“But I can tell you…” Gary added quickly, “that based on when the feed stopped, I think our guy came after Locke first. Because the feed stopped around the same time that Saxon was rescuing Ms. Ward from The Blade.”
And Taggert had definitely been alive then.
“Put an APB out right now for Tommy Haines, Flint Mayo, and Romeo Gustav,” he demanded. “Those bastards went after Ms. Ward at the Moontree Motel.”
Tracy’s eyes widened. “Is she dead?”
“No, she’s safe. Saxon still has her.” And as long as Saxon was there, Victor knew the woman would stay alive. “Find those men,” Victor said. “While we still have the chance to salvage this case.”
***
Saxon slowly opened the door to the cabin. His shoulders were tense because he pretty much expected Elizabeth to try and rip him a new one since he’d dumped her there, but instead of being greeted with an angry outburst, he heard only…
Silence.
He shut the door. His gaze swept the room, and he saw her in his bed.
She’d changed clothes. Ditched the sexy skirt and low-cut top. She’d put on one of his old t-shirts that he kept at the cabin. She was wearing it, and her long, perfect legs were peeking out from the bedding.
He walked toward her, moving slowly, and when the floor creaked beneath him, he tensed. But Elizabeth didn’t wake up. He edged closer to her. She’d put her new tennis shoes by the bed. Her hand was curled under the side of the pillow. Her breathing came, slow and easy. She looked sweet, but tempting as all hell.
His fingers brushed over her cheek, smoothing her hair back. When he looked at Elizabeth, he thought of all the things he’d given up while he’d worked undercover.
A family. A life. A home.
Someone who actually cared about what the hell happened to him.
Unlike Jenny, he hadn’t been willing to let someone else get close while he worked his missions. Because, he knew that his cases crossed the line too many times. And it wasn’t as if someone would fall for Saxon, the gang leader. Or Saxon…the damn criminal with a killing past and a record that stretched for years.
He wasn’t exactly considered dateable by most of the world.
So he didn’t date. When he wanted to fuck, he fucked. And when he wanted more—
I never want more.
His fingers brushed over her hair once more.
I never want more.
She turned into his hand, and, still asleep, she whispered, “Saxon.”
Fuck.
***
Victor hauled ass back to the Moontree Motel. When he got there, it wasn’t a particular surprise to find the parking lot mostly empty. The folks in that type of place tended to clear out by dawn.
He made his way back to room number thirteen. The door was shut—not fully, because the lock had been smashed, but someone had tried to close the thing.
“Those are bullet holes,” Tracy said from behind him. Tracy had followed him to the motel while Gary stayed back to work more on the crime scene at Wesley Locke’s place.
He nodded at her words, not even glancing over at Tracy. He’d already seen the holes that graced the side of the building—and those bullets had pierced right through the glass on the window.
“It looks like there was one hell of a gun fight here,” Tracy continued, “and no one bothered to call the cops?”
“You know this isn’t that kind of place.”
“But, bullets—”
He drew his own weapon and headed inside. The door squeaked as he pushed it open, and the smell—a smell that he recognized too well—had his jaw clenching.
“Cancel the APB,” Victor ordered as he stared at the men in front of him. The bodies were on the floor. They’d been hit multiple times, that was obvious. Taken out, eliminated with brutal efficiency.
“I thought Saxon said he left them alive.”
Victor bent next to Tommy Haines’s body. He recognized the guy who’d been one of Taggert’s flunkies. At least six bullet wounds covered the guy’s chest—and one had been fired right into his head. “Yeah, that’s what he said.” He paused. “So that means our killer attacked after Saxon was clear.” Because he didn’t believe for a moment that Saxon had killed those three men. Saxon wouldn’t lie to him about something like that.
His gaze slid over to the other two bodies. Both men had also been shot in the head, execution-style. “We’ll need full work-ups on the bodies. Hopefully, the killer left behind a clue we can use to track him.”
Tracy whistled.
“Who the hell are we dealing with here, boss?”
