by Katie Reus
Stop her, he texted back furiously.
His phone buzzed again with a new message. Cant. Protected. No way around it.
That was annoyingly cryptic but Neal understood the need for it now. He still wasn’t sure if the police had anything on him and he hadn’t been able to check his personal bank accounts. He couldn’t use his phone because if he did and the cops were onto him, they’d be tracking him. And if he logged on to an account they were watching, he was certain they’d be able to track him. As soon as he could sneak away, he’d be calling his regular bank and checking his funds there.
What do they know? he texted.
No news yet.
Damn it. He tapped his finger against the dresser for a moment, raw energy humming through him in jagged spikes of panic as he tried to think about his next move. He could ask his contact to check his accounts for him, but if he did that it could be bad for multiple reasons. Neal didn’t want to risk giving his personal info to the man and if the accounts were being watched, he didn’t want to reveal his link to his best source of help right now. He let out a savage curse and texted back. Keep me updated.
Fuck it. He should just cut and run. His gut told him to get out of town. He had a couple burners and could check his accounts from one of them or from a local coffee shop. They all had free Wi-Fi. Even if he was being tracked he’d be able to get in and out of a coffee shop in no time, especially in a crowded shopping area. Yes, that was exactly what he’d do.
Shoving his phone in his pocket, he grabbed his ball cap and ascended the short set of stairs from the stateroom into the galley.
And froze at the sight of the tattooed man leaning casually against the long, narrow island.
Neal swallowed hard, but pasted on a smile as he stepped into the brightly lit room. It attached to the living room and even with all the blinds drawn, there were so many windows that the afternoon light streamed through the cracks, illuminating everything. “Alexei, surprised to see you here.” Neal wondered if that was even the Russian mob enforcer’s name. The first time he’d met him had been six months ago. The man had said to call him Alexei, not that it was his actual name. Then he’d broken Neal’s pinky and ring finger just because he could.
The man didn’t move, just watched Neal with those creepy, green eyes that reminded him of a deadly predator. “You have a payment coming up.” There was just the slightest accent in his voice, barely discernable, as if he was trying to lose it.
“Thursday, I know.” Which was why he needed to make a decision fast. Stay or leave. It was Tuesday afternoon so there wasn’t much time.
“Thinking of leaving town?”
He made a scoffing sound. “No.”
“I hear your partner is dead and that you killed him.”
Neal could feel the blood drain from his face. “What?”
“Hmm.” The Russian made the non-committal sound as he reached for one of the knives in the Cuisinart knife block set on the island. Instead of pulling one out, he just ran a finger—a gloved one—along the row of handles. “We do not care about your problems. All my boss cares about is what you owe him. He has been very generous giving you a payment plan.”
Neal had the irrational urge to snort in derision, but he wasn’t suicidal. The plan was anything but generous. He was getting raped on the interest. The only reason the Russians had agreed to let him have a payment plan—because they did nothing without getting something.
“I’m here to let you know that if you go to prison, your debt is not erased. If you try to negate on your deal, you won’t make it to prison. And if you try to run…” He trailed off, pinning him with that deadly gaze, and smiled. It was like looking at a great white shark smiling. “I don’t enjoy many things about my job, but I will enjoy hurting you.”
“Taylor Arenas stole my money,” Neal blurted, immediately wondering if he’d just signed his own death warrant. Admitting he didn’t have the cash was stupid, but if the Russians had found him here, he knew they’d find him if he ran. It was just a matter of time. Sure he had his boat, but that was part of Neal’s backup plan if he had to go on the run. He couldn’t offer it up to the Russians.
The man brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his black, leather jacket. The guy always wore black, like the grim fucking reaper. Probably because blood wouldn’t show up on the color as well. The thought made Neal start to shake, but he tried to hide it and crossed his arms over his chest.
“That concerns me how?” Alexei sounded bored.
“The money I’d earmarked for your boss… She stole it.”
The Russian shrugged. “You owe us. Not her. And it’s not my problem if you can’t hold on to your money. You have less than two days. Bring the cash by noon. You know the place. If you can’t make the drop, just kill yourself. Don’t make me chase you. Oh, I wouldn’t go back to your place if I were you. The police are watching it.” Without another glance, the man left, barely making a sound.
As soon as the enforcer was gone, Neal clutched the island counter with both hands, using it for support as he dragged in a long breath. If the Russians knew the police were after him they obviously had a contact, or more likely multiple contacts, in the police department. And if the cops were definitely watching his place, Neal was absolutely fucked. They wanted him for questioning because they had something on him—knew he was guilty. They wouldn’t waste resources otherwise.
Unless he could get that money back. If he could get it back, he could pay off the Russians and disappear. Not his original plan, but he was willing to adapt. Because he couldn’t look over his shoulder every night waiting for Alexei or someone like him to jump out of the shadows and slice him to ribbons. The man would make him suffer for days, weeks, make him eat his own dick. Neal had heard the rumors of his viciousness and didn’t want to end up on the receiving end of Alexei’s wrath.
