by C. A. Szarek
She tugged free of his hold, but she couldn’t back away from him like she should. Taylor shot forward and wrapped her arms around his middle. She buried her face against his bare chest and held on with all her might.
Shannon laughed. “Hey, I need to breathe.” He rubbed her back, like always. As if it was automatic on his part, but she didn’t want to need his comfort.
Taylor lifted her head and met his gaze. I don’t want to leave you. But she couldn’t say it.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” he whispered, as if he’d read her mind. “I’m only a phone call or a text away.”
She smiled through her stupid, weak-as-shit tears. Weight lifted from her shoulders and chest at his carefree but sincere expression.
Maybe leaving wouldn’t be so bad, if she had Shannon to come back to.
* * * *
The phone rang the moment Taylor dragged her bag off the conveyer at baggage claim. Holman was still waiting for his to come around.
She’d brought the clothing she’d had at Shannon’s—it only included one work outfit, which she’d worn on Friday. She needed to find a hotel with laundry facilities or go buy some clothes. Wearing casual clothing to work might be okay with some FBI offices and bosses, but it was against her programming.
Her partner had given her shit about wearing jeans when they’d met up at the terminal, but a glare had snapped his mouth shut. It hadn’t dispersed the twinkle in his blue eyes or his smartass smile, though.
Taylor let the call go to voicemail—she’d check messages and get caught up when both she and Holman were situated. The phone screamed her ringtone again. “Geeze,” she muttered and dug it out of her pocket. She answered without looking.
“Taylor.” Eddie’s voice was breathless, urgent.
“What’s wrong?”
“I called you a million times. Holman, too.”
“We were on a plane to Phoenix.”
Holman joined her, rolling a small black suitcase behind him. He caught her eye then looked down at the screen of his cell phone.
“Good, you’re there,” Eddie said at the same time her partner exclaimed, “Shit!”
“Yeah. We just landed. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Her partner was scanning whatever was on his phone. His eyes were wide and his shoulders tight.
It was bad news. Of course.
“I got Bubba to talk.”
Taylor’s heart skipped. “Tell me.”
“He ’fessed up that he sent Bennett to an old friend who runs a crew in that neck of the woods. Kai March. You know the name?”
“No, but keep talking.”
“I sent two guys from the Phoenix office over to the address Bubba gave me. Evidently it’s a huge warehouse on the outskirts of the city.”
“And?”
Holman’s phone rang, distracting Taylor from her call.
Her partner answered and put it to his ear. She tracked him as he started to pace. Unlike her, he was dressed for work, in a navy suit. The tailored jacket made his shoulders seem as wide as he was tall. His back was taut and his jaw clenched. He kept his voice low and listened more than he spoke.
Great. More bad news.
“They found a shitload of stolen cars inside, on display. It was definitely their home base,” Eddie droned on.
Taylor tried to focus on her call, but she needed to be prepped for the bad news her partner was about to hit her with.
They made eye contact, but then his gaze darted away.
“…five bodies.”
She plugged back into Eddie’s call. “What?”
“Five. Bodies. Kai March and his whole crew, evidently. Sound familiar?”
“Was Bennett there?” Taylor asked, but knew the answer already.
We aren’t that lucky.
“No. According to Bubba, and confirmed by plans found on scene, they were going to hit a train of Hummers, but it won’t happen now, obviously.”
“Dammit. He killed them all?”
“We surmise. They’re over there now with the cavalry, and Crime Scene, Phoenix PD. There’s no sign of Bennett now. Have you made contact with Crawford or Hamilton? They went to the warehouse.”
“Not yet, you were my first call. I need to call the office and see what happened at the sister’s apartment.”
“No need,” Holman said. He was off the phone, standing beside her.
“Eddie, touch base with you later.”
“Okay, keep you posted with what else I can get from Bubba.”
Taylor hit end and met her partner’s eyes. His expression was tight, grim. She sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. “Hit me.”
“The sister’s apartment was empty, but there were signs of a struggle.”
“Shit.”
“Vasquez briefed you about the warehouse?”
She nodded. “That’s what your text was about?”
“That and the voicemails.”
Taylor glanced at her phone. She had several missed calls and a few texts, too. “Shit, shit, shit. This isn’t what I imagined.”
Holman shrugged, but his mouth was still a hard line. “You want to meet Crawford and his partner at the warehouse, or Agents Avery and Townsend at the apartment?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It had been days. Days that felt like weeks.
Taylor was going crazy. The sitting. Watching. Waiting was killing her. She’d gone back out to the warehouse just to have another look while they waited for Rowdy Vargas to get to Phoenix.
Unfortunately, they had no choice but to let that bastard Carter Bennett dangle the whole damn FBI like a carrot on the end of a stick in front of an eager rabbit. And he didn’t even know he was doing it, since he didn’t know they were involved. That just made it worse.
He kept calling Vargas’ burner phone, but he was far from stupid, only using other throwaway phones that were virtually untraceable. So far it’d been three different numbers, according to Vargas. None had been repeated, so he either had some sort of number scrambler or an endless cache of phones.
