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Spectre
I wasn’t surprised at the amount of surveillance.
To be fair, I’d expected it.
I’d worked my way past more intense security measures in my time, including those put in place to protect a presidential candidate. The contract on him hadn’t paid anywhere near what I’d invested to actually complete the job, but the more I’d dug into the son of a bitch’s background, the more determined I’d been to complete the job, contract or not.
Compared to the dancing I’d done with the U.S. Secret Service, sidestepping some federal agents and U.S. marshals was a walk in the park.
That walk was made substantially easier by one Sam Collier, a man who vaguely fit my description, if you added in the fact that he had shaggy, reddish-blond hair and a scruffy beard to match.
Collier, effectively, would blend in and that was exactly what I needed, because the man I was after did the very same thing. He blended in as if he’d been doing it his entire life.
He was likely as at home in the posh luxury hotel as he was in a no-name motel that ran for fifty bucks a night, and I’d only have this one shot at him. If it wasn’t for Theo, I wouldn’t even have that.
Even now, she was perched in a protective position on the hotel across the street, watching.
If I didn’t update her, she’d likely move in and it would be over.
At that point, I’d be dead and it wouldn’t matter.
That was what I told myself, but I couldn’t actually believe it.
It would matter to Tia, and no matter what, whether I was here, it would matter to me. If it mattered to Tia, I’d care, even if I was dead and cold, nothing more than a memory to the few who even knew I existed.
“Thermo shows the room to be empty, Spectre,” a voice murmured in my ear. “But I’m picking up radio chatter. He’s on his way back. If he’s not here in the next thirty minutes, I’ll eat my hat.”
“If you’re that hungry, Theo, order some take-out,” I said, working my way down the hall, carrying a stack of towels as part of my disguise.
“Did you just make a joke, Spectre? I think you did, but I can’t quite believe my ears.”
“Very funny.” I stopped in front of the room and took one long, slow breath. “I’m here, Theo. I’m going in.”
I pulled the card from my pocket as her voice crackled in my ear.
“Are you sure this is the way you want to handle it, Spectre? If things go wrong...hell, I won’t be able to get there in time. We both know that.”
I swiped the card and stepped into the room, easing it closed behind me so there was no heavy thud to announce my arrival. Once I ascertained that I was alone in the room, I answered, “If things go wrong, Theo, it won’t matter. I have to do this.”
Brittle silence stretched out between us, followed by the low, angry sound of her swearing.
“Hell. This is suicide, you know that, right?” she said abruptly. “Okay. I’m watching. There’s a chair by the bed—big window, just like we thought. Make your play there. I’ve got good line of sight so if need be, I can take him out in a heartbeat.”
“Remember what I said. No matter what happens.” I put the towels away and moved around the room, taking in everything.
She swore over the line. “Damn it, man.”
“You promised,” I reminded her. Then I focused on the area around me.
It was a nice suite, a sitting area that opened into a bedroom with a sprawling view of downtown Boston. The suite, coupled with the hotel itself, went hand in hand with what I’d learned about my target. He did like life’s luxuries.
But he was by no means soft.
I couldn’t afford to be off guard, not now. Not with him.
The chair was exactly where Theo had told me it would be, beside the bed. I took care of a few more things, then settled down to wait. The chair was surprisingly comfortable but despite my lack of sleep over the past few days, I had no worries that I might get too relaxed.
My blood rushed in my veins and my heart pounded with an urgency I was unfamiliar with.
Hearing the click in the lock out in the hallway, I breathed out slowly and closed my eyes.
Make this work. Those words, in Tia’s low, sexy voice, had echoed through my mind so many times over the past week. Make this work.
It was nearly impossible.
Only one thing could be done for...this, for us to work, and in the next few seconds, I’d be making that call.
The door opened, then shut, the lock clicking as the man in the outer room turned the deadbolt. No lights were on, save for the single lamp he’d left burning earlier.
The lack of illumination, coupled with the dark night outside, turned the window into a dim mirror. I could see his reflection as he reached for the light switch and I heard him swear under his breath as nothing happened.
