Take the Key and Lock Her Up

by LENA DIAZ,

  “Good Lord,” she exclaimed. “You used the wood as handles and snapped them off so he couldn’t remove the wire.”

  He tossed something else onto the bed.

  She pulled her hands from beneath the man’s head and turned his face toward her again. Her shoulders slumped. It was hopeless. There was nothing she could do for him. He was gone, his pupils dilated. When she felt for a pulse against his bloody neck, his wrist, there was simply . . . nothing. Taking a deep breath, she struggled against the urge to throw up.

  Don’t contaminate the crime scene. Don’t contaminate the crime scene.

  Two strong hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. She looked up into the coldest eyes she’d ever seen. How could she have thought they were gray before? They were black, without a hint of mercy or remorse. The eyes of a murderer.

  “Get dressed,” he ordered.

  She blinked and looked down at herself, only now realizing she was facing him in a see-through T-shirt and panties. Her cheeks flushed with heat.

  He waved toward the bed. “Hurry.”

  An outfit lay on top of the comforter—a black, lacy, barely there bra she’d bought on a whim but had never had the courage to wear, jeans, a navy blue scoop-necked T-shirt. White sneakers sat beside the jeans with a pair of socks draped neatly over them.

  “I have to call this in.” She slipped around him and hurried to the bedside table. Her phone should have been on top. It wasn’t.

  “Against the wall,” he said.

  Three feet away from the table, broken pieces of metal and plastic littered the carpet, pieces that were barely recognizable as the phone they’d once been.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t. Cougar did.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder without bothering to look at the dead man lying on the floor.

  “I thought his name was Steve. He’s the man from the alley, right?”

  He nodded.

  She gritted her teeth and yanked the drawer open. Empty. “He took my gun too?”

  “No. I did.” He patted his waist, bringing her attention to her gun, shoved into his waistband. He grabbed the jeans off the bed and tossed them to her.

  “We don’t have time to chat,” he said. “If you want to go outside in nothing but panties and a T-shirt, I sure won’t mind the view. Otherwise, stop talking and start dressing.”

  She tossed the pants onto the bed. “I don’t know how you knew that man was in my home, that he’d attacked me. I’m grateful that you . . . that you saved me. But I’m not leaving a crime scene. I’m going to call this in from the wall phone in the kitchen. I’ll be right back. Don’t touch anything else. You’ll contaminate the evidence.”

  She headed toward the bedroom door.

  A dark shadow separated from the others in the hallway. Emily stumbled to a halt. A rough shove from Devlin sent her sprawling to the carpet just as a man ran past her into the room. She rolled and jumped to her feet, whirling around to face the threat.

  Devlin and the intruder grappled for control in the middle of the room, like two grizzly bears locked in mortal combat. Devlin grunted, his right forearm braced beneath the other man’s chin, slowly forcing it up and back. The fingers of his left hand circled the other man’s wrist, down low by his thigh. Emily stared in horror at the long serrated knife, pointed at Devlin’s stomach, inching forward.

  The knife wobbled, slipped, ripping Devlin’s shirt, revealing a Kevlar vest beneath it.

  “Tour guide, my ass.” Emily looked left and right, searching for some kind of weapon. Her gun: Devlin had it tucked in his waistband. The cords in his neck and arms bulged as he pressed against the other man’s jaw while trying to wrestle the knife away from him.

  She sprinted forward, ducked under Devlin’s arm, grabbed her gun, and spun away from the two men. Bracing her feet apart, she aimed her pistol at the man who was trying to stab Devlin.

  “Drop the knife.”

  The man’s eyes widened, as if he’d forgotten she was in the room. He suddenly twisted, pulling Devlin in front of him, blocking her shot.

  Devlin yanked one arm free and slammed the man’s knife arm, sending the weapon flying across the room, burying itself in the carpet inches from Emily’s bare feet. She yelped and hopped out of the way. The intruder shoved Devlin back and ran out the door.

