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His warning shook her to the core. Shannon had thought Conroy’s death was a blessing, but if what this man said was true, not only could she be in danger, but Natalie and Jack might be, as well.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “But you need to understand why Creighton wants you out of this hotel.”
“Where—” she swallowed “—where am I supposed to go?”
“I have a safe house ready.”
It was all too much for her to comprehend, but she wasn’t quite ready to run off with a total stranger just because he’d flashed his ID. “I want to call my sister before I go anywhere.”
“Of course.”
Somewhat reassured by his response, she closed the door again, leaving him outside in the hall. She moved across the room to the phone, her hand trembling as she picked up the receiver. She took a deep breath before dialing.
Natalie answered on the second ring, sounding groggy and slightly panicked. “Hello?”
She cringed. “I forgot what time it was.”
“Shannon?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I, uh, is Dylan there?”
“Dylan?” Natalie was obviously awake now. “No. He was paged about an hour ago. What’s going on?”
Shannon hesitated. Her sister had been through so much in the past two days and she didn’t want to cause her any more concern. But she also didn’t want to go off with Michael Courtland without confirming the information he’d given her.
“Did Dylan mention anything to you about sending a private investigator to Florida?”
“Oh, yeah. I meant to tell you about that when I spoke to you earlier.”
“Tell me what?” Shannon prompted.
“Just that Dylan asked Michael Courtland to keep an eye on you while you were on vacation because of Conroy’s connections down there. But I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about now.”
“The P.I. seems to think otherwise.”
“Why?” Natalie asked.
She didn’t want to worry her sister further by telling her about the break-in of her room, so she only said, “I’m not sure, but he’s suggesting that I go to a safe house with him.”
“Oh, Shan. I’m so sorry. I never expected any of this to affect you.”
“It’s not your fault.” As shaken as she was by recent events, Shannon didn’t want her sister to feel responsible for something over which she had no control. “I just wanted to know what you thought of his plan before I agreed to it.”
“Dylan didn’t say anything to me about this,” her sister admitted. “But maybe he didn’t have a chance.”
“What do you think I should do?”
Natalie didn’t hesitate. “Go with him. If Dylan trusted him enough to send him, you can trust that he’ll take care of you.”
Shannon wasn’t comfortable with the thought of anyone taking care of her, but after the recent attempt on her sister’s life, she was willing to make some concessions. At least until she had more details about what was going on.
“Okay,” she agreed. But because her suspicions weren’t completely alleviated, she asked, “What does Michael Courtland look like?”
“Why are you asking? I thought you’d already met him.”
“No, um, he called me,” she hedged. “I just want to make sure I don’t run off with the wrong man.”
“If this situation wasn’t so serious, I might be able to laugh at the thought of you running off with any man,” Natalie said. “But under the circumstances, I’m glad you’re being careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“I know,” her sister agreed. “As for Michael, I’ve only met him once or twice, but I remember that he was tall—around six feet, maybe a little taller—brown hair, blue eyes.”
Her sister’s response didn’t alleviate Shannon’s uncertainty. Both of the men who had identified themselves as Michael Courtland had been at least six feet. The first one had brown hair, but his smoky-gray eyes would never be described as blue. The second one—the one waiting in the hallway outside her room—had blue eyes, but his hair was dark blond. She didn’t think it was dark enough to be mistaken for brown, but Natalie admitted she’d only met him twice. It was possible her sister was mistaken.
“I know that description’s vague enough to fit almost anyone,” she continued. “But he stands out from a crowd. Very good-looking. Very sexy.”
Sexy.
It was definitely the thought that had come to mind when she’d met the first man, but as attraction was always subjective, she didn’t consider that conclusive evidence.
“The more I think about it,” Natalie said. “The more I’m thinking that you and he trapped in close quarters together might not be such a bad idea.”
“You wouldn’t,” Shannon said dryly. Her sister had always been a romantic at heart.
“Give me a call when you get a chance,” Natalie said. “But if I don’t hear from you for a few days, I’ll assume you’re—” she paused dramatically “—otherwise occupied.”
“I’ll call you.”
Natalie laughed and said goodbye.
Shannon hung up the phone but didn’t move off of the bed.
Go with him, Natalie had said.
But despite her sister’s assurance, there was something about the man standing outside in the hall that made her uneasy.
As she heard a soft click, like that of a door latching, another chill snaked up her spine. She turned her head to see that he was now inside her room.
She jumped up from the bed, her heart hammering furiously as she took an instinctive step backward.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Drew said. “But we really need to hurry.”
“H-how did you get in here?”
He held up a keycard. “I borrowed it from the maid.”
His voice was gentle, almost soothing, as if his explanation was perfectly reasonable.
But the smile—
She watched the way his lips curved with slow satisfaction. She saw the predatory gleam in his eyes. And she instinctively knew that despite what he’d said earlier, despite what Natalie had told her, this man wasn’t here to protect her.
She rubbed sweaty palms down the front of her skirt as her brain desperately scrambled for a response to the situation. But her usually rational mind had gone blank, fear and panic escalating until there was room for nothing else, no way to compute anything beyond the obvious threat. She drew in a deep breath, battled back the fear.
