Rick took that as a yes. “I can’t let him take her away. And I can’t let you warn him that I’m coming for him.”
Rotating the pistol in his grip, Rick crouched down beside Boone. Despite his injuries and blood loss, Boone tried to jerk away. He didn’t get far before Rick lifted his arm up high and brought it down hard.
The butt of the pistol collided with the side of Boone’s skull. He aimed for the area near the temple, close to the back of his ear. With enough of a hit, he could knock the other man unconscious without fracturing his skull or running the risk of Boone never waking up again. The way he saw it, if he wanted to kill the man, he could’ve just shot him. And, despite how Boone might see him, he’d never do something so dishonorable as kill another Marine.
Rick planned his strike perfectly. Boone groaned upon impact, his eyes fluttering wildly before rolling back in his head. His whole frame shuddered and he went still. Rick shoved his hand under his nose, waiting until he felt the warm air as Boone exhaled.
It was a mercy as much as it was strategy. He wasn’t so cruel that he would leave Boone lying there in pain while he ran off to hunt down Mathers and save Grace. Pausing only as long as it took to relieve Boone of the Hamlet-style communicator he had strapped on behind his holster, Boone grabbed the Beretta and the radio and ran for his truck.
Mathers couldn’t have gotten too far. From everything he had learned about the man from Grace, he would be waiting somewhere close enough for his bodyguard to return to him. And if Boone had a radio, he’d bet every cent he had that his employer had one, too.
Hopping into his truck, Rick switched the radio on, praying that the channel was still set to the right one.
His heart thudded as he waited to see if his page would be answered. It seemed like forever, even though it was probably only a couple of minutes, and Rick fought the urge to toss the radio and slam the truck into gear.
A burst of static. A rush of relief as an angry male voice came through the line.
“You finished him, Boone?”
Rick’s smile was grim as he made sure to mimic Boone’s gruff voice. “Yeah.”
When the answer came through the line, all he heard was a short shout followed by muffled sobs.
Tiger.
24
Grace still felt the way Tommy’s fingers dug into her flesh, the sting in her eyes where he used his suit jacket to wipe angrily at her tears. He warned her repeatedly not to cry but she couldn’t help it. She hiccuped and gasped, rocking in the passenger seat of Tommy’s Jaguar.
The last of her hope was obliterated with Boone’s simple grunt of a reply.
Yeah.
He did it. He really did it. And now Rick was—
She shoved her fist in her mouth again, one last vain attempt to stifle the ache that went deep in her bones. Her teeth scraped over the marks from before, another jolt of pain that was nothing compared to the grief she was suffering from.
Rick was gone.
Tommy threw her another heated look. There was that dark something in his cobalt eyes, lust and a determination to have her in any way that he could. Without the other man standing in his path, he knew he had won.
What was the point of fighting it? Grace could try to run, try to escape, even drive headfirst into the gulley if she slipped away from him fast enough. Did it matter? He’d catch her.
He always did.
Raising his communicator to his mouth, Tommy said, “Meet me at the big pit on the way out of this shithole. I think I might need some help persuading Grace to leave with us.”
“I’ll roll him, take his keys. Someone might’ve heard the shots. If I’m driving his truck, they might leave me the fuck alone.”
“Taking Grace’s car could’ve bought us some time, but I underestimated how far the shots would carry. Someone will be coming to check on him soon, I’d bet. Taking the truck is a good plan. Make it quick, Boone, get the hell out of there.”
“Got it.”
Tommy walked back to the car, tossing his radio on his seat. Grace quailed as he walked around the front, stalking toward her like a lion after its prey. A fresh wave of fear washed over her. She was trapped. There was no escape for her.
What could she do?
Apart from the way he manhandled her body and tugged her hair, she knew that Tommy wouldn’t really hurt her. He professed to love her too much, and what kind of bride would she be if she was broken and battered and bruised?