by Kay Marie
“You know,” the Fed said as he took the driver’s seat, “she didn’t have to let you inside. When we called to establish the meeting, your mom could’ve said no. And that would have been that. She wanted to see you. She wanted you to see your sister.”
“Save it for your next after-school special, Parker.” He crossed his arms and glanced out the window. A few agents were still standing on the lawn of the house. A few were getting into their cars. “Where to next?”
Parker sighed. “To the field office in downtown Phoenix. We’ll take an initial statement while the lawyers start working on a plea deal. WITSEC will find you a placement. Everything should move quickly. Speed is the only upper hand we have—”
Thad sliced the side of his hand into Parker’s jugular, cutting him off, then dropped a tight fist into his bum leg. The Fed groaned as his eyes bugged, glazing over with the pain. His hands went for his gun, but Thad went for the comm, ripping it from his ear and unplugging the system. The rest of the suits would notice any minute that Parker’s device was down, but right now, they were too busy talking and congratulating themselves on a job well done. The safety clicked off.
“I will shoot you,” Nate wheezed, pointing the tip of his Glock at Thad’s head.
“I really don’t think you will,” Thad crooned. The bullets were all sitting in a drawer back at the safe house, where Thad had hidden them while Parker was changing.
“What the hell?” Nate turned the weapon over, sensing the weight difference now that he’d slid the gun from its holster. He pulled his brows together in a tight knot, confused and still fighting through the ache.
“Nimble fingers.” Thad winked. Then he slid the cuffs from his pockets, the ones he’d saved from their earlier snafu. While the Fed was still disoriented and distracted, Thad grabbed his wrists and pressed his torso against the wheel, then latched his hands together. He threw the man back into the seat before he had a chance to beep the horn.
“I knew you would try something,” Parker muttered, his distaste tangible. “I told Jo you would try something, but she said you were better than that. She thought you were a better man.”
“Well, I guess it’s time to take her blinders off,” Thad retorted as he grabbed the gun from Parker’s belt and tossed it into the back seat.
The Fed shook his head. “I don’t get it, Ryder. You got everything you wanted, why run? Why now?”
“You’re right, Parker. I did. I used Addy to get to Jo, just like I planned. I used Jo to get to you, just like I planned. I used you to get through the FBI barricade so I could talk to my sister. Now I’m done. And I can go.”
Just then, a phone rang. Whitney Houston blasted through the car. “Run to You.” The pocket of Agent Parker’s suit lit blue from underneath. The cell vibrated against his leg.
“It’s Jo,” he said.
Thad was already reaching for the phone. He knew Jo when he saw her—The Bodyguard was her favorite movie of all time.
“Nate.” Her voice was low. Not panicked, but with an edge that immediately made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. “The Russians are here. I don’t know how they found us, but we need help. I can handle it for a little while, but get here as soon—”
The line went dead.
He locked eyes with Parker.
“Don’t even think about it, Ryder,” the Fed growled, shaking his torso, trying to free himself of Thad’s hold. The gunshot wound in his leg was no doubt throbbing from the jerky movement, but he didn’t seem to care. Parker was wild, crazed, a man unhinged. “Don’t you dare leave me here. I’ll never forgive you.”
Thad was deadly calm as he reached for the handle on the door. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
He shoved Parker onto the sidewalk and smoothly jumped into the driver’s seat, then stomped his foot on the gas. The car launched into motion—zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. The smell of burning rubber filled the air. He was around the bend before the Feds knew what happened. There’d be no coming back from this. The Feds were minutes behind, if he was lucky. Seconds if he wasn’t. And they’d be a lot less trusting when they caught him.
If he wanted to run, this was his only shot.
Thad pressed his foot down, ignoring stop signs and red lights, not caring as the speedometer ticked to eighty, then ninety, then one hundred. Jo sounded confident on the phone—concentrated but not scared. He could tell by her tone there was already a plan spinning in the back of her mind, but would it work? How much time would she be able to buy? And what about Addison? This wasn’t her life, her world. When he closed his eyes, he saw her, back in that cake shop where they’d first met, huddled and afraid, terrified and hoping he’d save her.
There was only one option, one place he could go—and he had to get there before the Feds. With their procedures and their rules, it would become a hostage situation. He knew exactly how the mafia handled those. Thad couldn’t let that happen. He refused. He’d brought Jo and Addison into this. He’d put them in danger. If he abandoned either of them now, whatever goodness was left in his heart would disappear. If one of them died because of his mistakes, he wouldn’t want to keep living. Nothing was worth so high a price.
I’m coming, Addison. I’m coming, Jo.
He gripped the steering wheel and kept his eyes laser focused on the road. A sense of eerie calm settled over him, of clarity and peace. It felt good for once to be racing toward someone, instead of running away.
Hold on. I’m coming.
- 26 -
Addison
“Where’s Ryder?” the man grunted.
Addy shook her head, too frightened to speak. The twine circling her wrists had rubbed them raw. Her shoulders ached from the odd angle. Every inch of her trembled.
Beside her on the couch, Jo gave him a hard look. “We told you already, we don’t know. He said he was handing himself in. He said he was making a deal with the cops. We were told to stay here and he left with the Feds.”
