by Leslie Jones
Lark wrenched her arm so abruptly he lost his grip, and she took off like a rabbit back toward the nightclub. How could she even run in those ridiculously high heels? He caught her in three strides. Sure, she’d be safe inside—for now. But what happened when the two gunmen realized Mace had clowned them? They’d be back, and they would be furious.
“Wait,” he said. He pulled her to a stop.
She swung her huge purse like a brick. He pulled back just in time to avoid being clocked in the head. She dug into her bag, scrabbling around inside. Maybe she really did have a brick in there.
“Come on. We have to get away from here. It won’t take those idiots long to figure out I’m not one of them.” He risked a glance behind.
When he turned back a second later, she had dropped her purse and now pointed a Smith & Wesson .38 Special at him, backing off several steps to gain distance. Her hands shook so badly he feared she’d drop it. He looked hard at it, then had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the laughter that threatened.
The cylinders were empty; the revolver wasn’t even loaded.
Clearly, she was no criminal mastermind. So why were those men after her?
He needed to get her somewhere safe. Then he could get the answers he wanted. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he punched in the code to unlock it.
“Put it down!” she nearly shrieked. “Put down the goddamned phone. Drop it right now!”
Of course. He was the idiot. She now thought he worked for the same man who’d sent thugs after her. Interestingly enough, she’d demanded he drop the phone, but not the pistol he still carried. He bent down and set both on the muddy slush of the asphalt, stepping away from them and raising his arms from his sides to show her he meant her no harm.
“Look, that was just—”
“Shut up,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes. He guessed she was trying to cow him, but she seemed as threatening as a baby kitten. “If you don’t do what I say, I’ll . . . I’ll shoot you.”
Chapter 6
Saturday, February 18. 12:35 a.m.
The Promenade. Boston, Massachusetts.
Lark tightened her grip on the gun, her mind a blank. Her life had been threatened. Why? And what the hell was she supposed to do now?
“I’m calling the police.” She tried to reach her right front pocket with her left hand, but it shook so badly she couldn’t manage it.
“No.”
“What?” She stopped fumbling with her phone out and stared at him.
“No. I can’t allow you to call the police. Either I’ll have to vacate the area, or you’ll tell them I tried to kidnap you and they’ll arrest me. Either way, I can’t protect you.”
He seemed so calm. Did he know she wouldn’t shoot him? The gun Kaley had loaned her, had insisted she carry, felt heavy in her hand. Lark often worked late at night, when Chelsea was dark, deserted, and dangerous, and her sister worried about her. The box of bullets in the bottom of her purse made it worse than useless, but she’d barely had time to register for a class in how to use the gun, let alone load it. Not that she’d admit such a thing to him.
His words finally penetrated her panicked mind. “You should be arrested. Attacking defenseless women on the street? Kidnapping? You should be in jail.”
“I did none of those things.” Mace nodded toward the nightclub. “This is too public. Someone is going to come into the parking lot soon. Someone will have called the police by now. We need to get out of here.”
She snorted. “So you can protect me?”
“Yes.” He remained maddeningly calm.
“Bullshit.” Call the police, her rational mind told her. Let them handle it. It was their job, after all. But some buried instinct agreed with him. In her experience, the police were the enemy. You’re not a hacker any more. You’re legit. You work for the FBI. You have nothing to fear.
Except maybe being arrested for carrying a gun in her purse without a permit. She’d worry about that little detail later.
But old habits died hard. If Mace were arrested, the odds that the cops would share information with her were minimal, and she would still be in the dark. And it pissed her off that her big brain couldn’t find a logical solution to her current dilemma. “We’re going to walk to my car. If the police show up, so be it. You become their problem. Get your hands up higher, and walk in front of me.”
Common sense dictated she force him to leave. To get into her car and drive away. To call 911 and hope for the best. But she’d still know nothing. Mace was clearly working with those other men with guns, and she needed him to tell her what was going on. That meant keeping him with her. Not her smartest idea ever, since he’d been sent to kill her. But what choice did she have?
She’d make him spill the beans. Somehow.
Right now, she needed to get out of this neighborhood before any more black-clad thugs came within grabbing distance of her.
“Move,” she said, deepening her voice and snapping off the words. Hopefully he couldn’t see the tremors in her hands. Thankfully he obeyed, strolling down the line of cars as though she didn’t have a gun trained on him. She scooped up her purse and followed.
“Go to the left. Down this row. There . . . no, stop. The orange Jeep Liberty.”
He paused beside her car. “Good God. You actually drive this thing?”
It had been her first purchase after getting her master’s degree, even before the FBI hired her. She’d been so relieved to ditch her junker and drive a newish car, and she’d gotten a smoking deal on it. Her hackles rose, and for a moment, she forgot to be terrified.
“It’s a sweet ride. What do you know?”
He grinned at her. “Whatever you say.”
For a moment, she wished she’d gone through agent training with the FBI, instead of as a computer scientist. She’d know, for instance, how to shoot her shiny new gun. Computer scientists received training at Quantico, sure. But in reverse engineering of malware, digital forensics, and intrusion detection. Administrative processes. She’d received no training in firearms, tactics, or taking kissably hot men prisoner.
