Page 17 of Come For Me
Chapter Seven
Dain fought when the men tried to separate them. He only stilled when Godzilla, her personal captor, pulled a knife to lay against her neck. Olivia cringed away from the cool edge stroking her skin, but holding Dain’s rage-filled eyes helped her keep her shit together. Dain needed to focus, and not on a possible threat to her. He could overcome anything, she firmly believed that, except them hurting her. The precious bond between them anchored her and, she hoped, anchored him while the head of their merry band of hoodlums patted Dain down.
If you could call it that. The leader’s version of a patdown made the TSA look like a bunch of drunk frat boys. Dain growled more than once as he was divested of Kevlar vest, weapons; even his boots and earpiece were yanked off his body. She couldn’t see the zip tie they’d used to secure his wrists behind his back, but from the way the skin around his eyes tensed, it was much tighter than it needed to be.
Helplessness tugged at her. If she was beside him, the dull knife still in her pocket might have some use, but she wasn’t. Godzilla had kept her a good distance away until Dain was secure; then he’d marched her along the hall, blade still at her throat. She could hear the others following, Dain’s grunt as they forced him along, but she couldn’t see him, couldn’t help him.
At least Godzilla wasn’t as smart as his leader. He hadn’t secured her hands, nor had he searched her, so the fork and knife she’d hidden in her pockets were still there, waiting for a chance, just like she was. Typical sexist bull would come back to bite them on the ass. At least she hoped so. They had completely discounted her in favor of the obvious danger: Dain.
Their little group rounded the bend near Rosie’s desk and proceeded up the front hall toward Cecil’s office. No sign of Cecil, though. When Godzilla forced her to a halt outside their largest conference room, the executive one Cecil used for company meetings, she prayed she was about to find the rest of her coworkers behind the door, alive and well. Her heart couldn’t take another Stan.
Godzilla opened the door, then shoved Olivia inside. Relief had her sagging in his grip.
Rosie. René. Carla. Even John David. A quick head count came up with nineteen—every employee except Stan and Cecil. All safe. All bound just like Dain and seated against the walls of the conference room. Olivia had no more than a moment to take in all their faces before Godzilla pulled her away from the door with a rough grip on her arm.
The man she’d heard shouting earlier entered, pushing Dain ahead of him. He was slim and neat in his business suit, dwarfed by Dain’s size but with enough take-no-shit attitude that she knew he would be no easy target. When he forced Dain to his knees, she had to fight to hold herself back, hold her anger in. Dain might be tough, but she hated seeing him hurt. The primal instinct to protect her mate raged inside her, hard to resist.
The leader leaned casually against the glass of the conference room, focus all on Dain, any concern or fear he might feel hidden completely. Long minutes stretched out under his stare, his silence, finally broken with a single question: “Where did you come from?”
“I came from downstairs,” Dain answered. He didn’t take his gaze off Godzilla and his knife, ignoring the leader in every way except his words.
The man’s mouth tightened, whether at Dain’s response or the refusal to acknowledge him, Olivia wasn’t sure. She was sure nothing good would come of it when he stepped forward. He was a lefty, his gun in that hand, but the other swung hard. Dain took the slap without so much as a flinch.
Olivia bit down on her lip, tasting blood, but her cry of protest stayed inside. The other hostages weren’t as successful—more than one muffled shout echoed around the room.
“Don’t lie to me,” the man snapped, voice as sharp as the crack of his hand had been. “The cops have this place surrounded; we know that. They wouldn’t allow a civilian to cross their line.”
True. How had Dain managed to get inside?
“He’s a cop, yeah?” the third man asked, eyeing Dain’s uniform while stroking his semi-auto like it was a lover. Livie hid her disgust behind what she hoped was a blank stare.
Dain kept his silence.
The first man’s gaze trailed from Dain to Olivia. “Not a cop,” he said decisively. “I just got off the phone with the negotiator. They wouldn’t risk the hostages by going around me. No”—he tapped a finger against his chin—“I’m not sure how he managed it, but he’s not a cop. He’s here for her.”
And just like that, the man had disarmed Dain of more than his weapons. All he needed to control his strongest hostage was to figure out his motives, and he’d done that easily. Dain didn’t need weapons or even the use of his hands to kill someone, but he wouldn’t make a move with two guns and a knife aimed her way. He was holding back because of her, and this man knew it, knew he held all the power.
Or thought he did. One look into Dain’s eyes told Olivia a far different story. With Dain in this room, their baby stood a much higher chance of surviving. So did the rest of them.
At least the cops were negotiating. The relief she felt at the knowledge was echoed in the eyes of Olivia’s coworkers as she glanced toward them. Rosie, chin only a little bit wobbly, gave her the slightest dip of her head. They were okay; Olivia just had to help her husband keep them that way.
The leader moved toward her. “The important question here is, who are you?”
“Who are you?” she countered, feeling the nudge of steel against her Adam’s apple.
“Me?” A dark brow shot up. “You don’t know me?” Once more he eyed her up and down. “No, you’re not the kind of woman who would know me. Him, now?” He nodded at Dain without looking away. “He’d know me, I bet. Nat Kelly.”
Olivia drew a blank, just like he’d said she would. Dain’s face revealed nothing, though his gaze had locked on the man like a cobra’s.
Well, that gave her nothing to work with. “So…why are you here? Why did you k-kill Stan?” she asked, stumbling over the words. Disbelief still filled her despite the fact that her friend and coworker’s body lay not far outside the door, in a pool of dark, drying blood. Why would anyone kill him, much less a stranger?
“Was that his name?” Kelly turned his head to glance down the hall, shrugged his shoulder. “He refused to give me what I want.”
“And what is that?” Dain asked. After years of reading him, knowing him intimately, she could tell he at least had a clue.
“Money.”
A bark of laughter escaped without Olivia’s permission. “You came here for money?”