  Emily ran after him, sweeping her gun out in front of her.

  “Emily, damn it, wait!” Devlin yelled.

  He tackled her from behind, throwing her to the floor, blanketing her body as the door frame where she’d been standing exploded into sawdust.

  Pfft, pfft. The soft puff of noise echoed through the hallway. Devlin’s body jerked with each sound. He twisted his arm beneath Emily, still covering her, and grabbed her gun. Angling his arm beneath hers, he aimed back toward the doorway. Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Running footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor of her hallway as the gunman gave up—for now—and escaped from the house. The front door slammed shut and silence now reigned in her small house.

  She pushed against Devlin, his heavy weight pressing her into the carpet.

  “Can’t breathe,” she choked out.

  He rolled off her with a groan.

  “I’ll call for help.” She scrambled to her feet and ran out the door. Once in the kitchen, she grabbed the wall phone before turning to look back down the hall. She let out a surprised squeak. Devlin was right behind her, a ferocious expression on his face. He grabbed her right wrist, the one holding the phone.

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” The fingers of his other hand rubbed beneath the edge of his vest where it covered his right kidney.

  Her gaze followed his movements. She saw the two holes in his shirt, only now acknowledging what her subconscious had registered earlier. He’d taken a bullet for her. Two bullets. Bullets that would have ripped through her body if he hadn’t covered her with his own. The Kevlar vest he wore had saved him. But she knew he must have paid for his chivalry with some deep, painful bruises and sore or cracked ribs. If the shooter had aimed for his head, Devlin would be dead right now. All because he’d tried to save her. Had saved her. Twice in the span of ten minutes, from two different men.

  Her hands started to shake. She let go of the phone and allowed him to put it back on its hook.

  “You’re right,” she said. She drew a deep breath to steady herself. “I don’t get it. But what I do get is that you were almost killed tonight because you were protecting me. I’ll hold off on that call until you explain. What is it that I don’t get? What’s going on?”

  He shook his head, clearly exasperated.

  “Do you have a Kevlar vest?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Get it.”

  “It’s at the office. I’m a detective now. I don’t need to wear it every day like I used to. Why?”

  “We’ll get you one at our next stop.”

  “Our next . . . what?”

  “Where are your keys?”

  She shook her head. “No, no, no, no, no. You are not taking my car. You’re not going anywhere. I have a million questions for you, like how you knew those men were coming after me. And how you all managed to get inside my house without tripping my alarm. And why didn’t you call the police or warn me that you expected intruders instead of going all commando and almost getting yourself killed?” She pointed to the couch. “Sit down. I’ll call for a CSI team. I’ll take your statement at the station.”

  “You’re not calling the police or going downtown. We are leaving; both of us, together, right now. My car is parked down the street, too far away if our friend with the gun is waiting for us to step outside. So we’re taking yours. It’s our best option to make it out of here alive. Where are the keys?”

  She gritted her teeth and stepped around him to a hook on the wall. “Fine,” she said, tossing him her car keys. “Go on. Get out of here. Since you saved my life, I’ll even give you a few minutes before I put a BOLO
out on my car.” She grabbed the phone again.

  The phone jerked. The line went dead. She held it away from her ear, her mouth dropping open when she saw the cord, sliced cleanly in two, dangling from the receiver. She blinked up at Devlin, her eyes widening as he slid a rather large knife into a holder on his belt.

  “What are you—oof!” Her breath left her in a rush and her world tilted as he hoisted her onto his shoulder. She gasped at the feel of his warm fingers on her thighs, dangerously close to her bottom, reminding her that she was still wearing only panties and a T-shirt. She squirmed and tried to push herself off him.

  He tightened his hold and strode with her through the living room.

  “Let me go,” she demanded.

  He didn’t even slow down. Gone was the grinning, sexy man she’d kissed in the diner. In his place was the deathly quiet, dangerous stranger she’d questioned in the interrogation room.

