“There. Look.” He jerks his head at the restaurant. “He just came in from the kitchen.”
I narrow my focus. Cole returns to the party. Benji and Layla follow a few minutes behind. Then Hunter.
They all seem different now. Cole is tense, the player smile no longer plastered on his face. Instead, he scowls, his lips pressed tight. And his posture denotes a sharp stick has been shoved up his usually impenetrable ass.
I still can’t find Decker.
Something must have happened.
I want to believe the change in Cole has something to do with Robert’s capture. But I know him well enough to determine the shift in his demeanor isn’t from good news.
He’s on edge. His glances pointed.
He’s been spooked, which forces me to feel the same.
“It looks like a typical night in their shady lives if you ask me.” Easton speaks softly. “And even if they were up to something you know you’re not the person to be handling this. Why don’t you let me take over?”
“I’ll leave soon.”
He laughs. “You’re lying to me now?”
“No. I’m tired.” Emotionally and physically. Cole has that effect on me. “I’ll go home in a few minutes. I promise.”
“Is that a hint that you want me to leave?”
I don’t answer, letting him form his own conclusion.
“Okay, Fox. I’m outta here. But only if you promise to call me when you get home.” He opens his door and waits.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Just fucking call me, okay? I’m not going to sleep until you do.”
He’s such a nice guy. A protective, caring, thoughtful man. Why can’t my libido be turned on by those attributes instead of predatory darkness?
“Fox?”
“Okay. I’ll call.” I shoo him away with a wave of my hand. “Get out of here.”
He gives me a final look of concern, then closes the door to walk down the street behind me and turn the corner.
For each second of the next twenty minutes, I sit in hope of Cole doing something to give me an excuse to barge into the restaurant. I pray he’ll cause a scene or break the law so I have a valid reason to strut my ass in there and face him.
In the same seconds, I fight to drag myself away. To place necessary distance between us so I don’t fall deeper into obsession.
I hate what he’s done to me.
I absolutely loathe how he took a hammer to my morals and made it impossible to piece them all together again.
I was an honorable FBI agent once. Now, I’m nothing. At least I won’t be when everyone finds out how I assisted in criminal activity. No, not just assisted. Participated. Instigated.
I start the car and pull from the curb, driving past the restaurant. For a second, I think Cole’s gaze meets mine. That there’s a tiny spark of recognition in his eyes. But then it’s gone, another passing car stealing my attention before I’m forced to focus on the road.
I have to stop doing this. Why am I doing this?
Stock-holm syn-drome.
Police sirens wail in the distance as I start toward home. Red and blue lights flash up ahead. I slow behind banked traffic and lower my window, peering outside in a vain attempt to understand what’s happening. I can’t see anything but cars. There are only frantic shouts for help from unseen people.
I pull over and get out, jogging along the sidewalk. I pass one parked vehicle after another, a crowd building up ahead, as an officer stands on the other side of crime scene tape, staring them down.
“I need you all to take a step back,” he growls. “Better yet, go home. Have some respect.”
Respect?
The crash comes into sight as I pass the next parked vehicle.
It seems like a truck plowed into a Suburban in the middle of the intersection.
A familiar Suburban.
The plates are Luca’s.
I run harder, approaching the group of people with their phones at the ready. I shoulder my way to the front, my pulse pausing at the two dead bodies on the road. One up ahead to the left. Another splayed yards away to the right. The crime scene is so fresh the victims haven’t had a chance to be covered.
“What the hell happened?” I ask.
The lady nestled against my shoulder casts me a sideways glance. “There was a shooting. This one guy gunned down both men and kidnapped a woman. Even placed her in the trunk of the dead man’s car and took off. The only person left behind is the lady currently being interviewed by police.”
She points to the Suburban where two officers are nestled close at the open passenger door.
I don’t pause for contemplation. I grab the crime scene tape and duck beneath it, running for Luca’s car.
“Hey,” the policeman yells. “Stop.”
“I’m family,” I call over my shoulder and keep running, needing to see the survivor, having to confirm who was taken.
Shattered glass blankets the asphalt as I approach Luca’s beat up car. The smell of gasoline permeates the air. I close in on the officers at the passenger door and hear the shorter blond guy talking calmly to whoever is caged in front of him.
“I already told you,” a woman snaps. “I have no idea what happened.”
I know that voice.
It’s Hunter’s fiancé.
“Sarah?” I skitter to a stop as the policemen turn to face me.
“Ma’am, this is a crime scene.” The taller officer stares down his nose at me, his hand moving to his holstered gun. “You need to get back behind the tape.”
“I’m her friend.”
I’m not even stretching the truth. It’s a blatant lie.
The closest I’ve come to being friendly with Sarah is the silence we shared on opposite ends of a private jet when she escorted me home from Greece.
I lean in, seeing her slumped in the passenger seat, her nose bloodied, one cheek bruised. She straightens at the sight of me, her eyes alighting with strategy as she cradles her ribs.
“Yeah, a friend.” She nods. “She’s here to take me home.”
“She’s not taking you anywhere until we’re finished talking,” the shorter officer warns. “Two people died and another was taken. This is clearly gang-related, yet you’re claiming you’ve got no idea what happened.”
“Can’t you see she needs medical attention?” My blood boils. “Where are the paramedics?”
“She refused medical help,” the taller man snips. “Now, get behind the barrier tape before we’re forced to escort you.”
Sarah shuffles forward in the seat, wincing as she attempts to climb from the vehicle. “I’m going with her. I’ve already told you all I know.” She jumps to her feet, whimpering on impact. “She can take me to the hospital.” Sarah jerks her chin at me. “She’s got more authority here than you, anyway.”
I cringe, knowing what’s coming next as the cops straighten to their full height.
“More authority?” they ask in unison.
“She’s a Fed.” Sarah hobbles toward me. “She can give me a ride.”
“This isn’t a Federal case,” the shorter officer warns. “You’ve got no jurisdiction here.”
I muster bravado that I seriously lack the energy to maintain. “Not yet it isn’t. But one phone call and it could be. So do the right thing and let me take this woman to a hospital. You can ask your questions later.”