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“You better,” I whispered, staring up into his stormy blue eyes. “And do one thing for me.”
“What?”
“Watch your temper. Please.”
His mouth lifted. “I will, babe.” He kissed me again, then he nodded to Troy and Roger before returning to the deputies and getting into the back of one of the cruisers.
As I watched my husband being driven away by the cops, Roger walked to stand by my side. “Don’t worry, Grace, they can’t keep him longer than twenty-four hours without charging him.”
“This is crazy. How could he even be a suspect?”
“Many people heard him threaten Kyra. Not once, but twice.”
I winced, remembering the scene at the restaurant.
“You sure you don’t want to stay with me, darlin’?” Troy butted in.
“You want your teeth where they are, mi amigo?” Roger challenged.
“Good point.”
Given other circumstances, I would had laughed at their banter, but my mind was worried about Matt. How did Kyra die? If they suspected murder, then circumstances around her death pointed to foul play.
I turned back to head back inside the garage, lost in my thoughts as the men talked, when I heard a couple of muffled pops and grunts behind me. Before my brain could process what was happening, Roger collapsed on the ground with blood oozing from his head. His eyes were open, unseeing.
He was dead. I saw the gun peeking from behind the waistband of his jeans, but if I grabbed it with an unseen shooter behind me, I’d be courting disaster.
I whipped around and saw Troy on his knees reaching for his gun. “Grace, run!”
The garage entrance was a couple of paces away, but before I could make a decision to run or fight, I heard another muffled pop.
To my horror, Troy fell on his side. I crumbled to my knees beside the fallen biker, feeling the weight of so many deaths sucking me into an emotional quagmire.
“Grace,” he croaked. “Give them what they want. Don’t fight them.”
The flash drive. The price was getting too high.
It was useless to run. If they wanted me dead, they would have shot me already.
An approaching figure I recognized as Cristiano came under the street lamp.
A black van pulled up behind him as a couple of his cohorts fanned out to guard Troy’s treacherous second from the trickling of concerned Misty Grove residents.
“You bastard,” Troy growled. “I trusted you like a brother.”
“Your first mistake,” Cristiano sneered. “I just want the girl.”
“Leave Grace alone. It’s not worth it to have Foster hunting you down,” Troy gasped heavily. His whistling breath indicated his lung was collapsing. “You want the memory stick.”
“We want Grace,” his second insisted.
“What do you want me for?” I asked, confused.
“You come with us now or deLamar dies,” Cristiano ignored my question, pointing his gun at Troy.
“Dammit, Cristiano, don’t …” the biker boss wheezed.
“You have three seconds,” Cristiano’s voice wavered and so did the gun that was pointed at Troy’s head. He was getting nervous. I would’ve been too. To pull this shit in a town full of former assassins, he had a lot of balls or was plain fucking stupid.
