Dangerous Lines

by Moira Callahan

  “Damn,” she muttered. “Tell them both I’ll see them soon enough. I just have to get this cover set in stone before I can come to visit. You know I can’t chance it yet, Shawn.”

  “I know, but you’re not the one staring into your best friend’s big blues when she’s pouting,” he said of his wife, Tamara.

  Rhonda laughed at that. “Dude, grow some balls,” she teased.

  “You will pay for that comment, Rhonda Delacour. You will pay,” he said in a pretty good imitation of a threatening tone. She knew he was just messing with her though.

  “Yeah, yeah, you and your flying monkeys too, bubba. Shit,” she muttered looking at the clock on the wall. “I have to fly. Kisses to Tamara for me, big guy. Hugs to Mallory and I’ll talk to you all soon.”

  “Be safe, Ro. Remember, shoot first, worry about paperwork later,” Shawn told her.

  “Copy that.” She laughed.

  Vincent hung up the phone and stood as she got off her stool to head for the door. “Ro, be safe,” he said as they stood in the open doorway.

  “You know me,” she said, grinning at him.

  “Precisely why I’m saying it,” he told her.

  Biting her lip she stepped in and gave him a hug, holding on a moment longer than really necessary. “I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” At his nod, she stepped out of the apartment and headed for her car.

  Chapter Two

  Today…

  Stepping out of the warehouse door six down from C&M Security after his meeting, Vincent turned his phone back on. Grimacing when it started to vibrate and ding at him, full of voice messages and texts, he headed for his truck.

  Phone to his ear as he slid behind the wheel, he listened to the first message. One of the C&M staffers getting back to him with some info. He saved it and went to the next one. Rhonda’s tightly controlled voice had his heart jumping into his throat.

  “Hey, lover,” her rich voice whispered across the line. “Listen, I’m not going to be able to make it to dinner tonight. Tell your mom I’m sorry. I know Verona will be pissed I’m missing out on Cacciatore night, but I have to work. Love ya, talk tomorrow,” she said before the line went dead.

  A cold sweat coated his body as he replayed the message and listened to the code words she’d dropped into the conversation. Verona, the city in Italy his mother had grown up in. Cacciatore, his favorite food that only his mother made in true, authentic Italian fashion. Something Mallory was trying to desperately bribe him about to get the recipe.

  Those two words in the same sentence meant Rhonda was in deep, life-threatening shit. Shaking, he punched in the number for Shawn’s phone. “It’s me, I just got a message from Ro. She’s in trouble Shawn, serious trouble. I need Denise to activate the chip and let me know where she is, yesterday.”

  “Do you want backup?” Shawn asked him.

  “Not yet, just get me Ro’s location.”

  “I’ll call you back as soon as we have it. She’ll be okay, Vin. She’s smart and trained for this. Take a deep breath and remember, you’re no use to her if you are a wreck.”

  Nodding even though his boss couldn’t see it, he took a shaky breath. “I’m good, but Shawn, she sounded scared,” he said softly. Vincent had never once heard Rhonda sound that terrified before. He knew practically every inflection in her voice. Fear and terror were not two of them.

  “I’m heading down to see Denise now,” Shawn said.

  Denise Franklyn, head hacker and Net security expert for C&M. She could do things with a computer that were amazing, scary and downright freaky to be honest. The FBI, CIA and a couple other agencies had tried to hire her years ago. She’d only come to work with C&M because, unlike the alphabet soup of agencies, Shawn and Robyn, the other boss at C&M, weren’t usually too concerned with legalities. As long as no one ever got caught.

  “Call me as soon as you have something,” Vincent told him. Hanging up, he played the message again and again. Listening hard for any extra inflections in her tone. Any rise and fall on certain words to give him a clue. But there was nothing. Except for the terror he could hear, she sounded like she was calling her boyfriend to let him know dinner was off.

  Saving the message, he pressed his forehead to the trucks steering wheel. “Hold on, Ro, I’m coming.”

