Savage

by Krista Holt

  “Yeah, they have those, but you’ll need the external password generator to unlock them, and they guard those with their lives. I asked about one once, and you would have thought I asked for the nuke arm codes the way they flipped out.” He coughs again.

  “What about Cameron’s personal staff. Maybe Scott?”

  Surprise washes over his features. “You know Scott?”

  “Answer my question.”

  “The only people on Cameron’s staff that I know for sure can access the list are Scott and some hot girl. Dang, what is her name—she came in today. She’s pretty. And she’s nice to me, you know. I think she’s nice to everyone, though.”

  My jaw clenches.

  “It’s like a dead president or something,” he rambles on. “Kennedy? No. It’s-it’s . . .”

  Reagan. The word he’s searching for is Reagan. My gaze jumps to Enzo, who’s focused on the kid.

  He coughs again, spitting out water. “Wait, wait. It’s Reagan. That’s it, Reagan.”

  Enzo’s eyes light with recognition, and his head snaps to me. I hope my face is blank.

  “No one else knows?” I ask.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s it. Are you going to let me go now? I cooperated.”

  “I don’t know yet.” I snap my fingers, pulling Enzo’s gaze. With two fingers, I gesture toward the door. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you,” I tell the intern as I walk to the door with Enzo on my heels. The interior door closes behind me, but we can still observe the kid through a glass window.

  “What do you want to do?” Enzo asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “Call Saul. He should still be in town. Tell him to follow Scott.”

  “What about the girl?”

  Isn’t that the loaded question? What about her?

  “I don’t know,” I say aloud, watching the kid shiver through the glass. “I really don’t think she knows anything.”

  “The kid seems to think she does.”

  “Yeah. He does.”

  “Pillow talk didn’t work?”

  My jaw clenches shut. I swear my teeth creak from the pressure. “Call Saul!”

  “Yeah, okay.” He shuffles away, pulling out his phone.

  I find mine as well, dialing Arnoldo. “Hello?” he answers.

  “Do you have anything else to tell me?” I bark.

  “No,” he says in a hurry. “I told you I would call you if I was able to get anything else.”

  “Arnoldo,” I threaten, “if I find out you held anything back from me, you will regret it until your last breath. The one I will take from you.”

  “Nicola, I swear.” His words run together. “I tried to go in again today and survey the list of subpoenas, but Cameron has barred it from everyone but his staff. I don’t know what else I could possibly do.”

  I let silence speak for me, using it to my advantage.

  “I can try to go in after hours,” he volunteers. “Maybe they’ll leave something behind.”

  “That would be a good idea. Call me as soon as you have something. This is your life on the line too, Arnoldo.”

  “I know. I understand.”

  “Good.” I hang up, cramming the phone back into my pocket. Enzo does the same. “What’d Saul say?”

  He rubs his forehead, looking anywhere but at me. “He’ll follow him and let us know where he is.”

  “Well, there’s that.” I release a heavy sigh. “Let’s get back in there.”

  “Yeah,” he glumly replies.

  My phone rings and I pull it out, seeing Gabriella’s name flashing on the screen. “I have to get this. Don’t let him escape.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  Enzo walks back into the other portion of the warehouse, and the door swings shut behind him.

  “Gabriella, now isn’t a good time.”

  “Nic,” she screeches in my ear, “whatever you said to Daddy worked. Danny just proposed.”

  “Congratulations. I’m happy for you. But I really—”

  She cuts me off. “We’re having a little engagement party tomorrow night, I want you here.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” The sound of water splashing draws my eye to the window. Shit! “I have to go.” I hang up and fling the door open. “What are you doing?” I shout at Enzo. “Let him up! Now!”

  He forces the kid’s head back under the water. “We know who has the information. That girl. We’ll get it from her.”

  “He knows something more,” I shout. “Let him go!”

  He does, releasing the kid’s head, but it’s too late. His head hangs limply in the water. I walk up behind him and lift his head up, my fingers wrapping around his neck to check for a pulse. It isn’t there. He’s dead.

  “What were you thinking?” I yell. “Now we have to bury him!”

  “Saul told me to take care of him.”

  “Since when do you take orders from him?”

  “Since your father told me he doesn’t care who we kill.”

  And there it is. My father is undermining me, having Enzo report back to him without me there. He really doesn’t trust me. The kid’s head still bobs with the motion of the water, lifeless. There’s really nothing I can do for him now.

  I grimace. Even thinking that makes me a bastard with a cold heart. “Fine. Go. Dispose of him. If anyone finds out, it’s your head.”

  “Yeah. Sure thing.”

  “Any other orders from Saul I should be aware of?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not really my place to say anything . . .” He grabs a gray tarp from a box and spreads it out on the floor.

  “Say it anyway.”

  He pulls the kid out of the water, dragging his body to the middle of the tarp. He lets go of the collar of his dress shirt and the body crumples to the ground.

  “We’re all just trying to keep our heads above water here,” he laughs at his pun. “We’re all aware there’s tension at the top. No one wants to pick sides, yet.”

