Die for Me (4 page)

Her target’s smile widened. “Certainly. How much?”

“Two hundred.”

Mr. T. reached under his jacket and Torrhent held her breath.

A nice new pair of handcuffs reflected the strobe lights above and then wrapped around her left wrist as he pulled her other arm around her back. She had to play the part.
Make it look real, Torrhent
. “What are you doing!”

Harrington turned back, his expression full of surprise when he caught sight of her predicament. Pausing at the door, he dropped his hand from his hooker’s side and took a step toward Torrhent, as if he wanted to help her.

That’s right. Come rescue the princess from the dragon, my knight
.

Mr. T. pushed her facedown onto the bar, pieces of nut crushing under her cheeks. “You, my dear, are under arrest for solicitation.” He pulled her upright, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. “You’re coming with me.”

The cop pushed her toward the exit, but Harrington had already disappeared.

* * *

Taigen faced the medicine cabinet, confronted with his reflection in the mirror. He leaned closer, studying the electric blue color of his eyes. He searched for something he long feared he’d lost: his humanity. He could have helped the woman at the bar but restrained himself. Almost completely numb inside, he remembered why he’d let himself become so cold. It had been to save his own life, but now it would be to save his sister’s. The idea of getting back into the game turned his stomach. His contacts, his handler, everyone he knew were either dead or behind bars.

He didn’t know where to start.

Sounds from the TV news trailed into the bathroom.

“Murderer . . . caught . . . Rutler.”

Isaac Rutler.

Pushing away from the mirror, Taigen wrapped a towel around his waist and faced the television in the living room. He grabbed the remote, turning the volume nearly all the way up.

“Agent Trullio, what will happen with her now?” a reporter asked.

A pretty blonde with sharp features addressed the crowd. “If these reports are correct, the FBI will regain custody of Torrhent Lynd and make sure she continues her sentence at Bedford.”

“Will her sentence be extended?”

“Nothing is for certain at this point,” the agent answered.

“Is it true the suspect’s stepfather, Isaac Rutler, is seeking harsher sentencing?”

“Yes.”

Bastard,
Taigen thought. The information told him what kind of man he was going up against, told him how far Rutler would go to get what he wanted. Pushing for your daughter’s conviction was one nasty act, no matter how much they despised each other.

“When will Ms. Lynd be back in FBI custody?”

Agent Trullio responded as a full shot of the suspect appeared in the corner of the screen. Red hair. Gray eyes. Sharp, strong jawline and freckles.

Taigen froze.

It was
her
, the woman from the club, the one who’d run into him twice that day.

She’d changed her hair, cut it shorter and dyed it black, but nothing could change the defeat in her eyes. He’d only caught a glimpse of that look back at the club and forced himself to look away. The memories of seeing the same expression in his sister’s eyes had made him physically ill, his hands shaking, his stomach rolling. He’d remember that look for eternity and pitied the pretty woman on the TV who’d succumbed to it at such a young age.

Racing into the bedroom, he dressed faster than he thought possible, memories of the last jailbreak he’d attempted fresh in his mind. He pulled his duffle bag from the bottom of the closet and checked the 9mm inside. The gun hadn’t been used in over two years, but he’d kept it clean and fresh for the day his sister returned. Wherever she went, enemies followed. Today, however, he’d use it to kidnap Torrhent Lynd.

* * *

A mixture of sea salt, freshly baked bread and sewage tainted the air. Isaac covered his mouth with a free hand, forcing his body to accept the lack of oxygen. Gypsies lined the streets of the Alfama District of Lisbon, their dry, cracked hands offering knockoff goods and fresh vegetables. He shrank away from them, unwilling to look into the eyes of poverty. He’d left that life behind in Detroit, taken his life into his own hands after his father killed his mother and himself. Murder-suicide. Nowhere to lay the blame. “You better have a damn good reason for bringing me down here, Nicholas.”

His right-hand man walked at his side, Nicholas’s eyes focused on the actual street rather than scouring the faces they walked past. “She’s following us.”

