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Morgan straightened her back. The conversation was almost exactly as she had expected, and she didn’t want to hear anymore. “Now that you have me, you can let Agent Scott go. Kidnapping a federal agent carries a lot of penalties. I’ll go with you willingly. If they get Agent Scott back, it may be a reduced sentence if you’re caught.”
His burst of laughter made her wince. “As if shooting up a United States Post Office is a misdemeanor. You are either one dumb bitch, or you think I am. Which is it? As soon as I meet my DF brothers, we’re heading to Canada. By the way, thanks for making this so convenient. Your location couldn’t have been better. Couple hundred miles north, and we’re over the border. With you and Miss. Federal Agent with us.”
He was obviously unaware his men had been shot. She debated telling him. Would it make him more violent? More determined for revenge? She decided on another approach.
“The ledger is gone. On the way to the nearest FBI office.”
The smug expression on his face fell. “What are you talking about? There are only two federal agents here, and I’ve got one of them,” he growled, stepping closer to her. “There is no way in hell he would leave her.”
“Agent Perez handed the ledger off to one of the contracted security teams with instructions to take it to the FBI office in Portland,” she said.
Asa glared at her. He wanted to rip her head off. “I don’t fuckin’ believe you. The FBI don’t hire contract security.”
It was a lie. As far as she knew, Agent Perez still had the ledger. She had to convince him the situation was hopeless. Maybe he would release Agent Scott. Before she could answer, he drew his own conclusion.
“That Fontana guy? Or was it Bartoli? Had to be one of them who hired the rent-a-cops.”
It was Bash, but she wasn’t volunteering that information. “I’m not sure. It could have been either of them. I don’t know them that well.”
As he walked toward her, she mentally fought to stand her ground and appear unafraid. When he was within striking distance, he backhanded her across the face. Her head flew back, pain ripping through her jaw, the force sending her to the ground. He shouted commands, but her ringing ears couldn’t make out the words. She rolled over on her right side and curled into a ball. The tears she had been holding back threatened to spill. She decided it would be in her best interest to let them flow, so she did. She needed to appear weak. Defeated. No longer a threat. Always let them underestimate you, Chip. Gives you the advantage, Pops spoke in her head. They will never see it coming.
“Get up and stop blubbering! I can’t believe you’ve got my blood running through your veins,” he scoffed, spitting the words.
A sharp pain radiated through her face when she tried to speak. Slowly, she maneuvered herself into a sitting position, her knees bent, hands holding the sides of her thighs. She leaned her head between her knees to stave off dizziness.
“Look at me when I talk to you, or you’ll get it worse next time,” his voice oozed with contempt.
Morgan took a ragged breath and watched his feet from between her partially spread knees. She wanted to be ready if he made another approach.
“Are you fucking deaf? I guess you didn’t learn your lesson?”
“No. No. Please don’t hit me again!” she cried. She began rocking back and forth like a wounded child.
“I’ve had enough of this shit,” he said, storming toward her.
When he was almost close enough to grab her with his left hand, she pulled the .9 mm she had maneuvered out of her coat pocket and pointed it up in his face. He froze. They stared at each other for a few seconds, him assessing how serious this new development was. Her tears were gone. Her face stone. She caught the flinch in his right hand that held his gun at his side.
“If your hand moves one inch, Kline, you’re not going to like the new shape of your face,” she said between gritted teeth. And she meant it. This man was the monster her grandfather had warned her about without exaggeration. And she realized in that moment that Asa Kline was nothing to her. A calm resolve came over her. He would not hurt anyone else. It was like she had shed her skin and become someone else. Harder. More determined.
“Big talk for a little girl,” he mocked with a forced laugh. “You didn’t even take the safety off the gun.”
He was trying to trick her, but it wouldn’t work. “This gun doesn’t have a safety. I’d think the son of Clark Kline would know that,” she said, volleying the taunt right back. Who was she?
His eyes narrowed to slits. Her lips puckered. He slowly began inching backwards but never raised his gun.
She wanted to get to her feet. Sitting below him was a vulnerable position, but the awkward movement it would take to get off the ground would leave her more susceptible to attack.
“Drop the gun,” she commanded.
“You won’t shoot your own father.” He stated it as a fact, attempting to soften his face with sincerity.
She quirked a brow, confidence dancing across her unrelenting face. “I guess we’ll see.”
Shaking his head dismissively, he said, “I don’t believe you can pull that trigger.”
Morgan’s eyes bore into his unblinking ones, tightening her grip. “You ready to bet your life on it? Mr. Bartoli went for backup. I’m fine waiting.”
“You don’t fool me. You’re trembling in your boots. It takes balls to pull a trigger.”
