Lethal Game (GhostWalkers 16)

“That’s enough,” Mills sputtered. He caught Malichai’s arm.

“Where are you taking him, so I can bail him out?” Amaryllis demanded.

Marie glared at him. “I’ll be filing a complaint against you personally and the department for this. It’s an outrage the way you behaved, and we have video evidence of it. Social media will get you fired.”

Mills ignored the two women and hurried Malichai away from them. Marie and Amaryllis followed, at a short distance. Malichai ignored Mills shoving him forward, his hand between Malichai’s shoulder blades, his other on his upper arm. As if that would have stopped him.

“I can take him,” Amaryllis said loud enough for Mills to hear.

He stiffened but kept walking, not turning around.

Malichai glanced over his shoulder at her and winked. “I know you can, baby. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Looking forward to dinner. You know how I love my food.”

Amaryllis didn’t return his smile, and he was certain she wasn’t going to continue cooking the dinner for the bed-and-breakfast. She would be following John Mills to get her man back. Like Malichai, she didn’t believe for one moment that he was a cop.

“What the hell did she mean by that?” Mills demanded as he yanked open the passenger rear door to a dark SUV.

“Nice ride for a cop,” Malichai observed. “She means she could kick your ass, and she could. You should never underestimate a woman just because she is one.”

Mills shoved him into the car and slammed the door, sending one furious look toward the doorway of the bed-and-breakfast. Only Marie stood there. Amaryllis had already rushed to retrieve her car.

Malichai leaned his head back against the leather seat, ignoring Mills as he threw himself behind the wheel and pulled into traffic. Whoever these people were, whatever their ultimate goal, they weren’t a real terrorist cell, maybe a fledging one, but they were amateurs. Kidnapping him was a stupid move. They knew next to nothing about him. Mills’s face had not only been seen by the two women, but he’d allowed them to capture his image on their phones.

His gut knotted. Either that or they didn’t care. They had some other reason for not caring. What could that be? Mills carried himself very upright. Military, if Malichai had to take a stab at his background. He would not only be military but be used to giving orders or carrying them out. Something wasn’t right and Malichai just didn’t have enough pieces of the puzzle to fit them all together.

He didn’t make the mistake of looking out the back window to ensure his brother was following. He knew Ezekiel would be. He was totally confident he could take John Mills himself if he had to, but the fact that Zeke and the others remained close gave him that added coolness.

It didn’t seem to occur to Mills that he might be followed. He drove through several backstreets, moving away from the ocean toward the industrial side of town where there was a series of storage units. Mills drove in, barely stopping to put a code in to open the gate. The heavy gate swung open and then closed behind them as Mills immediately made a right turn down a long row of units. A van was parked toward the end of the row. Malichai didn’t like that. He knew the gate wouldn’t slow Ezekiel down, they would just go over it and head for the rooftops, but still, if Malichai was transferred to the van and his team wasn’t close . . .

Dark-colored van. Can’t see the license plate, Zeke. Don’t know if it’s for my body or for me.

The SUV came to an abrupt halt, nearly throwing his head into the seat in front of him. Mills leapt from the vehicle, opened the door and yanked Malichai out. Malichai caught a glimpse of the older woman from the magic shop, the one who had been so rude to him. Before he could react, Mills kicked him hard in his damaged leg. He wore heavy, steel-toed boots and he kicked hard, driving through the injuries.

Instantly, Malichai’s body reacted, so nauseated he nearly vomited as he went down hard. His head hit the asphalt, but that barely registered as Mills delivered two more vicious kicks to his leg, going for maximum impairment. He seemed to know exactly where Malichai had been shot and he used that knowledge to his advantage, kicking him again and again, clearly wanting to permanently damage his leg.

He reached down, caught Malichai under his shoulders and dragged him the few feet to the open door of the storage unit where the woman waited. There was another man with her. He looked to be about fifty and that man reached up, caught the door and slammed it down hard, closing them all inside. There was a light on, but it was fairly dim. Still, when Malichai could get beyond the nausea swirling in his gut, the bile rising in his throat and the pain hammering at his leg all the way to his hip, he could see the scars pitting the man’s face.