  I look at him, not saying anything. I can’t find the words. Everything is falling apart. Between Reagan and now Saul gunning for me. My grasp on this situation is slipping, and I can’t afford to lose control. There’s too much on the line.

  The kid’s face disappears as Enzo wraps the plastic around the body. I walk away before the remorse flooding through me can show on my face. I can’t show any weakness.

  I retreat to the Mercedes and pull out the burner phone. It’s slow to turn on, but when it does, I call the only number I use this for.

  He doesn’t pick up, so I call again. And again. And again. And again.

  Until he finally answers. “What the hell, Nic?”

  “Garrett, where are you?”

  “I’m in the city. Why?”

  “Things are about to go sideways. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s either this or I’m dead.”

  He curses under his breath. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t even know yet, but it’s going to happen fast.” I watch through the rearview mirror as Enzo kicks open the metal door to the warehouse and exits the building with the now dead intern over his shoulder. He drags open the side door of an older model blue cargo van and throws the body inside.

  “Are we talking murder?” Garrett asks. “No. Never mind, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  “Yeah.” Enzo slams the doors shut and drives off. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Nic, don’t do anything stupid.”

  My hands are tied. I have no other choice. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll cover what I can on my end, but you need to be careful.”

  “Got it.”

  “Just don’t kill anyone.”

  “I’ll try.” I hang up and power down the phone.

  Taking several deep breaths, I try to prepare myself. But it does nothing. I’m still . . . I don’t even know what I am anymore.

  I pull out my other phone, my finger hovering over Reagan’s contact information. I d
on’t press it, though. I have no idea what I would even say. Telling her to run would only confuse her. If she even takes my call.

  With a sigh, my head hits the leather seat, and I close my eyes. I hope God forgives me, because I’ll never forgive myself.

  CHAPTER 36

  Reagan

  “Did you get a chance to look at the list of names?” Scott flags down the bartender for another round, ordering a Crown and Coke for himself and a Manhattan for me.

  We’ve been in the bar of the W for about an hour, drinking and talking in carefully crafted vagueness about the investigation since we’re in public with plenty of open ears.

  “Yeah, I did. I didn’t recognize any names. Not that that means anything since the tip was anonymous.”

  He nods, running a hand through his dark blond hair. “Cameron was fielding phone calls from very pissed off superiors at the FBI earlier. I don’t know what’s going to happen with this.”

  “Do you think—” My phone chimes, distracting me with a text. It’s from Nic.

  I need to talk to you.

  I stare at the words until they blur together. Then I drop the phone, pick up my drink, and drain it. The glass drops to the black marble bar top with a clank, and I cough.

  “You all right there?” Scott pats my back hard.

  “Yeah,” I cough one more time, trying to clear the pipes, “I am.”

  “You want another?”

  “Sure, why not.” My cell chimes again.

  It’s important.

  My hand squeezes around the phone, turning my knuckles white.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Scott slides the new drink into my hand.

  “Breakups are a bitch.”

  He snorts. “Yeah, they are.”

  “You and April?”

  “I don’t know if you could call it a breakup, we weren’t really dating. But we decided not to see each other outside the office.”

  “Sorry.” I swallow a mouthful of whiskey and vermouth.

  “What about you?”

  “This guy I used to know in college. I ran into him, and we reconnected. Briefly.” And then it disintegrated.

  “This type of work isn’t really conducive to healthy relationships.”

  I laugh at the truth in his words. “No, it isn’t.”

  Loud music continues to infiltrate the bar, bass thumping off the walls as we sit here. My phone chimes twice in succession with two more texts.

  I know we said we’d end this, but I need to talk to you.

  I have something I need to say.

  I lock the screen and set the phone down on the bar, pushing it away from me. “What happened with you and April?”

  He takes a sip of his drink, grimacing at the taste. “She wants more than what I am looking for.”

  “Hmmm.” I stir my drink with a black cocktail straw, watching the cherry move around in the liquor.

  “She’s insistent on the whole getting married, having kids, and white picket fence thing.” He sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ll ever want those things, and I didn’t want to waste her time,” he says. “What about you and the guy?”

  “We were never a good fit, but the connection . . . it’s something else.” Insanely powerful.

  “Yeah?” He waits for me to explain.

  I catch my reflection in the beveled mirror behind the bar. My hair hangs down the side of my face, limp. The dark circles under my eyes are impossible to hide. The stress is obvious, and it’s not from work. It’s Nic, or rather, his absence. I don’t want to talk about this. Not now.

  “So, you think we’ll get the guy from the subpoenas?”

  It takes him a second to respond, accepting my redirection. “I sure hope so, otherwise we’ve hit another dead end.”

  My phone beeps again.

  “Who is that?” Scott asks. “Someone important?”

  “The ex.” I open the text.

  Where are you?

  “He not taking the breakup well?”

  I shrug as another text appears on the screen.

  Answer me, please.

  Before I can think it through, I reply.

  At the W with a co-worker.

  He responds instantly.

  I’ll be there in ten minutes.

  “You need to go?” Scott works the glass around in his hands.

  I check the time on my phone. I’m supposed to meet Simmons in an hour. “I think I should.”

