CHAPTER TWO
SHE WOULD NOT feel dejected, Sahara promised herself as she walked through the lobby toward the parking garage exit. Her heels clicked on the marble tiles and she smiled automatically at every friendly face she saw.
Anita, the lobby receptionist, stood to ask, “Done for the day, Ms. Silver?”
“I am, yes.” She liked Anita, so she stopped to ask, “How’s the weather out there? Still raining?”
“Storming, unfortunately. Do you need an umbrella?”
“I’ll go from the garage here to my garage at home, but thank you. What about you?”
“I’ll make a mad dash into my apartment, but I have a raincoat with me.”
“So you’re not worried about melting either?”
She laughed. “I like rain, actually. Always have.”
“Same here. A good storm leaves everything fresh.” Sahara buttoned up her lightweight coat and pulled up the collar. “Be careful driving then.”
“You, too, Ms. Silver.”
She waved as she stepped away.
Other employees spoke to her, all of them friendly and familiar but still respectful. For her, Body Armor was a business with a family vibe. After all, she’d practically grown up here. Being sixteen years older than her, Scott had taken over raising her while their parents traveled the world. She’d always known she was an unpleasant surprise for them, but she’d never doubted Scott’s love.
The agency was all she had left of him and being here, surrounded by people he’d hired, protocols he’d put into place, contacts he’d built, made her feel closer to him.
Brand was a distraction, the first to consume her since she’d taken over the agency, and that scared her a little. She had to shake it off. She was not a woman to brood.
So he’d kissed her senseless, then made it clear that he didn’t want her to join him for the evening. Men were fickle. She’d been dealing with them long enough that it shouldn’t have bothered her.
But...she’d thought her men, all of them, liked her as more than a boss. They had an easy camaraderie. She’d spent time with them outside of work and they’d never seemed to mind. She liked to think she’d been helpful when it came to various problems they’d encountered.
Holding her purse strap over her shoulder, she pushed through the security doors to the parking garage. Her black Mercedes-Maybach, looking much like all the other black sedans in the garage, sat in isolated splendor in her private spot.
The spot reserved for the boss.
The spot where her brother used to park.
Stop it. Melancholy doesn’t suit you.
She could have used a driver, as she often did. But tonight she’d wanted the solitude of a quiet drive home.
The storm raged and she pulled onto the road cautiously. At only 7:00 p.m., it looked like midnight, dark clouds obliterating any light. There wasn’t much traffic, and even driving more slowly, she neared her home outside the city within twenty minutes.
She could see the keyless entry gate for the long private drive when suddenly an SUV pulled crossways into the road, blocking the way. She slowed, the sense of danger overwhelming her. Headlights shone in her rearview mirror as another black SUV approached and that vehicle, too, pulled across the road.
Well, hell. Her doors were already locked, so using the automated voice control, she called Leese Phelps.
He answered with a lot of noise in the background, so she assumed he was at the bar already. “Hey, Sahara.”
“I probably have thirty seconds at most,” she said quickly and with, she hoped, admirable calm. “With my driveway in sight, two cars blocked the road. There are three men from each car approaching.” Her throat tightened. “They’re wearing masks.”
“Jesus.”
“I do believe I’m going to be taken.” At least she hoped that was the case, that they wouldn’t murder her outright.
“Keep your doors locked.” She heard the urgency in his tone. “I’m on my way and I’ll call the police to meet me.”
“You won’t make it in time. Until this is resolved, you’re in charge.”
“Damn it, Sahara—”
“You know the protocol we used with Catalina. Enoch has the details—” She froze as one big man stood in the pouring rain beside her car, his face and body hidden in black. She couldn’t even make out his eyes through the water dripping along the window.
Then he reached inside his jacket.
“Sahara?”
She ignored Leese’s demand, her heart pounding in fear...until the man slapped a photo of Scott against her window.
“Sahara!” he said again, his voice pure gravel.
“No police,” she insisted. She’d take no chances spooking men who might have information on her brother. Leaving her car running, the call open, she shoved open the door and stepped out. “You know Scott? Where is he?”
Blue eyes, now more visible as she stood before him, narrowed in satisfaction. He wrapped a meaty hand around her upper arm. “You’re going to tell me. Let’s go.”
* * *
BRAND IGNORED THE woman trying to get his attention with touches inappropriate for a public space. He ignored, too, the snickers of his amused friends as he drew back the pool cue to take a shot, effectively forcing her away.
