Hide & Seek Page 3

  Dashing into the alley, she looked straight ahead, right, left, and it was only then she saw him striding down the perpendicular alley.

  Going after him, she had to almost run to catch up. “You just broke that guy’s arm!”

  “His hand too.”

  It was unbelievable. She couldn’t keep her mouth closed around this guy; he was shameless. “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “Because you pissed me off,” he said and took a right that she hadn’t known was there.

  “You hurt him because of me?” she asked, nausea making her swallow. “Why not just hurt me?”

  “He knew better than to get in my way. Now you know it too,” he said, entering a large space filled with motorcycles.

  The concrete ground worked as a makeshift parking lot while the exposed brick walls of the surrounding buildings gave them security and cover.

  “So next time you’ll break my arm?”

  “There won’t be a next time,” he said and slid his laptop into a custom pouch on a black motorcycle. “Until you can answer my question, you’re useless to me.”

  Dashing forward, Rora managed to get to the motorcycle, putting herself between him and it just a fraction of a second before he could throw his leg over it. “You’re not useless to me.”

  Her fingers trembled and her heart pounded. She’d never been so scared in her life; this guy could kill her with his bare hands. He’d said he knew how to snap necks and he’d proved he could break bones.

  But she ignored her terror and swallowed hard, balling her fists. She was Benjamin’s only hope and she didn’t ever again want to feel the despair that had touched her last night when she thought she’d let him down.

  “What is it you want from me, Miss. Maguire?” he asked, the bass of his voice reverberating through her.

  Keeping her lips sealed, she breathed through her nose, trying to steady her breaths to slow her heart. At least that was what she told herself it was for. A tingling between her thighs rose to her gut that grew heavy as heat began to permeate through her.

  Was she… turned on? Were fear and desire so closely linked?

  What the hell kind of woman got turned on by a brute like this? He’d just broken a guy’s arm for getting in his way, and he hadn’t given much consideration to self-preservation.

  “Weren’t you scared?” she asked. “You hurt that guy, but… what if his friends had got hold of you?”

  “Then I’d have hurt them too,” he said.

  “I’ve never… I’ve never known a man like you.”

  “That’s because there isn’t another one,” he said. “And you don’t know me, Miss. Maguire. No one does.”

  He moved for the bike, but she moved with him, staying in his way. “I always hated myself,” she said. “I hated the fear. If there had been no fear, maybe I would’ve got in his way… Maybe I would’ve stopped him.”

  “Your brother,” he said and she nodded. “You worry too much about the past, when you should be thinking about the future.”

  “I don’t understand what—”

  Bending a fraction, he put his lips just above her ear to murmur. “His blood runs in your veins, Rora.” His voice had dropped to a sinister whisper that made her shiver. “What might you be capable of?” Something thick and heavy touched her palm and she dropped her eyes to see what it was… a switchblade. “Defend yourself or die.”

  With the tip of his index finger, he pushed up her chin as if telling her to hold her head high, but he said nothing else. Pushing her aside, he got onto the bike, bringing it to life and roaring away, leaving her standing there alone in the parking lot with the knife in her hand.

  Violence was something she’d witnessed but avoided. Yet, it seemed that no matter what she did, she wasn’t going to be able to turn her back on the thought Strike had put in her mind. Her brother had it in him to take the lives of those closest to him.

  So just what was she capable of?

  three

  With Benjamin’s license in both hands, she gazed down at his picture. It was a wonder to her to have him here so close to her and yet, nowhere near. Stroking the image, she wondered what had been in his head when the flash went off. Was he thinking of his work? Was he thinking of her? Maybe he was thinking of what he was going to have for lunch.

  One thing was for sure, he wasn’t thinking that his life would turn out this way.

  “You’re in my seat, Miss. Maguire.”

  Yes, she was, and that was exactly the point. Looking up to find Strike standing on the other side of the table she occupied in Last Resort, she smiled. “I don’t see a reserved sign.”

  “You’re new,” he said. “You’ll learn in time that it’s implied.”

  Her being there didn’t stop him from coming around the table and sitting. Physically shunting her down the bench out of his way, he nestled himself in the vee where both sides of the wooden seat met.

  A day had passed since he’d given her the knife in the parking lot, but Rora was prepared to show up here every day until Strike agreed to help her.

  “You know what I realized when I came in here tonight?” she asked. Strike put his laptop on the table to open it up. It didn’t start up like any computer she knew, not that it looked like one either. It didn’t matter that he didn’t ask her what she’d realized, she was going to tell him anyway. “Every guy moved out of my way… Do you think that’s because we left together last night?”

  “We didn’t leave together,” he said, and pulled his laptop closer to him, preventing her from seeing the screen when he began to type.

  “I’ve never seen you with a drink. Why would you come to a bar and work on that thing all night and then just leave without ever drinking or interacting with anyone?” she asked, tucking the license into the pocket of her coat to lean over. “What are you working on anyway?”

  Grabbing the side of the laptop, he pulled it down enough to block her view, then glared at her, his mouth set in a grim line. “There’s something wrong with you,” he said. “You saw me break that guy’s arm last night, yet here you are again.”