He moved deeper into the room and I watched as he moved out of sight. There was a faint click and he swore again. Two seconds later, he was back in my line of sight, hitting the switch for the lights in the small kitchenette area.
Nothing. He paused, then reached under the lamp shade.
He didn’t show any confusion when he failed to find a light bulb. I had to give him points for that.
I gave him even more credit when he reached inside his jacket and he pulled out a weapon. With the lack of clarity in the window, I couldn't see the make but I had no doubt he would be more than proficient with it.
I also had no doubt he’d pull out another weapon soon—his cellphone.
“I’m hoping you won’t need that weapon,” I said calmly. I held my own, but instead of having it raised toward him, it lay against my thigh and I gripped it loosely, reluctant even to consider using it.
For the first time in my life, I actually had some concern the man would turn toward me and the weapon would fire, a bullet ending my existence in the next few seconds.
I’d never feared death until I found life. Damned if I’d give in so easily.
The man disappeared from sight.
My skin prickled. Instinct shouted, Kill him.
“It takes a phenomenally stupid person to break into a hotel room registered to a cop,” Mac Bailey said, sounding remarkably steady.
“You're assuming I knew you were a cop when I let myself into your room. Why is that?”
Bailey snorted. “We’ll call it a lucky guess.”
Something shifted and I kept my focus on the door, for any flicker of movement in the shadowy depths lying beyond the door.
“We have matters to discuss, Detective Bailey. Shall we get down to business or are you going to continue creeping closer to the door so you can try to shoot me?”
There was a faint pause and I sensed his surprise, although none showed in his voice as he responded, “What sort of business do we have to discuss?”
“Put the weapon down and I’ll tell you.”
“And when are you going to put yours down?” he asked derisively.
I glanced at the Sig Sauer resting on my thigh. I could easily set it aside and found myself wanting to do just that. I didn’t want to kill this man. I wouldn’t kill this man, I told myself, resolved.
Theo was in place simply to make sure I had an escape if other officers arrived. I wasn’t going to jail. That was my line there—I wouldn’t go behind bars but I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Well?” he asked tauntingly, voice closer now.
“We could always come to a gentlemen’s agreement,” I suggested.
He made a noise low in his throat—laughter, perhaps. Or just a disgusted snort. I suspected it was somewhere in between.
“Sure,” he said with grim amusement. “Why don't you outline the terms of this gentlemen’s agreement?”
Sighing, I rose from the chair. Careful to keep out of Theo’s line of sight, I approached the door. “Detective Bailey, it’s going to be hard to strike any sort of agreement or even talk to you if you contact the police. I know when somebody is stalling. Please put your phone down.”
Sensing more movement, I shifted as well, this time pressing my back to the wall just opposite of where I believed he stood.
“See,” he said, false courtesy dripping from each word. “I’m having a hard time understanding just what kind of business I have with you. I’m pretty sure we don’t know each other. And you showing up in my room without an invite has me a little edgy, especially considering some of the shit going on in my life lately.”
“I understand your hesitation.” He’d moved again. Wily prick, wasn’t he? I hadn't even heard a sound.
Making a decision, I holstered the Sig, slipping the security strap in place so he wouldn’t be able to disarm me—not that it was likely, but he’d already proven himself to be surprisingly competent. I listened for a few more seconds, then gave a quick hand signal to the woman watching from her perch, knowing she’d seen it clearly enough through her night-vision goggles.
Make it work, Tia’s voice echoed inside my head. Focusing on that, I ducked low and moved forward, fast. Coming out of the shoulder roll, I ended in a crouch, having already spied him.
I launched myself at him.
He flung himself backward, moving with more speed than I would have expected.
Grudging admiration filled me as he twisted his body with agile dexterity and took cover behind the counter. If I was at all worried about anything but accomplishing my goal, I would have done the same thing—take cover.
But the longer I delayed, the more chance he would have to contact the local authorities and that meant I’d have to employ the last chance escape route.
The final escape.
