Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
“Stai bene?” I asked if she was okay in Italian, testing her.
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“Stay in here,” I replied in English, satisfied that she couldn’t understand. “I’m going to see the doctor now. I’ll just be in the next room.” I took a moment to gently squeeze her hand in reassurance. “No one will touch you here. You’re with me now.”
She swallowed and offered me a small, reluctant nod.
I didn’t know how long I had until she figured out that I wasn’t law enforcement, and this wasn’t a safe house. But for now, my burning side was becoming a distraction, and I needed to soothe my friends’ worries for my health.
My fingers lingered against hers as I slowly pulled away. She released a shuddering sigh when I broke contact, and she swayed toward me slightly.
Was it possible that she didn’t want me to leave her?
“I’ll be right back,” I promised.
It took all my considerable willpower to turn away from her and stride out of the room. I straightened my shoulders, bracing myself to face Gian and Enzo’s questions. My friends wouldn’t be impressed by how I’d handled the situation with Crawford, and they’d wonder why I needed a doctor for such a minor wound.
I’d have to figure out how to tell them that I had taken Evelyn, and I didn’t have any plans to let her go.
Chapter 12
Evelyn
“Stai bene?” Massimo’s rumbled words played through my mind, not quite comprehensible. I was good with languages, but I’d never studied Italian. I wished I’d asked him what he’d meant, but I just stared dumbly as he slipped into the sitting room of the safe house suite.
My hands shook, so I clenched them into fists to hide the traumatic response. No one was around to witness my distress and be disturbed by it, but hiding the sign of unease was an ingrained response. I had a lifetime of practice at pretending I was okay, a skill I’d perfected during my six-year relationship with George. His happiness meant everything to me, and I didn’t like to upset him.
George…
Two new, masculine voices joined Massimo’s in the next room, speaking in rapid-fire Italian that I couldn’t even begin to follow. Whatever they were saying, it was clear from their sharp tones that the atmosphere was tense.
My mind churned, struggling to process everything that’d happened since I’d awoken from my sordid dream, and my whole world had been turned upside down.
Massimo and his friends were Italian, not American or Mexican. Were they working with Interpol? I knew European agents sometimes collaborated with the DEA on international operations.
Massimo must work with George. It was the only scenario that made sense to explain his presence in the bar earlier this evening and at the clandestine meeting I’d overheard between George and the cartel members.
I want my money.
My heart stuttered at the memory of George’s harsh demand. On the night I’d been kidnapped, I’d been targeted because of his involvement with the cartel. I’d been groped and beaten, and it would’ve been so much worse if the mysterious third man hadn’t shown up and saved me.
That feral roar of rage that’d resounded through the basement where I’d been held captive echoed through my mind. My entire body quaked.
That man had saved me, but he’d also killed the men who’d kidnapped me. George had told me that I’d been found in that basement with two dead men.
Is she innocent? my savior had asked in Spanish, one of the last things I could recall before I’d blacked out from pain.
He’d known my kidnappers.
And law enforcement agents didn’t murder cartel members in cold blood.
Deep in my bones, I knew that the man who’d saved me that night wasn’t a white knight. He was associated with the cartel somehow. He worked with Duarte’s men. George had mentioned the drug lord’s name during his heated argument in the alley.
If I’d tried to save her, they would’ve killed me too.
My thoughts tangled as my mind struggled to process all of the traumatic experiences I’d endured on that night in the basement and tonight, when I’d stared down the barrel of a gun.
My chest ached, as though it was on the verge of cracking open to release all of my inner turmoil on an anguished scream.
I sucked in a desperate breath to stave off my panic, and the scent of leather and amber suffused my senses. I was wearing the beautiful stranger’s shirt. The smell enfolded me, blotting out the scent of drying blood that made my camisole stick to my skin.
Massimo’s blood.
He’d thrown himself in front of a bullet to save me.
And George…
He ran.
I heard the door to the suite open, and an unfamiliar man spoke in Spanish, a language I understood. “You were shot? Let me see.”
It was the doctor, here to treat Massimo’s wound.
I released a shaky breath and stepped toward the threshold to the sitting room, peering around the doorjamb to further assess my situation. Some instinct for self-preservation warned me not to boldly step into the room and join the strange men. The Italians had spoken in sharp, angry tones. I didn’t know what I would be walking into, so I chose to linger in the privacy of the bedroom and take in whatever information I could.