“Elizabeth isn’t mine.” He might want her, but she wasn’t…his.
“Keep her safe, and I’ll check in with you in six hours.”
Saxon glanced down at his phone, noting the time. He’d never missed a check-in with Victor. When you were undercover, check-ins were necessary for survival. Before he ended the call, he had to say, “Kurt Taggert was one cold-blooded SOB. So was Locke. Who the hell do you think got close enough to gut them with a knife?”
“I’m going to find out,” Victor said, “but, right now, my money’s already on the perp being an unhappy client of Taggert’s.”
And the client who would be the most pissed off right then? That would be the guy who’d paid to have a woman killed…only that woman had rode off into the night on the back of Saxon’s motorcycle.
I-I knew who she…was…
Locke’s words replayed through his head once more. Those words didn’t make sense, but often the words of a man nearly dying were nothing more than nonsense.
“Six hours,” Saxon said. “Now I’ve got to go. The woman doesn’t like being alone with snakes.”
“What? She doesn’t like—”
He hung up on Victor and turned the truck back around. Elizabeth was waiting.
***
Victor shoved his phone into his pocket and turned to walk inside Locke’s condo once more. The crime scene techs were running around, working their mojo, and they were already analyzing the blood spatter. The body was still on the floor, and the place was starting to smell.
So much time and energy wasted.
The whole goal had been to bring Kurt Taggert in alive. He could’ve turned on so many powerful men and women in the area. Now he was gone. He was dead and Wesley Locke had been sent to the morgue.
Which one died first?
Had the killer attacked Locke, left him to die, then went to kill Taggert? Or had the guy hauled ass over to the condo once he’d taken care of Taggert?
“Uh, Victor? I checked the security footage.”
He turned to face Gary.
But one look at the guy’s face, and he knew the news wasn’t good.
“Someone sabotaged the feed.”
Of course.
“But I can tell you…” Gary added quickly, “that based on when the feed stopped, I think our guy came after Locke first. Because the feed stopped around the same time that Saxon was rescuing Ms. Ward from The Blade.”
And Taggert had definitely been alive then.
“Put an APB out right now for Tommy Haines, Flint Mayo, and Romeo Gustav,” he demanded. “Those bastards went after Ms. Ward at the Moontree Motel.”
Tracy’s eyes widened. “Is she dead?”
“No, she’s safe. Saxon still has her.” And as long as Saxon was there, Victor knew the woman would stay alive. “Find those men,” Victor said. “While we still have the chance to salvage this case.”
***
Saxon slowly opened the door to the cabin. His shoulders were tense because he pretty much expected Elizabeth to try and rip him a new one since he’d dumped her there, but instead of being greeted with an angry outburst, he heard only…
Silence.
He shut the door. His gaze swept the room, and he saw her in his bed.
She’d changed clothes. Ditched the sexy skirt and low-cut top. She’d put on one of his old t-shirts that he kept at the cabin. She was wearing it, and her long, perfect legs were peeking out from the bedding.
He walked toward her, moving slowly, and when the floor creaked beneath him, he tensed. But Elizabeth didn’t wake up. He edged closer to her. She’d put her new tennis shoes by the bed. Her hand was curled under the side of the pillow. Her breathing came, slow and easy. She looked sweet, but tempting as all hell.
His fingers brushed over her cheek, smoothing her hair back. When he looked at Elizabeth, he thought of all the things he’d given up while he’d worked undercover.
A family. A life. A home.
Someone who actually cared about what the hell happened to him.
Unlike Jenny, he hadn’t been willing to let someone else get close while he worked his missions. Because, he knew that his cases crossed the line too many times. And it wasn’t as if someone would fall for
Saxon, the gang leader.
Or
Saxon…the damn criminal with a killing past and a record that stretched for years.
He wasn’t exactly considered dateable by most of the world.
So he didn’t date. When he wanted to fuck, he fucked. And when he wanted more—
I never want more.
His fingers brushed over her hair once more.
I never want more.
She turned into his hand, and, still asleep, she whispered, “Saxon.”
Fuck.
