Page 35 of Protected from Malice
He whimpers. “No. Don’t.”
“Who are you here for? Did you come on your own? Did someone send you?”
“No,” he repeats. “It was all a mix?—”
A third finger breaks.
An unintelligible sound works its way up his throat.
As I roll him back onto his back, the asshole looks up at me with terror in his eyes.
And a dawning realization that I’m not fucking around.
“Honestly,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t mind shooting you. If you won’t talk, there’s really no point in keeping you alive, anyway.”
For emphasis, I drag the barrel of my Sig across his cheek.
He cringles away from it. His eyes roll wildly. “You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not.” My voice dips. “You fucked with the wrong person. And you have a choice here. Tell me everything, or you’llwishthe police were here instead of me.”
For a few seconds, all I can hear is his panicked breathing.
Then he sighs. “It’s just a job, man. Nothing personal.”
“Nothingpersonal?” I snarl. “Trust me. This isverypersonal. Now tell me.”
Another brief hesitation, as he weighs his options. Stay silent and risk more broken fingers, but hope I’m just bluffing. Or tell me what I want to hear, effectively implicating himself.
“Okay.” I start to roll him back over. “More fingers it is, then.”
“No.” It bursts out. “No. I’ll tell you.”
“Good.” I rock back on my heels. “You said it was a job. Who sent you?”
“I don’t know. It was all anonymous. Just a job I found on a message board. Find the woman, knock her out?—”
“Knock her out?”
“Chloroform. It’s easy to get.” Now that he’s talking, the words come faster. “It was supposed to be a simple job. And it would have been if not for—” He stops, his expression jolting with recognition. “It was you. In her house. You’re the one who came busting in?—”
“Yes. That was me. So you failed the first time, figured you’d come back for another try?”
“I had to,” he replies with a hint of desperation. “The guy—I don’t know his name, I’m assuming it was a guy although he was using some kind of voice distorter—he flipped when I told him I got interrupted. He said I’d better get my ass over here and find her. Take out anyone with her.”
A shocked gasp drags my attention away from him for a moment.
Over to the bathroom door, where Eden is standing in the doorway, watching.
My stomach drops.
How much did she see? How much did she hear?
What does she think of me now?
But those are questions for later. Right now, I need to focus on extracting the truth. Finding out who sent this fucker here with the intent of knocking her out, with damnchloroform?—
Still. I want to tell Eden to get back in the bathroom. Get as far from this man as possible. But I don’t want this man’s attention to go to her. Don’t want him to look at her. Even think about her more than he has already.
