Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
A phone was ringing.
A very annoying, loud ring.
Charlotte cracked open an eye. She expected to see Logan sprawled right next to her in the ever-so-comfortable bed but…
He wasn’t there.
She shot upright. Then realized a faint light shone from beneath the bathroom door, and she was pretty sure she heard the steady, quiet roar of a shower.
The phone on the bedside rang again. Not a cell phone. The landline at the hotel.
Her hand flew out and turned on the bedside lamp. She grabbed the phone’s handset. She hauled it to her ear. “Hello?”
“She had to die.”
Her blood froze in her veins when she heard the raspy voice. Not Harper. Do not tell me that you killed Harper!
“Not like I could let Evelyn live. She would have told you too much. Though it should be noted,” the disguised voice told her, “that Evelyn did not know that I intended to abduct Harper. All Evelyn thought she was doing was delivering champagne and making an offer to Harper. She was paid to do the job. She did it. She also didn’t know that your champagne was drugged.
Don’t want you blaming the poor, dead woman for sins that weren’t hers. ”
“No.” A quick swallow. “You just want me to feel guilty as hell because I didn’t save her. You want me to know she was a victim, not a villain, so that you can twist the knife inside of me even deeper.”
The shower water had just stopped, hadn’t it?
“I can’t wait to twist my knife in you, Charlotte. Just the thought fills me with delight.”
She was sure it did. Sick creep. “Where are you? Let’s make this meeting happen.”
“I’m in the hotel. Your hotel. Room 1648.”
For a moment, her heart stopped. That room—1648 was Jamar’s room. She’d seen the numbers on the door herself when she’d visited him. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was nearing four a.m. Jamar should be in his room, asleep. “Do not hurt him.”
“Too late.”
She leapt out of bed. Frantic, Charlotte yanked open the nightstand drawer and grabbed the gun that was inside.
The bathroom door opened.
“Charlotte?” Logan’s voice. “What’s happening?”
The light from the lamp near the bed shone so brightly. It allowed her to see him, wearing just a towel that he’d knotted around his hips, and it let him see her. Stark naked. Holding a gun and gripping the phone to her ear.
The voice on the other end of the line asked her, “Do you value your partner’s life?”
“You know I do,” she snapped back. Jamar is a great man. A loving father. A devoted husband. Do not hurt him.
“Excellent. Then take the gun in your hand…”
How did he know that she was holding a gun?
“And fire it at Logan. Shoot him now. Kill the bastard.”
He knows I have the gun in my hand. He could only know that if—
He’s watching. That stunning realization made her sick. Because if he could see her now, then he’d seen her when she made love with Logan.
When they’d first come to the bedroom, the lights had been on when she and Logan got lost to pleasure. It had only been later that Logan had turned off the lights. Later that they’d curled together in the dark.
“Did you hear me? Shoot. Him.”
She did not aim her weapon at Logan.
Concern flooded Logan’s features. “Baby.” He did not move from the doorway. “What’s going on?”
Maybe he’s not watching. Maybe he’s just guessing. Profiling me the way I profiled him. Grabbing a weapon would be an instinctive response to the threat the perp posed.
The perp sighed. “You are going to make me do something bad, Charlotte.” Still rasping and distorted. “Aim the fucking gun at your lover. Shoot. Him.”
“I’m not killing Logan.” They could be one hundred percent clear on that.
Logan’s eyes widened. “Good to know,” he muttered.
She would never kill him.
I love him.
She also loved her partner. In a very, very different way. But she loved him and she was not going to let Jamar die. Charlotte just had to figure this out. She needed a plan. She needed help.
Logan inclined his head toward her. “I got you,” he promised.
Did he?
“If you don’t shoot Logan, then l finish off your partner. Jamar, I believe it is? Such a shame. Pretty sure he has kids. Twins?”
Yes. Sweet, precious twins who had their father’s eyes. “What do you want?”
“First, shoot Logan. Then we’ll talk about a trade for Harper. I have to be certain that you’ll come alone for the trade. That’s why I had to take out your partner first. He is still breathing, for the record. But he won’t be if you don’t follow my instructions and shoot Logan. Right now.”
Logan stepped forward. “What is he telling you?”
“He wants me to shoot you,” she choked out, barely recognizing her own voice.
My partner or my lover. No, no, she would not make this choice.
“I-I think he may be watching.” But she couldn’t be sure.
It could just be a bluff. All the damn players in this twisted game were so good at bluffing.
Hadn’t they proved that at the poker table again and again?