***
Victor hauled ass back to the Moontree Motel. When he got there, it wasn’t a particular surprise to find the parking lot mostly empty. The folks in that type of place tended to clear out by dawn.
He made his way back to room number thirteen. The door was shut—not fully, because the lock had been smashed, but someone had tried to close the thing.
“Those are bullet holes,” Tracy said from behind him. Tracy had followed him to the motel while Gary stayed back to work more on the crime scene at Wesley Locke’s place.
He nodded at her words, not even glancing over at Tracy. He’d already seen the holes that graced the side of the building—and those bullets had pierced right through the glass on the window.
“It looks like there was one hell of a gun fight here,” Tracy continued, “and no one bothered to call the cops?”
“You know this isn’t that kind of place.”
“But,
bullets—”
He drew his own weapon and headed inside. The door squeaked as he pushed it open, and the smell—a smell that he recognized too well—had his jaw clenching.
“Cancel the APB,” Victor ordered as he stared at the men in front of him. The bodies were on the floor. They’d been hit multiple times, that was obvious. Taken out, eliminated with brutal efficiency.
“I thought Saxon said he left them alive.”
Victor bent next to Tommy Haines’s body. He recognized the guy who’d been one of Taggert’s flunkies. At least six bullet wounds covered the guy’s chest—and one had been fired right into his head. “Yeah, that’s what he said.” He paused. “So that means our killer attacked after Saxon was clear.” Because he didn’t believe for a moment that Saxon had killed those three men. Saxon wouldn’t lie to him about something like that.
His gaze slid over to the other two bodies. Both men had also been shot in the head, execution-style. “We’ll need full work-ups on the bodies. Hopefully, the killer left behind a clue we can use to track him.”
Tracy whistled.
“Who the hell are we dealing with here, boss?”
He didn’t know, but he was sure determined to find out. “Cancel that APB,” he said again. His gaze swept the room. When folks in this motel had heard the first blast of gunfire, they would have hunkered down. The less they saw, the better—that was always the mantra in places like this one.
Victor headed back out into the sunlight. He sucked in a deep breath, one that didn’t taste like death, and gazed out at the empty parking lot. Sonofabitch. Everyone had definitely cleared out of dodge. He turned toward the check-in office. Maybe the young clerk had managed to catch a glimpse of the killer.
He headed into the check-in area. The bell over his head gave a little jingle when he opened the door. “Hey, kid,” he called out. When he’d gotten the room the night before, the guy behind the counter had barely looked eighteen. “Kid?” No one else appeared to be in the small office.
His gut clenching, Victor strode forward. His leaned over the counter and glanced down to the floor behind it.
The desk clerk wasn’t going to be ID’ing anyone. He was in a pool of blood. Just like the others, he’d been shot in the head.
Another body, another damn pool of blood—when did this shit become my life?
“Fuck,” Victor muttered. Someone hadn’t wanted to risk being spotted by the guy.
You came in here, didn’t you? Because you wanted to question the guy about Saxon and Elizabeth.
Then when he’d stopped asking his questions, the perp had eliminated the witness.
We’re dealing with a professional. One who can kill just as easily with his gun as he can with his knife.
A guy who didn’t care how many people he took out.
But something was nagging at Victor. If the guy was a professional hitter—and it sure looked that way—then why had Taggert been the one with Elizabeth Ward at The Blade? That part just didn’t make sense to Victor. Why hire out work that you could just do yourself?
This case was spinning out of control. The bodies were piling up, and, so far, they had
nothing
to show for their months of undercover work.
Nothing but the dead.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth opened her eyes. There was a wooden ceiling over her head. She frowned up at that wood. The ceiling in her bedroom was white. Not a cherry wood.
Her heart started to beat faster. She turned her head—and met a pair of dark, glittering eyes.
It wasn’t a nightmare. Oh, damn. Wesley is dead, and I’m being—hunted.
She swallowed. “I don’t care what you see in movies, that shit is creepy.”
Saxon frowned at her. “What?” He was sitting at the little table, his chair turned toward her.
She sat up in bed, making sure to keep all of her important parts covered. “Staring at a woman while she sleeps. It’s not sexy. It’s straight-up stalker-like.”
