Chapter 16
"We're just going to talk." The venom-infused voice slithered into her ear. "I need information, and you're going to give it to me. No need for anyone to get hurt. Is there?"
She froze. By now, Nash was probably in the attic. She was determined to scream at the first available opportunity, but she wasn't sure Nash would hear her.
Her captor stood behind her. His left arm, bulging and hairy, pinned her body to his while his beefy right hand remained locked on her mouth. His fingers smelled of cigarettes and whatever he had for lunch. Maybe fish? The combination made her want to retch.
With his hand still clamped over her mouth, the man pivoted and kicked the bedroom door shut. Now it would be even more difficult for Nash to hear her scream. She couldn't see his face well, but he was thickset, solid as a brick house, and he towered over her. She saw no wisdom in trying to fight.
Adrenaline surged through her whole body, her pulse roaring in her ears. It took several seconds before she realized Nutmeg was barking hysterically. The little dog's yips were ear-piercing in the room, but she doubted the staccato yelping would reach the attic.
God, send Nash soon. Please!
The burly intruder tightened his grip on her waist. "I'm going to take my hand off your mouth. No screaming. No moving. I don't want to have to hurt you. You understand?"
She nodded.
His hand slid off her mouth. She didn't dare lick her lips. She couldn't wait to wash her face later.
Slowly, he stepped in front of her. Uncomfortably close. She smelled cigarette smoke wafting from his clothes, but his breath held an overpowering minty scent. He'd made an effort to cover his habit for some reason, but he wasn't scoring any points as for as Lena was concerned.
"I know Cassidy's on the island," he said. "Don't try to tell me she's not here. And I know you're here because of her. So you're gonna tell me where your cousin is. This doesn't have to get messy."
He hadn't mentioned the jewels or Emil. She was shocked and terrified that he was only interested in Cassidy.
She didn't know if Nash was close enough to hear her scream. If she could keep the man talking for another minute, then she'd make her move—throw the door open, yell for Nash.
Her breaths came quick and shallow. She told herself to stay calm, but her body wasn't listening.
The man's bushy eyebrows knitted together.
"Don't try to lie to me. Don't try to make anything up.
I'm only here to talk to Cassidy. If you send me off in the wrong direction, I'll be right back.
You're not going to leave this island without my knowing it.
I know how to find you. You're my only lead in tracking down your cousin, and you're going to help me one way or the other. "
"Why are you looking for Cassidy?" Lena asked.
"No." He wagged his finger. "You are going to give me information, not the other way around."
"I . . . I don't know where she is. I came looking for her, but I haven't found her yet."
The space between them evaporated. His left hand grabbed her right wrist, and his right hand wrapped around her throat.
"I know she called you today," he growled.
His tight grip on her throat barely allowed her enough air to answer. She wondered if it would be enough air to scream. His fingers dug into her neck. She couldn't breathe.
Nutmeg was hysterical. Maybe Nash would hear his panicked barking and come soon.
She clawed at the hand gripping her neck, but her efforts only made him sneer, revealing his yellow teeth. The steel in his eyes frightened her as much as—or maybe more than—the hand around her neck. He wasn't bluffing, and she wasn't sure how far he'd go to get what he wanted.
No way in the world was she going to lead this heartless vigilante after Cassidy.
He twisted her wrist in a painful, unnatural direction. "Where is Cassidy?" he asked again. "I don't—"
An explosion of motion burst through the door.
A whirlwind of muscle and overwhelming force ripped the man away from her and threw him to the ground before she realized it was Nash.
The man fought back for about three seconds, but Nash was a machine of efficient violence. Yellow Teeth didn't stand a chance.
If she hadn't spent the last couple of days falling into trust with Nash Stone—or maybe falling into more than that—she'd be afraid of the assault he inflicted on the man.
Nash held his captive on the floor and laser-focused his gaze on her. "Are you okay?" he asked, eyes sharp and intense.
She rubbed her throat. And coughed. "Yes. I'm . . .okay." Her throat was sore. She didn't recognize her voice. Nash fused his eyes to hers for a few seconds, then pivoted to the groaning stranger on the floor.
In less time than it took her to get her breathing under control, Nash patted down Yellow Teeth, removed a handgun, and slid it across the floor to the other side of the room.
