Holding on Tighter (Wicked Lovers 12)

time.”

He shot her a chastising glare. “If you’re going to lie, you’ll have to do a far better job. I’ve looked into your background, profiled you a bit. After your mother’s rocky up-and-down love life, I think only real love would tempt you to the altar. You’re a driven career woman in the throes of expansion. I rather thought that revealing Heath’s secret plot to invest in Betti as a way to earn your trust was a stroke of genius.” He patted himself on the back. “You might want a child but you still have time. So any childbearing you want now would only be because you’ve found someone you want to spend your life with. Do you have a better lie to run past me?”

“Do you want money?”

“No. If that were my sole motivation, I would have found some way to bilk Heath out of his. Or better yet, organize criminals and steal millions. I know quite well how to do it. I’ve learned from some of the best masterminds over the years. But as it happens, I’m not a thief. I believe in earning my money and devoting my skills when the time is right.”

Jolie didn’t understand this man at all. Not a killer? Not a thief? “Why the hell did you murder Anna?” She gasped as something truly awful occurred to her. “You also killed your own pregnant wife?”

“It was a difficult but unfortunate necessity. I never wanted to hurt her, but . . . she left me no other option. Your husband should be calling soon.” He glanced at his phone. “I do hope he uses his common sense, rather than his bravado. He doesn’t need to save the world, just you. Hungry?” He opened a cooler she hadn’t noticed on the floor beside the desk. “Ham sandwich?”

Eating was the last thing on her mind now. “No.”

“Then we’ll wait. Heath is really very smart. I’m sure it will occur to him to call and—” His mobile rang then, and Beaker glanced down at the screen. “Excellent.”

Jolie wished she could reach through the phone and tell Heath not to talk to Beaker, not to get involved or put himself in danger. But that was her husband. He would protect her a hundred times over before he would lift a finger to shield himself. He would never let her stay at this man’s mercy if he could save her.

“I wondered when you would call,” Myles said, putting the line on speaker.

“Let her go, you motherfucker! Don’t hurt her. She’s done nothing to you.”

Hearing her husband’s voice, Jolie’s heart caught in her throat. “Heath!”

“Shut up,” Beaker snapped at her, then turned his attention back to her husband. “As it happens, I quite agree with you, Powell.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“Soon. Now I don’t have much time because I’m certain you have the authorities recording and tracing this. Don’t insult my intelligence by insisting otherwise. So here’s what you’re going to do: Head toward the West End. In thirty minutes, I’ll text you an address. You will have another ten minutes to find it. At that point, you will receive a package. I’ll call you with further instructions. Come alone. Record nothing. Fail any of these demands and I fear for your lovely bride. Do you understand?”

Heath said nothing for a long moment, then he growled as if barely restraining his temper. “If you want money or information, I’ll need to start gathering it now.”

“Nothing like that. Really, I thought you knew me better.”

“Clearly I don’t know you at all. How could you kill Anna, Lucy, and your own baby?”

Beaker didn’t answer. “Watch for my text in thirty minutes.”

“I need an hour. I don’t have a car.”

Jolie frowned. Anyone on her staff would lend him a car. Why was he stalling?

Her captor gave a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t take me for an idiot. I’ve done my legwork. I know you have a motorcycle. I know your wife has plenty of people who will drive you to and fro. I’m sure you’ve also established some connections in Dallas. Isn’t your wife friends with that heiress from Chicago who just had a baby? Callindra Howe? Isn’t her husband former FBI?” Beaker tsked at Heath. “Don’t treat me like a fool. Thirty minutes. I’m hanging up.”

“Wait! I want to talk to Jol—”

Beaker ended the call and set the phone on his desk. “I’ve disabled location services on this phone, and by the time the authorities triangulate the towers the phone pinged during our call, this ordeal will be long over. So . . . not hungry, eh?”

Not in the least. “Why are you tormenting someone who used to be your friend?”

“Patience. It shouldn’t be much longer now . . .”

Chapter Eighteen

Rule for success number eighteen:

Learn to cooperate—when it suits you.

HEATH bought a burner phone in case Myles had figured out how to duplicate his personal device. With it, he contacted Hunter Edgington as soon as Myles rang off. The former SEAL texted back immediately that they were still forty minutes out. They would leave the airport and drive directly to the West End so they could be in position whenever Heath got his next set of instructions.

Trying to keep his calm and hope that Jolie was safe, he acknowledged them, then headed for his bike.

