by Elle Kennedy
Holden slid the computer out of its case and rested it on the hood of the car. “Give me a sec.”
While Holden pulled up the necessary program, Sullivan and Liam approached the group. The big Australian and Mr. Male Model had been chatting up a storm during the past hour, well on their way to becoming BFFs. Now they wore matching frowns. “What’s going on, mate?” Sullivan asked.
Luke ignored the question and followed the movement of Holden’s fingers on the keyboard. “Come on, man,” he said impatiently.
Holden studied the screen. “The phone’s at the hospital. It’s not moving.”
“And the necklace?”
“Hold on.” Holden typed a few more commands. “Shit. She’s on the move.”
“Where?” Luke demanded. “Heading back to the safe house?”
“No. Traveling east on the Long Island Expressway.”
“What?”
“She’s definitely in a car, just merged onto the Jericho Turnpike.”
His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “Angelo has her.”
Isabel spoke up, trying to sound encouraging. “We don’t know that. Maybe Adam is taking her to—”
“Taking her where?” he growled. “He was ordered to guard Olivia and Kathleen at the hospital. If he was going to take either of them anywhere else, he would have checked in. Unless he couldn’t check in. Which means he’s fucking dead and now Angelo has her.” Rage bubbled in his gut, mixed with a dose of fear so strong he nearly keeled over. “I’m going after her.”
“I’m going with you,” Sullivan said immediately, diving into the driver’s seat.
In the end, Kane and Holden also came along, Holden so he could monitor the GPS, Kane because Trevor ordered him to—evidently Luke’s state of complete and total panic hadn’t gone unnoticed.
In the backseat of the SUV, he tried to control the overwhelming vise of helplessness threatening to choke him. Angelo had gotten his hands on Olivia. That’s why he hadn’t showed his face tonight.
“He’s going to kill her,” Luke mumbled.
A hand stretched out from the front seat. Kane. He leaned in to grip Luke’s shoulder, those green eyes filled with determination. “He won’t kill her. We’re going to find her.”
“He’s obsessed with her, and he thinks she cheated on him. With me. It’s my fucking fault he found out the truth. I slipped up, got caught by his goons, and now . . . now Olivia is going to pay the price for it.”
* * *
Olivia blinked in disorientation as the trunk of the Town Car was released and her eyes adjusted to the sudden onslaught of light. Moonlight. Shining down from a starless black sky and bringing a streak of pain to her temples. Vince had knocked her out back in the parking lot of St. Francis. Her head throbbed, her brain working overtime to remember what happened.
Adam. Vince’s goon had killed Adam.
Oh God.
The image of Vince’s wild eyes burned through her mind. He’d threatened to shoot her mother if Olivia didn’t leave with him. He’d forced her to walk out of the room, down the corridor, into the elevator, out to the parking lot. Threatened to go on a shooting spree in the hospital if she screamed. Or tried to run. She’d followed his orders only because she’d known without a shred of doubt that he wasn’t bluffing. The rage shining in his eyes told her he would’ve slaughtered anybody in his path if he’d had to.
So she’d shut her mouth and done what he said, all the while trying to formulate an escape plan. Since her phone had been left behind in her mom’s hospital room, calling for help was out, but she had planned on springing into action once they reached the parking lot and were away from anyone Vince might harm. Kneeing him in the groin, screaming bloody murder, even taking his damn driver hostage if the opportunity presented itself. But she hadn’t gotten the chance. The moment they’d approached the Lincoln, the butt of Vince’s gun had slammed into her right temple, and that was good night.
She’d come to about fifteen minutes later to find herself bound and gagged in the trunk of the Town Car, and now they were here. Wherever here was.
Olivia’s pulse sped up when a shadow loomed over her. She blinked again, making out Vince’s torso, his eerily calm face. When their gazes met, he smiled. “Good. You’re awake.”
As he leaned in to scoop her up in his arms, she began to struggle, batting at him with her fists, which were secured together.
