Page 37 of Savage Protector

What the fuck was going on?

Houston tucked the purse under his arm and sprinted back to his room. Maybe she’d gone down there for some reason. Either way he needed to find her and get some answers. He didn’t believe in coincidences and it was way too coincidental for his comfort that he’d walked into a sex filled week with Frank Mazzeo’s daughter on accident.

He slammed into the room and called out, "Izzy!"

Only silence met him. Still, he ran into the bathroom on the slim chance she was in there and didn't hear him. Nothing. He was breathing heavy now and it had nothing to do with running. He turned a few times hoping against hope for some sign of something.

When that got him nowhere, Houston grabbed his backpack and shoved his crap inside along with her purse. He also picked up the knife from the nightstand and shoved it in his boot. With one last sweep of the room to make sure he had everything, he headed downstairs.

Normally, if some chick were to sneak out on him, he’d let her go and simply find another. But her situation was beyond complicated and he couldn’t turn his back on it. He’d have to investigate further. She also didn’t feel like just some chick.

His stomach churned with increased anxiety as he located the security office, just off the lobby, and strode toward it. Before he knocked on the door he pulled out the dog tags he still wore from underneath his shirt and laid them in full view. He’d learned from experience that any kind of military uniform had a way of opening otherwise closed doors and, considering what he was about to do, it seemed like a good idea.

A tall, pasty guy with thinning hair answered the door. “Yeah?”

Before he could answer the guy zeroed in on the tags. His spine straightened and he sucked in his gut while opening the door wider.

Happy that his plan seemed to work thus far, he cut right to the chase. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but there was a guy out by the rooftop pool hassling my girlfriend and before I could get a good look at him he ran off. I think it might have been her stalker. But I’d like to be sure before I have to call the cops.”

“A stalker, really?" His whole demeanor picked up. This guy was probably so bored he'd jump at any chance of some action. "I’ve got some video footage I could check. How long ago?” The guard moved over to the small bank of screens.

Bingo.

Houston followed him into the room. “Less than an hour ago.”

“Okay, have a seat while I check. If you can identify him, I can provide a copy of this tape to the local police.” The guard walked over to the control panel and hit a few buttons.

Houston dragged the offered chair next to the screen now rewinding at triple speed. “Thanks, man. I really don’t want to get the cops involved if I don’t have to. It could just be a false alarm.” Before the guard could say something else some dark blurry figures rushed across the screen and his temper flared. Once again his gut had been right.

“What’s that?” He pointed at the screen.

The guard stopped the footage and hit play. Izzy was laid out in a lounge chair looking sexy as hell in a pair of his baggy shorts and one of his USMC shirts. His body tightened with the need to touch her again. Nothing in her body language looked off. She was relaxed.

When two figures walked into the screen and leaned over her, his temper flared and he jumped from the chair. At least one of them was packing. He could see the bulge at the dude’s side.

“Is that them? Is one of those guys your girl’s stalker?”

Houston couldn’t speak. In the next second one of the fuckers grabbed her arm in a too tight grip and hauled her out of the chair. He didn’t need sound to know that asshole had hurt her. Something snapped inside him as rage tore through his gut.

“What the hell?” The security guard leaned closer to the monitor, looking as alarmed as he felt.

They dragged her off the screen, but not before he got a good look at the sheer terror stamped across her face as she fought like a crazed wildcat.

“I’m calling the cops now.” The guard picked up his phone and started to dial.

Houston disconnected the call, glaring at the security guard. His self control was unraveling fast. “Not yet. Let's see what else you have before we do anything rash.” He pointed at the screens. “You have footage of the street? I need to see if they took her off property.”

The guard was so flustered he turned to another screen and repeated the rewind process. To his horror the video showed Izzy was shoved into a nondescript white van and driven away from the hotel going south on Alaskan Way. He checked the time stamp. Twenty-six minutes ago. They were in the wind.

Fuck.

He turned and punched the wall. Bits of plaster and paint broke under the force.

Fuck.

The soul chilling look of Izzy's fear now burned into his brain terrorized him.

“We gotta call the cops, dude. They just took her. I have to report this.”

Houston methodically locked down his rising panic, shutting it behind the cold wall that made him such an effective killer. He pasted a convincing smile on his face and turned to the guard. “Nah, I was wrong. Not her stalker after all. As it turns out one of those guys was her brother and I’m guessing her family disagrees with her choice of groom.”

“No shit? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. She’ll be back. Right after she tears him a new one.”

“Oh, thank God. I thought she was kidnapped. That would have been some shit.”

That was shit all right.

Epic FUCKING shit.

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