? Have they found out who killed Wesley?” Do I get to return home now?
“Not yet, but Victor’s working on things.”
Right. Good old Victor.
She raked a hand through her hair. When she glanced over at him, his gaze was locked on her—and the darkness seemed to shine with intensity.
“Damn, but you are pretty,” he told her. “Shouldn’t your hair be all messed up when you wake? It just looks tousled and…sexy.”
“Wh-what?” She had to look like a wreck. No make-up. Crazy hair. So far from the land of sex appeal.
“Why are you wearing my shirt?” His right hand lifted, and the back of his fingers —those scarred knuckles that shouldn’t be oddly attractive to her—lightly caressed her arm, right beneath the edge of the t-shirt. “Not that I’m complaining. You look far better in it than I ever do.”
Talk. Elizabeth pushed the words out as she said, “I…just wanted to be in something that wasn’t stained by blood.” She’d used the little shower, too, was that wrong? After he’d left her, she’d been tired of being covered in blood and the sweat that came from fear. So she’d showered and crashed. It hadn’t been as if she were actually going to run out in the swamp after him. With the snakes? No, thank you.
He nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of that sooner…I could have picked you up more clothes.” His hand fell away from her. “I’m just not used to dealing with someone like you.”
Someone like her? He better not be insulting her. “What do you mean?”
His lips hitched into a half-smile. “Folks in my world are more likely to kill you than to help you.”
But he had helped her. Again and again. “It sounds like the wrong kind of world to me.”