Chapter Twenty-Nine

The big intruder cast his smaller crony a nervous glance and shuffled from foot to foot.

Weasel-face sputtered, “Hey, now. Jus’ wait a minute, aw-right?”

Rory stifled a groan. This was just what he’d been afraid of. He didn’t like her smile one bit. She, like Weasel-face, sounded totally unperturbed at the prospect of taking a life.

But instead of killing these idiots, he needed to get information out of them.

Like, who had sent them?

“Let’s not be hasty, Lena,” he cautioned quickly. “Why not ask them a couple of questions and see if we can help each other?”

“Yeah, man, let’s make a deal, or somethin’.” The skinny man’s Adam’s apple bobbed precariously. He looked from Rory to Lena, and quickly back again.

“What’s your name, kid?” Rory asked.

A bead of perspiration dripped down Weasel-face’s nose.

“Clementine. Call me Clem,” he blurted out. At Lena’s chuckle, he cast her a nervous glance.

Rory threw her a warning look. “You said you were hired, Clem. Who hired you?”

Lena started to circle the uncomfortable-looking giant. She trailed the muzzle of her gun across the wide expanse of his chest, over his shoulder, and down his back.

“Dunno,” Weasel-face said, and jumped back with a start when Lena glared at him with menacing intent. “Hones’ to God. Dunno his name. Jus’ some guy who paid us ten K to pop the guy inside room twelve of the Driver’s motel.”

Rory came to attention. The guy?

Why just him? Why not the couple in room twelve? Was this not about Nina? Or was someone trying to blast away her protection?

Or maybe he’d just misspoken or remembered wrong.

These were all questions Rory needed answers to. “What did he look like?”

Weasel-face shrugged. “Latino, I guess. Small little bugger. Real mean eyes.” His own were locked with Lena’s. “If ya know what I mean.”

Jonathan Creed. Again. Had to be.

The description fit the man perfectly. Damn it!

“How did he contact you?” Rory demanded, keeping a wary eye on Nina. She had lost interest in Clem and was giving her full attention to the giant, once more.

“He jus’ came by, I swear. Jus’ came struttin’ into our hood. We didn’ ask no questions. Money’s money. We’s jus’ gettin’ paid to do a job. Nuthin’ personal.” Sensing Rory’s displeasure about the lack of real information, he talked faster and faster.

“When? Lena, stop that!”

Clementine jumped at his sharp order to Lena, whose hands were all over the giant’s body.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rory demanded as she squatted and slid her hands up and down the man’s legs with thorough strokes that left nothing untouched.

“Just making sure he isn’t carrying any hidden weapons, honey. Don’t be jealous.” She smiled sweetly. Straightening, she revealed a knuckle buster and a slim stiletto she’d picked from the guy’s pockets.

Patting Rory’s cheek, she said, “I still like you best. You. Sit.” The sharp order, accompanied by a deceptively nonchalant wave of her gun at the quiet giant, had him flopping down on the nearest chair. Satisfied with his compliance, she turned to Weasel-face. “Doesn’t say much, does he? Spread ’em!”

Since it was prudent to check for concealed weapons, Rory remained silent as Clem did as she ordered and endured the body search without protest. Maybe not so stupid, after all.

She came up with another knife, a tiny two-round pistol, and a professional garrote.

“Oh Clementine, Clementine. This is just like Christmas,” Lena crooned. Gleefully, she pocketed her findings and shoved him toward the bed. “Now, you were asking?” she said to Rory.

Damn. She really was something, he thought, trying to get past the annoyance this particular alter unfailingly brought to life in him.

Refocusing on the nervous Clem, he asked, “When did this Latino hire you?”

“A coupla hours ago. He paid the entire thing in advance, jus’ so we’d do it immediately.”

The bastard acted fast…if it was him. Who else could it be, though?

“What do you think?” Rory asked Lena.

She was in the process of lighting a cigarette, giving Weasel-face a measuring once-over. “I think it’s time to get outta here. Which leaves us with the question of what to do with Dumb and Dumber, here? I’d vote for taking the ten grand Clemmy mentioned—hell, it’s not like they did a good job, or anything—pop them, and dump their bodies. They’re scum, anyway. No one’s going to miss them.”

“Hey. Ya can have the money. Ya don’t have ta kill—” Weasel-face stopped his jabbering when Rory resolutely vetoed that option.

“No killing, Lena.” Leaving behind a trail of corpses was not on the table.

“Well, if you insist.” She pouted, then perked up. “But we can hurt them a little, though.”

The scary part was, Rory didn’t think she was joking. “Lena!” he warned, throwing her a censuring look. Curbing her violent tendencies was like working at a daycare center—he couldn’t let his attention slip for even a second.

Ignoring her petulant expression, he considered their options and made a decision. “We’ll tie them up. Room service will find them in the morning.”

“Yeah! Good plan,” Clem agreed hastily, looking for support from his buddy, who nodded eagerly. “We ain’t gonna say nuthin’ to no one, okay? No need for nobody to get hurt.”

Lena shrugged, but as she bent to grab her bag, Rory heard her mutter, “Spoilsport,” under her breath.

“What sort of car are you driving?” Rory asked Clem, quickly gathering his stuff and shoving it in his duffel bag.

“The black Benz, man. Take it, it’s yours. Keys’re in the ignition,” Clem supplied. He squeaked as Lena yanked loose the curtain tie-backs with a snap.

She tossed one to Rory, and with quiet efficiency they trussed up the men.

“A Benz,” she said a moment later, her voice oozing with appreciation. “I love traveling in style. You coming?” Bag slung over her shoulder, she was on her way to the door.

The final knot checked, Rory straightened. “Yeah.” He picked up his duffel and went in pursuit of his charge. Lena was already behind the wheel, backing up to their old car, so he could transfer the rest of their bags.

Moments later, with a breath of resignation, he climbed into the passenger seat.

She revved the engine, making the car roar with a deep, throaty sound. Petting the leather-covered wheel, she hummed in delight. “Like butter.”

“Let’s just go,” he ground out.

“Right.” She promptly floored the pedal and whipped the car from the parking spot with an impressive skid.

Rory braced his hand against the dash only to have acceleration slam him back in his seat as she tore out of the lot, peeling rubber. She spun onto the highway and headed east.

“Lovely piece of machinery, isn’t it?” she enthused, switching lanes and passing the few vehicles on the road with controlled aggression. “Those boys sure knew how to travel in style.”

“Lena.” Rory closed his eyes and sagged into his seat. “Shut the hell up.”

He needed to think.

Jonathan Creed had hired assassins—if you could call them that—to kill him. Clem had said they were supposed to kill the guy in room twelve.

Him. Not Nina.

What the hell?

Why was he suddenly the target?

And how in the fucking hell had Creed found them?