Die for Me Read online

  She hadn’t been raised to steal, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Torrhent slowly moved her right hand from the map and to his side. Her heartbeat sped up, just as it always did when she stole. She was getting better though. Slipping her index and middle finger in between the two layers of fabric that made his pants pocket, she felt for the hard ridge of the wallet she needed. She kept her gaze on the map, occasionally looking up to meet the target’s eyes as he spoke. She’d practiced this same technique on dozens of men and an occasional woman. The men were easier, more distracted by the line of her neck than the hand in their pocket. She gave her current target reassuring smiles as he explained how to get to the park and her fingers did their work. Pulling the square leather wallet from his pocket quickly, so he wouldn’t notice, she palmed the item and hid it from view underneath the map. Right under his nose.

  “So there you go,” he finished, smiling down at her.

  Torrhent hadn’t heard a single word with the pounding of her heart in her ears. “Thank you so much.” She turned to leave, counting her steps as she made her retreat.

  She didn’t make it more than ten feet before he called out to her.

  Her heart stopped.

  She turned back to face him, her chest threatening to explode. She hadn’t been caught yet, but luck never lasted forever.

  Half jogging over to her, the target motioned to the map in her hand. “If you’re free later, I’d be more than happy to show you around.”

  Torrhent’s heart slowly restarted. She released a breath of relief and felt the smile of victory spreading across her features. Reaching for his arm, she placed a gentle touch on his wrist. The feel of the warm metal of his cufflink warmed her heart. “Sure. I mean, if that’s okay. I don’t want to take up any of your time. You’re obviously a very important man.” She turned up the charade, increasing the pressure on his wrist as she worked to unfasten the cufflink. The metal alone would make her an extra twenty bucks.

  It dropped into her hand.

  “Not a problem.” He glanced down the street. “That’s my bus.” He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and offered it to her. “I’m Sam. Give me a call.” He gave her a wink and turned when the bus stopped against the curb.

  Torrhent watched him board then tore the business card into tiny pieces, dropping it into a wastebasket along the street once the bus took off. She didn’t care if he’d seen. She stared at the cufflink, realizing it wouldn’t be worth more than a dollar at a pawnshop, and threw it on top of the torn business card. She’d always had poor skills when it came to figuring people out. His wallet better have a bigger payoff.

  It felt heavy in her pocket, but there were too many witnesses to check it out in the street. There was only one reason a woman would have a man’s wallet and she wasn’t about to attract police attention on purpose. Not yet.

  “Hey!”

  Too late.

  “Stop her!”

  It was Sam. She was sure of it.

  With a quick look over her shoulder, Torrhent confirmed her assumption. She ran. She didn’t know where she’d go, only knew she needed to get out of sight before the police showed up.

  “Hey!”

  Her feet slammed into the pavement. She pushed herself harder. Faster. Pedestrians moved out of her way, but near collisions slowed her down. Torrhent’s breath caught in her lungs the longer she ran, but she couldn’t stop. Not yet. She chanced a glance behind her. Sam wasn’t there, but her relief was short-lived. She slammed into something. Hard.

  Torrhent hit the pavement, the breath knocked out of her. Searing pain swelled in her chest. She struggled to inhale and her backpack only made it worse, constricting her chest. Trees lining the street swayed above her head and the pain distracted her too much to focus on much else.

  “You should watch where you’re going.” A blurry shape bent over her.

  Her vision cleared and she realized she hadn’t slammed into something, but someone. Torrhent couldn’t make out any features with the sun shining directly into her eyes, but she didn’t really care. Sam could have already called the cops. They already had her description. They only needed to pinpoint her location. She had to get off the street. She couldn’t be taken into custody.

  She pushed herself to her feet, finding a hand waiting to help her. Her breath hitched in her throat when she looked up.

  A man, well muscled with tribal tattoos running down his arm, dropped his hand as she brushed herself off. “Harrington.”

  “What?”

  “The name’s Harrington. Figured you’d want to know.”