Vince’s brown eyes flashed. “Keep struggling and I’ll cut your fucking hands off.”
She went still, searching her brain frantically for a way out of this. Maybe she could talk him down, use his love for her to defuse the ticking time bomb he’d become.
Speaking through the gag shoved in her mouth, she mumbled a protest, trying to get his attention. He ignored her, his strides long and powerful as he carried her toward a small A-frame cabin in the distance.
Olivia’s gaze darted around as she took in her surroundings. They were in a deserted area surrounded by yellowing grass, flat earth, and trees devoid of leaves. The cabin was the only structure in sight, its weathered log exterior and paint-chipped front door lending it an abandoned feel.
Vince stopped on the porch and unlocked the door. It creaked open and he lugged her inside, where the scent of mold and mildew drifted into her nose. She caught a glimpse of a small room with a tattered plaid sofa against one wall and a kitchenette in the corner.
She mumbled another objection. This time Vince growled in annoyance. “Shut up,” he snapped. “There’ll be plenty of time for talking later.”
Later? God, how long did he plan on keeping her here?
His loafers thudded against the splintered wood floor as he carried her to an open doorway across the room. Next thing she knew, she was thrown onto a bed, her body bouncing off a dirty mattress with a few of its springs exposed. A metal coil dug into her back, bringing a jolt of pain.
Vince flicked a light switch and closed the door. When he pivoted, he had a gun pointed at her, sleek and black with a silencer screwed on its barrel. In his left hand, he held a small switchblade and a roll of duct tape.
Fear crawled up her spine and lodged in her throat.
Without a word, Vince approached the bed and sliced through the rope binding her feet together. With a muffled cry, she kicked a foot up and connected with his jaw.
He grunted in anger.
And stuck the switchblade into her calf.
Olivia jerked from the searing pain, her leg involuntarily dropping to the mattress. Blood ran down her leg, soaking the cotton of her black leggings.
“What did I tell you about struggling?” Vince demanded.
She swallowed, battling the sting of tears, then gasped when he thrust her legs apart. His features reflected a combination of rage and concentration as he set his gun on the floor and proceeded to shove her right foot against the post of the rickety bed frame. He secured it with duct tape, then did the same with her left foot. He gave a satisfied grunt and went to work on her hands, and when he was done, Olivia was spread-eagled on the bed. The only upside—God, did that word even exist in a situation like this?—was that she remained fully dressed. If rape was on his agenda, it wouldn’t happen yet.
“Now we talk,” Vince said pleasantly, bending down to remove her gag.
“Don’t do this,” she croaked once she was able to speak.
“You’re in no position to give me orders!” he roared. “You screwed another man! You’ve probably screwed hundreds of men during this past year, you little whore.”
“That’s not true,” she protested. “I—”
He sprang at her and crammed the gag back into her mouth. His entire body vibrated, shuddering with icy wrath. “Talking was a bad idea. I can’t listen to your fucking voice feeding me any more fucking lies.”
Strands of defeat curled around her spine. Now what? If she couldn’t keep him talking, what chance did she have? How the hell was she going to save herself?
“You think I’m not go
od enough for you, is that it?” His brown eyes bored into hers, bitterness dripping from his harsh voice. “Well, what makes you so much better than me? Your father was a weak loser masquerading as a hero. Your mother’s had one foot in the grave her entire life. And you? Who the hell are you? What makes you better than me? Your looks? This city’s full of pretty pussy! Your brains? Because as I recall, you were a high school dropout.”
His chest heaved as the words poured out of his mouth like gushing water bursting through a dam. In that moment, Olivia realized just how deep Vince Angelo’s insecurities ran, how skewed he’d become from what he believed to be a cruel upbringing. Yeah, so cruel—two parents who loved him but hadn’t been able to buy him a bunch of meaningless material things.
