The Perfect Murder (Maximum Security #4) - Kat Martin Page 0,111

I was almost out of air. I didn’t think you could get me free in time, but...” His beautiful blue eyes glistened. “You saved my life.”

Kenzie tried to smile, but her chest was hurting and everything inside her wanted to weep with relief. She wiped away a drop of wetness on her cheek. He’s alive, she reminded herself, and a real smile finally surfaced.

“I told you I was on the swim team. I didn’t tell you I was captain.”

A soft laugh escaped, then Reese started coughing.

Kenzie squeezed his hand. “You need to rest. Just relax and take it easy, okay?”

His eyes darkened. “This wasn’t an accident.”

She didn’t argue. Too many bad things had happened.

Reese’s features hardened. “Sawyer DeMarco is dead. So is Arthur Haines. I thought the trouble was over. What the hell is going on?”

As the chopper flew toward Houston, Kenzie shivered.

FORTY

Night had settled in, warm and humid, the hum of insects the only sound in the quiet. Hawk stood in the shadows outside the house, a big two-story structure behind wrought-iron gates sitting on several acres in a rural part of Crosslake. Jeremy Bolt’s private retreat.

Or in this case, the home of Martel Ames, the reclusive, wealthy son of the late Collin Ames, a successful entrepreneur who had lived in Atlanta.

The address on North Lakeshore Drive was surrounded by open space, with the added advantage of a boat dock, a water escape should the need arise. Though the property was fenced, it wasn’t electrified.

Wearing a pair of latex gloves, Hawk used the skills he’d learned as a spec ops marine to disarm the digital perimeter alarm system, which wasn’t particularly sophisticated. Clearly Bolt didn’t expect to be tracked to his residence. And if trouble managed to find him, he trusted his skills to handle it.

Not this time.

Hawk disabled the system on the house with the same ease as the fence, pried off a screen on one of the downstairs bedrooms, and slipped inside. He had spotted Bolt sitting in front of the TV in the family room. Hadn’t seen anyone else in the residence.

Approaching the open bedroom door, he quickly stepped back out of sight at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Bolt walked passed him; average height, with a lean frame and neatly trimmed brown hair, completely unremarkable in jeans and sneakers and a New Orleans Saints T-shirt. A man perfectly suited to blend in, to kill and disappear.

Pulling his Kimber, Hawk peeked into the hall and saw Bolt disappear into a room farther down the corridor. Moving quickly, he followed, flattening himself against the wall, peering in to see Bolt reaching for something beneath a nightstand. Then the far bedroom wall began to move, sliding open to reveal a hidden room on the opposite side.

Holding his pistol in a two-handed grip, Hawk leveled the weapon at Bolt’s back and stepped into the bedroom. “Don’t move. Hands in the air or you’re a dead man.” He meant it. Jeremy Bolt was one of most dangerous men in the country. Odds were he wouldn’t give up without a fight.

Bolt slowly raised his hands.

“Easy, now. No sudden moves.”

“How did you get in?”

“Your security system could definitely use an upgrade.”

“If it’s money you’re after, I’ll open the safe and you can take what’s inside.”

Hawk shook his head. “I don’t think so. What I want is for you and me to take a little ride down to the police station, where you’re going to tell the cops who you really are and what you do for a living. You’re also going to confess that you murdered Lee Haines and set his wife up to take the fall.”

Bolt laughed. It was a harsh, high-pitched sound that sent a chill down Hawk’s spine.

“Hands behind your back. Slowly. You don’t want to make me nervous.”

As Bolt moved to comply, Hawk pulled a zip tie out of his pocket. “Move an inch and I pull the trigger.”

Bolt stood stock-still. Hawk looped the zip tie around the man’s wrists, but before he could pull it tight, Bolt whirled and kicked, and the gun went flying. Hawk grabbed Bolt by the front of his T-shirt and swung a blow that sent him crashing into the nightstand. An instant later, the drawer was open and Bolt had a gun in his hand. Hawk dived toward Bolt and gripped his wrist, forcing the barrel into the air.

A shot rang out, then another, raining plaster down from the ceiling. They struggled, fighting for control of the weapon. Hawk