  With barely a glance in the guy’s direction, Torrhent made sure Sam hadn’t caught up. She tried to bury the anxiety in her chest, but couldn’t keep the bite out of her bark. “Why the hell do I care?” Her feet and her instincts urged her to run. She had a job to do. She didn’t have time for pointless conversations. But her head wouldn’t stop spinning.

  “Well, your hand got up close and personal with my crotch.”

  Heat crawled up her face. Two of LA’s finest made their way toward her and Sam wasn’t far behind. “I’m sure you’ll dream about it later.” Torrhent turned her back on him. It was only a bad break that had prevented her from lifting his wallet too.

  Rough hands pulled her back.

  Harrington flipped her around, their noses inches away from each other as he held on to her arms. “Didn’t get your name.”

  Tall and lean, the man wore sunglasses to hide the most important feature of any stranger. Eyes told a lot about a person and this guy wanted to keep his hidden. A passing memory brought on a full sense of déjà vu. Man. Sunglasses. His jawline reminded her of the man back in the convenience store in Vegas. And the one in Phoenix. His grip tightened on her upper arms, but Torrhent had been around dangerous men before. She could handle herself.

  “Either get your hands off me”—she nodded toward the approaching police officers—“or I scream.”

  He cocked his head slightly to the right, a smile on his face. He looked her up and down, pushing her heartbeat faster. “Bad dye job, dirty clothes and B.O. tell me you won’t take the chance of giving yourself away.” He shoved her away. “Get out of here before I turn you in for attempted pickpocketing.”

  She took off.

  Ten minutes later, she found safety. At least for the time being.

  Small and dark, the mostly empty café provided a perfect place to count the cash she’d lifted from Sam. Only one other patron sat in the far corner, hiding behind a baseball cap as he looked down at his phone. Again, familiarity clawed its way into the front of her mind. I’m losing my mind.

  It seemed every man she came into contact with made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She wasn’t trained for this covert crap. In the span of ten minutes she’d convinced herself two different men had followed her. She eyed the newest one carefully. Maybe they’re working together. Torrhent dislodged the thought. He wouldn’t know where I’d run to . . . would he?

  The men her stepfather employed had ways of predicting where targets would run, and he was the type of person to use any means necessary to find her.

  Torrhent took a seat next to the window and searched the café for onlookers. She quickly flipped through the wallet. A few credit cards were lined up neatly in their slots, but she wouldn’t touch those. She’d learned her lesson. Removing the cash, she discarded Sam’s wallet onto the floor.

  “What can I get you?” a voice said.

  Torrhent’s head shot up in surprise. She slid the money beneath her leg and out of sight. “Ah,” she said then picked the first thing she saw on the menu, “I’ll have an egg-white omelet.”

  “Anything else? Anything to drink?”

  “Just water.” She gave the waitress a close-lipped smirk, waiting for her to take the menu. She slid the cash back out once the woman wandered off, but kept her senses open for anything out of the ordinary. It was only a couple hundred dollars, nothing compared to what
the truck driver had robbed her of. She shivered at the thought of that bastard ripping at her clothing and she became all too aware of the knife in her boot. It’d saved her life. Without any real knife training, she’d only been able to swipe at him as she fell out of the semi, but she’d lived. Her life had been more important than the money at the time. Now she wondered if she’d made the right choice as she shoved the bills into her back pocket.

  As if she were being watched, Torrhent let her gaze roam over the café again.

  The man on the far side of the restaurant, the one in the baseball cap, stared directly at her. She still couldn’t pin him as the guy in Phoenix or Vegas, but something in her gut made her memorize each and every feature of his hidden face for future reference. His clothes. His skin color. He kept the angle of his face down, suddenly entranced with the phone in his hands. Or was it a camera? She’d never considered journalists recognizing her. She should have, considering they were the ones broadcasting her photo across the country.