Karis followed, tears streaming down her face. “Please bring her back safely.”

He found it hard to meet the woman’s gaze. If he had kept his distance from Jolie, if he had just kept living his gray existence, if he hadn’t blithely assumed that the danger to his new wife stemmed from some element of her life, none of this would be happening. But no, he’d blazed ahead, claiming Jolie because she made him happy. He’d sought closure on Anna’s death because he had told himself he deserved to finally be rid of the albatross of his guilt and start living again. After all, he had to understand where he’d gone wrong in the past so he didn’t make the same mistakes twice. Not once had he imagined that yearning would jeopardize Jolie’s life.

Now here he was, terrified he would be looking down at an open grave as he tossed earth on top of his wife’s casket again.

“I’m going to do everything I can,” he vowed.

“I know.” Karis threw herself against him, sobbing with all the fear and heartbreak inside her. “I just . . . She’s always taken care of everyone, kept our family together. We would have a terrible void without her. I don’t know whether to call my mother and brother or . . .”

“You might need them now for comfort. Holding vigil while you wait for answers alone is difficult.” That was an understatement. He had waited hours to hear whether Anna had died in the violence. He’d last seen Jolie less than four hours ago and it already felt like a lifetime. “Regardless of what happens, stay close to them. They will help you through anything.”

Another lesson Heath had learned the hard way after shutting so many people out of his life.

Karis let him go and nodded. “Thanks. I don’t know what’s happening or why, but she loves you.” She gripped his shoulders. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to her.”

Heath knew damn well that wasn’t true, and if Jolie made it out of this alive, he would do her the favor of leaving her. Being alone was what he deserved. He refused to put her in danger again.

“I’ve got to go.”

“I feel so terrible that I was too wrapped up in my own life this morning to see what was happening with hers.” She nodded, tears filling her eyes again. “Please keep me posted.”

“Of course.”

Then Heath straddled his motorbike, checked the bullets in his SIG, and extracted the keys from his pocket. He zoomed into the late morning breeze, knowing this would be over by nightfall.

He prayed Jolie would still be alive.

When he reached the West End, he parked in a mostly vacant lot. The area had once been industrial, then revitalized as a tourist haven, only to fall on hard times again in the past few years. The remnants of bars and restaurants lingered. A few businesses had survived, making a living off the folks who worked in nearby areas downtown and tourists who wandered off the beaten path after visiting the Sixth Floor Museum at Deal

ey Plaza. But for the most part, the area was quiet.

Heath glanced at his phone. The first text should come at any moment.

As if on cue, his mobile dinged. The message came from an unfamiliar local number, likely a burner phone.

On the corner of Market and Munger, you will find a small Segway tour company. Inside, tell the receptionist you need to talk to Bill. When the phone rings, answer it. Advise now.

Understood, Heath replied, then texted the update to Hunter via his disposable phone. Once done, he headed toward the corner Myles had advised him to locate.

Inside, he found a pretty young blonde who wore a bright smile that matched her vivid blue T-shirt advertising the tour company. “Can I help you?”

Heath wondered if she had any idea what she’d agreed to be a party to.

“I need to speak with Bill.”

Her smile faded, replaced by a blank expression. As hard as she tried to be nonchalant, Heath knew she had zero idea who or what she’d become involved with. He sighed, hating Myles all over again for dragging more innocents into whatever twisted game he played. For the life of him, Heath couldn’t figure out the man’s motive. What the fuck did he want?

She handed him a package. “Here you are. According to the courier who dropped this off, Bill will contact you shortly.”

With a curt nod, Heath thanked her. Now he had ten minutes to wait.

Exiting the building out the back, he looked around cautiously, aware this could be one giant trap and that Myles could easily have hired a sniper to pick him off at any moment.

Wending his way through shadows and staying behind whatever cover he could find, Heath ducked beneath the deep overhang of an abandoned storefront. To shoot him in this secluded area, someone would have to stand directly in front of him. Heath didn’t see anyone in the empty lot across the street except a parking attendant with his buds in his ears, bopping to the beat of whatever tune he played from his phone.

Watching for anyone else who looked as if they had murder on their minds, he couldn’t help but think about how beautiful the day was, far too blue and perfect for anyone to die.

The phone in his hands rang on schedule. He picked up the call after the first ring.

“Where is she, Myles?”

The man didn’t acknowledge his query. “At the corner of Ross and Griffin, you’ll find a 7-Eleven. Go inside and locate the men’s toilet. Look around. You’ll know what to do next.”