The man slapped Jo across the cheek. Her face whipped to the side, revealing a bright red spot by the side of her lip. Blood. Addy screamed—a quick, shocked, desperate sound. Jo just spit a wad of goopy, gory spit at their feet and smiled.
“Hit me all you want. It won’t change the fact that we don’t know anything.”
He pulled his hand back, but his comrade stopped him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him across the room with a grunt. They put their faces together, talking in a language Addy didn’t understand and gesturing with their hands. Their words were forceful and angry. They were arguing about something.
“Psst.”
Addy turned toward Jo.
“It’s okay,” Jo whispered.
Addy gave her a pointed look. They were tied up and bound, stuck on the couch, facing off against two mobsters twice their size who had guns. How was this on any level okay?
“Listen,” Jo said, so softly Addy had to strain to hear. They leaned closer together and Jo turned her head slightly to the side. “I grabbed a knife from the kitchen before I went to the bathroom to hide. It’s stuffed in my pants. And I managed to call Nate before they found me. Help is on the way. We just need to delay.”
Her arms moved subtly up and down, and a gentle scratching noise filled the air—rope fraying beneath a sharp, serrated edge.
“If we can separate them,” Jo said, keeping her gaze on the two men still presenting them with their backs as they fought, “I think I can take one of them down one-on-one. They won’t expect it, so I’ll have surprise on my side. I’m not sure they know who I am. I mean, I have no idea how they found us.”
“Could they have…” Addy swallowed. “Could they have spotted us at the Grand Canyon somehow? Followed us from there?”
Jo wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Not likely. I know Thad. He would’ve taken the necessary precautions. And if they were following you, they would’ve hit you before you got to the city. Or they would’ve followed Thad when he left with Nate. I mean, t
his is an FBI safe house. No one was supposed to find us here.”
“Could it have been an inside job?” Inside job? Since when do I even know what that is?
Jo’s brows pressed together. Her eyes narrowed. In the end, she sighed. “No. I don’t think so. Not this time. Ah!”
Her arms stopped moving. She must have gotten through the restraints. That thought should’ve provided some sort of comfort, but all Addy could think was, Great. Now I’m the only useless one in the room.
The couch cushion beneath her butt vibrated.
“What was that?” Jo asked.
Addy’s eyes went wide. She cringed. Not useless. Less than useless. A liability. “I know how they found us. I thought it was okay, now that I was with you. I thought— No. I wasn’t thinking. I put my battery back in my cell phone. They must have picked up the signal.”
Jo winced, but kept silent. When she met Addy’s eyes, there was no judgment in her gaze, only sympathy.
This is all my fault.
Well, it wasn’t all her fault—she never asked Thad to walk into her cake shop and drag her into his mess. But this, right now, this was her fault. It had been her mistake—and a stupid, stupid one at that.
I didn’t even use the freaking thing.
I didn’t even call anyone!
Addy sighed and closed her eyes, mind racing over the past couple of days, the past couple of hours, her conversation with Jo.
I can fix this.
I know how to fix this.
Her eyes shot open. Before she could second-guess, she blurted, “I know where the Degas is.”
Jo inhaled sharply. Addy turned to the side, meeting her friend’s panicked, questioning gaze. For the first time that day, she was calm. Jo said they needed to be separated, and that she could do.
The Russians stopped arguing. One turned. “What?”
“The painting Thaddeus Ryder stole? The Degas?” Her voice was surprisingly steady. “I know where it is.”
“Where?”
Addy swallowed. “I have to show you. It’s hidden.”
He narrowed his eyes, studying her. She knew exactly what he saw—a weak woman who was small and fragile, easy to overpower, and scared out of her mind. The assessment was accurate. Yet deep down, a strength thrummed, whispering she was so much more than the outside world believed.
“Untie me, and I’ll get it for you.”
The second man said something in Russian. They both laughed. At first, she thought it was a, Ha! Ha! Look at this silly woman trying to get us to untie her. Does she think we’re idiots? But then, one of the Russians stepped forward and Addy had to force a smile from rising to her lips. Because the laughter, well, it had been nothing more than classic male chauvinism. And there wasn’t a woman in the world who didn’t understand the special glee that came from being underestimated by a man—that bright, burning knowledge that he was about to be proven wrong. Of course, Addy wouldn’t be the one proving them wrong. That was all Jo. But still, if everything went well, she planned to steal a little of the credit.
The hope sparking to life in her chest died the minute cold steel pressed against her temple. A violent twitch spasmed up her spine, causing Addy to flinch. Every nerve in her body was attuned to that small circle, no bigger than a quarter, promising death. Her pulse raced. Her skin buzzed. She swallowed, trying to regain the calm.
“Where is it?” the man grunted.
Her chin wouldn’t stop shaking. She had a stutter when she spoke. “The car.”
“Let’s go.”
