Run the Risk
Page 97
Slowly, Rowdy grinned. “That’s what you think? Seriously?”
Reese didn’t see the humor. “I would have loved to be wrong.”
“You are wrong, Detective.” Her gaze skittered over to him, and her eyes narrowed. “You really believed I’d let you get away with this? Not likely. I’ve known for weeks that you were up to something.”
“He’s been following you.” Rowdy fanned the folder in the air. Because he believed it to be a misunderstanding, he gave her a verbal nudge. “Detective Bareden thinks you’re the one who’s been cozying up with Morton.”
Her delicate jaw clenched. “Never.”
“Bullshit.” Reese took a forceful step toward her, drawing her aim. “You’ve kept your more personal association with Morton under the radar.”
“What personal association?”
To free up his hands, Rowdy dropped the folder onto the nightstand. If anyone started shooting, he had to be ready. “It’s all in there,” he said, hoping to give them a chance to sort out the confusion. “Dates and times documented.”
Slowly, after an impressive visual standoff, the lieutenant lowered her gun. “Seriously, Reese? That’s what you’ve been doing?” She curled her lip in disgust. “All this time you were watching me? My God, are you an idiot?”
Reese frowned at her vehemence. “No.”
“The proof says otherwise.” She holstered her gun. “I detest Morton and his ilk. Yes, I’ve had conversations with the man. But that’s all.”
“Why would you do that?” Rowdy asked.
“He tried to buy my involvement, and we both know what happens to those who deny him. So I met with him. He made veiled offers, and I strung him along. But I gave him nothing.”
“Yes, but you were quite charming,” came another voice, “so I allowed you the ruse.” Morton Andrews stepped into the room. He held a Sig Sauer 9 mm with a silencer attached. Beside him stood another thug, a big, bald, sweating menace, and equally armed.
“Fuck me sideways,” Rowdy said. “Is there a damned turnstile on the door now?” Incredible that so many would come trooping in when he’d thought to be the only one.
“Give it time,” Morton all but purred, “and I can guarantee you will be f**ked in every way imaginable.”
“Is that a come-on or a threat?”
Morton laughed.
He’d done what he could to change his appearance, but Rowdy would know those cold, dark eyes anywhere. “Gotta tell you, Morton, you look like shit.”
“It’s temporary.” At his leisure, utterly relaxed, he stood blocking the bedroom door. He smiled at his cohort—who pointed the gun at Rowdy—then addressed the lieutenant. “If my business dealings hadn’t gotten so complicated, I’d have tended to you next.”
At that open threat, Reese tried to step in front of the lieutenant, but Morton wasn’t having it. “Ah-ah, now. None of that.” He aimed his gun at Peterson. “Hand over the weapons, slowly. Place them on the floor and then walk to the other side of the bed. Make one wrong move, and I’ll put a bullet through her brain.”
Reluctantly, both Peterson and Bareden were forced to hand over their weapons. Morton used his foot to kick them across the hardwood floor, out of the bedroom and into the hall. He produced chain-lock handcuffs and tossed them onto the bed. “How convenient that you have a slatted headboard. Put one cuff on your wrist, thread the other through the headboard, and then she can cuff herself to you.”
“On a bed?” Peterson said. “No way.”
Reese gave her a quelling frown. “You wish.”
Morton sighed. “Do it now,” he said as if reciting a boring litany, “or I shoot her in the head. Your choice.”
“Great. Fucking great.” Reese attached the cuff to his left wrist, threaded it through, and raised a brow at Peterson.
“I knew you weren’t dead,” Peterson grumbled while attaching the cuff to her right wrist. They were both forced to sit in the middle of bed, close together. “It couldn’t be that easy to get rid of you.”
“No, not easy at all. I’m here and I’ll be here long after the rest of you are gone.”
Both Morton and his man were watching Reese and Peterson. This might be his only opportunity. Sure, he’d probably get shot, but what did it matter when that’s exactly what Morton intended anyway?
Masking his hatred, Rowdy started to move, and Morton said, “Try it, and after I’ve shot you, I’ll rape her. Detective Bareden can watch.”
Impotent fury brought him to a standstill. Yes, Pepper was his number one priority, but he couldn’t sacrifice another woman so easily.
Morton smiled again. “So the infamous Rowdy Yates is also a gentleman? Who knew?”
“Anyone who’d met him,” Peterson said. “That is, anyone not too dense to see the obvious.”
Reese spoke quickly, probably to keep Morton from reacting. “How do you expect to get out of here?”
The rage in Morton’s gaze subsided. “Don’t look so hopeful, Detective. It’s true, I’m not currently in contact with most of my staff, but hiring a man to guard the entrance of the apartment building was easy enough. Money talks—you should know that by now, given the cops I’ve bought.”
