In a Killer’s Sights

by Sandra Robbins

  Her breath hitched with each rapid footstep, one in front of the other. Her car closed in, her arms reached out. The door handle brushed her fingertips just as her scarred arm was yanked back in a vice grip. Instantly, her legs flew out in front of her as her body smacked hard into the shorter guy’s chest.

  He held her with both arms this time. She couldn’t budge in any direction or with any part of her body. Her squirms and painful screams did nothing as he dragged her back to the garage.

  “Open the door, Gunn.”

  “I told you, you can’t kill her.” It was the big guy talking. Would he help her?

  “And you’re not in charge. I am. You keep forgetting that.”

  She took that as a no.

  Gunn opened the door as instructed, and Roni saw her first real glimpse of him as the short guy carried her over the threshold. Blond hair, curls at his nape and eyes that tripped her up. She went for Gunn’s baby blues, demanding he look at her. See me, she wanted to say. Look at me. I’m a person.

  Conflict resided in their depths, but no compassion.

  He turned away, and she knew he would be of no help. What a waste of a handsome face, she thought. He obviously lacked brains in exchange for it.

  Roni accepted her solo fight, but that would mean coming up with some fast thinking on her part.

  First off, who were these men?

  Were they friends of Uncle Clay? It would explain their presence in her garage if it was her uncle who let them on the property. Uncle Clay may have fooled the rest of her family into believing his innocent spiel about his involvement in the car crash that killed her parents, but he didn’t fool her. He knew more than he let on, and she wouldn’t stop digging until she discovered everything.

  But just how far would he go to stop her?

  Would he invite criminals to her track to do his dirty work?

  The door slammed behind Roni, cutting her off from the world and locking her inside with killers.

  She craned her neck to see how many closed in on her. She swallowed past the burning pain in her throat and spoke as strong as she could muster. “You’re not going to get away with this. I have family in the CIA.” Not a total lie, just not sure if her grandfather could be contacted fast enough to save her. The man lived a secret life.

  Her peripheral vision showed four men approaching, tools in their hands. Big metal crowbars and wrenches no doubt meant to silence her.

  “You were saying?” The small but extremely strong man holding her spoke into her ear, his breath hot and putrid.

  Roni turned her face away to Gunn, the man who had saved her outside, if she could call it saving. In the full garage light, she thought his baby blues and blond curls warred against this whole lethal scene. He didn’t look like the other guys with their shaved heads and tattoos etched into the sides of their necks, heads and arms. He also carried no wrench or any other tool to be used against her. But perhaps his weapon of choice wasn’t of the visible kind.

  No weapon formed against me shall prosper. The scripture popped into Roni’s mind from someplace deep and forgotten. Cora had prayed it over her as a child, but it had been years since the Spencer family’s maid had repeated the words. Roni had made it clear to Cora that when it came to God, she didn’t want to hear about anything He had to say. But in these dire moments, Roni didn’t question why His words came to mind now...only the fact that they brought on a sense of empowerment.

  Power that she would need against these men.

  They looked at her with such hatred. Maybe they weren’t friends of Uncle Clay’s, but of Jared’s. That would really explain the flaming eye-daggers coming her way. Jared Finlay still sulked about her terminating their relationship.

  Roni lifted her chin. Jared used her to jump-start his racing career. He got what was coming to him, exactly what he deserved.

  And so would these lowlifes.

  “What are you doing in my garage?” she demanded and glanced around the bays. Three vans, painted white, rear windows replaced with metal inserts to block the view to inside; car parts strewn about.

  She had her answer but didn’t want to believe it. Maybe she was wrong.

  Yeah right, like these guys were legit.

  “You’re using my garage to clone cars?” she rasped angrily.

  Car cloning was a federal offense. Stealing the identity of a legitimately owned vehicle and slapping it onto a stolen car in a chop shop gave the car a new identity so it could be used for criminal activity. Drug deals, mafia jobs, drive-by shootings, you name it. Criminals could get away with a lot when their cars didn’t out them.