Vargas had called her partner every time he’d received a call, but Bennett knew he was traveling and hadn’t revealed his location just yet. He promised he would the moment Vargas hit Phoenix. His endgame was still Vargas in a body bag, and as far as Bennett knew, things were going his way.
They’d had Vargas demand proof of life of Camille Bonner, and she was alive but scared. Bennett didn’t have her six-year-old son. He was safely with his father, which had been a happy accident, according to Vargas.
She’d just dropped the boy off for a visit the night Bennett had grabbed her. She’d fought him, but he’d overpowered her and taken her…somewhere.
The FBI was scrambling, searching everywhere, but hadn’t had any luck on the location. They’d looked from seedy hotel to other apartments in the area—anywhere he might be. Bennett knew how to evade and hide, the bastard.
“Vargas is here,” Holman called.
Taylor looked up from the computer she’d commandeered in the Phoenix office. She’d been filing a report about her observations at the warehouse. Her partner had been in the conference room with four other agents, looking at the boards they had up regarding their case.
She tried to stay out of there unless they needed her. Photos of all the people Bennett had killed were posted—the ten they knew of, including John. Taylor couldn’t look into his dark eyes or see the smirk he’d worn in his FBI ID photo. He’d been so handsome, and he was…gone.
Shannon’s not gone.
The thought startled. She shoved it away and cleared her throat, straightening her spine. “Is he coming up here?”
Holman nodded. “Should be pulling in any minute now. I’m going down to get him. Meet in the conference room in a few?”
“Sure.”
“We’re going to have him call Bennett and tell us where he’s at. Bennett left a number on the last call. Then it’s go-time.”
Taylor nodded. “Sounds good.” Finally
.
She logged off the computer and pushed back from the desk. Her cell dinged, catching her attention. She’d left it next to the desk phone, and would’ve likely walked out without it.
How are you today?
She read Shannon’s message three times. Her stomach dipped and emotions clogged in her throat. They’d been in Phoenix a week. She missed him. Dammit.
Taylor pressed her thumb over his number and put the phone to her ear before she lost her nerve.
“Hey. I didn’t expect you to call, but I’m glad you did.” His familiar voice washed over her, but it was off somehow.
“You okay?”
“Exhausted. Almost done with seven p. to seven a. shift and I can’t wait to get off. I’m whooped. Just crawled into bed.”
She shut her mind down when it immediately inserted memories of his bed and them entwined in it. Her body warmed, and she squirmed on the end of the chair. “Oh. I’ll let you go, then. Sorry.”
“Taylor.” Her name was all warning. “You can call me any time, any place. I thought we were past that?”
Taylor sucked in a breath and closed her eyes for a split second. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Okay,” Shannon echoed.
“I just needed to hear your voice.” The truth tumbled out and she cursed.
“I’m glad.”
She could hear his smile, and couldn’t help but smile back.
“Carrigan! We’re ready!” one of the Phoenix agents yelled from the conference room.
“Hey, I gotta go,” she said.
“Are you running away from me?” Shannon’s voice was soft and serious, but somehow hesitant, too.
Taylor was torn between doing just that—by hanging up on him—and reassuring him. “No, I promise.” Reassurance won out. Her heart stuttered, and she stood so she wouldn’t fidget. “We’re going to get Bennett today. Or, I should say, we hope to.” She wanted to tell him more, but people were waiting on her.
“Oh wow. Go. Get that bastard.”
She smiled again. “I will.”
“Taylor.”
“Yeah?”
“Be safe. Come back to me.”
Her breath caught, but she nodded. Then called herself an idiot because Shannon couldn’t see her. “I will.” Nerves flipped her belly and Taylor ended the call. She couldn’t deal with an answer from him. She needed to keep her head in the game.
She pocketed her cell and headed to the conference room.
* * * *
Carter laughed as he hung up one of his dozen activated burner phones. He tossed it on the table in the hotel room, against the wall.
Camille Bonner whimpered from the bed.
He threw her a look, then beamed. “Your brother will be here shortly. Would you prefer I killed him in front of you, or not?”
Tears welled and spilled. She was really a stunner, with her mocha skin and vivid green eyes. She was tall and slender, and her curly hair was tamed in a ponytail, but only because he’d been feeling generous that morning, and he’d let her freshen up.
Carter had gagged her with a handkerchief. He hadn’t wanted to, but she wouldn’t quit screaming. Not even for a few moments when he offered her food. He’d made sure she sucked down water through a straw—he couldn’t have her passing out on him.
This was day five of their time together, and he was disappointed overall. She hadn’t warmed to him, and despite his threats to Rowdy, he wasn’t a rapist. Besides, who wanted to have sex with someone bawling? He wasn’t into that shit. Of course, she didn’t know that.
He’d felt her up for show, but her fear didn’t get him hard.
“This will be over soon. As soon as your brother is dead I’ll go, and you’ll never hear from me again.” Carter looked at his money, sitting on his bed in all its glory. He had close to half a million, including what he’d taken from Kai’s warehouse.
Part of him said to forget Rowdy and move on. The other part needed revenge for a betrayal that should never have happened.
“I’ll even untie you,” he told Camille.