“Not always,” Peterson told him. “You couldn’t buy me.”
Reese didn’t see the humor. “I would have loved to be wrong.”
“You are wrong, Detective.” Her gaze skittered over to him, and her eyes narrowed. “You really believed I’d let you get away with this? Not likely. I’ve known for weeks that you were up to something.”
“He’s been following you.” Rowdy fanned the folder in the air. Because he believed it to be a misunderstanding, he gave her a verbal nudge. “Detective Bareden thinks you’re the one who’s been cozying up with Morton.”
Her delicate jaw clenched. “Never.”
“Bullshit.” Reese took a forceful step toward her, drawing her aim. “You’ve kept your more personal association with Morton under the radar.”
“What personal association?”
To free up his hands, Rowdy dropped the folder onto the nightstand. If anyone started shooting, he had to be ready. “It’s all in there,” he said, hoping to give them a chance to sort out the confusion. “Dates and times documented.”
Slowly, after an impressive visual standoff, the lieutenant lowered her gun. “Seriously, Reese? That’s what you’ve been doing?” She curled her lip in disgust. “All this time you were watching me? My God, are you an idiot?”
Reese frowned at her vehemence. “No.”
“The proof says otherwise.” She holstered her gun. “I detest Morton and his ilk. Yes, I’ve had conversations with the man. But that’s all.”
“Why would you do that?” Rowdy asked.
“He tried to buy my involvement, and we both know what happens to those who deny him. So I met with him. He made veiled offers, and I strung him along. But I gave him nothing.”
“Yes, but you were quite charming,” came another voice, “so I allowed you the ruse.” Morton Andrews stepped into the room. He held a Sig Sauer 9 mm with a silencer attached. Beside him stood another thug, a big, bald, sweating menace, and equally armed.
“Fuck me sideways,” Rowdy said. “Is there a damned turnstile on the door now?” Incredible that so many would come trooping in when he’d thought to be the only one.
“Give it time,” Morton all but purred, “and I can guarantee you will be f**ked in every way imaginable.”
“Is that a come-on or a threat?”
Morton laughed.
He’d done what he could to change his appearance, but Rowdy would know those cold, dark eyes anywhere. “Gotta tell you, Morton, you look like shit.”
“It’s temporary.” At his leisure, utterly relaxed, he stood blocking the bedroom door. He smiled at his cohort—who pointed the gun at Rowdy—then addressed the lieutenant. “If my business dealings hadn’t gotten so complicated, I’d have tended to you next.”
At that open threat, Reese tried to step in front of the lieutenant, but Morton wasn’t having it. “Ah-ah, now. None of that.” He aimed his gun at Peterson. “Hand over the weapons, slowly. Place them on the floor and then walk to the other side of the bed. Make one wrong move, and I’ll put a bullet through her brain.”
Reluctantly, both Peterson and Bareden were forced to hand over their weapons. Morton used his foot to kick them across the hardwood floor, out of the bedroom and into the hall. He produced chain-lock handcuffs and tossed them onto the bed. “How convenient that you have a slatted headboard. Put one cuff on your wrist, thread the other through the headboard, and then she can cuff herself to you.”
“On a bed?” Peterson said. “No way.”
Reese gave her a quelling frown. “You wish.”
Morton sighed. “Do it now,” he said as if reciting a boring litany, “or I shoot her in the head. Your choice.”
“Great. Fucking great.” Reese attached the cuff to his left wrist, threaded it through, and raised a brow at Peterson.
“I knew you weren’t dead,” Peterson grumbled while attaching the cuff to her right wrist. They were both forced to sit in the middle of bed, close together. “It couldn’t be that easy to get rid of you.”
“No, not easy at all. I’m here and I’ll be here long after the rest of you are gone.”
Both Morton and his man were watching Reese and Peterson. This might be his only opportunity. Sure, he’d probably get shot, but what did it matter when that’s exactly what Morton intended anyway?
Masking his hatred, Rowdy started to move, and Morton said, “Try it, and after I’ve shot you, I’ll rape her. Detective Bareden can watch.”
Impotent fury brought him to a standstill. Yes, Pepper was his number one priority, but he couldn’t sacrifice another woman so easily.
Morton smiled again. “So the infamous Rowdy Yates is also a gentleman? Who knew?”
“Anyone who’d met him,” Peterson said. “That is, anyone not too dense to see the obvious.”
Reese spoke quickly, probably to keep Morton from reacting. “How do you expect to get out of here?”
The rage in Morton’s gaze subsided. “Don’t look so hopeful, Detective. It’s true, I’m not currently in contact with most of my staff, but hiring a man to guard the entrance of the apartment building was easy enough. Money talks—you should know that by now, given the cops I’ve bought.”
“Not always,” Peterson told him. “You couldn’t buy me.”