  Roni sneered at the men. “How dare you use Spencer Speedway as your chop shop. I will not allow you to link my business to your crimes.”

  Gunn’s eyes narrowed. His arms crossed at his front as they had outside.

  “How did you know that’s what we’re doing here?” he said.

  “I didn’t, but thanks to your confession, I do now.” She gave his formidable physique a quick once-over and continued, “Such a shame.”

  Roni’s neck wrenched back in pain. Her original attacker grabbed her scarf again, tilting her head until she felt his prickly, unshaven cheek against her. “I should have killed you immediately, chica. You talk too much.”

  Something hard pushed into the side of her head.

  It clicked.

  Roni closed her eyes on a sharp inhale. This was how she would die? Shot down in her own garage. The place that was supposed to be where her dreams of a racing school came to fruition. This was so unfair. But then, when had her life ever been fair?

  She looked at Gunn, standing in front of her. No concern showed on his face. It was as if he didn’t care one way or the other if his partner pulled the trigger, even after he’d saved her outside. He stepped up close and lifted a strand of her hair in his finger. “Red.”

  “Good, you know your colors. Your mother must be so proud.” If Roni was about to die, she wouldn’t go out cowering.

  Gunn stilled, expressionless. Not the reaction she’d hoped for, but if imminent death didn’t deflate her nerve, Gunn’s lack of emotion wouldn’t either.

  “You’ve got moxie,” he said. “That’s dangerous.”

  The shuffling steps of the other four men drifted to her ears. They tapped their various tools against hands itching to use them. Roni’s breathing picked up even as her chin lifted higher to defy them to come any closer.

  “I say we ransom her,” Gunn said with a smirk inches from her face. “Think of the money, boys. She’ll bring a pretty penny.” He let her strand of hair go after one more brush between his fingers. “Her family would pay out big.”

  The room went silent. Then a deep, sick laugh erupted from the man who held the gun to her head. Slowly, he released the fabric of her scarf, then the pressure of the gun upside her head disappeared.

  “I like the way you think, muchacho,” he said in her ear, then shouted, “Stuff her in the back of my van. We’re movin’ out...now.”

  “No!” she yelled, but eager, grubby hands grabbed at her from all sides. All hands except for those of the man who just saved her from being killed...again.

  But now Roni knew why he’d saved her.

  Money. The root of all evil. And this blond-haired, tough guy with his mocking baby blues was the evilest of them all.

  He was also no dummy.

  But his weapon of intelligence made him more dangerous than any crowbar the other men carried.

  A greasy rag filled her mouth on a gag and her hands were bound behind her. She screeched and twisted with all her might, but one against six proved her fight hopeless.

  No, not hopeless, she decided, settling her eyes on Gunn. She made sure he knew he would be the one to pay for every atrocity inflicted on her, right down to each an
d every broken nail.

  The next second a bag covered Roni’s head, putting her into complete darkness. She took solace knowing she’d made her message clear. Like Jared, Gunn didn’t know how ruthless she could be, and also like Jared, he would soon find out.

  * * *

  FBI agent Ethan Rhodes needed to figure out a way to contact his handler, Pace O’Malley. He had a mock ransom to set up...and fast. With every mile away he drove, the stakes of life-and-death increased and his investigation imploded. Ethan stole a glance at the passenger seat where the vicious Franco Guerra practically licked his chops every time the woman stuffed in the back of the van restarted her screeching. She went through bouts since the second hour of driving north began. Ethan couldn’t believe she had a voice left after the first hour. She had to be so raw.

  And scared.

  Although you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. Ethan had never met anyone so brash when a gun was held to their head. She was either really sure of her fighting skills, or she was crazy.

  Or, Pace was right about her, and she was working with Guerra’s boss.

