Range shoved the money into the box he’d rented.

Box he’d rented? Yeah, wait ‘til he had to explain that one to his brothers. It wasn’t a long story. He wasn’t ready to leave town, and you don’t leave that kind of cash lying around.

And now, he questioned his sanity as he drove back to the Heights apartment complex this Eira woman lived in. He’d turned the car into the rental agency and exchanged it for a pickup.

He pulled into the parking lot, wondering if George or his thugs had attempted to contact Eira. He cursed his decision not to bring his brothers along. They’d have been watching the apartment while he handled the transaction.

Oh, well. No use crying over spilled milk.

He wondered if they’d break into the place while she was gone in order to get whatever it was she’d taken. He hoped so. If she or any of the women she was with last night were in the house, they could get hurt.

Now he felt bad about it. What if they were? It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, could he?

Maybe.

He stayed in his spot, surveilling the entrance, waiting to see what would happen, if anything.

He noticed a couple of men casing the entrance. His interest may not have been piqued too much, had it not been that one of them was the ponytailed thug at George’s office.

Ponytail was in a dark sedan with three other guys.

Four men to break into a place to collect an item? How big was the item? Did it require four men to carry it?

An hour later, they were still there, nothing had happened, except then, four guys strolled by, acting nonchalant, until they stopped and had an intense conversation with Ponytail.

So, eight guys? Or were these a relief crew?

A few moments later, Range had his answer; the four men settled into another sedan, their eyes glued on the entrance to Eira’s apartment complex entrance.

Okay, now it took eight?

The sun was starting to go down. He hadn’t seen Eira or any of the women she hung around with. He was certain they were her roommates, or they, at least, lived in the complex.

He found himself wishing he’d looked into them more so he could have answers. But he’d done his job: finding her.

He hadn’t expected to get concerned, or to want to follow up on what the client’s goons did with her.

Looks like I am now.

Certainly did.

The sun had set on a slow and lazy Sunday evening, probably everyone was busy getting ready for their Monday, and still, Range watched.

His phone’s Bluetooth buzzed in his ear. He clicked to answer after glancing at the screen and verifying it was a call from home.

Probably Asa checking up on me.

“Hey,” he said into the Bluetooth earpiece.

“Done yet?”

Of course, it was Asa. He was always the first to check on him.

“Almost.”

“What’s left?” Asa’s tone was suspicious.

“Wrapping up some stuff.”

“I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Gotta run, Asa.”

And Range did have to get into motion, at least, he had to get off the phone because the front doors opened, and out stepped Eira Winter.

She wasn’t dressed for a club this time. She was in jeans and a jacket. Her hair was loose, and her features determined.

Where you going, pretty lady? Range wondered.

As soon as she’d stepped outside and to the right, she vanished into the parking garage.

He was expecting to see at least a couple of the guys get out and head toward the front door. That’s what he would do if he were going somewhere to collect an item that had been stolen.

What he didn’t expect—all eight guys to step out of their respective vehicles and head toward the parking garage.

Now, they wouldn’t be doing that unless she was the item they were there to collect.

Damn.

This was not the simple ending to the story he was expecting. Nor was it the easy solution. And it sure wasn’t something he could walk away from.

And he wouldn’t.

The group stopped, and Ponytail gave instructions to a couple of the guys, who parted ways from the group and headed back to their cars.

He stepped out of the truck, manually locked the door to keep the alarm from chirping, and slowly pushed the door until it clicked.

He double-timed it to the garage and followed Ponytail and his posse at a safe distance until they’d entered the covered parking area.

He trailed them, going from column to column.

Then he saw them. Just in time. Six thugs against one defenseless woman.

They had her circled.

Range lowered, ready to lunge forward in a sprint. He could take those six. Okay, maybe not easily, but he could. Unless they had weapons. Yeah, he could still take them, but it might get bloody. For him. And real bloody for them.

He didn’t get a chance to intercept the fight that the thugs were taking to Eira.

Before he could react, she’d dropped, twisted her body, kicked out one of the attacker’s knees.

He caught sight of her eyes. They’d gone from a deep violet color to glittering obsidian.

The second attacker had a knife. She’d disarmed him, swiped it across one guy’s neck, then plunged it into the another’s chest.

His first thought was

—she’s not human.

He knew she wasn’t a shifter, but she clearly was no mere mortal.

Then, just like that—

She collapsed.

Flat out freaking dropped as if someone had turned her switch off.

What the hell did they use on her?

One guy was holding a blowgun. Yeah, just like the ones Range had seen in South America. But what the hell was in it?

The only thing that Range could think of was a Tranq, like the ones developed to use on shifters.

But she’s not a shifter.

And your average tranquilizers wouldn’t do that, not even to a human. There’d be a lag between the time they darted her and the time she was unconscious.

This had to be some special type of military-grade tranquilizer.

Headlights shone to his right.

The thugs’ two sedans pulled up.

She was shoved—unceremoniously—into one of the vehicles and several piled in with her. The rest jammed themselves and their wounded into the second car.

“Well, damn,” he whispered.

So much for intervening.

He’d been so stunned by her performance, he hadn’t moved. And she’d have taken them bastards, if it weren’t for whatever they stuck her with.

As soon as the cars pulled out of the garage, he sprinted toward the pickup and gave chase, staying subtly behind, but not too far.

He burned with anger.

They’d lied to him.

They were after her—not after some piece of property that she’d stolen from an ex-boyfriend.

And I handed her over.

A lamb to the slaughter.

But what kind of woman could fight like that? Could move like that? She had better moves than some of the guys he’d served with.

What the hell is she?

And what the hell do they want with her?