He wanted to win the game, but he didn’t care about female company right now. The leggy brunette who again tried to hug up to his side was cute enough, definitely stacked enough, but he couldn’t drum up an ounce of interest.
He sank two balls on the table...just as her hand came around the front of his jeans, seeking balls of a different sort.
“Jesus,” he muttered, catching her wrist.
“Stop playing hard to get.”
He scowled at her. “Actually, honey, I’m not playing.”
When Leese charged into the room, all but grabbing Miles and Justice, a sick feeling dropped into his gut. Brand thrust the cue at the pushy woman and, a few steps behind, followed his friends through the bar. He saw them talking as they went out the front door and into the storm, but through the throngs of people milling about, he couldn’t hear their conversation.
He’d seen the alarm on Miles’s face, though, and the rage on Justice’s.
Only seconds behind them, he stepped outside and found them standing huddled together under the overhang, Leese talking fast.
He heard, “Sahara was taken. She knew it was going to happen when two cars blocked the road she was on.”
Shoving his way into their throng, Brand demanded, “Where?”
Leese spared him a glance. “In front of her house, or very near it.”
Someone had taken her. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the possibilities. She couldn’t be hurt. Please, God, don’t let her get hurt.
Justice bunched up like a junkyard dog and growled, “Tell me what to do.”
“I don’t fucking know,” Leese said. “Right before she stopped replying, she insisted on no police. I heard her mention Scott to the men, six of them, so one of them must have said something, though I didn’t hear any of them speak. I’m heading over there now to see if I can pick up a clue.”
“I’m going, too,” Brand said.
“You don’t work for her,” Leese reminded him.
Making it perfectly clear, Brand said, “I don’t give a fuck. I’m going.” When his cell rang, he and Leese were still engaged in a stare-down so he ignored it.
Justice gave him a shove. “It could be her.”
Given the way things had ended between them, he seriously doubted that, but Brand dug the phone from his jeans pocket and glanced at the screen. He didn’t recognize the number so he answered with a curt “What is it?”
Sahara’s voice came through, along with a lot of static. “I have to make this very brief. I’ve been taken by some men who seem to think I know where my brother is.”
His heart tried to escape his chest. Her brother was dead. Everyone knew it except for Sahara. With a touch of his thumb he switched her to speaker. “Where are you?”
“We’re still driving, and I have no idea where we’re headed.”
“Can you see anything?”
“No windows.” Someone in the background gave an abrupt order and, sounding annoyed, she added, “I’m told, since I can’t give them Scott’s whereabouts, I could instead have one of my men bring a ransom. Apparently the same amount Scott owed them.”
Fury rippled through every muscle in his body. “I’ll come get you.”
“Yes, I was hoping that you would, Leese.”
Leese? Did she not recognize his voice?
“The men know the agency well, including all my bodyguards. I’m sure they’ll recognize you when they see you so please don’t try sending the police instead. There are to be no police. Do you understand? Promise me.”
Knowing now that she wasn’t alone, Brand said, “I promise.” He pictured some psycho next to her, manipulating her, forcing her to detail those terms, and rage worse than he’d ever known churned inside him.
There was some fumbling through the connection and suddenly a deep voice said, “Listen up, Phelps. Come alone and don’t try anything or your boss is not going to have a pleasant time with us.”
The man thought he was Leese, so he’d go with that. “Tell me when and where, and how much to bring. I’ll be there.”
Miles, Justice and Leese stared at him in strained silence. The storm raged around them with flashes of light that crackled across the black sky, and ground-trembling booms of thunder.
But it was nothing compared to his personal turbulence.
“Soon,” the man said. “Repeat any of this to the cops and I’ll gut her slowly—after enjoying her a bit.”
“Touch her,” Brand warned, “and you’re a dead man.” The call ended before he could say more.
Blood pumping fast, Brand clutched the phone and looked at each of his friends. He hoped like hell someone knew what to do.
“I’ll rip him apart,” Justice growled quietly.
Brand knew that when Catalina, one of Leese’s clients—a woman he ended up marrying—had been in serious danger, Justice had been Sahara’s personal bodyguard, protecting her against the threats that had spilled over to them all. Since then, Justice still felt overly protective toward her, even though he, too, would soon be marrying.
“He thought I was you,” Brand said to Leese, trying to make sense of it.