He blinked. He might have even flushed a bit. With his tanned skin, it was hard to tell for sure.
“It’s creepy,” she continued, “so don’t do it again.”
“I was keeping watch on you,” he muttered.
“Uh, huh…”
“And you’re fucking cute when you sleep.”
Now it was her turn to blink.
“Besides,” Saxon continued, voice deepening a bit. “You were the one calling my name.”
She shot out of the bed. “I was not!”
He leaned back in the chair and his gaze slid over her. “Yes, you were. So I thought I’d stay close in case you…needed me. I’m a helper like that.”
He was lying. Had to be lying. There was no way she’d called for the guy in her sleep. She put her hands on her hips and stalked toward him. “Did you talk to Agent Monroe?”
“Um.”
Um
was not an answer. “Did they catch the guys at the motel? Have they found out who killed Wesley?”
Do I get to return home now?
“Not yet, but Victor’s working on things.”
Right. Good old Victor.
She raked a hand through her hair. When she glanced over at him, his gaze was locked on her—and the darkness seemed to shine with intensity.
“Damn, but you are pretty,” he told her. “Shouldn’t your hair be all messed up when you wake? It just looks tousled and…sexy.”
“Wh-what?” She had to look like a wreck. No make-up. Crazy hair. So far from the land of sex appeal.
“Why are you wearing my shirt?” His right hand lifted, and the back of his fingers —those scarred knuckles that
shouldn’t
be oddly attractive to her—lightly caressed her arm, right beneath the edge of the t-shirt. “Not that I’m complaining. You look far better in it than I ever do.”
Talk.
Elizabeth pushed the words out as she said, “I…just wanted to be in something that wasn’t stained by blood.” She’d used the little shower, too, was that wrong? After he’d left her, she’d been tired of being covered in blood and the sweat that came from fear. So she’d showered and crashed. It hadn’t been as if she were actually going to run out in the swamp after him. With the snakes?
No, thank you.
He nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of that sooner…I could have picked you up more clothes.” His hand fell away from her. “I’m just not used to dealing with someone like you.”
Someone like her? He better not be insulting her. “What do you mean?”
His lips hitched into a half-smile. “Folks in my world are more likely to kill you than to help you.”
But he had helped her. Again and again. “It sounds like the wrong kind of world to me.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m getting out.” He pointed at her. “You’re the last job.”
Ah, so she was just a job now. Wonderful.
“After you, I’m home-free. No more staring into mirrors and wondering who the hell is looking back at me.”
There was a pain in his voice that pulled at her, and Elizabeth found herself edging toward him. A dangerous move, especially when his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened even more.
“Why did you start working undercover?”
“Because I can pass for a killer far too easily.”
She just stared at him. Shame burned through her. When she’d first seen him, she hadn’t doubted for a minute that he was a killer. He’d looked so deadly and dangerous when he burst in that back room at The Blade.
He shrugged, seeming a bit uncomfortable. “My skill set is limited, all right? Some men were born to be criminals.”
“But you aren’t a criminal. You’re the good guy.” The guy who’d saved her life.
He paced away from her, heading toward the lone window in that cabin. “Are you really so sure about that?”
She was. “You saved me.” Twice. Not that she was counting.
“And there have been others that I didn’t save. Too many of them.” His shoulders were stiff as he stared out the window. Sunlight poured in on them, spilling through the window. “A few months back, I ordered the complete destruction of a cabin just like this one. One of my best friends was inside—she was there with her lover. The cabin was his. By the time I was done, the place was burned to the ground.”
A chill skated down her spine. “You had a reason.” The words were pulled from her.
Startled, he glanced over his shoulder at her.
“You’re not some cold-hearted bastard,” Elizabeth said. Sure, there was a lot going on that she didn’t understand, but this part? She got it. “If you had been, you wouldn’t have saved me. You would have turned around and walked out of The Blade.”
I want an hour with her.
“Instead,” Elizabeth cleared her throat, “you spouted that bull about wanting an hour with me so that you could catch Taggert off-guard and get me out of there.”