“Fuck.”
“After dark, my men and I are movin’ in. I meant it when I said I would kill the man who killed Jack. We’ll do our best to keep your woman safe, but gettin’ inside is no’ goin’ to be easy. I’ve got photographs, numbers of men, and the layout of the warehouse, but I dinnae have your tactical skill. If you get us inside, you can take your woman and go. My men and I will handle the rest.”
Quinn thought through the hundred or so reasons why this was a bad idea. These men were criminals, not disciplined military men. He had no idea how they would behave in a fight. They clearly planned to kill the man who’d murdered Jack, and, as right as that felt to Quinn, it was still illegal. If he was a part of it, he might end up in prison, too—or get killed. And then there was the possibility that Grant would turn on them.
This wasn’t what Corbray had meant when he’d ordered Quinn not to go after Elizabeth by himself.
Quinn glanced at the image of Elizabeth, tied up and unconscious, thought of all the things that could happen to her in the long hours until the police or Cobra went into action. Tower had ordered him to keep Elizabeth safe.
“How do I know you’ll let the two of us go rather than killin’ us?”
Grant looked him straight in the eyes. “I give you my word as a friend of Jack’s. Neither I nor any of my men will harm her—or you. Not today, anyway.”
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Quinn measured Grant’s words, his mind telling him one thing, his heart another. He held out his hand, and they shook. “I’m in.”
But there was one other thing. “Give me a name. Who killed Jack?”
* * *
Elizabeth wascold and so thirsty, her head throbbing. She heard herself moan—a muffled sound. She tried to raise a hand to her head but couldn’t.
A man’s voice whispered to her. “Lie still, aye? You dinnae want them knowin’ you’re awake. I’ll take the tape off your mouth when I know you understand me.”
She opened her eyes to find herself on a cold concrete floor in an unheated warehouse, her hands and feet tied.
Her heart pounded, adrenaline washing away the cobwebs.
She’d been abducted.
Where was Quinn? Did they have him, too? Had they killed him?
She looked up at the face that hovered over her, nodded.
With a painful rip, the tape was gone.
“I’ll tell them you were havin’ trouble breathin’. I dinnae think they mean for you to suffocate. That bastard has questions for you. Pretend to sleep. It will buy you time.”
Then she recognized him.
He was the younger guard, the one who’d taken a photo of the car’s license plate. Was he trying to help her? It certainly seemed so.
Bits and pieces came back to her then until she remembered all of it—the phone Jack had mailed to Cobra, the EM-proof lab, the drive to the gas station. She’d been looking for tampons and had felt a prick like a bee sting.
Then … nothing.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head and backed away.
A door opened, its hinges squeaking.
She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, pretending to be unconscious.
“Why did you take the tape off her mouth?” An English accent.
“She was havin’ trouble breathin’ and was startin’ to turn blue. I didnae think you meant for her to die till you’ve had a chance to talk wi’ her.”
So, whoever had her intended to kill her—but not yet.