Playing Dirty

by HelenKay Dimon

  She should also call Anthony but her cell had gone missing and Ford said something about her uncle being questioned. It all ran together until she wondered what was real. If it hadn’t been for the blood on her shirt, she would have chalked the whole afternoon up to a terrible dream and crawled back into bed.

  “Here’s your tea.” Ford appeared in front of her with a steaming mug.

  Rock solid. That’s how she would describe him. He’d worn a permanent frown since pulling her out of the ambulance. Even now he sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her and watched her as if she might disappear if he blinked.

  She had so many questions and knew he had to have even more inside him fighting to get out. Instead of interrogating, he just sat. He rubbed a hand over her knee as she gripped the mug with both hands, letting the warmth seep into her chilled bones.

  He gave her thigh a squeeze and let his hand drop. “You should crawl into bed.”

  That meant giving in and not seeking answers. Even though her eyelids drooped and she’d bet she could curl up on the table and fall dead asleep, there were still too many unanswered questions.

  And her family was scattered and in trouble. “Trent—­”

  “Not tonight, Shay.”

  It was the right answer. Her thoughts were too scrambled to make sense. Even the police gave her a pass and told her to come in tomorrow. She didn’t know if she should be afraid of Trent or the gunmen. Tears welled in her eyes and she fought to hold them in.

  “Hey.” Ford switched to the couch beside her and lifted the mug out of her hands. With his arms wrapped around her, he dragged her back against the couch cushions with a gentle rocking motion. “Your uncle will come over tomorrow. He’s trying to help locate Trent right now.”

  A memory rushed through her brain and she grabbed a fistful of Ford’s T-­shirt in her hands. If she held onto him, he couldn’t disappear like everyone else in her life. “The money.”

  “I don’t care about the money.” He kissed her cheek and lowered her head to his shoulder. “I care about you.”

  Snuggling into his arms and letting him chase the demons away felt right. She wanted to burrow deeper into his shirt and close her eyes. Not let the real world close in, even though she knew it knocked and scratched to get to her.

  “He insisted the gunmen set him up.” For some reason that excuse popped into her brain. Turned it around in her head and realized it didn’t quite make sense.

  “You said he mentioned a toxin.”

  And that was the bigger shock. For days she’d heard about a love affair gone wrong. Then she thought about how hard he worked and how much pressure he put on himself. She figured he was strung out and needed a break. That maybe his mind cracked and time away would help him heal. None of that centered on a toxin.

  The need to know more kept stirring. “Is it all over the news?”

  Ford ran a hand over her hair and pressed soft kisses around the edge of her bandage. “We’re not going to find out.”

  She debated arguing until exhaustion pushed through her in a final wave that made it hard for her to even hold up her head. She decided to fight that battle tomorrow and aim for a much smaller victory. “Did you find my phone?”

  “It’s over at my place.” He threw her a wince. “I admit I took it because I didn’t want you reading the headlines.”

  “Trent could get in touch with me.”

  Ford’s face fell again. “I don’t think he’s that dumb.”

  Trent was anything but, and Ford knew that because she’d told him. Once again her mind went blank when she needed it to reboot. “What does that mean?”

  Ford stood up and held out a hand to her. “You need a shower and bed.”

  “What will you be doing?” So tempting to make a suggestion. He stood there in his usual jeans and black long-­sleeve shirt. Attraction sparked then fizzled again. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to even engage in a long kiss.

  He smiled as if he’d read her thoughts and realized he had to be the grown-­up tonight. “Checking you for a concussion.”

  “Romantic.”

  He extended his hand. “Isn’t it?”

  This time she slipped her hand into his and let him pull her to her feet. Her hands landed on his chest as she wobbled. “Please get my phone.”

  His frown could cut glass. “Shay—­”

  “You can hold it. I just want it in here in case.” She practically slept with the thing. Some might call it an addiction but it made her antsy not to have it nearby.

  Ford glanced at his watch before looking at her again. “Only if you get in the shower.”

  Working up some energy, she leaned in and kissed him. Soft and sweet without much pressure, but she tried.

  She pulled back and shot him a smile. “Deal.”

  He walked out, all his focus on that watch. For some reason that struck her as strange. She didn’t remember him having it on earlier but she guessed he did. But really, she didn’t have the energy to do much but watch him walk. Even in her haze she loved seeing him move.

  Now that she was up, she did some walking of her own. The kitchen was right there. There was no reason she couldn’t pop in, maybe find the chips. Eating junk food might refuel her. Had she thought about it, she would have had Ford stop on the way home, but—­

  “You have no idea who he is, do you?”

  She spun around at the sound of the familiar male voice. “Trent?”

  He stood in her doorway with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Where’s your sweater?”

  The words barely registered. “What?”

  Seeing him in her house so soon after everything, knowing Ford was right next door and ­people were looking for him—­it constituted an emotional pile-­up. The kind that made a person want to curl into her pillow and never go outside again.

  “The one you had on today. Come on, I don’t have much time.” He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The bolt came next.