Who else could she call for advice? Trevor’s mobile was number five on her phone’s favorites tab. It would be, what? Nine in the morning in London. He’d be available, assuming he wasn’t on assignment. She put a hand to her head. Her gun hand, she realized, as the barrel thumped her temple. “Goddamn hairy ass wrinkly old man balls!”
Mace laughed. “You don’ mess around, do you? Dat was an impressive bit of cussing.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Lark, I’m serious. It won’ take those yahoos long to come back. We need to be long gone by then. Please trust me.”
First thing first. Before her innards melted from his honeyed Cajun drawl, she switched the revolver to her left hand, keeping it trained on him as she fished her phone out.
“Please don’t call the cops,” he said again. “Say they show up. You tell them what happen’. I tell them what happen’. Maybe they take me down to the station, maybe they just put me in a squad car while they check me out. Either way, the cops will release me. But while all the fuss is going on, you might decide to just walk away. Bad people are gunning for you. Keep me with you.”
She shot him a warning glare and pressed Trevor’s number. It went straight to voice mail. Now what?
She swung her bag forward so she could scrabble inside for her keys. Damn it! She risked a quick look inside her purse and spotted them. Hooking the ring out with a finger, she tossed the whole thing to him. He caught it one handed.
“Get into the driver’s seat,” she commanded.
He obeyed, squashing his extra-large frame into the driver’s seat. “Gawd damn. This t’ing built for a child.”
He reached down and pulled the seat lever, sighing in relief as the seat moved back. He stretched his legs, reaching across to unlock the passenger door for her. She dropped her bag at her feet before easing inside, keeping the gun trained on him. He glanced at
her and away. She could have sworn he hid a smile.
“Now what?” he asked.
She had no earthly clue. Putting a hand to her aching head, she made a sound of pure frustration. Only he could provide the information she needed.
She couldn’t take him to her home; that would be insane.
Would it?
It would have to be her room at the Hyatt Regency Cambridge. Kaley had insisted the entire wedding party stay at the hotel the night before the wedding.
“A hotel.”
“Good choice. I know one down by—”
“No,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere anyone knows you, or can find you.”
“All right. You’re calling the shots.”
Why did he seem so calm? She’d threatened to shoot him.
“Get on the freeway.”
He put the car into gear and drove on surface streets till he got to the highway, then took the entry ramp and merged with traffic. They headed northwest.
“Take this exit.”
“Why this one?”
“Just do it!” She couldn’t help the way her voice rose. “Turn left.”
Mace made a soothing motion with one hand, then returned it to the wheel. “Look, I know what I said back there. I played along to get them away from you. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“Yeah, you’re just trying to kill me.” Anger replaced her fear. She lifted the gun and pressed it against his head. “Turn in here, asshole.”
Mace slowed and turned into the parking garage for the Hyatt Regency Cambridge. Lark cringed, already regretting her choice to bring him back here.
“What now?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. That sounded like something Trevor would have said. Remembering his cool competence steadied her. She squared her shoulders. “Park it.”
Mace did so. “Now what?”
Lark felt like tearing her hair out in frustration. How could she get him up to her room without him just walking away? “Now you tell me what’s going on. Now you tell me who the fuck Palachka is, and why he wants me dead.”
Surprise lifted his brows. “You don’t know?”
“Aagh!” She thunked her head against the headrest. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. All right. This is what we’re going to do. You’re going to open your door and come out with your hands where I can see them. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
What would she do if he attacked her here, in the quiet, dark parking lot? He’d already caught her once because of her high heels. She could threaten all she liked, but, ultimately, she had no control over him.
“Stand by the hood and don’t move.”
When he’d complied, she dug frantically in her purse for the box of bullets. Kaley had shown her how to open the cylinder thingy so she could put the bullets into the holes, but she hadn’t bothered to do it. Pulling the box into her lap, she fumbled it open, spilling most of the bullets down her leg and onto the floor mat. Swearing and sneaking looks at Mace to ensure he hadn’t moved, she pressed the button to swing the cylinder open, and got it on the third try. Shoving some bullets into the holes, she pushed the cylinder closed again. According to Kaley, all she had to do now was pull the trigger. She reached down and scooped as many bullets as she could find back into her purse.
Time to face the music. Or the firing squad.
Opening her door and stepping out without lowering the now-loaded revolver proved to be harder than it looked, but she managed. She came around the hood, keeping it pointed at him. So far, so good.
Mace looked at the hand gripping the revolver and frowned. “Curiosity ends when the gun gets loaded.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he said, voice hard, “that I have no interest in getting shot.”
Her mouth dropped open, shivers racing through her. “You knew it wasn’t loaded?”
“Yeah. I saw your situation and acted. You know I could take that from you, right?”
She backed up several steps, heart racing. Was it true? It certainly explained his cavalier attitude until now. He dwarfed her small-boned frame. She’d been counting on the gun to keep him at bay. “That’s an idle threat. All I have to do is pull the trigger.” She hoped. Maybe she could distract him. “Isn’t your boss going to wonder why you haven’t checked in? Aren’t you on some sort of leash?”
