Page 34 of Devil's Due

His eyes lied better than the rest of him.

He stepped back. “You’ve got the wrong idea about me.”

“Maybe so. And if that’s the case, then I will be sincerely sorry. But I can’t take the chance.”

She nodded to Omar, and walked away to the security desk. The two guards looked attentive.

“Escort him out,” she said. “He doesn’t come back inside.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

In the elevator, Omar didn’t say a word, but he was watching her with interest. She felt tired. Achy. Wanted to collapse back into her warm, soft bed and sleep for days.

“What?” she asked.

He shrugged as he pushed the button for the parking garage. “Kinda hard on the guy.”

“He’s had numerous abuse complaints.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not missing.”

“It might mean that she’s missing on purpose, and the last thing she needs is us bringing this guy to her doorstep.”

“Sometimes I think you don’t like people very much,” he said.

“People, meaning men?”

Another shrug.

“I like men just fine,” she said. “I just like them better when they’re not lying their asses off to me.”

Omar’s dimples flashed as he smiled. “You don’t get a lot of dates, huh?”

“Not second ones.”

The door creaked open at the well-lit parking level, and Omar went out first, presenting an unmissable target should anyone be taking aim. He didn’t even think about doing it. It was his job. She admired that, even while she couldn’t quite understand the mentality behind it.

“Clear,” he said, after scanning the area. She stepped out from behind him, and they walked quickly toward the SUV.

She had no warning, but suddenly she felt a powerful shove to the left, felt the world tilt, and landed hard on her side. She rolled instinctively, holding her head up to keep from hitting the concrete floor, and landed next to a fat gray pillar. She hadn’t thought about drawing her gun, but it was out, both hands bracing it in textbook firing position.

“Easy,” Omar was saying. He was still standing out in the open, having executed his first priority—moving her out of the line of fire. He was holding up both empty hands and trying to look as inoffensive as possible, which was odd behavior for any bodyguard, but Omar in particular. Lucia edged forward and peered around the barrier, hunting a target.

A woman was standing in front of him. Thin, fragile, with short dark hair and ivory-pale skin that showed off a lurid array of bruises. Half her face was swollen almost beyond recognition.

She had a gun trained on Omar.

“Easy,” he said again, and held his hands higher when she flinched. “Nobody’s here to hurt you.”

“I need your help,” she blurted. There were tears running from her eyes, streaking silver down her face. She slurred her words, thanks to a badly swollen lip. “Please.”

It came to Lucia in a lightning flash of comprehension, and she slowly stood up, holstered her gun and stepped out from behind the pillar, hands raised.

“Susannah?” she asked. “Susannah Davis? You don’t have to be afraid now. You’re safe. We’re not working for your husband. My name is Lucia Garza.”

Chapter 8

Susannah stood very still, staring at Lucia, and then slowly lowered the gun. As if she’d used the last of her strength to hold it up, she collapsed to her knees.

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