I did have the advantage of surprise so I went with it, hurtling over the counter just as he started to peer above it. I saw him with barely enough time to pull back on my kick, but he still went stumbling back, sprawling on his ass before rolling all the way back from the momentum of my attack.
His cell phone dropped and I grabbed it. Picking it up, I checked the screen. He’d been mid-text. Fuck.
I’d deal with that in a minute.
Spying his weapon, I kicked it out of reach before he could grab it. He was still dazed so I picked it up. With a few simple movements, I ejected the magazine and shoved the ammunition into a zippered pocket of my cargo pants.
He sat up slowly, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his right hand.
Setting his Glock down on the table, I grabbed a chair and spun it around. As I straddled it, I displayed the phone. “We can discuss that business as soon as you tell me what to say to assure this gentleman...ah, Agent Horton, that everything is perfectly fine here.”
“Perfectly fine.” His teeth flashed in the dim light, a sardonic smile that didn’t look at all pleasant. “Okay. How about...suck my dick?”
“I didn’t realize you swung that way, but I doubt an invitation like that is going to settle the matter, considering you just told him something might be up.” Tapping the edge of the phone, I said, “Help me out, detective. We don’t have much time before he contacts the local boys.”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” A pained smile curled his lips but it was decidedly pleased at the same time, making me wonder what was going on in that canny mind. “I sure as hell hope you were smart enough to get a decent cut of the contract money up front. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll collect anything now.”
Curious, I cocked a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that your client is dead.” Mac laughed and it was almost manic. “Really fucking dead. So dead, they won't even be able to scrape up body parts for a funeral. He was blown to bits a couple hours ago.”
He shoved upright, then savage satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he sneered at me. His gray eyes, so like Tia’s, were hard and defiant as he spread out his arms. “So...go ahead. Do what you came for. I mean...that is why you’re here, isn’t it? Do it fast and make a run for it, then enjoy looking over your shoulder, because it’s not that fucking easy to kill a cop and get away with it.”
Understanding now, I smiled a little. “You’re quite right about that. It’s not all that easy to kill a cop and get away with it. It's much easier to...oh, say...make the top enforcer for the head of Boston’s Irish Mafia overdose on the drugs he’d planned on slipping an underage girl at the strip bar he likes to frequent. A man will do most anything when you’re holding a gun to his nuts after all. Especially if you catch him unawares in an...executive private booth and knock him out beforehand so he wakes up restrained, the same way he liked to restrain those underage girls he drugged and raped.”
Mac went rigid.
“It’s almost child’s play to do that. It might be relatively simple, in theory, to slip into the home of said enforcer’s girlfriend...the woman who helped recruit local girls for a particular group of thugs...and somehow she kept getting off.”
“You’re talking about Teddie Sessions and his girlfriend, Tammy Collins.” His face had smoothed out fast, the cop taking over once more.
“I’m not talking about anybody. It’s disturbing, theoretically, though, thinking that a woman could be engaged in such enterprises, even knowing what fate awaited such girls. Worse, don’t you think, that one might find such a distasteful affair...arousing? Even enough to keep video of girls being forced and drugged? Hope lives eternal, of course, that she’d be an unwilling accomplice but hope’s a fickle thing. Perhaps justice would be for her to share their fate. A broken neck really is too easy, and kind.”
“You crazy motherfucker,” Bailey said in a low, disbelieving voice.
“What’s your opinion, detective? Would it be easy to swap out the steroids used by the goon O’Holloran called his second-in-command? Anabolic steroids are such a foolish drug. I wonder if those who abuse them kill their brain cells over time. Imagine...” I smiled at his disbelieving expression. “Injecting yourself and never once bothering to look at the vial of drugs. Not that it would be obvious at a glance, but still, if I were going to inject something into my body, I’d look at it first.”
A harsh breath escaped him and I leaned forward. “I’ve heard that extremely high doses of strychnine can result in death within fifteen to thirty minutes...but it’s still a brutal way to go. Brutal enough that it would almost be preferred to setting bombs in the place where the man who ordered the murder of an innocent woman lives. But even that was much easier than evading capture if one were so stupid as to kill a cop, isn’t that right, Mac Bailey?”