She suddenly faltered, realizing she wasn’t exactly one to talk. Hadn’t she allowed her own upbringing to do the same thing to her? Skew her outlook, send her running away from any man who reminded her even the slightest of her father? Look what she’d been doing—keeping a wonderful man at arm’s length, insisting that he was temporary, a speed bump on the road to the kind of relationship she’d always thought she wanted.
But Luke wasn’t a speed bump. He was . . . God, he was the freaking destination.
Why hadn’t she seen that?
And why was she only realizing it now, when she was tied to a bed while a seriously messed-up psycho with a gun loomed over her?
“You make me sick,” Vince hissed.
Olivia squeaked in terror as he launched himself at her, the mattress creaking like a haunted-house prop as he straddled her with his strong thighs. She closed her eyes, prepared for the worst, but to her shock, she felt his hands on her face. He cupped her jaw, digging his thumbs into her cheeks, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and despair.
“Why did you have to do this?” he moaned. “Why, damn it? What the fuck did I do wrong, Olivia? I saved you from that motherfucker in the alley! I took care of your debts! I bought you things to show you how much I loved you! I bought you this, for fuck’s sake!”
He tore the silver chain from her neck and held up the little cross as if that alone was the symbol of their love.
The cross!
Vince was right—the necklace was important. She might have left her phone behind at the hospital, but not the necklace. Which meant that at this very moment, she was broadcasting loud and clear, relaying a signal that Luke could use to find her.
On top of her, Vince was in tears now. The moisture shining in his eyes made her jerk in surprise, but nothing was more shocking than the way he dipped his head to brush his lips over hers. “You’re right,” he choked out, his breath fanning over her mouth. “Maybe we can try again.”
What?
“I’m a fool, aren’t I?” His gaze searched her face, anxious, desperate. “I know I shouldn’t still love you, but I do. I love you, babe. I love you so much.”
She’d never been so confused in her life. Pity and disgust vied for her attention, but the disgust proved victorious when Vince started kissing her again. He was breathing hard, shaking from head to toe. His lips were cold and wet as he dragged them over every inch of her face. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids, lavishing nausea-inducing tenderness upon her before moving his lips to her neck so he could kiss her there too.
She pushed aside her queasiness and attempted to find a way to use his unexpected change of heart to her advantage. She was back to toying with the idea of convincing him of her undying love when she saw a flash of movement in the doorway.
Luke!
Olivia nearly cried out in joy when she spotted the familiar dark hair and rugged features, but Luke quickly lifted his finger to his lips to silence her. She went motionless, meeting his gorgeous chocolate brown eyes as Vince continued to bestow gentle kisses on her.
Shoot him, damn it! She silently pleaded for Luke to act, but he remained in the doorway, gun in hand, a tormented expression creasing his handsome face. It occurred to her that he couldn’t take a shot. The way Vince was leaning on her, any bullet that hit him might hit her too.
She forced herself to stay still and trust Luke, but then Vince lifted his head—and he must have noticed her looking beyond him because he whirled around and released an enraged growl.
“You!” Voice ringing with accusation, he flung his arm toward the gun he’d left next to Olivia’s hip.
“Me,” Luke confirmed.
And then he shot Vince in the head.
Olivia screamed into the gag as blood sprayed her face, as Vince’s body toppled to the floor with a thud. Shock and horror sent her mind spinning, had her gasping for air and jerking on the mattress even as Luke hurried toward her and removed the gag.
“Olivia. Olivia.”
He rapidly undid her bindings and yanked her against him, his strong arms holding her tight. Her pulse shrieked in her ears, pounding in her blood. She buried her face against his muscled chest and struggled for breath, shaking so hard she feared her bones might snap like twigs.
“Look at me, darlin’,” he said urgently. His hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head up. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Look at me, Olivia.”
She looked at him.
The second she registered his familiar dark eyes and the deep concern and sheer love glimmering in them, her body sagged and her heartbeat steadied. Luke’s presence grounded her, penetrating the haze of her mind and leaving her with a sense of pure, startling clarity.
“You all right?” he said gruffly.
