Guarding Him

by Kori David

Kei stepped on the gas.

  * * *

  The call had come in twenty minutes ago, which meant Ian had to wait more than an hour to hear his sister’s voice. She was alive, just as Nic had predicted. The stop at his home surprised him, as did her plan. There wasn’t time to come up with much, and for what it was worth, it did have the element of surprise on their side. They pulled up next to the address that was given.

  “Nic,” he began, then paused.

  “Save it, Ian. Whatever you feel you need to say, don’t. If we’re alive at the end of this, then you’ll have a chance. If we aren’t, then nothing you say now will have made any difference.”

  He huffed out a breath, equal parts frustrated and the bizarre urge to laugh. Other women would need platitudes and undying declarations of—love, lust, something. But not Nic. This woman was like no one in his world; hell, she was damned unique in any world. She sat composed in his passenger seat in sky-high heels and a scrap of cloth that was meant to be a dress. It was damned near pornographic, what she wore.

  She looked at the dashboard. “It’s time.” Then she turned those violet eyes to his. “You got this.”

  “We got this,” he said.

  He slid out of the driver’s side and headed toward the mouth of the garage. The feeling of being watched washed over him as he entered the darker space. The hair raised on his nape and arms, like hackles on a dog. This was it. Walking up a ramp, he saw a door and a large shadow waiting for him. The shadow detached itself and came forward.

  “Arms up,” he said.

  Ian saved the smart remark that jumped to his tongue, simply raising his arms and waiting. The man who approached him looked like he could have been the starting line of a football team all by himself. Meaty hands pawed at him, checking under his arms and to his side, sliding down legs to his ankles. Grunting his approval, the man turned and walked back toward the open door. Ian followed, knowing he didn’t have any other choice. Up a small flight of stairs, they emerged into a cavernous warehouse room. The space was virtually empty on one side, and the other had a couple of rooms, a kitchen, and a small sitting area with a TV. In the middle of that sitting area was his sister. Strapped to a chair, she wore nothing but an oversized button-up shirt, likely Cody’s, and a look on her face that broke Ian’s heart. Eyes wide and dilated with fear, a small trickle of blood leaked slowly from the corner of her mouth down to her chin.

  “Glad you could join us,” a different voice said. “Looks like I pulled you out of a party.”

  Ian glanced to the side and saw a slightly smaller version of the behemoth that had done the pat-down. He stood at the counter, a large skinning knife and a gun near his hand. “Seems so,” Ian murmured. Nic had set the stage of their stall carefully, hence the tux he wore. Tie loose and jacket unbuttoned, he looked the picture of careless wealth.

  “You have something for me?” he asked.

  His voice was calm, bored. This was something he’d done before. According to the file Drake had, this was their career. This and the torture and rape of innocent women. Ian looked behind him, noticing that the large guy seemed transfixed on his sister. There was nothing in his expression—it was blank as a doll’s face. Those eyes…

  “Mr. Jamison,” the other said, almost polite.

  Ian shook himself, knowing he had lost a moment. “It’s close by, but not with me.”

  The man shook his head. He was solidly built, well over six feet tall, with graying blond hair cut short. Older brother of the giant with the blank face, if Ian had to guess. Their faces and builds were almost identical. When he smiled, Ian knew who the mastermind was.

  “That wasn’t the deal, Mr. Jamison,” he said, casually gripping the knife in his right hand and stepping forward.

  Ian tensed, knowing what was coming. And then he heard it. All of them did.

  “Yoohoooooo,” came Nic’s voice. It was sing-songy and exaggerated. Then she appeared in the doorway. High heels in one hand, and the other hand on the knob, she leaned heavily on the door. “There you are, meany,” she rasped, then hiccupped and giggled.

  Both men took a step toward her, the giant’s face showing something more than a blank mask at the woman in the doorway. Nic was beautiful in a skin-tight black sheath dress that accentuated every curve, showcased her long legs, and left her breasts in imminent danger of escaping the tiny amount of material covering them. “I told you I didn’t want to wait in the car,” she slurred.

