Dash of Peril

by Lori Foster

  “Cannon.” Breathing hard, the kid stopped in front of him. “You told me to let you know...”

  Forgetting the icons from the fight industry, Cannon knelt down. This particular kid was only ten, and short, and he looked like he’d run the entire way. “Take a breath, Leo.”

  The boy inhaled sharply, blew out fast and said, “There’s a black car parked down the street from her house.”

  Ice trickled down his spine. His world closed in. “Four doors?”

  Leo nodded hard.

  Slowly, Cannon stood. “Did you see anyone in it?”

  “No. It’s empty.” He rubbed his nose. “Looks like a ’spensive car, though.”

  With a hand on the boy’s head, Cannon said, “Thanks. Leo. I’ll check it out. Why don’t you go tell Armie to give you a snack and drink? He’s in back. Tell him it’s on me. Got that?”

  Nodding, Leo ran off to the back room to find Armie.

  Cannon turned...and almost ran into Havoc. Damn, but he’d forgotten all about him. “Shit. I’m sorry. Seriously. But I gotta run.”

  Instead of looking insulted, Havoc asked, “Trouble?”

  “Maybe. Not sure. But—”

  “You have to check.” Simon nodded and handed him a card. “Give me a call early next week. We’ll work out the details.”

  Cannon paused long enough to say, “This is really happening?”

  “Damn, I hope so.” Simon had an inexhaustible humor. “If it’s not, Drew will be pissed.”

  Havoc added, “And you definitely don’t want to piss off Drew.”

  No, he didn’t. “Thanks. I’ll call first thing Monday.” Already unlacing his gloves, Cannon broke into a jog. He had to change out of his sweat-soaked shorts, but he wouldn’t take the time to shower. Uneasiness dug in and refused to go away no matter how he tried to tell himself that everything was probably fine, that there were probably plenty of black cars in the area.

  After he stepped into his jeans, he pulled out his cell and called Yvette. No answer.

  She could be showering. She might—

  “Hello?”

  Slowly, Cannon straightened. Damn it, he didn’t know how, but he heard it in her voice, and that gentled his. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  God. His thighs tensed. “I’m coming over.”

  “No!” And then, more quietly, she said, “No, really. Grandpa is sleeping and I...I have stuff to do.”

  Bullshit. Yvette looked at him like he walked on water. If no one coerced her, she’d want him there.

  Every fucking time, no matter what.

  Trying for calm control, he said, “Yvette, now listen to me. I’m going to—”

  “I need to go now. Thanks for calling.”

  The line went silent, sending the queerest sort of panic clawing through him. Shoving his feet into his shoes, Cannon called the bar. He knew he should get hold of Logan or Reese, but he knew Rowdy’s number by heart. On his way out he snagged a jacket, but forgot to grab the stocking cap he often wore.

  Rowdy’s wife, Avery, answered the call. He said only, “Get me Rowdy. Quick.”

  A second later, Rowdy said, “What’s wrong?”

  Cannon didn’t bother with long explanations. “Something’s wrong at Yvette’s. I’m heading there now. Can you send Logan and Reese?”

  To his credit, Rowdy didn’t question him. “Will do. And Cannon? Watch your ass, okay?”

  “Thanks.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket. It would take him less than ten minutes to reach the house Yvette shared with her grandpa.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MARGO PAUSED AT THE DOOR without knocking. They were ten minutes late—a delay that couldn’t be helped. She hated leaving Oliver after he’d been sick, so she’d spent extra time coddling him, ensuring he felt better and understood that he’d been returned home to familiar surroundings.

  She especially regretted arguing with Dash.

  The weekend had been so wonderful that the intrusion of reality seemed doubly harsh. It threw her off, making her testier than she should have been.

  Right now, standing on the concrete porch with the hot sun overhead, her frustration level hit an all-time high.

  Sensing a problem, she turned to gaze up at Dash. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait in the car?”