Logan nodded. His gaze swept around the bedroom. “Someone is getting fired. My suite is always supposed to be swept for recording devices and transmitters. Evans knows that he is supposed to guarantee my security up here.”
“He says that he’ll kill Jamar if I don’t shoot you.”
Logan grabbed his cell phone and fired off a text.
“I’m giving you five seconds,” the voice in her ear informed her, his fury coming through even with the distortion. “Then Jamar dies. Five, four, three, two—”
She couldn’t risk it. “Logan!”
His head snapped toward her. His jaw hardened. He took a few lunging steps toward her.
Charlotte fired.
Logan fell. His body slammed down onto the floor, right near the side of the bed.
Silence.
In the bedroom.
On the other end of the line.
Then…
Laughter. Fast. Hard. Filling her ear. “Excellent job. Got to say, I didn’t think you’d do it. It takes a special kind of woman to fuck a man and then put a bullet into him.”
Logan didn’t appear to be moving. He’d fallen so close to the bed. Face down.
“You want to trade yourself for Harper?” A taunt. “Then get that ass of yours to the cage. Now.”
“What cage?” she demanded. Her body had locked in place. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“Figure it out. You have five minutes. Leave your cell phone behind. Leave the gun. Leave all weapons. And leave Logan on the floor,” the voice snarled at her.
“He can fucking bleed out. You stop for him, you try to help him in any way, and you’ll be finding pieces of Harper for weeks. I guarantee that.” He hung up.
Cage. What cage? What—
It hit her. Her first day on the job with Logan. He’d gone to confront Morris and stop the cage fight. He’d gotten Jake out of the fight.
The cage.
Her gaze lingered on Logan. A prone Logan. A sob wanted to tear from her, but she couldn’t stand there and cry. She was a professional. She had a job to do. A victim to save.
Victims. Plural. Jamar. Harper.
And…
Logan.
With a shaking hand, she put the phone back on the cradle. “He said…said if I stopped for you, I’d be finding pieces of Harper for weeks. He’s watching. I had to shoot.” Now she had to move. Time was ticking down on the clock. “I have to go to the cage,” she said, voice not quite steady.
No movement.
Charlotte yanked on clothes. Jeans. Sweatshirt. Tennis shoes. She left the gun on the bed because he had to see her follow his instructions, and Charlotte ran through the suite.
She wanted to look back. Wanted to rush to Logan. But there was no time.
So she did the only thing that she could…
She trusted him.
I love you, Logan.
The door clicked shut when she left.
The bullet had missed him by a fucking mile.
All right, fine. A mile was an exaggeration.
It had missed him by inches. Deliberate ones because his Charlotte was a fantastic shot. He was sure that the CIA had made certain her shooting skills were, uh, on point, so to speak.
He’d known she would fire. He’d been ready.
Logan had deliberately fallen toward the bed, timing his crash onto the floor at the exact moment when she’d shot her weapon.
He’d moved quickly, hoping that for anyone watching, it would look like he’d taken a hit.
Back in the day when he’d been a magician’s assistant, he’d had to pull plenty of tricks where it was all about making your audience think they’d seen something happen.
When really, the audience was dead wrong. That wonderful art of misdirection.
It had only looked as if he’d taken a hit when the bullet had actually thudded into the bathroom’s door frame.
He’d turned as he fell, so that his stomach was concealed. That way, it wouldn’t be obvious to a watcher that he wasn’t covered in blood, as he should have been.
Some dick has a camera hidden in my bedroom? Worse…some soon-to-be dead creep watched me fuck my wife?
That sonofabitch would pay.
Logan normally had his suite swept for devices every few days.
He was a suspicious bastard that way. But after Charlotte had left the hospital, he hadn’t even considered a new sweep.
He should have. His mistake. He’d been at that hospital for over twenty-four hours, so a talented enemy would have been able to place a recording device inside.
Especially if that talented enemy had help.
Say…someone with access to Logan’s hotel.
More specifically, to his suite.
Before he’d faked taking a bullet, Logan had fired off a quick text to Jezebel. A warning.
He called C. Will kill Jamar if she doesn’t shoot—
That was all he’d managed to send out. But as he’d fallen, he’d kept a grip on his phone.
He’d intentionally extended his hands so that they’d wound up under the skirt of the big bed.
His head was partially under that skirt, too.
So he could move his fingers and keep texting and stare at the screen, but anyone watching from a concealed video camera in the bedroom wouldn’t be able to tell what he was doing.
He’d just gotten a reply from Jezebel.
Jamar isn’t answering his phone. Reinforcements on the way.