  “Get out of here. Now,” he growled.

  “But I want another drink.” Moving unsteadily toward him, she waved at the men standing on either side of Ian, her heels slapping against her arm as she did. “This could be a cool party pad. Oh, Isobel, I didn’t know you’d be here too.”

  “She’s pretty, Frankie,” the giant murmured. It sent chills down Ian’s spine the way he spoke. Part excited, part detached.

  Nic laughed, keeping the men focused on her. Ian moved slowly backward toward his sister. His goal was to get as close as he could before Nic reached them. She was convincing as a drunk party girl. Ian hated every second of this. He hoped Drake was ready to do whatever he was planning to do and hopefully had a dozen agents with him. He wanted his sister and Nic away from this place. The plastic on the floor under his sister and the faint smell of bleach turned his stomach.

  “Hey, Frankie, can you pour me a drink?” Nic said, headed toward the older man.

  “You came to the right place,” he said. “Ian, if you move any more, I’m going to have to hurt people.”

  Ian stopped. He was five feet from his sister, close enough to make a dive for her if he had to.

  “What kind of party is this anyway?” Nic slurred. She’d stopped and put her hands on her hips, causing the heels to bounce against her thighs. “You don’t even have any music.”

  “We make our own music here, sugar,” Frank said.

  He took one more step toward Nic and Ian waited, every muscle in his body ready to explode into action, but knowing Nic would have to make the first move or else he’d mess up her plan. She took a step toward Frank before he came to a stop, and that’s when she attacked.

  Nic’s whole demeanor changed as she kicked into action. Swinging the heels in her hand at Frank’s face, he raised his knife as she ducked and slammed her foot sideways into Frank’s kneecap. Ian had a split second to react as a bellow of rage erupted from the very large man at his side. A meaty fist flew toward his face, but instead of ducking, Ian bobbed to the left and moved into the hit, taking the brunt of impact on his shoulder. It would have knocked him off balance if he hadn’t been prepared; instead, he was able to land a quick series of hard jabs to the giant’s kidneys on his right side. He used every bit of knowledge he had to keep out of reach and inflict as much pain on the man as he could.

  The big man was packed with muscle, but Ian felt the flesh give when he hit him again and again. A soft grunt was what he heard before the man was on him. He landed a hit to Ian’s side, but Ian was moving again, trying to keep his attention on not getting killed while also watching Nic. The man called Frank cussed low under his breath as he slashed out with the knife, barely missing Nic as she blocked the hand with the blade and kicked out again. Frank stumbled as his knee began to give.

  “Ian!”

  His sister’s shout brought him back in time to feel the fist that slammed into the side of his head. Stars and bells are what he saw and heard for a moment before he jumped backward and in front of his sister.

  “I’m gonna kill you,” growled the big man. Ian believed him too. The expressionless face twisted into a mask of hate. “Kill you,” he panted, advancing on them both.

  “Drop your weapon,” Drake Page’s voice shouted into the almost silent room. “FBI. You’re surrounded.”

  Ian saw two things at once. Drake was alone—no fucking SWAT team or even another couple agents were with him, and Frank dove for the gun behind him. Nic was on him, using his own momentum to push him away from the weapon, and getti
ng sliced in the arm in the process.

  “Shoot him,” Ian yelled, afraid that Nic was seriously hurt as blood began dripping from her bicep. He’d chosen to protect his sister, trusting that Nic could do what she said and defend herself. It was one of the hardest choices he’d ever had to make.

  “No,” the giant yelled, turning away from Ian and Isobel toward the man on the floor with Nic. He ran toward them, and Ian could hear Drake telling him to stop, and then shots went off. It was in slow motion that Ian watched the man grab Nic and throw her off Frank and toward Drake. Blood blossomed on his side, soaking his shirt, but he acted as if nothing was wrong. He put his body in front of the other man and charged the FBI agent like some demented bull in a prizefight.

