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He refused to allow tonight to jeopardize his plans, and whatever move he made he had to do it before Vince Hardin opened his eyes and recognized him. If Hardin identified him, there were only two outcomes: prison or death. Neither of those options worked for Zander.
Finished bandaging Hardin, he washed his hands and dried them with a towel from the stack his employees kept handy for that very purpose—thankfully they were clean—and leveled a gaze on Scotty Fallon. “Who knows you’re here?”
Scotty jumped at the sound of his voice, blinking up at him. “No-nobody.” He looked as if he hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks.
Zander shook his head and walked over, slowly kneeling in front of him. Scotty’s gaze followed his every move, eyes so big. And blue. “Can I take you at your word, Scotty?”
Scotty’s head moved up and down rapidly. “Yes. I-I don’t have anybody to tell.” Shame crossed his features and he glanced over at their unconscious guest. “Um…I’m sorry I shot him.” His voice wobbled. “I was just?—”
“How old are you?” Zander didn’t have time for any of this bullshit. He had to protect his own ass.
“Um.” Scotty stared off for a second, then asked, “Is it April?”
Jesus. “It’s May third, Scotty.”
“Oh.” He licked his lips. “Then I’m twenty-four. My birthday is in April.”
Again, Jesus. “Why is the mayor’s nephew out here robbing people?” When Scotty glanced away, Zander grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Don’t look away. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“He’s—He doesn’t like me. So I take care of myself.”
Barely. Zander narrowed his eyes, studying the younger man’s face. Maybe killing him would be doing him a kindness. But first, he had to deal with Vince Hardin. He wanted to know how the marshal came to be in his shop. Plus, Zander needed to prepare for when his boss and his men showed up.
Dark anticipation swirled along his spine.
“Come.” He got to his feet and motioned for Scotty to do the same. “Take his feet.” He grasped Hardin’s arms, but Scotty stuttered and backed away.
“But should we move him? Wouldn’t that hurt him?”
Releasing Hardin’s arms, Zander pulled his gun, pressing it to a trembling Scotty’s forehead. “Don’t ever question me,” he growled. “I’ve killed people for way less. You’re the one who put us in this situation, so you will help me get us out.”
Tears streaked down Scotty’s cheeks when he blinked. “Yes.”
Zander stared at him. Shit like tears didn’t move him. He’d had way too many men beg and plead for their lives on their knees before him. He’d spared none. His finger itched for him to pull the trigger. Getting Scotty out of the way would make it that much easier to deal with the marshal. But then again, he could be a handy bargaining chip.
“Grab his legs and follow my lead.” He stepped back. “And the moment I feel like you’re no longer of use to me, I’m burying you out back.” He paused. “Alive.” He’d bought the garage and all its content, along with the half acre of dense woods out back, and he intended to use every square inch of it. The previous owner’s eyes had practically eclipsed his face when Zander had handed him the duffel filled with cash. No documents changed hands because Zander wasn’t about paper trails, but Ed, the previous owner, knew if he ever showed his face, Zander would kill him. Ed had been extremely happy to pack his shit for a one-way trip to Tijuana.
Now, Zander waited for Scotty to pick up Hardin’s legs, then Zander grasped the marshal’s arms and together they lifted him. He walked backward, leading them into the back office, where he positioned the unconscious man on the couch and instructed Scotty to release him. Scotty did so with a quickness, releasing Hardin’s legs as if they were on fire and then scrubbing his hands down the sides of his jeans.
Zander rolled his eyes. The marshal would live, for now. Despite the blood spilled, he’d only been grazed, and Zander had bandaged him up. But all of that had been done in a less-than-sterile environment, so he’d have to employ a wait-and-see approach for any infections. None of that mattered, not when his life and freedom were on the line. He had questions and he needed answers, badly. But it would have to wait until the marshal woke up. In the meantime, he dug around in his desk drawer, opening the secret compartment with the key he kept in his wallet. After retrieving the phone he kept hidden in there, he relocked the drawer and turned to Scotty. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“I-I—” Scotty pressed his lips together, wringing his hands. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Zander.”
“Z-Zander, I would like to leave. Please?”
Zander hardened his features and his voice. “Not happening. Don’t ask again. Make sure he keeps breathing.” He pointed to Hardin. “Try not to fuck that up.” He left the room, powering up the burner phone. He put distance between himself and the office but faced it so he could see what was happening. He needed as many things under his control now as possible. He dialed the only number programmed in the burner phone.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me,” he said quickly.
The voice on the other end muttered a sharp and swift curse, then said, “Three groups went out two days ago.”
He nodded. So they’d found him. “For me?”
“No. For a marshal.”
