Dash of Peril
Page 55

“I didn’t want you to.” He’d obviously rushed, but still wasn’t breathing heavy. “Did Yvette call you? What’s going on?”
“She wanted to meet to talk.”
His light blue eyes burned bright with anger. “Something’s wrong.”
Dash searched the area. “We were just thinking the same thing.”
The door opened, and they all three turned, Cannon stepping up front.
Her face pale, a wild pulse racing in her throat, Yvette stood there in something akin to shock. “Cannon.”
“Yeah, me.”
It surprised Margo how furious he sounded when she’d never heard him even raise his voice.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Sickly, maybe even a little desperate, Yvette shook her head. “Nothing. I just...” She tried for a smile and failed. Looking past Cannon, she said to Margo, “I thought maybe you weren’t coming after all.”
Margo studied her and knew, down deep in her gut, that Yvette wasn’t alone. Cannon was right; something was seriously wrong.
She could handle it. She was trained for this. But damn it, she did not need Dash or Cannon caught in the same trap.
Her smile was more successful than Yvette’s, but then she’d had more practice. “I’m so sorry that we’re late. My cat got sick in the car and we had a mess to clean up.” Turning, she looked up at Dash. “Yvette and I might need to talk awhile. Why don’t you and Cannon—”
“Hell, no,” Cannon said.
Dash was more subtle. He stared into her eyes, and she knew, damn it, she knew he understood what she was asking.
And still he refused.
He gave one small shake of his head. “Sorry, no.”
Cannon said, “Let me in.”
Yvette’s eyes went glassy. “No. No, I’m... I called Lieutenant Peterson. I need to talk with her.”
Cannon snorted, put a hand flat on the door and shoved it open to search the room. Arms around herself, Yvette stepped back and away from him.
Drawing her gun, Margo whispered to Dash, “It’s a trap.”
He tried to stay in front of her. “I figured.” Ignoring Yvette, he, too, looked around. Voice as low as hers had been, he said, “Also figured you wouldn’t leave her.”
And that meant he wouldn’t leave, either?
Cannon glanced at her gun, at how Yvette stood off to the side shaking, and murmured, “I’m glad I told Rowdy to send in the troops.”
Margo was glad he had, too. She didn’t see Tipton; his easy chair was empty. She glanced to either side of the narrow living room, but saw no place for thugs to hide.
The kitchen, then.
It opened both to a dining room and to the living room. You could literally circle from the front door to the kitchen, into the dining room, the living room and back to the front door again.
Cannon took a step toward Yvette but she backed up, farther and farther until she stood in the dining room. “I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably. “I’m so sorry.”
Tipton, holding his ribs, limped painfully out of the kitchen first. “She didn’t have a choice, Cannon.” Two men came out behind him.
They stood back, using Tipton and Yvette as shields. They each held lethal guns, but the darker man—the one who’d tailed them—also kept a big knife pressed close to Tipton’s ribs. Judging by the renewed pain on the older man’s face he’d already suffered a few fresh blows.
Margo studied both the thugs. Neither Dash nor Cannon said a word, but she noticed Dash separating a little, spreading out, dividing the target. She wasn’t surprised. Dash had proven himself to be both intuitive and intelligent.
She prayed Logan and Reese would arrive in time to keep them safe.
“Put the gun down, bitch,” the dark man said. “Now, before I gut the old man.”
She had another gun in her purse. Best to play it calm for right now. Finger off the trigger, she held up her hands and slowly lowered the gun to a side table—within easy reach if she got a single opportunity.
“You,” he said to Dash, “that’s far enough. Take another step and I promise I’ll make you very sorry.”
The bald guy cackled maniacally.
To keep them talking, and therefore distracted, Margo gestured between them. “You two aren’t brothers, so let’s see...” Finger to her mouth, she gave them each due attention, then pointed to the hulk with the goatee. “You were ordered to tail us, so you must be the hired muscle.”
His flinty gaze never blinked. It was so probing, so icy, she could almost feel his hatred.
Ignoring that for the moment, she looked at the balding man, who couldn’t stop snickering like a demented brat. “So that must make you a brother. But obviously you’re not the brains behind this circus, so where is the other one?”
A laugh sounded—and kerosene flooded the floor, washing around Tipton’s and Yvette’s feet.
The girl went rigid, making the balding fool snicker louder.
Out stepped the third man. He looked...inconsequential. Average. Like any other middle-aged guy on the street.
Until he smiled.
Why couldn’t the loonies just look loony and make her job easier?
“That would be me.” He held a lighter that he repeatedly flicked. With fumes in the air, that worried Margo. “I’m the mastermind, thank you.”
