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Zander eased backward, the sneer returning to his face. “I’ll threaten you all I want, Marshal. Ain’t a damn thing you can do about it.” He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re at my mercy. And right now? You’re bait.”
All of it spun around in Vince’s head as he tried to make sense of what just transpired. What kind of fucked-up coincidence was happening here that he had to end up in this place, at this time? With this man? He’d never met Zander—or the man he used to be in his previous life—but he’d seen surveillance pictures and videos of him. Vince and his team had tried for years to get one of Murray’s many in-house killers to rat on him, and though they’d put at least three away, none of them had ever rolled on their boss.
Vince had no idea one of them had left the fold, though. Is that what Zander had done? He’d left the life? That didn’t make sense. Vince took a deep breath to slow down the buzzing in his brain. He got like that when he found a thread to pull on, something to unravel a mystery.
He had a million questions and he didn’t think the man staring back at him would answer any of them. Still, he licked his dry lips and asked, “Does Murray know where you are?”
Zander simply sat back, ass on the floor, elbows on his knees as he held Vince’s gaze. Biting back the frustration bubbling in his chest, Vince said, “At least tell me what you meant about bait.” He had an idea, but he wanted to hear it, he wanted to know what to expect. He didn’t have his gun or phone and was incapacitated by a gunshot wound. Then there was the third man in the sweltering mechanic shop with them. “What about Scotty?”
That got Zander’s reaction. He lifted an eyebrow. “What about him?”
Seizing on that opening, Vince struggled to a seated position, unable to hide the hiss of pain that accompanied the movement. His shoulder hurt like a bitch. He’d been shot before, so it was nothing new, but it also was no fucking fun. “Scotty is innocent, Zander. Just a punk in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Zander shrugged, expression hard. “Sucks to be him.”
Vince racked his brain trying to remember all he could about the man Zander used to be. There wasn’t much. No family. No ties. While others had weaknesses, pressure points law enforcement could press on, Zander had none. That anyone knew about, at least. He’d been the very first one in Murray’s stable of killers if Vince was recalling correctly. There was a special kind of loyalty built into something like that, a loyalty that made him untouchable to law enforcement. Vince cocked his head. “Are you in WITSEC? Is that what this is?” Had Zander actually turned on his boss, ratted him out, and then gone into hiding in Witness Protection?
Zander laughed and the sound startled Vince. It was low and husky, rich, and surprisingly pleasant even when Vince was the obvious butt of the joke. “Witness Protection? With you idiots? Fuck no. I look like I got a death wish? Y’all motherfuckers are corrupt as hell. I’d be outed within a day.”
Vince bristled at those words and Zander smirked.
“Do you know how many of you guys Murray has on his payroll? I’ve delivered money to some of your colleagues personally.”
Vince pressed his lips together. He knew that was true, but it still pissed him off to hear it. “I’m not corrupt,” he offered lamely.
“Of course you aren’t.” Zander gave him a duh look. “Otherwise Murray wouldn’t want you dead so badly, would he?”
Vince glanced away. Through the large fiberglass window looking out onto the main area of the shop, he spotted Scotty leaning against the hood of a car, his shoulders slumped. He just appeared so alone and so damaged. Something in him called to something in Vince. He recognized himself in Scotty; the person he used to be—and still was, to some extent.
A deranged criminal was headed this way, coming for Vince, and there was nothing he could do about it. He returned his gaze to Zander. “You knew who I was from the beginning.”
“Yep.”
And that was the reason he’d refused to allow Vince to leave. Why he hadn’t called an ambulance or the cops when Scotty had shot Vince. “Why hold Scotty? He has nothing to do with this. Let him go.”
“I don’t trust Scotty to keep his mouth shut, so he’s staying where I can keep my eye on him.”
But that didn’t make much sense. “Keeping him here ensures he’s a witness to way more than just this.” Vince motioned with his good arm. Why allow Scotty to stay and put him in the crosshairs of someone like Murray, who didn’t discriminate in who he killed? A light bulb went off in his brain and Vince could’ve smacked himself. “You want him dead. You want Scotty dead.”
Zander’s gaze darkened. “I don’t care about Scotty.”
Right. “Why wait?” Vince asked him. “If you want him dead, why not just put the bullet between his eyes now? It’s not as if you haven’t done exactly that a million times before. Unless…” He lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you want someone else to do your dirty work? Do you no longer have the stomach for it?”
Zander regarded him with a bored expression. “Does that actually work on people? Because I gotta tell you, it’s weak as fuck.”
If he thought it would make any difference, Vince would plant his fist in the other man’s face. Instead, he flexed the fingers of his good hand. “Do what you want with me?—”
“Already am.”
“—but let Scotty go.”
Their gazes held for so long, Vince’s eyes started to burn from not blinking.
“Scotty stays.”
Swallowing a curse, Vince put his head back against the arm of the couch and closed his eyes, releasing a deep breath. Fuck. Okay, what was his next move? “How long do I have?” he asked.
“Few hours,” Zander offered up oh so willingly.