“Seems Christian Wren told the truth, after all.” Isaac studied the balconies overhead and the windows lining the streets, wishing for a glimpse of the famed fighter. “Where?”

They continued walking.

“Right side, back about twenty feet. Gray sweatshirt.”

Isaac’s body tensed with the excitement. He’d only heard stories of Adelaide Banvard, but what he’d heard, he coveted. Having an asset of her skill beside him would make the point he’d been trying to make to his rivals for years: he was untouchable.

The possibility was almost orgasmic.

“Take the next block without me,” Isaac said, slowing. He glared into a nearby storefront, not really seeing the antique typewriters or porcelain castles, but keeping what he thought to be Adelaide’s form in his peripheral vision. Others moved behind him slowly as Nicholas moved on down the street, but one distinct shape remained motionless.

In the storefront window he saw his blue eyes reflected back at him, his lids heavy. Bristle formed around a strong jaw, the gray hairs beginning to show through his tough exterior. Pieces of trash swept against his Armani loafers and suit with the breeze, which brought the stench of the country along with it but also the smell of citrus. Such a remarkable scent. Isaac kicked the trash away in irritation and glanced up in time to see a thin cord pass over his face.

The wire bit into his neck, cutting off the precious oxygen. He tried to leverage his fingers between the wire and his skin, but his attacker was too strong and the cord too sharp. Razor wire dug into his fingertips and neck, and he moaned in pain.

The attacker pulled him backward, away from the storefront. His feet scuffled against the cobbled street as the walls of an alleyway engulfed him on either side.

His vision blurred in a black haze, lungs burning for air.

The locals wouldn’t help him. Not in this part of town.

Isaac’s left knee buckled and he sank into a puddle of sewage. He tried to call out, but the wire wouldn’t budge. His heart pumped hard through his chest, eagerly waiting for Nicholas to do his damn job.

The wire loosened.

Isaac caught himself before he face-planted. He could breathe, but barely. Struggling with his necktie, he loosened it as much as he could before examining his neck with his fingers. Turning around, he confronted the person responsible for trying to cut off his head. His mouth had dried and he could barely speak. He reached for his neck again, coming away with spatters of blood. “I wondered how long it would take you to make your move,” he rasped.

In his scarred bodyguard’s arms, held in place by a knife across her throat, was the schizophrenic he’d traveled thirty-four hundred miles for.

“Hello, Adelaide.”

Somehow, she’d known they came for her, maybe even why.

Was it the way he dressed? Or how he moved that’d set her off? He stepped closer to her, watching the way her emerald green eyes assessed him. “My name is Isaac Rutler and I’m a great fan of your work.”

Her expression didn’t give any hint of recognition at his name, hard as stone and just as cold. Perfect.

Isaac looked down on her small form, inhaling her lemon scent. Even with the ridged scars of her past decorating nearly every inch of her exposed skin, Adelaide Banvard intoxicated him. A gorgeous nightmare.

She stared at his neck. Hunger lurked in those eyes, a dangerous monster who’d put him at the head of the underground MMA organization.

A smile crawled across his face as Isaac imagined the possibilities of controlling such a creature.
Small steps,
he reminded himself.
First
. . . “Sweetheart, I need you to kill someone.”

* * *

No reporters, no cops asking her questions. Nobody trying to kill her.

For now.

Torrhent hugged her knees to her chest in the Los Angeles county jail. Her head spun with the possibilities of her arrest. Harrington hadn’t shown, which meant she’d failed. It’d been three hours since her arrest. Isaac would certainly know where she was by now and had most likely sent someone to claim her.

A small hope she hadn’t been recognized by LAPD registered an hour ago, but faded quickly. The cops were waiting for something, maybe even Isaac himself. God only knew how far his money reached.

The door at the end of the hall slammed shut, pulling Torrhent from her thoughts.

They’re here.
She jumped to her feet, placing her back against the wall as she waited for someone to come down the hall. Couldn’t very well protect herself sitting down. If Isaac wanted her, he’d have to fight for it.
They could be making another deposit
. Yet there was only one set of footsteps echoing into her cell.

Not a deposit.

