Collector's Item (15 page)

“How much?”

“Seventy-five percent will cover it.”

“Seventy-five?” Peyton paused, his gaze steady.

It was extortion, plain and simple. If he gave in, it would make future transactions more costly. But Peyton needed the information, and he needed it now. He tried not to think about KT in Torne’s hands. He had to play this right. If he blew his best connection to the Collectors, he’d have no hope at all.

Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Benny’s skin had a faint sheen, as if he had a touch of a fever. Peyton listened a bit deeper and noticed Benny’s pulse and respiration ran a tick faster than normal. Alarms started ringing in Peyton’s mind. If there was one rule Benny adhered to, it was “never let ’em see you sweat,” but even across the table, Peyton could smell Benny’s distress.

He’s nervous
. Max growled. The jag’s suspicion made the back of Peyton’s neck tingle.

“Forty,” Peyton countered. Ham would have a fit. But Benny had the upper hand; he
knew
how valuable the information was to the Alliance, to Peyton.

“I don’t know that I can accept less than fifty, this time,” Benny said. He set the cell phone on the table between them. “My contacts insisted on cash up front, due to the high-profile nature of the object. And knowing how much you need, er, want to acquire the object, I met their price.”

Beyond the door, Peyton heard muffled voices. Benny used sound-proofing in all his private showrooms. Fortunately, he had planned for human hearing, not paranormal.

Peyton maintained a blank expression as he assessed the sounds: several male voices and Cassandra’s, theirs low and rumbling, hers a bit higher, distressed.

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, balanced on the balls of his feet. “I appreciate your foresight. Because of our long-standing relationship, I’ll make an exception this time. Forty-five percent, not a penny more.”

Benny’s eyes shifted as the voices approached the door and Peyton tensed. “I must insist. I can’t afford to take losses in this economy.”

The door burst open and four men poured into the room, guns pointed at Peyton. Benny sprang to his feet and backed to the opposite wall.

“I’m sorry, Peyton.”

Peyton heaved the conference table onto its side and dove to his left, yanking his gun from the holster. Bullets sprayed into the wall where he’d been sitting. The flag case exploded, showering him with shards of glass.

Peyton squeezed off several shots, taking the lead man in the chest. The rest scattered for cover. Bullets shredded the underside of the table while he scrambled toward the far end. He unloaded and slammed the extra clip into his gun.

“Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Ohmigod!” Benny’s voice climbed several octaves before a single shot cut it off.

Through the ringing of his ears, Peyton heard Cassandra screaming. “They’re going to kill us all!” Good girl. She was probably on the phone to the police.

Ham’s voice burst over hers. “Get down!”

A man stood and fired over the edge of the table. Peyton twisted and put several bullets into him.

“Alliance!” Ham shouted into the room. “Put down your weapons!”

Gunfire was the only response.

Another of the shooters popped up over the table and fired at Peyton. Ignoring the sudden burn in his side, Peyton fired at the man’s chest and the shooter disappeared behind the table.

Watching the room, Peyton touched his side. His fingers came away wet. Just a graze, though it burned like a branding iron.

Ham’s voice echoed in the abruptly quiet room. “Clear!”

Peyton eased up, one hand pressed against his side. He nodded at Ham who stood in the doorway, gun ready. The Alliance man looked at the bodies on the floor, then at Peyton. “You’re having some day, aren’t you?”

Peyton snarled through the buzzing in his ears. “Give it a rest, Ham.”

With a muffled curse, Peyton pushed himself up and over the table to where Benny slumped against the wall. A bright red smear showed where he’d slid to the floor. His hand was clamped over his shoulder, blood seeping from between his fingers. He blinked rapidly, his unfocused gaze wandering over the scene.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peyton saw Ham touch his earpiece. “We’ve got wounded.”

Benny’s gaze sharpened as Peyton advanced on him, and the wounded man held up a hand. “Wait, Peyton! Listen, I had to do it! As soon as they realized what I wanted, they insisted I help them get to you. It was help them or they would’ve just offed me, and Cassandra.”

