Under Pressure (Body Armor #1)(83)
“Troy, the elevator guard on duty this morning, is missing.” Sahara rubbed her forehead and stepped cautiously around the fallen men. “Given the mess here, I’m worried about him.”
Cat put a hand to her heart. Two broken bodies on the floor, a guard missing, Leese shot. What have I done?
“You need stitches,” Justice decided. “Not many, but enough to close it. Looks like the bullet sliced a chunk out of you. Not that deep, though I’m sure it burns like a son of a bitch.”
Leese ignored him to ask, “How many men do you have with you?”
“Just two,” Justice said, “but others on the way.”
“You call the cops yet?”
Sahara leveled a meaningful look on the unconscious intruders. “I wanted to talk to you first, given we have many things we’re currently keeping from the cops.”
He nodded.
“When you call them,” Justice said, “have ’em bring an ambulance for nature boy here.” He thwacked Leese on the bare shoulder.
Leese shrugged him off. “Cops, yes, but no ambulance. I can drive myself.”
Sahara’s cell beeped, making Cat jerk. Only Leese seemed to notice as he watched her with concern.
Sahara answered with alacrity, turning her back to them to speak quietly. When her shoulders relaxed, something also loosened in Cat’s chest.
“Troy is okay?” she asked hopefully. Cat didn’t know him, but she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being hurt because of her.
As Sahara ended the call, she turned with excitement. “They found him. Knocked in the head, shot in the shoulder and stuffed in a closet, but he’s alive and it appears he’ll recover.” She pointed her phone at Leese. “The ambulance has already been called, so please don’t be difficult. As Justice so rudely pointed out, it’s been a trying morning for me.”
Skipping past all that, Leese frowned. “So they attacked the guard to get on the elevator. That doesn’t explain how they got into the penthouse. The door was locked, I know, because I saw to it myself after Enoch—”
Horror made Cat cry out. She covered her mouth, but only long enough for the pieces to come together. “They had keys. I heard them at the door and at first I thought it might be Enoch, but he always knocks and they didn’t. They unlocked the door and they came right in. Enoch—”
“Enoch,” Sahara repeated, back on her phone.
Everyone waited...while the phone rang and rang, without an answer.
*
TESH WATCHED THE commotion at the agency, and knew his men had fucked up. Worthless imbeciles. He hoped they were dead. That would be preferable to them being held, possibly being coerced to talk.
Not that it would do them any good.
When Enoch’s phone rang, Tesh accepted that things had gone very wrong. No doubt it was Sahara or one of her underlings calling to check on Enoch. Any second now they’d begin a search, going to the bakery, looking on the street when they couldn’t find Enoch inside.
Finally the ringing stopped. Enoch hadn’t moved, but his eyes, now bruised and bloodshot, badly swollen, stared at Tesh with crushing fear.
Such a nuisance.
“No witnesses,” he muttered, grabbing Enoch by the throat, squeezing hard with both hands. Against the feeble struggles, Tesh watched him gag and gasp, until finally he went limp and his eyes rolled up...completely blank.
Leaving the huddled, lifeless lump splayed awkwardly in the backseat, Tesh stepped out of the car and started walking. Head down, hands in his pockets, he trudged on for a few blocks, then made his call.
He’d be picked up in ten minutes. The car and the body would be disposed of.
No one would ever peg this on him.
He’d remain free and next time he’d get Catalina for sure. When he did, he’d make her pay for putting him through so much trouble.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT WAS THE screeching of a siren that roused Enoch. When he shifted, sharp pain stabbed into every inch of his body. His throat hurt so badly he couldn’t swallow. The blackness called to him again, but around the edges of consuming agony, reality wormed in.
He got one eye open and through a blurry haze he saw...no one. Taking only shallow breaths, he listened, but all he could hear was the noise outside the car, not a peep within it.
He’d never been hurt before, and now he knew it was terrible. Throbbing torment pulled at him, making him want to pass out, but he pushed himself upward.
Sahara depended on him. Catalina was a target.
I have to move.
If he stayed in the car, people might die. He would die. He knew it.
Hell, he’d already thought himself a goner.
Were the others okay?
Pain, humiliation and regret turned his stomach, but he didn’t dare vomit. He could only imagine the added discomfort that would bring.
He’d been incompetent, ineffectual. But he wasn’t an agent, and he definitely wasn’t a fighter. His value was in being the very best and most attentive assistant.
With extreme effort, he crawled off the floor and onto the seat. When he tried to open the door, he realized he had a broken finger or two. Biting back the automatic groan, he struggled and finally the door opened, spilling him out.
The fall sharpened every ache, but he slowly breathed in the crisp, cold air and resisted the urge to call out.