  “Yes, I am. That’s how much I want to find my friend,” she said, sliding her hand into her pocket to take strength from the license she’d just put in there. Beneath it, cool against her knuckles, was the knife Strike had put in her hand the previous night, and much as she might not like it, she did feel safer having an actual weapon to help her protect herself.

  “Go look somewhere else. You haven’t figured out he’s not here yet?”

  “No, he’s not. But you are.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his fingers working so fast, it was a wonder he could keep up with their conversation. “You found me. Now you’re it. Go hide and I’ll seek this time.”

  “And Buddy said you didn’t have a sense of humor,” she said, swaying sideways to push him with her weight.

  He stopped typing to eye her up and down like she’d just suggested foreplay or grown an extra head. “Don’t make contact with me like that,” he said, putting a hand on her thigh to push her further down the bench.

  But as soon as his hand moved, she slid back up the bench, getting even closer this time. “No, see that isn’t my plan, Mr. Exile,” she said, figuring if he could call her Miss. Maguire when he was pretending to be polite that she could play the same game.

  “A plan,” he said, typing again, pretending like he hadn’t noticed her proximity. “Finally got one of those, huh?”

  “These guys around here,” she said, pushing herself up off the seat to lean in closer to his ear. “They’re curious about the girl you went home with last night.”

  “Home with?” Turning, his scowl wasn’t as intense as it had been before, probably because he didn’t expect to find her mouth just an inch from his. “You’ve got a season ticket on the crazy train, don’t you, Ro?”

  “Don’t call me crazy,” she murmured, shaking her head a little. “Don’t ever call me crazy. I spent my whole life being called
crazy by everyone who ever met me. Except after what you said last night, I’m thinking… maybe I am. Maybe it’s unavoidable for me.”

  “But I shouldn’t say it?” he asked and she shook her head again.

  Like there were drugs in her system, she moved slowly. Her tongue slid across her lips, and when he noticed it, she needed to work harder to pull oxygen into her lungs. That shiver of need she’d felt by his bike last night was back, disrupting her system.

  Rora wasn’t here for sex, and certainly not for a relationship with this guy, but there was something about the smell of leather and the finesse of his fingers that entranced her. His gaze snared hers. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t blink, she could barely hold her own head up.

  Tipping his head an inch, he touched his lips onto hers. It wasn’t a first kiss like any she’d experienced before. It was so short, it was like a test. Had he expected her to pull away?

  Being defiant was in her blood, that was something she knew for sure, because she’d always been headstrong, and if he wanted to test her resolve, she’d let him.

  Rora might not like it, but she needed him. With what little she knew of him and what little he’d shared with her, she’d established that Strike was aware of Benjamin and likely knew exactly where he was. This was the right place for her, the only place, and Strike was her last hope at saving Benjamin.

  “So, you tell these guys we fucked and then what?” he asked. “I’ll help you just so you won’t tell them I’m shit in the sack? You think I’d give a crap?”

  “I don’t want to sleep with you, Strike,” she said. “And I don’t want to tell these guys anything. I was afraid when I first came here, but now these guys think I’m yours, I’m not afraid.”

  “You aren’t mine,” he said, returning to his keyboard. “Just your money.”

  Because he was taller than her, she had to stay in this half crouch, with her ass off the seat, so she could lean closer into him. “They don’t know that, Strike… So, anything I tell them about you, they’ll believe. And I won’t start with your lack of sexual prowess, I’ll start with something much more believable… like maybe the names of some crime bosses you’ve ripped off. Pillow talk makes you so boastful, my naughty new flame.”

  This made him stop to look at her again. Rora kept her gaze sultry and her pout wide. They might be in shadow, but she didn’t know what the others could see, meaning that details mattered. Unbuttoning a couple of buttons on her shirt slowly, she shifted onto her knees to give herself better lift and angled her head to kiss the side of his neck.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed, his fingers curling over his keyboard.

  “Giving them something to believe,” she whispered and tongued his earlobe into her mouth.

  She didn’t expect him to move, but he scooped a hand around to the back of her neck to grip her tight. A breathy yelp leaped from her throat and as he squeezed, she winced.

  His force was absolute and the glare in his eyes wasn’t one of desire. “Threatening me will be your last mistake,” he growled.

  She tried to get away from his grip but couldn’t. Her body got heavy, she went limp and then darkness closed in around her.

  Rora woke up with a start.

  Her body clenched, and the quick motion sent pain bursting through her skull. The music wasn’t making her headache any better. It was as she drew up her leg that she remembered she was in Last Resort.

  Sitting upright, she looked around and ran a hand down her body to check she hadn’t been violated. Strike was gone, he’d left her lying here on the bench where she’d been sitting with him before he assaulted her. Anyone could’ve…

  “I tried to tell you.”

  She turned to the sound of the voice too fast, sending another spike of pain through her forehead. Cupping the front, where the pain was, she tried to peek under her fingers to see over her shoulder. Buddy was leaning against the wall at the end of the bench, swinging a beer between his fingertips.

  “What did he do to me?”

