Rules in Blackmail

by Nichole Severn

  “He’s in apartment 310.” Sullivan stayed on her tail as she headed down the street and for the third building to her right. Dressed for warmer temperatures, he showed off long lengths of muscle down his arms, and the flood of apprehension gripping her disappeared. “May I remind you this isn’t a good idea? We have no idea what’s waiting for us on the other side of that door.”

  Right then, she didn’t care. “I’m putting an end to this. For good.”

  Screeching metal filled Jane’s ears as Elliot extracted a long steel tube from the bed of his truck. Both Sullivan and Jane spun, staring at him. “What?” He hefted the small battering ram over his shoulder. “It’s in case we want to commit a felony.”

  The breath she’d been holding rushed from her. She couldn’t believe any of this. She hadn’t thought of Christopher Menas in years. But here she was, climbing up the steps to her ex-boyfriend’s apartment to find out why he was trying to kill her.

  Sullivan maneuvered in front of her, using his body to shield her from the door. Her throat tightened as his fingers smoothed over her jacket. He couldn’t have meant what he’d said back at the cabin, could he? After everything they’d been through the last twenty-four hours, he couldn’t think so low of her. She’d saved his life. Didn’t that count for something? Pounding on the door, Sullivan stepped back and pulled his weapon. As did Elliot with his free hand.

  No answer. No sounds of movement inside.

  It was barely sunrise. Surely her stalker could have had the decency to be home when she came to confront him.

  Sullivan pounded his fist against the wood again. Nothing. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He nodded toward Menas’s front door. “We can still go back, come at this from another angle.”

  Go back? She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t walk away now. Jane swallowed the hesitation screaming at the back of her mind. “I’m sure.”

  “All right. Breaking and entering it is, Counselor. Just promise not to charge us, since you’re the one giving the orders.” He stepped aside, ushering Elliot forward. “Have at it.”

  “Once we’re in, be sure not to touch anything. Someone’s about to call the police.” Elliot slammed the head of the battering ram into the thick wood, and the door frame splintered. He hit it a second time, buckling the hinges, and within a minute, they were inside.

  “Let’s go. We don’t have long before the police or a curious neighbor show up.” Sullivan stepped inside first, Glock in his hand, body tense. Like the good security consultant she’d blackmailed him to be.

  Jane’s insides clenched as she followed close behind him. Whether it was from their conversation back in the bedroom or the situation, she couldn’t tell. She hadn’t seen Christopher Menas in nearly a decade.

  Sullivan flipped on the lights with his elbow, and Jane leveraged her weight against one wall to clear her head. The inside of the apartment was...normal. No foul-smelling decaying bodies, no bloodstained carpets. The two-bedroom apartment had been decorated in a Southwestern theme—where Christopher was from—and looked like it’d been that way for a while. No quick getaway for him. Their suspect intended to stick around.

  “Are you sure we have the right information?” Jane smoothed the hem of her coat sleeve over the back of the black leather couch. “This place doesn’t exactly scream psychopath.”

  Searching the kitchen, Sullivan used a napkin to open drawers, go through receipts and sift through photos. He held up a business card for her to see, as Elliot checked out the back bedrooms. “We’re in the right place.”

  She took the card from him, not entirely stable on her own two feet. “Menas Towing. Why didn’t that show up in Elliot’s research?” Jane scanned the rest of the apartment, taking anything—everything—in. There had to be something here that pointed to Jane as a target. According to the profilers she’d worked with on dozens of cases for the army, stalkers usually kept mementos of their victims. Trophies. But from what Jane could see, they’d made a mistake. There was nothing here. So if Christopher wasn’t her stalker, then who was? The only evidence they had to go on was the tow truck registered in his name. “Who would be stupid enough to hit us with their own truck?”

  “Nobody.” Sullivan locked those mesmerizing eyes on her for the first time since accusing her of corruption. Her heart rate skyrocketed when he looked at her like that, like a puzzle he needed to solve. “Unless we’re supposed to be here. What about the voice on the call? Did it sound like Menas?”

