Mine To Protect (Mine #6)(63)

Only…before he’d made it to the penthouse and to Zoe, he’d heard Tom spill Michelle’s location. He’d known exactly what the dick was talking about when he said it was time for the guest in room 2804 to check out.

So instead of hitting the penthouse, Cain was now on floor twenty-eight. He was getting Michelle out of there. He was going to make sure she survived. He could see the guard standing in front of the door to room 2804. The guy was big, muscled, and he would be going down.

Cain whistled as he approached the guy, trying to look as if he belonged—

The guy grabbed him. “No one should be this close to the suite! No one should—”

Cain head-butted the fellow. “And you should sure be friendlier to strangers.” In a flash, he had the guy cuffed and on the floor. “Stay there.”

“You bastard! You—”

His yells were going to alert any guards inside the hotel room. With no time to hesitate, Cain slammed his shoulder into the door. Only it didn’t give. Shit—that was a hard door. So he slammed again, hitting harder, football style, and the door gave way. He rushed inside.

A guard was already coming at him, gun up.

“Las Vegas PD!” Cain shouted. “Drop the gun, now!”

The guy didn’t drop his weapon. “I hate cops!”

Shit. The fellow was firing. So Cain fired, too. His gun exploded and the bullet hit the guard’s shoulder, sending him flying back. Cain lunged forward, he kicked the gun out of the way and told the downed man, “Move again and the next shot will be in your heart.”

The guy—finally showing some sense—stopped moving.

“And you’re damn lucky your bullet missed me. Asshole.” Cain’s gaze jerked around the room. He saw Michelle, twisting and straining against her bonds on the bed. She was alive. Hell, yes, she was safe.

He took a step toward her.

And felt the muzzle of a gun shove into his back.

“Not just one of us in here, cop,” a rough voice barked behind him. “Should have searched better…”

Not one guard inside. Two. Shit.

“Now you drop the weapon,” the second guard told him. “Or I will shoot you straight in your spine.”

The spine? Damn. Someone sure played dirty.

Good thing I do, too.





Chapter Seventeen


“Bitch!” Tom shouted as he punched at Zoe. He hit her in the gut, a blow that sent the breath heaving from her, but she hit him back even harder. A twisting jab that went right for his balls.

He howled and eased his grip on her. Before she could go in for another hit, Victor was there. He yanked her away from Tom and pulled her to her feet. His gaze swept desperately over her.

“I’m fine, I’m fine—”

He pushed her behind him and faced Tom. Tom was staggering to his feet. Yelling and cursing and charging at Victor.

Victor raised his gun. Pointed it straight at Tom’s head.

Tom froze. The gun was less than an inch away from him.

“Want to see what kind of damage a shot this close can do?” Victor asked him.

Tom’s gaze darted to Zoe. “She knows…” he said.

She fought the urge to slam her fist into his balls—again.

“You’re about to know,” Victor promised him.

Tom lifted his arms. “You can’t shoot when a guy isn’t fighting you, Special Agent.”

“Technically, I’ve turned in my resignation,” Victor said. “So maybe I’ll just call this self-defense. Justified. I’ll make the world a better place by taking you out of it.”

Zoe shook her head. No, Victor couldn’t do that. If he did, if he crossed that particular line, there would be no going back.

Not for him.

Not for her.

Footsteps pounded in the hallway. She looked over her shoulder and saw Russell hurrying into the room. He was armed and his expression said he was ready to face hell.

But he drew up short at the sight of Victor holding his gun on Tom. “Guess you got things covered, huh?”

“Back-up is always appreciated,” Victor assured him. “Always.”

Tom’s lips curled in disgust.

“Michelle!” Zoe looked around the room, desperate. “Do we know if she’s okay? Is she safe? Russell, do you know what is happening with Michelle?”

***

Cain dropped his weapon, but the bastard behind him just jabbed the gun harder into his back.

The guy taunted, “Guess what, cop? Weapon or not, you’re still getting that shot in the back. You’re still—”

There was a quick thud of sound. A grunt. And the gun was suddenly not jabbing into Cain’s spine any longer. He spun around and found a blond man—a tough looking * who wore a fancy suit—and a gorgeous woman with cold and deadly eyes staring at him.

“We thought you could use some assistance,” the woman said.

The guy flexed his fingers. Cain realized that the stranger had knocked out the guard who’d been ready to shoot—right in my freaking spine. “Guess that means you’re the good guys?” Cain asked carefully. The blond fellow looked familiar…

Drake Archer. The name clicked for him. Though Archer wasn’t exactly known for being good.