  “He didn’t kill you,” he said, holding the beer toward her. “That’s something to be happy ‘bout.”

  Funny that she wasn’t overwhelmed with gratitude. That bastard had done something to her to make her pass out in this room full of drunk criminal bikers. Anything could’ve happened, unless he’d deliberately left Buddy to keep watch over her.

  Even so, the bastard had assaulted her.

  “Where did he go?” she asked. The laptop was gone, so he wasn’t just in the restroom.

  “When he leaves here? I always guess he goes back to hell.”

  “He’s not Satan,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, though she wasn’t a hundred percent sure.

  “Take the beer, it’s cold. He said you should put it on the back of your neck.”

  Grabbing the edges of her coat together, she thrust to her feet. “And when he shows up again, you tell him to shove it up his ass,” she said, storming for the exit.

  Every time she thought she had a chance of getting him to give in and help her, he trumped her. It wasn’t that it wasn’t fair, even though it wasn’t. His attitude infuriated her. Any other human being would be satisfied with a payoff, but he’d drained her bank accounts and done nothing for her. He hadn’t even told her what he did want. Maybe he was right about his question, what the hell was the point?

  Her headache only subsided after almost an hour in the shower. Rora didn’t just use the time to preen, she used it to fume and to strategize. Over these last few days, she’d held out hope that Strike was just playing hardball. Tonight had proved he wasn’t interested in game playing. And Buddy had been right; Exile had no sense of humor.

  Well, he wasn’t the only computer genius out there. Benjamin might be the man she considered the best, but there were other names. Going after Exile had seemed like the best plan, she hadn’t banked on him being so unmovable.

  On her way home from Last Resort, she’d put a call out on a message board that Benjamin had shown her. It might take a few days, but someone, somewhere would get back to her.

  Frustration kept her under the shower steam. Months had been lost in her pursuit of a man who she’d believed would be her savior. There was no accounting for people’s selfish attitudes. If it took her another six months to find another capable hacker, and he ended up being like Exile…

  The water was beginning to run cold, and she was getting tired. It had been a fruitless night, a wasted week. It was disheartening to be rebooting this late in the process.

  She moisturized, brushed her hair and teeth, going through the motions to get ready for bed, and then left the bathroom. Rora traversed the short hallway, combing her fingers through her hair. When her phone began to ring a second later, she froze.

  It was late for someone to be calling and she didn’t know of anyone who would want to reach out. Spinning around, Rora dashed over to grab her phone from her coat pocket, but it didn’t display a name.

  Putting it to her ear, she listened for a second before she spoke. “Hello?”

  A computerized voice spoke, “What’s the point?”

  Outraged, she opened her mouth in a silent squawk. “What the hell? Do you think I’m going to forget what you did to me tonight, Exile? Use all the games and tricks that you want, there’s no way in hell I’m helping you after you left me lying there like that! Who knew kissing a guy could get a girl concussion? You are unbelievable. Don’t call me again!”

  She hung up and thrust the phone back into her coat pocket.

  Great! She’d just managed to calm down and he’d gotten her riled up again. Stomping over to the bed, she took off her robe and tossed it to the floor before she got beneath the covers. She needed to sleep because she needed to be fresh to help Benjamin, but the question wouldn’t go away.

  What was the point?

  four

  Two nights later, she was standing in an alley next to a bar.

  Not Last Resort, no, she hadn’t been bac
k there since Strike knocked her out.

  This was the place her latest contact had asked to meet. Rora would have preferred to meet inside the bar, but only because it was warmer in there. After finding the gumption to walk into Last Resort, working up the courage to stand in this slimy, shady alleyway was nothing. It was even in a halfway decent part of town that she didn’t have to bribe cab drivers to take her to.

  But he was late.

  Looking at her watch, she began to shift her weight from her left foot to her right. Her oversized wool coat might be good for concealing her identity, but it wasn’t so good at standing up to all this rain, even with its hood.

  She thought she heard a click but wasn’t sure until her hood was pulled down from behind. Her hair was caught in the grip of whoever had hold of her hood, and she called out in pain when whoever it was wrenched her back into a partial dip before she was let go.

  Despite expecting this to be a mugging, she still panicked when the weight of a gun barrel touched her head behind her ear. It dragged around past her ear to her temple and then when her eyes stretched to see her assailant, she opened her mouth to squeal again, except he clamped a hand over her mouth and pushed her face-first into the wall.

  “Who the fuck are you, Rora, huh?” Strike asked, digging the gun into the back of her skull, bumping her head off the concrete wall he’d just forced her against while he dipped his hands in her pockets.

  “If you wanted to mug me, you should’ve done it after you knocked me out,” she hissed, but when she tried to turn her head, he grabbed her hair and shoved her face into the wall again.

  “I thought I had you. I thought I was a step ahead, how did you do it?” he snarled and grabbed the back of her coat to haul her around. He slammed her against the wall, keeping the gun barrel between her eyes. “How did you do it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, noticing the cut above his vicious eyes and the bruising on his jaw. The thin shallow cut running across his throat made her wince, she didn’t want to feel sorry for this bastard, but that looked nasty. “What happened to you?”