  Damn it, he needed to find her. All he could rely on now was the sub-dermal tracker they’d implanted under the skin near her ankle bone. It was a new version, and in theory wouldn’t set off any sweeps for bugs. The only trouble with it being as low key as it was, tracking it meant being within a certain radius of the damn thing. Unless they had the C&M system which relied on using the city’s own video surveillance system to boost the signal. At least that’s what Denise had more or less explained.

  He had gotten the gist but then she’d gone off the rails to a point beyond his knowledge, and he had glazed over. He admitted it. So had everyone else in the room, thankfully. Denise Franklyn, hacker extraordinaire, often had that effect. She was damned good at what she did, but didn’t seem to speak the same language as the rest of them.

  Jerking his head up when his phone rang, he answered quickly. “Yeah?”

  “Vincent, it’s me,” Denise’s voice came through the line. “The tracker’s up and I’ve got a good signal. It’s a little twitchy but solid otherwise.”

  “Thank God,” he muttered. Turning on his truck, he stuck his phone on the console on speaker. “Where am I going, Denise?” he asked.

  Once she gave him a direction he pulled out and followed her instructions. Frowning as he entered the downtown area he shook his head. “Are you sure she’s down here?” he asked.

  “She’s there. Where, exactly, is the issue,” Denise said. “There are a few blocks that the city has down for maintenance, routine shit, so I’m getting a bit of a weird echo off the tracker. I’m working on cleaning it up and tightening things, but for the moment, this is as close as I can get you, Vincent.”

  Pulling to the curb he parked the truck and hopped out. Paying for parking for the next hour, he looked around. “Is Shawn there?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Vin, I’m here. What do you need?” he asked.

  “Remember that map I gave you from Ro?”

  “Of course,” Shawn answered.

  “I need you to take a look at it and see if any of Moreau’s properties are in the same area as Rhonda’s tracker. If I was him, I’d stick her somewhere I owned, at least for the time being. Especially if he didn’t want to be disturbed during questioning.” The thought of what a man like Moreau could do, what other men like him had done to rats in their houses, made his gut clench.

  “Hang on,” Shawn muttered. “Okay, here we go, he’s got a full block he owns two streets north, one east. There are a couple other buildings he also owns on the next block over to the east. We have an office building, a restaurant, a condo and then several buildings that are a mixed kettle of fish. What are you looking for, Vin?”

  Vincent was looking for something specific. “If I was bringing someone down there to be interrogated, in the middle of the day, I’d need to ensure no witnesses. Especially if I needed to dispose of whoever I was taking in there later. No need to point the cops to me,” he said. His gut was churning just at the thought that Rhonda was in that situation.

  “So you’d want something very private, preferably with the assurance that you weren’t seen,” Shawn said. “So a back alley without an easy view to the street, or a parkade,” he muttered.

  “If it’s an alley or a parkade, no cameras would be best. While they could wipe the tapes later, why bother? Why not ensure that they were never filmed moving through there?” Vincent said.

  “Right, right,” Shawn muttered. “Okay, he’s doing renovations on a building, but is stalled out. Denise just found the building permits, with one currently in arears which is why they aren’t doing anything on it currently. The building previously had a contract with a security company but it was cancelled when Moreau boug
ht it. He hasn’t set up a new contract with anyone yet which means that any surveillance is down. It’s the perfect spot, and with the contractor stuck on hold, no one’s working today.”

  Vincent got the address and headed over to the building. He had no idea what he was going to do. One thing he knew for sure, he wasn’t leaving Rhonda in there if she was in trouble. If she wasn’t, he’d pull back and let her do her thing. With her message though, he had a feeling he’d have to get her ass out of the fire.

  “All right, I’m here,” he said into the phone as he casually strolled along. “I have one goon in the lobby area reading a magazine. Another one back by what I’m guessing are the elevators. Can’t see anything else,” he told them.

  “Vincent, I don’t like this,” Shawn said. “You have no idea how many are in there. If you go in and disable any of them, and she isn’t in any trouble, you’re going to blow her cover.”