Peyton paused and took a deep breath. The smell of cordite burned his nose and, strangely, helped him focus. Tearing Benny’s throat out wouldn’t get him any closer to KT, but scaring the man couldn’t hurt. He glared. “So, you did what you always do. You saved your own neck.”

“What choice did I have?” A rivulet of sweat streaked down one side of Benny’s face as he craned his neck to view the carnage around him. “What a fucking disaster. It’ll cost a fortune to fix this.” His eyes tracked back to Peyton. “Besides, I knew you’d come out on top, Peyton. You always do. I did my research. I know your reputation.”

Peyton let a cold smile curve his lips. Benny paled. “Then make it worth my while keeping you out of jail. Give me the information I asked for.”

Benny’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “A private jet at a deserted airstrip outside Philly. A ring of drug smugglers use it and were happy to make some extra cash. DEA’s been clamping down on them hard.”

“Coordinates.”

“I emailed them to you right before they busted in.” Benny panted, his gaze becoming unfocused.

Peyton pulled out his cell to check. Benny’s message sat in his inbox. A quick click and the coordinates showed up on the screen. Peyton clicked the phone shut and turned back to Benny.

He leaned forward, nose to nose with the other man. Eyes wide, Benny jerked his head back and hit the wall with a loud thunk.

Peyton spoke in slow, measured tones. “Next time, not that I suggest there be a next time, give me a high sign or I won’t worry about sparing your ass.” He added a snarl for emphasis. Benny’s eyes rounded as he nodded.

A team of paramedics hustled into the room. One went to kneel beside Benny, the other headed for Peyton.

“It’s just a graze,” Peyton said, lifting his hand. Blood covered his palm and seeped through his fingers. “Just patch it up. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me decide,” the PMT said, lifting the edge of Peyton’s shirt to inspect the bloody furrow in his side. The PMT shook his head as he turned to rummage in his kit. “You’re mighty lucky, sir.”

“Lucky would have been a miss,” Peyton grunted.

The PMT turned back around, antiseptic swab in hand. He shot a quick glance at the carnage around them and then back at Peyton. “I’ll stick with lucky.”

Chapter Sixteen

“How long will it take to get to the plane?” Patricia asked Torne. She shoved another plastic bottle down into the ice she’d dumped into a travel cooler.

“Three hours, tops.” Torne sat at the dining table and jotted notes onto a small pad.

All afternoon, KT listened while they made calls, rotating through a dozen disposable cell phones. None of Torne’s calls made sense to her. Not only did he shift from one language to another, but when he used one she understood, he seemed to be spouting numbers and letters. Account codes?

Patricia’s calls took less time and were easier to follow, though they lacked any usable details. She spoke in flawless Spanish about arrival times, and gave instructions for food purchases. The list of items was far from survival rations—gourmet items and expensive wines. She didn’t sound as if she was on the run, more like she was stocking up for a party or a lengthy, luxurious vacation.

KT still couldn’t believe it. Patricia and Torne? It was simply unimaginable and yet, there they were. What was Patricia thinking? She knew full well what Torne’s cronies, and organization, felt about paranormals.

What had caused Torne to set aside his prejudice to take up with a paranormal? Did Patricia’s being Unadapted have something to do with it?

Setting the phone aside, Torne flipped the pad shut and pushed himself away from the table. Joints popped as he stretched. He stepped around the breakfast bar to join Patricia and run his hands over her back. KT shuddered as Patricia arched against his touch.

“Good to go?” Patricia asked.

Torne nodded as he moved around her to pull a bottle of liquor out of a cabinet. “All according to plan.” He glanced at KT before he turned away to open another cabinet. “Better than expected, actually. That loose end in the city should be cleared up by now.”

Loose end? KT’s heart stuttered. What did he mean by that? Her father? Her brothers?

Torne pulled out two glasses and let the cabinet door swing shut. He set them on the counter and dumped liquor into each one.

KT sniffed. Bourbon.