  Ian was behind Izzy in a flash, working the knot loose in the rope they’d used to tie her hands. Leaving her tied to a chair was dangerous in this kind of fight. She fought hysterical sobs as the tears gushed down her face. “Stay behind me,” he said. He started praying that he’d made the right move. Ian was torn between protecting both the women he loved.

  Three more shots rang out, and Ian shoved Isobel to the floor and put his body in front of hers. His ears rang, and the smell of gunpowder stung his nose as he looked toward Drake and Nic. The big man’s shirt was a smear of blood, but he kept moving forward until Drake fired once last shot. Right into his head. He sunk to his knees, falling forward to the floor. The sudden silence was disconcerting.

  Nic stood next to Drake, a gun in her steady hands. “Where did Frank go?” she said into the quiet.

  “What?” Ian asked, ears still ringing from the gunfire.

  “Where the hell did Frank go?”

  Ian looked to the place where Frank had fallen, but the man had vanished. He must have run for it while the giant had all their attention. “Damn it,” Ian said. “We have to find the other exit.”

  * * *

  Frank moved quickly toward the rear exit, which led to the fire escape. The alley behind the warehouse was his escape. A small part of him regretted leaving his brother, Eugene, behind. But he could tell from the shots his brother had taken that he wasn’t going to make it. Frank gave a mental shrug and decided this end was better for them both. It saved Frank having to do it when the time came, and he knew it would. Eugene was devolving, and just like any mad dog, he would have to be put down.

  He made it to the alley, knowing he only had a small head start. Frank was better on his own, but he’d miss the big idiot. Looking both ways once his feet were on the ground, he turned and headed toward the busier part of town. He’d be able to lose himself around other people.

  “Going somewhere?”

  The voice purred at him from the shadow of a dumpster. He squinted and crouched, bringing his knife up toward the voice—the very feminine voice. Probably a hooker. This was the place for them. He wished he hadn’t had to leave his gun behind.

  “Don’t make me hurt you, lady.”

  The shot was unexpected. So was the pain. It hit him in the shoulder, right above the armpit, and immediately caused his arm to drop, his fingers going numb around the hilt of the knife. His ears rang, not as severe as the shots at closer range inside had been, but enough to make him blink. Before he could make sense of anything, another shot rang out.

  This time, he dropped like a pile of rocks, hitting the pavement hard. He brought his knife up as best he could but dropped it before he went down. He never heard the approach, never had time to react as the knife was kicked out of his hand.

  Frank looked up at the face of an angel. An angel holding a gun in one hand—and a filet knife in the other. The same kind as the one he’d just been holding.

  * * *

  Kei heard Drake yelling her name. He’d be on them soon enough. But first, she would deal with the scum lying in front of her. She didn’t even know his name—didn’t want to know his name at this moment. All she wanted was justice, and if it tasted like revenge, so be it.

  “Beg me for mercy,” she said, slicing into the man’s chest. The knife moved like butter through the tissue. “Beg for your life, for what you’ve done.” The copper smell of blood bloomed into the air, mixing with the smell of the trash.

  “It wasn’t me,” he sputtered, pain twisting his mouth and contorting his face. “It was always Eugene.”

  Kei snarled, the sound feral. She took pleasure from the stark fear that lit up his face. He deserved the fear and pain and everything he would get at her hands for what they’d done to Lindsay. This was his reckoning. The knife flashed across his lap, laying open the denim pants and exposing the blood now soaking where his genitals used to be. The man at her feet howled in pain, screaming and using his good hand to clutch himself. Blood pooled in his hands as he cried, saliva from his gaping mouth mixing with the tears streaming down his face.

  Kei could hear Drake running down the stairs now. He’d try to stop her, and she was here to make sure this bastard never saw the inside of a cell. Drake would study him, pick out everything that made him a psychopath and learn what he could to stop the next killer. Kei understood Drake’s reasons for attempting to take at least one of them alive. She’d heard the shots from inside, so she knew the other one was dead. Drake never missed.

  And neither did she.