  “I couldn’t tell from the way he was whispering. And it’s been so long since I’ve talked to him, I’m not sure I could identify it as his anyway.” She ran through Sullivan’s words a second time and half turned toward him. “Do you think somebody is setting Christopher up?”

  “Not likely.” Elliot stepped back into the main room and hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “You need to see this.”

  “What did you find?” Jane sprinted after the private investigator, heart in her throat. Had he found the evidence? Found Christopher? The hallway passed in a blur as she hurried after Elliot toward the back bedroom. She halted at the door frame. Her jaw slackened. She couldn’t breathe. The world tilted on an axis, but she managed to stay upright.

  “What the hell?” Sullivan’s words echoed her own thoughts as he brushed past her and moved into the room.

  Jane shook her head, clinging to the door frame with everything she had. “I don’t think we’re in the wrong place anymore.”

  Chapter Five

  No matter where he turned, Jane was there.

  “There has to be hundreds of photos of me here.” Jane’s voice shook as she stepped up to one wall.

  Something deep in his chest urged him to reach out for her, but Sullivan stood his ground. This wasn’t the time. There were more photos than the one on Jane’s phone of her sleeping. These showed her eating. In court. Right outside her home. His insides raged as he scanned over the closest wall a second time. In the shower. From the look of it, the past three months of her life had been documented in pictures taped to four plain white walls. Rage burned hot under his sternum. The sick freak had stolen precious moments from her life—too many to count—and Jane would never get them back.

  She slid her fingertips over a handful of photos, seeming not to even breathe.

  And he couldn’t take staying away any longer. Sullivan took a step toward her, hand outstretched. “Jane—”

  “This is my life. He...” Her lips parted on a strong inhale. She dropped her hand, turning toward him, and he froze. Swallowing, Jane covered her mouth. She rushed past him, her vanilla scent thick on the air. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  She fled the room. A few seconds later, a door slammed down the hallway and he shut his eyes against the onslaught of surveillance her stalker had collected. One inhale. Two. The protector buried deep inside of him clawed its way to the surface for a breath of fresh air. Christopher Menas was a dead man. Whatever game the bastard had going on with Jane was over. Sullivan was coming for him. Opening his eyes, he spun toward the hallway. “Elliot, document everything. We’re leaving.”

  He had to get Jane out of here. The police were most likely on their way from when Elliot had brought down the door. She couldn’t get wrapped up in their investigation. The second the report went live, the army would limit her security clearance and she’d be at risk of losing her job. Stalking down the hall toward the bathroom, gun in hand, he listened for signs of movement. He was sure their suspect wasn’t in the apartment, but a man who could cover his tracks in the Alaskan wilderness had to have a few more tricks up his sleeves. And Sullivan wasn’t about to make a mistake on this case. Not with Jane’s life on the line.

  With three light taps on the bathroom door, he leaned against the wood. “Jane?”

  No answer.

  His heartbeat rocketed into his throat. He squeezed his free hand around the door han
dle, but didn’t move to open it. Yet. Fanning his grip over the Glock, he scanned down the hallway. “Are you okay?”

  Still nothing.

  “All right.” Backing up, Sullivan cradled the gun in both hands, prepared to kick in the door if he had to, to get to her. “I’m coming in.”

  The door swung open on silent hinges, and the torn woman in front of him hurried to swipe salty streaks of tears from her face with the back of her hand. In a split second, she locked her emotions away as though she hadn’t fallen apart out of his sight. “I’m fine. I just needed a minute.”

  “You don’t have to hide from me, Jane.” His throat tightened, but he released his suffocating grip on the gun. Every cell in his body urged him to stand as a pillar of comfort for her, and he straightened. Forget the past. Forget the rules for a few seconds. Jane was falling apart and it was his job to hold his client’s life together. Even if she’d blackmailed him into it. Closing in on her slowly, he brushed a stray tear from her face, careful to leave space for her to escape if she wanted. Hesitation shot down his arms and into his chest, but this time he didn’t pull away. Didn’t feel the need. Those hazel eyes closed as she leaned into him for support, and he set his chin onto the crown of her head. Her short black hair tumbled forward against his chest and his fingers tingled with the urge to shove it behind her ear so she’d look up at him. “I’m sorry you had to see all of that. You don’t deserve this.”

