Her Man in Manhattan - By Trish Wylie Page 0,59

metallic snapped around her wrist.

Miranda twisted her head on the pillow so she could see what he was doing. ‘What is that?’

The restraint was unyielding as he closed a second loop around one of the iron rungs on her bedstead.

‘If you’d fallen asleep I wouldn’t have to do this.’ He got to his feet. ‘Water’s beside you. I don’t have any aspirin or I’d leave that, too. You’re gonna need it when you wake up.’ He bent over and lifted a washbowl off the floor to wave it at her. ‘You can use this if you need to be sick or feel the call of nature.’

‘It’s an antique.’

‘Then you better not break it.’

The outrage she felt was the equivalent of downing a dozen cups of espresso, the effects of the alcohol wearing off pretty damn fast as he walked away.

‘You can’t leave me like this.’ She lowered her voice to snap, ‘Tyler!’

‘I’ll leave the key for Grace. She’s usually in before everyone else.’

And then he was gone.

Flumping back onto the pillow, she lifted her chin to glare at the handcuffs and rattled stainless steel against iron. How was she supposed to explain that in the morning?

She was going to kill him the next time she saw him.

TWENTY-THREE

By the time Tyler returned to his partner and the rookie detective who’d been attempting to fill his shoes, the stake-out wasn’t a stake-out any more. ‘Can’t believe you were gonna start the party without me...’

‘ESU just got here. You haven’t missed anything.’ He frowned. ‘Where’s your vest?’

‘In my locker,’ Tyler replied. ‘Tell me it’s him.’

He wanted the day of reckoning out of the way so he knew if he had a future to plan.

‘Arrived on the heels of a large shipment—we’ve got him this time. There’s nowhere to go.’

As they silently approached the warehouse with their weapons drawn Tyler forced any thoughts of Miranda to the back of his mind. He knew she was safe, that had to be enough, even if he regretted not telling her how he felt when he had the chance. It was better he hadn’t, he reasoned, especially now.

The raid was textbook, communication made with hand signals to place everyone in position before a countdown of fingers indicated when ESU would break down the door. Once they were inside it went equally smoothly—Tyler’s voice joining the others to identify them as cops to the gang of men unpacking boxes. As they raised their hands in the air his gaze searched their faces and shifted in time to see a couple of men disappearing into the back.

Tyler ran after them, slowing his pace when the chase led into abandoned machinery and piles of empty crates.

His partner caught up to him. ‘You see them?’

‘Not yet.’

They split up, working as one to search high and low.

‘One over there.’ Tyler pointed when he heard a noise and saw a figure too short and stocky to be the man he was after. ‘I’ve got the other one.’

‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

The warning fell on deaf ears, the dark side to his nature taking over as he stalked his prey. Tyler didn’t fight it. He welcomed its arrival, embraced it and challenged it to do its worst. It was the only way he would know how far he could go. To fuel the need for revenge he summoned the image of a broken body to the front of his mind, saw the unnatural position of her limbs and thought about how much she’d suffered.

Then he rounded a corner into a narrow alley of crates and saw Demietrov standing a few feet away.

A slow, cold smile appeared on the man’s face.

Tyler frowned, the gun wavering a little in front of him. Restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he locked his arms into place and looked down the barrel with determination. He could feel the weight of his finger resting on the trigger, but even when looking his nemesis straight in the eye he couldn’t take the shot.

Something wouldn’t let him.

When he spoke his voice rang around the empty space with the kind of conviction that came from doing the right thing. ‘Andrei Demietrov, I’m placing you under arrest for the trafficking of illegal substances and the suspected murder of Candice James.’ The darkness shrank within him, folding in on itself until it became the manageable part of his personality it had been before his life got so screwed up. ‘You have the right to remain silent—’

As he stepped forwards the man reached