Mine To Protect (Mine #6)(6)

She and her partner, Russell Aiker, had made it to the location Victor had given them—they’d gotten there in near-record time. When they’d arrived, the truck had been exactly where Victor had said but…

No driver. The shooter—he’s gone. She glanced up at the dark line of trees. “You think he headed out on foot?”

Russell was at the back of the truck. “No. I think the guy just took a back-up ride and hauled ass.” He shone his flashlight down at the ground—and there, in the dirt, was the clear impression of a wheel. “Motorcycle,” he said, his voice flat. “Probably had it in the back of his truck. This guy was definitely planning ahead. If one ride was disabled, he wanted to be ready to continue his pursuit.”

Lauren swallowed. “He sounds—”

“Professional. Yeah, all the guys after Zoe are.” He had his phone out. “Better call Victor. The guy is going to be pissed.”

Lauren bit her lower lip. Having Victor Monroe pissed was not the way she’d wanted to start the job.

“And…just so you’re aware…when you meet Zoe Peters, it’s a good idea to handle the woman with kid gloves. Even if she does manage to piss you off.” He laughed roughly. “’Cause it will happen.”

She blinked. “Why the kid gloves?”

“Let’s just say Victor doesn’t like it when Zoe gets upset.”

“But—”

“You upset Zoe, and you will find your ass reassigned. Hell, how do you think you got this gig in the first place?”

She’d had no clue.

“Kid. Gloves.” He put the phone to his ear. “Vic? Yeah, we’re out here but…no, you aren’t going to be happy…”

***

Kyle watched the agents as they searched his truck. He had his night vision goggles on, so he could monitor them. They were standing by his abandoned truck. Just out there, no cover at all. If he’d wanted, he could have taken them both out.

But their deaths wouldn’t have helped him. He also wasn’t getting paid to off them so…why bother?

He’d taken out his motorcycle. Left a path that made it look as if he’d driven back to the road. Then he’d stayed near the tree line. Gotten cover. He’d wanted to wait and see what the clean-up team looked like.

He’d also wanted to use that team.

Because sooner or later…those two out there would lead him to Victor Monroe. Kyle knew that with certainty. And as he’d already learned that night…

If Victor is around, then Zoe has to be close by. The rumors he’d heard about those two had to be true. And the words he’d just heard the FBI agent say—damn, didn’t that guy realize sound carried at night?—they just backed up what he’d already suspected.

Victor Monroe had a personal involvement in Zoe’s case. That was why she was such a priority for him. Kyle knew exactly what Zoe looked like, so it wasn’t a big surprise to him that Victor was screwing her.

She was hot.

But she wasn’t a woman worth dying for. Victor should learn that shit, before it was too late.





Chapter Three


As far as motel rooms went…Victor knew the place they were in pretty much counted as a dump. Definitely the no-tell-motel variety. The bed was sagging, the desk was scarred and wobbly, the door to the bathroom wouldn’t close completely, and the carpet was thread-bare.

A dump.

But…at least the dump had a clean bed. He’d made sure of that. Victor had paid extra for fresh bedding because he hadn’t wanted Zoe sleeping on someone else’s dirt. He’d wanted to make the best of the place for her.

He was always wanting to make things better for Zoe. A weakness, an issue that he had. But there was just something about the woman that got to him.

Maybe it was her eyes. The first time he’d looked into them, he’d almost thought he’d lost part of his soul. But then he’d remembered…he’d given up his soul long ago. He cleared his throat. “Sorry about…this.”

Zoe gave a faint laugh as she glanced over at him. “Don’t worry, Special Agent. I wasn’t expecting the Ritz.” She dropped the massive coat she’d been carrying around. “I’ve stayed in worse rooms. Better ones, too, but definitely worse.” She sat on the edge of the bed. It gave a long, low groan, and her eyebrows shot up.

He didn’t want her staying in that place—he would have f*cking loved to put her up at the Ritz, but they were in the middle of freaking nowhere, and their options for a safe place to crash were severely limited. No questions were asked at this motel, and he’d been given the room on the far end—the most private one. One that also provided him with a view of anyone who might try to come his way.

A safe enough place, for the night. They’d been signed in under fake names, a married couple. And the motel sign-in log had been full of other fake names.

Celebrities. Dead presidents. Plenty of interesting names had been on that list at the front desk.

“So I heard you talking to your FBI buddies,” Zoe murmured. “He got away, huh?” She wasn’t laughing now and her gaze held fear.

He hated her fear, and he hated having to say, “Yeah, he was gone.”

She nodded. “So I guess he’s still on the hunt.”