Chapter 8
8
RUTGER
M y boots pound down the alley as Bijou and I sprint for the black SUV I rented for this assignment. Her tiny hand fits snuggly in mine, leading me down a haunted path of tactile reminiscences.
Rain splatters in the alleyway, only half interested in making a showy storm. I unlock the car doors with the fob, and we scramble inside. Behind us, gunfire blasts. Throwing the car into drive, I speed off to the squeal of tires on wet pavement.
Bijou shakes and puffs, attempting to catch her breath. Despite the shock of the moment and the carelessness of my decision, her presence instantly wrests a hold of me.
My mind and body devolve, sucked into her mind-numbing allure. Her familiar fragrance fills my nostrils, pulling the logic clean out of my head and replacing it with earthy, woodsy, fruity tones.
Side-eyeing the stunning singer, her otherworldly beauty slams into me. No wonder she had me at the altar.
You hate this woman, Rutger. She broke your fucking heart…
Yet, her panting, frantic breathing still pulls dark, dirty memories from the depths of my mind. Blood rushes to my cock.
Shifting in my seat, I glower ahead, lamenting my stupidity.
Slowly, her breathing stills, and my dick relaxes. Apart from the light splashing of rain against the windshield and the swish-swish of the wipers, silence covers the SUV.
My eyes dart between the roadway and the rear-view mirror. Glimmers of a silver SUV catch my eye. Squinting, I make out a couple of familiar faces—men who sat with P Boy tonight.
Bijou’s shaky voice shatters the quiet of the car. “I don’t understand what happened back there. Or your part in it.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand what happened, either.”
Silence .
Finally, I add, “Or your part in it…”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head and staring at me incredulously… maybe even disdainfully. “What does that mean?”
I need to pull over, check the SUV for trackers, and regroup with my team, which scattered during the shooting. But getting a safe distance between this car and the silver one comes first.
I grunt, too deep in thought to respond. My mind races over ways to shake P Boy’s tail. And how to save the mission I just threw into a tailspin by grabbing Bijou. There has to be a way to use her to get to her brother without endangering the woman. My plan starts with a clear delineation between myself and her.
After ten minutes without seeing the silver SUV, I pull the vehicle onto the embankment. Grabbing the handcuffs off my belt and leaning over Bijou with one swift move, I cuff her right wrist to the grab handle over the door. We’re back on the road in less than a minute.
“Why’d you do that?” she questions in breathy surprise, shaking the handcuff chain.
“Because you can’t be trusted,” I spit. “And you’re sticking with me until I figure out the best way to trap your miscreant brother.”
I’m doing this for her own good and my sanity. If Raul sees us together, it’ll be clear I’ve taken her against her will. The last thing she needs is her family thinking we’re conspiring to take down her brother. That would be her death sentence.
The handcuffs also serve as a stark reminder that she’s the enemy… not to be trusted. And totally off-limits.
She shivers. “I thought you were saving me, not kidnapping me…”
I mutter, “You’ll be free to go as soon as I have your brother in custody. You should thank me. I’m protecting you, even if you don’t realize it.”
Bijou lets out a frustrated sigh, “Protecting me? How’s that?”
She’s the last person on the planet I want to converse with. Every sound of her gorgeous, sing-song voice steals a piece of my soul.
However, I need her to hear my next statement: “Your brother has it in for you.”
Shrugging, she replies, “And so?”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I growl.
Her bottom lip trembles as she says, “He’s had it in for me for awhile now. But he’s in Louisiana, so why does it matter?”
In Louisiana? Does she actually think this?
I frown, my mind turning over and analyzing the night’s events. One wrong move could get us both killed.
Bijou asks, “What in the world is going on anyway, and how did you end up in the Nashville nightclub where I’ve performed for years now on the only night we’ve had a major shooting?…”
“A major shooting?” I laugh drily. “How’d you end up working in a dive like that, anyway?”
She lets out a haughty sigh. “You’re laughing at me. Great…”
“It’s a simple enough question.”
Pressing her lips together tightly, she makes it clear I won’t get an answer.
I turn up the radio, staring straight ahead. Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Games” blares.
My eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror. P Boy’s silver SUV lingers in the distance again.