  “At least let me get my clothes on.” She tried to flip off his shoulder.

  His fingers squeezed her thighs in a painfully tight grasp.

  She gasped and stopped her struggles.

  His grip immediately eased.

  As he carried her into the garage, Emily lifted her head, frantically looking around for some kind of weapon.

  Devlin opened the rear door on the driver’s side of her car and dumped her onto the backseat. She scrambled up on her knees and dove toward the other side. He grabbed her ankles and yanked, hard. She fell onto her stomach, knocking the breath right out of her. Devlin released her ankles and slammed the door shut. Opening and closing her mouth like a fish on dry land, Emily struggled to breathe, but nothing was getting in. Her vision began to go dark.

  Finally, air rushed back into her lungs. Her vision cleared. Scrambling to her knees again, she lunged for the door handle and popped it open. Devlin stood in the opening, a roll of duct tape in one hand, two pairs of handcuffs dangling from the other.

  She held her hands out in a placating gesture. “That’s not necessary. I’ll cooperate. Really. I will. What do you want me to do?”

  Click, click. Too fast for her to react, he’d snapped the cuffs around her wrists and shoved her backward onto the seat. She raised her feet to kick him. Click, click, a second set of cuffs went around her ankles. The metal grazed against her existing cuts, shooting fire up her legs. She glared up at him and let forth with a string of curses that would have made her brothers blush.

  Ignoring her outraged struggles, he put his hands beneath her arms and heaved her into a sitting position. He snapped her seat belt in place, then looped duct tape from the handcuff chain to the belt, locking her hands at her waist.

  “You’re kidnapping a police officer,” she accused. “Every officer in the state of Georgia will be searching for me. You won’t get away with this.”

  He shook his head, as if he was about to lecture a small child who didn’t understand the complexities of the English language.

  “No one is going to look for you, Emily. They won’t even know you’re missing. You’re going to take a leave of absence, or a previously unplanned vacation. I don’t know what kind of story Cyprian will spin, but he’ll spin one. And it will work. I tried to convince him you weren’t a threat, but obviously I failed. He sent two assassins after you tonight. They might have screwed up, but the mission remains. Which means the guy who got away—Ace, one of the meanest, most lethal sons of bitches at EXIT—will be back. He’ll try to kill you again, and again, and again, until I kill him or he kills you. And in the meantime, Cyprian will ensure there’s a cover in place so none of what happened tonight can point to him or EXIT.”

  He swept his hand to encompass her house. “This mess will be cleaned and covered within the hour. Don’t kid yourself that your buddy Tuck will come looking for you. He won’t. He won’t have a reason to look. He’ll be convinced you left of your own free will.”

  She shivered beneath the certainty in his tone. “You’re insane. No one could cover this up. What about the damage those bullets made in the door frame of my bedroom? Or the dead man on my bedroom floor?” She looked down at her hands, her stomach tightening at the dried blood on her fingers, beneath her nails, from when she’d tried to save Steve, or Cougar, or whatever his name was. “What about the blood on the carpet? Or the scratches on my bedposts from the handcuffs?”

  He gave a soft puff of laughter. “EXIT isn’t exactly inexperienced with this sort of thing. Anything—or anyone—can be erased. Covering up a scene like this quickly would be a problem for one man. But I guarantee Ace already called for a team of cleaners. They’ll be here within minutes. Which is why we have to get out of here. Now.”

  His impassioned speech and the word “cleaners” sent chills straight to her belly.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” she whispered, unable to hide the fear that had crept into her tone.

  His hard expression softened with regret. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in this, Emily.”

  He reached his hand toward her face. She jerked back before he could touch her.

  His jaw tightened again. “Looks like you and I are in this together now.” His voice was a harsh rasp. “Where I go, you go.”

  “Which means?” she prodded.

  “Which means . . .” He ripped a piece of duct tape off the roll in his hand. “You and I are about to be erased.”