  Dark eyes direct, he said, “Positive.” He stood very close to her back, reminding her of all they’d shared.

  “Now stop stalling.” To preempt any further discussion on it, he reached past her to rap on the door.

  Disquiet growing, Margo chewed her bottom lip and looked around the area. “Something’s not right.”

  Dash kept a hand on her shoulder. “What do you think it is?”

  All the blinds were drawn, blocking the windows. Not unthinkable given what Tipton and Yvette had gone through and their desire for privacy. Shaking her head, Margo listened but heard nothing, no ruckus from inside, no whispered conversations. “I don’t know. I just feel it.”

  Dash rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought maybe it was just me.” His hand slid down to her upper arm, intent, she knew, on moving in front to shield her.

  From behind them, Cannon said, “Why are you here?”

  Margo turned in time to see him bound up the steps. Without his usual hat, his jacket open, he looked hot—in more ways than one. “Cannon. I didn’t hear you.”

  “I didn’t want you to.” He’d obviously rushed, but still wasn’t breathing heavy. “Did Yvette call you? What’s going on?”

  “She wanted to meet to talk.”

  His light blue eyes burned bright with anger. “Something’s wrong.”

  Dash searched the area. “We were just thinking the same thing.”

  The door opened, and they all three turned, Cannon stepping up front.

  Her face pale, a wild pulse racing in her throat, Yvette stood there in something akin to shock. “Cannon.”

  “Yeah, me.”

  It surprised Margo how furious he sounded when she’d never heard him even raise his voice.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Sickly, maybe even a little desperate, Yvette shook her head. “Nothing. I just...” She tried for a smile and failed. Looking past Cannon, she said to Margo, “I thought maybe you weren’t coming after all.”

  Margo studied her and knew, down deep in her gut, that Yvette wasn’t alone. Cannon was right; something was seriously wrong.

  She could handle it. She was trained for this. But damn it, she did not need Dash or Cannon caught in the same trap.

  Her smile was more successful than Yvette’s, but then she’d had more practice. “I’m so sorry that we’re late. My cat got sick in the car and we had a mess to clean up.” Turning, she looked up at Dash. “Yvette and I might need to talk awhile. Why don’t you and Cannon—”

  “Hell, no,” Cannon said.

  Dash was more subtle. He stared into her eyes, and she knew, damn it, she knew he understood what she was asking.

  And still he refused.

  He gave one small shake of his head. “Sorry, no.”

  Cannon said, “Let me in.”

  Yvette’s eyes went glassy. “No. No, I’m... I called Lieutenant Peterson. I need to talk with her.”

  Cannon snorted, put a hand flat on the door and shoved it open to search the room. Arms around herself, Yvette stepped back and away from him.

  Drawing her gun, Margo whispered to Dash, “It’s a trap.”

  He tried to stay in front of her. “I figured.” Ignoring Yvette, he, too, looked around. Voice as low as hers had been, he said, “Also figured you wouldn’t leave her.”

  And that meant he wouldn’t leave, either?

  Cannon glanced a
t her gun, at how Yvette stood off to the side shaking, and murmured, “I’m glad I told Rowdy to send in the troops.”

  Margo was glad he had, too. She didn’t see Tipton; his easy chair was empty. She glanced to either side of the narrow living room, but saw no place for thugs to hide.

  The kitchen, then.

  It opened both to a dining room and to the living room. You could literally circle from the front door to the kitchen, into the dining room, the living room and back to the front door again.

  Cannon took a step toward Yvette but she backed up, farther and farther until she stood in the dining room. “I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tipton, holding his ribs, limped painfully out of the kitchen first. “She didn’t have a choice, Cannon.” Two men came out behind him.

  They stood back, using Tipton and Yvette as shields. They each held lethal guns, but the darker man—the one who’d tailed them—also kept a big knife pressed close to Tipton’s ribs. Judging by the renewed pain on the older man’s face he’d already suffered a few fresh blows.

