Mind Games (Mind Games, #1)(3)

I lean over and scoop up Chloe, burying my face in her silky fur. Okay. I can die today. If I die, they’ll never know I didn’t do what they told me to, and Annie will be safe. Keane can’t use her to punish me if I’m dead. But I’m going to get Adam out, because otherwise this whole thing was pointless.

“In here.” I veer into a narrow alleyway between looming brick buildings. It’s open on both ends, good, no recessed doorways, not as good, but it’ll do.

“Is this a shortcut?” he asks, looking back over his shoulder to see what I keep looking at.

I set Chloe down and unhook her leash. “Shoo,” I say. She looks up at me with her sorrow eyes, and I let out a low growl from the back of my throat. “SHOO!” Tail between her legs, she scampers out of the alley and to safety.

That’s one of us.

“What did you—why did you let your dog go?”

“Not my dog.” I put my hands on my hips and look up into Adam’s confused face. “Listen carefully. I was here today to kill you.”

An unsure smile twists his lips as he shifts his weight, trying to figure out how to tell me my joke isn’t funny. “Uh, that’s—”

“If I were going to kill you, you’d already be dead. I don’t know why you’re supposed to die, I’m hoping you can tell me, but right now we don’t have time because three men are about to come in the alley and either they want to kill you or me or both of us. Which sucks. So stay out of my way and I’ll try to get us out.”

He opens his mouth to ask what I’m talking about when the three men turn into the alley and slow down, approaching us with wary eyes and tight smiles. Their smiles are lies.

Most smiles are.

“There you are,” I say. I stand in front of Adam, casually putting myself between him and the three men. Dark hair on the right—movements tight, too much muscle mass, won’t be quick. Sandy blond in the middle, packing the gun, will try not to engage in hand-to-hand because he’s psychologically dependent on his weapon. Stubble on the left—lean, fluid movements, my biggest problem.

They stop right in front of me, and I still haven’t figured out which one of us they are here for.

“James didn’t tell me I’d have backup,” I say. Their eyes flicker to each other, only a split second, but it’s enough. They aren’t with Keane. “He really needs to warn me about these things. Would’ve saved me the trouble of pretending to flirt with Lurpy.” I jerk a thumb toward Adam, deliberately not saying his name. “You guys got it from here?”

Sandy blond with the gun smiles, his teeth wide and white and even. “Yeah, of course. We’ll take Adam with us.” Bingo. They know who he is.

“What?” Adam says, his voice breaking a little on the word, like it’s sharp in his throat.

Keane didn’t send them, and I’m not their target, but now they probably know I’m with Keane. Well, thank you again, north. I really must be broken if trapping us in an alley with people who want Adam was the best I could do. “He’s all yours. As soon as you tell me the password.”

“The password?” Dark hair too-thick muscles answers, and I wish it were only him because he is slow.

I laugh. “Kidding. I keep asking them to set us up with code words, you know? Cooler. Oh well.”

Stubble doesn’t smile. He hasn’t stopped studying me this whole time, and even though I know they’re here for Adam (why, you stupid sweet boy, what is it about you?), I know Stubble wants me just as much now, if only to figure me out the way I’m desperate to figure out Adam.

Stubble gestures. “We’ve got a ride for you. One block back, on the corner of Fourth, black sedan.”

“Great.” I stretch my arms up like I’m exhausted and ready for a nap.

“What’s going on here?” Adam asks, his voice tight with nerves behind me. He’s still hoping this is some sort of elaborate joke. “I’m not going with anyone.”

“Nice meeting you guys,” I say, pulling my purse over my head. I throw it at Sandy blond with the gun, then drop to the ground and pull the knife out of my boot.

Dark hair is hamstrung before he realizes what’s happening, on the ground screaming, clutching at his forever-ruined right leg. Out of the game. Sandy blond fumbles my purse, finally dropping it and going for his gun. I slash his right forearm—he won’t aim as well with his left hand—but where is Stubble? I don’t have a position on him.

Drop flat on the ground, now! I feel the whisper of a fist’s breeze, then flip onto my back, kick up with both feet, and catch Stubble under the jaw. Stunned, not enough to keep him down; Sandy blond is swearing but about to pull out his gun. I flip back onto my feet, kick his hand (gun is on the ground, keep track of the gun), then a downward slam kick onto Sandy’s bent knee. It cracks at the wrong angle. Now two of them can’t chase us, only one left.

Arms circle me from behind, around my waist pinning my arms, and my knife is useless (bad bad bad—I am not big enough for this, I knew Stubble would be a problem). Slam my head back into his? No, he’ll expect it. I go limp and slip down a few inches, freeing my elbow, no leverage but it’s something. I jam my knife into his thigh but, curse him, he doesn’t drop me, just tightens his arm and I lose the knife.