Labored breathing caught Torrhent’s attention before a figure rounded the wall and faced the cell. Surprise then relief flooded her system in a single breath. “What are you doing here?”

“First off, you tried to steal my wallet—” Harrington started.

She relaxed back against the wall, pressing her skull into the painted cinder blocks. “Is that why you came?”

“I need you to tell me what you know about Isaac Rutler.” His eyes darted back down the corridor.

The words made her heartbeat spike and she straightened. Suspicion slithered through her mind as she confronted him at the bars. “How do you know that name?”

“Listen to me. If you give me what I want, I’ll get you out of here.” Harrington’s agitation radiated off him in waves. According to the way his eyes kept returning to the end of the hallway, he expected police to barge in any second.

Don’t seem too eager,
she hummed to herself. Torrhent stared at him, trying to detect the lie in his words. Men like him couldn’t really be trusted. Their entire lives were made up of lies. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” His electric blue gaze trembled. “Just make a decision. I don’t exactly have an all-access pass unless I want to be in the cell next to you.”

She wrapped her fingers around the bars and leaned into them. She kept her voice low. “How do I know you aren’t one of his?”

“You don’t,” he snapped. “But the FBI is on their way to claim you and I don’t have all day.”

“What do you want to know?” Torrhent asked, her eyes darting down the long hallway leading to the rest of the station.

“Who is Nicholas Chesnick?”

“He’s Isaac’s personal bodyguard, but he does more than that.”

“Like what?”

Torrhent knew where this would lead, and unfortunately for Harrington she was smarter than that. She wouldn’t give him anything without compensation. “Get me out of here and I’ll tell you more.”

“Why is your dad looking for Adelaide Banvard?”

“He’s not my dad!”

“Shhh!” He pressed himself against the bars. “Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not willing to go to jail for you. So if you get us caught, you’re on your own.”

A door slammed down the hallway.

“I’m not telling you anything else until you get me out of here!” she hissed.

His attention was diverted toward the end of the hall.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be down here.” An officer.

Torrhent heard the echoes of his keys. She backed away from the bars. Whispers of excitement swam through her consciousness. Wondering how Harrington would handle the situation, she looked forward to the next few minutes.

“Lie down,” her interrogator whispered.

“What?”

“Just do it.” He turned toward the officer as she took her place. “I’m sorry, man, but I just had to see her. We’re supposed to get married tomorrow and here she is . . .” He stepped toward what Torrhent imagined was the approaching officer.

She pushed herself fully to the floor, closing her eyes.

“Drunk off her ass. Look at her.” Harrington led the officer closer to the bars.

Only blurry shapes formed through her half-closed lids, but as soon as the scuffling noises started, Torrhent couldn’t resist her curiosity.

The officer hit the bars head-on.

Torrhent sat up, watching as one of LA’s finest slid to the floor.

“Get up,” Harrington barked. He reached down toward the unconscious officer.

She did as she was told, licking her lips as she listened for signs of another officer coming their way. A little slice of fear scrambled up her spine and Torrhent knew she had her man. He’d have to do a lot better than knocking men unconscious to win her favor, but he’d get the job done.
Putty in my hands
. “Did you have to knock him out?”

A ring of keys appeared as Harrington straightened. “Do you prefer I kill him?”

Seconds later, the bars slid aside. Torrhent was free and the tension in her chest eased at the thought of getting out of town as fast as possible. The cops would double their search once they found her missing. She started toward the door at the end of the hallway. “How are we going to get my stuff?”

“We don’t have time.”

She froze, cataloguing everything in her pack. “My entire life is in that bag.”

“Now you get to start a new life. We’ll start with me saving it. Let’s go.”

“What are you going to do? Walk me through the station and into Isaac’s waiting arms,
John
?” she asked sarcastically. She doubted he’d used his real name. The smart ones didn’t, but Torrhent hadn’t reached a verdict on just how intelligent Harrington was. Sure, he’d made his way through a police station and even confiscated an officer’s keys, but could he get her out and could he follow orders? If she ended up back in that cell, she’d find another way to make Isaac pay, but if she didn’t . . .