  For the first time since Jane had broken into his office last night, he meant every word. Her body heat tunneled through his jacket, sinking into his muscles, his bones. The tension throughout his body relaxed second by second. All Sullivan could think about in this moment was taking her back to the cabin and shielding her from what was to come. Men willing to kill the object of their obsessions didn’t give up easily. But she couldn’t run. Not from this.

  Sullivan inhaled deep. He smelled...smoke.

  “Do you smell that?” Jane pulled back.

  “Elliot.” Panic wrapped a tight fist around his heart. Clamping his hand around hers, Sullivan tugged Jane after him down the hallway. After discovering Menas’s sick collection, he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight. Black smoke escaped out from under the second bedroom door. Had he closed it behind him? He dropped his hold on her and kicked in the door. Bright flames climbed up the walls where Jane’s photos used to hang. Covering his face and eyes in the crook of his arm, Sullivan avoided the majority of the smoke but couldn’t see anything worth a damn. There was too much smoke. Too many flames. “Elliot!”

  “Sullivan, there!” Jane latched onto his arm, pointing to one corner of the room. Without waiting for him, she launched herself through the flames consuming the door frame.

  “Jane, no!” He grabbed after her but missed her jacket by mere centimeters. She couldn’t pull Elliot out of there on her own. Not with flames consuming the walls on every side. The roar of the fire drowned out any sounds of Jane or his private investigator. Lunging into the heart of the fire, he kept low, searching for her, searching for Elliot. “Jane!”

  “Over here.” A cough led him toward the back of the room. The crackling of the flames nearly drowned out her voice, but he homed in on the uncontrollable coughing coming from his right.

  “Jane.” Within seconds, he’d wrapped his hands around her arms and shoved her back toward the bedroom door. He covered his mouth and nose with the crook of his arm as smoke worked into his lungs. Squinting from the heat, he fought to see the door. “Get out of here. Get outside.”

  She’d found Elliot knocked out near the west wall. Hiking his private investigator over his shoulder, Sullivan narrowly avoided a falling rafter as he wound through debris and flames.

  Outside, he breathed in as much clean air as his lungs allowed, nearly collapsing as his muscles weakened from oxygen depletion. Jane ran forward, eyes wide, hands outstretched to catch them both. The three of them fell in a pile of limbs and heavy breathing as sirens filled the night. In less than seven minutes, fire crews sprinted to put out the blaze. Staring up at the damage, Sullivan noted the entire building had caught fire.

  “How many—” His lungs worked overtime to expel the smoke he’d inhaled. He didn’t want to think about the casualties. There was no way the fire had been a coincidence. Christopher Menas had known they were there. The fire had most likely been set to destroy the evidence he’d left behind. Maybe to hurt them, to hurt Jane.

  “I got them all out.” Jane cradled Elliot’s head in her lap, her palms on both sides of his slackened jaw. “When you pushed me out the door, I pulled the fire alarm.”

  Streaks of soot lined her jaw and forehead, enhancing the bruises and scrapes from the car accident, but Jane had never been more beautiful than right in this moment. She’d charged into that bedroom to save one of his men’s lives. And ended up saving many others in the building. What was it about the woman he blamed that compelled her to keep saving lives?

  A nasty gash bled freely from the right side of Elliot’s head. Knocked unconscious. Damn it. They’d walked straight into Menas’s trap.

  Sullivan shook his head. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Until he saw the blood streaking down Jane’s cargo jacket. Reaching across Elliot’s unconscious body for her, he inspected the wound. “Are you okay?”

  “Nothing a few stitches won’t fix.” She twisted her arm so she could see it better. “I’m kind of sad about this jacket, though. It’s my favorite.”