He didn’t like the way this was going down, with Myles holding all the cards. But of course the man had Jolie, so he had everything. “I want to know that my wife is still alive.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t kill my insurance policy. Say hello,” he instructed.

“Heath?”

The sound of her shaking voice drowned him in a surge of relief. She might be afraid, but she was still on this earth, breathing, her heart beating. Heath intended to keep it that way. “Are you all right?”

He knew just how adept the bastard was at torturing to extract information. In fact, he thought of all the methods he’d seen his former partner use on enemy combatants—soldiers and spies who had voluntarily signed up for a covert war, knowing death or disfigurement were likely if caught. Jolie had merely tried to grow a business, get married, live her life . . . For falling in love with him, she could suffer the ultimate price.

“I’m fine. Don’t put yourself in danger. Don’t—”

“Your wife thinks she can save you. It’s a sweet but foolish notion,” Myles drawled.

“She doesn’t know anything. Leave her alone.”

“Really, I expected more from you than the typical response. When has demanding anything like that ever worked?”

Myles was right. He had to stop behaving like a distraught man in love and start playing the game like a spy.

Heath listened to the call with a sharp ear. He heard Jolie’s voice in the background. Myles had taken her someplace industrial. The echo was obvious, and there were plenty of abandoned factories downtown. No other extraneous sounds came through, like the airplane he now heard overhead. So Jolie wasn’t very close, damn it. But he did hear heavy traffic noise through their connection. He’d bet that put her on the south edge of downtown somewhere, farther away from Love Field, closer to the Mix Master.

The 7-Eleven Myles wanted him to find was a bit on the north edge of downtown.

“I’m on foot. I’ll need a bit.” Hopefully, stalling would give the Edgington brothers enough time to get here.

Myles sighed with impatience. “Stop treating me like an idiot. You have wheels. Get to the next location. You have fifteen minutes.”

Then Beaker hung up. Heath cursed. The accelerated timetable kept everything in Myles’s control. Heath’s head spun as he glanced at his phone. The Edgington brothers and the rest of the posse would still be fifteen minutes away when he had to arrive at the convenience store.

Bloody hell. He texted Hunter the information about Myles’s demands, as well as his observations about the sounds he’d heard during the call. The former SEAL wrote back immediately.

We’ll fan out. Go to the mini-mart and play along. We’ll search the south edge of the downtown corridor for likely locations as soon as we get there. We’re hitting the cars now, so it won’t be long.

As much as Heath didn’t like that plan, he didn’t see another choice.

Jogging back to his motorbike, he traveled the few blocks to the corner Myles had indicated, circling a few times to see if he could catch sight of his former mate or anyone who looked out of place. While he saw some gangbanger and drug-dealing types, most people simply seemed in a hurry to get whatever they needed from this little corner of hell so they could be gone. Heath wished he could do the same. The last thing he wanted to do was walk directly into Myles’s trap. He didn’t know precisely what the man intended in forcing him to follow these clues, but Beaker had a particular endgame scenario in mind.

Finally seeing nothing of concern in the little mart, Heath parked and meandered inside, casing the interior. He spotted nothing suspicious as he walked the edges of the room around the coolers. The attendants up front looked blankly efficient. The woman working the register on the right had to be at least seventy, five feet tall, and weighed a hundred pounds. The kid working beside her looked gangly and anxious, as if this might be his first job.

With time running out, Heath headed toward the back—and the loo.

His phone buzzed. The crew from Louisiana was getting in position. That made Heath feel a bit better. They were smart and seasoned. If there was a way to save Jolie, they would help him find it.

Heath loitered in the hall outside the toilet for a minute or two. No one approached.

With a bad feeling rolling in his gut, he walked inside and locked the door, then began searching the place. Quickly, he found an envelope with his name taped to the porcelain under the basin.

LEAVE THE TOILET NOW.

With anxiety gripping his gut, Heath shoved the note in his pocket, washed his hands, texted Hunter the latest development, then exited. As soon as he opened the door, Myles stood outside in a heavy coat, despite the warm autumn day. The man looked as if he’d aged fifteen years in the last seven. And he was hiding the barrel of his gun behind the bulk of the coat.

“Hello, old friend.” Myles gave him a bland smile. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Nineteen

Rule for success number nineteen:

Choose your partners wisely.

I’M not going anywhere until I know Jolie is safe,” Heath vowed to Myles.