Her voice was a whisper as she said, “You’re the good guys.”
Good? Not so much. But they were the guys who weren’t currently trying to kill her.
“It’s the weekend, Ms. Ward,” Victor told her. “No one from your job will even know you’re gone. By Monday, this could all be a memory for you.”
Or it could be something else entirely.
But she nodded, obviously buying Victor’s words and thinking she’d be home free in a day. “Twenty-four hours,” Elizabeth said as if she was agreeing to some kind of deal.
Victor smiled. “The FBI appreciates your cooperation.”
Bullshit. Did Elizabeth realize the FBI would have made her stay in that motel room? She’d never had a choice in the matter.
When Victor turned for the door, Saxon followed him. Victor didn’t speak until they were outside. “She doesn’t leave your sight,” he ordered.
Where was she supposed to go? “It’s a small motel room. I’ll be able to see her plenty.”
Victor grunted. “Try to keep your hands off her. This is business.”
But Saxon shook his head. “I just finished my last case for the FBI. I’m done.” He didn’t need the paperwork to be processed. “This is a favor for a friend.” Because Victor was one of the few people that he actually considered a friend. Hell, Victor was family. The bond they had went far deeper than blood. “I’ll watch your blonde, and you go get those ass**les off the street.” It was time to get justice for Jenny Long and for all of the other victims that Kurt Taggert had claimed. He wouldn’t be killing anyone else.
Victor nodded. “I’ll call you when it’s clear.” Then he was gone. Saxon waited a few moments before he headed back into that motel room. Lucky number thirteen.
When he opened the door, Elizabeth was exactly where he’d left her. Way too close to the bed and looking far too sexy.
A victim. The woman is a victim. He was supposed to reassure victims. But the problem was that Saxon wasn’t the suave one. Victor was the one who was so good at spouting BS.
“Can I…can I trust you?” Elizabeth asked him.
Just for the hell of it, he decided to be honest. “No.”
And the fear came back to her pretty face.
***
Kurt Taggert paced in front of the bar. The Blade had cleared out—his men had emptied out the damn place right after Elizabeth Ward had vanished with that bastard Saxon. His nose had finally stopped bleeding—Saxon had broken it, and he’d be sure to pay the jerk back.
As soon as we find him.
The guy’s motorcycle had been found, with its trademark skulls on the sides of the ride, but Saxon had gone to ground some place in the city. The guy had a reputation for being one crazy bad-ass, a man you weren’t supposed to ever cross. Kurt normally wouldn’t be going up against him, but this wasn’t a normal situation.
He had to get Elizabeth Ward back.
His phone rang. Kurt looked down, and when he saw the number flashing on the screen, he started to sweat. “H-hey, man,” Kurt said when he answered the call. “You didn’t—”
“Is she dead?” The flat, hard voice demanded.
Fuck me. I am so screwed. “There’s been an…incident.”
Silence. “She’s dead.”
She should be.
“An insane bastard named Saxon Black took her.” Didn’t that mean she was as good as dead? Kurt figured Saxon would screw her, then eliminate her.
“What?”
“He…wanted her.” He’d seen the guy’s gaze rake Elizabeth’s body. Sure, she was pretty enough for a fast f**k, but to take down Kurt’s men? Just to screw her? Saxon really was a crazy—
“She’s not dead.”
That icy tone had Kurt’s stomach knotting. Normally, it took a whole hell of a lot to scare him, but this man—this man had power. Power that Kurt needed. If he turns on me, I’m done.
“I paid you ten thousand dollars to kill her. That’s what you do, right? You kill people.”
Kurt heard the creak of the floor behind him. He whirled around, and that tricky bastard was right there, with the phone at his ear. Kurt had never even heard the fellow walk in. He really is as good as they say.
“Killing people isn’t so hard,” the guy said as he lowered the phone. He put it into his pocket—only to immediately bring his hand back up. This time, that hand was holding a knife. “It goes something like this…”
Kurt tried to grab his own weapon, but the guy had already attacked. The knife sank into his chest and Kurt slammed into the bar. He looked down and saw the blood covering his shirt.
“See? Not hard at all.”
Kurt hit the floor. He slammed down, hitting the dirty concrete floor of The Blade face-first.
“Never pay someone for the job you can do yourself.”
Kurt’s body felt cold.
“Your screw-up won’t be tied to me.”
“The…the FBI—” That was all he could manage. The pain was burning through him.
His attacker laughed. “They didn’t see me come in. You’re the one who screwed up. You knew the FBI was keeping tabs on you—I told you that shit—and you still just brought that woman right in the back door! People saw you!”
He’d been…following orders. He’d thought the guy standing over him—the man who’d just knifed him—would help to protect him.
You really can’t trust anyone in this world.
And the bastard just left him there. With every painful breath that Kurt tried to suck in, he could feel his blood pouring out of him. He fought to hold on to life, for just a few more moments because he didn’t want to go out like this. Not on the floor, not with booze and trash around him. He was better than this. He had plans. He was so much…better.
Every second seemed to stretch for an hour. Each breath was a painful saw from his lungs. He tried to crawl forward, but his hands just slipped over the floor. He cried out, but there was no one there to hear him.
All of my men…are out hunting. I’m going to…die alone.
His heart was still beating, and with every beat, more blood pushed from his body. He was in a growing pool of his own blood, and he was so cold.
His eyes were sagging. He fought to keep them open. Then he heard the rush of footsteps. Coming fast. He tried to turn his head toward the sound, but he couldn’t move.