  Margo studied both the thugs. Neither Dash nor Cannon said a word, but she noticed Dash separating a little, spreading out, dividing the target. She wasn’t surprised. Dash had proven himself to be both intuitive and intelligent.

  She prayed Logan and Reese would arrive in time to keep them safe.

  “Put the gun down, bitch,” the dark man said. “Now, before I gut the old man.”

  She had another gun in her purse. Best to play it calm for right now. Finger off the trigger, she held up her hands and slowly lowered the gun to a side table—within easy reach if she got a single opportunity.

  “You,” he said to Dash, “that’s far enough. Take another step and I promise I’ll make you very sorry.”

  The bald guy cackled maniacally.

  To keep them talking, and therefore distracted, Margo gestured between them. “You two aren’t brothers, so let’s see...” Finger to her mouth, she gave them each due attention, then pointed to the hulk with the goatee. “You were ordered to tail us, so you must be the hired muscle.”

  His flinty gaze never blinked. It was so probing, so icy, she could almost feel his hatred.

  Ignoring that for the moment, she looked at the balding man, who couldn’t stop snickering like a demented brat. “So that must make you a brother. But obviously you’re not the brains behind this circus, so where is the other one?”

  A laugh sounded—and kerosene flooded the floor, washing around Tipton’s and Yvette’s feet.

  The girl went rigid, making the balding fool snicker louder.

  Out stepped the third man. He looked...inconsequential. Average. Like any other middle-aged guy on the street.

  Until he smiled.

  Why couldn’t the loonies just look loony and make her job easier?

  “That would be me.” He held a lighter that he repeatedly flicked. With fumes in the air, that worried Margo. “I’m the mastermind, thank you.”

  She lifted a brow. “Right, if you can call a deranged sicko a mastermind.” Just how combustible was kerosene?

  Dash shifted—and from one heartbeat to the next, the main guy went ballistic. “Step away from her, right now!”

  When Dash hesitated, the guy clubbed Tipton in the gut, making him groan and almost fall to his knees. Only the bearded guy kept Tipton on his feet.

  “That’s not necessary,” Dash said. “You’re giving me mixed directions. He told me not to move, and now you’re telling me to move.”

  “I’m the boss.”

  “Okay, okay.” Placating, Dash held up his hands and took a step away from her. “No problem.”

  So much anger radiated off of Dash that it worried Margo. To anyone who didn’t know him, it might not be noticeable. He looked calm, collected, but alert.

  Margo did know him, though, and she saw that he kept his composure with a strict and enviable discipline.

  “Over there,” the man said, gesturing toward a wooden dining chair that had been placed in the far corner of the living room. “Take a seat. Now.”

  His gaze constantly burning over the three men, Dash walked over and seated himself.

  “Good, good.” The bossy one handed nylon hand ties to Yvette. “You’re going to fasten his hands behind him to the chair rails. But first...” Grinning, he poured more kerosene on her legs, her feet, soaking her jeans up to her knees.

  Screeching, she struggled to move away, high-stepping, recoiling, but he locked an arm around her, holding her tight, the lighter in his hand pressing into her stomach.

  The brother giggled and wiggled as if the terror excited him.

  Only the muscleman stayed silent and deadly, his ebony gaze going steadily back and forth from Dash, Cannon and Margo, his gun raised, his finger on the trigger.

  That one, she decided, wanted a reason to kill. The gunshot, however, would draw notice. And if he tried it, well, she had her own gun within reach and—

  “Toby,” the main man said, “if she moves even an inch, shoot her.”

  Eyes narrowing in satisfaction, Toby nodded.

  She had one name now. Margo wanted the other names. She wanted to be able to address them more casually. The more familiar she could make things, the better her chances.

  The head guy pushed Yvette toward Dash, saying, “Hurry it up or your grandpa will pay.”

  Stumbling, trailing kerosene everywhere, Yvette rushed over to Dash.

  “It’s okay,” Dash said softly. “You’re doing great.” He put his hands behind him.

