Chapter 3
Moe moved quickly and silently through the apartment, his knife held in front of him, his ears straining for the slightest sounds.
Whoever had been, or was still, in Bea’s apartment had trashed everything so completely that Moe doubted anything could be salvaged.
Couch seat cushions had been ripped down the middle as if someone with a knife as sharp as Moe’s had stabbed the fabric and the foam inside several times. The back and frame had suffered a similar attack.
Side tables lay in splintered pieces across the living room floor, and the glass coffee table was nothing more than shards strewn across the once cream-colored carpet.
Plants lay on their sides, the pots upended and black soil ground into the rug.
The damage was regretful but didn’t occupy Moe’s consciousness as much as searching for danger and neutralizing it before it neutralized him or Bea.
A thorough search of the living room, kitchen, pantry and coat closets yielded the usual items found in such places; only all had been consigned to the walls or floors.
Bags of flour and sugar had been punctured, their contents spewed like a dusting of snow and ice crystals across counters and floors.
Nobody lurked in the dark places at the front of the apartment.
Moe slipped deeper into the disaster, turning down a short hallway.
A door on the right hung open, leading into a bathroom.
A white shower curtain hung in tatters, gaping holes slashed through the fabric, the curtain rod bent almost in half, dangling from one mount on the wall.
Shampoo and cleaning fluids made the floor slick.
Small plastic containers of makeup lay crushed amid the pools of liquid. No one hid behind what was left of the shower curtain or in the tight confines of the linen cabinet.
Passing through to the bedroom, Moe quickly checked the closet and beneath what was left of the bed, the mattress hanging half off the frame with multiple stab wounds down the center.
After a quick check through the French doors onto the minuscule balcony, Moe turned and hurried back to Bea.
He found her kneeling among the shattered remains of the living room side tables, picking up the pieces of a torn photograph.
Bea’s hands shook. The only spots of color on her pale face were the rusty freckles scattered across her nose, her green eyes and the shadowy crescents beneath them.
She stood, clutching the tiny fragments of paper in her fist. “Who would do this?” Her voice caught. The muscles in her throat convulsed as she swallowed hard. “And why?”
Fear and desolation etched lines across her forehead and deepened the dark shadows beneath her eyes.
His heart pinching hard in his chest, Moe gathered her into his arms. “These are just things. What’s important is that you weren’t here when whoever did this was.”
She leaned her forehead into his shirt and shivered violently. “I’ve never been afraid of anything in my life.” Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Until now,” she whispered. Bea looked up into his eyes. “How do people live like this?”
He brushed a strand of her ginger hair off her forehead. “Fear isn’t a bad thing. It makes you more aware of your surroundings and reminds you that you can be brave in the face of it.”
“Were you afraid in the war?” she asked
He smiled crookedly. “Every damn day.”
Her brow crinkled. “What did you do?”
“I used that fear. It gave me laser focus and helped me see clearly exactly what I had to do. I powered through. I didn’t let it beat me.”
She looked down at the shredded bits of a photograph.
“They’re just things,” she echoed and let the bits of paper filter through her fingers like confetti.
When she looked around at the destruction, she shook her head.
“How can I stay in this apartment? The locks on the door did nothing to keep them out.”
“Sweetheart, you can’t stay in this apartment or this town. Not alone, anyway.” His hand tightened slightly at the small of her back. “You need to be somewhere safe, with someone looking out for you.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter.
I’m a grown woman, capable of defending myself.
I’ve taken several self-defense classes.
Hell, I’m a black belt in Tae Kwon Do.” Her lips twisted.
“And it didn’t do me a whole lot of good when two men ganged up on me.
” Her eyes widened. “I have a gun.” She stepped away from Moe’s embrace and ducked into the bedroom.
Moe followed.
Bea jerked open the nightstand drawer and swore a stream of curses that would make a sailor blush. “I had a gun. The bastard took it.”
“One thing is certain,” Moe declared. “You can’t stay here.”
“I have to.” Bea glanced around at the mess. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Don’t you have family you can stay with?” Moe asked.
Bea’s brow dipped lower. “Absolutely not.”
Moe stared at the woman, trying to decipher what she meant by absolutely not. She’d spoken the two words with such vehemence they had to mean something to her.
