Stokes went still. Then his face hardened as he bucked up, managing to get to his knees.
As soon as Stokes pushed to his feet, he lunged at Nick. Vanessa grabbed his bound hands and yanked him back. He shook her off and settled for glaring at Nick with all the hate he could muster as he mouthed, “Liar.”
“I wish I was,” Nick said. “But think about it. Is Malcolm really going to bother taking a hostage? All that mattered was convincing you to kill us for him.”
He could see in Stokes’s hesitation that he knew Nick was right. He just didn’t want to believe it.
“Where is she?” Stokes mouthed.
When Nick didn’t answer fast enough, Stokes figured it out and turned toward the living room. Nick moved to swing into Stokes’s path, but Vanessa stopped him.
“Let him go,” she murmured. “He’s not giving us what we need until he sees for himself.”
“I know.” Nick lowered his voice. “But he shouldn’t see her like that.”
Nick broke into a jog to catch up with Stokes, already cresting the top of the stairs.
“Let me bring her to you,” Nick called as he loped up behind him.
Stokes was on the extended attic steps. When Nick grabbed for his pant leg, Stokes wheeled and kicked. Nick caught his leg. Stokes yanked, managing to keep his balance with his bound hands again but ready to topple.
“Let him go,” Vanessa said again.
Nick wanted to haul Stokes’s ass down those stairs, pin him on the damned floor, and tell him he wasn’t seeing his wife that way. That no matter what a vicious asshole Stokes was, he obviously loved his wife, and that shouldn’t be his final memory of her.
But Elena would agree with Vanessa. Their goal was Malcolm, and his trail was cooling fast.
Nick released Stokes. The man stumbled up the stairs. He flipped a switch with his teeth, and a row of lights flickered on as Nick climbed the steps. Stokes saw the blood immediately. He walked to it, gaze tripping across the floor, looking for Sharon. When he reached the edge of that perfect puddle, he turned and glared at Nick as if to say, “Where the hell is she?”
Nick crossed his arms and glared back. Beside him, Vanessa inhaled sharply. Stokes heard. He looked at Vanessa and followed her gaze.
Silence. Ten long seconds of silence. Then Stokes screamed, a horrible, wordless scream of rage. He wheeled on Nick and stood there, bristling like an enraged boar.
“Get her down,” he mouthed as he gestured.
“Fuck you,” Nick said.
Stokes charged. Nick slammed him in the gut and sent him flying, coughing and choking. He hit the floor. Nick advanced on him as he rose.
“I told you she was dead. I offered to get her down before you saw her. I’m not doing it now. If you want revenge, tell us whatever you can about Malcolm. Then we’ll cut you loose, and you can get her down.”
Stokes snarled and raged, but Nick didn’t budge. Despite being bound at gunpoint, Stokes clearly considered himself the Alpha here. Nick was an idiot. Vanessa was a woman. They’d damn well better jump when he said jump. And if they did, he’d see no reason to give them what they wanted.
So Nick watched Stokes rage and waited, until his anger and grief began to sputter.
“Let me repeat myself,” Nick said. “You tell us what we want. We let you go. Otherwise, we walk out of here, and I pick up Malcolm’s trail on my own, and you can figure out how the hell you’re going to call for help without the use of your hands or tongue.”
Stokes struggled in his cuffs, but Vanessa had bound him well.
Nick turned for the hatch. Stokes lunged at him. Nick spun, caught him in the gut with another right, and left him on the floor, heaving for breath.
They made it halfway down the main stairs before Stokes came after them.
16. NICK
They let Stokes sit at the desk and type the full story on his laptop. As they knew, Malcolm had come by earlier that day. He wanted Stokes’s help, though he’d insisted he was offering Stokes an opportunity. Stokes played along.
Malcolm needed money. He’d mooched some from Stokes already, but he was smart enough to see that income stream wouldn’t last forever. So he’d found a job on his own. Malcolm had called it assassin work; Stokes called it thug work.
The job was lucrative, though. Stokes had asked for details and said he’d consider it. They made plans to meet the next day. Then Malcolm left the house, with Tina on his tail, and that’s when it all went wrong.
While Stokes didn’t know where Malcolm was staying, he listed a few hotels of the sort Malcolm favored these days, upper end but not luxurious, balancing his budget with his ego. He provided the make of the car Malcolm was driving, but he was certain Malcolm would have ditched it by now. Stokes had taught him a few things about being a hired killer.
They asked for details about the job then, as another route to Malcolm.
West-coast client, Stokes typed. No name. Sorcerer. Suspect he runs a cut-rate Cabal-wannabe operation.
Nick looked at Vanessa.
“There are a few dozen of them,” she said. “Anything from million-dollar operations to borderline street gangs.”
Expect this one to be in the middle, Stokes wrote. Up-and-comers. Malcolm said—
Stokes stopped. Nick looked toward the window, where he could pick up the distant wail of a siren. He’d been too preoccupied to notice the faint sound sooner.
Vanessa motioned subtly for Nick to check it out. “Keep going,” she said to Stokes. “What did Malcolm say?”
Nick walked through to the next room. He could pick up the sirens better.
“Ambulance,” he called back softly. “Maybe a midnight heart attack. I’ll take a look.”
It was impossible to get any kind of wide view from the front windows. Nick walked to the front door. The outside lights had been on when they arrived. He flicked them off and eased open the door. He could hear the siren, coming steadily closer. And more now, the growl of engines and the rumble of tires. More than one vehicle. There was a second siren too.
Was that a fire engine?
Uh, yeah. What was the chance of a fire in the neighborhood right now?
Pretty good … if Malcolm set it to draw attention to Stokes’s house. To frame his former partner for murder.
But that was a roundabout way of doing things. Malcolm was never roundabout. If that’s what he wanted to do, he’d just call and report someone was seriously injured—
“Shit!”
Nick raced back into the house. As he did, he heard Vanessa tell Stokes to “Sit your ass down in that chair.” He hurried through the living room. Vanessa was arguing with Stokes, her back to Nick, gun pointed at Stokes, who was standing.
“We need to—” Nick began.
She glanced over her shoulder. Stokes tensed. Before Nick could say a word, Vanessa had twisted back to her target, but Stokes was already in flight. Stokes grabbed her in a choke hold and went for the gun.
She flipped the chamber open, emptying the gun so deftly that Nick heard the cartridges hit the ground at the same time he saw her toss the gun aside. Then she clamped down on Stokes’s arm with ten blazing fingers. He snarled, but either the painkillers hadn’t worn off or he just didn’t give a shit.
Stokes backed up, his arm tightening around Vanessa’s neck, her eyes bulging. Nick could smell her fingers burning into his arm, but he didn’t relax his hold until Nick had him in a choke hold of his own.