Player - A Deadliest Lies Novel - Michele Mannon Page 0,86

over there on me?”

Jaysus. Does the man not miss a trick? I’ll never live this down.

O’Brien seems to relax. Maybe he’s under the impression I’d repeat my earlier killing spree if he orders me to? Or is it that he, like so many shysters before him, underestimates Hayden.

“I haven’t signed the paperwork,” the boss presses on.

“Paperwork?” O’Brien looks amused. “My office is this way.” He gestures for Hayden to follow him.

I wait for them both to disappear before turning to the other men. “Did you hear O’Brien tell us to get back to work?”

“Hell no.”

“Then I best hit the jacks before he returns.” I say it loudly so that even the other TORC operatives hear me. Then, ignoring everyone hovering about and waiting on the next step, I head off into the warehouse in search of Clarissa.

It doesn’t take long to catch a flash of her retreating back as she ducks behind the steel stacks midwarehouse. Even the feeblest of minds could deduct that the minx hid herself nearby and filmed everything.

I cut to the right then quickly sprint toward the emergency exit in the far back. I’m through the door and tucked against the outside warehouse wall by the time she’s exiting.

Clarissa races outside.

I spring into action, placing a hand over her mouth while wrapping an arm around her middle.

She struggles—I’m not surprised, my beour is a fighter through and through.

What does catch me off guard is the evil colleen’s backward kick and the hard, evil thrust of her heel to my family jewels.

41

Clarissa

“Got to say,” a familiar voice interrupts my struggles, “you got a mean left foot.”

Finn.

“Don’t scream. Nod if you understand.”

I shake my head and the hand covering my mouth falls away. He spins me around so we’re face-to-face. All the hurt and frustration he’s caused I express with a glare.

He’s a stranger to me. Someone I mistook for someone worthy of my love.

And the things he’s done.

He single-handedly killed twenty men. Five more prior to that. One more—Vidal—even before that. With one eye swollen shut and his right arm oozing blood. “Who are you?”

“No one you want to know.”

His answer is quick, vague, and familiar—because didn’t I hear this exact response from the man in the suit? Finn abruptly lurches forward, tugging my camcorder strap free from my shoulder.

I slam my elbow into his chest, desperately trying to knock him off-balance. But I’m fighting a brick wall. “Go ahead. Take it.”

A frown mars his handsome, lying face as he fiddles with the Bluetooth camcorder’s high-tech buttons and curses beneath his breath.

“Good luck.”

He looks up at me.

“Once bitten, twice shy.”

“Clarissa.”

I point a finger toward the invisible iCloud above. “With a click of a button, everything is uploaded and saved on a highly-encrypted drive. Practically military-grade, according to the CIA agent who recommended it.”

If looks could kill.

“Password. Right now.”

I snort. “As if.”

“Feck.” He stalks forward, forcing me to step backward until I’m up against the building. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Are you threatening me?”

I don’t know him.

I’ve witnessed what he’s capable of.

I should be afraid. Very afraid.

“You take any videos of the man in the fancy suit?”

I swallow hard. It’s all the answer he needs.

“Christ on a bike.” He pauses. “I need that password.”

“I need to protect what’s left of my story.”

We lock eyes.

“You’re in over yer bleeding head, Clarissa. I’m asking you nicely, whatever footage you took of him or me, you best erase it now.”

“Then there will be nothing left.”

“Clarissa . . .”

“You hacked into my files and deleted everything. You ruined any opportunity I had . . .”

“I saved yer life, just like I’m trying do right now.”

“Who are you?”

“Do not use anything that will expose us,” he replies, ignoring my question. He gestures to the field behind us. “You want to live long enough to tell that little girl’s story, right?”

I gasp.

“Now run like the dickens through that field and keep running. No one can know you were here.” He nods toward the field. “Go, before he notices I’m gone.”

O’Brien?

Or his boss, the man in the suit?

“Why?” I whisper. So many whys. So many unanswered questions.

Ever so quietly and with my confiscated camcorder in hand, he opens the warehouse door. “I’ll answer one of yer questions if you do as I say.”

Do I trust him and his instructions?

Do I hate him or love him?

I study him. Easygoing, smart-talking Finn. Except he’s none of that now . . . instead he’s panicked.

And dead serious.

“Okay.” I dislike accepting defeat. But sometimes in life, taking a