Page 71 of Draven

“It will be. Soon.” A pause. “You can change your mind at any time, you know.”

I swallow the huff that crawls up my throat, because I know he’s only saying that because he’s worried about me. Hell, I’m worried about me.

“I’m not changing my mind. I’m the only one who can play this part. It’s on me to lull the captain into thinking he’s got to get rid of me. Once his goons snatch me, you can follow the trail and catch them in the act. You’re the only one I trust not to fuck up.”

“When do you think he’ll make an attempt?” Pete asks.

“No idea,” I reply. “But he won’t want to wait. My guess is it’ll either happen tonight or tomorrow when I’m on my way home from work.”

“I’ll watch the app like a hawk,” Draven says. “Stick to the agreed route back to your place, Lola. We’ve already had confirmation that there aren’t any route diversions planned for the next week. If you deviate, I’ll know it’s because they’ve got you, then we’ll swing into action.”

“Got it.”

I head back inside the precinct and slip into the restroom to remove the wire. The trap has been set. Not that it captured anything we can use against the captain, but it gave me comfort to know Draven was listening in.

The rest of the day at work drags. Morgan calls a meeting right before five demanding updates from the squad working the murder cases. I half listen but struggle to concentrate, my mind running amok with unknown scenarios. It’s an odd feeling to know I’m putting myself in danger, and doing so willingly. It’s only when Morgan barks at me that I force myself to pay attention.

Play the game. Don’t raise any suspicions. Try not to panic.

After forty minutes, Morgan dismisses us, so I shut down my computer, secure the laptop in my desk drawer, and grab my purse, hoping no one engages me in conversation or asks me to go for a drink. Eventually, I stride down the hallway and out into the parking lot, doing my best not to look around, glance over my shoulder, or show any kind of out of the ordinary behavior.

I follow the same routine as always. Unlock the car. Get in. Stow my purse behind the driver’s seat. Start the car. Check the rearview mirror. Reverse into the traffic lane. Drive onto the road.

Despite the reassurances of my tattoo, and the knowledge that Draven has my back, all the reasons not to do this gather in my mind. I’m antsy, my body flooded with nervous energy that sends a prickle of sweat dripping between my boobs. My stomach shifts and rolls, and anxiety flattens my lungs. Gripping the steering wheel tighter to stop the trembling in my fingers, I draw to a halt at a red light. The idling engine seems louder than normal, with a rattle coming from the hood. The light changes to green, and I press the gas pedal. The car lurches, then splutters, and the engine cuts out. Steering out of the traffic lane, I coast to a stop.

This is it.

My car has always been reliable, and I have it regularly maintained, which means it’s more than likely been tampered with. I secure the vehicle, climb out, then open the hood. Not that I have a clue what to look for. Peering inside, I pretend to fiddle with a couple of cables when a car draws up and parks behind me. Shielding my eyes from the glare of the headlamps, I wait.

“Detective Rhodes,” Captain Beresford says, alighting from his vehicle, a friendly smile on his lips. He stalks toward me. “Dear oh dear. Problems?”

An icy blast races through my veins, and panic slams into me when I realize the danger of the wheels I’ve put in motion. Cars speed past, with rush hour in full flow, but there’s no point flagging any of them down. This is the plan we agreed on, and despite my fight or flight detector racing toward flight, I won’t run. I’ll see this through to the bitter end. One way or another, Beresford is going down, and I’ll be there to witness his demise.

I want him to take me.

But, damn, that doesn’t stop fear from clogging my throat.

“Yes, sir,” I croak.

He makes a pretense of peering inside the engine bay. “These older vehicles are so unreliable.” He straightens, his superior size and frame crowding me. “Get in my car, Rhodes.”

There’s little point in pretending. He’s going to take me, and I’m going to let him. “I knew it was you.”

A flicker of emotion crosses his face. I can’t place it. It’s not surprise. It’s more like… arrogance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “All I’m offering is a ride home.”

We both know that isn’t true, but I climb into the front seat of his car anyway. Better to get in of my own free will than have him force me inside. I’ll need all my strength for what’s to come.

Beresford joins me, starts the engine, switches on the turn signal, then filters into the traffic. My nerves are on high alert as I wait for him to make a move. How will he do it? Drive into an alleyway and pull a gun on me? Or maybe smash an elbow into my face, rendering me unconscious? Try to stick me with a needle, perhaps?

“If you’re giving me a ride home, then don’t you need my address?” I ask, keeping up this ridiculous charade of ours.

Out of nowhere, a cloth clamps over my mouth and nose, the assailant appearing from the back seat. I thrash, instinct kicking in despite this being part of our plan.

Then the drugs takes effect quickly, pulling me into the inky blackness I’d expected all along.

Chapter 27

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