CHAPTER SEVEN
A scream from Rowan’s room ripped away the veil of fatigue. Brent leapt from the couch and, weapon in hand, sprinted down the hall. Despite his need to reach her, his movements were utterly silent. No need to alert an intruder to his presence. Brent would love to take this guy down, if indeed one of the clowns who killed Heather and Jay were coming after Rowan.
“Brent!” A rush of feet indicated Rowan’s dash toward him.
“Here.” He caught her with his free arm as she barreled into his chest. “What’s wrong?”
She shivered in the cold breeze blowing from the open window. “A man on my fire escape. When I screamed, he ran.”
He bent down and grabbed his backup weapon from his ankle holster. “Ever fire a gun?”
Rowan shook her head.
He pressed the weapon into her hands. “Hold it like this.” Brent wrapped her hands around the stock. “Point and shoot. Keep shooting until the magazine is empty. Got it?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Track this guy down. If anyone comes after you, take him out. You go with no one but me or one of my people. They’ll identify themselves. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“After you lock up behind me, go to the living room and wait. I’ll be back soon.” He crossed to the window and slipped out onto the fire escape into the cold pre-dawn air.
Brent spotted a figure clad in black racing down the alley. He took the stairs two at a time and set off in pursuit once he reached the ground. The intruder glanced back, saw him, and surged ahead.
No way. Brent’s jaw clenched as he increased his speed. He wanted to question this guy. What concerned him the most was the man didn’t have that black van idling nearby which told Brent he had no intention of taking Rowan to Alexa. This guy planned to kill her. What had Jay Maxwell gotten himself into that was worth the risk of killing three adults and kidnapping a child? This guy had to know law enforcement would be all over a child’s abduction.
He jumped over a trashcan the guy overturned to slow him down. Brent still gained ground on him. The other guy was becoming winded. Must not have spent any time pounding the pavement or running on a treadmill. One final burst of speed, and Brent tackled the other man and brought him to the ground.
The ski-masked man twisted, throwing punches to Brent’s face and ribs. He blocked, countered with a roundhouse punch to the jaw and a short jab to the gut. The guy subsided with a groan.
Brent flipped the intruder to his stomach again and, with a knee in the middle of the guy’s back, grabbed a zip tie from his pocket. Once his hands were cinched, Brent yanked the man to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“What do you want, man? I didn’t do nothing.”
“Right. Tell it to the cops, buddy.”
The guy tried to jerk away from Brent and was unsuccessful, which led to a string of vile curses.
Brent scowled. “Shut up.”
The guy glared at him, but lapsed into silence as Brent frog-marched him back to Rowan’s apartment. At the door, he knocked. “Open up, sweetheart. It’s me.”
A moment later, the locks disengaged and the door swung open. Rowan gasped when she saw the masked man standing beside Brent. “You got him.”
Amused, he grinned. “You’re surprised?”
Rowan’s cheeks flushed as she stepped back to allow them to enter the apartment. “He had a head start. I didn’t think you’d be able to catch him.”
“Your peeping tom isn’t in good shape, something he can work on in prison.”
Another glare from Ski Mask again, trying to jerk free.
Brent cuffed him across the ear. “Knock it off.” He turned to Rowan. “Bring one of your dining chairs. Once this clown is secured, we’ll call Taylor.” Wouldn’t take long for his detective friend to arrive.
Rowan hurried off and returned with a sturdy chair.
“Perfect. Back up a few more feet, babe.” When she complied, he said, “Point your weapon at him. If he moves, shoot him.”
The color drained from Rowan’s face, not a reaction he wanted. He did notice the nervous glances the other man tossed her. Good. If the guy was worried about Rowan putting holes in him, he might not try to escape when Brent secured him to the chair. “Sit,” he ordered the masked man.
Another glance at Rowan and the man reluctantly complied. Brent made short work of securing the man to the chair. “Keep your weapon pointed at him, sweetheart.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
Brent yanked off the guy’s ski mask. Dark hair, dark tanned skin, brown eyes glittering with fury and hatred, hands clenched into fists, muscles bunched, waiting for an opportunity to strike, an opportunity Brent wouldn’t give him.
He grabbed his phone and called Taylor. “Caught a guy trying to break into Rowan’s apartment. If you don’t show up soon, I’m turning Jon loose on him.”
“Address?” the detective snapped.
Brent gave him the necessary information.
“Don’t call Smith. You hearing me, boss?”
“Clock’s ticking,” he said instead of acknowledging the order.
Taylor growled and ended the call abruptly.
Brent turned his attention back to the man in black. “Cops are on the way. Let’s chat before they arrive.”
The man closed his mouth as Brent retrieved his backup piece from Rowan and returned it to his ankle holster. He didn’t miss her soft sigh of relief. “Cat got your tongue, buddy?” he asked, tone conversational. “Let me help you out. You and your friend kicked down the door of a house last night, killed a husband and wife, and kidnapped a six-year-old. How am I doing so far?”
“You’re nuts, man.”
He smacked the back of the guy’s head. “Wrong answer. Try again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Really? Hmm. So what you were doing looking in the lady’s window?”
“I didn’t know anybody lived here. Was just trying to find a way in. There’s got to be cash here. It’s business, you know?”
Brent circled around behind him, pulled out his phone, and grabbed the other man’s thumb.
“Ow! That hurts. What do you think you’re doing?”
He ignored the protests and pressed the guy’s thumb down on the phone screen. With a couple taps, he sent the print to Fortress to run through their system. Moving to the front, Brent snapped a picture, and sent that in to the techs as well. Hopefully, they’d get an ID on this guy before long. When he’d had this guy on his stomach on the ground, he hadn’t found a wallet so no identification. He could guess how a request for a name would be met. “What’s your name?”
“John Smith.”
Yep, just like he thought. He smiled. “Funny guy. You don’t look a plain old John Smith. No matter. We’ll know who you are soon. More importantly, we’ll know who you work for.”
“How do you know I’m not in business for myself?”
A snort. “You aren’t smart enough to run the show.” He circled around behind Ski Mask again. This time he laid his hands on the man’s shoulders and dug his thumbs into a couple pressure points. The results were immediate.
Ski Mask groaned, his face beading with sweat.
“Why were you breaking into this apartment?” he murmured.
“I told you. Looking for a way into the shop. I need money.” He spoke through clenched teeth.
Brent dug his thumbs in a little deeper, knowing from experience the pain Ski Mask experienced was excruciating. He glanced at Rowan, gratified to note she was hanging in there with him even though this must be distasteful for her. She’d moved a few feet farther away, her gaze locked on the man who’d tried to climb into her bedroom window.
Another groan, then, “I came for her, all right?”
“Why? Were you supposed to abduct the lady?” Brent had his doubts.
He shook his head. “Kill her.”