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“It’s okay, baby,” he told her gently. “Are they there?”
“They want to talk—” Her voice cut off, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he heard her cry out.
His nostrils flared, the need for blood exploding, pounding in his head.
“The sheriff is with you, we know that.” A mechanical voice came over the line.
“He is.”
The thin, distorted chuckle did nothing to disguise the glee in the abductor’s voice.
“Tell him to stay there. If he leaves, they both die.”
“Very well.”
There was silence. “You’re being agreeable. That’s very good.”
He remained silent.
“You went over the truck, didn’t you, Blake?” the voice drawled. “You found the evidence and turned it in. Didn’t you?”
“I did.”
They knew. He knew. He would give them that much.
“Yeah, that putz agent we questioned just didn’t convince us that he found it. He’s still alive, by the way. Do you care?”
“Not particularly.”
Another chuckle. “You’re not an agent, are you? What are you then?”
“Let’s say, a concerned bystander,” he drawled. “My mother was Mexican. She wouldn’t have liked you very much.”
It was a lie. His mother had been pure blue blood.
“Then your mother was a whore. We kill whores.”
Noah waited. A heartbeat. Two. Three.
“What do you want?” He kept his voice calm, cool. It was icy. There was no burning rage. There was no impatience. He had known they would call.
“Belle is a beautiful little whore too.” The voice was smug, taunting. “She’ll make a nice play thing when you’re dead.”
“You have to kill me first,” Noah pointed out.
He didn’t look at the men in the room. He stared at the single picture that Sabella had kept in the apartment. A picture of them before they married.
His arms were around her shoulders as they stared into the camera, her expression soft, vulnerable. Loving. He could almost smell that day. The scent of her perfume, the scent of sex still clinging to them.
“Yes, we do get to kill you first.” Laughter trickled over the connection. “It’s good that you’re alone except for the sheriff. All your mechanics in place as they should be. Everyone just busy little beavers, aren’t they, Mr. Blake?” We’re watching, you know.
“That’s their job,” he agreed.
No emotion. He felt nothing. He kept staring at the picture of him and Sabella. No, the picture of Sabella and her husband. The man he was then didn’t resemble the man he was now. There was no fear, no worry. There was a sense of death, a knowledge that no matter the outcome, blood was going to spill and it wouldn’t be all his. None of it would be Sabella’s.
“You’ll make an interesting hunt,” the abductor said to torment him. “A nice little addition to my trophies. That wasn’t nice of you, poking your nose in where it wasn’t wanted”
He nodded slowly. Here it came. Finally. The end of the road.