  As the man writhed on the ground, crying and screaming out his pain, he begged for mercy—just like she’d asked. But there was no mercy, no sympathy, no emotion in her for this man—this rapist-murderer. There was nothing but cold rage. Raising her arm slowly, she aimed the gun she held in her right hand. Time slowed a fraction. Drake’s footfalls as he ran and his heavy breathing told her he was close. She never spared him a look.

  The large blond man rolled, reaching out for her, his eyes holding hers. What he saw in them must have assured him of her resolve because he stopped begging. And she pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 22

  “Are you both alright?” Nic asked. She’d found a clean dishtowel in the kitchen and had wrapped it around her bicep to keep pressure. The cut was deep but not life-threatening. It just burned like hell, but she used her teeth to make a knot and tie it off.

  Isobel sobbed into Ian’s shirt, but his eyes were on her. “We’re fine, thanks to you and Drake.”

  Nic shook her head at him. “You’ve been holding out on me. I saw you take this guy on.” She looked down at the bleeding mess at her feet. He’d fallen on the thick plastic that coated the floor. They were neat monsters, at least. “Those two years working with the NSA must have paid off.”

  The startled look on his face was enough to cause a small smile. “Yes, I knew about it, but we all have our own little secrets.”

  “Like being a runaway billionaire heiress?” he quipped.

  “Something like that,” Nic said.

  Coming over to sit next to them, Nic reached out a hand to Isobel. Izzy flinched but pulled her face out of Ian’s tux jacket. Handing her the second dishtowel in her hand, Nic said, “Cody’s alive. He’s been rushed to the hospital.”

  “Will he make it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but he’s tough.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Isobel said. “They broke into the house, and he didn’t have a chance against them.”

  “This isn’t your fault, Izzy,” Ian said, hugging her close.

  Nic wanted a hug, too, mainly to be able to feel Ian’s strong heartbeat. His cheek was beginning to swell. He’d have one hell of a shiner tomorrow. “We’ll have to stay this time to give statements.”

  “I’m just glad it’s over,” Isobel said, using the towel to wipe her face.

  Nic shook her head. “This isn’t over.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Nick looked up into Ian’s eyes. A moment passed between them, and she wondered if he’d suspected all along or just recently. Shifting her gaze back to Isobel, she said, “Someone out there paid for these two to kidnap and kill Ian. And he’s still out there.”

  “Plus, the man called Fra
nk,” Isobel said. She pointed at the dead man, “He called that one Eugene.” With a shiver, she wrapped her arms around herself. The moment she let go of her brother, he reached out and pulled Nic into his arms.

  “I don’t ever want to go through that again,” he whispered into her hair. His lips found her forehead and then locked onto hers. Maybe they both needed the reassurance. He was gentle as he kissed her, ending it too soon. She didn’t even feel guilty this time. “How bad is that cut?”

  Nic shrugged. She’d had much worse. “It’ll need some stitches.”

  “I heard a couple more gunshots from the alley.” The question was in his voice.

  “Drake didn’t have time to make it there. Frank is dead, and my boss is in trouble.”

  Ian made himself comfortable on the floor and pulled Nic further into his body. He reached out and tugged Isobel into his side, keeping Nic pressed into his chest. “How can you be sure?” he asked.

  “Those bastards murdered Lindsay. Kei would have made sure they were both dead. One way or the other. Even if it means jail time.”

  “Who is doing this to us?” Isobel asked.

  Ian tensed at the question. Nic had her suspicions, but only recently had she started Courtney digging. They would need proof to go after the man. Nic wanted to be open and honest with them both. They needed to be prepared. Ian beat her to the punch, however.

  “It’s our brother, isn’t it?”

  Nic nodded, reaching up to stroke a finger down Ian’s face. Isobel gasped and started shaking her head.

  “Evan—" her voice trailed off. “That makes no sense.”

  “It does if Evan is a sociopath, which is what I believe he is,” Nic said.

  * * *

  “Goddamn it!”

  Kei looked up from the body at her feet to the man cussing a blue streak. He paced back and forth, his gun now holstered as he ranted. “Couldn’t have waited…just had to…goddamn it.”