  “You don’t think I already figured that out?” he asked. “I can’t just walk away, Shawn. This is Ro, for the love of God. I—” he trailed off.

  “I get it,” Shawn said softly. Yeah, the man likely did. Given all Shawn had gone through to keep the love of his life, Tamara, safe, he definitely got where Vincent was coming from.

  Reaching an alley, he took a peek down it and found nothing but a couple of dumpsters. Turning into it, he moved quickly and quietly, just in case anyone was actually there. “I have a back door I think I can get through. Listen, if I don’t call you back in an hour, call the local PD and have them come looking for us.”

  Vincent could practically hear Shawn grinding his teeth in frustration. “Fine, one hour. If you don’t survive this, Vincent, I am going to be fucking pissed.”

  “Join the club,” he muttered, hanging up the phone. Turning it to silent, he changed the setting of the vibration and slid it into his pocket. Staring at the door, he flexed his hands. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Vincent said as he stared at the door that would get him inside, and into who knew what kind of shit.

  Chapter Three

  Rhonda’s head whipped to the side in the wake of a large fist hitting her cheek. She was beyond pain, everything was too numb, her brain having shut down all the pain receptors from the first hour, or more, of the beating.

  “Who the fuck do you work for?” Moreau demanded again. He was off to the side, pristine in his Gucci suit, as he asked the same question over and over again.

  Not that she could answer anymore. Rhonda was pretty sure the goon hitting her, Patrick, had broken her jaw about four or five punches ago. All she could honestly do was bleed and drool.

  Her head whipped to the other side from another punch. Damn. That fucking hurt. Maybe those receptors were still firing.

  “Who do you work for?” Moreau asked again. God, couldn’t he fucking come up with something else to ask? Something she could actually answer maybe. Not that she would anyway, not with the beat-down they were giving her.

  Moreau gave a sigh and flicked his perfectly manicured fingers. “Let’s give the lady a moment to think. Patrick, you are looking thirsty, maybe some water is in order. We don’t want you getting dehydrated while we wait on what we need from her.”

  “Yes, boss,” the big goon panted out.

  Yeah, that’s right, she was wearing him out. Fucker.

  Patrick and Moreau moved over to a table in the corner where Patrick opened a bottle of water and guzzled. Closing her eyes for a moment, or eye really, since the other was swollen shut, Rhonda rested, grateful for the respite.

  She also catalogued her injuries. Busted jaw, serious contusions to her face with a lot of bleeding, not good. Busted ribs, thankfully none seem to have punctured her lungs, so she could breathe, albeit shallowly through the pain. Her left hand was broken in a couple of spots, and she had several long, deep cuts from Patrick’s big ass bowie knife on her chest, stomach and arms. She was strapped down in a chair with zip ties, no way to break free of them, and they had her positioned on a large plastic sheet. Great for ease of cleanup of the everyday kill. She was so fucked she didn’t even know where to begin.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir,” another of Moreau’s goons said. Squinting through her good eye, she thought it might have been Frederick, Moreau’s driver and additional muscle. “You have a call. I told them you were in a meeting, but it’s one of the lawyers. He says it’s time sensitive about a property you’re looking to acquire so I said I’d check if you were available.”

  Moreau shot her a look before nodding. “That’s fine. Patrick, rest up and watch her. I’ll deal with this. When I return, be ready for some more carving. I think that would be most effective at this time.”

  “Yes, boss,” Patrick grinned gleefully.

  Rhonda’s gut heaved. Patrick was well known by all who worked for Moreau. He liked cutting up his victims. According to rumor, Patrick had disposed of Moreau’s lieutenants, the ones that had failed him, by torturing them for days before chopping them into shark bait. No proof, of course, but it was a great way to bolster the guy’s ego and reputation.

  Moreau left with Frederick, and Patrick opened another bottle of water. He moved a little closer but stayed off the plastic sheeting as he drank. He watched her closely, too closely, and so never saw the shadow that slipped up behind him. One moment he was gloating, a smirk on his lips, the next he was fighting for air as a large, muscular arm wrapped around his neck in a chokehold that cut off all oxygen to his brain.

