by Asha King
Two members of Seven Security were waiting for him in the hotel lobby.
Benji and Belladona were siblings—twins, in fact. Benji, the resident hacker, worked mostly from the company’s office in Midsummer, which meant he most often ended up running errands. His sister had dabbled, nearly finishing training to be a police officer, nearly getting her private investigator license, and even going back to school for random courses, but she’d stuck with the company, thankfully, proving she was capable of committing to at least something.
Benji stood in greeting—he was two inches taller than Mike and imposing with broad shoulders, particularly for a guy whose job didn’t require him to be. But he held himself with caution, always, big shoulders tensed and turned inward, head slightly bowed, like he expected either a sharp word or a blow from anyone he encountered. Still, he smiled—was always smiling—with his lips pulled back to show straight white teeth contrasting dramatically with the dark brown of his skin.
Belladona’s physical presence was entirely the opposite. She was tall and slender but remained seated instead of rising like her brother, and her shoulders were thrown back, chin lifted with confidence and just a touch of defiance no matter who she spoke to. Her black hair was wound up in a knot with a pen tucked through it, exposing an unsmiling face and steady dark eyes that never wavered.
The hotel lobby was small and almost claustrophobic, with plants loaded around thick columns near the reception desk to one side and the couches where his coworkers sat in a small grouping on the other, little space between for foot traffic. But it was also blessedly quiet even for the middle of the day and Mike sat across from Benji and Belladona without worrying they’d be heard. His knees nearly bumped the coffee table between them and Benji noticeably sat at an angle so he wouldn’t suffer the same fate when he folded his large frame down as well.
“How’s the brat?” Belladona asked, at last a smile tugging at her lips.
While Mike hadn’t called Liliana that directly, clearly they’d filled it in based on his description of the job thus far.
“Handcuffed in the shower,” he replied. “So about as expected.”
She snickered while Benji shook his head.
Belladona shifted forward in her seat and withdrew an inch-thick file folder from the messenger bag sitting on the floor next to her. She set it on the coffee table and spun it to face Mike. “News is not great.”
He didn’t think it would be, not after their conversation yesterday around the time Liliana stole his shoes and ran. Benji had picked up some chatter that there was news about the Hartleys, none of it good, and Mike had directed them to dig up everything they could. Today they insisted on coming here directly to speak with him instead of passing it by phone, which wasn’t a good sign.
He opened the folder and drew in a sharp breath.
Photographs rested on the top of the pile. Full color glossies showing gruesome images from a murder scene. Blood was bright and thick, in a huge pool with a man lying in the center of it. His limbs were twisted at odd angles, fingers clearly broken, and dark purple bruises covered his face and torso. He’d been tortured before being murdered.
“Officer Murphy was one of the cops assigned to Liliana White’s surveillance and protection,” Belladona filled in.
Son of a bitch. Mike swallowed dryly and flipped through the next few pictures. More photos of the body. And then photos of a different body. This one had burn marks as well as blood snaking down from an open mouth, a handful of teeth on the floor next to his head.
“Officer Carson,” she continued. “Murphy’s partner. Also assigned to Liliana White.”
Mike cycled through the remaining photos—there were two more bodies and he didn’t need Belladona’s commentary to know why they were included in the folder. All were tortured by someone who likely knew what they were doing. All murdered afterward.
A stack of files were beneath the photos but Mike left them for the moment, sitting back and running his head over his face. “This isn’t the Hartleys.”
“Not directly,” Benji said. “But the chatter I’ve heard suggests hired help is in town and given the mess here, I think it’s pretty clear they did the hiring.”
“The Huntsman,” Bellandona said.
“Huntsman?” Name wasn’t ringing a bell for Mike.
“Contract killer. Particularly brutal, as you can see. So nicknamed because he hunts his targets. He’s focused, relentless, and sometimes uses a bow and arrow, so that’s a fun change of pace.”
“He’s never worked this area before.” Benji leaned back in his seat and seemed to be deliberately looking at everything but the photos on the table. He saw plenty of gruesome things in their line of work but wouldn’t seek it out and stare if he didn’t have to, Mike knew. “Crosses country borders easily. No one has a name or a description on him. Sometimes he leaves bodies, like this, to leave a message. Other times he’s a ghost.”
“I’d guess his reasoning for going after the cops and previous private security is twofold,” Belladona said, raising her hand to count off on her fingers. “One, as you probably guessed, he is torturing them for info on Liliana White’s location. She is his ultimate target.”
Thankfully, no one but Jann knew of Mike’s involvement now, and his friend would’ve taken precautions to avoid being tied to this. Mike had spoken to temporary private security people at the hotel he’d picked up Liliana’s things from, but he’d used a fake name and fake ID—the disposable kind that couldn’t be traced back to Seven Security. Their hotel bookings were done in a similar fashion and untraceable.
“Second,” she continued, “this is a splashy statement. He’s not hiding what he’s doing—he’s making sure it gets back to whoever has White now. He’s trying to spook you out.”
Mike couldn’t argue with her assessment—it seemed about right. The Huntsman was no doubt very good at what he did and any further moves would have to be done with extreme caution.
