Page 172 of To Catch a Sub

Sirens pierced the night, bright blue lights flashing in the dark.

The things she wanted to say would have to wait.

THIRTY-EIGHT

It was afternoon before they were allowed to leave. Colette’s kidnappers had been taken into custody, including Damien and two other men who were under guard at the local small hospital. Damien would be moved to London to see a neurosurgeon to get the knife removed from his eye and brain.

Landon stayed with Colette while she gave her statements to the constable who looked desperate for someone else to step in and take over this fucking mess of a case.

The man nearly cried with relief when Anu walked into the room midmorning and announced Interpol would be taking over. She’d given Landon a look, which he’d returned. She was no longer his boss, and as far as he was concerned, she and everyone else had fucked up.

Their last stop was the small local hospital, where Colette’s injuries were catalogued and photographed.

That was the only time he hadn’t been with her, instead waiting in the hall, his head in his hands knowing they were doing a rape assessment. Anu as well as several nurses were in there, and he knew they’d be taking photographs of her body. Cataloguing the damage. Forcing Colette to expose herself.

He’d considered going to find Damien and smothering him with a fucking pillow. Or seeing if he could drive the knife far enough into his brain to kill him.

When his former boss exited the exam room, Landon caught sight of her unguarded expression. Anu’s normally inscrutable expression shifted to first horror, then pity. When he stood, she looked over, expression flat.

She’d told him to take Colette home, and that they’d deal with everything else, including additional statements, in a few days.

Technically, he probably didn’t need anyone’s permission. Landon, Rolf, and Andrei had categorically denied knowing anything about how the car blew up, sticking to their story that they’d merely gone to look at the hotel after receiving a tip, and planned to turn over any useful information to Interpol. They’d seen Colette being abused through the window. No time to call for help, as her life was in imminent danger.

According to what they told the police, in the ensuing fight a few people had gotten injured, and when Damien got away and tried to go after Colette once more, she’d defended herself with the knife Landon had given her “just in case.”

The exam room door opened, and a nurse wheeled Colette out. She was wearing a pair of pale blue surgical scrubs and slippers. There was tape on her lip, and bulky bandages around both wrists.

The look of relief on her face when he said they were leaving almost broke him. They insisted she stay in the wheelchair until they were outside the tiny medical center. She swayed on her feet, leaning into him the moment he touched her.

He could no longer remember the last time either of them had eaten or slept.

Rolf and Andrei were waiting outside the hospital, Andrei lounging against the wall, Rolf standing with arms folded by the door of his car.

Andrei straightened up as they shuffled out, Colette sagging against Landon’s side.

Rolf opened the back door, and Landon loaded Colette in, circling to get in on the other side. A second later Rolf was behind the wheel, Andrei in the front passenger seat, and they were pulling out of the small parking lot, headed south towards London.

Within minutes Colette had loosened her seatbelt so she could lie down, her head on his thigh, legs curled up. She kept one arm tight against her breasts.

He swallowed hard against the memory of what she’d gone though. At least they would have taken out those fucking things during the exam.

Five kilometers down the motorway, Colette’s breathing evened out.

Andrei looked back. “She’s asleep?”

“I think so.” He smoothed her hair back from her temple.

Andrei frowned. “What’s making that noise? I think it’s coming from…coming from her.”

Landon closed his eyes, listening. He’d heard it, but hadn’t noticed it—a faint rhythmic clinking. His eyes snapped open.

Fuck.

Careful not to jostle her, Landon leaned to the side and tugged the leg of the scrub pants, lifting the hem just enough to see her ankle. And the collection of heavy gold chains still wrapped around it. The rocking of the car made them jangle against one another, creating the faint clinking noise.

Landon put his hand on her waist, feeling for the chains he’d seen. Still there. Finally he peeked under the bandage around her waist, spotting the gold cuff.

“Why the fuck didn’t they take them off her?” he said softly. “They’re evidence.”