In a Fix (Torus Intercession 2)

I could say the same for him.

“Murray was thrilled when I told him what Ryder said, that she treated you like you were the fuckin’ second coming. He’s practically salivating to have you star in your own little snuff film so he can send it to her.”

Murray would kill me to hurt Lucia Diaz because, as far as he knew, I was the only person “Lucia” had in her life that she cared for. He didn’t know about Ella’s big, warm, loving family, and so would strike at me to hurt her. It was a good plan, logical even, except for the part with Ryder.

I turned to look at the man I’d thought would be in my life because he was important to Dallas. It was sad to be wrong.

“I can’t wrap my brain around your part,” I said to him. “Why?”

His eyes met mine. “It’s an old story. I got hurt a few years ago, and when my doctor weaned me off the oxy, I wasn’t ready.”

“You never stopped taking it?”

“No.”

“The Bureau doesn’t drug test you?”

“They do, but”—he shrugged—“you know. Drug tests can be faked.”

I nodded. “And you and Digby?”

He cleared his throat. “The other night when he was brought to the office, we checked his pockets and he had pills on him, and I’ve had trouble getting free to see my dealer lately, so…”

“You paid Digby.”

He shook his head. “He said no need, said I’d owe him one, and then I saw him again and there were more.”

It was very smart in a sleazy, slimy way.

“This is—I’m sorry, Croy.”

“You knew the alarm code, so you turned it off.”

“Yeah. I turned off the chime too,” he informed me, “so it wouldn’t wake anyone up when Ingram came in.”

“There’s patrol cops driving by the house,” I reminded him. “There are four other agents outside in—”

“No,” he told me. “There’s nobody out there. I told Vegas PD there was a change of plans and that we didn’t need them to do visual check-ins.”

“How are there no agents? Higa gave explicit instructions—”

“Think about it, Esca. I control comms. It’s not quantum mechanics.”

“So you called everybody and what, told them guard duty was cancelled because the witness left early? Because Higa decided Dallas’s house was secure enough with just you and him on-site?”

“Something like that.”

“So no agents and no Vegas PD providing backup, no drive-bys.”

He nodded.

“That’s very clever,” I told him while at the same time knowing there was no way in hell it was going down like he thought. In his drug-induced euphoria, he’d counted himself too important and far too clever. Not to mention the fact that I’d met Reina Montez, listened to her ask questions, seen her record conversations on her phone while taking notes on a tablet. She would check, double- and triple-check. She was not about to let Ella Guzman get hurt on her watch. My bet was that this was all going to go sideways for Digby and Ryder any second.

My concern now wasn’t for myself, that there was a good chance I was going to end up dead, but that the gunshot, when Digby shot Ryder, would startle the hell out of Dallas and he’d come rushing in from the bedroom without assessing the situation first—the way he’d been taught—and Digby would kill him. Ingram hated me enough to shoot Dallas just to watch me suffer. And even if Ryder tried to protect Dallas, and shot Digby, he could still get caught in the crossfire.

I couldn’t have that.

And there was also Ella to consider. She could get up at any time and become a target. Murray wanted to kill me to hurt her, but if he saw her, and had a clean shot at her, that might change on a dime.

I couldn’t have that either.

It was a mess, and I had no idea how to keep the guy I loved, and my best friend, safe in the middle of—

Jesus. Worst timed epiphany ever.

Somehow or other, Dallas Bauer got in under the tripwire around my heart and made himself at home alongside Ella, who had apparently been there all along, just waiting for company.

Digby’s phone chirped, and he checked the display.

“He’s here,” he said, smirking at me. “Sorry you can’t say goodbye to Dallas.”

I wasn’t worried about that. My entire focus was on disarming the two men in the house with us. Andrew Murray, outside in a car, was not my most immediate concern.

Lunging for the stove, I grabbed a heavy professional-grade pan hanging from the pot rack above and turned and caught Digby in the side of the head, hard enough that he dropped like the proverbial ton of bricks. Whirling around, I heard a shot at the same time I flung the pan at Ryder.

My aim was off. I meant to hit him in the chest. I thought the surprise would give me a second to jump him, but he ducked at the same time I hurled the pan at him, and it caught him square in the nose. The gush of blood was instantaneous as he too went to the floor.