Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(86)

Think.

She sucked a breath through her nose, trying to get oxygen to her brain without making a move.

An idea flickered in her mind. She drew in more air, fueling the idea as it started to grow.

Brooke sank her teeth into her tongue until the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She swished it with saliva and then quietly spit into the cloth wrapped around her head. She dug her fingers into her palms until the nails bit into her skin and she felt the welcome wetness of blood. Whatever happened here or anywhere else, she would leave her DNA behind for investigators.

A sharp dip, and her head smacked against the floor. She sucked in a gasp as the car rattled over something. A bridge? Too small. It had to be a cattle guard.

Brooke’s pulse raced. Her palms were damp now, from a combination of blood and sweat and the pure fear seeping out of her with every passing second.

The ride grew bumpier and more painful and seemed to go on and on until she wanted to scream.

They jerked to a stop. Brooke held her breath. She listened. Doors opened, weight shifted, doors slammed shut.

She stayed perfectly still and listened. She heard nothing but the frantic pounding of her heart. Minutes ticked by. Had they been abandoned?

The door opened. Big, sharp hands dug under her armpits and dragged her out, then released her to smack her head against the ground.

The air was cold. Damp. It whipped through her shirt and chilled her sweat-soaked skin.

A low grunt near her ear as someone dragged her backward and leaned her against the car.

“Don’t move.” The voice was harsh and commanding, but it didn’t belong to the judge. His bailiff, maybe?

A metallic pop.

Brooke went rigid with fear as she listened to something being pulled from the trunk.

Then a squirming, sniveling body was lowered to the ground beside her, and Brooke’s heart squeezed because, thank God, he was alive.

Their shoulders didn’t touch, but Cameron’s warmth penetrated her skin, along with his terror. His breath came in short, choppy gasps, and she hoped he wasn’t having an asthma attack.

Calm down, Cam. It’s okay. I’ve got you, she tried to tell him with her mind, although it was utterly absurd, and she didn’t have anything, not a damn thing, that would get them out of this situation. But he had to calm down. She shifted her leg and pressed her knee against him.

You’re not alone. I’m right here. I’m—

The cloth over her head was whipped off.

Brooke blinked into the brightness.

A dark silhouette loomed over her, blocking out the sun. She squinted up at him.

And found herself staring at the barrel of a gun.





CHAPTER 27


Brooke’s mouth went dry. She stared at the round black hole, immobilized with terror.

A screen door slapped shut, and she turned toward the sound as a bulky, black-haired man stepped from a ramshackle cabin nearby.

Where the hell were they?

And who was he?

He had brownish skin and jet-black hair, and his brown eyes zeroed in on her as he approached.

Brooke glanced at Cameron beside her. He had a black T-shirt wrapped around his head, and his shoulders were hunched forward as he buried his face against his knees. Blood had seeped through a rip in his jeans, and Brooke noticed what looked like vomit on the sleeve of his red sweatshirt.

The black-haired guy was talking to Baseball Cap, who still had the pistol pointed at Brooke. A Glock nine-mil. Having processed countless bloody crime scenes, Brooke hated guns. But at this moment she longed to snatch that thing out of his hand.

She shifted her gaze to the black-haired guy, who was watching her closely with those odd brown eyes. There was something odd about his skin, too. Almost as if . . .

Mahoney.

It was him.

He’d dyed his hair and spray-tanned his skin and put in colored contacts . . . But the cocky way he carried himself couldn’t be disguised. He looked at her with contempt, as though her presence here was an unexpected pain in the ass. His gaze moved to Cameron, and he barked an order at Baseball Cap, who had to be his bailiff.

Hurd reached over and yanked off the T-shirt covering Cameron’s head.

Cam gave a startled gasp. He blinked rapidly, and the tear tracks on his freckled cheeks made Brooke’s heart ache. She couldn’t resist leaning into him to offer some kind of comfort, but he wasn’t focused on her at all. Even more surprising, he wasn’t focused on the pistol pointed at him by Hurd.

No, his entire focus was on Mahoney.

The stark terror on Cameron’s face eliminated the last shred of doubt in Brooke’s mind. Cameron had witnessed a savage murder. He knew a secret, and now Brooke knew it, too.

And Eric Mahoney planned to make sure they took that secret to the grave.

? ? ?

The car ride had seemed endless, but now everything seemed to be happening too fast. Mahoney was in the shed, a corrugated-metal building that might once have housed a tractor or a couple of ATVs. A black pickup truck was parked there now, and Brooke watched it silently, recalling the heart-stopping moment when it had slowed in front of Cameron’s house.

Cameron recalled it, too. Brooke could tell because his whole body stiffened when he noticed the truck.

“Cam,” she whispered.

“Hey!” Hurd pointed the pistol at her. “Shut the fuck up.”

Cam darted a fearful look at Brooke. She wanted to talk him through some things, but Hurd wouldn’t let her speak.