my ear. Another jerk on my arms. "Settle."
I wasn't even aware I'd been fighting, and it damn sure didn't matter anyway; there was no way I was breaking free. I had no leverage at all. I forced myself to relax, and the pain in my arms reduced to a dull throb. I couldn't fight with supernatural means. For all I knew, the Wardens were parked across the street, monitoring my every move.
"You'd better listen to me," Rodriguez said. "I'm not playing with you. You know what happened to Tommy; you'd better tell me right now or I swear, I'm going to toss you in the back of that van and we're going to go someplace we can talk in private a really, really long time. You got me? I can make you hurt. Believe it."
"Okay," I whispered. Metal felt cold against my cheek, the raindrops as warm as tears. "You don't want to know this. I'm not kidding you, you really don't. Let him be who you think he was. Let his family remember him that way. I can't do anything to make it any better-ah!"
That last was a sharp cry, just short of a scream, ripped out of me when he wrenched up on my wrists and dug a knee into my ass to grind me harder against the car. Nothing sexual about this; it was all pain. He didn't care that I was a woman. I was just a suspect, and I had something he wanted.
Just then, a car turned the corner and slowed down to pull into the parking lot.
Not one I recognized. Not Cherise's flashy little chickmobile; this was a conservative black sedan, with rental plates. Two people in it, that was all I could make out through the veil of my hair and the tears in my eyes.
It screeched to an abrupt halt, and the driver's side door flew open.
I felt a sudden, visceral rush of relief as Armando Rodriguez let go of me. I collapsed against Mona's sleek finish, knees wobbling, and clawed hair out of my eyes to look over my shoulder.
The cop walked quickly but without panic back to his white van, got in, and gunned the engine. He'd picked the premium getaway spot, I noticed. It was a slick exit. He turned right and disappeared into traffic within seconds.
A strong pair of hands gently closed around my waist and helped me steady myself. I smelled expensive cologne. "All right?" a low, liquid voice asked. I managed to nod. "Do you know that man?"
I looked up to see my rescuer, and for a panicked second I didn't recognize him.
Then all the pieces clicked together. Slightly shaggy brown hair, beard, mustache. Warm British voice.
Eamon.
I didn't have either the breath or the time to answer his question. "Oh my God! Jo, are you all right?" Sarah's shrill voice ratcheted a couple of octaves higher with fright. She hit me in a flying rush, hugging me, and I winced when I felt strained muscles creak.
And then I hugged her back, grateful for the unquestioning love and concern in her embrace.
Eamon stepped away and watched the two of us, blue-gray eyes bright in the morning light. After a moment, he put a hand on Sarah's shoulder.
"It's all right, she's safe now," he said in a steadying voice. "Joanne? Are you hurt?"
I shook my head and pulled back from Sarah's hug. "No, no, I'm all right. Thank you."
"We were coming to see if you wanted to go to breakfast," Sarah blurted. "Oh my God, Jo, that man-that was the same van! He was-was he trying to abduct you? Did he-"
"I'm okay," I interrupted. "Really, Sarah, I'm okay. He was just trying to scare me."
Eamon, apparently reassured that I wasn't bleeding profusely or otherwise horribly injured, took a step away and looked at the street where Rodriguez's van had disappeared. His eyelids dropped slightly, hooding the hard light in his eyes. "Looked like more than a scare to me, love," he said. "Looked like he was really trying to hurt you."
"As big as he is, if he'd wanted to hurt me, I'd be hurt," I said, which was pure wishful thinking; actually, I was hurt. My arm ached like a son of a bitch.
I didn't want to move it much. "Besides, he's-" A cop. I don't know why I didn't say it. Years of concealing