Mace tipped his wrist and looked at his big fancy wristwatch, having evidently decided to ignore the threat of the revolver. “It’s almost one thirty in the morning. Yeah, my boss will be waiting to hear from me. But it’s sure as shit not who you think.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Right.” Now would be the perfect time to end this ridiculous scenario. She could just get into her car and drive away. He didn’t know she was staying here, and in the time it took him to call his boss or a friend, she could be long gone.
But then she’d be back at square one. Not any the wiser about the awful things happening to her. She sighed, rubbing her temples, where her headache had grown worse.
“I’d be worried you’d have me arrested for kidnapping if you weren’t a criminal.”
“I’m not.”
“Whatever. Walk to the hotel.”
She pressed the gun into his side as they walked into the hotel lobby, welcoming the sudden warmth. The heat in the building didn’t come close to the heat pouring off her captive, though. Nobody seemed to be on duty this late. She prodded Mace toward the elevators.
Why was he cooperating, especially now that he knew her little gun had bullets in it? Shame rippled through her. Violence was not in her nature. Someone would worry when he didn’t show up. Palachka? A family? A wife and kids? He’d been at the nightclub tonight to kill her, that much was clear. So everything he’d said to her had been a lie.
Asshole.
She shifted from foot to foot as the elevator took just short of forever to open. Finally, though, she prodded him inside. He seemed even larger in the enclosed space. Her fingers tightened on the revolver. He glanced down at it and frowned.
“Please take your finger out of the trigger guard till you actually mean to pull the trigger. Accidents happen when nervous little birds don’t know basic gun safety.”
“I’m not nervous,” she said, nevertheless pulling her finger free and wrapping it around the handle instead. “I’m pissed, and . . . and dangerous. Room five oh two. Three doors down to the left.”
“Hand me your key.”
She did so, then backed up almost to the opposite wall as he slid the key card into the lock and pushed the door open. And Lark realized her latest in the comical series of mistakes she’d made tonight.
One bed. She had only one bed.
Her latent hormones perked up, and she squashed them with an irritated breath. Not the time. Focus. With a criminal in the room with her, she wasn’t likely to sleep anyway. She prodded Mace forward with the barrel of her gun, shutting the door behind them and flipping the security bar into place out of habit. Realizing what she’d done, she pulled it free again. If she lost control of the situation and had to run, moving the bar might be the difference between escape and capture.
Mace came to an abrupt stop just past the door to the bathroom. A long, slow whistle emerged. “Your room’s been tossed.”
“Tossed? Like, searched?”
“Yes. What were they looking for? Can you tell what’s missing?” He positioned himself at the side of the bed to give her room. She looked around, puzzled.
“I don’t think so. Nothing looks out of place.”
He twisted to stare at her, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. “Are you shittin’ me? Everything’s out of place!”
She tried to see her room through his eyes. Huh. Maybe she should put her clothes in one place? Or hang them up? Take the shoe off the desk, and another one off the windowsill? Red color burned its way up the column of her throat to her cheeks.
Mace put his hands on his hips, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “D
o you honestly mean to tell me your room looked like this when you left?”
“Maybe.” She squinted at the clearly unmade king-sized bed. “I might have taken a nap this afternoon. And then I couldn’t decide what to wear tonight.”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“So I’m not Martha Stewart. Big fucking deal,” she said, annoyed. “Kaley made me stay here so I wouldn’t have to drive all the way back from Danvers in the morning. Something about me always being late.”
Mace strolled over to one of the armchairs. He scooped two dresses, a couple of pairs of hose, and some silky underwear into his arms and deposited them on the bed, then settled into the chair. “This place could swallow you whole, like the Sarlaac in Star Wars.”
Lark tipped her head to one side, humor lighting her eyes. “‘You will find new definitions of pain as you are slowly digested over a thousand years.’”
He didn’t miss a beat. “‘On second thought, I’ll pass on that.’”
She laughed before she could stop herself. Not only was Mace gorgeous and a great dancer, but he was a Star Wars fan, as well. The whole killer thing kind of put a damper on any future relationship, though.
She would have to search him. It hadn’t even occurred to her until just now, and she kicked herself for being an idiot. For all she knew, he still had a cell phone or gun on him. She raised her revolver and pointed it at him. “Stand up.”
He sighed, scratching his forehead before pushing himself to his feet. The sudden motion had her backing away fast, heart thundering. Bringing him here had been one completely stupid, harebrained idea.
“Slowly!” she squeaked. He stopped. Dropping her bag onto the bed, she bent to grab one of her colorful winter scarfs off the floor. “Now turn around.”
He eyed the scarf, then her. “How about we just talk?”
Lark almost stamped her foot. “We’re going to talk, asshole. Now turn the fuck around. Put your hands behind your back.”
“That’s not a good idea,” he said, nodding toward the scarf. “We don’t know if those men can track you using the GPS on your phone, or even if we were followed here. I didn’t see a tail, but why take chances?”