She wiggled on the end of the bed and her eyes flashed.
He had a feeling that if her hands weren’t tied behind her back, she would’ve flipped him off. Carter had tied her legs, too. She’d kicked his bad leg in one of her two runaway attempts. Made his arm burn, too, because it’d taken a lot of strength to restrain her. Bitch was stronger than she looked.
“Look,” he growled. “I haven’t hurt you. I tried to feed you. Just sit pretty and do your part, and this will be over soon.”
Her emerald eyes shot daggers at him.
Carter paced the room, ignoring her. Rowdy had said he was in Phoenix. He’d be there soon. It would be over, and Carter would be on his way.
Things were going as planned.
Rowdy wasn’t stupid enough to involve cops—he was a fugitive, too. Their car stealing exploits had left charges in several states, which is what’d involved the FBI in the first place.
Carter had watched the news, been stalking it really. They’d found the bodies in the warehouse, but the story was short, cryptic even. They didn’t have a clue it was him.
The knock on the door made him jump. He pivoted and drew his forty. Pain bit back, shooting up his leg and into his hip at the fast movement, but he ignored it and crossed the room in three strides. Looked through the peephole and saw Rowdy standing there, bag of money in hand as instructed.
Carter darted to the window and discreetly scanned the parking lot, peeking around the thick drapes. There were no cars on this side of the building, except the crappy F-150 Rowdy was driving. He’d take that on his way out. The POS Bubba had given him was as far from the second floor hotel room as he could get it.
He opened the door only a sliver. Enough for Rowdy to enter.
The guy dropped the bag as soon as he shut the door.
Carter aimed his H & K and Rowdy’s hands shot up.
“Weapons?” Carter demanded.
“No.”
Rowdy Vargas looked like shit. He’d lost weight, his normally olive complexion was sallow, and his eyes were sunk-in. He wore a red baseball cap and his beard had to be a few days old, maybe more. His jeans were dark, as was his jacket.
His gaze shot to the bed. “Cami,” he breathed.
She whimpered and fidgeted, pulling against her bindings.
“It’s going to be okay, Cami,” Rowdy said.
“Sure it is.” Carter kept his voice even. “You die, she lives, I leave.”
Rowdy swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob. “As long as she lives, I’m fine with that.”
Camille sobbed through her gag, and she sagged, half bent at the waist. She was shaking her head hard, making her ponytail fly.
“Let her go now,” Rowdy said. The guy had his palms high and flat. Begging.
“Kneel.” He gestured with his gun.
His former teammate obeyed.
“I can’t let her go yet. I want her to watch the show.”
“C’mon, man, just let my sister go. You wanted me, you got me.” Rowdy looked at Camille, then back at him.
Carter shook his head and flashed a smile. He raised his gun and took aim.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“C’mon, man, just let my sister go.” Rowdy Vargas’ voice shook. “You wanted me, you got me.”
She could hear it in stereo, in her ear, where the surveillance van had tapped his wire into her earwig, and through the thin door in front of them at the top of the stairs.
Taylor twitched and her hands shook. She opened and closed her fingers on the butt of her Glock, and gestured for the two Phoenix FBI agents to move to the right of the motel room door. Holman was at her back, and they were all ready to go.
They had four more guys behind them, and four armored SWAT agents in front. The door didn’t look like it would need a battering ram, but the lead guy had one.
They’d insisted on going in first, but she and her partner were right on their
asses.
“Carter, put the gun down and let’s talk about this,” Vargas urged.
“That’s our signal,” someone said.
The door split down the middle, wood shards flying among shouts of “Federal Agents!”
Taylor rushed forward, Holman close behind.
The first gunshot made her ears ring, but return fire was quick.
She fired once when she saw Bennett, then ducked and looked for cover. A body slammed into her before she was able to move forward, making Taylor tumble backwards. She cracked her head on the doorway, and her vision swam as her body somersaulted.
Down she went, trying to catch herself, but her arms flailed and concrete hit her back, knocking the breath from her lungs.
She landed on the top step, only because she was able to grab an iron rung with her left hand. Otherwise, she would’ve gone down the stairs. Her head hung over the edge.
Shouting surrounded her, but she couldn’t make sense of it—or the searing pain in her right arm.
“Carrigan! Dammit, Carrigan, answer me!”
Holman’s face was in triplicate. His fingers were in her hair. Probing, touching all over her head. Solid ground was under her again.
“What are you doing?” She tried to yank away, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Thank God! Does your head hurt?”
“No. My arm.” She tried again to shake free, but her partner didn’t release her.
Holman blew out a breath and helped her sit up. “Thank God the blood’s not from your head. Someone call another ambulance! Carrigan’s hit!”
An agent acknowledged her partner, but she couldn’t tell who. Taylor let him manhandle her. Her head was fuzzy, and she couldn’t see straight. He pulled her backward, leaning her against the wall on the outside of the room’s door.
Agents bustled back and forth, making the nearby staircase rattle.
White-hot agony burned from her biceps to shoulder, especially when Holman compressed her wound. “Fuck!” she breathed.
“Just hang on. I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks. But you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“You ever been shot before?”