  Before she could react, he slapped the piece of duct tape over her mouth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  * * *

  EMILY’S FORD FUSION bumped through the collection of potholes that could barely be called a road, its springs squeaking in protest. She tensed, trying to get her bearings. Where was Devlin taking her? There weren’t any streetlights this far out, no way for her to see where they were going. Trees blotted out the stars overhead, leaving nothing but pitch-black windows and a vast expanse of nothingness.

  A bead of sweat broke out on her forehead when Devlin pulled the car to a stop a few minutes later. He cut the engine and headed to the back of the car. Emily craned her neck, trying to see what he was doing, but it was like staring into a dark abyss.

  Until he opened the trunk. Light seeped from around the edges, but she couldn’t see what he was doing. After he’d handcuffed her in the car in her garage, he’d gone back inside for a full minute. When he’d returned, he’d popped the trunk and put something inside. Whatever it was, he was getting it now.

  Something scraped against the opening. Shivers sent goose bumps across her skin. Her fingers dugs into her palms. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. The passenger door popped open, startling her, making her cry out against the duct tape.

  Like an unfeeling robot, Devlin leaned in, knife in hand—the same ugly six-inch blade he’d used to cut the phone cord.

  Oh God. No! She jerked back violently and fell sideways, banging her head on the opposite door.

  His brows rose in surprise. He looked down at the knife he was holding and flushed a dull red. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to cut the duct tape binding your wrists to the seat belt. I need you to hold still. Okay? Can you do that?”

  The soft reassurance of his tone broke through her panic. She wanted to believe that he wouldn’t hurt her. After all, he had saved her life. But any kind of trust she’d had in him had died a quick death the moment he cut the phone cord and threw her over his shoulder. Still, if she was going to survive, she had to obey him, at least until she could figure out a way to escape.

  Nodding behind her gag, she braced herself to fight him if he was lying and made any sudden moves with the knife. If he was going to hurt her, she wasn’t going to make it easy.

  One quick slash and her hands were no longer taped to the seat belt. She let out a shaky, relieved breath. But her wrists were still cuffed, like her ankles. Even if she managed to knock him silly with her closed fists, she’d only be able to hobble and would never get away before he came after her.

  He slid his knife into its sheath and leaned toward
her again. She tensed and shrank back, but it didn’t matter. He released the seat belt, scooped her into his arms and lifted her out of the car in one smooth motion. When he turned, the interior lights and the open trunk light illuminated what lay on the road. One of her rolling suitcases: the biggest one, the one she used on those rare occasions when she went on a real vacation.

  The significance of that open, empty suitcase sent a fresh rush of panic through her. How many times had she heard of a victim’s body being found in a suitcase, tossed in a ditch like garbage? She violently renewed her struggles. He squeezed her against him, painfully tight, but this time she didn’t give in. Panic unlike anything she’d ever felt before had her writhing and twisting in desperation. He squatted down, depositing her into the suitcase. She immediately raised her knees, lashing out with her legs as hard as she could, catching him full in the chest.

  He grunted and wobbled back on his heels but didn’t fall.

  Emily desperately tried to heave herself over the side of the suitcase, but Devlin grabbed her, relentlessly forcing her back down. His overwhelming strength immobilized her with terrifying ease.

  Tears pricked her eyes, shaming her. She was so. Damned. Scared. She couldn’t think of any reason for him to put her in a suitcase unless he was going to kill her. She shook her head back and forth, whimpering against the gag, pleading with her eyes, begging him not to hurt her.

  He frowned down at her. “Stop looking at me like that. I told you I’m not going to hurt you. I have to transfer you to another vehicle without anyone seeing you. That’s why I have to put you in the suitcase. You’ll be in it only fifteen, twenty minutes tops.”

  He was saying something. She could make out some of the words. But the haze of panic that engulfed her garbled everything. She bucked against his hands, trying to break free.