Caught by You

by Kris Rafferty

  She was afraid—of Dante, of what he might do to Millie—but keeping Vincent would have been selfish, and foolish. Fucking Pete confirmed that. Her dragging Vincent into the syndicate’s focus was reprehensible. She’d warned Vincent, but he didn’t care. Well, she cared. He deserved better than to have to worry about looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

  Avery paced the tiny room, not wanting to touch anything, thinking about those that had been there before her, renting hourly. And she worried. Her chest was tight with it as she paced and paced, until it was hard to think, and sobs hitched her breath.

  It wasn’t as if she’d had a choice in the restaurant’s parking lot. She’d had to escape. Once Vincent reported she’d “bait and switched” the Feds, he’d be the hammer and Avery the nail. Not to mention, he’d be forced to choose between her and the Feds. No surprise where his loyalty would land. So, she ran…and felt guilty as sin about it. Dante always said she didn’t play well with others. Now it was Vincent’s turn to learn that hard truth.

  Flopping on the bed, sunlit dust motes kicked up around her. She clutched the money bag, thinking of her tomorrows. If she survived her encounter with Dante, this money would seed her and Millie’s future, get them where they needed to go, and set them up until Avery could find a new school for Millie and a new job. Best case scenario. Worse? She wouldn’t survive the day, because as much as Avery knew Dante inside and out, he knew Avery. He had set Millie up as an irresistible bait, and was springing his trap. Dante knew Avery would do anything to get her back. She’d be anything, sacrifice anything, to save her sister. All that was left to do was reel Avery in. She was helpless to resist.

  Avery wiped a tear, hating her weakness.

  Lifting both hands, she studied her six titanium rings. Dull with wear, she could still see their faint inscribed initials. Three years ago, after “graduating” from her “classes” with Dante’s contract killers, her ex brought her into a room and told her who’d killed her family five years before.

  The six men who’d trained her.

  At the time, she couldn’t believe it. Of course, now, she knew it was predictable Dante behavior, cruelty for cruelty’s sake. He had Coppola men lead these six killers into the training room, where she’d spent the last five years learning how to fight, then those men left, leaving her, Dante, and the six killers behind. One by one, they’d confessed their roles in the Toner Family Massacre as Avery listened, mute with shock. Dante saw these confessions as a graduation present, of sorts, to finally tell Avery who’d killed her family. There were no guilty consciences in that room.

  Then Dante gave her a choice: fight them, one on one to the death, and avenge her family, or give up her right for vengeance forever. He was basically telling her to shut up about her family’s deaths, or face the consequences. That’s when she’d realized two things: Dante had known who’d killed her family all along, and he was simply tired of keeping his secret. Most importantly, there wasn’t one person in that room that thought she’d fight them.

  It could have been the shock of finally discovering who’d killed her family, or it could have been the rage she’d felt to realize the men who’d beaten her for five years under the guise of “training” were the men who’d killed all that she’d held dear. Whatever had cranked her into action, Avery took Dante up on his offer. Shocked the shit out of everyone. Some were happy, others nervous.

  They fought with her weapon of choice, a knife, while Dante’s gun aimed at the men, keeping the fights one on one. She didn’t kill them. She dominated them, her rage and skill used in the service of justice. And when they lay on the floor, helpless, she humiliated them by removing their rings and placing it on her fingers. Six rings. And when the sixth fight was won, the sixth ring donned, Dante execute them in his signature way, one shot to the skull.

  She blamed trauma, exhaustion, her injuries for her lack of empathy, but when the last bullet pierced the last killer’s skull, Avery didn’t feel a thing. In hindsight, she supposed she should have predicted her ex-husband’s savagery. These men were humiliated, so Dante had no use for them anymore, nor could he trust them again. He’d tasked his contract killers to train her, and they’d completed their mission. They created the monster that ended them.

  And so began the legend of The Stinger. Someone had to take the blame for these deaths.

