TESSA #3
The hotel appears beside the river at ten minutes before eleven, its empty windows black against the night.
Tank parks near the main doors before Harlan arrives. Cash has already copied every file, so Harlan cannot destroy the evidence now, but he doesn’t know that.
Inside the ballroom, Tank removes the original card from the camera and slips it into his pocket.
He winds the camera strap once around his wrist, leaving the camera against my hip, then closes his other hand around my upper arm.
The grip is firm enough to look real without hurting me.
To anyone walking in, he controls both the witness and the evidence.
I pull against him once to test him. Tank’s fingers tighten by a fraction.
He turns his head and gives me a wink before his face settles into the blank, hard mask he wore when he entered my motel room.
There is no softness between us when headlights sweep across the broken river windows. Tank is fully in character now.
Three vehicles stop outside. Doors open and close, too many of them, before Harlan enters with six men. He wears a clean dark coat and the irritated expression of a businessman forced to correct somebody else’s mistake. His gaze finds Tank’s hand on my arm, then the camera trapped against my side.
“You caused a considerable amount of trouble, Ms. Ward.”
“You murdered Morrow.” I try to wrench my arm free, and Tank hauls me back against his side before the movement can become dangerous. Harlan watches without any sign that he doubts the performance.
One of his men moves to take me, but Tank turns his shoulder and keeps me out of reach. “Money first.”
Harlan’s attention shifts to him. “You’ll get it once I have the woman, the card and the password.”
“You lied about the job and changed the agreement. She stays in my hand until I see the cash.”
The threat is convincing because Tank doesn’t need to invent it. Harlan knows what he is capable of, and Tank lets him see the old club enforcer. The weapon who follows money, not conscience.
A man sets a black case on the table and opens it. Harlan gestures impatiently. “The card.”
Tank takes it from his pocket and holds it between two fingers without releasing me. “Money first.”
Harlan’s mouth hardens. “Not until I know the cloud account comes with it. Make her give me the password.”
Tank looks at me with the same cold expression he wore at the motel. “Tell him.”
“Go to hell,” I tell Tank.
Tank’s grip shifts higher on my arm, the movement controlled and cold enough to make Harlan smile. “Password, Tessa.”
I let the silence stretch before answering. “The cloud account needs a code sent to my phone. His men destroyed it.”
“You accessed it at the compound,” Harlan says.
“From the laptop. That laptop isn’t in the room.”
Tank’s gaze cuts to Harlan as if I have just exposed a flaw in the deal. “You said the password was enough.”
Harlan’s mouth tightens while his men spread farther into the ballroom. Two remain near the entrance, and another moves toward the service stairs.
Harlan extends his hand. “Give me the card. Bring the woman and the laptop to my car, and you can take the case.”
“No. The money comes to me, then you get her and the evidence. The exchange happens here.”
Harlan studies him for a long moment. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
“You tried to turn me into your cleanup crew for the price of a hold. Harder costs extra.”
Harlan’s gaze slides past Tank for less than a second.
In the cracked mirror opposite the gallery stairs, I catch a shape slipping through the concealed maintenance door I showed Kane in the photograph. Harlan never intended to pay Tank. He placed a man inside to take me and the evidence once we were close enough.
“Tank.”
The warning leaves my mouth as the hidden man lunges. Tank releases my arm and turns, drawing his weapon while the camera strap slips from his wrist into my hand.
I swing before the man can close both hands around me, driving the heavy camera into the side of his face. Plastic cracks. He reels, catches the strap and yanks me toward him, but I let it go. He has the camera, not me.
I drive my knee into his groin and shove him into the damaged railing. Below, a gunshot cracks and one of Harlan’s men drops beside the stage as Kingdom Come closes the exits. Men shout. A work light crashes, throwing half the ballroom into darkness.
Tank roars my name somewhere behind me.
I reach the gallery and turn toward the eastern stairs, but Harlan steps from the shadows ahead.
His arm locks around my waist.
The gun presses hard beneath my ribs before I can twist free.
“Enough,” he shouts.
The ballroom stills in pieces.
Tank appears at the far end of the gallery with his weapon raised. His face contains no panic, no plea and none of the heat he gave me in his room.
Only the enforcer remains.
Harlan drags me tighter against his chest, using my body to cover his. The muzzle digs deeper into my side.
Across the gallery, Tank goes motionless.
And I finally understand why men are most afraid of him when he stops moving.