He didn’t know, but he was sure determined to find out. “Cancel that APB,” he said again. His gaze swept the room. When folks in this motel had heard the first blast of gunfire, they would have hunkered down. The less they saw, the better—that was always the mantra in places like this one.
Victor headed back out into the sunlight. He sucked in a deep breath, one that didn’t taste like death, and gazed out at the empty parking lot. Sonofabitch. Everyone had definitely cleared out of dodge. He turned toward the check-in office. Maybe the young clerk had managed to catch a glimpse of the killer.
He headed into the check-in area. The bell over his head gave a little jingle when he opened the door. “Hey, kid,” he called out. When he’d gotten the room the night before, the guy behind the counter had barely looked eighteen. “Kid?” No one else appeared to be in the small office.
His gut clenching, Victor strode forward. His leaned over the counter and glanced down to the floor behind it.
The desk clerk wasn’t going to be ID’ing anyone. He was in a pool of blood. Just like the others, he’d been shot in the head. Another body, another damn pool of blood—when did this shit become my life?
“Fuck,” Victor muttered. Someone hadn’t wanted to risk being spotted by the guy. You came in here, didn’t you? Because you wanted to question the guy about Saxon and Elizabeth. Then when he’d stopped asking his questions, the perp had eliminated the witness.
We’re dealing with a professional. One who can kill just as easily with his gun as he can with his knife. A guy who didn’t care how many people he took out.
But something was nagging at Victor. If the guy was a professional hitter—and it sure looked that way—then why had Taggert been the one with Elizabeth Ward at The Blade? That part just didn’t make sense to Victor. Why hire out work that you could just do yourself?
This case was spinning out of control. The bodies were piling up, and, so far, they had nothing to show for their months of undercover work.
Nothing but the dead.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth opened her eyes. There was a wooden ceiling over her head. She frowned up at that wood. The ceiling in her
bedroom was white. Not a cherry wood.
Her heart started to beat faster. She turned her head—and met a pair of dark, glittering eyes.
It wasn’t a nightmare. Oh, damn. Wesley is dead, and I’m being—hunted.
She swallowed. “I don’t care what you see in movies, that shit is creepy.”
Saxon frowned at her. “What?” He was sitting at the little table, his chair turned toward her.
She sat up in bed, making sure to keep all of her important parts covered. “Staring at a woman while she sleeps. It’s not sexy. It’s straight-up stalker-like.”
He blinked. He might have even flushed a bit. With his tanned skin, it was hard to tell for sure.
“It’s creepy,” she continued, “so don’t do it again.”
“I was keeping watch on you,” he muttered.
“Uh, huh…”
“And you’re fucking cute when you sleep.”
Now it was her turn to blink.
“Besides,” Saxon continued, voice deepening a bit. “You were the one calling my name.”
She shot out of the bed. “I was not!”
He leaned back in the chair and his gaze slid over her. “Yes, you were. So I thought I’d stay close in case you…needed me. I’m a helper like that.”
He was lying. Had to be lying. There was no way she’d called for the guy in her sleep. She put her hands on her hips and stalked toward him. “Did you talk to Agent Monroe?”
“Um.”
Um was not an answer. “Did they catch the guys at the motel? Have they found out who killed Wesley?” Do I get to return home now?
“Not yet, but Victor’s working on things.”
Right. Good old Victor.
She raked a hand through her hair. When she glanced over at him, his gaze was locked on her—and the darkness seemed to shine with intensity.
“Damn, but you are pretty,” he told her. “Shouldn’t your hair be all messed up when you wake? It just looks tousled and…sexy.”
“Wh-what?” She had to look like a wreck. No make-up. Crazy hair. So far from the land of sex appeal.
“Why are you wearing my shirt?” His right hand lifted, and the back of his fingers —those scarred knuckles that shouldn’t be oddly attractive to her—lightly caressed her arm, right beneath the edge of the t-shirt. “Not that I’m complaining. You look far better in it than I ever do.”