She lifted a brow. “Right, if you can call a deranged sicko a mastermind.” Just how combustible was kerosene?
Dash shifted—and from one heartbeat to the next, the main guy went ballistic. “Step away from her, right now!”
When Dash hesitated, the guy clubbed Tipton in the gut, making him groan and almost fall to his knees. Only the bearded guy kept Tipton on his feet.
“That’s not necessary,” Dash said. “You’re giving me mixed directions. He told me not to move, and now you’re telling me to move.”
“I’m the boss.”
“Okay, okay.” Placating, Dash held up his hands and took a step away from her. “No problem.”
So much anger radiated off of Dash that it worried Margo. To anyone who didn’t know him, it might not be noticeable. He looked calm, collected, but alert.
Margo did know him, though, and she saw that he kept his composure with a strict and enviable discipline.
“Over there,” the man said, gesturing toward a wooden dining chair that had been placed in the far corner of the living room. “Take a seat. Now.”
His gaze constantly burning over the three men, Dash walked over and seated himself.
“Good, good.” The bossy one handed nylon hand ties to Yvette. “You’re going to fasten his hands behind him to the chair rails. But first...” Grinning, he poured more kerosene on her legs, her feet, soaking her jeans up to her knees.
Screeching, she struggled to move away, high-stepping, recoiling, but he locked an arm around her, holding her tight, the lighter in his hand pressing into her stomach.
The brother giggled and wiggled as if the terror excited him.
Only the muscleman stayed silent and deadly, his ebony gaze going steadily back and forth from Dash, Cannon and Margo, his gun raised, his finger on the trigger.
That one, she decided, wanted a reason to kill. The gunshot, however, would draw notice. And if he tried it, well, she had her own gun within reach and—
“Toby,” the main man said, “if she moves even an inch, shoot her.”
Eyes narrowing in satisfaction, Toby nodded.
She had one name now. Margo wanted the other names. She wanted to be able to address them more casually. The more familiar she could make things, the better her chances.
The head guy pushed Yvette toward Dash, saying, “Hurry it up or your grandpa will pay.”
Stumbling, trailing kerosene everywhere, Yvette rushed over to Dash.
“It’s okay,” Dash said softly. “You’re doing great.” He put his hands behind him.
It was a bad time for Margo’s heart to expand, but that didn’t stop it from happening. God love the man for reassuring Yvette.
“You see, bitch,” said the head honcho, “I know you’re still armed. I know you’re a cop. I know everything about you.”
“My name?”
“Lieutenant Margaret Peterson.” He posed, studying her. “I put a bounty out on you, didn’t get even a nibble, and now, here you are.” And then to Yvette he bellowed, “Hurry it up, damn it! Lash his hands together and then lash them again through the rails.”
Biting her lip, concentrating hard, Yvette got Dash secured and jumped back, as if she might be punished for not finishing on time.
Margo was about to ask for their names in return when he ordered, “Saul, go and check that it’s done right.”
The idiot rushed to do just that—making certain he skirted the kerosene. Holding the gun to Dash’s temple with one hand, he used the other to test the restraints.
Margo was deathly afraid that someone as unbalanced as Saul might accidentally shoot. Dash must’ve had the same thought, especially since Saul kept his finger on the trigger. Dash didn’t even blink. He stared at nothing, staying perfectly still.
“It’s fine, Curtis.”
“Good. Good. Now get her gun.”
At that, Saul hesitated.
Now she knew all their names. Margo gave him her meanest smile. “The women in the videos—”
“What about them?”
“Where are they?”
“The videos?”
“You don’t need to play dumb. I’m already a believer.”
His mouth compressed. “As long as they don’t force us to kill them, we dump the women after we’re done with them.”
“Dump them where?”
He shrugged. “Anyplace convenient. They don’t know us, are too doped up to remember anything, and usually aren’t in a hurry to go blabbing about their exploits.”
It gave her hope that perhaps the other women involved were still alive. “What constitutes forcing you to murder?”
“Usually that’s an error.” And with that Curtis glared at Saul. “If everything is handled correctly, the women are grabbed, drugged, used and dumped. Nice and neat. But Saul has been...messy a few times. And of course, we can’t have women running around who know what he looks like.” He grinned at her, making sure she knew that she was in that same category.
Luckily Yvette didn’t seem to catch on. She could still have hope that they’d get away.
“Damn it, Saul, get her gun!”
Margo turned to the brother. “Come on, Saul. Be a good baby brother and do as you’re told.”
Toby snarled. “She’s trouble. We should take care of her now. I could drag her to the basement and shoot her down there. No one would hear a thing.”
Dash stiffened.
“Oh, no,” Curtis said. “I’m going to enjoy watching her beg.”