Deceptions
Page 2
“What’s up?” I whispered.
He scanned the row of parked cars. “Do you have your gun?”
“Always.”
He put his fingers against my back and propelled me forward.
“Any warnings?” he murmured.
“Portents of impending doom?” I said. “Not a one, but honestly? I’m discombobulated enough this morning that I could trip over five dead birds and not notice.”
“We’re both out of sorts. Which reminds me that I need to stop by the doctor and pick up a prescription for pain—”
When he wheeled, I didn’t jump. Nor was I surprised to see a man two paces behind us. Gabriel admitting he needed pain meds had conveyed a warning as clearly as if he’d shouted it.
The man didn’t look like the sort who’d be stalking us in an empty parking garage: early forties, decent suit, gray-salted beard. A reporter? I’d had to deal with plenty lately.
“May I help you?” Gabriel rumbled, his deep voice dropping another octave.
“Gabriel Walsh?”
“Yes.”
The man held out a thick envelope. “You’ve been served. This is—”
Gabriel grabbed the guy by the wrist, wrenching his arm up. The guy yelped, but didn’t drop the envelope . . . or the semi-automatic pistol he’d tried to conceal in his other hand.
“Give Mr. Walsh your gun,” I said.
The man stared in confusion at the gun in my own hand.
“Give it to him now.”
He opened his fingers and dropped his pistol. Gabriel grabbed for it with his free hand. Then he stopped sharply. “Oliv—!”
The gun clattered to the pavement. And cold steel pressed into the back of my neck.
“You don’t want to do that,” Gabriel said, his pale blue eyes fixed on my captor.
A man’s chuckle sounded behind me. “I don’t believe you’re in any position to make that demand, Mr. Walsh.”
“Then you are mistaken. Hurt her, and you will regret it.”
“Regret it? That’s all? I expected ‘I’ll hunt you down and kill you’ at the very least.”
“Death is quick. Regret is not.”
The gun pressed harder into my neck, as if the man was leaning forward. “Clever, Mr. Walsh. I’m sure Ms. Jones is very impressed. Her knight in tarnished armor. Impressionable young women must find that very hard to resist.”
“They may,” Gabriel said. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any here at the moment, so you’ll have to trust the threat is for your benefit alone.”
“Chivalry and flattery. Are your knees weak yet, Ms. Jones? Oh, and do put away the gun. Please.”
I hesitated, then lowered it into my bag.
“Now remove your hand from your purse, Ms. Jones.”
I did.
The man continued, “I’d like to believe modern young women wouldn’t fall for Mr. Walsh’s act, but the very fact you are with him proves otherwise. We’ll have to chat about that later. For now, you’ll come with me, Ms. Jones, while Mr. Walsh releases my confederate and then stays where he is until we are out of sight. If he follows, you will pay the price. Understood, Mr. Walsh?”
My assailant dug the gun barrel in hard enough to make me wince. Gabriel punted the other man’s gun under the cars and then released him with a shove. My assailant took hold of my arm. When he lowered the gun, I stabbed him in the side, having palmed the switchblade from my purse. He fell back, and I grabbed for his gun arm. I missed. Gabriel didn’t.
Gabriel wrenched the man’s arm up. His partner crawled after his lost weapon, but when I told him to stop, he saw the gun back in my hand and decided to listen.
Gabriel threw my attacker to the ground. It was another guy in a suit. Bald. Thirties. He immediately started rising, one hand clutched to the knife wound. Gabriel calmly punched him in the side of the head. The guy dropped, unconscious, to the pavement.
“There’s blood on your shirt,” I said.
Gabriel glanced down and sighed.
“You can put it on my bill,” I said.
He shook his head and walked over to the first man, who had started inching toward his gun again. I’d noticed, but at the rate he was moving, he’d be lucky to make it there by lunch. Gabriel grabbed the guy from under the car, flipped him on his back, and put one Ferragamo loafer on his chest.
“I’ve decided to speak to you instead of your partner,” Gabriel said. “Tell me now if I’ve made the wrong choice.”
The man wriggled, as if testing how tightly he was pinned. When Gabriel leaned forward, he gasped and lay still.
“I’ll presume that means I did not,” Gabriel said. “Prove me wrong, and I’ll break every rib in your chest. Is that understood?”
The guy looked offended. Coming after us with guns was fine, but God forbid we should fight back.
“Olivia, could you please keep an eye on the elevator and the entrance lane? It’s after rush hour so we’re unlikely to be interrupted, but it would be inconvenient.”
“Got it.”
I moved past the unconscious man and the growing pool of blood at his side. I wondered if I should do something about that, but he seemed to be breathing comfortably.
I took up position about fifteen feet from Gabriel, where I could see anyone driving into the garage or coming off the elevator.
“Who hired you?” he asked our captive.
No answer. Then a gasp, as Gabriel presumably applied pressure—literally.
