Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(128)

We miss the hotel breakfast, forcing us to find something to eat nearby. The hotel parking lot is nearly empty at ten in the morning when we finally emerge to find food. Dino stretches next to me. With his eyes hidden behind mirrored glasses, I don’t know if he’s paying attention or off in post-coital dreamland. What I do know is I feel someone watching me besides the Italian Stallion.

Glancing around, I reach for my gun hidden under my jacket. “Today might get messy.”

Dino is grinning at me, completely oblivious to the sinking feeling I have about standing in the open. He’s still smiling when a spray of bullets hits the wall near us. Already on the move, I look for cover. Dino ignores my competence and grabs me around the waist. He’s playing hero, making me the idiot damsel in distress.

As Dino pulls me behind the bushes, I fire in the direction of the gunshots.

“Get off me,” I tell him.

“There’re two of them.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw them prowling around before they started shooting.”

“And you didn’t think to say something?”

“I assumed you saw them too, and that’s why you were pretending to be frigid. Wasn’t your bitchiness a signal?”

Glaring at him, I wiggle free from his body shield and crawl to where I can get a shot.

“They’re on the move,” I say, firing at the scrambling feet.

One of them lets out a loud grunt, and I know my shots made contact. Dino pulls me to my feet before we chase after them around the building. Stopping at the corner of the hotel, he dramatically yanks off his glasses.

“Stay behind me,” Dino says, pushing me backwards.

His attempt to play hero knocks me off balance, and I fall on my ass. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m taking a bullet to save your pretty face. I’d say that was plenty helpful, Apples.”

Returning to my feet, I ask, “What if they come up behind us?”

Dino glances back at me and looks genuinely concerned for my safety.

“Just go,” I say, nudging him. “My shoes are getting muddy, and those guys still aren’t dead.”

“Chicks always have the best priorities.”

“I’ll take the lead,” I threaten.

Dino finally moves. His steps are smooth and practiced like a professional dancer doing an old routine. I follow him while keeping my eyes peeled in case the shooters sneak up behind us.

“They’re at the back of the hotel,” Dino says.

“How do you know?”

“I see them in that car’s reflection.”

Studying where Dino’s pointing, I admire his ability to use the cleanest car in Tennessee as a mirror.

“Want me to go around the other side so we can hit them from both directions?”

Dino glances back and frowns again. His concern for me would be more endearing if I actually were a damsel in distress rather than an experienced operator.

“I’m going,” I say, moving past him.

His arm reaches out to stop me from advancing, and I’m ready to argue. A shotgun blast startles us instead.

“Maybe they’re so scared of us they’ve decided to kill themselves,” I suggest, hearing a second shotgun blast.

Dino’s dark eyes study me. “Stay behind me.”

“No,” I growl and take off around the corner.

Dino is right behind me as we run towards the back of the hotel. We turn the corner at nearly the same moment, more interested in being in charge than staying alive.

Jerking to a stop, I stare at the faceless man on the ground in front of me. The shotgun blast tore off most of his flesh, leaving only a meaty skull.

A second faceless corpse rests not far from where Hayes lights a cigar.

“We had that, Whopper Boy,” Dino mutters.

Puffing on the cigar, Hayes grunts. “I think the words you f*cks are looking for are ‘thank you.’ They teach you those words back on the Jersey Shore?”

I roll my eyes at their instant dick measuring contest. “Thank you, Mister Hayes.”

“Call me Angus, for f*ck’s sake.”

“No, I’d rather not.”

Dino snorts. “You’re a real ladies man.”

“What the f*ck are you going on about now?” Hayes growls.

“Good thing you had that shotgun. You don’t need any skill to aim with that beast.”

“Dead is dead, Snookie.”

Returning my gun to the holster, I interrupt the men’s flirty banter. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I have breakfast down the f*cking street at the Waffle House. One of my people called to say two armed f*ckers were hanging out around your f*cking hotel.”

Squatting down to check the second guy’s pockets, I find a billfold and cell.

“This guy’s name is Dick Richey,” I announce. “Let’s see who his last call was from.”

Checking his phone’s history, I press the last incoming call. The phone rings twice before I get a nondescript voicemail. Returning to the history, I choose Dick’s last outgoing call. This time, the receptionist at the sheriff’s office answers.

“Can I speak to Sheriff Black?” I ask, sporting a Minnesota accent. “Tell him Dick Richey is calling.”