  When Avery escaped Dante, unwilling to remain married to a monster, she became a loose end. The truth could cause him trouble within the syndicate, and yeah, he could call her a liar, but the rings… They were her proof that she’d been there, saw what happened, and he couldn’t dispute them.

  Dante had to die. It was him or her. Dante knew it. Avery knew it.

  But Avery didn’t want to kill Dante. She didn’t want to kill anyone. Scooching down the headboard until she rested her head on the pillow, she covered her face, fighting tears. What was she going to do?

  The hotel room’s lock clicked.

  Avery rolled off the bed, Glock in hand, just as the door flew opened. She greeted her unwelcome visitor on the floor, gun aimed at his center mass.

  Vincent.

  He held up a key card. Avery didn’t move beyond blinking, and then she was breathing again. Gun still trained on him, she attempted to think, to reason why or how he was here. Vincent kept his expression blank, giving no indication of his thoughts, and then he stepped away from the door and allowed it to close behind him. The lock clicked into place, and the sound broke through her shock.

  “Don’t move,” she said.

  “I convinced the guy out front to give me your room key.” He arched a brow. “Cost me a hundred-dollar bill. If I was you, I’d complain to management.”

  “He is management.” She kept the gun aimed at him, not sure what he wanted from her, other than bringing her into custody, which she could not allow. Her choices were shoot him, tie him up, or hear what he had to say. No matter her choice, she was still lying on a gross floor. Rug burned and sore, she stood, doing her best to avoid touching the carpet more than necessary. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Her dive had irritated the bruise on her knee.

  “I knew you’d miss me.” He wasn’t smiling, or even smirking. He seemed cautious, still holding the key card in the air. His other hand hung at his side, near the gun she knew was tucked in his waistband.

  “You alone?” she said, gun hand steady, her expression wiped clean.

  “For now.”

  “When will they arrive?” She licked her lips, her hand tightening on the gun’s grip.

  “When I call them.”

  That had her frowning, because it made no sense. When he called them? As if Benton and the Feds gave Vincent leeway to negotiate with her. Benton was frothing at the mouth to destroy the Coppola syndicate. Why would he show restraint when he didn’t need to? Something was going on, but if Vincent were telling the truth, and Benton was truly disinterested in her now, the Feds might be a problem she could back burner while she saved Millie. It was problematic that Vincent had tracked her down so quickly though. All her reasons for leaving him behind remained, and she feared he’d mess up Millie’s rescue, maybe get himself killed.

  “How did you find me?” It didn’t really matter, she supposed. What mattered was getting rid of him again.

  “I’m not just a pretty face. I had your cellphone traced. I’m FBI, remember?”

  Crap. She pulled the offending iPhone from her pants pocket, hating that she still needed it because she was waiting on a call from Dante. Avery tossed it on the side table, and then tensed, using both hands to aim the gun when Vincent slipped his key card into his jacket pocket.

  “Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to shoot you, though you deserve it. What about you?”

  She narrowed her eyes, a bit confused. “What about me?”

  “You going to shoot me?”

  She stu
died his stance; arms folded over his chest, a simmering rage just below his calm. Hmm. He was a dangerous man, and it was best that she remember that. “I’m thinking about it.”

  “We had a deal,” he said. “A plan.” She saw hurt on his face. Damn.

  “Give me a break.” She climbed on the bed, propped herself up against the headboard, while keeping the Glock aimed at his belly. “A deal implies I had a choice.” She narrowed her eyes. “I should tie you up.”

  “Don’t try to distract me with sexy talk. I want some answers.”

  She suppressed a smile. So, he wasn’t as angry as he was making himself out to be. “I’m trying to do the right thing, Vincent. You’re making it hard to be a good guy.”

  Her words had him shaking his head, staring at the ceiling, and then finally he rubbed his hands over his face. “Right back at you.” He sounded exhausted.

  And was making her feel bad. “I’m all she has, Vincent.”

  If he sympathized, he hid it well. “I don’t understand why you think you have to do it alone.”