“You...” He growled it out, the word seething and full of a venomous hatred.
Inclining my head, I said, “As I told you, we have business to discuss. Would you like to take care of notifying your agent friend...or should I just leave now? I have no desire to deal with the authorities.”
Eyes cold and hard, Bailey came off the floor. He swiped the blood off his mouth, then spat some on the floor. Although I knew the cut on his mouth had to hurt like a bitch, he didn’t flinch. “Text Horton. ‘Sorry, man. Head’s still messed up over my sister. Seeing shit that ain’t there, I think. I’ll tag you in the morning. I need food and a drink, then a few hours horizontal.’”
“If this is code for something and law enforcement moves in, I will know.” Tapping the weapon against my thigh, I added in a cold, hard voice, “I’m not dealing with the authorities.”
“It’s code for I need food, whiskey and sleep, dickhead,” Bailey said with a sneer. “And your throat under my boot, but we’ll leave that out since you don’t want to invite him to the party.”
After a cool, assessing glance, I dictated the words, exactly as Bailey had spoken, giving the screen only a peripheral look before sending it.
That done, I silenced the phone and placed it facedown on the table.
He came at me hard and fast that very second. I took the first blow to my chin. I owed him that but I blocked the next and trapped his arm, maneuvering behind him before he could try again.
Letting my momentum carry me, I knocked his legs out from under him and almost had him on the ground, my arm around his throat, but he managed to get his knees under him.
“You’re a fast son of a bitch, aren’t you, detective?”
“Suck...my...dick,” he rasped.
I smiled. He and his sister had a great deal in common. I suspected I’d like him, even if he wanted to kill me with his bare hands. “You’re also strong, and clearly you have dedicated serious time to training yourself how to fight—more than just the typical scuffle, too. I have no desire to hurt you so I would appreciate it if you would stop this now so we can have that discussion.”
“Go fuck yourself.” He did stop struggling, though, his breath coming in choppier bursts. The tensing of his muscles was so slight, I barely had a second to adjust my stance. He almost threw me off and I don’t know if it was because of my amusement at the predicament I was in or my determination not to cause him harm.
Tia wouldn’t forgive that.
I squeezed harder, applying more pressure to his windpipe.
“You cannot beat me, Detective Bailey. As skilled as you are, I'm not a martial artist or anything else you've ever encountered. I’m a killer, born and bred. My father began training me for this before I was old enough even to understand what was expected of me, or why. I wasn’t even nine years old before he forced me to kill the first time, leaving me alone in a room with a drunk pervert and a loaded gun. I had to choose...get raped or kill. You can imagine what I chose.”
For a moment, he froze.
I don’t know if it was because of anything I had said or simply a lack of oxygen. Easing up on the pressure, I asked, “Shall we talk? I’m sure you want to know about your sister.”
Light flashing over the blade was the only warning.
Instinct took over.
Even as I heard the wet crack of bone breaking, I began swearing, first in German, then in English, only belatedly remembering that the language I’d first learned would be a clue to such a cunning bastard.
“You stupid son of a bitch.” I hauled him upright, not knowing if I was speaking to him or myself. The light coming in through the windows was enough to see his features. His face was white as I shook him, trying to get a gauge on his status. I wasn’t even surprised to see that he was clear-eyed—pale-faced and sweaty, but clear-eyed. “You’ve got to be one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever come across.”
He tried to wrench away but I ignored him as I dumped him in the chair I'd vacated. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I yanked his head back and glared at him. I was pissed off now, something that never happened while working.
Not that this was a job, but I hadn’t expected emotions to come into play.
“I'm going to have to explain to her how you got hurt. Can you not make it any worse?”
“Explain it to who?” His voice was level, as if he wasn’t sitting there with both bones of his lower arm snapped in two. “And where the fuck is Tia? If you hurt her...”
He shoved up out of the seat.
Covering his face with my hand, I pushed him back down.
He hit his broken arm and his already pale face turned gray.
