Grace reached in and realized that the jacket was double lined and that Hunter’s body—obviously strong—was actually a bit leaner than Grace had imagined.
Also, that the jacket weighed around twenty pounds.
Wait.
“Is this lined with Kevlar?” he asked, flummoxed. For one thing, that meant Hunter had run around the building and to the marina in record time while carrying the equivalent of a twenty-pound daypack on his back.
For another, Hunter had let Grace wipe his feet on this super expensive Kevlar daypack.
“The shackles, Grace!” Their bad guy was wriggling a little, and, well, people were starting to stare.
“Oh, yeah!”
Grace rooted into the pocket in question and pulled out clear plastic shackles. Well, not plastic. Something stronger than plastic. Something knife resistant. Yeah, sure, it was probably possible to machete through these babies, but where was a machete when you were shackled in the basement, right?
He handed them to Hunter and then resumed his futile brushing off of the coat. Hunter must have been frustrated, though, because the guy getting shackled let out his first sound.
“Ouch! Dammit, I’m cooperating!”
“You. Tried. To. Escape.”
Grace actually shuddered. God, he hoped he never got on Hunter’s bad side. Those clipped words were definitely Hunter’s bad side.
“What were you doing anyway?” Grace asked. “Why was your buddy searching our rooms?” He had a sudden thought that brought him to his knees next to the guy’s prone body. “Did you hurt the professor? Did you?” He started rooting through the coat with more ferocity. “There is a fucking knife in here, and if you hurt the professor—”
“Hold it, hold it, precious,” Hunter muttered. “Josh, did you check?”
And Josh chimed in for the first time since the chase had begun. “Yeah. Mr. Mikkelnokov is fine, Grace. Don’t worry. He’s a little confused and wondering where you’ve gone and why in the hell I’m here, but he’s fine.”
Grace let out a little puff of breath. “Oh, good.” He scowled at the enemy. “What in the hell were you doing there?”
“Hey! It’s us who should be asking you that question.” The man struggled to sit up, knocking his balaclava off—and it was, as Grace suspected, a ski mask. “You’re the ones with our stolen tech.”
“Your what?”
The guy let out a grunt. “We think,” he amended. “We… we were getting a little desperate. See—” He looked down at the shackles, and then back at Hunter. “—I am sitting in the mud. I don’t know where my colleague is. And I’m starving. Is there any way we could do this somewhere else?”
“Sure!” Grace said, because he was starting to get a little peckish himself, just as Hunter said, “Not on your life.”
The guy was pretty good-looking, now that Grace wasn’t terrified of him. He had nice hazel eyes—not as piercing as Hunter’s, but not bad—and a clean jaw, with short-clipped brown hair. He turned those eyes onto Grace, who would readily admit he was the easier mark, and said, “Can I at least know what you did to my head of security?”
“Your head of security took a shot at my friend here,” Hunter snapped. “You’re lucky his nose isn’t sniffing the back of his own skull!”
“He did what?” The blank surprise on their bad guy’s face seemed to make him not such a bad guy, but then, what did Grace know? He was a thief.
“There was a shot,” Grace agreed. “In the stairwell. Why did he do that, by the way?”
In defeat, the man slumped backward, obviously no longer caring that he was lying in sopping wet grass and bare mud. “I have no idea,” he muttered. “Dammit.” He opened his eyes again. “I’m sorry,” he said to Grace. “I’m sorry about chasing you. I’m sorry about scaring your friend. I was just—we were at the end of our rope, and we let desperation get to us. God, you’re not going to call the police, are you?”
“What were you desperate about?” Grace asked curiously. He shifted his weight on his feet again, grimaced, and was about to sink down to sit in the muddy grass next to their friend when Hunter grabbed his upper arm.
“Stop,” he said. “Look—mister—”
“Broadstone,” the man said. “Lucius Broadstone.”
Grace grinned. “No shit?”
He got a dry look in return. “No shit. Why are you impressed?”
“Because that is an amazing name. Isn’t it?”
“I’ve got it,” Stirling said tersely over coms. “Consensus here is that it’s an amazing name. It’s also the name of a billionaire who owns a zillion acres of cattle ranches outside of Peoria and runs a decent-sized tech-development company there by the name of Broadstone Industries. Ask him if he’s that billionaire.”
“Great,” Hunter rasped. “Mr. Lucius Broadstone of Broadstone Industries, if we help you up and let you walk, will you tell me why your head of security was willing to shoot at my friend so that you two could break into a room?”
“He’s gone, by the way,” Julia said over coms. “We came back when we heard the ruckus. The zip ties are on the ground, snapped, but there’s a little bit of blood here, so whoever it was must have been fairly desperate.”
“Well, this guy snapped his zip ties too,” Hunter muttered. “I’m starting to think I should just cuff people and get it over with.”
“Took a class,” Lucius Broadstone said, smiling prettily. “I did. On how to get out of zip ties. Self-defense. Worked wonders.”
Hunter glared at him again, and Lucius quieted down. “I….” He sighed. “Look, I already know where your hotel room is. How about you take me back there, lend me some clothes, and I’ll pay for room service. I think we can straighten this out.” He frowned. “And about Jenkins using a gun? That was… that was not in the plan.” He gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry?”
Hunter snarled—actually snarled, lips drawn back from bared teeth—and Lucius flinched. “If your guy had hurt Grace, you would, indeed, be sorry.”
Lucius sobered, then nodded. “Yes,” he said clearly. “That was… irresponsible of me. Not to know who I was working with. I apologize.” He slumped down a little more. “Please. I’d like a chance to explain.”
Grace huffed out a breath. “Sure. C’mon, Hunter, let his ankles free. If nothing else, you can tackle him again.”
“I’d rather you not!” Broadstone said in some alarm. He shook his head. “I played college football—I’ve never been brought down like that.”
“Shot! At! My friend!”
Broadstone’s eyes narrowed. He nodded in agreement but seemed to find something suspect about that. “Friend. Sure. I hear you. Now, could you help me up?”
“Fine.” Hunter matched his action to his words and grabbed Broadstone’s upper arm before hauling him unceremoniously to his feet.
Standing, Grace was reminded of why he’d been running so fast, because the guy, while not tall, exuded a sort of no-bullshit physicality. Yeah, this guy could fuck you up, no question. He frowned. “So, what were you going to do if you caught me?”