  Because Dante knew her secrets. He’d implicate her in his murders, or lie, and say she killed those men. She was The Stinger, after all. Her knife fights with them were brutal, bloody, so her DNA was on their bodies. Dante’s accusations would hold up in court. “I know you don’t understand. I’m sorry.” But she couldn’t trust him with her truth. Not when Millie needed her. Not when she wasn’t the only person who’d suffer consequences.

  He indicated the gun, appearing more irritated than afraid. “Have you decided yet? You going to shoot me?”

  “I should.” She was such a fraud. She couldn’t shoot him anymore than she could shoot Millie, and that was a huge problem. She needed to be The Stinger again—brutal, heartless—or Millie might die. And Vincent was confusing her. “You should be very, very nervous right now. I’m not right in my head. I… I’m confused.”

  “Lady, I’ve been nervous since I laid eyes on you.” He’d somehow made his words sound romantic. “And if you’re confused, I can only think that’s a start. It means you’re willing to think things through. Put the gun down and talk to me.”

  She glared at him. “You can be such an idiot.” Avery put the gun on the side table.

  “Right back at you.” Vincent sat on the bed next to her, propping his back against the headboard, and they both stared at the television’s blank screen. “You don’t want the Feds’ help, so I’m assuming you have a plan that leaves them out of the loop.”

  “Them? You mean you. You’re a Fed.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She nodded. “There is only one plan that will work. I drive into the complex, say here I am, give me Millie, and then run away with my sister. The rest is on Dante. He allows me and Millie to leave, or life becomes reacting to whatever he does to stop us.”

  “So, suicide?”

  “If that’s what it takes. You have a better plan?”

  “We will.” And by we she knew he meant the Feds. “They’ll be here in a half an hour.”

  “So much for you saying they’ll come when you call.” She glanced at the door. “Honestly, I’d assumed they were outside the door.”

  “I hitched a ride and beat them here.”

  “Sorry about that.” That he found her, that he was a target of the syndicate, that she’d ditched him at the restaurant, but she wasn’t sorry he was here.

  “This is what we do, Avery. Use us. Promise Benton whatever he wants. It will bring you a ton of goodwill and then you and Millie will be safe.”

  She shook her head. “Those files don’t exist, or rather, if they do, I have no idea where they’d be. When “Fingers” gave me Dante’s message, I didn’t have any choices left and I didn’t know what else to do, so I said I knew where they were.”

  “You should have—”

  “Should have, could have, would have. You wanted two things from me. To meet with “Fingers” and you wanted the nonexistent files. One came up snake eyes, so that left the files. I had to lie. It’s not like you’d have allowed me to come to Jersey otherwise.”

  “So, Pinnella told you Dante took Millie. And who’s Jason Chadwick to you?”

  “I hired him to keep Millie safe.” She sighed. “He wasn’t as good as I’d been led to believe, and now he’s dead.”

  “You should have said something to me at the hospital. I could have helped.”

  “You mean you would have stopped me. I had to lie. It got me here, waiting on Dante’s call.”

  He nodded. “Benton was the snitch you guessed existed in the syndicate. He was outed a day before we found you, but he left with the rumor you had files. He’d sacrificed a lot for that lead, so he’s having a hard time giving it up. He doesn’t want to believe you.”

  “Dante invented “incriminating files” to justify putting the hit out on me. Tell Benton he’s lucky he left the syndicate with his life. Console himself with that. Most people aren’t so lucky.”

  “You did. You left.”

  She shook her head. “Dante took everything from me and Millie. Took her childhood. Took…” She inhaled sharply, forcing down her emotions. “This isn’t living.” The money bag had worked its way under her hip and was biting into a bruise. She pulled it out and set it on the side table.