“She’s safe,” I said, barely recognizing the growl of my voice. I looked around for something I could use to splint his arm. Even in the dim light, I could see well enough to know there wasn't much. At least nothing that I could see in immediate view. Turning to go into the bedroom, I took two steps but spun back and went into the living room area to grab the hotel phone. Holding his gaze, I yanked the cord from the wall, then tossed it on the couch across the room.
Then I went back to the little kitchenette and ripped that phone from the wall, as well, throwing it so that it fell next to its mate. With a cool smile, I grabbed his cell phone and shoved it into a zippered pocket on my hip, sealing it securely inside.
“Can’t have you ruining our little party, now can I?”
“Not when you’re just getting started on me, I guess.” He stared at me with dead eyes, cradling his broken right arm but as I passed by him. He reached out with his left hand, his fingers digging into the sensitive nerves along my wrist with surprising strength and precision.
“Safe isn't good enough, pal. Where is she?”
As tempted as I was to wrench his hand away and break his arm at the wrist for grabbing me, I felt a weird kinship with him. I’d never loved anybody before, had never worried over anybody. Not until these past two weeks.
Reaching down, I caught his wrist, applying the same pressure and twisting at the same time. Standing over him, I had leverage, where he had none and soon, his grip relaxed.
“I told you, Detective Bailey. She’s safe. By now, she’s probably halfway back to Tennessee.”
Disbelief was etched on his features but I ignored it. “You’ll be able to talk to her soon and I will be walking out that door.”
While he continued to stare at me with suspicion, I left him alone in the kitchen and went into his bedroom. I collected the light bulbs I’d removed from the lamps first. After a few seconds of searching, I found what I needed in the closet—a simple, well-made white dress shirt that I pegged as being custom-made. It would work. I grabbed the other thing I needed from where it lay draped over his neatly organized suitcase, propped half-open on the luggage rack.
I left the supplies I’d collected on the breakfast bar in the kitchenette, then replaced the light bulbs so I’d have light to work with.
In the kitchen, while he watched, I looked over the cabinets and drawers—three of the five were fake, nothing but silvery knobs on gleaming, cherry-stained wood. The next one was too shallow. The fifth, however, would work fine.
Dumping the basic kitchen utensils in the sink, I gave the drawer a hard pull to wrench it free from the moorings designed to hold it in place. Glancing over at him, I said, “You never know who might feel inclined to steal a drawer.”
He didn’t look amused.
Two hard blows knocked the sides of the drawer off, providing me with solid pieces to serve as splints.
I put them down and scooped up the knife Bailey had pulled on me. “May I use this?”
“Why the fuck not?” He eyed the pieces of wood and the shirt, something akin to disbelief in his eyes. “Either this is a new form of torture or you’re planning on splinting my arm.”
“I’ve had my arm broken before—both of them, in fact. In a manner just like that.”
The first time had been when I was seven and I’d been caught stealing. My father had been the one to order me to do it, while he was in the store. He had the money, of course, but it was part of my training. Every fucking thing he did had been part of my training, according to him.
Shaking off the memories that had become harder to ignore, I used the knife to cut loose the seams of the shirt sleeves, then ripped them the rest of the way off. “You’ll be more...inclined to talk after your arm isn’t hurting like hell, so we’ll do that, then have our discussion.”
When my arm had been broken, he’d left me to suffer with the pain all night, then set it himself, smiling cruelly.
“I’m not sure I want you setting my arm, Dr. Psycho,” he said in a flat voice as I laid out the materials.
“I am setting the arm,” I said. “Either you let me set it, or I’ll pick you up, throw you on the ground, and after you pass out from the pain, I’ll do it while you’re unconscious. Then we will talk. Frankly, it makes no difference to me.”
“Because you have to explain this...” He gave his arm an irritated look before shifting his gaze to me. “To somebody. And who is that?”
There was a glint in his eyes that made me suspect he already knew.
He was proving to be a pain in my ass, so instead of answering, I met his gaze levelly and smiled. “Your sister, Detective Bailey. Tia is the reason I’m here after all.”
