Page 87 of Protected from Malice
“Good,” I murmur. “We’re about to breach.”
With a quick glance at me, Indy’s hand comes down.
We race to the back door, then stop again.
I move in front of Indy so I can pick the lock, making quick work of it. Then I carefully turn the knob and push the door open. Thankfully, the hinges are well-oiled, so we can enter the house silently.
WouldRickard hear the slight creak of the door all the way from the bedroom? Probably not. But I’ll take any bit of luck where I can get it.
From the kitchen, we work our way through the living room and up the stairs. Then down the hallway towards the primarybedroom, where a thin sliver of light glows from beneath the door. Once we reach it, I turn to Indy.
With his hood cinched around his face, all I can see are his eyes and nose. Determination narrows his gaze. He doesn’t have to say anything. I know what he’s thinking.
Do whatever it takes to protect Eden.
My Sig is a comfort in my hand as I hold it at low ready. Do I want to use it? No. Gunfire attracts attention, and that’s the last thing I want. But it’s a powerful tool for intimidation.
I jerk my chin at the door. Indy nods.
It’s time.
All my muscles tense.
Ice flows through my veins.
All my emotions—anger, worry, anticipation—fade into the background.
It’s time.
The door is slightly ajar, maybe an inch or so. Another bit of luck. This way he won’t be warned by the doorknob twisting.
Instead, I take a deep breath and shove the door open.
As I step into the bedroom, my gun raises to aim at the man sitting up in bed.
He’s holding his phone, of course, so the first thing I do is snarl, “Drop the fucking phone.Now. Or I’ll shoot you.”
His mouth drops open. His features jerk with shock. The phone jitters in his hand.
“Now,” I repeat, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. I cock the trigger, and judging from the horror washing across his face, he knows it.
Indy comes in behind me. He’s holding his Sig in his off hand, but his aim is steady. “Do what he says,” he echoes. “Or we’ll kill you right now.”
Rickard—and it’s definitely him, I can tell from the brush of overgrown eyebrows and the acne pocks all across his cheeks—tosses the phone onto the floor. Then he raises his hands into the air. “Whatever you want, just take it.” His voice shakes. “I have some money in my wallet. On the dresser. My laptop is in the office.”
I approach the fucker, keeping my head down but my gaze glued to him. “I don’t want your money. I want information.”
As I move to one side of the bed, Indy goes to the other. Rickard’s head swivels between us. His breath comes in quick, frightened gasps. A shudder runs through him.
“What…” He looks at me. “I don’t understand. What information?”
My gun trains on his forehead, and he makes a terrified sound. “You’re going to tell us about hiring a kidnapper,” I growl, “to abduct an innocent woman. How about starting with that?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never… You have the wrong guy. I wouldn’t?—”
“So itwasn’tyour phone that was used to communicate with the kidnapper?”
“No—”