Proving why he was top dog at the agency, Leese said, “Sahara either put in the call or gave them the number, and she sure as hell knows the difference between us. She said something about the men knowing all her bodyguards, that they’d recognize you—me.”
Miles said, “It was a tip. She wants a face they won’t recognize to show up.”
“I assume so,” Leese agreed. “That way, when I go to deliver money, the other, unknown person will have a chance of getting to her.”
Brand ran a hand into his hair, then tugged in frustration. “She’s never let up on trying to hire me to Body Armor. Hell of a way to lock me in, though.”
Justice looked murderous. “You don’t want to do it, fine. I’ll go incognito.”
Miles scoffed. “Like anyone would mistake a behemoth like you?”
True enough, Brand thought. Justice was enormous. “It was just an observation, Justice. No way in hell am I passing the buck.” Even if Sahara hadn’t singled him out, he’d insist on it.
After all, she’d called him.
“If she’s hurt,” he said, tortured by the thought but unable to obliterate it, “if one of those bastards even touches her—”
Leese interrupted his growing threat. “You’re not trained, Brand. My best guess is that Sahara wanted me to find someone else who can fill in, but she didn’t specifically mean you.”
Digging in, Brand repeated, “I’m doing it.” Leese and the others didn’t know that he and Sahara had something personal going on, despite his efforts to the contrary. And he wouldn’t tell them. They were Sahara’s employees and if she wanted them to know, she’d do the telling.
But that didn’t mean he’d let them cut him out. The way he saw it, Sahara had reached out to him, and by God, he’d be there 100 percent.
“You don’t know how to shoot—”
“I’ve been shooting since I was fifteen.”
That gave them all pause. “You have?” Miles asked.
“Are we really going to discuss my past right now?”
“No.” Leese turned away with purpose. “We can ride together.”
“To where?” Brand asked, even as he followed into the downpour.
Speaking loud over the storm, Leese explained, “In one breath Sahara put me in charge until she’s back, and then she mentioned Enoch.”
Soaked through to the skin, Miles and Brand climbed into the back seat of an agency SUV. Leese got behind the wheel and Justice rode shotgun. As they buckled up, Brand asked, “Enoch?”
“Respect him a lot,” Miles said. “But he’s an assistant, not a bodyguard.”
“He’s a hell of a lot more than an assistant to Sahara.” Leese glanced at each mirror, then pulled onto the rain-washed road. “Remember when Catalina was taken?”
Justice said, “I’ll never forget it.”
“None of us will,” Brand said, though he’d been involved only peripherally.
“We found her because Sahara had planted a GPS device on her.” He paused as he switched lanes, then continued with “I think she has one on herself, too.”
Brand gripped the seat behind Leese. “She said so?”
“She reminded me of the ‘protocol’ for Catalina. At first, I didn’t understand, but it’s starting to come together. I assume Enoch knows how to track her.”
Justice already had out his phone. “I’ll call him now.”
Miles withdrew his phone as well. “I’ll notify the others why we booked. They’re going to wonder, especially since our cars are still there.”
Brand hated feeling ineffectual, but while the others all seemed to know what to do, he hadn’t a fucking clue. He kept picturing Sahara, her attempt to look blasé at what she saw as his rejection.
Fuck, it had been a rejection.
Of the job...and of her personally.
But not for the reasons she thought. He wanted her, too much in fact. More than she wanted him, obviously, since she would always put the agency first.
“I got hold of Armie,” Miles said as he put the phone away. “He’s letting the others know. They’ll head over to her place to ensure her car is safely off the road.”
Armie, like Brand, was a fighter but not a bodyguard, but as a close personal friend to each of them, he’d do what he could. “They know where she lives?” Brand asked.
“They followed us there when Catalina was threatened.”
He’d missed a lot, Brand realized. Maybe too much. It pissed him off.
“Enoch is meeting us at Body Armor. Poor dude is frantic.” Justice pocketed his phone again. “He and Sahara are close.”
“She’s special to everyone who knows her,” Miles said.
Brand almost groaned. Special? Hell yeah, she was, in too many ways to count. From the time his friends had signed on at Body Armor, Sahara had been after him to join up, too. For too long now they’d engaged in a game of enticement and resistance—Sahara enticing and him resisting.
If it was just the job, no problem.
If it was only the strong physical chemistry, he could probably fight that, too, despite the fact that Sahara personified sexy in a classy but still touchable way.