He scanned the row of parked cars. “Do you have your gun?”
“Always.”
He put his fingers against my back and propelled me forward.
“Any warnings?” he murmured.
“Portents of impending doom?” I said. “Not a one, but honestly? I’m discombobulated enough this morning that I could trip over five dead birds and not notice.”
“We’re both out of sorts. Which reminds me that I need to stop by the doctor and pick up a prescription for pain—”
When he wheeled, I didn’t jump. Nor was I surprised to see a man two paces behind us. Gabriel admitting he needed pain meds had conveyed a warning as clearly as if he’d shouted it.
The man didn’t look like the sort who’d be stalking us in an empty parking garage: early forties, decent suit, gray-salted beard. A reporter? I’d had to deal with plenty lately.
“May I help you?” Gabriel rumbled, his deep voice dropping another octave.
“Gabriel Walsh?”
“Yes.”
The man held out a thick envelope. “You’ve been served. This is—”
Gabriel grabbed the guy by the wrist, wrenching his arm up. The guy yelped, but didn’t drop the envelope . . . or the semi-automatic pistol he’d tried to conceal in his other hand.
“Give Mr. Walsh your gun,” I said.
The man stared in confusion at the gun in my own hand.
“Give it to him now.”
He opened his fingers and dropped his pistol. Gabriel grabbed for it with his free hand. Then he stopped sharply. “Oliv—!”
The gun clattered to the pavement. And cold steel pressed into the back of my neck.
“You don’t want to do that,” Gabriel said, his pale blue eyes fixed on my captor.
A man’s chuckle sounded behind me. “I don’t believe you’re in any position to make that demand, Mr. Walsh.”
“Then you are mistaken. Hurt her, and you will regret it.”
“Regret it? That’s all? I expected ‘I’ll hunt you down and kill you’ at the very least.”
“Death is quick. Regret is not.”
The gun pressed harder into my neck, as if the man was leaning forward. “Clever, Mr. Walsh. I’m sure Ms. Jones is very impressed. Her knight in tarnished armor. Impressionable young women must find that very hard to resist.”
“They may,” Gabriel said. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any here at the moment, so you’ll have to trust the threat is for your benefit alone.”
“Chivalry and flattery. Are your knees weak yet, Ms. Jones? Oh, and do put away the gun. Please.”
I hesitated, then lowered it into my bag.
“Now remove your hand from your purse, Ms. Jones.”
I did.
The man continued, “I’d like to believe modern young women wouldn’t fall for Mr. Walsh’s act, but the very fact you are with him proves otherwise. We’ll have to chat about that later. For now, you’ll come with me, Ms. Jones, while Mr. Walsh releases my confederate and then stays where he is until we are out of sight. If he follows, you will pay the price. Understood, Mr. Walsh?”
My assailant dug the gun barrel in hard enough to make me wince. Gabriel punted the other man’s gun under the cars and then released him with a shove. My assailant took hold of my arm. When he lowered the gun, I stabbed him in the side, having palmed the switchblade from my purse. He fell back, and I grabbed for his gun arm. I missed. Gabriel didn’t.
Gabriel wrenched the man’s arm up. His partner crawled after his lost weapon, but when I told him to stop, he saw the gun back in my hand and decided to listen.
Gabriel threw my attacker to the ground. It was another guy in a suit. Bald. Thirties. He immediately started rising, one hand clutched to the knife wound. Gabriel calmly punched him in the side of the head. The guy dropped, unconscious, to the pavement.
“There’s blood on your shirt,” I said.
Gabriel glanced down and sighed.
“You can put it on my bill,” I said.
He shook his head and walked over to the first man, who had started inching toward his gun again. I’d noticed, but at the rate he was moving, he’d be lucky to make it there by lunch. Gabriel grabbed the guy from under the car, flipped him on his back, and put one Ferragamo loafer on his chest.
“I’ve decided to speak to you instead of your partner,” Gabriel said. “Tell me now if I’ve made the wrong choice.”
The man wriggled, as if testing how tightly he was pinned. When Gabriel leaned forward, he gasped and lay still.
“I’ll presume that means I did not,” Gabriel said. “Prove me wrong, and I’ll break every rib in your chest. Is that understood?”
The guy looked offended. Coming after us with guns was fine, but God forbid we should fight back.
“Olivia, could you please keep an eye on the elevator and the entrance lane? It’s after rush hour so we’re unlikely to be interrupted, but it would be inconvenient.”
“Got it.”
I moved past the unconscious man and the growing pool of blood at his side. I wondered if I should do something about that, but he seemed to be breathing comfortably.
I took up position about fifteen feet from Gabriel, where I could see anyone driving into the garage or coming off the elevator.
“Who hired you?” he asked our captive.
No answer. Then a gasp, as Gabriel presumably applied pressure—literally.