The lines around his mouth went tight and his lids flickered.
“This is going to hurt.”
He curled his lip. “No shit.”
“It will be problematic if you scream.”
“Just out of curiosity, are you part robot? A cybernetic organism from the future?” He gave me a disbelieving look. “Hate to tell you, but this is already sort of painful and it’s about to get much worse.”
“I’m aware.” I wondered what he’d say if I told him I had bitten through my lower lip to keep from screaming. Even at seven, I’d known better. Screaming made the next punishment even worse. But nobody needed that in their head. Of course, nobody needed the torture of going through this unaided either. Hesitancy and doubt almost paralyzed me. Doubt. I was ill equipped to deal with it. My phone buzzed, but I didn’t check it right away. I’d have a minute before she sent another.
There was a wet bar on the far wall and I went over to study the contents. Alcohol wouldn't help much but maybe the placebo effect would offer some comfort. Something would be better than nothing, I had to assume. The only bottle that had been touched was Johnnie Walker Blue so I opened it and filled two tumblers, each well over half full.
“You're full of surprises, aren't you?” Bailey said behind me, his voice strained and filled with an odd note I couldn’t quite place. “You’re a psychotic, murdering kidnapper with a knack for explosives and medical knowledge of some kind. But you’ve got fantastic taste in whiskey. Go figure.”
After putting his glass in front of him, I pulled the phone out and texted Theo, letting her know there were no problems at present.
Mac had already tossed back half the liquor in the glass and I took a sip, staring at him over the rim.
“Do you need more?”
“No.” His eyes gleamed as he downed the rest of the Johnnie Walker, then set the glass down with enough force, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it shattered. “I want a clear head because I still plan on killing you if I don't like what you have to say about Tia.”
“You sound like such a law-abiding cop, Detective Bailey,” I found myself smiling as I settled into the chair in front of him. Yes, I most definitely could find myself liking this man. I already respected him and that was an odd thing. He had nothing but a fierce need to protect his sister and what was clearly a deep love for her.
These emotions would have baffled me just a few weeks ago. But now, I appreciated them. Tia should have that kind of people in her life. More of them. Many more.
I wanted to be one of them.
Make this work...
I folded the belt in two and held it out to him. I wasn’t surprised when he blew out a resigned sigh and accepted, putting the leather between his teeth and bracing his head against the wall at his back.
As he closed his eyes, I grasped his wrist with one hand, the upper part of his forearm with my other.
Other than a strangled groan low in his throat, he made no sound.
“It’s a clean break, detective,” I said as I splinted it. “If you don’t injure it further before you can get it casted, it should heal without a problem.”
Sweat drenched his face and he was still sickly pale. Yanking the belt from his mouth, he threw it, then grabbed my whiskey, mostly untouched, and tossed it back, leaving only a finger or so.
I sat waiting, listening as harsh breaths escaped him.
They slowed and Bailey opened his eyes. That bright, glazed look of pain was gone, replaced by a look of resolve.
“We can have that discussion now.” Something hard nudged my knee.
I looked down and despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the small handgun he held. “I must really be distracted,” I murmured. “I didn’t check you for other weapons and you had two—a blade and a Baby Glock. Your clinch piece, I assume.”
He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile, leveling the gut at my gut.
“Answer the question.”
“Did you ask one?” I reached for the rest of the whiskey and drained it, staring at him with a smirk. “Unless you’re talking about Tia, in which case, I did answer that one. She’s safe and already on a plane, due to land in less than ninety minutes in Knoxville.” I named the flight and airline number. “She checked in and boarded. She was worried her dog wouldn’t meet the qualifications for an emotional support animal, but Valkyrie passed with flying colors, or so I’m told.” Leo had taken care of the paperwork, including forging the needed documents, but such a task was child’s play for him, even if he had been out of the game for some time.”
“You sound rather certain on the details.”
“Do I? Perhaps it’s because I am.” I eyed the empty glass and pushed back.
“Sit down.” Bailey’s voice was hard as steel.