“Kristof thinks this is serious and we should all be here to help,” Benji said, indicating another member of the company’s staff. “The more people on this the better.”
Mike stared absently at the coffee table without really seeing it as he thought, the photos blurry in his peripheral vision. “The problem there is that a clump of us will stand out. Two vehicles for the seven of us plus Liliana. Three to four rooms, depending on how we organize it, and grouped together it will draw attention. A huge amount of room service, no housekeeping. It wouldn’t take long for someone who knew what he was looking for to find us.”
Belladona drummed her nails on her knee, fidgeted in her seat. “You on your own is suicide, though. Don’t be stupid, Mike.”
“I didn’t say I was on my own here.” He looked up at both of them in turn. “We still pool resources on this. Track the Huntsman’s movements. The deaths of multiple police officers should be enough to start a manhunt for him, so send a tip to the local authorities.”
“If the heat’s on, he might skip town without taking out his target.” Belladona sounded doubtful but nodded anyway.
“Right. It’s worth a shot. Benji, go through communications not just by the Hartleys but anyone associated with them. If they were smart, they used a middleman for the hire. It might require some footwork, so that’ll be on you,” he looked at Belladona, “but be careful.”
“The Huntsman’s probably not working cheap, either,” she said. “He tortured and killed four people in two days—he’s probably on the clock. The longer you can keep Liliana hidden, the better.”
Mike nodded. He preferred, personally, to be a bit more proactive and on the offense in a situation like this, but waiting out their opponent might be better.
“Second problem.” Benji nodded at the file.
Right, Mike hadn’t entirely been through it yet. He turned the photos over and set them aside, then looked at the next stack of papers. Beyond the autopsy and police reports from the recent murders, he found surveillance shots
of a man identified as Jimmy Hartley dated two days ago.
“That is the last time one James Leonard Hartley was seen,” Benji said. “He’s disappeared.”
Mike looked up sharply. “What?”
“Gone,” Belladona said. “Hasn’t been home, hasn’t been to his mother’s, hasn’t been by any of the family businesses. He’s a ghost. Slipped police surveillance before we got there ourselves. Not at any of his usual haunts. Benji can’t even track him online—we think he dumped his cell phone. His car hasn’t moved from the lot.”
That was not a good sign. Although a contract killer had been sent after Liliana, Mike figured that was the mother’s doing—Jimmy seemed more the type who would want to do the dirty work himself. Probably enjoyed the violence.
Now not only did they have a vicious hitman to worry about but this idiot, too.
And the problem was that Mike couldn’t entirely dismiss him as an idiot because while he might be brash and not as overtly threatening as the Huntsman, he had something the hitman didn’t.
Jimmy knew Liliana.
He knew the people connected with her. He knew her habits. He knew how she thought. And that made him just as dangerous if not more so.
While part of his mind pondered the implications of Jimmy Hartley on the run, the other part weighed the immediate plans he had. “We’re booked for two more days here but I was planning on moving her today to somewhere else. Reserved our room yesterday, it’s on the other side of the city.”
“But...” Benji filled in, obviously sensing plans had changed.
“But I don’t like being in this area. I know it, but not as well as I do other towns, and there are a lot of variables in the city to be accounted for.”
“Home turf?”
“You’d both stick out more in Midsummer,” Belladona said warily.
“In Midsummer, yes. Outside of it, not necessarily.” There were dozens of roadside motels, bed and breakfasts, and other vacation spots that were virtually deserted in winter. Send someone from his team to book the room and sign in, slip him the key so he and Liliana weren’t seen, and stay there. Order food for delivery rather than room service so anyone checking hotels wouldn’t know they were there. They might be able to stay four or five days rather than move after three. It would mean keeping entirely confined to the room the entire time, which would mean possibly securing the room so Liliana definitely couldn’t leave.
He could admit to himself, just barely, that he felt badly at the thought. Her trust in him was already pretty low over the forcible confinement and this would take that to a whole other level. Curtains closed all the time. Windows secured. He might need a second person there after all to watch the door in shifts.
Either that or he’d be chaining her to the bed.
Chair. He’d chain her to a chair. Why did his head immediately go to handcuffing her half-naked to a bed?
“Okay.” Mike pulled out his phone to do a quick search of the motels around Midsummer. A bed and breakfast would be nice but there was too great a risk of having a nosy manager and all he needed was for someone to tell a neighbor, who would tell another neighbor, and then God knows who would find out. There were a few possibilities—he skipped the ones that were too near the main roads and found a remote place. Poor quality but, again, he wouldn’t be ordering their food or letting housekeeping in. He and Liliana would have to keep the place clean for a few days themselves. Maybe he’d have someone from his team stock the room with non-perishables as well. “Benji, I’m sending you an address. Book us a room for seven days. Register, sign in, whatever. Stick the no housekeeping sign on the door, leave the place unlocked with the key in the room. We’ll be there by the evening.”
He thought over the supplies he currently had and what else he might need. Cash was fine. He had a pistol in a lockbox in his SUV—
The vehicle. It was also too obvious—it would stand out in the parking lot of a shitty motel in a back road area.