  He went to his knees as he clawed at the arm, squeezing tight. The bottle of water he’d been drinking from fell to the plastic, the remaining liquid quickly creating a pool. Rhonda watched his struggle with some amusement from the corner of her eye. Take that you big ape, she thought her lips curling into a smile. No! Definitely no smiling, that shit hurt, she realized with a wince. His eyes rolled back in his head but it was the very satisfying snap of neck bones that let her breathe a little easier. Patrick hit the plastic, nothing more than a lump of flesh, dead to the world in the midst of the puddle of water.

  “Rhonda,” Vincent’s whisper reached her. “Fucking hell, woman, what did they do to you?”

  Lifting her head enough to see more than his belt buckle took effort, but she was rewarded with the sight of Vincent right there before her. He cut through the ties holding her down. She would have told him, but couldn’t. God, did she want to tell him though.

  “Fuck, they really did a number on you, sweetheart,” Vincent said, working quickly. After pocketing the knife he looked at her with a wince. “I’d ask if you could stand on your own but I doubt you can. I’m going to pick you up, but this is going to hurt like a son of a bitch. So feel free to pass out. I’m getting you out of here and somewhere safe. No hospital, not the apartment or anywhere else he might think to look for you. Promise,” he whispered softly.

  She gave a small nod, the best she could manage. She let him lift her up into his arms, not that she had a lot of options or choices. It felt good to feel his warmth against her even with the thump-thump of pain at every beat of her heart.

  He smelled so good, all male, all Vincent. Closing her good eye as he headed for the door, she rubbed her nose lightly to his neck. She had truly thought she’d never see him again. Never have the chance to be completely honest and open with him. Never get the opportunity to tell him how she felt about him.

  Rhonda didn’t know if he felt the same, one of the reasons she’d held back. The other was that she didn’t want to ruin their friendship by admitting she had the hots for him.

  She wanted a relationship with him, beyond friendship. Hell, she wanted to strip him naked and jump his gorgeous self. On more than one occasion she’d actually had to restrain herself, she thought with a bit of humor. Usually when they were at Shawn and Tamara’s for some reason or other and he was out swimming in the pool. He had a body that just screamed to be licked, slowly, preferably by her. A smile tried to curl her lips at the idea of walking up and licking him. Only that smile didn’t go any bet
ter than her other attempts, and she let out a low moan of pain as her jaw throbbed.

  She could feel him walking carefully. Likely to prevent jostling her, but also to prevent any noise from betraying them. It was also how he moved. He was incredibly light on his feet, thanks to all that wonderful military training, she was sure. She loved watching him—it helped to fuel more than one late night fantasy—and dreaming about him.

  Always wondering if he would make love the same way he did everything else, with complete and absolute focus on the task at hand. Oh, to have that intensity directed at her. It gave her chills to think about it, even when she was bleeding and a white-hot fucking mess.

  “Almost there,” he said quietly in her ear, his breath warm on her too-chilled skin.

  Reaction, her body was going into shock, not good. She managed a small nod to let him know she’d heard him. Shit, she was likely getting blood all over his shirt. She really liked the shirt he had on too. It was so nice and tight, showing off all those wonderful muscles he had to perfection. Damn, now she was all hot, and bothered, so not the time to be horny.

  Rolling her eyes internally at herself she tried to focus on where they were. Not something she could manage while in his arms. All she could think about was the feel of his strong arms around her, the heat of his chest to her body, and the scent of his skin. Wonder if he’d mind if I took a lick? So very inappropriate of course, but she wouldn’t be who she was if she didn’t have at least one inappropriate thought about him every ten minutes.

  They made it outside, thank God. She knew because she could feel the breeze on her skin, and pick up just the faintest hint of refuse. An alley, likely.

  “Shit,” he muttered as he came to a stop. “Ro, baby, I need to stash you somewhere for five minutes while I go and get my truck. I can’t risk walking out on the street with you in this condition. God only knows who might actually notice.”