In Rides Trouble (Black Knights Inc. #2)(72)

“But, you love that job.”

“I know, but I just…I can’t do it.”

Eve wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to this next question, but she asked it anyway. “Do you love him?”

When Becky met her gaze, Eve figured she had her answer right then and there.

“I love him,” Becky admitted and sighed so heavily she appeared to deflate like a circus tent after the show. “I’ve loved him for over three years, but it doesn’t matter. I know that now. There’s no way it’s ever going to work.”

Eve couldn’t help but agree. She didn’t know Frank Knight very well, but she figured she knew enough of him to know he wasn’t the kind of man to leave his son and the woman he loved behind while he took up with his hot, young boss. Or was he her boss? It was all very confusing. But regardless of who ran what, Eve was still surprised he’d given in to Becky’s seduction. He just didn’t seem the type, especially given everything Becky’d told her about him.

Of course, when faced with death, people did strange things…

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Becky suddenly announced.

“I’ll come with y—”

“No,” Becky waved her off when she started to stand. “I’m fine. I don’t need a witness as I pee, puke, and try to repair what’s left of my make-up. Especially considering I have no idea in what order those activities will occur.”

Eve nodded and watched her best friend sway toward the long gloomy hallway that led to the restrooms and back door.

Poor Becky, she thought, her heart breaking for her friend.

Mr. Baseball Cap turned to eye Becky’s progress from his new position at the bar, and Eve sat up straighter, trying to make out his partially concealed features.

CIA? Really?

Good grief, was no one what they appeared to be nowadays?

She watched him curiously for a few minutes before she made the decision to go over and introduce herself—she’d never met a real, live CIA agent, ex or otherwise. She clumsily stood from the booth, and her movement caught his attention. For a second, something hot and calculating entered his eyes. Whatever it was, it kept her rooted to the spot, a startled hand fluttering up to her throat. Then a brief smile touched his lips, and she wondered if the lights from the bar had been playing tricks on her, making his amiable, handsome face appear hard and deadly.

She took a step in his direction, but before she could manage a second one, something down the hall snagged his gaze. He jumped from the barstool, dropping his beer in the process. In the blink of an eye, he barreled toward the darkened hall and the dingy restrooms.

For a second, she just stood there, staring in stupefied surprise at the shattered beer bottle and the foaming liquid spilling onto the wooden floor, watching as two peanut shells caught in the beer and briefly turned into little brown sailboats, merrily floating their way across the dusty slats. Then her mind caught up with her eyesight and she raced after Mr. Baseball Cap, ignoring the spinning room and the strange lassitude making her legs a pair of anvils dragging behind her.

She skidded around the corner in enough time to see Mr. Baseball Cap smash through the back door. The high pitched squeal of a car peeling out in the alley blasted into the bar, momentarily drowning out the sound of the jukebox.

What in the world?

She pushed open the door to the women’s restroom. “Becky?” she called, an uneasy feeling swirling around in the pit of her stomach—it had nothing to do with the whiskey. “Where are you?”

No answer.

She peered into the three stalls. All empty save for a plethora of colorful graffiti. Spinning toward the bathroom door, she pushed it open just as Mr. Baseball Cap came thundering back down the hall.

“Call for help!” he hissed as he ran past her. “Some black guy with a bandaged hand just grabbed your friend and stuffed her in the trunk of his car. It’s a black BMW sedan.”

“Wha—”

Mr. Baseball Cap didn’t stop to explain any more. He just burst through the front door. A mere heartbeat later, she heard the sound of a big engine firing up. The shrieking wail of burning rubber followed in the next breath.

Stumbling down the hall and over to the booth and her purse, she fumbled with her phone and didn’t stop to wonder why the digits she dialed weren’t nine-one-one.





Chapter Seventeen


“You love her, don’t you?”

“What?” Frank turned toward Shell, wondering if his pain meds were causing him to have auditory hallucinations. He wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, he’d never be surprised again given he sustained the biggest whammy of his life when he actually woke up in the recovery room a few hours ago.

He’d made it through surgery. He still had trouble believing it. He’d been so sure he probably wouldn’t that he—

“Becky. That young woman you have working for you. You love her, don’t you?”

He quickly glanced at the door through which Wild Bill and Rock disappeared mere moments earlier to make a coffee run—the rest of the Knights having returned to the compound long ago. Then he peered at little Franklin who was curled up in an armchair, taking his afternoon nap. Carefully adjusting himself on the narrow hospital bed, he ventured, “What makes you think that?”

“Because hers was the first name you uttered when you came out of anesthesia.” When he shot her a startled look, she explained, “The nurse told us.”