  “All because you left him?” Vincent was trying so hard to understand, she felt bad for him, because when it came to her and Dante, very little made sense. “He allowed you to divorce him. Why bother with the hit?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to lie to him anymore, but having no choice. That was one secret she’d bring to her grave. “Scorned entitled man syndrome. Is that a thing? Your guess is as good as mine, but once he decided to do it, he needed a good enough excuse to warrant a contract on Ralph Toner’s little girl. Family is everything in the syndicate. Dante knew what he had to do to justify calling out a hit on me.” Vincent closed his eyes and rested his head against the headboard with a thump. “Do you believe me?” He met her gaze, grimacing.

  She wanted him to believe her. Most of it was true.

  “I believe you.” He put his arm around her and tugged her to his side. She pressed her face to his chest and did her best to hide that she was smelling him. She loved his smell. “We’ll figure this out. Problem is, Benton has nothing to support his warrant now. No files, no case. Coppola walks.”

  “That means you have no right to keep me in custody?”

  “None.”

  It also meant Vincent had no official reason to stay and help her. The Feds would go back to wherever they came from and Avery and Dante would be left to hash it out in private. It’s what she needed, so why did she feel so devastated?

  “Maybe we can get Coppola on kidnapping.” A volume of words pressed against her lips to shut him down. There was no way to save Millie from Dante legally. How could he not see that? The law took time to use, and men like Dante didn’t follow rules. Vincent noticed she’d tensed in his arms. She couldn’t help it. She was freaking. “What are you afraid of?” he said.

  She punched his chest, and a spike of pain shot through her hand, forcing her to shake it out. “You tell me!” A million things.

  “Those rings are brutal.” Vincent rubbed his chest. “What did I say?”

  “I’m afraid, Vincent, because Dante wants me dead, and he has Millie!”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about me. What are you afraid will happen if you allow me to help? If you trusted me?”

  Her eyes welled up. “That you’ll be someone else to save.”

  “What?” He laughed in her face, and then he scowled, tugging her onto his lap, cradling her in his arms. “You’re a hundred pounds soaking wet. Why would I expect you to save me?”

  She lowered her eyes, taking comfort in his words. “Pete will have told him about you. Remember? I said walking into
the restaurant with me would put a target on your back. It did.” She licked her lower lip, feeling nervous, but loving how it felt to be in his arms. “Dante will assume we’re lovers. He won’t let you die easily.” She adjusted her position, easing her weight off her bruise.

  His eyes narrowed. “Stop wiggling. You’re turning me on.” His words rendered her speechless, even as he continued to scowl. “What is it about you that makes me put up with your shit? You should be over my knee, or…or I should be bringing you in cuffed and shackled, but…” He tilted her chin up with his fingertip, bringing their lips close.

  “You should go,” she whispered. He nodded, but didn’t move.

  “I should. Then I catch sight of your ass, or the curve of your hip, or I drown in your mesmerizing green eyes.” A shadow fell over his features, and she recognized pain. “And you make me feel...” He was out of control. Avery sympathized. So was she.

  “Feel?” she said.

  “Yes. You make me feel. I don’t like it.”

  Her heart clutched. She couldn’t handle this. “Vincent—”

  “Ignore me.” He rested his forehead on hers, sinking his fingers into her hair, holding her in place, closing his eyes. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “When it comes to women I’m stupid,” he whispered. Then he lifted his head, drew his thumb over her lower lip. She found herself parting her lips for him, wanting his kiss, but she was unable to ask, never having learned how. “But I know men,” Vincent said. “And real men don’t expect their women to save them.” His smile seemed sad. “Though they appreciate the offer.”

  Her chin quivered, tears welled in her eyes. She was a mess.

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead, and then peppered her cheeks with tiny, gentle kisses, smearing her tears. She clutched his shirt, felt his heart racing under her hand. “Stop running from me,” he said. “Allow me to save you for a change.”

  Avery’s head was spinning with what-if’s and buts. How had she gotten here? A desirable lawman was making a commitment to save her, urging her to don the mantel of damsel in distress. He wanted her, or rather, he wanted the woman he thought she was, trusting that she’d be straight with him. How was she any better than his ex-wife? Omission was just as bad as lying, so Avery wasn’t any better.