maybe he could figure out a way to undo what he’d done. Fix what he’d broken. There had to be a way. He’d fucked up, damn it, and he was just starting to realize how badly.
But after a long, cool look, she heaved out a sigh. A very aggravated, disgusted sigh that made it clear she’d rather go anywhere, be anywhere but with him. “If I must,” she said, rising. The sleek black running tights she wore clung to her legs like a glove, and as she turned around, he wanted to jerk off his shirt, cover her with it to make sure nobody else was looking at her.
She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “You are coming, correct? I’m not going to walk to this hotel?”
Sucking back the instinctive response, he moved to join her. It was a forty-minute drive to the Peabody. He could figure out what to say. He could find the right thing to say.
Level things out between them.
Then he’d get a little bit of sleep. Cuff her to the bed. Get his ass back out in the field and track down Whitmore, beat him bloody.
It sounded, all in all, like a fantastic plan.
He needed sleep, after all.
Figured if he cuffed her to the bed, she’d still be there when he got back. And Whitmore, well, that fucker needed to be beaten. He actually needed to die, but it would be hard to do that and not screw up the case. If the case wasn’t already screwed.
* * *
“ALL of them,” Patrick said.
Minton’s eyes jerked off to the side and his throat worked. After two unsuccessful starts, he finally managed to say something. “Nobody can get close to the compound, sir. The place is surrounded by feds.”
“And the cameras?”
“None of them are operational.”
Patrick nodded, stroking a hand down Demeter’s head. The cat purred and butted her head against Patrick’s hand. Happy. Satisfied. All the little cat wanted was food and attention. And she was pleased. If only everybody else were that simple to satisfy.
Ella . . .
“And has anybody seen Ella?”
He cut a look to Rawlings, curled up in a ball on the floor, blood flowing from so many cuts and lacerations, his face bruised beyond recognition. His brother, a weasely, smarmy little bastard that Patrick had no use for, lay dead on the other side of the room. He’d thought Larry was perhaps the one who’d gone to the police. He was always looking for money, but he had an eye for girls and had managed to find Whitmore a few choice pieces by doing a tourist bit—ghost walks, fortune telling. Petty things, but it worked.
It hadn’t been him. He’d killed Larry to make a point with the brother . . . and he still wasn’t done. Rawlings had let Ella escape.
“No.” Minton cleared his throat and darted a look to the door, like he really didn’t want to be there. Patrick didn’t imagine he did.
Too fucking bad. Already he had others scrambling to clean things up, cover things. He had time, he knew. Nobody could connect the compound to him. It was several miles away, not purchased in his name, but he needed to be cautious nonetheless.
Getting out of the country had to come first. Although he really, really wanted to take care of those loose ends.
Like Ella.
She’d gotten away.
That was one problem that needed to be addressed.
Reaching for his phone, he punched in a number. She was a loose end he couldn’t afford, and he was going to make sure she didn’t come back to bite him.
* * *
NO words were coming.
That was a problem, Joss knew, because they needed to fucking talk.
But no words, no brilliant explanation or clever twists, were coming.
And there, right up ahead, he saw the turn for International Drive. Meaning he was running out of time.
Clearing his throat, he glanced over at Dru as he slowed at the light. He’d just brazen his way through. He’d done that through just about every area of life; he could do it now, right?
A soft, sighing little sound escaped her.
He blinked, squinted, certain he was seeing things.
No. Ah, shit.
Somebody behind him laid on the horn. Joss responded the only way that was appropriate. He flipped him off as he checked the light, after one last glance at Dru.
Asleep.
How in the hell could she have fallen asleep?
But there she was. Making those soft, kittenish little sounds under her breath as she shifted on the seat, snuggling against the leather like