  Pace had enough on her to link her to the operation, and the way she knew they were cloning cars showed her knowledge about it. But something didn’t sit right with Ethan.

  Veronica Spencer couldn’t be a part of the organization, no matter what her bank statements read. Guerra had aimed his gun at her head and meant to kill her. Why, if they were cohorts?

  Did the woman know how close to death she’d been in that moment? Ethan doubted it by the way she’d lambasted them all for being in her garage. She had been fearless, even after nearly losing her life in the parking lot. Franco had been torturing her then, cutting off her air little by little to prolong her misery, playing with her like a cat and its dinner.

  Ethan’s lips curled in disgust. The man was beyond sick. Eight months of getting close to him had turned Ethan’s stomach multiple times a day. The man had no loyalty to any of his men, using them as an example to the others when they “disappointed” him. One wrong move, and it was over. One guy caught with a cell phone a few months back paid the ultimate price when the phone nearly led the cops to Guerra’s door. Ethan didn’t dare have a cell on his person, which meant he was deep under with no contact with his handler. Just a tracker in his boot and a gun on his ankle.

  When Guerra’s gun targeted the redheaded spitfire, Ethan knew Guerra would pull the trigger and laugh for days after. But what could be done to stop it, other than blowing the investigation?

  Still Ethan had to try.

  He had stepped up to her, planning to confiscate the gun and turn it on Guerra, but instead he said the first thing that came to his mind. The word ransom spilled from his lips. The only other thing Guerra liked more than torturing people was money. Veronica Spencer was worth a huge chunk of change. But still, as Ethan threw out the idea to ransom her, his lungs seized as he waited for Guerra’s response. He thought for sure his cover was blown. A year’s worth of going deep, tanked. An innocent woman’s life, ended.

  No. Not innocent. Ethan had to believe the evidence Pace had on the glamour girl. Enough to put her away for years. There were even pictures from a street race in Miami with her and Guerra. And as soon as Ethan could get her “ransomed” out of here, Pace could cuff her, and Ethan could get back to bringing down Guerra’s ring—and the man he worked for.

  As much as Franco Guerra was a despicable man, he wasn’t the man Pace wanted. Guerra was a car thief and mechanic, a means to much more sinister crimes that his cloned vehicles contributed to.

  The man waiting for the cars was the real prize.

  Ethan had no name at this point, just the term Guerra used: the Boss.

  The Boss was in charge of a whole list of crimes, but it was what he transported in these vans that was beyond comprehension. Drugs, yes, and lots of them. But apparently, the Boss didn’t get the memo that the slave trade had ended. He trafficked thousands of victims in and around the United States each year, and Ethan had finally worked his way up to being one degree away from taking down one of the largest human trafficking operations in the States.

  So close he was to cracking this case and infiltrating the operation successfully. So close he was to breaking free thousands of victims by putting away their owner.

  So close.

  The woman screeched again, an earsplitting sound, a reminder that he had another person to break out of here first. Get Veronica Spencer out before the whole investigation went down.

  And if he could, do it without giving himself away.

  She kicked the rear door for the hundredth time, and Guerra laughed with delight. “The chica’s got fire in her. I look forward to snuffing it out.”

  Ethan’s stomach clenched along with his teeth. He fought the urge to pull over and arrest the sleazy man right there. Instead, he smiled Guerra’s way and hoped that it covered his true feelings well.

  As well as his growing doubts in Roni Spencer’s guilt.

  If she was working for the Boss like Pace said, why would Guerra try to take her out? A little disagreement between accomplices? Jealousy?

  Or was this whole scene staged, made to look as if she was innocent in front of...who?

  Him?

  Ethan sent a quick look Guerra’s way. Had the man figured out he had an agent in his presence?

  Ethan’s hand curled tight around the steering wheel. “Are you going to give me some directions, or are we just going to drive all night?” he asked, acting as if he didn’t really care.