It was more than that, though. Sahara was the whole package, a gorgeous woman with an enormous heart and a real head for business. She knew what she wanted and she went after it without reserve.
She’d wanted him...but he’d turned her down. And now men had her—
Miles nudged him.
Lost in his thoughts, Brand glanced up and caught his friend’s frown. “What?”
“Take a breath. If you’re going to do this, you need to get a little control.”
“I am controlled.” Hell, that was one of the major ways that he and Sahara clashed. She wanted all the control, always, in every situation, but then so did he.
“You look ready to erupt.”
Shaking his head, Brand shoved the rage deep inside and locked it down. He’d get Sahara back, then he’d destroy the bastards who’d taken her. “I’m fine.”
“It can’t be you,” Leese said from the front seat, “because you don’t know what you’re stepping in to.”
“Like you do?” Brand didn’t get annoyed. It didn’t matter what reasoning Leese used, he wouldn’t change his mind. “You can’t tell me that rescuing your boss from kidnappers is part of your normal workweek.”
“No, but each one of us has dealt with similar situations.”
“We’re tried and tested,” Justice said. “You’re not. God only knows the number of ways you could fuck it up, and Sahara will be the one hurt.”
Miles was the only one not giving him shit. “Fact is,” he pointed out, “Sahara called Brand, and she made it clear that the goons who have her would recognize us. Even if we can trace her, who’s to say they won’t spot us and kill her for it?”
“No,” Justice insisted.
“She called me.” Brand drank in a deep breath of humid air. “Plus you’re all married—”
“Not me,” said Justice.
“You will be soon enough.”
Justice couldn’t deny that, and it had him growling again. Maybe, like Brand, the lack of ability to fix this problem ASAP left Justice frustrated.
But Justice didn’t have the knowledge that he’d parted ways with Sahara under less than ideal circumstances. That was all on Brand and it was fucking well eating him up, adding to the need to do something. “Tell me the plan and I’ll see that it happens. But understand this—I’m going after her and that’s it.”
“Let’s get to Body Armor and see what we’re dealing with.” Leese drove aggressively despite the rain. “After that, we’ll make some quick decisions.”
Along the way the men called their significant others. Their low voices were intimate, except for Leese, who spoke via the speaker through the car’s Bluetooth.
“Dear God,” Catalina said, her worry plain. “Poor Sahara. She has to be frantic.”
Logical assumption, yet Brand couldn’t picture her being anything other than her usual cool, in-charge self. That, too, could be a problem. He reminded himself that Sahara was intelligent. Surely, she wouldn’t provoke her kidnappers.
“Please be careful, Leese,” Catalina whispered, “and please bring her back safe.”
“You know I will.”
Each of the women knew and cared about Sahara, so Brand had no doubt they’d all shared those sentiments.
Enoch was in the lobby waiting for them when they arrived. He’d already assigned extra guards on the building, not only on the ground floor but also as lookouts on the upper floors. “If there’s surveillance on the building, we’ll know.”
“Smart move.” Leese led the way to the elevator and they all rode up to Enoch’s office. He had his computer on and immediately showed them what he’d found. “She’s not far from her house, only about forty-five minutes.”
They each stood behind Enoch, leaning forward to see the screen. “They’re not driving anymore?” Miles asked.
“Don’t appear to be. The GPS has her stationary for about five minutes or so.”
“Looks like she’s in the slums,” Justice complained.
“The program can’t show me exactly where,” Enoch explained. “But if you get near the area you should be able to pick up her signal on this cell phone.” He handed it to Leese.
Brand took it from him.
No one said anything about it.
“I have access to some funds,” Enoch explained. “But I doubt it’ll be enough to pay off kidnappers.”
“Let’s wait and find out how much ransom they demand, then we’ll decide what to do.”
The waiting went against the grain for all of them, but until they got that call, it was all they could do.
“If Sahara was here,” Enoch stated, “she’d ask me to get coffee, so that’s what I’m going to do. All of you, make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be right back.”
* * *
THE VAN BUMPED over rough ground, taking her farther and farther away. No one spoke to her, but the four men riding in the cargo area continually watched her.
She pretended not to care and merely looked back, making note of what she could. Even sitting, their height was discernible, and under the dark sweatshirts and jeans, she could guess their weight.
