Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(100)

I follow suit, standing and collecting my purse and keys—the rental car keys—from the table.

“Charlie, a moment please?” Cain’s tone is clipped.

I can see annoyance flash in Jimmy’s eyes but he doesn’t want to make a scene . . . yet. He pulls on the jovial voice and chuckle. “I’ll be just over here, Charlie,” he says, moving off no more than ten feet away, pretending to check his messages.

I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get a picture of Cain.

No doubt, for Sam.

I grab Cain’s arms and swivel them so his back is to Jimmy. “What?” I whisper harshly. My level of panic has reached new highs.

“Charlie . . .” Cain’s eyes roam over my face and hair again. I’ve experienced so many intimate moments with this man, and yet right now I couldn’t possibly feel farther away from him. “Please don’t do whatever you’re about to do. I can’t—” He cuts off abruptly, that jaw that I’ve had my mouth on countless times growing taut.

A painful lump fills my throat. He’s figured it out. Maybe not entirely, but he knows it’s something bad. “Can we talk about this later?”

I can see the internal struggle inside him. Will he even want anything to do with me later? Cain could do a lot of things right now. He could put up a fight. He could pull me into his car.

Or he could just walk away.

Finally, with narrowed eyes, he asks, “Are you in danger?”

“No,” I lie quickly, my eyes flickering to where Jimmy stands, his head turned and tilted as if he’s trying to catch the conversation.

“Charlie! We have to go. Your father is waiting for you,” Jimmy calls out in a sterner voice than I’ve ever heard him use with me. Maybe that’s his normal tone. I don’t know anything about Jimmy. He could be a cold-blooded killer. He could be planning Cain’s death right now.

I don’t have to look up at Cain’s face to know that there’s a cyclic storm of unanswered questions brewing in his head. Is he wondering about the father that’s in jail? Or the one who called today?

I don’t need to look, and yet I do. My heart stops.

I don’t miss the subtle shake of his head, the clenched teeth.

The disappointment.

The anger, as he realizes that the woman he’s been nothing but kind and generous and loving to is a liar.

I hear the agony in my voice as I whisper, “You need to let me go.” For good. I’m no good for him.

“You want me to let you go? Fine.” I see him swallow hard and then his face turns stony. “Consider yourself gone.”

■ ■ ■

“What is this?” The guy flips a few strands of my black hair through his fingers. “A wig?”

“You want to borrow it?” I ask smoothly, letting my eyes shift pointedly to his receding hairline.

I get a cold, flinty glare in return. “You’ve got a smart mouth, don’t ya?”

It’s the only thing keeping me from pissing my pants right now. I bite down on my tongue to keep quiet and scan the small hotel room for anything important to note. It’s a different hotel than before, but just as high end. Eddie and Bob are here—without any family as cover—but so is this new guy. He’s on the heavier side, with beady eyes and a couple of days of dark scruff that camouflage the pockmarks on his cheeks. He calls himself Manny. Apparently he’s Eddie’s new partner. Maybe he is, but there’s standard protocol and Eddie has clearly broken it.

Manny is not supposed to be here. The second I saw him sitting on the bed, I made a move to leave but Bob was there, blocking my exit, grabbing my purse before I could think to pull out my gun.

I knew I was trapped.

The pain in my chest instantly blossomed. There’s nothing I can do except pray this isn’t a setup, try not to lose control of my bladder, and get the hell out of here the second I have the chance.

Bob goes about his body search again. Thankfully it’s silent and quick this time—with less groping involved—and I let myself breathe a tiny sigh of relief. I’ve received not a glare, not a word, not a flicker of an eye to do with “the incident.” I can’t help but notice that his nose looks somehow different. A bit swollen. And there’s a lump on the bridge. I wonder if that was courtesy of Nate.

I remind myself that this is a business. A disgusting, illegal business but, as Sam rationalized before, everyone in this room just wants to make a lot of money. I just need to chill out and—

The sound of a small click is the only warning I get before the cool metal of a gun presses against my temple.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

Each one slower, louder, harder. A strange wave of calm washes over me for a moment. And then my stomach drops out from my body, taking with it my ability to speak, to think, to breathe.

“So, what kind of f*cking moron is this Sam guy, anyway? I mean, who sends a little bitch in for this kind of deal? You’re good for shoving eight balls up your snatch and driving across the border. Did he really think we wouldn’t put a bullet in you and walk away with the money and the goods? He’s not the only one who can bring this in for us.”

I fight against the shakiness in my legs as Manny drags the barrel of the gun along my cheek toward my mouth, to trail my lips. I can’t stop my knees from wobbling. They’re barely holding me up. “Not so mouthy now, are we?” He pushes the gun in slightly, just enough that I can taste an odd mixture of dirt and metal and salt and oil. The tiniest whimper escapes me. “Of course, a bullet is messy. I hate dealing with that kind of mess. It takes hours to clean up.”