ARROGANT BRIT (A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE) (75 page)

“Sandra,”
he whispered as he lay down beside me. “Tell me this is going to work. Tell me
we can leave all this behind and live our lives. Tell me we can be together.”

“Yes,
Nathan,” I murmured without hesitation. He smiled, and I returned it. “Oh God,
yes.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I
was shivering. When
I had things under control, I could suppress my fear. Right now, things were
very much out of my control.

The
plan was simple: let Captain Pierce into the safe room, let him play with the
dummy computer Nathan had his tech guys set up, and record the whole thing.
Surely, there’d be something on the tapes and computer logs to nail his ass to
the wall.

Things had went wrong right from the start.

Nathan
had made himself scarce just like we’d planned, but when Captain Pierce
arrived, he wasn’t alone. That wasn’t part of the plan. He wasn’t supposed to
have company.

Four
men climbed out of the squad car, looking uncomfortable in their blues. I
stared at the stiff and immaculate uniforms as the captain approached. They
were too clean. Too perfectly pressed. They were bullshit.

Brand
new uniforms. All of them. Uniforms taken right out of inventory at the station.
They were the complete opposite of the rough-looking men wearing them, and that
meant these men weren’t cops. They were playing dress-up. Emerald green eyes
shined on the face of the closest phony officer as they approached. I tried to
stay calm, leaning up against the unmarked black Crown Victoria.

Irish. Fuck.

Nathan
was right. Captain Pierce had been working with Mr. Wallace this whole time.
Getting Nathan out of his mansion and into protective custody was his way of
putting him under his thumb. He was never supposed to testify.

The
mansion loomed just at the end of the street, quiet and unguarded. Nathan’s men
would be nowhere near this place today. We were taking no chances and
definitely didn’t want to spook the Captain. The trouble was that I desperately
wished they were here now.

“Detective.”

“Captain,”
I replied, nodding toward the other men. They kept their distance, not locking
eyes with me.

“Don’t
mind them. I needed a few men I could trust on this one. Where’s Nathaniel
Hale?” the captain asked.

“He’ll
be in Philadelphia for some big charity drive all weekend. His company is
investing in a children’s hospital,” I responded, the rehearsed words flowing
easily from my lips.

“Smart
man, giving himself an alibi as that shipment hits the docks. I take it you’ve
got the keys to the castle?”

“Keys,
and a disabled security system,” I replied. “He keeps his computer in some kind
of safe room just off the kitchen. I’ve taken the liberty of shutting down his
video surveillance for the afternoon.”

“Excellent.
Move out. I want this done quickly,” the captain said, waving the men toward
the house. They started up the path toward the oversized front doors as he
turned back to me. “You did good work, Detective.”

Fuck.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

The
captain was the one who was supposed to go into that room. He was the one I
needed on video, planting evidence. I could hit the panic switch, and he’d be
locked in that stupid room until I could hand this whole case over to the boys
in Internal Affairs.

“Now walk.”

The
Captain’s voice had become gruffer, more stilted. I stared at the hard lines on
his face before glancing downward to see his Sig 223 pointed squarely at my
stomach, the dark shape both sinister and beautifully engineered.

“Captain…
I don’t understand,” I said, staring down at the gun.

“Sandra,
I’ve sat across the table from the kinds of criminals that would haunt your
fucking nightmares. I’ve seen evil, and I’ve been lied to by some of the best.
I’ve made a career on seeing straight through bullshit.”

“Captain,”
I started, but he cut me off, jabbing my gut with the barrel of his gun.

“I
said, walk. No more lies, no more fucking bullshit you stupid bitch. I’ve had
to put up with your ass on my force for all these years, and this is how you
repay me? You’ve put my whole fucking family in danger. How much is Nathaniel
Hale paying you for your loyalty?”

I stared
to move, urged on by the business end of his firearm. The Irish men had reached
the house, but clearly they weren’t just walking in the front door. One was
moving around the side of the house, quickly finding an electrical box and
beginning to work on it.

He’s cutting the lines…

“My
loyalty? How much did your soul cost, Captain?” I asked, looking at him with
all the vile hatred I could muster.

“You
don’t understand, do you, Sandra? You could have let that squad car go, and
we’d never be standing here. Sometimes, you break a few eggs for the greater
good.”

“Nathaniel
Hale would be dead if I did that. Is that your greater good?”

“Nathaniel
Hale is dead anyway, and the world won’t miss him” the Captain replied coolly.
“I need to think about the rest of my city and I need to think about my own
safety. Did you seriously think four walls and some iron bars would keep anyone
safe from Mr. Wallace? Half the prison guards this side of the Mason Dixon line
are named ‘Mick’ and ‘O’Reilly,’ for Christ sakes. I’ve got a wife, and a
child, and I’ll be fucking damned if I let you get them killed for some
self-centered billionaire asshole.”

I
grunted as he jabbed me in the ribs with the gun, pressing me on toward the
door. “Open it,” he said angrily, forcing me inside as I pulled it open. Two of
the phony cops followed us through, guns drawn.

“Point
them to the laptop,” the captain demanded. I raised a hand, pointing toward the
kitchen.

“In there, past the cabinets on the right. It’s open.”

As they
followed my directions, I turned to the captain once more. I knew there was no
swaying him, but maybe I could stall for a little more time, time that might
reveal a way out of this mess.