Patricia frowned. “I don’t like it. Taking out an Alliance man, even one who left the corps, will just piss them off.”

KT’s heart stopped for a moment. Peyton! Andi’s muted snarl raced along KT’s nerves like fire. The surge of fury burned away more of the salison, but not enough to free Andi completely. Pure adrenalin pushed her to her feet. Behind her back, her hands curled as if clawed. Her one thought, to scratch the smug look off Torne’s face as he watched her over Patricia’s head.

“And you call us animals!” KT snarled.

Tears clouded her vision. She blinked furiously to clear them away. “You’d better kill me now because I’ll kill you myself if I get a chance.”

Torne laughed. “My. Looks like I struck a nerve.”

Patricia glanced at KT, her gaze speculative. “Indeed.”

“And as for the threat, well, I know you’ll try. In fact, when we reach our new home, I’m counting on it.” Torne raised his glass in a mock salute. “A motivated prey is far more challenging.”

Panting, KT looked away and struggled to regain control. She had to keep her head, or she’d never get out of this alive.

She bit hard on her lip. Was Peyton dead or dying? He couldn’t be. Not before she had a chance, before they had a chance.

Torne continued in an almost jovial lilt. “For now, you’re leverage. An insurance policy, you might say.”

KT turned back to glare at him, but he was handing the other glass to Patricia. He raised his and Patricia slowly matched his gesture.

“To new beginnings,” he said, the words laden with sensual undertones.

“To new beginnings,” Patricia echoed and touched her glass to his, her smile intimate. They tossed the bourbon back and Torne poured them another before putting the bottle down on the counter.

He chuckled. “This time tomorrow, we’ll be free and clear.”

Patricia gave an exaggerated shiver. “I can’t wait to leave this cold behind.”

Torne ran his hand up and down Patricia’s arm. “You’ll look wonderful in a tan and little else, year round.”

“Uh huh.” Patricia took a slow sip from her glass and sighed. “So, what’s next?”

Torne glanced at KT. “I think another shot for our cat is in order. I don’t want to take any chances.”

Patricia glanced at KT and frowned. “That last dose was pretty heavy. She might be useless when we arrive.”

It was Torne’s turn to frown as he looked from Patricia to KT. “We can’t control her if she shifts.”

“I know, but if you keep it up, she won’t be able to shift again, ever.”

KT frowned. What in the hell was Patricia talking about? Only neural inhibitor implants like Patricia’s salison-chip could permanently control a shifter. She sank onto the cot, ducked her head to hide any expression that might give her away, and listened closely.

“That’s never happened before.” Torne sounded skeptical. “The handlers use plenty on the beasts at the reserves.”

KT stifled a snarl at the callous tone in Torne’s voice. Those “beasts” were captive paranormals, not wild animals.

“But I’m pretty sure they aren’t using these dosages,” Patricia insisted. “The dose to bring down a shifter is stronger than what’s needed to control a cowed captive. Besides, salison overdose can be fatal.”

KT kept her gaze on her knees. Salison overdoses didn’t kill. They made shifters sick, violently in some, but they didn’t kill. And from the way Andi was beginning to recover, KT knew the last dose couldn’t have been a double.

“Well, I can’t risk her shifting while in transit,” Torne said. KT glanced up. He pulled a black box from a drawer, set it on the kitchen table, and flipped it open.

She caught a glimpse of shiny objects, salipens. He selected one and set it on the table before closing the box.

KT tensed. Andi wasn’t strong enough to shift yet and KT couldn’t hope to fend off a man of Torne’s size with her hands and feet chained. If he dosed her again, and if the plane was only three hours away, she’d never get control of her shifting before they left the country.

“Here, let me do that,” Patricia said, holding out her hand. “You hold her down. I’ll give her the shot.”

Torne handed the salipen to Patricia and advanced on KT. KT rose to her feet and growled. If he thought she was going to just sit still for this, he had another think coming.

Torne flexed his hands as he stalked forward to stop just beyond her reach. “Now, we can do this easy or we can do it hard. That’s up to you.”