  Her thoughts returned to the man she’d run into in the street. She pictured his tattoos again, the design made up of swirls and points, and shivered. He’d worn sunglasses, but it didn’t prevent her from picturing his eyes as a perfect hue of blue. Torrhent catalogued the details in the back of her mind. Muscular, tall, dangerous, he matched almost everything she looked for.

  Harrington. That’s the name he’d given her. She hadn’t pegged him for a Harrington.

  She forced her gaze back to the table, unsure if the mystery man’s gaze actually lingered on her or if her paranoia had reached a new alarming level.

  The waitress placed her omelet and a large water down on the table. “Is there anything else I can get for you today?” she asked, waiting expectantly.

  Torrhent’s mind was frazzled. She barely had enough sense to respond. “N-no, thank you.”

  The waitress retreated to the kitchen and Torrhent struggled to control her breathing. As if ants crawled beneath her skin, the feeling of being watched tickled her senses. She took another chance and looked across the café.

  He’d disappeared.

  She’d convinced herself her paranoia was necessary. It’s what kept her alive so far. Unzipping her pack, she emptied the large glass of water into her bottle, gulped down the omelet and flew out of the little café as fast as she could. The freeway was less than two blocks away. She half ran toward the on-ramp. The secretive glances, the familiarity of his clothes and the way he carried himself, all of it solidified her fear.

  Despite having a prison-made hard exterior, some things still set her on edge. The possibility of death, for one. But even worse, having the chance to avenge herself and her mother ripped away.

  Chapter 2

  “She just left a café on Franklin,” Pelt explained. “Heading west.”

  Isaac Rutler contemplated the new information, briefly playing with the idea of flat-out killing the girl. He didn’t really need her. “Follow her for now. I want to know her every move.” He closed the cell phone, studying the great expanse of his study. He wasn’t sure what his next step would be, but strategy had always been his strength.

  He just had to keep his emotions in check.

  Pelt was the least he had at his disposal. If his stepdaughter didn’t turn herself in by the end of the week, he’d be forced to go after her with everything he had. Isaac chewed on his bottom lip, a habit he’d developed in the last two years that told him he needed to relax. Pelt would get the job done. He turned toward his shackled guest.

  “Well, Devon, you’re becoming more useless the longer you keep your mouth shut. Are you going to confess?” Isaac stared at the man in front of him, taking in the peaceful expression on his hostage’s face. A sheen of sweat had developed across Devon’s dark skin, mixing with the blood dripping from his nose and mouth. It was mostly caught by his torn clothing and Isaac was thankful.

  Blood was a pain in the ass to get out of this carpet.

  “I can do this all day, but you”—he crouched next to the chair—“I don’t think you can take much more.” The smell coming off his captive nauseated him and Isaac had to stand. “Who else is involved in your little scam?”

  Devon slowly shook his head from side to side.

  “All those times you came to my house, discussing business, eager to get your share of the profits. I thought you were smarter than this. You had a bright future in the organization. But now?” He hoped for Devon’s sake the bastard would speak up. “You shouldn’t have stolen from me, Devon. Tell me who you’re working for and I’ll let you walk out of here. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.”

  “You’re so full of shit.”

  “Am I?”

  “You’ll never see that money again.” Devon inhaled deeply. “He’s too good.”

  A smile crawled across Isaac’s bristly face. “Almost two million dollars is a lot of money,” he said. “You won’t be able to hide it for long. Tell me who you’re working for and where my money is and the better off you’ll be.” His mouth turned dry, but he would not let his anger show through. “Save us both the aggravation, son.”

  Anger blinded even the most intelligent.

  “I know what you’re capable of,” Devon sputtered through cracked lips. His gaze intensified, meeting Isaac’s rage head-on. “But he’s worse. I tell you, you might let me go. You might not. Either way, I’m dead. The only difference is he’ll kill my entire family.”

  Intimidation obviously wouldn’t change Devon’s mind. “I don’t want to hurt you, Devon, but I will.” Isaac crouched down again. “Tell me what I need to know and you can see your family again.”