One man had pushed up his sleeves and she saw that he was freckled. Another had darker hands, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun.
The man who appeared to be in charge was the only one not eyeballing her. He spent his time on his phone, not speaking but definitely perusing something.
When the van stopped, he pocketed the phone and moved to crouch in front of her.
“Give me your hands.”
Sahara glared into faded blue eyes. “Why?”
His answer was to roughly grab her, jerk her arms forward, then hold her wrists while another masked man wrapped them in rough rope.
Clearly, they’d never done this before because with a little wiggling, she’d be able to pull free. What good that would do her, she didn’t yet know. If she remained in the van with six men, two up front and four guarding her, she may as well be hog-tied.
For now, though, she held still and merely muttered, “I scare you that much?” She tsked. “And here I’m so much smaller.”
His hand came up to clasp her throat, not tightly but in clear warning. “You have quite a mouth on you.”
“Quite a brain as well.” Defiant, she stared at him. I will not let them cow me. “What do you know about Scott?”
Disgusted, he let her go with a slight shove and sat back against the metal wall of the van.
Sahara said, “You know something, obviously. I want to know what.”
The big man waited, watching her, and finally shrugged. “Do you believe your brother is dead?”
“No.”
He sat forward again. “Have you had any contact with him?”
“No.”
With a note of frustration, he asked, “Then what makes you think—”
“Somehow, if he were truly gone, I’d feel it.”
The freckled guy barked a laugh. “Female logic.”
She snorted. “Male logic would be an oxymoron, wouldn’t it?”
“Shut up,” the leader said.
The two men in front got out, closing their doors seemingly without fear of being heard. That told her that they must be someplace isolated...or perhaps they had a way of sneaking her out of the van without anyone noticing.
Seconds later the doors at the back of the van opened.
Sahara could see they were inside a large garage or warehouse. Dim, smelly and cold.
Three of the men climbed out. The leader, bent over in the confines of the van, took her arm and said, “Let’s go.”
For once her heels were a hindrance. With her hands tied, she couldn’t use them to help her gain her feet. He solved that dilemma by dragging her on her butt toward the doors.
“Brute,” she accused.
“I didn’t drag you by the hair, did I?”
No, and she didn’t want to prod him to it either.
When another man reached in, the boss said, “I’ve got her,” and everyone else backed off.
Sahara realized what he meant when he stepped down, then hauled her out and over his shoulder. With one muscled arm he pinned her legs behind her knees, and with the other... Dear God, he had his hand spread wide over her behind!
She reared up, using her bound hands to brace against his back. “So a kidnapper, and a perv, too?”
The swat he landed on her cheek stung, but she didn’t cry out. She just gritted her teeth and, as he possibly intended, kept quiet.
He carried her as if she weighed nothing, going down concrete stairs and into a smaller, colder, darker room. Along the way her hair spilled loose, draping down to cover her face. She also lost a shoe, but the man paused to pick it up. He turned a corner, careful not to smack her head on the wall, and went down more stairs.
Her heart started to pound nervously and her mouth went dry.
Someone turned on a light and she saw that her prison was even worse than she’d suspected. Very small, maybe eight feet square, all concrete.
She did not want to be alone here, but as he set her on her feet she quipped, “How quaint.”
The big man actually laughed.
Then he surprised her by bending down, clasping her ankle and helping her to step back into her shoe. From his kneeling position, he looked up the length of her body.
Grateful for her coat, which still covered her, Sahara tried to feign confidence. It wavered a lot when he came back to his feet, lifted her chin and gently brushed her hair out of her face. Sahara jerked away, but he only grabbed her upper arm and finished running his fingers through the unruly tresses, finding two pins still caught in her hair and pocketing them.
So maybe that wasn’t about inappropriate thoughts, but rather he didn’t want to take the chance that she’d know how to pick a lock.
She did, of course, but whether or not a hairpin would work depended on the lock.
Around them, she realized the others were working, turning on an overhead light—and blessedly, an electric heater. She moved closer to it, holding out her hands and trying to stop her shivers.
A cot was set up in the corner. It looked clean with a folded blanket and a pillow on top. One of the men added an extra blanket. Did they expect her to sleep here?
She hated that possibility.
“We realized after we had it arranged that you, being female, might find it too chilly.”
Clearly the freckled guy had some notions about “females.” In this case, since she was cold, she let it go.