  “I don’t . . .” She watched him pick up and throw down Ford’s jacket and sweater. “Maybe the police have it.”

  Trent flipped her purse to the side. He was on the hunt for something and she had no idea what, but the drug theory came around for a second time.

  He scanned the room, then his eyes widened. “There it is.”

  Pushing past her, he went to the bar stool and grabbed her cardigan off the seat. She didn’t even remember how it got there. She had no idea how he knew she wore it today. He’d never been a big women’s fashion person.

  He ran his hand over the material, clamping his hand on it as if searching for something. Turning the one pocket inside out, he dumped out a plastic container with vials of liquid resting in individual slots. The whole case was half the size of a cell phone.

  She took a step toward him, trying to figure out what she was looking at and how it got in her pocket. “What is that?”

  He held it up and sort of waved it at her. “My insurance.”

  That had to fit in somehow. Money. He’d needed cash. Her mind skipped to that topic and she glanced at the sweater looking for signs of the envelope weighing down one pocket. Did he take . . . did she give it to him? She didn’t remember.

  But she remembered the headache. “You’re not making any sense You hit me and—­”

  “I created the toxin. My boss wanted to take credit, but it was me. He made all these plans for it and I played along. But as soon as I stopped, armed men came after me to get it back.”

  None of that made sense. Not to her. Not with what she knew. “You said you were set up.”

  “Yes.”

  They weren’t saying the same thing. His own version put the guilt, at least part of it, squarely on him. She couldn’t believe he didn’t hear that. But that was only one of many inconsistencies. Despite her injury and t
he exhaustion, she’d heard the whispers. The policemen at the scene outside the ambulance had talked, and all the blame seemed to land on Trent.

  “How did you get away from the museum?” That part wasn’t just fizzy, it was gone. “They’re saying you threatened ­people.”

  “Is the ‘they’ your new boyfriend?” Trent shook his head. “Damn it, Shay. He’s dangerous. Tell me despite the state college degree you’re smart enough to see that.”

  The odd shot pummeled her. He’d never talked about her school before. Never suggested she was dumb or beneath him. She’d heard him put on the entitled act with others but she’d been spared. Until now.

  But his comment raised a bigger question. Ford was right next door and would be back any minute, but Trent had never met him. She didn’t know how he even knew she was dating someone. “How do you know I’m dating?”

  “He’s been stalking you to get close to me.”

  Each accusation sounded crazier than the last. “He works in computers.”

  “Get away from her, Trent.”

  Shay glanced over and felt the blood drain from her head. Her previous case of dizziness morphed. Her head actually moved in circles now. Her computer hottie stood there with a gun and looking far too comfortable aiming it at Trent’s head.

  Her world collided and the questions piled up. “Ford?”

  “How did you get by the bolt?” Trent asked, sounding more intrigued than angry.

  “Had a feeling you’d stop by, so I disabled it. Removed the internal mechanism so you’d think you locked it.”

  “Do you hear that, Shay? See the weapon?” Trent leaned in close to her and pointed at Ford. “That’s what I’m talking about. He’s an assassin or a mercenary.”

  Ford’s expression never changed. He wore the same unreadable look that made her twitchy even on a normal day, and this was not one of those. “You can stop being dramatic now.”

  “He’s not who he says he is,” Trent said. “He hunts ­people, kills ­people, and now he’s come for me.”

  It sounded ridiculous, but Ford wasn’t laughing. She wanted him to break out with a comment about how this was nonsense.

  First, he needed to explain the gun.

  Desperation clawed at her insides. She’d gone from sleepy to wide-­awake and walking in a nightmare. “Ford, tell him what you do for a living.”

  “I doubt his name is even Ford.” Trent’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you working for?”

  “Who are you working with, Trent? There’s no way you did all of this by yourself.”

  Did what? They kept talking and Ford wouldn’t answer her or look at her. He’d gone from the World’s Greatest Boyfriend to a stranger in the last minute. “I don’t get this. The toxin, the museum. You know about all of it?”

  Ford’s gaze bounced to her for a second then back to Trent. “Step away from him, Shay.”

  She needed answers. She wanted to understand. This was the man she’d been weaving a future around. He played in every vision she had.

  “I don’t—­”

  “Damn it, Shay, right now. Step back.” Ford reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her closer to his side. “He attacked you once today already.”

  Trent dropped the container into his pocket. She thought he might have edged closer to the door. He no longer stood near the kitchen. Now he was within bolting range of the exit.

  “Your boyfriend was there. He showed up after you passed out.”

  “After you hit her,” Ford shot back.

  She scoured her memory about the museum. The gunmen and the tourists played in her head. If Ford had been there she would have seen him . . . right?

  “This doesn’t make any sense.” Her life was unraveling in front of her. Every aspect of what she thought she knew turned out to be wrong.

  She tried to grab the pieces and hold them together. She loved this man and it was all disintegrating around her.

  “You’re going in this time, Trent,” Ford said. “I don’t know why you were dumb enough to come back here, but this is over.”