  A wad of spit slammed into his face, sliding down over his mouth and chin.

  “Go to hell.”

  Isaac wiped the spit from his mouth, a chuckle trying to escape. He sauntered to the large mahogany desk in the center of his office and fingered a manila file folder. Opening it slowly, he eyed Devon closely. “Tell me about your little sister, Maria.”

  The room went completely silent.

  He couldn’t even hear Devon’s breathing. Walking back toward his hostage, Isaac closed the folder, but kept a single photo in one hand. He presented it to Devon, even though the man’s hands had been tied. “She’s ten, isn’t she?”

  Isaac bent at the waist. “Do you really want her death on your conscience?” Without another word, he threw the photo and the file to the floor and walked to the study door, then out into the long white hallway of his thirteen-thousand-foot home. Two men waited outside the study.

  Nicholas stood as sentinel, right where he’d left him, waiting for orders. The scarred bodyguard stared back at him expectantly, just as he did every time Isaac neared. He wanted to know the next step, the next mission, the next assassination.

  Isaac addressed the second guard. “Take him back downstairs. Mr. Richards needs a bit more time to think over his future.” He waited until the stinking piece of meat was pulled out of his private office to speak to his right-hand man. “She’s in Los Angeles. No contact as far as Pelt can see,” he said, inviting his bodyguard in.

  “What are we waiting for?” Nicholas closed the door behind them, ensuring no prying eyes or ears would know of their conversation. “Sir.” He’d added the last part as an afterthought, but Isaac didn’t care. Nicholas had become a man he depended on wholeheartedly since the incident. Formalities were cheap after everything they’d been through together.

  “Pelt is close.” Isaac took a seat behind his desk, shifting the paperwork in front of him to the other side. “He’s keeping an eye on her. No contact yet.”

  “It’s been four days, sir. How much longer are you willing to wait?”

  He smiled. “Always to the point, Nicholas.” He grew quiet, thinking over the measures he’d be willing to take in order to keep his secret. “I trust her to do the right thing. No matter how much she hates me, desperation makes people pliable.” His thoughts turned to Devon Richards, the man who’d stolen
$1.8 million right from under Isaac’s nose. His former fighter must have had a good reason for betraying him. Although, at the pace his interrogation had gone, Isaac wasn’t sure if he’d ever get an answer.

  Torrhent was a different case, however. He hesitated, flashing on a memory of his stepdaughter as a ten-year-old. She smiled up at him with her first pair of ballet shoes in hand. Her red hair resembled her mother’s in every aspect and Isaac pushed the memory away. Yes, desperation made people do crazy things. He snapped back to the present when his cell rang. “If she doesn’t comply, then and only then will I need your expertise.”

  Isaac dug it from his breast pocket. The caller ID reminded him of a meeting he had in an hour. “It’s Roland.” He tossed the cell to Nicholas and listened as his second in command set up a meet with the competition. His eyes roamed over a map of Portugal.

  “They’re here.” Nicholas limped toward the desk to hand the phone back after he’d hung up. The man’s injury ruined a lot of plans Isaac had in mind and it seemed the only thing he’d ever be good for again was answering the damned phone. Then again, Isaac had been especially impressed with how his number two had framed Torrhent for the former commissioner’s murder. It was a perfect arrangement—his idea, of course, but perfect all the same.

  On the other hand, Torrhent’s escape from Bedford Women’s Facility raised the possibility of his rivals hunting his stepdaughter down to get back at him. Should they catch up with her . . .

  It didn’t matter. Isaac would have his solution shortly. He just had to find it. “And what about the Banvard girl? Where are we with that?”

  Nicholas shook his head.

  He exhaled in frustration. He’d have to do the deed himself. “There’s only one way to make them understand how serious I am then.” Isaac retrieved the 9mm from his desk drawer, pulling the slide back. “And I’m tired of wasting my bullets. You have two days to locate her. We’ve waited long enough.”

  * * *