Page 54 of Straight Shooter

Mandy lifted her shoulder. “Let’s check it out first. We have enough cause to search. You witnessed Moretti’s guard take her, so he’ll have trouble denying his involvement.”

The vehicle slowed, and Rhett shook off Mandy’s fluttering hands. He repositioned his shirt and sat on the edge of the seat. He hated riding in the back—but he hated not driving more. Eric drove at a fucking snail’s pace. The small house with bright-yellow siding finally came into view.

“Not many people in this area,” Rhett mused.

Mandy smacked her lips. “Nope. It’s pretty exclusive in these parts. Must be nice to have his kind of cash.” Her tone rang with jealousy.

Unease thickened in his gut, turning the acid to the consistency of motor oil. A Cadillac Escalade took up most of the driveway, and there wasn’t another car in sight. Apprehension knocked against his eardrums. Peyton had been stuffed into the trunk of a silver sedan.

Something’s not right.

Eric shifted into park and Rhett shot from the car, removing his gun from its position behind his back.

“Wait,” Mandy called, but he didn’t slow.

He pounded on the door. No sound came from inside. He peered into the glass next to the door as Mandy and Eric hustled up behind him. Taking a step back, he lifted his foot, ready to boot the solid wood. The jolt took the wind from his chest and the deep, throbbing pain from the bullet returned. He grunted and swallowed back a curse. He couldn’t get weak now. He had to ride every wave of adrenaline until he found Peyton. He wouldn’t die from an upper pectoral wound. Blood loss might hinder him, but as far as agility went, he wasn’t losing too much stamina—it just hurt like a bitch if he didn’t keep moving.

A lock released, the metal snapping. He dropped his shoe back to the wooden step and pressed his knuckles to the door, opening it. The receiver would have taken another ten fucking seconds accomplishing the same task.

A young guard stood there, and Rhett immediately identified him as Micah. He’d had the decency to offer up a blanket after Rhett had rescued Peyton from being raped on Moretti’s ship, but not enough decency to step in and stop Beanie from violating her.

Rhett flipped open his badge. “FBI. We’re here to speak to Mr. Moretti—pronto.”

Micah’s yellowish-green eyes flared with distaste, undoubtedly because Rhett had been undercover and could expose every fucking guard for something or other that he’d witnessed in the six weeks he’d worked alongside them.

“One minute.”

Moments later, fast-approaching footsteps thundered toward the door. Donatello Moretti took Micah’s place, and his fading hairline lifted in surprise. “Well. To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Callahan? Or should I say Agent Callahan?” He smirked, but tamped anger sizzled behind his emerald-green eyes.

Not that Rhett gave a fuck. He pocketed his badge. “Where is she?”

Moretti’s eyebrows drew together above his nose. “Who?”

Fury fizzled beneath his skin. He slammed his palm against the door, shaking the wood. “Peyton Risk. I witnessed Beanie abduct her over an hour ago.”

Moretti flicked his gaze from Rhett to Mandy and Eric, who stood behind him. Then he stepped back, offering them entrance. “I don’t know anything about this. You’re free to look around. I won’t even ask for a warrant.”

Not missing a beat, Rhett stepped into the house and scanned his gaze over the bleached hardwood floors and pale-blue walls. Seashells and fisherman’s netting decorated the walls. No sign of a struggle. Not even a wrinkle in the crisp white rug at his feet.

“Please round up your guards and anyone in the house so we aren’t taken by surprise,” Mandy instructed.

Rhett ignored her. Accidentally shooting one of Moretti’s men was the least of his worries. He stormed through the main level of the house, weaving his way through the kitchen to the seating area then back to the living room at the front of the house.

“I’ll look outside,” Eric called, as Rhett took the stairs two at a time to the second level. His insides twisted with every wasted footstep.

She’s not here.

The voice in his head drove his angst to a new level. No, no, no. She had to be here. If they’d made a mistake, if they’d missed a step, Peyton could already be dead. He searched the master bedroom and two secondary rooms—not a fucking thing but a neat and tidy house.

He rounded the staircase and pounded his feet into each step. He locked his tunnel vision on Moretti and closed the distance on his prey. Moretti lifted his hands in surrender, but it was too late. Rhett swept the lapels of his suit jacket into his palms and lifted the slimy bastard off his feet.

“Stop!” said one of the guards. “You can’t do that. He’s a senator.”

“Fuck you,” Rhett spat in his direction. He returned his attention to Moretti despite Mandy’s hold on his bicep. He shook her off as if she were no more than an annoying gnat. “You know where she is. You hired Beanie to do your bidding—or are you forgetting that position was once mine? You ordered me to kill Peyton. You want her dead.”

Moretti’s eyes bulged in his head and his hands shook near his ears. “That was before. Once she escaped with you, I knew she was with the cops. Beanie’s asked for a lot of time off the last few days. If he’s after her, he has his own agenda.”

“Bullshit!” Rhett slammed his fist into the drywall next to Moretti’s head.