  Squealing tires and red and blue lights claimed his attention. He tightened his hold on Jane, unwilling to let her out of his sight yet. But that gash wouldn’t stitch itself.

  EMTs rushed to their side, hefting Elliot onto a stretcher and prying his eyes open. But not before Sullivan lifted Elliot’s phone from his private investigator’s jacket pocket. Elliot had documented Christopher Menas’s collection in that bedroom, and the cops weren’t about to stick it in some evidence room before Sullivan could review the photos. Evidence tampering be damned.

  Elliot was in good hands. Sullivan’s instincts said Menas wouldn’t come after him. But Jane? That was another story. They couldn’t stay here. Menas had been watching them. Could still be watching them. “Are you okay to move?”

  “Would you throw me over your shoulder like you did with Elliot if I said no?” Lean muscle flexed down the backs of her thighs as she stood, and Sullivan fought a smile. “I’m fine. Really. And I’m glad those pictures didn’t survive.”

  “You went in that bedroom for Elliot. Looks like I just might owe you again.” Freezing gusts of wind beat against him on one side as he hiked himself to his feet, blistering heat from the burning apartment on the other. EMTs closed in on them, two leading Jane to an ambulance and another swinging a light in front of his face. He shoved the technician away. He was fine. Minor case of smoke inhalation. Nothing Sullivan hadn’t lived through before. His breath sawed in and out of him as bright orange flames licked up the side of the apartment building.

  They could’ve died in there.

  Two Anchorage police units rolled up as Sullivan messaged his team from Elliot’s phone. Keeping Jane in his peripheral vision as medics looked her over on the back of the ambulance, he headed toward the officers to give his statement. While Anchorage PD would run their own investigation, he had no intention of leaving Jane’s case in their hands. They’d already failed to take her claim seriously. He had far more resources to bring this particular arsonist down.

  Within five minutes, another Blackhawk Security SUV pulled into the scene. Sullivan caught sight of his weapons expert as the six-foot-five-inch wall of solid, sunglass-loving muscle stepped out onto the pavement. Anthony Harris surveyed the scene from behind his favorite pair of sunglasses, chest wide, fingers relaxed at his side. The thick beard covering the former Ranger’s jawline hid his expression, but Sullivan sensed he was calculating the chances of another attack and where it’d come from. Always
ready for the fight, always on alert. That was what made Anthony one of the best men on the Blackhawk Security team. “Need a ride?”

  “Jane.” Sullivan pushed through the EMTs blocking his path to her and offered her his hand. “We’re leaving.” Her long fingers slid across his palm without hesitation, and he pulled her to her feet. They had to get her off the street. Most stalkers willing to take out their targets in daylight—in public—loved watching the aftermath of their work. She wasn’t safe here, even with three EMTs and two Anchorage PD officers. But his team could protect her. He could protect her. “I’ve got you.”

  He wasn’t sure where the words had come from, but Jane nodded once, setting his racing heart at ease. Hand wrapped tight around hers, he headed toward Anthony and the safety of the SUV. She’d been through hell—again—and he fought the urge to wrap her in his arms. Holding her back in that apartment, just before it’d burned to the ground, had comforted him as much as it had her. He’d overstepped the boundaries he’d set between them. Didn’t seem as important then as it did now. Jane. She’d been all that’d mattered.

  Shoving her into the back of the SUV, Sullivan climbed in after her. “Go,” he ordered Anthony, and the SUV spun around before he shut the door.

  “Where are we going? Christopher knew the tow truck would be recovered, and that we would come here.” Voice soft, Jane swept her gaze across the back window, knuckles white from her grip on the edge of her seat. “He was waiting for us.”

  “We’re going on lockdown. I’ve already called in the rest of my team to meet us.” Sullivan studied the rooftops as they sped through downtown. Water kicked up along the side of the SUV, but he forced himself to keep his senses on the possible threat rather than the smell of smoke coming off her skin. Unholstering the Glock at his side, he cleared the chamber and loaded another round. Just in case. “Look on the bright side. You didn’t have to drag anyone out of that building.”