His only option was to go after Taylor himself, terrify her enough that he forced her into giving him his money back. He didn’t mind exacting revenge against her. Not at all. The thought of hurting her, making her suffer, was just icing on the cake.
Yes, he would get the money one way or another.
Chapter 9
“My brain hurts,” Taylor muttered from her seat next to Roman. They were in the back seat of one of the Powers Group’s SUV’s with Escobar driving them.
Roman didn’t blame her. After spending the last few hours at the police station with Detective Durnin, he knew she had to be exhausted. “We don’t have to go to Powers Group. I’m sure someone can bring you all your stuff,” he murmured. It was going to be hard for her to go there, something he wasn’t sure she fully realized.
“He’s right. This isn’t necessary,” Escobar agreed.
Taylor shook her head once, the stubborn set of her jaw making it clear she was doing what she wanted. “No. I want to.”
Roman leaned back against the seat and didn’t push her. Taylor needed her cell phone and other belongings left in her car at the company parking garage but he had a feeling she wanted to go to her place of employment for another reason. Maybe to face it after what had happened, he wasn’t sure.
They hadn’t had any privacy since heading to the police station. He’d waited there with her while she answered questions—sometimes the same ones over and over—then filled out her official report. They’d also taken pictures of her wound and added it to the file the hospital in Vegas had sent over and the bloody clothes she’d given them. He’d insisted on changing her bandage and had made sure she took her antibiotics.
He found he liked taking care of her, looking out for her. Her words from earlier, that she wasn’t looking for anything serious, kept playing in his head all day. Annoying the shit out of him. He knew he should be fucking thrilled she didn’t want anything serious. But the knowledge rankled him in a way he didn’t understand.
Unable to stop himself, his gaze strayed to her profile, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. She’d pulled her long, dark hair into
a ponytail. It was mostly straight but there were a few natural waves to it that gave her a sexy, just-got-back-from-the-beach look. Her blue eyes seemed even brighter in the interior of the SUV, shocking against her bronze skin. Skin he wanted to stroke his fingers and tongue over, nibbling on her jaw, kissing his way down the long column of her neck, before burying his face between her breasts. The shirt his brother had given her had a V-neck and even though she was petite, the woman was top heavy.
Something he could definitely appreciate.
Taylor delicately cleared her throat, making him jerk his gaze upward. Her lips twitched as she raised one of her eyebrows.
He shrugged unapologetically and reached for her hand, linking his fingers through hers. He didn’t care that she’d caught him checking her out. Soon he planned to check out every inch of her naked body—and actually appreciate it while she wasn’t passed out and injured.
“The building’s mostly empty,” Escobar said, his voice making both of them divert their attention to the front.
Roman bent down and looked through the windshield at the partially lit building they were approaching. Ten stories, Taylor had told him. “What’s the security like?”
“We’re on virtual lockdown, all the exits secured. All keycards have been deactivated for the night. If there’s an emergency anyone can call me and gain access, but with everything going on, I didn’t want anyone coming in late or Neal somehow gaining access through someone else’s card.”
Taylor straightened next to Roman, her body pulling taut. “Why would he want access to the building?”
Escobar shrugged and shot them a glance in the rearview mirror as he pulled up to a closed gate for the parking garage. “Any number of reasons. There are two uniformed police officers in the building doing a methodical search looking for any evidence of the weapon used to…the weapon used. When Neal was tested for GSR he had some on his clothing, but there wasn’t the spray of blowback one would associate with recently firing a weapon. Which tells me he changed clothes and probably took a shower. Unless he managed to get the evidence out of the building before the cops showed up—and the timeline of Hugh’s death and the entry/exit logs from our system don’t allow for it—then he had to have stashed the clothes somewhere inside.”
“But he’s guilty, the cops seemed pretty sure of that.” A tremor threaded through Taylor’s voice, making Roman want to wring Neal Lynch’s neck.
“Yeah, there’s no doubt he is.” Escobar rolled down his window and punched a code into the keypad before the gate raised.
On instinct, Roman glanced behind them again. He’d been scanning their surroundings since they’d left the PD. They still had an escort behind them, with three Powers Group Security guys, but Roman didn’t know them and he didn’t trust anyone where Taylor’s safety was concerned. Except maybe Escobar. From what he’d seen of the guy, he liked him. More importantly, the man moved like he was trained. And the local PD trusted him. Roman planned to check him out more thoroughly, but his internal alarm wasn’t going off around this guy and that counted for a hell of a lot. He always trusted his instinct.
“But,” the man continued as he steered into the garage, “I wouldn’t put it past that bastard to try anything for his defense. With your testimony, if it even goes to trial, and the evidence, it’s pretty much a closed case, but they don’t want to give him any room for a defense. If the weapon and his clothes are found, I doubt it’ll even go to trial. It wouldn’t make sense for him when he could take a deal.”
“A deal?” Now she just sounded pissed.
Escobar snorted. “Yeah, a deal as in pleading down to a hundred years over a couple hundred. Once he’s caught he won’t see the outside of a prison again. Hugh had way too many powerful friends and Neal is going to burn.”
