Page 81 of Ace of Spades
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Taylor stared into the monitor, right into Tompkins’s eyes. “I’ll always hate you for making me do this.”
Smoke and mirrors. It had to work. She removed her gun from its holster, lifted it, met Nate’s steady gaze for a moment—seeing nothing but trust in them—then focused on the sliver of space he’d created between his right arm and his side. She pulled the trigger.
He jerked as he slapped his hand to his chest. Red spread across his chest, splatters of red dotted his neck, and her knees almost gave out when he grunted, crumbling to the floor.
It’s only ketchup. Just ketchup.With her gun still in her hand, she walked out of the room as Rand rushed in. She glanced back to see him kneeling next to Nate.
“Christ, he’s dead,” Rand said.
Even though she knew he wasn’t, hearing him say that about Nate made her want to vomit. In the hallway, she stopped in front of Alex. “Cameras out here?” she whispered.
“No.”
“Give me your knife,” she said, knowing the Gentry brothers always had a knife on them. She removed the clip from her gun, emptied it of the bullets, and dropped them in his hand after he gave her his knife.
“What are you doing?”
“The first thing he’s going to do is make me give him my weapon. Damn if I’m giving him a loaded one.”
“He’ll have Court’s.”
“Yeah, I know, but why give him two loaded guns?”
“Good point. Nate always said you were the smartest out of all of us.” He gave her a hard hug. “Put that knife right between his eyes, tiger.”
She laughed at his calling her “tiger.” “That’s the plan.” She put her gun back into its holster, then slipped the knife into the waistband of her pants at her back.
“There must be another way,” Alex said as she turned away.
“There isn’t.” She paused at the door to the closet, looking back at Alex. “If it goes south, tell Nate I lov—”
“No. You’ll tell him yourself when this is over.”
That was what she loved about the Gentry brothers. Their faith in her. “You’re right. I’ll tell him myself.”
That they weren’t standing in front of the closet door, blocking her from going in alone, spoke volumes. It meant that they didn’t see her as a woman needing protection, but as a fellow agent, capable of doing her job. Of course, they didn’t like it, but any one of them would be doing the same thing if Tompkins had demanded it.
She took several deep breaths to calm her nerves, then stepped inside the closet. After finding a light switch and turning it on, she closed the door, but kept her back against it. The floor in front of her dropped down. If she’d been standing on it, she would have fallen in like Court had.
“You’re smarter than your agent friend here,” Tompkins said when she reached the bottom of the ladder.
“Not really.” He had Court’s gun pressed against the woman’s head and looked so smug that Taylor was dancing to his tune. It didn’t appear that he’d thought to check Court for other weapons, like the knife and second gun she knew he had hidden in his boots. She glanced at Court to see that he was still unconscious. But wait, had his pinky just twitched? She jerked her gaze back to Tompkins, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Court tap his finger twice against the arm of the chair. Thank God he was all right. She didn’t doubt he was royally pissed that Tompkins had managed to catch him, but who would have expected the floor to fall out from under them?
“Who’s this?” she asked, looking at the woman.
“Ah, Taylor, dear, meet sweet Nichole.”
She moved to the woman in a white dress, kneeling in front of her and meeting eyes brimming with tears of fear. “It’s going to be okay, Nichole.” She prayed she was right. Her stomach churned at seeing the gold wedding band on Nichole’s finger. He planned to kill Nichole no matter what Taylor did.
Nichole tried to respond, but with the gag, it was a mumble of unintelligible words. In an effort to keep Tompkins’s attention on her and off Court, Taylor stood, surveying her surroundings. She frowned at seeing a large corkboard covered with pictures, and was that ... After a quick glance at Tompkins, who was avidly watching her, she walked over to the board, and yes, those were strands of human hair.
“I see you like souvenirs,” she said, grateful her voice was steady. Because she sure didn’t feel calm on the inside. “You’re missing someone.” There were only five strands.
“Your mother’s.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, thankful her back was to him and he couldn’t see her reaction.