  It was a bad time for Margo’s heart to expand, but that didn’t stop it from happening. God love the man for reassuring Yvette.

  “You see, bitch,” said the head honcho, “I know you’re still armed. I know you’re a cop. I know everything about you.”

  “My name?”

  “Lieutenant Margaret Peterson.” He posed, studying her. “I put a bounty out on you, didn’t get even a nibble, and now, here you are.” And then to Yvette he bellowed, “Hurry it up, damn it! Lash his hands together and then lash them again through the rails.”

  Biting her lip, concentrating hard, Yvette got Dash secured and jumped back, as if she might be punished for not finishing on time.

  Margo was about to ask for their names in return when he ordered, “Saul, go and check that it’s done right.”

  The idiot rushed to do just that—making certain he skirted the kerosene. Holding the gun to Dash’s temple with one hand, he used the other to test the restraints.

  Margo was deathly afraid that someone as unbalanced as Saul might accidentally shoot. Dash must’ve had the same thought, especially since Saul kept his finger on the trigger. Dash didn’t even blink. He stared at nothing, staying perfectly still.

  “It’s fine, Curtis.”

  “Good. Good. Now get her gun.”

  At that, Saul hesitated.

  Now she knew all their names. Margo gave him her meanest smile. “The women in the videos—”

  “What about them?”

  “Where are they?”

  “The videos?”

  “You don’t need to play dumb. I’m already a believer.”

  His mouth compressed. “As long as they don’t force us to kill them, we dump the women after we’re done with them.”

  “Dump them where?”

  He shrugged. “Anyplace convenient. They don’t know us, are too doped up to remember anything, and usually aren’t in a hurry to go blabbing about their exploits.”

  It gave her hope that perhaps the other women involved were still alive. “What constitutes forcing you to murder?”

  “Usually that’s an error.” And with that Curtis glared at Saul. “If everything is handled correctly, the women are grabbed,
drugged, used and dumped. Nice and neat. But Saul has been...messy a few times. And of course, we can’t have women running around who know what he looks like.” He grinned at her, making sure she knew that she was in that same category.

  Luckily Yvette didn’t seem to catch on. She could still have hope that they’d get away.

  “Damn it, Saul, get her gun!”

  Margo turned to the brother. “Come on, Saul. Be a good baby brother and do as you’re told.”

  Toby snarled. “She’s trouble. We should take care of her now. I could drag her to the basement and shoot her down there. No one would hear a thing.”

  Dash stiffened.

  “Oh, no,” Curtis said. “I’m going to enjoy watching her beg.”

  Well, hell, Margo thought. That wouldn’t do much to help calm Dash. She stole a quick look at him and saw his eyes narrow, his shoulders bunch. But otherwise he kept quiet.

  When he looked at her, she gave an almost indistinguishable shake of her head.

  “You and Saul will enjoy her,” Curtis continued. “And once she’s broken, after she’s sobbing and desperate, then we’ll kill her. But not before.”

  Proving he was smarter than the others, Toby curled his lip and shook his head. “Saul can have her. I’ll take the girl.”

  This disruption to his plans clearly disgusted Curtis, but he accepted Toby’s decision. “Suit yourself.”

  With a lecherous look at Yvette, Toby said, “Oh, I plan to.”

  Yvette wrapped her arms tightly around herself and stared at her feet.

  Cannon still hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. Other than an occasional flinching in his jaw, he remained perfectly still.

  When Curtis barked, “Goddamn it, Saul, don’t make me tell you again!” Yvette jumped and cried out.

  Putting his arm around her, Toby held her tight to his bulky body. “Easy now, little girl. Things are just getting started.” He rubbed his goatee against her face, bit a little roughly at her ear. “No screaming before I give you a good reason.”

  Margo held out her arms while Saul—oh, so cautiously—snatched away her purse. He grabbed the gun off the table and literally bolted, high-stepping around the kerosene to place everything on the dining room table behind them.