Cash Remington and the Missing Heiress (Sexy Dreadfuls Book 1) (7 page)

“Walk.” I keep one hand on her shoulder and my gun up at her other ear. “Keep it slow.”

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I don’t have to. As long as I’ve got you, I’m on track.”

A shot cracks nearby. I flatten myself to the wall, pulling Collette with me.

“Fucking shit!” Ibiza staggers out of a doorway ahead of us and collapses.

“Come on.” I scan the area again, but don’t see Luc on the moonlit road or hiding among the bushes next to the hotel.

I kneel down and drag Collette onto her ass. Lifting gently, I lean Ibiza against the wall of an alcove, shielded from the street. “You okay?”

Ibiza lifts her head and pulls her hand away from a wound on her abdomen. “Perfect. Never better.” She’s losing blood fast.

“Fuck.” I put her hand back.

“A blond merc. Almost as handsome as you.” A blood bubble dribbles onto her lip and bursts, the crimson running down her lip. “He got the drop on me.”

Collette simpers. “I told you Luc would kill y—”

A sharp slap from me shuts her right up, and she cowers against the wall next to Ibiza.

“Come on.” I loop my arm around Ibiza’s back and lift her to her feet. She groans, and more blood runs from the sides of her mouth. “Collette, up.”

Collette rises, and I shove her in front of us as we make our way to the office. The young man is gone from the desk, and the entire room is silent save for the rolling waves of the sea.

I lay Ibiza on a sofa and use the desk phone to call an ambulance. The young man lies on the floor behind the desk, his unseeing eyes staring up at me, his phone still clutched in his hand.

Collette tries to edge away.

“Your boyfriend is already responsible for one innocent life. I’m more than happy to even the score by taking yours at this point. I’ll tell the agency you were collateral damage.” I put every bit of anger I have into my words.

She glances at the murdered man at my feet and cowers. Good.

I return to the couch where Ibiza is sprawled out, one hand pressed to her wound. “Stay here. Someone’s coming. I’ve got to go.” I kneel next to her. “You’ll be all right. He’s after the girl and me.”

“You still owe me two million.” Her eyes glitter like smoky gems, but the blood at her lips is unsettling.

“You know where to find me.” I drop a kiss on her clammy forehead and stand. Sirens start up in the distance.

I grab Collette’s elbow and yank her out the front door. The night remains still. Too still. He’s watching. I shove Collette into the car parked along the narrow street. A bullet pings off the roof of the car as I sink into the driver’s seat and use the young man’s key to start the engine. I shove it into gear, and we take off into the night.

“If Ibiza dies, I may just kill you out of spite.” I grit my teeth and cycle through the gears as a pair of headlights appear behind me.

“You don’t even like her. You said you’d kill her—”

“Business is business. Ibiza knows that. Now, shut the fuck up.”

It’s the middle of the night, and we’re whizzing along the narrow roads above the crashing sea, small villas passing by in a dark blur. The headlights gain on us as I maneuver around a hairpin curve and head up a rocky cliff away from the beach.

Collette screams when I get too close to the edge and the tires spin on the loose gravel at the edge of the road. But the tires gain purchase again and we’re off, shooting up and away with Luc hot on our tail.

“He’s a pretty good merc. Shame I’m going to kill him.” I wrench the wheel to the right, and Collette screams at almost the same pitch as the tires. Turning the car completely around, I gun it back down the slope, aiming for Luc head-on.

Luc’s headlights grow brighter as he approaches. I stay the course and press harder on the accelerator. Collette has turned on a constant shriek that has me wishing I’d knocked her out earlier instead of just slapping her. Ice water pumps through my veins as death approaches, but I’m not worried. I already know how this will end—with Luc in a body bag.

At the last moment, I veer to the left, skirting the cliff edge and knocking Luc’s car into the cliff wall. Just as I skim past him, he loses control, and the vehicle shoots over the edge and down on to the craggy shoreline below.

I yank on the parking brake. It engages as I stomp on the brake pedal. The car comes to a screeching halt only inches from the steep drop-off. I pull my gun out. Stepping from my car, I peer down the sharp slope. The moon gives enough light for me to see the merc. He survived the wreck. He tries to free himself from the driver’s side of his mangled car. I remember the kid behind the check-in desk as I train my sights on his gas tank. The shot is just a pop, but the ensuing explosion blows my hair back.

Collette is screaming again, so I walk around to her side of the car, yank her out, and pistol whip her across the back of her head. She collapses in my arms, and I stuff her into the trunk.

I drive away with my cargo intact as the lights from an ambulance illuminate the hotel below us in flashing sweeps.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“
Y
OU CAN’T JUST MANHANDLE
my daughter and go around accusing her of criminal activity!” Frank Stanford, Collette’s father, sits in the debriefing room at the agency, his shrewd eyes inspecting me from head to toe as I walk in.

“Your daughter was engaged in an effort to sell your data to the highest bidder.” I toss down a USB drive I’d recovered from Luc’s hotel room in Rome. “She met Luc, he talked her into coming with him, and he staged her kidnapping and sale to the sex ring. They had it all planned out. The only thing they didn’t count on, was me.”

I sit in the chair across from him, my frame dwarfing the table. He shifts in his seat, chewing on my information while his lawyer wrings his hands next to him.

“But she’s not being charged?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

I lean forward and rest my hands on the table, my round, silver cufflinks clinking against the metal. “On you paying restitution to Charles Koikos’ family. He’s the kid her boyfriend killed while we were in Greece. I expect a couple million—U.S. will do the trick. Once that’s wired, I’ll let her walk. But don’t think for a second we won’t be keeping an eye on her. She’s dangerous.”