She nodded, then uttered the first thing that came to mind. Make that the only thing that came to mind. It left her lips in a hurried rush, the words coming not from her mouth but straight from her heart.
“I love you.”
* * *
It was past midnight when Isabel finally heard a knock on the door. She’d been lying on her living room couch, exhausted as hell but unable to sleep a damn wink. With Olivia missing, everyone back at the safe house had been on edge, the tension running so high that Isabel had needed to get out of there. She’d come home to shower and change, even bringing her cell into the bathroom in case Trevor called, but there’d been no word from Luke or the others since they’d left Queens.
Shooting to her feet, she hurried to the front door and threw it open, relieved when she found Trevor standing in the hall. She met his whiskey-colored eyes, fearful of what she’d find, but to her relief, his expression revealed the answer she’d been hoping for.
“Olivia’s safe,” he said. “Luke found her.”
Isabel let out a breath. “Thank God.” She gestured for him to come inside, then locked the door and led him into the living room. “And Angelo?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate.
“Dead.”
She nodded. The DEA wouldn’t like that—Angelo could’ve been their ticket to nabbing De Luca—but Isabel couldn’t say she was torn up about it. From the moment she’d met Vince Angelo, she’d disliked the man.
“Luke and Olivia went to the hospital to be with Kathleen,” Trevor added.
He removed his coat and draped it over the arm of the sofa, then sank down in one weary motion, looking as exhausted as Isabel felt.
After a beat of hesitation, she sat down next to him and drew her knees up to her chest. “What about Adam?”
“Also dead.” The emotion he hadn’t expressed about Angelo’s death made an appearance now. “He was a good man. A good soldier.”
“You’re all good men. Every last one of you.”
Trevor blinked in surprise, then recovered, resting his hands in his lap. “So, the job’s over.”
“It’s over,” she agreed. “What ended up happening with the DEA?”
“Well, Dane’s in federal custody, and he’s going to be charged with a whole bunch of shit. Turns out Dane’s supervisor suspected all along that his man had been playing both sides. And the Moreno rep, Juan Ortiz, he started singing like a canary once he realized what kind of shit he’s in. He’s spilling ever
ything he knows about Dane, probably in hopes of cutting a deal.”
“He’ll cut a deal, all right,” Isabel said dryly. “But not for info on Dane. Trust me, Ortiz will sell out the cartel in a heartbeat. If he’s extradited to Colombia he’ll be killed in prison, which means his only hope of staying alive is to get immunity from our government, or at the very least, a prison sentence here.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
She leaned her head back against the cushions. “So what’d Ortiz say about Dane?”
“Dane was working with Moreno for years, feeding the DEA bogus intel and pocketing cash as an informant for the cartel. When he was recalled to the States and assigned to the De Luca case, he decided to bank an even bigger profit by hooking up the two crime syndicates and taking not only a brokerage fee, but a percentage of the drug money. He already had a whole new identity lined up—he’s been using the name Erik Franz, and according to Ortiz, Dane was supposed to head back to Colombia tomorrow morning. He was going to work for the Moreno cartel full-time.”
“What was the deal with the guy you found in the warehouse last week? They tattooed the name Mandy on his butt to try to pass him off as Dane? Do we know who he was?”
“His DNA was flagged in the system. Low-life drug dealer from Brooklyn who had the misfortune of bearing a slight resemblance to Carter Dane.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “But Dane’s a federal agent. He would’ve known that his supervisors would run a DNA test.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t care. I think the body was meant to be a distraction for the Feds. Angelo and Dane wanted to keep the DEA busy while they brought in the heroin shipment right under their noses—”
Isabel finished his sentence. “And by the time the DEA figured out the body didn’t belong to their agent, that agent would be on a plane to Colombia and living under a new name.” She smiled wryly. “So I’m assuming there never was a mole within the agency.”
“I doubt it,” Trevor replied. “I bet Dane only insinuated that during his last check-in so his supervisors wouldn’t send in more agents once he went AWOL.”