Or maybe he had come back. Alice didn’t seem to be considering that possibility. Maybe the ring was a sign that her ex had come back, after all. Maybe he’d been there all along. Something they would talk about. After they finished the search and got the hell out of there. “We should give the ring to the cops.”
She tucked it into her bag. “Why?”
He paced around the room. “Because it’s evidence, sweetheart.”
“The camera is gone. He knew it was there. How did he know?”
Because he’s been watching you. Very, very closely. Saint didn’t touch anything as he searched. He already knew his prints were spread out in the room and over Alice’s desk. But there was no sense in more contamination.
More contamination. Right. She’s taking things from the crime scene. That’s plenty of contamination—and tampering. He paused in front of the bathroom door. “Where did he get the hose?” The bastard had been prepared. The hose. The chamber. And Tracy.
How did he get Tracy here? Had he brought her from another location or…
“The spray paint isn’t here.”
Saint looked back at Alice. She’d opened her desk drawer.
“I put it inside, but it’s gone.” Alice bit her lower lip. “Think the cops have it?”
He thought of the brick that had been tossed through her window. The paint on it. And the SUV that had barreled down the street. “Sweetheart, we both know that’s not the case. I thought you were going to start giving me the truth.” Anger hummed through him. “If you’re trying to set up a scene so I will—”
Thump.
He and Alice both stilled. Then in the next instant, he ran for her open door. That sound had been faint, but he knew he’d heard it. Someone else was inside the speakeasy.
“Saint, wait!” Alice’s cry.
He didn’t wait. He rushed back toward the darkened bar, and when the penlight swept around…Saint saw that a chair had fallen to the floor. As if someone had bumped into it in the dark and sent it tumbling down.
Fuck me.
“Saint, what are you—”
“We are not alone.”
She stopped. Alice stood just a foot or two behind him. He swept the light to the fallen chair so that she could see it, then he darted it around the bar. He trekked over those curtains slowly. One section of the wall at a time.
“Be careful.” Alice inched closer. Her hands pressed to his back. “Old magician’s trick. You wear black and you can blend in with the curtains. It’s how they used to make the woman in the box disappear, old-school style. She’d be wearing black, she just pulled up a mask and she vanished—the crowd wasn’t close enough to see clearly, so she blended with the black inside the box—”
Yeah, he didn’t know what damn trick Alice was talking about—what effect—she meant, and he didn’t really care right then. Because he’d just seen the curtain flutter again.
To the right.
And was that…Yes, it was…His light hit a black ski mask. He saw the bastard’s eyes in the small holes, glaring back at him. “Get back, Alice,” Saint growled.
“Saint—”
The figure screamed and barreled forward, leaping straight from the black curtains and coming hard at Saint with his arms raised. Saint aimed his weapon. He got ready to—
Alice slammed into him. “Saint, no!”
Was she fucking kidding?
Footsteps rushed past him as the figure ran toward the back room—toward the back door. Saint pulled away from Alice. “Stay here!”
“No, Saint, wait, you don’t—”
He was already giving chase. He caught the figure in the back room and shoved him into the wall. Hard enough to shake the bastard’s body. The penlight had dropped from Saint’s hand when Alice slammed into him, but he damn well still had his gun. He whirled the SOB around—
The fool tried to headbutt him. A move Saint easily dodged. He brought his weapon up to fire—
“Saint, don’t!” Alice’s plea. Because, of course, she hadn’t stayed behind. Not her. “Don’t shoot, it’s—”
“I know it’s fucking Logan,” he snarled back. “And that makes me want to shoot all the more.”
The figure in black cried out. Scared. Angry. He swung at Saint once more.
An attack Saint dodged. Then he shoved the barrel of his gun against the other man’s head. “You freeze or I will pull the trigger.”
And…
Laughter.
From the man in black. From Logan. “The hell you will,” Logan snapped back. “That’s not what you do. You hunt down criminals. You turn them in. You don’t kill—”
“You don’t know me,” Saint said, words ice cold and lethal. “You have no idea what I am capable of doing.”
“Saint…” Alice’s low voice.
“Call him off, Alice,” Logan barked. “Tell him to get his hands off me, now!”
“Go get the cops out front, Alice,” Saint ordered, never moving his gun and keeping it dead center on Logan’s forehead. “Tell them we were checking the property and saw someone breaking in. We caught the perp. They’ll want to take him in to custody.”
“Alice!” A desperate cry—no, a plea—from Logan. “Don’t! They’ll lock me up!”
“Yeah,” Saint snarled right back. “That’s the point.”
Alice didn’t leave. “Saint, do not shoot him. Please, move the gun.”
She couldn’t be serious. “If he doesn’t get twitchy, I won’t have to shoot. How about getting those cops, sweetheart? Now?”
She still didn’t move to leave. Instead, she crept closer. Her hand rose and pressed to his arm. The arm that was extended as he held the gun on Logan. “I’m asking you—for me—to lower the gun.”
“What kind of game are you playing?” Saint rasped.
“Why does everyone always think I’m playing?” Sad. Then, “Please.”
He knew what she was doing. She knew it, too. Begging. They’d talked about this issue.
Logan didn’t seem to even be breathing. He’d gone statue still. Jaw locking, Saint lifted the gun away, and he took a step—
Logan yelled and surged forward. He drove his fist toward Saint’s jaw, but he missed, and that swinging hand slammed toward Alice and—
The fuck, no. A roar seemed to rip from Saint. He kicked Logan in the gut, sent the jerk barreling back and crashing into the wall. Alice didn’t want him to use a gun? Fine, Saint had always preferred to work with his hands. “Hold this.” He pushed the gun toward Alice.
“I—” She took the gun.
He drove his fist into Logan’s mask-covered jaw. “You don’t ever swing at her.”
“I wasn’t!” Logan shook his head, seemingly dazed by the blow, but his hands fisted. “I was swinging at you!”
“Because you hate me? Because I’m taking her from you?” Saint taunted. “Yeah, I am.”
Logan swung out with his fist again, a fairly decent hook.
Saint didn’t let the blow land. Instead, he ducked, then fired out with an upper cut that clipped Logan under the chin and had his teeth rattling together. Logan weaved, stumbled, and Saint’s fist thudded into his cheek in the next instant. Logan’s feet seemed to give out beneath him, and he slammed onto the floor.