But what could she do?
She eyed the phone, but Drew was moving steadily closer and she knew she wouldn’t have a chance to press a single button before he reached her.
“I, uh, just need a few minutes to pack my things.”
He frowned, evidently surprised—and maybe a little disappointed—by her compliance. “Be quick.”
She threw her suitcase onto the bed, then began opening drawers and pulling out articles of clothing.
He was standing between her and the hotel phone, but maybe she could use her cell. If she could somehow slip into the bathroom for a minute…
Her gaze slid back to the corner of the dresser, to her purse with the phone inside it.
She continued shoving clothes into the case, as if she was as anxious as he to get out of this room, away from this hotel. The knots in her stomach tightened painfully, but she couldn’t let him see her fear, couldn’t let him suspect that she knew.
“Ready?” he asked.
She realized the last drawer was empty.
“I need some things…from the bathroom.”
His gaze narrowed.
Could he hear the tremor in her voice?
“And…I should go…before we go.”
It would give her a reason to close the door, to implement her plan. She scooped up her purse, turned toward the small room that was her last hope of escape.
She hadn’t gone two steps when he caught her arm.
“We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
“But I really need—”
It was all she managed before she felt the prick of the needle in her arm.
Chapter 2
Where the hell was she?
Mike banged on the door again, more than loud enough to wake her if she was sleeping.
There was still no response.
He’d been gone twenty minutes—fifteen minutes longer than he’d intended. But his phone had been ringing when he’d stepped into the room and he’d automatically picked it up. It had been Romeo Garcia, a detective with the Miami P.D. and a friend of Dylan Creighton, calling to update him on the situation with respect to Conroy’s connections in Florida.
According to Garcia, word on the street was that certain key players in Conroy’s organization had a new quest: to avenge their leader’s death. Although Natalie was the most obvious target for retaliation, her relationship with Lieutenant Creighton made another attempt on her life risky. As a result, Garcia believed Shannon could be in danger for no reason other than that her sister had been involved in the altercation that had cost Conroy his life.
Armed with his new information, the back-up battery in his cell phone, and his Glock, Mike had returned to Shannon’s room. But in the twenty minutes he was gone, something had happened.
He turned back to the stairwell, racing away from the memories that haunted him as much as he was racing to find her.
He was on his way toward the manager on duty at the registration desk, to demand to be let into Shannon’s room, when he spotted her. She was outside the front doors of the hotel, being helped into the passenger side of a late-model silver-colored Mercedes sedan.
He started to run.
The car was pulling away from the curb before he’d even made it outside.
Damn. He’d been an idiot to expect that she’d stay put in her room until morning. Now, everything was FUBAR.
He considered getting his own vehicle, but it was parked at the back of the hotel. By the time he got to it, Shannon would be long gone. Instead, he jumped into the back of a taxi parked beside the hotel and directed the driver to follow the Mercedes.
He tried to convince himself that there was no reason for the humming of his nerves, no rational foundation for the escalating feeling of dread. But he knew better. After Brent was killed in Righaria, Mike had stopped fighting his instincts, and he was cursing himself now for ignoring the intuition that had warned him against leaving her alone—for even a few minutes.
But he’d been so caught up in wanting her, he’d been unable to separate his personal desires from his professional instincts. Mistakes were made when impulse was allowed to overrule reason, and mistakes could cost lives. Brent’s death had taught him that more effectively than any training exercise ever could.
He pushed the memory to the back of his mind. He didn’t have time to deal with the ghosts of the past; he couldn’t let himself be paralyzed by grief and guilt—not if he was going to protect Shannon.
Protect her from what?
The question nagged at him, unanswered, as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number Garcia had given him. From what he could see, Shannon had gotten into the vehicle willingly. She certainly hadn’t appeared to be in any danger.
But Mike knew that things weren’t always what they seemed, and what Garcia told him confirmed this suspicion. The registered owner of the Mercedes was Andrew Peart, a suspected illegal arms dealer and member of Conroy’s organization.
Again his instincts hummed. The information had been too readily available. If Peart was abducting Shannon, why wouldn’t he have taken more care to cover his tracks? Why would he have used his own vehicle? What kind of game was he playing?
The taxi driver signaled to turn onto the private drive leading to the exclusive Tradewinds Marina. Mike ordered him to stop. If Peart caught sight of another vehicle on this road at this hour, he’d know he was being followed. He shoved a fistful of money at the driver, then slipped out of the vehicle and into the shadows to continue his pursuit on foot.
He followed the taillights of the Mercedes, conscious of the growing distance between himself and the vehicle. Again he thought of Brent, about the obstacles he’d failed to overcome to save his friend. He couldn’t fail again. He ran harder, refusing to believe that he would be too late.
He had to save Shannon.
Shannon shifted in her seat, turning to press her cheek against the cool leather. She blinked, but her vision remained fuzzy. She tried to think, but her mind was even fuzzier.
She was conscious of only two things. The first she accepted with overwhelming relief: she wasn’t dead.
At least, not yet.