Still dazed from Nash's attack, his captive didn't resist when Nash pulled some zip ties from his pocket and secured the man's hands behind his back.
Nash drew his own gun and directed the man to sit up. The man spat some blood on the floor, then obeyed.
Nash kept his weapon aimed at him, but stepped back, closer to Lena.
She scooped sweet, terrified Nutmeg into her arms. He nuzzled under her chin and leaned against her chest. Fear vibrated through him. She rubbed his back, hoping to lower both their heart rates.
Her fingers touched her neck, and she hated the fact that even though Yellow Teeth was now in Nash's custody, she could still feel his smelly cigarette fingers squeezing her throat. She wanted to rub away the sensation. She wanted to rub away the entire memory.
"Who are you?" Nash asked.
He glared at Nash and fumbled with his bound hands, trying to wipe dripping blood away from his nose and mouth.
"I didn't find a wallet on you," Nash said.
"But that's not a problem." He slipped his phone from his pocket with his left hand and snapped several pictures of the stranger without taking his eyes off the man.
He handed his phone to Lena. "Text the pictures to Jason.
Tell him I need an ID. He's in my contacts. "
Lena took the phone and sent the message while Nash and the man warred in an unsettling staring contest.
"He's looking for Cassidy," Lena said, her voice much calmer than she felt. "He said he knows Cassidy called me today. He wanted me to tell him where she is. I told him I don't know."
Nash's cold glare looked . . . dangerous. "Why are you looking for Cassidy?"
The man smirked. He looked smart enough not to fight Nash, but he didn't look afraid. "You've gotta be the WhiteRock guy," he said.
Nash didn't answer.
The man leaned his head back, resting against the wall. "I know Hightower hired you." He huffed. "Some people think you aren't working fast enough. Maybe you're looking in the wrong direction." His eyes flitted to Lena and back to Nash. "Or maybe you're distracted."
Nash's jaw tightened. "Ruben hired you," he said.
The man attempted an awkward golf clap with his wrists still zip-tied. "Give the man a star."
Nash stretched his hand toward Lena without taking his eyes off his captive. "Could I have my phone back?"
She placed the phone in his hand. He glanced at it a couple of times, tapped in something, and held the phone to his ear.
"I need you to come pick this guy up from Emil's house.
Pull up to the front door and I'll bring him out to you.
Keep an eye out for the guards, Frank and Manny.
This guy got in though, so I doubt they're on their toes.
" He ended the call and narrowed his eyes at the man.
"Did you do something to Frank and Manny? "
The man rolled his eyes with a tired half-smile. "Nope. Didn't need to bother. One was asleep. The other was watching a movie on his phone. Real top-notch security Van Horn's got."
"Yeah, they're fabulous. Doesn't matter. It's me you need to worry about."
Nash hadn't raised his voice. He'd barely moved a muscle after securing the man's wrists.
But the emotion charging under his stoic mask permeated every inch of space between him and the man.
His self-control seemed to be holding by a thread.
If the man caused that thread to pop . .
. Lena wasn't sure he'd survive the repercussions.
She hugged Nutmeg to her chest. His heartbeat still raced along with her own quickened pulse. She didn't bother telling him to take slow, deep breaths. Did that even work for dogs?
She forced herself to take in a few slow breaths while she stroked his fur.
Nash's face was granite. A throbbing vein in his neck was the only indication of what roiled beneath his dispassionate expression. "Lena, take Nutmeg into the kitchen. I'll walk this guy out front and be back in a minute."
His ultra-calm voice was a little eerie, but the confidence punctuating every syllable buoyed her own confidence.
Nash knows what he's doing. It will be fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine.
"And take his gun with you," he added.
She almost asked why. But then she figured Nash didn't want the guy's gun anywhere near him when he walked out of the room. Probably a good idea.
"Um, okay." She shifted Nutmeg into the crook of her left arm, picked up the gun, checked that the safety was on, then escaped to the kitchen.
Dear God, protect Nash. Please keep him safe. I . . . um, just please keep him safe.
After Lena left, Nash directed the man down the hall to the foyer. He kept his weapon trained on him while they waited.
"Sit tight. Your ride's going to be here in a few minutes."
"What then, Bigshot?" the man asked, wiping more blood off his face with the back of his hand.