  “Okay, then. We’ll do a quick toast and then get out of here.” Scott raises his glass. I slowly lift mine. “To our hard work. Please God, let it be successful.”

  I clink his glass softly. He empties his and sets it on the black bar. I leave mine half-full before signaling the bartender for our checks. I’m sliding into my coat when Nic texts me again.

  Know I love you.

  Uneasiness crawls over me. Something is wrong. The music drops in the background then roars back with heavy drumbeats and a soulful voice warning someone to put the gun down.

  Scott taps me on the shoulder, and I jump.

  “Whoa!” He throws his hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes,” I gasp. “You just surprised me.” I grab my purse and follow him out of the hotel lobby. Cold air hits me full force, and I shiver.

  We walk to the curb. “You don’t have to wait. I’m good, really.” I wrap my coat tighter around me.

  “I don’t mind. I’ve got nothing to go home to.” He pulls his gloves on one hand at a time. “I’m thinking we should probably show up a little early tomorrow on the off chance one of those subpoenas sparks some interest . . .” His voice trails off as he stares at something.

  I look up just in time to see a vehicle careen toward us. Tires squeal as it speeds our way, braking at the last minute, gusting the smell of hot rubber into the night air.

  Scott grabs my arm, pulling me back from the curb as the van stops in front of us. The side door flies open and two men in dark-colored suits jump out. The night casts shadows over their features, distorting them.

  Scott tries to drag me behind him, walking backward as he does, but they keep coming toward us. “Run, Reagan! Run!” Scott pushes me away.

  I take a step back, but I freeze when they grab Scott. Each one grabs an arm and twists it behind his back. His knees drag on the ground as they haul him toward the van. Scott thrashes against them, but they pull him along effortlessly.

  “Run!” he yells again.

  I look around frantically, positive someone is going to intervene. But no one is around. My heart thuds in my chest. My hands shake and my legs won’t cooperate. I take another step back, and then turn around and run, only to hit a wall of solid flesh. The man grabs my upper arms, shaking me like a rattle, snapping my head back.

  “Nice try, sweetheart,” he utters darkly. “You’re coming, too.”

  Oh God. Oh God.

  I shove him, my feet kicking wildly. He doesn’t move but grunts in pain as my shoe connects with his leg. I kick again, hoping for another hit, but it only pisses him off. He jerks me in front of him, dragging me toward the van.

  Oh God. I can’t get in there. I’m as good as dead if I do.

  I yank my arm away and elbow him in the stomach at the same time. He grunts, letting go of me. It’s just a second before he realizes his error, grasping for my coat. I spin, kick off my heels, and break into a headlong run, making it a few feet before my foot catches on the cobblestone sidewalk, and I fall to the ground. My knees hit the hard stone, ripping my tights, and tearing my skin as I skid over the dirty sidewalk.

  “Run,” Scott screams again.

  I push myself up, ignoring the blood and the pain. I get to my feet, ready to run, when he hauls me off the ground, tossing me over his shoulder and grabbing my legs. I pound his back with everything I have, but it does nothing. I scream so hard my voice gives out from the strain.

  “Shut up,” he hisses, trying to wrangle my body, alm
ost dropping me on the way back to the van. He tosses me inside, and I hit Scott, hard. He grunts at the impact. I cry out when my head strikes something blunt, and my vision blurs.

  They pull me farther into the van, and the door slams shut as one of them climbs into the passenger seat. The van lurches forward with heavy acceleration, taking a hard right that sends me skidding across the van. I flail my arms, trying to stay upright.

  Scott sits across from me, his eyes wide and his arms bound behind his back. Silver tape covers his mouth, sending me into a panic. I barely open my lips to breathe when a large hand slaps tape over my mouth.

  A scream rises in my throat. The man grabs my arms roughly, forcing them behind my back. He crosses my wrists and wraps something around them. There’s a zipping noise as it tightens, cutting into my skin.

  Someone shuffles around in the back of the van, moving toward Scott. He tries to check his restraints, but Scott slams his head into the other guy’s face. He howls in pain, punching Scott in the side of his head.

  Blood is pouring from the other guy’s nose. He swears at Scott, punching him again and again, and then he grabs a black bag and forces it over Scott’s head.

  He turns toward me, and I try to move back. He shakes another black bag out and gestures to me to lean forward. I freeze. I can’t breathe. A whimper escapes as I frantically shake my head, trying to scramble backward.

  He stops waiting for me to cooperate, roughly pulling my head forward, yanking the bag over my face. I try to focus on breathing through my nose. Frantically, I inhale as much oxygen as I can, somehow forgetting how to exhale.

  My heartbeat throbs against my skull, filling my ears with the sound of my blood rushing through my veins. I’m shaking, uncontrollably. Sweat is building up underneath my clothes and the heavy weight of my winter coat.

  I don’t understand why this is happening. Why us? There were no less than four other elected officials in that bar. Any one of them would fetch a bigger ransom than two barely-paid staffers. I don’t even have a thousand dollars to my name. This has got to be a mistake.

  “You weren’t supposed to rough-up the girl,” one of them growls. “The boss is not going to be happy about that.”

  It wasn’t a mistake. I sob into the tape.