“I just want more whiskey.” I held up the glass. “You drank mine.”
“It’s my fucking whiskey and I told you to sit down.”
This was getting tedious. Holding his gaze, I rose. The gun followed me, his eyes narrowing. I could only imagine the wheels spinning inside his head. It was a calculated risk to turn my back and walk over to the wet bar, but I took it. There, I refilled my glass and took a sip, holding his gaze challengingly in the mirror.
“You’d think a born-and-bred killer like yourself would know better than to turn his back on a man holding a gun on him, especially one who would have no problem shooting him.”
“Ah, but you see, Bailey, you would have a problem.” I toasted him in the reflection. “You’re not the sort to shoot a man in the back.”
“If that man kidnapped my sister? Don’t bet on it.”
“I could point out that I did it to save her life,” I said.
His mouth twisted in a sneer.
Turning, I strolled across the floor, gesturing with the hand that held the bottle. “We could discuss what I’m sure you feel are valid arguments—she could have stayed with you and some such bullshit,” I said, coming to a stop in front of the bedroom door, right in front of the window.
“Sit your ass down,” he growled.
“I’m fine standing.” I took a deep drink of Johnnie, draining it this time and pouring another healthy serving. “You could have asked some of your Bureau friends to watch over her, but you and I both know O’Holloran has—or I should say had—a couple of agents on the payroll. His accountant has those names, by the way. And you’re welcome.”
“If you don’t sit the fuck down...” he snarled, advancing on me.
I threw the now-empty bottle and pounced, taking him to the ground and disarming him. He grunted in pain as I shoved my knee into his right elbow, pinning that arm.
“I did tell you that you should avoid further injury,” I said, giving the splint a critical once-over. It still looked secure, but I gave the cloth strips a few good tugs just to be sure.
Bailey closed his eyes, sweat popping out on his forehead once more. In a low, pained voice, he said, “I should have just shot you in the knee.”
“I would have been dead a minute later, so it wouldn’t have accomplished much.”
Shoving off him, I held out a hand. He eyed me with disgust, but reached up and let me pull him to his feet.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
I pointed to the windows that ran the length of western wall, save for the narrow partition separating the kitchenette from the bedroom. “See the building across the way? Wave and smile. A contact of mine is watching. If any authorities show up, I get a nice, neat hole in the head.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
I gave Theo a signal.
A second later, a red laser panned on the couch before slowing tracking over to me.
Bailey threw himself backward.
“What the fuck?”
I sent another signal. I didn’t bother to look. Theo was already pissed I’d made her agree to this, had even threatened to kill me just out of pure spite, but she’d never do it.
Judging by the look on Bailey’s face, he was still trying to figure out what was going on. Leaning against the armchair, staying in full sight of the window, I met his eyes.
“If you’re that ready to die, why do you keep disarming me?” he asked. “I’d be happy to help you end it.”
“But your sister wouldn’t be happy. And...no, I don’t think you’d shoot to kill, not unless you had no choice. It’s not in your make-up. You...value life.” I lifted a shoulder. “Personally, I’m in no rush to end up in a grave but...well, I had a feeling that talking to you would be a risky proposition and, as I’ve said, I’m not going to end up behind bars.”
“You don’t think you deserve it?” He shoved his back against the kitchen counter, shooting a look out of the corner of his eye at the window.
“That bullet isn’t meant for you.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I’m having a hard time buying that.”
“I could have killed you at any time since you walked through that door.” Holding his gaze, I drew the Sig Sauer and leveled it on him. “I could kill you now, if that’s what I wanted.”
His lids flicked to the weapon.
“Do you think that’s what I’m here for? Really?”
Bailey’s eyes narrowed. Taut moments stretched out. “You said Tia wouldn’t be happy if I killed you. What the fuck do you mean by that?”
“Well, now. That’s what I want to discuss with you. Are you ready to talk now?”
He shot a look over at the wet bar, then at the empty glass lying by his foot. “Get me a fucking drink, then yeah, I’ll listen. I’m out of weapons for you to take away anyway.”