The Revenger (25 page)

She passed two houses, taking the buggy as fast as it would go. Looking over her shoulder, she watched as two SUVs came screaming onto the beach.
Shit.
The best she could do now was get to cover, so she turned and pulled under the fancy decking of the closest house.

She waited, knowing they would be on her in no time. She didn’t even have a key to let the ladies out and give them a chance to run. They were sitting ducks.

Teresa said a prayer for the first time in a million years.

The sound of footsteps above her on the deck drew her attention as the SUVs roared up and parked. Through the slats in the stairs, she could see all the boots on the ground.

“Gentleman, can I help you?” called a voice from above.

“We just need to get our buggy back,” one of Sagan’s men responded. “That’s all. Then we’ll be out of your hair.”

The footsteps came down the stairs, and a man with long, dark hair took a peek at her. She waved using just her fingertips as her passengers cried from inside the trailer.

“Teresa, any reason you’re under my porch?” he asked.

“Ahhh…” She cut her eyes toward the jerks above. “Any reason you know my name?”

“I make it my business to keep tabs on what’s happening around here.” He shrugged and turned his attention back to the men.
“You can have the buggy, sure.” The boots advanced. “But…the woman stays with me.”

Teresa did a quick recall of the area. She’d passed two houses; this was the third: home to Jack Devlin, who was occasionally seen on the Sagan compound grounds.

The man with the dark hair looked at her again. She held up three fingers and pointed at the trailer.

“All the people in it stay with me.” Jack’s bare feet rocked back and forth. He was almost blasé about standing nose to nose with Sagan’s army of assholes.

“We can’t allow that. He needs them,” one of the assholes responded.

“You know the rules. His rules. Go ahead and call him. Tell him I’m here in the flesh, looking to cash in a favor.” Jack ducked under the deck. “You hurt?” he asked her.

Teresa realized she was underwear-less thanks to the back-humper, but she wasn’t hurt. She shook her head and pointed at the weeping trailer again.

“Women?”

“Two.” This was definitely Jack Devlin. The handsome man had a sexy demeanor that didn’t come through in pictures. She could very well be going from the frying pan to the fire.

“You’re safe now. They can’t touch you here with me. Can you get them out?”

“They’re locked in.”

“You’re a Sagan housekeeper?” Jack lifted a brow.

Teresa looked at her maid’s outfit, disheveled and accessorized with guns. “Sometimes.”

He almost smiled, but nodded instead. “I’ll be right back.”

Jack addressed the assholes. “…And he said?” There was silence. “I need the key to the trailer, then I’ll get you your buggy.”

The sound of keys hitting a palm gave Teresa relief.

“Sagan said to keep the fucking buggy,” an asshole added.

Jack ducked under the porch again while tossing his last request over his shoulder. “Then you better get the fuck off my property.”

He didn’t ask Teresa to give up her guns as he crouched next to the trailer and began inserting keys. She came out from the driver’s seat and felt the adrenaline begin to drain.

He unlocked the bolt and pulled it off, sliding the top off the trailer. The two women inside were wide-eyed and weeping. One held her leg, and blood seeped around her fingers.

“We’ll get you treated.” Jack moved her hand out of the way and assessed her injury. “It’s not bad, despite the blood. Just a flesh wound.” He turned to Teresa. “You might have to stay with me for a while, just to make sure they aren’t lying in wait or anything.” He smiled then, showing off his dimples and white teeth. “I love getting women out of Sagan’s grip.”

Teresa had a wild, hopeful thought that he might be okay. This might actually be a safe place.

*~*~*~*

Silas fought every impulse to look at Savannah. For the entire helicopter ride and following plane ride, he looked at the ceiling instead. This plane was smaller than his personal one, but he was doing his best to get lost with his asset, get away from anything that might reveal the end of the tenuous control he’d had over her via her brother.

He tried to keep calling her that, keep thinking of her that way. Just an asset. He was taking her to the chemist, to where the compound’s essential ingredient had once been located, for strategic reasons, he told himself. He tried to pretend he didn’t damn near
require
her to look at him again like she had that night in his room.

Silas had replayed it time and time again—not the circle of beautiful women begging for his touch, not the night he demanded he be sucked off all night long, even while he was asleep, even when he went flaccid. He had the most decadent, perverse things to ruminate on, but nothing touched that moment when she’d stood on his balcony and touched his face with that look in her eyes.

He glanced at her face despite actively trying not to. She was already looking at him, as if she could hear his thoughts. Like she knew he was desperate for her. He forced himself to look at the floor. He had everything else to be worried about. Who wanted her? Who had been listening to his conversations? How could he keep her alive and extract the compound? Yet every part of him wanted to force her to look at him again in that way.

He took out his phone and scrolled through his messages from Bugs. The man had been able to reverse the recording device, providing a transcript of his conversation with the chemist. Whoever had heard it now had the same information he did about Savannah’s condition and about creating more Compound E. And the volcano-meteorite connection was likely easy to track.

He put his phone away as the plane began descending. They’d soon be at a place that had belonged to his grandfather—a man long since passed. It would be rustic, compared to the regular opulence. And he’d rented an apartment nearby for Boston and the fucking dog.

He was going to spend a lot of time alone with Savannah.

*~*~*~*

Toby was in different clothes, in a different safe house, in a different town. He watched a reporter detail his death on the TV news. They’d used his profile from his Instagram account and now segued into one of his impassioned, impromptu speeches outside the police station. He’d been willing to do anything to get Savvy back, and now—as he dealt with the ringing in his ears—he could cop to that declaration.