He scoffs. “She’s not dangerous. She’s my daughter. Innocent.”

I lean back and scrub a hand down my jaw. I need a shave. “Check out some of the pics and vids she sent Luc. They’re on the drive. Then you’ll see just how innocent she is. Not to mention her plans to sell your weapons technology to terrorists.” I shake my head as his mouth drops open. “Like I said, we’ll be keeping tabs.”

“I-I refuse to believe she would ever—”

The lawyer places his hand on Frank’s shoulder and leans in to whisper. I don’t give a shit. My work is done.

I stand and stride to the door.

“We’ll have the two million wired to the Koikos account in no more than two business days.” The lawyer squeezes Stanford’s shoulder. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

Stanford begins to sputter about due process and false charges.

I open the door, ready to call it a day. I’d only just returned home long enough to turn Collette over and change clothes. I need to rest so I can head out on my next mission—chasing down an arms dealer in the Congo.

“Shhh!” The lawyer tries to wrangle his client, and all I want to do is pick Stanford up and slam him against the wall until he stops being an intolerable prick.

“You haven’t heard the last about this.” He glares up at me. “I know what happened in Greece. She told me what you did to her.”

I smile and step out of the room before turning and saying, “I fucked your daughter’s brains out. It’s not a crime. Ask your lawyer to look it up.”

The door closes behind me with a satisfying click as I pass my glowering agent in charge.

“I expect you on a plane first thing in the morning, Remington.”

“Congo. Got it.” I head to the elevator.

“Get in. Get out. Get it done.”

“I always do.”

EPILOGUE

I
STROLL ALONG THE
Seine toward my car, the metallic chrome reflecting moonbeams like a mirror. An assassin is poorly concealed in the shadows beneath the nearest bridge. Another hides in the crowd waiting to cross the street on the opposite corner.

I drop the bouquet of flowers I’m holding and lean over to pick them up. Once I’m upright again, the man under the bridge is dead from two of my bullets. The assassin in the crowd won’t be quite as easy.

The light changes, and the mass of tourists and locals cross the blacktop toward the river. I continue walking, my breath fanning out in clouds as a light snow begins to fall. The man falls in step ahead of me, his unseasonably warm attire telling me he just got into town from a hotter clime. He could be out for revenge from my time in the Congo or my more recent stint in the Caribbean busting a human trafficking ring. Either way, he pings on my radar with each step.

I slide my gloved hand into the pocket of my black overcoat and palm my pistol. The crowd thins the closer we get to the spot where my car is illegally parked.

I walk around to the passenger-side door as he sidles up behind me. I catch his reflection and watch as he approaches. Feigning ignorance, I unlock the door. I place the flowers carefully in the seat and sense him rush me from behind.

Whirling, I catch him off guard with a throat punch. He staggers back, gripping his neck. A couple of onlookers stop to gawk. I leave my pistol in my pocket, but he reaches for his, so I dart forward and land a vicious haymaker to his jaw that sends him sprawling. Several women scream and back away. I take his gun and stuff it in my other pocket before relieving him of his wallet.

A young man next to me holds up his phone to record. I take the phone and toss it into the Seine before getting into my car and speeding away. The assassin would no doubt be back, and next time he wouldn’t leave our meeting alive.

I hide in the shadows, creeping around the dark room and avoiding the thin slivers of moon shining through the cracks in the drapes. Easing up to the bed, I press my pistol against the temple of the sleeping form.

“Say your prayers,” I whisper.

“Cut it out. I knew you were there.” Ibiza, her accent decidedly Russian tonight, turns her back to me.

“No you didn’t.” I grin and slip my gun and the flowers onto the bedside table. I strip quickly. The sheets are smooth and warm as I slide in behind her.

“Miss me?”

“Of course not.” Her hair splays out in a dark fan on her pillow.

I run my fingers through it and yank. Her yelp turns into a sexy purr as I grind my hips into her bare ass.

“Not even a little?” I bite her ear and kiss down her neck.

“A little.” She reaches back and grabs my dick, her hand easing up and down as I suck and bite along her shoulder.

“I made a couple of new friends.” I grab a handful of her breast and pinch her nipple too hard, the way she likes it.

“Fucking Cash.” She turns toward me and pushes me down on my back.

I grab her hips as she settles on top of me, her wet pussy sliding onto my cock as I groan at her heat. She starts a fast rhythm, grinding her pussy on me and trying to get off before I have a chance. Fuck that.

I flip her onto her back and pound into her as she scratches at my chest and tries to bite my lip. Leaning down, I let her. She draws blood, and we kiss harder, making war as much as love. It’s always like this with her. Too much and not enough. I’ll probably get this taste tonight and not see her again for six months. By then, we could be sideways again. It doesn’t matter. She’s hot and wanting right now, and I’m going to give her everything I’ve got.

She lifts her hips to me as I feast on her breasts, sucking her hard nipples as she runs her nails along my scalp. She gets loud, her moans echoing.

I slow my pace, and she digs her heels into my ass to spur me faster.

“Cash!” She tries to take control, surging her hips up and sliding back and forth on my cock.

In a flash, I snag my pistol and fire one shot toward the balcony. The assassin from the street groans and falls backward. Moments later, screams ring out from below.

“About fucking time. Jesus, Cash.” Her accent turns French.

I pin her hands above her and kiss the smirk right off her lips. I ride her hard and stroke her spot again and again until her legs shake and her hips seize. Sirens fill the night, and more shouting lofts up from below.

Right when her pussy clamps down on me like a vice, I shoot inside her. Because I’m Cash Remington, and I never miss.