Running for Cover. Shirlee McCoyЧитать онлайн книгу.
and we’ll never get what we came for,” a man said.
And suddenly Morgan could breathe again.
She collapsed onto the floor, coughing and gagging as one of the men leaned down, stared into her face. “You shouldn’t have punched me. We could have made this easy on you. Now…well, maybe it won’t be so easy after all. Come on. Get up. We’re going back upstairs and you’re going to tell us what you did with the disk.”
“I already told you I don’t have it,” Morgan managed to say, the words as dry and brittle as old bones.
“That’s not what your ex-husband said.” The man grinned, the hot, ugly look in his eyes making Morgan wish she could sink back into unconsciousness.
“Whatever Cody told you—”
The chime of the doorbell interrupted her, and Morgan froze, her gaze jumping to the gallery door. The sound came again, soft but insistent.
“You expecting a visitor?” Her captor hissed the words as he pressed a gun to her temple.
Morgan nodded, lying. Praying it would save her. Praying that the person on the other side of the door was someone she knew. Someone who would see the fear in her eyes, the bruises on her face and go for help.
“Whoever it is, get rid of him. If you don’t, his blood is on your hands.” He dragged her to her feet, motioned for the other man to step into the deep shadows of the gallery and then shoved Morgan to the door.
Her hands shook as she cracked it open just enough to see a man standing on the front stoop. Tall and rangy, his face shadowed by darkness, he was a stranger.
Morgan’s heart sank. “Yes?”
“I saw a light on and thought you might be open.”
“No. I’m sorry, we’re not.” Morgan forced the response past lips that felt swollen and tight. She wanted to shove the door open and run, but knew she’d be shot before she took half a dozen steps. And she wasn’t the only one who’d die.
“Too bad. I saw the closed sign, but hoped since your lights were on you might be willing to make a sale. A friend of mine is getting married in the morning, and I just realized I left his wedding gift at home in New York.” Despite the darkness, Morgan could see his easy, charming smile. He didn’t know how close he was to death, and Morgan didn’t dare try to tell him.
“I wish I could help you, but I’ve got a wedding to attend tomorrow, too. I’ve got a lot to do before then, so if you’ll excuse me…”
“Really?” He smiled again. “Maybe it’s the same one.”
“What?”
“Wedding. Who are the bride and groom?” He shifted as he spoke, easing a little to the left, his gaze focused on a point above Morgan’s head. Could he see the man standing deep in the shadows? Or the one right beside Morgan hidden behind the door? Did he sense the danger they were both in?
The hard butt of a gun jammed into Morgan’s side, urging her to answer the question and get rid of her visitor. For a moment she couldn’t remember what the question was, couldn’t think of what the answer would be.
The man at the door took a step forward, his gaze still on the point above Morgan’s head. And everything clicked into place. The question. The answer. “Lacey Carmichael and Jude Sinclair are the bride and groom.”
“It is the same wedding. I guess we’ll see each other there.”
The gun jabbed into Morgan’s side again, a silent warning she couldn’t ignore. “I guess we will.” If she lived that long. “Now I really have to go.”
“Sure. No problem. What time to do you open in the morning?”
Open? What time did she open?
Morgan’s mind was blank, her thoughts scattered.
“Ma’am?”
“Ten. I open at ten.”
“I’ll see you then,” he said, turning to walk away.
No. You won’t. I’ll be dead, sprawled on the floor of my apartment or wrapped in a plastic bag on the side of a road or lying on the bottom of the lake, cement blocks tied to my ankles.
Morgan wanted to shout the words, wanted to beg for rescue. Instead, she closed the door, her skin crawling as she met the eyes of the man who’d been standing next to her. Mud-brown, they were empty of emotion.
“Good job. That guy has you to thank for his life,” he said, shoving his gun into a holster beneath his jacket.
“Come on. We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s finish this,” the second man said from the shadows, his voice gravelly and rough. “Let’s go back upstairs and get what we came for.”
Morgan didn’t see him move, but she heard his booted feet on the stairs. Knew he was going back to her apartment.
“Let’s go. Maybe a little more convincing will help you remember where you put the disk.” The other man grabbed her arm, forced her toward the stairs.
“I told you, the disk isn’t here,” she protested, tugging against his hold.
“Like I said, that’s not what your ex said.”
“Cody is a liar.”
“Even a liar tells the truth when he’s in enough pain.”
“Pain? He’s in jail.” Morgan twisted beneath his grip, hoping to dislodge his fingers, but they dug deep into her flesh until she was sure her bone would break. A few more feet and they’d reach the stairs.
Desperate, she grabbed a clay vase she’d fired just a few days ago, slamming it into her captor’s head. He fell back, and Morgan broke away, racing to the door and yanking it open. Cool air stung her bruised face as she closed the door and jumped off the stoop, crashing into something yielding but firm. She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off the sound. Morgan fought, kicking and punching as an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against a hard chest.
“Calm down, lady. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not in the mood for trouble, so until I figure things out, let’s both lie low.” The gruff baritone seemed familiar, but Morgan was too scared to care. She twisted and pulled against his arm as he maneuvered her into the heavy bushes that hugged the foundation of the gallery.
“Someone’s coming. You need to keep still and quiet. Understand?” the man whispered, his lips pressed close to Morgan’s ear.
She nodded, but wasn’t sure she understood anything. Not how a peaceful night at home had turned into a nightmare or how her jailed ex-husband could still be ruining her life or who the man holding her was.
“Good, because Jude won’t be happy if I’m a no-show tomorrow.” His grip eased, his hand slipping away from Morgan’s mouth, his other arm still wrapped tightly around her waist.
Footsteps sounded on pavement, the quick, hard tap of booted feet sending a shiver along Morgan’s spine and filling her with terror. Hiding wasn’t good enough. They needed to run. She shifted, but was held firmly in place as the footsteps faded. The loamy scent of earth filled her nose, mixing with something subtle and masculine. Morgan should be terrified, should be fighting to free herself and run, but her head throbbed, her ribs ached and the warmth of the man holding her, the darkness that surrounded them, offered a false sense of safety that she wanted desperately to believe in.
The man who held her leaned close to her ear again, his breath ruffling her hair as he spoke. “Who is he? Boyfriend? Husband?”
“No.”
“A stranger?”
“Yes. Two of them. They’ve got guns,” she rasped out, the words too loud and harsh.
“Stay here, I’ll—”