But as far as he could tell, it was for nothing. The news again showed the footage of his non-helmeted trip off the low bridge on the way into town. Edgewood had leaked it to them after Mike altered the time stamps. It had all been carefully orchestrated. The shaky camerawork obscured the fake CPR, and the passing motorist was Edgewood.

When the ambulance and police had arrived, they’d conducted only a quick investigation of the body before they began to pore over the accident scene, leaving a shallow-breathing Toby to his handlers. The ambulance crew zipped him into a body bag and removed him from the scene.

It was done. Edgewood was now seated on the couch across from him, reading a book, apparently more than confident that the images on the screen would match what he needed them to be.

“When will we know more?” Toby asked.

It had been hours. The transfer of his “body” to the morgue and his eventual release took a long damn time.

Edgewood took out his phone and scrolled through texts. “Teresa’s out. She has two women with her. We have no identification on who those women are.”

“So it could be Savvy? Why can’t I call her? Why isn’t she calling me?” Toby stood and put his hands in the pockets of someone else’s jeans. So bizarre.

“I told you before, Teresa’s out but still undercover. She’s three houses down, and that’s all we have. This is the most important time not to make a mistake. We have some crucial information. It’s like making sure your fly is zipped after getting all dressed up. Details.” He put his phone away and flipped his book back open.

Hours. If Savvy was going to blow people to hell now that he was supposedly gone, they would know it by now, wouldn’t they? She had to be one of the two women with Teresa.

Waiting was going to kill him.

Safeguards

The area outside the car window was populated, but foreign and gorgeous, vaguely tropical. Savvy was pretty sure the locals spoke Spanish, but sadly she did not. Dora the Explorer only gets you so far. Sagan had described the house where they’d be staying as
rustic
. Savvy shook her head as they exited the SUV. The sprawling lawn was easily over two acres. He informed her that Boston and Trooper would be at an apartment building a few miles away.

Ultimately, she let it happen. Had to. Didn’t want to. But, she might do her best work alone with him.

The driver helped them with their bags, and Savvy got a look at the “rustic” house. While Sagan had words with him, she stepped into the foyer. The vaulted ceilings were amazing. She found a sitting room to her left and an office to her right, and the staircase was grand as she slipped around it to see the sleek kitchen. Windows were everywhere, though the night obscured their view. They’d traveled all afternoon.

Savvy opened the fridge: stocked. Prepared food with instructions carefully written and attached to each of the dishes.

Rustic.

She rolled her eyes as she closed the fridge.

Sagan slipped into the kitchen quietly, but she felt the ring and turned around to face him.

He looked a bit lost. He cleared his throat.

“Where is this place?” she asked.

He shrugged. “If you’re hungry, there’s food. At least there should be.”

“You’re not going to answer me?” She crossed her arms under her breasts and gave him a hard look. “What are we afraid of, Sagan? The Cassos? Is that why you were killing maids?”

He loosened his tie and undid his top button. Not answering. He walked toward the fridge, and she stepped in front of him, waiting for the eye contact he was forced to make.

His jaw clenched as she looked him up and down like he might just make a good meal. Or a punching bag.

“All the safeguards are still in place.” He sighed, responding to her unspoken threat.

She shrugged this time.

The tension was tight as he sidestepped her to open the fridge. He pulled out the top casserole and read the instructions. She leaned against the counter and watched him figure out the oven.

He slid the food in and continued to undress, freeing the buttons on his shirt. “We’ve got, like, forty minutes before that’s ready.”

“How long are we staying here?”

His gaze darkened. “As long as it takes.”

“Eventually you will have to tell me what we’re running from.” Savvy pushed away from the counter, and he grabbed her arm as she tried to pass him. The ring touched her skin, and she hissed. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t look at him with the hate that flowed through her.

He whispered, just a bit louder than a breath, “Savannah.”

Turning her head away from him, she waited.

“That night. On my balcony. That night…” He trailed off.

She swallowed her smile. Biting her lip, she let the silence torture him. The cat had taken the baited mouse.

“Look at me like you did that night.” He squeezed her bicep harder.

Finally she turned around to face him. His green eyes were almost wild, and she recognized it in him: the primal, basic need for love. She’d seen that same look in the mirror before she’d sliced open her wrists the first time. And the second.

“You can’t command that of someone. It has to just happen.” She looked at his hand, his knuckles white. “Earn it.”

He let go and held up both his hands.

She scooted by him and headed for the staircase. He was right behind her; she could feel his gaze on the back of her neck.

“Let’s look around,” he suggested.

“You’ve never been here? Do you own this place?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“I do now. The bedrooms are upstairs.” He pointed at the ceiling.

She was very aware that her ass was his view as she ascended the stairs. After looking at the gigantic house, which had two master bedrooms and four guest rooms, she gave him grief. “Seriously? This is rustic? How spoiled are you? I could fit two of my houses in here.”

His dress shirt was open, revealing a sleeveless undershirt and a thin gold chain with a cross. He put his fingers in his hair, messing it up, and a lock fell on his forehead. “Compared to the beach house…I just wanted you to understand that we would be here on our own.”

“Boston could fit with Trooper in one of these rooms easy. The one down at the end of the hall has a bathroom in it and—”

“No.” Anger showed in his face now. He seemed to take a calming breath, exhaling. “He’s nearby. The dog is nearby. That’s more than was supposed to happen. More than should have happened. Here in this place, it’s us. You and me.”

He turned and headed back down the stairs, grabbing their bags in the foyer. She followed him and picked up the bags he couldn’t carry.