When he continued to look at her, she said, “Thank you?” and he nodded in satisfaction.
Every second of this kidnapping got more and more bizarre.
Other than the cot, she noticed a portable toilet in the farthest corner, with a roll of paper on the ground beside it. Oh, no and no.
“Who are you people,” she demanded, “and what do you ultimately want?”
Ignoring her question, the boss said, “It’s time.”
Her heart again stuttered. They would leave her here alone now?
But no, apparently only the boss would go, because he sent a penetrating look to each of his cohorts. “No one touches her, understood?”
They nodded.
Then looking at her, he said, “That rule is rescinded if she tries anything.”
Oh, that didn’t sound good. “Define ‘try anything,’ please.” If she breathed, would that be provocation to jump her? “May I sit on the cot? Could I move the cot closer to the heater? May I have my purse back?”
“You’re a smart lady. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He started to go, but then paused. “No, you can’t have your purse. Not yet anyway.”
The freckled guy clutched it, as if he held the prize.
Sighing, she watched the leader go back up those stairs and wondered how long he would be. For some insane reason, she felt marginally safer with him nearby; since he’d been the one doing all the talking, she felt she knew him a little better.
The rest, other than Freckles, were unknown quantities. They could be rapists, murderers—or just plain insane.
Predatory gazes tracked her as she circled the room, inspecting it. Other than the heater, the portable potty and the cot, the room was empty. She saw no other electrical outlets, so she went over to the cot and, using her knee, nudged it away from the wall. She bent, put her hands against the rickety frame and began scooting it toward the heater. Thanks to the metal legs on concrete, it loudly screeched as if death was near.
Two men came forward and, without a word, lifted each end. They carried it toward the heater. One of them, with a questioning look, waited.
It was in her nature to test the limits, so she said, “A little to the left please.”
They obliged.
“No, a little to the right now.”
Again, they did as she asked without comment.
“Perhaps a tad farther back—”
The cot hit the floor with a clatter and the two men walked away to stand with the others.
She smiled inwardly and said with sugary sweetness, “Thank you so much.”
All five of them nodded.
Hmm... There was an odd gallantness to their behavior in direct conflict with hardened criminals. Testing that, she sat on the side of the cot and tried to look dejected.
Time ticked by in utter silence. Only the occasional sound of someone shifting position intruded.
She let out a sigh. In the smallest voice she could manage, she asked, “Am I going to die?”
Someone—she wasn’t sure who, since she didn’t look back—said, “Not if you follow orders.”
Well. They certainly weren’t ruling it out. Hopefully, Leese had understood her subtle message and was already at the office with Enoch. The tracking device could be easily positioned in her clothes or jewelry. For now, she’d made it part of her necklace. She prayed they wouldn’t take that from her—if it would even work down in the bowels of the building.
She stood to pace. Her heels made a distinct clinking noise against the concrete. It wasn’t just the feminine style of stilettos that she loved, it was the sound the heels made that really did it for her. The cadence helped her to focus.
She’d deliberately called Brand instead of Leese. If she’d had more time to consider it once they thrust the phone into her hand, she might have come up with another solution. But the boss man had already explained that he studied up on all her guys and had files on each of the bodyguards, new and old. That meant she had to take them by surprise somehow.
They wouldn’t have anything on Brand since he wasn’t part of the agency. At least, she hoped they wouldn’t. He’d been there a few times, most recently that very day. But then, clients came and went, too, as did delivery people. For all they knew, Brand wasn’t anyone special.
She knew better.
Brand Berry was her own personal temptation, and that made him special indeed.
Dragging him in to things kicking and complaining wasn’t really her style, but then neither was losing.
Would he come after her?
She honestly didn’t know and wasn’t sure if she wanted him risking himself anyway. Circling the room again, she thought about what she’d say to him, what he might say to her—
“Sit down,” one of the men said.
Another added, “Or at least take off those heels.”
With a toss of her hair, she continued to pace. “If I’m dying anyway, I might as well suit myself.”
She heard the footsteps as one of the men started forward with a snarl.
Then the boss man’s voice intruded with “Back off,” as he bounded down the steps.
“She started it.”
Sahara turned with disbelief. “Grade school complaints? Really?”
A hard hand clamped around her arm and the boss said near her ear, “Quit pushing your luck,” while propelling her toward the cot.
She couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Or what?”
He pulled out a big shiny blade—and effectively stole her bravado.