“Good. Hey, where did Hugh’s SUV come from?” Taylor asked suddenly before her eyes went wide.
Roman stiffened next to her. He knew she’d taken the SUV but hadn’t told the cops she’d ditched it. She’d more or less avoided that topic and they’d been more concerned with the shooting and finding Neal than anything else. Arresting him was their top priority now.
Escobar snorted. “I know Hugh disabled all his GPS locators but I’ve got trackers on all company vehicles. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t have much choice because part of my job is to keep all executives safe. Man, I’m going to miss him,” the head of security muttered before pulling into an empty parking space.
“Me too,” Taylor said quietly, her fingers tightening in Roman’s. “When’s the…funeral? I didn’t want to ask at the police station.”
“Saturday. And I’ve taken care of everything. You’ll need to talk to his attorney about some stuff he left you and there will be a shitload of things to deal with here, but I figured the least I could do was plan his funeral. He had pretty specific instructions.” He turned off the engine and sat there for a moment. “How’d you get out of the city anyway?”
Now it was Taylor’s turn to snort. “None of your concern. Thank you for taking care of everything, but let me know what I can do. I want to help.”
He swiveled in the seat to look at both of them. “You can take some time off. Two weeks at least.”
Roman liked that assessment. Taylor had been through a lot and whether she realized it or not, seeing that kind of violence up close and personal would have an effect on her. Maybe not right away but it would eventually.
“I’m not—”
“You are, and I’m not asking. According to the by-laws I’m the interim CEO with Neal and Hugh gone. At least until they can restructure. Now come on, let’s get your stuff and get you out of here.” He was out of the vehicle and had shut the driver’s door before Taylor could respond with more than a sputter of indignation.
“Can you believe that?” she snapped, more to herself than Roman, he was sure.
Even though Roman agreed with Escobar, he kept his mouth shut. “Let’s get your stuff then get out of here. I want to see you naked again.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and looked at him, full-on, not the half-glances she’d been giving him since they’d gotten off the plane and had been dealing with the police all day. “What?”
“I want to bury my face between your legs and eat you out until you pass out from sheer exhaustion.” The words were blunt and he got the exact response he’d been hoping for.
Her cheeks flamed crimson and she stared at him wide-eyed, all traces of her annoyance at Escobar and the situation gone. Her breathing had kicked up a notch and her pupils were dilated as she watched him. Oh yeah, she liked that idea a lot.
Which was good because he’d been thinking about it all damn day. Actually he’d been thinking about it since pretty much the moment she’d tried to knock him in the head with that vodka bottle.
“I know what you’re doing,” she finally murmured. “Trying to distract me.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Distract you with the truth.”
She blinked, sucking in another deep breath. Then she leaned in, almost as if she couldn’t help herself, before stopping and pulling back. “Let’s get this over with then you better make good on that promise.”
Heat surged through him at her response, but he didn’t answer. It was taking all his control to keep a tight lid on his lust for her. He opened his door and got out first, surveying the company’s security group. According to Escobar they all had military experience and had been with the company for at least three years. Escobar trusted them but that didn’t mean Roman had to.
“Your car hasn’t been touched,” Escobar said, nodding at the two-door car a few spots down.
“Really?” The surprise in Taylor’s voice mirrored Roman’s thoughts.
The man shrugged. “It wasn’t part of the crime scene and personally,” he looked over their shoulder to where the other men stood before lowering his voice a fraction, “I think the cops here did a shitty job until Detective Durnin took over. They did comb over your office though
, but didn’t take anything.”
Her mouth pulled into a thin line as she shook her head. “Because there’s nothing to take,” she muttered as she headed to her car and opened the driver’s side door.
“She needs extra security for tonight—at least,” Roman said quietly to the other man. They were heading back to her place after this stop so she could pack up her clothes and whatever else she needed. Escobar had already arranged for her to stay at one of the company’s executive condos—under a false name.
Tomorrow Roman planned to find somewhere else for Taylor to stay other than the condo, but for a few hours tonight it would do. With Neal gone and the man who’d shot at him still unknown, he wanted her somewhere completely unrelated to Powers Group.
Escobar nodded. “I know. The building itself is secure but I’ll send you all the schematics. And I’ve got a four-man team I trust who will be standing guard directly outside the condo and in the lobby. None of them have ever worked directly with Lynch,” he added, as Roman was about to ask for their resumes. “This is a big company, but these are my most trusted guys. They’re all pissed about Hugh. And, as a precaution, none of them have the access code to get into the condo either. You’ll be able to change it once you’re both inside so that not even I know it. If someone breaches it, the police will be contacted immediately.”
Escobar had already told him that Lynch actually knew about the condo, but it was secure—all of the company owned condos had been built with security in mind—and as long as he didn’t have the access code, it was safer than a hotel or Taylor’s place. Plus Lynch would have no reason to suspect she’d be staying there.
“Can you send me the files—just employee pictures and names—of any of your guys not working the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours?” Roman knew it was a big request and Escobar didn’t owe him anything but he had to ask.
The man’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “You think one of my guys came after her?”