The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,55

working with her,” Chuck Stevens snapped into the radio.

Voles’ voice crackled back. “I don’t have time for this. Get in there, find Fabron, and make the arrest.”

“I don’t need a partner,” Stevens insisted.

“Bellucci has seen the suspect before and you haven’t,” Voles said. “You go with her or you don’t go at all.”

Grumbling, Stevens snapped the radio off. “You’re not even an agent,” he said to Francesca. “You were fired.”

She ignored him completely and got out of the car. “Why don’t I take the right side of the room and you take the left?” she suggested.

“No.” Stevens clearly rankled at the idea of allowing Francesca to call so much as a single shot. “We’re not separating. I can’t trust you on your own. You’ll probably try to seduce him if you see him first.”

Francesca sighed. “Can you insult me later? I don’t want it to interfere with the investigation.”

“Stay behind me,” Stevens said. “Point him out if you see him, but stay back. I’ll make the arrest.”

“Whatever you say.”

Stevens was interested in the glory. Francesca couldn’t have cared less about that. All she wanted was to bring Fabron in so Viggo could finally put all this behind him.

They walked into the club, doing their best to look casual, both scanning the room for any sign of Fabron.

Francesca spotted him almost immediately. Perhaps she was simply so attuned to Viggo, after all their time together, that his appearance stood out in a crowd. She rested a hand on Stevens’ shoulder to get his attention.

“In the corner. By the bar,” she said.

Stevens nodded and moved in. Francesca kept close behind him.

Then several things happened at once.

Fabron looked up and saw them approaching, their eyes on him, Stevens’ hand resting on the butt of his gun. He turned and bolted for a door at the back of the club.

Stevens broke into a run, but he failed to look where he was going. He skidded on a patch of spilled drink, collided with a standing table, and fell heavily to the ground.

And Francesca had a split second to decide.

Stay behind me, he had said. But Fabron was already at the door. He was yanking it open. He was getting away. And Stevens was still on the ground.

Francesca ran.

She could hear Stevens calling after her, but she ignored him. As usual when she was in pursuit of a suspect, everything around her seemed to fade, allowing her to focus on the details that required her attention. She burst through the door and saw Fabron fleeing down an alley.

Without breaking her stride, she whipped out her gun and trained it on him. “Stop!” she called. “FBI!”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back.

Francesca aimed her gun carefully to the right of him and fired. She missed, as she’d meant to, by several feet. But the fact that she had pulled the trigger at all did what she had meant it to. It startled him, and he looked back over his shoulder, clearly intending to see how close behind him she was.

Looking back caused him to lose speed. Francesca closed the gap between them.

“I don’t want to shoot you,” she called. “But don’t think I won’t do it if I have to.”

He ran harder.

He began to pull away again.

Francesca aimed and shot again, hitting him this time in the meat of the thigh.

With a cry, Fabron fell forward and skidded several feet across the asphalt before coming to a stop.

Francesca ran up behind him and pulled the radio free from her belt. She spoke rapidly into it. “Subject is down and in custody. Requesting assistance in the alley behind the nightclub.”

Fabron cursed at her and tried to struggle to his feet.

Francesca bent down, placing a knee in the center of his back. She held the gun firmly against his shoulder.

“You can’t outrun me,” she said. “Not with a bullet in your leg. Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?”

Fabron growled but otherwise said nothing.

A car pulled up at the end of the alley. The door flew open and Voles jumped out. He jogged to meet them, handcuffs in hand.

“Back off, Agent Bellucci,” he said. “I’ve got it from here.”

Agent, he had called her. Francesca didn’t need to ask what that meant. She had been vindicated. She would be getting her job back.

As Voles knelt to put the handcuffs on Fabron, reading him his rights, Viggo burst out of the car and ran to her.

“Francesca!” he cried, catching her up in his