This was getting to be quite the pain in the ass.
“And a car,” he said. “Something maybe six or seven years old. Not traced to the company.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Belladona said.
Mike nodded and pulled out his car keys, which he tossed to her. “Exchange everything in the SUV to the car’s trunk and leave it in my parking spot here.”
“Key in the usual spot, got it. Give me two hours.”
They wouldn’t be leaving until later that evening, so that would be perfect. Very few things in the room left to pack and—
Oh shit.
He scooped up the photos and papers, closed the folder, and kept it in hand as he rose. “Anything else?”
Benji and Belladona exchanged a look. “No,” he said. “Is there a problem?”
Mike grimaced. “Just that, as I said, I left her changed to a shower curtain rod and she’s either screaming by now or has chewed her own arm off.”
Chapter Six
The hotel room was silent as Mike entered, so he was leaning toward “chewed her arm off”.
Of course if that had been the case, he would’ve expected blood, and there was none. Not even the shower ran anymore and there was no screaming, not even as the door clicking shut made it clear he’d returned.
He set the folder on the dresser, shoving its grim contents from his mind, and looked to the bathroom door where the orange light shone beneath, spilling over the carpet.
Shit, shit, shit. He hadn’t meant to leave her in there, inwardly kicked himself for it. He didn’t want to have the meeting in her presence but should’ve simply delayed her shower when he had no idea how long he’d be down there. It wasn’t like him to slip up like that.
He twisted the bathroom doorknob slowly and eased the door open. “Liliana?”
Warmth and steam billowed out, slicking his skin. Silence, or at least mostly. Just the crinkle of the shower curtain. The ring of metal against metal, likely the cuff of the rod.
And the slightest sniffle that suggested she’d been crying.
Guilt rushed through him but he cleared his throat, tried not to let it show as he pushed the door open fully and stepped in the room. Immediately he glimpsed her face in the mirror where she peered around the shower curtain. Her eyes were red-rimmed and angry, mouth set in a straight line.
“I’m sorry,” he said swiftly, reaching for the key in his pocket.
Her glare was almost enough to stop him in his tracks and he’d received his fair share of scowls in a variety of circumstances. This was probably the first time an attractive naked woman in a shower with one arm handcuffed over her head looked ready to murder him with whatever she could reach, however.
He reached for the cuff on the shower curtain rod and gave the key a twist in the lock. The bracelet popped open and swung down. Her arm immediately dropped as if she couldn’t hold hit up any longer, and given that she’d been in the position for nearly thirty minutes, he figured that was accurate. She stumbled back out of view, the sound of her skin hitting the porcelain wall filling the space.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, tone genuinely conciliatory. He should probably just leave her but would feel better after ensuring she got out of the shower safely after being left standing for so long. He grasped a towel from the shelf above the toilet and let the thick terrycloth unfurl, and then passed it to her around the shower curtain.
She grasped it with her non-cuffed hand and jerked it out of sight. “You left me here.”
“I didn’t expect to be gone so long.”
Liliana snorted and muttered something he couldn’t make out, then the shower curtain pulled back. “Move. Please.”
He stepped aside.
She started forward, trying to grip the towel at her chest. Got one foot over the side of the bathtub and wobbled, her shoulder striking the tile as she fell.
Mike had darted to her side and grabbed her without thought—one second she was slipping, the next she was staring up at him with still angry eyes. H
is arm was around her lower back, steadying her, the water still clinging to her skin and dripping from her thick dark hair to soak the sleeve of his shirt. The heat from her body, from the confined room, warmed him, and the scent of coconut oil drifted up from her hair.
“Let me help you,” he said gently.
She probably wanted to argue—her lips even twitched as if she was about to. But instead she said nothing, just glanced away and made no move to push him aside. Mike eased her forward, supporting her while she stepped her other foot over the tub’s side. Her left arm dangled at her side, the open cuff swinging from the chain.
The towel wrapped around her was unsecure and about to slip, likely difficult to tuck in place using just the one hand with the other attached to a sore arm. When she was steady on her feet, he reached for the towel and slid it with care, watching he didn’t let it fly open as he better secured it under her arms.
It was maddening, this proximity to her. The way goose bumps rose and spread across her upper chest under his touch, the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath. He tucked a corner of the towel in place, tried not to let his hands linger, hoped she didn’t see the slight tremble in his fingertips. His control was wound very, very tightly, and he felt it coiled in him ready to pop at the slightest provocation.
And that was not going to happen. Not ever. Not even when her nearness or the scent of her freshly washed skin stirred his arousal—not even when his gaze zeroed in on her plump lips as they pursed and he wanted desperately to kiss her, to sink his tongue into her mouth and taste her at last, to pull the towel away and—
Jesus Christ, man. Get. A. Hold. Of. Yourself.
Mike stepped back, keeping a hand on her free arm.
She still glared at him and pulled out of his grip. “You left me in here.” Her movements were stiff as she walked past him, and she didn’t bother with her pile of clothes on the floor as she exited the bathroom for the main hotel room.
