Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(79)

“You want the money? Take it,” she spat. “It will be a small price to pay for never having to look at your face again. I don’t need it. And I’ll sleep just fine knowing you’ll run out someday and be miserable all over again. Just take it.”

His laugh was almost indulgent. “That offer is late in coming, I’m afraid. Your little goon squad has closed ranks around you, so it’s not just you I’m contending with anymore.”

Dammit. The restraining order. It had set him off, just as she’d known it would. “What’s your other option? I’ve got a captain in the Chicago PD to vouch for my sanity. You’re nothing but a bitter, lonely man.” She already knew his plan. In his convoluted brain, he thought if he killed her, the money would go to him. Her next of kin. But she needed to keep him talking. Connor would find her. He’d be wondering what was taking her so long.

“I know you’re stalling, but I would advise against it.” His expression turned gleeful. “You didn’t think I’d come without leverage, did you? Oh no. You’re going to walk with me right out the back door without a problem. I promise.”

Her teeth started to chatter. “What is it?”

“More like who.” He started to speak faster, sounding more impatient. “That day at the courthouse wasn’t the first time I saw you in Chicago. No, I’d been following you longer than that. Saw you go into a building down in Lincoln Park.” Erin tried to show no reaction, but his sickening grin told her she’d failed. “I watched the building a while. Saw your boyfriend coming and going with his mother.” His hand flexed around the gun. “Drop the knife and the cell phone in your pocket. Get your ass up and come with me now, or I make a call and she’s gone.”

Erin’s heartbeat pounded in her ears, her mouth dry as dust. He could be lying. As far as she knew, her stepfather had always worked alone, and this plan would require another set of hands. But she couldn’t chance it. It was too in character for him to prey on weakened women. Goddammit. She couldn’t allow her life to affect the ones she cared about. She wouldn’t.

“Fine.” After letting the knife clatter to the dingy floor and digging out her cell phone to drop beside it, she stood with her hands up, tightening the muscles in her legs so they wouldn’t shake. “Lead the way.”

Luther cracked open the door and looked out before pulling back. “Ladies first.”

Erin swallowed hard as he shoved her through the open door. The hallway was a funnel of noise captured from the bar, but it was deserted of people. She thought of Connor kissing her there just minutes before and wanted to wail at the ceiling. The cold muzzle of her stepfather’s gun dug into the middle of her back, directing her in the opposite direction of the bar. A gated back door stood partially open, just beside the kitchen. The cook’s back was turned to them as they passed, his focus on a tiny television screen above a giant fryer.

They walked through the door and into a dim alley, music and laughter from the bar following in their wake. She peered through the night’s freshly fallen darkness for Luther’s car, but only saw a white panel van with no windows. He shoved her toward it so suddenly that she stumbled.

As if she’d never made an iota of progress, the wings started beating in her head, drowning out rational thought. Trap. He was going to lock her in that airless van and trap her. No, no, no.

When they reached the van, he threw the back doors open. And she saw it.

A cage.

“Get in.”





Chapter Twenty-Five


It was an odd feeling, being exasperated over the amount of time your girlfriend took in the bathroom. Was it stupid that something so typical felt…good? Sure, there was an invisible countdown clock over his right shoulder, tick-tick-ticking away the seconds since the last time he’d put eyes on Erin. It would always be that way, because looking at her erased the bad in him. She was a signal of peace he need only think about, and the rapids inside him became a still pond. She’d turned his constant craving for control into something positive, because she’d given him the power to be in control of himself. A feat he’d had to accomplish to be with her.

And that made it his life’s accomplishment. This internal head-shaking versus pacing the floor was a healthy change. They would build on small milestones, like allowing her out of his sight for extended periods of time, until they had a f*cking city.

“Erin must have fallen in,” Polly remarked with a smile and a good-natured elbow in his side.

Connor put the kibosh on his tingle of nerves. “She needs her space sometimes. Needs to…”

“Feel unfettered?” Polly nodded. “I get that.”

Connor picked at the beer bottle label with his thumb to avoid glancing toward the bathroom. Baby steps. “You don’t think it’s possible to actually fall in, do you?”

Polly’s answering chuckle cut off when her gaze fixed on something over his shoulder, the smile leaving her face in degrees. Connor pushed back from the table and jumped to his feet before his brain registered the command. Derek stood just inside the entrance. The captain held a cell phone up to his ear, speaking into it sharply as his razor-like gaze raked the table. He looked over and locked eyes with Connor.

“Where’s O’Dea?”

Connor was running for the bathroom before Derek had even finished posing the question. Knives twisted in his gut as he careered through the door and turned in a circle. Switchblade. Her f*cking cell phone. On the ground. Bathroom empty. No Erin.