  Trent’s smile could only be described as feral. “No.”

  “Looks like you need to learn the hard way.”

  A loud boom echoed through her condo. She heard the noise, and then the room flipped into slow motion. Her gaze switched from Ford’s outstretched arm and the gun in his hand to Trent. As she watched, his mouth dropped open and he screamed with rage as he dropped to the floor.

  She couldn’t speak. Her body stood frozen as red stained Trent’s upper thigh and spilled through the fingers he pressed there.

  “Maybe now you’ll listen.”

  Before she could scream—­and one was trapped in her throat—­a figure appeared in the doorway. Loomed was a better word. With massive shoulders and a gun of his own.

  “Looks like your plan worked.” The man towered over Trent where he rocked back and forth on the floor.

  She recognized the man from the museum. “Get away from him.”

  Ford caught her in mid-­protective lunge. “Shay—­”

  She squirmed out of his grasp and stepped away from him, moving back as he shifted forward. Her hands went up to ward him off. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I need you to—­”

  She shook her head and immediately regretted the sudden movement. “Who are you?” She wanted to ask both of them, but only Ford mattered.

  “I am the same man you’ve known for weeks.”

  In her mind she’d already tied her life to his. She’d spun sexy thoughts about them being together and growing closer. She’d actually believed he might tell her he loved her one day soon.

  She’s been a stupid idiot. She could see it now. The lack of anything personal in his house. The rooms that looked more spare and clean than most hotels. All the travel and how he moved.

  He oozed confidence. Probably because he knew he could kill anyone who got in his way. He hadn’t even hesitated to threaten Trent. Her gaze went to Trent and she started to drop to her knees to check on him.

  “Shay, listen to me.” Ford, or whatever his name was, stepped forward and reached for her again.

  She dodged this advance just like the other. “No.”

  She meant to help Trent. His wailing cry finally wound down as his head fell back. She didn’t know if he’d passed out or if something else had happened.

  Ford pulled her attention back to him. “You have to—­”

  “No.” Her mind screamed with the need to run. Her insides turned icy and she wrapped her arms around her body and rocked. “No, no, no.”

  The other guy dropped to the floor and wrapped something around Trent’s bleeding leg. “Ford,” he said, “maybe ease up for now.”

  Her attention zipped back to the guy from the museum. “You’re one of the gunmen. A killer.”

  Ford stepped in front of her and blocked her view. “He’s with me.”

  As with everything else today, that didn’t explain anything. She turned on the newcomer because concentrating on trying to get the full story kept her mind off the shredding in her chest. “How did you know to get here so fast?”

  “The tracker.”

  “What is that?” She waved a hand in the air and wished it had the power to sweep every awful thought away. “Forget it. I’m calling the police.”

  She reached for her land line but Ford got there first. “No.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not anymore.” Not since she fell in love with him and he kicked it back at her.

  Love. Despair washed through her, pushing out all the good thoughts and happy memories. Every muscle ached. Her body felt limp, as if flu symptoms beset it and her strength drained from inside her.

  Ford clenched his jaw as if fighting back a rough case of fury. “You might be pissed off, but you are coming
with us. You and Trent.”

  Why would she ever go near him again? And trust . . . that was gone. He stomped it out, erased all the good, in just a few minutes.

  Before she could say anything, Ford tapped his ear and started talking. “We need medical transport and a clean-­up crew. I have the vials and Trent.”

  The words tumbled over her and the reality smacked her square in the gut. She had no idea who Ford really was. She finally found the words to go with the question bouncing around in her head. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”

  He finally lowered his weapon. “So I can prove we’re the good guys.”

  She shook her head. “Too late.”

  A half hour later Ford stood in one of the Warehouse’s back rooms, watching Shay. Sitting at a conference table, she looked small and vulnerable. The bandage didn’t help.

  He wanted to storm in there or balance his head against the screen—­anything to be closer to her. After the quiet car ride over he was desperate for any reaction. Hell, he’d be fine with angry. He’d welcome it. It was as if she’d emotionally rammed into a wall and had nothing left but pieces. The indifference, treating him like a stranger, chipped away at his control.

  Of course, that’s what he was to her right now. A stranger. He’d set that up and didn’t tell her fast enough. Trent always seemed to zig when he expected him to zag.

  Ward came in and stood beside Ford. They both watched her. “She just sits and stares at the wall.”

  “Do you blame her?” Ford silently begged her to at least blink.

  He rubbed that area of his chest that ached. The dead center where he felt as if he’d been kicked with a near-­killing blow.

  “Why did Trent go back to her condo?” Ward asked. “It was pretty risky.”

  “He needed the vials. Where are they, by the way?”

  “Locked up.”

  Of course they were. Ward would have them in the deep freeze or destroyed in no time. “Something Trent said to Shay made it sound like he planned to double-­cross Matt and whoever else is in on this.” In the end the kid’s ego and disregard for other ­people’s greed, tripped him up. “But he needed the vials to do that.”