“Captain
Pierce, please… You can’t do this,” I said, trying desperately not to glance
toward the decadent chairs that sat across from us. I knew full well the t22
would be transmitting this whole conversation. Just up the road, everything
going on inside here was being recorded. Video, audio—it would all be in the
undercover car I’d parked just on the edge of radio range. I just hoped I’d
live long enough to see this bastard behind bars.

“Shut
up, you stupid cunt,” one of the Irishmen said, turning and flashing me a
vicious smirk. “The good captain here knows what happens to assholes who get on
Mr. Wallace’s bad side. You’ll find out too, soon enough.”

I
stared back at Pierce. The fire in his eyes was gone. “Is that true?” I asked,
tears filling my eyes despite my attempt to control my emotions. I wondered
what I saw in the man staring back. Was it regret? Fear?

He
didn’t give me the pleasure of knowing. Before I could say a word he swung up
the butt of the gun and smashed it over my head.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Darkness.
Pain.
Movement.

I woke
to the feeling of being bounced around the roomy interior of a trunk, but the
main reason I had been shaken from my slumber was the nearly destroyed spare
tire that had landed on my leg. Judging from the space and the tire floating
around back here, it was probably my own detective-issued Crown Vic, and that
wasn’t a good thing. I’d replaced that tire just three weeks ago, never
bothering to put the stupid spare back where it belonged. They’d been putting
me off at the motor pool ever since…

I took
a moment to think about my situation. The captain would have taken his own car,
so it stood to reason there was an Irishman at the wheel. I fumbled around in
the dark for a moment, trying desperately to get my bearings.

The shotgun…

My
hands flashed to the roof of the trunk, feeling around for the shortened
tactical shotgun that was normally strapped to the underside of the lid.
Unsurprisingly, it was missing.
Just one
more thing to worry about.
I slapped my hands up against the edges, looking
for some kind of handle or release to get myself out of here, but the car was
too old for such silly little safety features.

I’d
very quickly started to develop a hatred of the budget cutbacks that had been
imposed on the force lately. In the span of only a few moments, they’d moved up
the ladder from “mildly annoying” to full-blown “rage-inducing.”

What
the hell was I supposed to do? Wherever we were going the ground was definitely
not paved. That meant a kill site. If I knew anything about the Irish, I was
about to be buried so far out they’d find Jimmy Hoffa before they found my
body. If I was going to survive, I needed to get the hell out of here.

Think, Sandra. Think!

I
clawed at the edges of the carpeted interior, desperately trying to inch along
through the cavernous trunk. There had to be something I could do.

My
fingertips hit the edge of a small compartment along the side of the space. I
wrenched it open, my hands feeling around inside.

The jack!

I
unscrewed the small wing nut holding it in place, pulling it out and wedging it
against the floor, aiming the upper face toward the trunk latch as I began to
spin the scissoring mechanism with the tire iron. It expanded, pressing the
edge against the trunk and tightening even as the car accelerated. We must have
been doing fifty miles per hour or more down this dirt road.

Daylight…

A small
glimmer was peeking out from the edge of the trunk lid as I continued to spin
the jack, my arms burning from effort as I wrenched the tire iron around
rapidly. This had to be fast. I had to pop this latch before the driver saw
what was happening.

With a
satisfying sound of cracking and destruction, the lid burst open, blinding me
with light as I stared out into the dust cloud stretching behind us. Everything
seemed to be moving in slow motion, my adrenaline pumping through me, seeping
out like glacial water from the nodes above my kidneys. We were traveling too
fast to safely jump, but there were other things I could do to stop the car.

Without
even a thought, I reached to the side and shoved the battered flat spare right
over the edge, finding myself suddenly slammed against the inside of the rear
seats as the car fishtailed.

Guess
he noticed…
I thought to myself,
clutching the tire iron.

The car
skidded to a halt. The driver’s door opened, and there was the sound of cursing
as a man came running into view, staring back at the dust trail behind us.

He
didn’t even see it coming. I swung the tire iron around and screamed at the top
of my lungs, the metal impacting his face and sending him sprawling. Leaping
out of the trunk with pain coursing through my throbbing head, I followed up
with a second blow, watching him go limp as I kicked the shotgun away from his
hands.

“Motherfucker!”
I screamed, my foot laying into the unconscious man.

I
looked around, trying to get my bearings. We were outside of town, at least
twenty miles north, judging from the mountain range in the distance. Wherever
we had been going, it wouldn’t have ended well for me. I left the man sprawled
out on the ground, rooting around in the glove box for the heavy duty zip ties.
A few minutes later, the battered man was hog tied and left on the side of the
road. It wasn’t a very friendly thing to do, but I wasn’t thinking much about
this man’s personal welfare. I had a job to do.

Serve and protect.

I
picked the shotgun up from the dirt and threw it across the bench seat. I would
have preferred something a little more concealable, but it would have to do. I
needed to get back into the city. Nathan needed me, and every moment I spent
out here was a moment I knew was killing him. By now, he had to know I was
missing, and if he went back to the house…

If I
had any hope of stopping this, I needed to get my hands on the video before
Captain Pierce realized I wasn’t quite dead yet. My survival was an advantage,
but it wouldn’t last.

The
engine roared as I stepped on the accelerator, spinning the old Crown Vic
around and leaving the Irishman in my rearview mirror.