around the place. He wasn’t going to try to kill Joss, not yet. But incapacitate, yeah. He’d do that.
Then take Dru.
Not happening.
Harder to do if Joss was out here.
Dru was still inside the car, slumped over, pretending to be unconscious.
He could hear the slow, steady sound of her breathing almost like it was his own. Feel the buzz of her thoughts, just behind the solid, sturdy weight of her shields.
And the cold, unearthly whispers of the dead.
They were everywhere.
As Whitmore came striding down the elegant walkway, Joss stared at him. The dead clung to him.
It was amazing the son of a bitch couldn’t feel them.
But then again, if Whitmore could feel them, they would have already driven him insane.
Lifting a can of Coke to his mouth, Joss took a deep drink and then smiled at Whitmore over the rim. “You don’t have time? You’re ragging my ass about time but you’re the one who called me about doing this damn job,” he drawled. He emptied out the can, and because he knew it would piss Whitmore off, he crushed it with his hands and then tossed it on the carefully manicured lawn.
Whitmore’s eyes cut to it, lips peeling back from his teeth in a sneer.
Before he could say a word, Joss held out his hands. “Exactly what in the fuck do you want me to do with her, if you’re too fucking busy to take her off my hands?” Then he grinned. “Although if you don’t want her, I’ll take her. I’ll have fun with her for a few days and then find somebody else who’ll take her off my hands, trust me.”
Two seconds later, there was a gun pointed at him.
Joss stared at it, lifting a brow. Wow. The guy was fast. Faster than he’d expected.
“You don’t want to say anything else along those lines,” Whitmore said, his voice all but soundless. “She’s mine. Only mine.”
Lifting his hands, Joss shrugged. “Hey, no problem there. I just want my money. I spent a hell of a lot of time on this job, left behind some profitable opportunities. I don’t want to leave empty-handed.”
“How about you leave alive?”
Whitmore took another step toward him.
Chaotic thoughts hurtled through the man’s mind. Follow him . . . get him the hell out of here, then have my people follow him and kill him. Ella . . . want her . . . have to . . .
Blocking off that chaotic stream of thought, Joss scratched at his chin, pretending to think it over. “No. That’s not good enough. You’re going to pay me. Otherwise, I’ll be sending a fucking treasure trove of information to so many different government branches, and I’m not just talking U.S.”
Ugly, vile rage flashed through Whitmore’s eyes, but his voice was cool as he said, “And how will you do that if you’re dead?”
“It’s more a matter of . . . how will I stop it if I’m dead?” Joss smiled. “You see, I don’t know you well enough to trust you. You’ve been riding my ass from the get-go, pushing me nonstop, always with the same threats. You have to control every damn thing. I’ve worked with your type before. And they were always the ones who tried to fuck me over,” Joss said, shrugging easily. “So I’ve always made sure to have an insurance policy. And not just my partner.”
Shoving off the car, he closed the distance between them, close enough that the metal of the gun was pressing into his chest. “So . . . you want to kill me?” He craned his head, peering down at Whitmore’s watch. “In exactly two hours and thirty two minutes, there’s an e-mail that will go out. And it ties you into all sorts of shit you probably didn’t realize I knew.”
“You are rather full of it, aren’t you?” Whitmore murmured.
“Am I?” Joss lifted a brow. “I wonder how your old girlfriend is enjoying Dubai.”
Then he moved. Weapons got heavy after a while and this guy was getting twitchy. Joss knew how to push, when to push harder, and when to stop, but he’d rather not end up with a bullet in his skull. Hell, at this close range, he might not survive it if the son of a bitch pulled the trigger. Body armor wasn’t infallible. In a matter of seconds, he had Whitmore’s gun in his hand and Whitmore was exactly where Joss had wanted him since day one. Longer . . .