“What about a friend?” he asked.
She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “I told you I had high hopes you might be one of my first friends in the Bozeman area. You quickly squashed my chances since you’re not staying.”
Moe’s cell phone vibrated in his back pocket. He pulled it out, stared down at the screen, swore and looked up to meet her gaze. “It’s the hospital. They’ll have my package ready in fifteen minutes. I need to get there quickly, then fly to Denver with the transportable organs.”
“Yes, you do.” Bea looked around at the mess. “Leave me here to manage the police. Go. Save lives.” She gripped his arm and turned him toward the door. “Seriously, I’ll be fine.”
Moe dug in his heels. “You’re not staying here.” He turned, took her hand and stared into her eyes. “Do you trust me?”
Her brow twisted. “As much as I trust a man I met less than two hours ago who just happened to save my life.” She shrugged. “So far, you haven’t done anything to make me distrust you.”
He chuckled. “I hope I never do.” His hand tightened around hers. “I don’t have time to discuss this or argue. Lives are at stake. Yours and the people who will benefit from those organs.”
“I don’t know where you’re going with this. What are you trying to say?”
He sighed. “I need to leave right now.”
“I understand.” She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “You’re not responsible for me. I can take care of myself.”
“Like you did with the two goons and the van?” He shook his head. “I don’t have time to come up with a better idea than this…” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Come with me.” Moe marched her toward the door.
She let him lead her through the apartment and out into the hallway before she ground to a halt. “You have organs to deliver. You don’t have time to find me a hotel or a friend for me to stay with.”
“I know.” He started walking again, pulling her along. “You’re coming with me.”
She trotted alongside him a few more steps, her frown deepening. “Where are you going to drop me? The hospital or a police station?”
He shook his head and kept moving, leading her down the stairs and out into the parking lot. “I’m not dropping you anywhere.” Moe yanked open the passenger door, helped her into the SUV and buckled her seatbelt. “I’m taking you with me to Denver.”
“What?” she cried as he shut the door.
He had to get to the hospital, receive the organs and move on to the plane. He didn’t have time to find someone to watch over the pretty red-haired waitress. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Before Moe could pull out of the parking lot, Bea fumbled with her seatbelt. “Let me out here. I’ll call Stan and have him pick me up. He’ll let me stay with him and his family.”
“Come to think about it, you can’t stay with your boss or friends. It won’t work. Not with the way things played out tonight.” Moe covered her hand still struggling with the seatbelt. He briefly pinned her gaze with a steady one of his own. “What’s Stan’s background?”
Bea tried to peel his hand off hers. “You know him. He owns the Tumbleweed Tavern.”
“Prior military?” Moe asked.
The redhead shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s never talked about being in the military.”
Moe released her hand and shifted into drive, pulling out of the parking lot onto the street. “Has he ever been in law enforcement or worked as a bodyguard?”
She quit trying to release the belt buckle. “I think he was a bouncer before he bought the tavern.”
“Do you expect Stan to protect you?”
“Not really.” Her lips thinned into a straight line. “But isn’t there safety in numbers?”
“Do they have children?” Moe drove toward the hospital.
“Yes. A five-year-old boy and a teenage girl.” Bea crossed her arms over her chest. “Could you get to the point?”
“Stan isn’t trained to protect or fight, other than breaking up a barroom brawl or two. Someone made a play for you tonight and trashed your apartment.” Moe kept driving, his foot heavy on the accelerator. “If you stay at Stan’s house, and the people who are after you decide to try again?—”
Bea sighed. “I’ll put Stan and his family at risk.”
“Trying to get to you could make that little boy, the teenage girl, their mother and your boss collateral damage.” He shot a glance in her direction. “Is that what you want?”
She shook her head and dropped her hands into her lap. Bea stared straight ahead as her brow puckered. “You think they’ll make another attempt to kidnap me?” she asked, her voice wavering.
Moe didn’t like scaring the woman who’d already had the fright of her life that evening, but he had a job to do. Knowing she would be okay would help him get that job done quickly.
“Look,” he said in as calm a voice as he could. “I can’t leave you alone. I won’t leave you alone. For some reason, you have a target pinned on your back. Until I complete my first mission, I can’t concentrate on resolving your issue.”