Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security 2)

“I’ll be fine,” I repeat, feeling like an asshole when Brooks frowns at me.

My phone begins to ring, and I end the conversation. A sigh escapes my lips when I let Nana’s call go to voicemail. Whitney and I should be at her house right now trying to convince her to let us help with the meal. I shouldn’t be headed to the airport to chase after a terrified woman in danger.

Thankfully, the cab driver hauls ass due to the huge tip I promised, and I make it to the airport with minutes to spare. They’re already calling my name over the intercom in an attempt to prevent me from missing my flight by the time I make it to the gate. Several passengers give me nasty looks for holding them up, but we still make our takeoff time, and land in Cedar Rapids four minutes early.

The drive from St. Louis is just over four hours, but I’m counting five before I see my girl again.

Rapid fire texts hit my phone the second I turn it off airplane mode, but I have things to check before I can dive into those. Finding a quiet place in the airport, I fire up my laptop and go over the information my system back at the office was able to uncover. I have tons and tons of information pouring in over the career-long criminal activity of Stephen Jones, but the search is complete and no one else in the Bureau has been implicated. There are flaws, minute chances that I’ve missed something, but I’m confident enough in my programs, that I can give Flynn the go-ahead to get the ball rolling on tracking down Jones and making it safe for Whitney to come home.Chapter 22Whitney

“You’ll eat or you’ll starve.”

Simon turns his nose up at the food bowl I grabbed from the small grocery store around the corner. Who knew cats were such fickle animals? He didn’t have any problem marching to the damn litter box the second it was set up in the hotel bathroom.

“You’ll eat when you get hungry.”

The tip of his orange tail twitches with irritation as he walks past me and jumps on the bed. If he wants to act like an ass in the middle of a damn crisis, then I can do the same.

But when he meows in my face as I’m snacking on a small bag of beef jerky, I cave just like we both knew I would.

He can eat from my hand, but he’s too stuck up to eat from a plastic bowl when his normal one is metal.

Noise in the hallway draws my attention, and the television is on silent for this very purpose, but I don’t have the same sense of dread like I did last night at the motel.

It’s either my already shot nerves, my exhaustion, or the false sense of security for being in a room with inside entry—take your pick—but I’m just glad my pulse isn’t threatening to pound a migraine into my head with each noise I hear. Maybe it’s because I’m three-hundred-and-fifty miles away from the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Maybe I’ve finally lost my damn mind.

Who knows, but all I can think about is sleep. Deciding he’s done licking the empty beef jerky package, Simon curls up into a tiny ball and falls asleep. At least he didn’t try to claw my face off when I pulled him out of the backpack a couple of hours ago. I’d say he’s getting used to being transported that way, but more than likely he’s tallying my indiscretions until he’s had enough. He’ll probably sit on my face tonight and smother me in my sleep.

“You have the right idea,” I tell him, curling my hand down his spine. He purrs, shifting his body so I can rub his stomach, and I give him two pets because I know a third will only bring out the death claws.

Leaving the television on, I turn the light switch off on the bedside table, deciding that there’s enough light in the room to possibly prevent me from having nightmares, and I let my eyes drift closed. I had a million thoughts running through my head as I drove today, but nothing that was productive, and believe me, a five-hour trip spent right in the middle of a woe-is-me pity party was four hours too long.

***

“This isn’t fair!” I scream, my sounds coming out muffled and distorted.

Any attempt to move my hands or legs is futile. Light doesn’t even filter through the dark fabric over my head.

My nightmare makes me jerk awake only to realize it’s my reality.

The television is no longer on. Either that or the hood covering my face is so thick I can’t see the flash of the screen.

“Shh,” my attacker urges, but I can’t respond with a mouthful of fabric.