But the door was yanked open. A man stood there. A man covered from head to toe in black. She whirled away from him, but he grabbed her and yanked Sarah back against him.
“Time to pay.”
She opened her mouth to scream, but his gloved hand covered her lips.
NORMALLY, JAX WASN’T a coward. He feared no one and nothing. But . . .
The elevator opened. He stepped into the lobby. Glanced around. The rich and the pompous filled that place. Sure, these days he pretty much counted as rich, but he wasn’t pompous, and he couldn’t stand the sight of those pricks.
The marble floor of that hotel gleamed. Sarah had switched her hotels since her arrival in New Orleans. Probably because she hadn’t thought the last place was secure enough.
Since I broke into her hotel room. That had been a one-time deal. He’d just needed to talk with her and he’d been . . . concerned . . . about her well-being.
There were only a handful of people in that world that he cared about. Normally, he didn’t give a shit about most folks. But Sarah, with her dark, mysterious eyes—she’d gotten beneath his skin. And he’d just almost told her the biggest secret of his life.
Well, one of his top five, anyway.
He paused in the lobby. Unlike the other jerks running around that place, he was wearing jeans and a battered jacket. The concierge was frowning at him, so Jax just glared at the guy. The concierge then got very busy shuffling his papers.
The past doesn’ t matter. Why the hell did I ever come here and ask about LOST?
He strode toward the exit. The doorman hurried forward.
Only . . .
Jax glanced back. The LOST group knew their shit. He’d seen them in action. He’d read reports about their successes. If anyone could discover the truth for him, it would be LOST. And the only LOST agent who might actually push for the others to take his case?
Sarah.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered.
The doorman backed up.
Jax turned on his heel. Okay, so this time, maybe he’d even try asking nicely. The problem with that plan was that Jax didn’t exactly know how to do anything nicely.
Maybe the sexy little profiler could show him.
So once more, he found himself riding up that elevator. Only this time, he was alone. But Jax could have sworn he caught a light, sweet scent hanging in the air. Vanilla? Yeah, that was Sarah’s scent. When he’d been close to her—close enough to kiss, and he’d sure wanted to kiss her badly—that scent had teased him.
It had also aroused him.
The elevator ascended quickly, and soon he was up and high and stopping on Sarah’s floor. No one was in that hallway. All the doors were shut. He knew which room was Sarah’s—he could always get any intel he needed in New Orleans. A phone call had done the job for him. So he strode toward Room 3809. He lifted his hand and knocked. Rather politely, he thought.
There was a thud of sound from inside the room. As if Sarah had dropped something.
His brows climbed. Jax thought that he’d hear the pad of her footsteps coming toward him, but, other than the soft thud, there was no other sound coming from that room.
He knocked again. Harder. “Sarah, we need to talk.”
She couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there. Jax didn’t intend to leave until he’d had his say.
HER ATTACKER HAD a knife to Sarah’s throat. He’d nicked the skin a moment ago, when Jax had first knocked on her door.
Jax.
Right then, he was her main hope of survival.
“Make a sound, and I will slice your throat right here and now.” The man’s voice was a low, lethal whisper from behind his mask.
“Sarah, we need to talk.” Jax sounded determined. And he was pounding on her door again—harder this time. If he kept pounding like that, he’d attract attention from some of the folks in the other rooms. That attention would be wonderful.
Her attacker pulled her back against him. The knife didn’t leave its spot at her throat. He was maneuvering her, trying to get her—toward the connecting door? Yes, yes, he was. He was trying to get her to the door, and then he must think he could get her out by going through the other room. Or maybe he didn’t intend to get her out of the hotel. Maybe he’d be killing her as soon as he could.
Too bad. I’m not ready to die.
She’d been trained well, after all. She knew how to survive.
So her hands slid down and when he moved another step, she knocked the lamp off the table. Just like she’d accidentally tripped over that chair a few moments ago. But when that lamp hit, the crash was loud and clear.
“You bitch,” her attacker snarled as he yanked her around to face him. “I’m gonna hurt you so much—”
The door crashed in. Sweet hell, yes.
But that knife was still too close to her. So Sarah slammed her head at her attacker. He groaned when she hit him, and the hand holding the knife jerked. She leapt back, her head pounding now, and he swiped out with his knife. The blade sliced down her arm, and Sarah cried out in pain.
Then Jax was there. He pulled her toward him, then he pushed her behind his back, shielding her. Normally, she wasn’t the shielding type, but she was bleeding and scared and Jax was pretty much roaring as he shot toward her attacker.
The guy’s fingers were locked tight around the knife. He lunged forward, and he brought that knife down in an arc, aiming right for Jax.
Jax’s hand lifted. He blocked that attack, then swung his fist into the other man. The attacker hit the floor. In the next instant, Jax was on top of him. Punching. Driving his powerful fists at the guy again and again.
Voices rose from the hallway. Right. You couldn’t exactly kick in a door and roar without attracting attention. Someone out there was shouting for security—a very good idea. Sarah’s hand wrapped around her wound. The blood dripped right through her fingers. He’d cut her so deep. She was probably going to need stitches and—
Jax still had him on the floor. She hurried forward. Sarah touched his shoulder and Jax froze, with his hand poised to punch the guy again.
Her attacker wasn’t fighting anymore. Just lying there, moaning.
Every breath that Sarah took felt icy in her lungs. “Take off his mask,” she told Jax.
Jax leaned down and ripped that mask off the guy.
Evil has so many faces. Her father’s voice whispered in her mind. That’s why you can’t ever trust what you see.
She was staring down at a kid, a boy who looked around eighteen. His lip was busted, bleeding, and so was his nose. Sarah didn’t know if she and her head butt were responsible for his injuries or if they’d come courtesy of Jax’s powerful fists, but the kid was obviously down for the count.
“Who the hell are you?” Jax demanded. “And why were you after her?”
The guy tried to talk. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth. Sarah stared at him, caught by the bright green of his eyes. His eyes were familiar to her. She knew she’d seen him somewhere before . . .
“Bitch is . . . evil . . .” the boy rasped. “Just like . . . him.”
Him.
“He murdered . . . mom . . . Gwen . . .”
That name—Gwen—seemed to echo through Sarah’s mind, and suddenly, an image clicked for her. Gwen Guthrie. A woman who’d had eyes exactly the same shade of bright green as the boy who’d attacked Sarah. His mother?
Yes, yes, that fit. Sarah had done research on Gwen. The woman had given birth to two children . . .
Before my father murdered her.
“Have to . . . kill Sarah. What she . . . deserves . . .”
Security pushed into the room. Goose bumps appeared on Sarah’s arms. No matter how many times she tried to escape her past, it just kept chasing her down. This time, the past had come armed with a knife. A very sharp one, at that.
Jax shoved to his feet. He turned, and that gaze of his—burning with a blue fury in that moment—swept over her. When he saw her wound, he swore.