Page 33 of Romancing Rayne

I took Rayne’s purse from the manager and rummaged through the bag. Her wallet and credit cards were still in place, no cash, but I didn’t think she had any, and if this fuckwit had stolen it that was the least of my concerns. Sunglasses, bottle of water, travel guide, and miscellaneous crap—nothing that would lead me to her.

Fuck! If I had her purse, that meant she didn’t have her credit cards or identification.

I set the bag on the table and the strap caught my attention, it was scuffed. Further inspection showed the stitching of the strap was coming loose. I briefly closed my eyes and remembered the street artesian explaining he’d hand sewn all the bags. All his items were quality pieces; it would take quite a struggle to rip the stitching.

“Out we go.” Oliver turned to the manager and ushered him to the door.

“If you’re alive after he’s done with you, you’re fired. This is the third complaint filed against you.”

“Third?” I asked.

“Yes. Harassment and theft. I didn’t want to believe it. He is my wife’s cousin. But after this—no more chances.”

Seeing red didn’t begin to describe what I was feeling. I wanted to rip his head off with my bare hands.

With slow, methodical steps, I made my way around the table.

“Did you touch her?” I growled, my voice no longer sounding like my own.

“No. No.” The man held his hands in front of him as if the gesture could stop the imminent attack.

“Why do you have her purse?”

“I told you, she left it in my cab.”

“You must think I’m a fucking idiot.”

“She did. She left it.”

It was time I schooled the asshole on how a Delta Force Operator extracts intel from an enemy combatant.

With a kick he didn’t see coming, my foot perfectly connected with his solar plexus and he tumbled back, hitting the wall. Before he could catch his breath, two punches landed in the same spot, rendering him unable to speak. The man slid down the wall, landing on his ass, his body slumped forward as he gasped for air.

“Get up!” I yelled. When the man made no move to comply, I grabbed the collar of his button-down shirt and yanked him to his feet.

“Where is Rayne?” He took too long to answer, so I elbowed him across the face, happy to hear the crush of bones breaking before bringing it back across, hitting him a second time. A move the team affectionately called the stinger. Satisfied now that blood was pouring from his nose, dripping on his expensive and perfectly tailored shirt. I tried again. “Where did you take her?” The man mumbled something unintelligible. “Louder. What did you say?”

“Stop. Please stop. She got out over by White Hall.”

“Got out?”

“I stopped at a stop sign, and she just jumped out. She was struggling with her bag, and I thought she was going to stiff me so I drove away.” He coughed and used the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his mouth. “She just got out. That’s all.”

White Hall was in the opposite direction of the hotel, but it did correspond with the information Tex had given me about the taxi passing Swedenborg Gardens.

“Where did she ask to be taken when she got in?”

“Park Plaza.”

My blood pressure kicked up another notch. This asshole had pegged Rayne as an easy mark and had intended to take her around the city to hike up his meter.

“Where exactly did she get out?”

“Blue Bonnet and Royal Walk.”

Having all the information I needed from him, I balled my fist and felt no remorse when a sharp upper-cut to his chin knocked him clean out. He crumbled to the floor, and I used the remaining control I had not to spit on him as I stepped over his beaten body.

The door swung open, and Oliver stepped in.