He pushed the barrel deeper into her skin and grabbed her by the shoulder, then pulled her to a standing position. Addy stumbled, tripping over her feet as he yanked her toward the door, stopping only to grab the keys. He was strong and he held her upright, grip hard enough to bruise. The other man stepped to the side as they passed, holding his gun up, aimed at Jo’s head. And then they were outside in the desert heat. The street was empty, not another soul in sight. The hour was odd, late enough that the acrid air was starting to cool, but not so late people would be coming home from work. A witching hour under the bright light of day. The man shifted the gun to her lower back and gripped the twine tying her wrists. A subtler hold, but an unbreakable one nonetheless. He didn’t slow until they were next to the car.
“You run, I shoot.”
Addy nodded.
He dug the metal deeper.
“Okay,” Addy said out loud. “I understand.”
A tingle zipped down her spine as steel sang—a sound she could recognize blind. Addy had spent enough time in the kitchen to know a knife when she heard one. He jerked her arms back, a painfully high angle. Addy inhaled sharply, squeezing her eyes against the ache as he cut through the binds. A moment later, she was free. Addy pulled her wrists into her chest, unwinding the twine and rubbing at her chafed skin. He threw the car door open and used the gun to push her inside. She landed face-first against the seats and scurried as far away as possible.
The painting… Where is the painting?
Addy ducked her head, scanning the shadows beneath the seats where she’d seen Thad tuck the art tube a few times before. It wasn’t there. Panic scorched, a wildfire alive inside her chest.
No. No. No.
Thad had been the last one in the car. Had he taken it? She knew he was planning to run—that gleam in his eyes had been unmistakable. But for some reason, she’d been convinced he wouldn’t take the Degas with him. She’d been certain he’d leave the painting behind for the Feds to find rather than steal such beauty away. Addy’s faith in that one tiny part of him had been absolute, but now doubt tickled at the back of her thoughts.
If I was wrong about that…what else was I wrong about?
What else did I misjudge?
A bright spot caught her eye. Addy blinked, realizing it was light reflecting off shiny rubber—the top of the art tube. The painting was there, hidden deep beneath the middle seat.
I was right. A whoosh of relieved air pushed through her lips, blanketing a little bit of the fear. She took a breath, clearing her mind. And now I need to buy Jo some time.
Addy curled her fingers in, resisting the urge to grab the art tube, and sat up. After crawling over the second row of seats, she fell none to gracefully into the trunk and fiddled with the tent, trying to look busy. Really, she was searching for a weapon, anything she could use to fight back.
Would the tent stakes do any damage? Could she stab him with one?
No.
Addy sighed. They weren’t sharp and she wasn’t very strong. What about the tent itself? Could she just throw it on him and run? Pull a vanishing act?
No.
She pushed the tent away. A bullet would go right through the thin fabric, and she wasn’t fast enough to get around the corner before he yanked it off his head.
Think, Addy. Think.
“What’s taking so long?” He poked his head inside, finding her in the back.
Addy snatched the tent and held it up. “I’m sorry. He—he must have moved it.”
“You don’t have the painting?” The man’s brows pushed together and he lifted the gun. His gaze flicked back and forth between the empty street and her head.
“No!” Addy held up her hand. “No, there was another spot he hid it. I just need another minute. Please. I— I can find it. I swear.”
He frowned but nodded.
As Addy climbed back over the seats, she tried to envision what was going on inside the house. There’d been no gunshots—at least, she hadn’t heard any. And it didn’t look as if they had silencers, if silencers were even a thing. In movies, they were always large cylinders at the end of the barrel, but was that only in Hollywood? Did all guns have silencers now? Were they built in? Oh, God, there was so much she didn’t know. What if Jo had been shot inside the second Addy left? What if she was alone? What if—
“Did you find it?”
“I— I see it. One second,” Addy called over her shoulder as her heart ra
ced. Her fingers shook, but she couldn’t delay any more. He was getting suspicious. He might shoot her. He—
The letter A in pink cursive poked out from beneath the passenger seat. A single beam of light shone through the window, illuminating the magenta embroidery, leaving the rest in shadow.
My apron. Addy froze. My apron!
She gasped and reached for the neatly bundled fabric, remembering what she’d stuck in there days ago, when her mistrust of Thad was still ripe—a pair of scissors. Addy ripped the canvas open and glanced over her shoulder. The man wasn’t looking at her. He was focused on the house. She wrapped her fingers around the scissors, amazed at how much stronger she felt with some sort of weapon in her hands. It wouldn’t do much against a gun, but it was something. She wasn’t helpless anymore—not entirely. Addy lifted the edge of her shirt and tucked the scissors into the waistband of her leggings, along the side of her hip so he was less likely to notice. Then she pulled the painting out from underneath the seats.
“What—”
“I have it!” she shrieked and held it up. “I have it.”
I hope that was enough time, Jo. I hope— I did everything I could.
Addy crawled backward out of the car, wriggling her shoulders as the gun returned to its position at the base of her spine.
“Give me the painting.” His tone was absent of anything human.
Addy gulped. What choice did she have? She lifted the art tube over her shoulder and stretched it back. He relieved her of the weight. The gun eased off her skin. But a creep spread from the spot, itching up her spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand. It was too silent. Too still. He breathed heavily, right over her shoulder. As though she had eyes on the back of her head, Addy could see the gun rise, could feel the path of the barrel along her skin.