  “The Boss wants us to bring our feisty chica to him. He also wants to meet you. He was impressed with your vision to go big and ransom the woman. You just earned your way into the big house. What do you think of that?”

  Ethan’s saliva glands juiced. He could taste the victory with this case already. So close had just become right now.

  Ethan envisioned the win being handed to him on a silver platter, although knowing the extent of this ring, the platter would be solid gold. He couldn’t wait to tag the platter as Asset Forfeiture, and every other piece of property stolen by this crime ring. If he believed God cared one bit about him he might have thought he was being handed the win as some sort of reward. But that couldn’t be the case. God would never give him anything. And Ethan definitely didn’t deserve a reward, nor did he want any favors. He’d learned it was best never to expect any, especially in his line of work. He had a job to do, and he did it alone. Period.

  Ethan switched lanes and answered Guerra’s question with an aloof shrug. “Should be interesting, but I was looking for some pocket change. I thought we were going to ransom the woman. What could the Boss possibly want with Spencer?”

  Guerra stilled and glared at him with his beady black eyes. The man didn’t appear to buy Ethan’s nonchalance.

  Ethan readied to spring into fight mode, his gun within reach in his ankle holster.

  “Remember, muchacho, I’m putting my life on the line by bringing you along. I could leave you right here, if you catch my drift.”

  Ethan locked his eyes on Guerra’s black-gazed warning. Slowly, Ethan smirked as if to say, is this a joke? A slow rumble of a laugh erupted from his tight vocal cords. The bluff was a risk, but no fear could be shown or he would be pushing up this spring’s daisies along the roadside.

  Guerra smirked in return and chuckled, too, at first low, then loud and cackled. A laughing hyena came to mind, all sharp teeth bared in a wide-open mouth; 100 percent vicious and sickly illuminated by the lights of the dashboard. “The Boss is going to like you, Ethan Gunn. Keep heading north. We’re going to the border. Right outside Canada in a logging community. The middle of nowhere, really. Wait till you see this place. Our chica might never want to leave, if she even could.”

  Ethan stilled his hands on the wheel. Once again Guerra’s words didn’t sit ri
ght. “And we’ll ransom her there?”

  “We’ll see,” Franco said with a small smile and looked out his window. End of conversation.

  Again, Roni Spencer felt like a victim in all this, not an accomplice. She felt like an innocent civilian caught up in his investigation.

  Ethan bit down on the inside of his cheek, remembering the last civilian he’d snagged in an investigation—and nearly got killed. He’d vowed never again. Solo or no-go. That’s how it had to be with him.

  Ethan peered into the rearview mirror to the woman tied up in the back. Not a noise or movement could be heard now. He doubted she’d fallen asleep. She had to be listening to them. Had Guerra’s words ground her impudence into fear? Was she feeling as sick as he was? He had to stop this from going any further.

  “I don’t think we should be bringing her,” Ethan said. “She doesn’t seem the type to go quietly. She could get us all killed.”

  “Boss’s orders, and what he says, goes. I don’t think you want to get on his bad side. And not mine either. Now drive.” Guerra put his gun on his lap, his trigger finger itching to make his point.

  Ethan continued north and thought of his tracking chip sewn into the inseam of his boot. He trusted Pace to be charting his every move north and following with the team. They wouldn’t be too far behind and would be ready to move in with guns blazing if Ethan needed them. But only if. Anything earlier would jeopardize the investigation, and Pace wouldn’t make his move a moment too soon.

  Ethan drove on, leading Pace to the Boss, but that also meant leading Roni Spencer into even more danger. Whether she was a criminal or civilian didn’t matter.

  He shot another look in the rearview mirror. The bundle on the floor remained still and quiet. Regardless of what Pace believed about her, something told Ethan he’d just graduated from undercover car thief in this operation to nefarious human trafficker. And Roni Spencer was his first delivery.

  Copyright © 2016 by Katherine Lee

  ISBN-13: 9781488008542

  In a Killer’s Sights