“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? A man like you probably has a shitload of resources at your disposal. If you were playing with a full deck, you would’ve used them and performed due diligence before kidnapping the two of us. You shouldn’t have just checked out Nick’s background. You should’ve checked out mine.”
The old man puffed up. “I—”
“If you had,” Oliver continued, “you wouldn’t have missed the trail of breadcrumbs the feds left when creating my new identity. Any talented hacker could discover them.”
Silence fell.
Oliver gave no indication whatsoever that he was lying. Even Kayla began to wonder if at least some of it might be true.
“But,” Oliver said, “I’m nothing if not an opportunist. The feds wouldn’t value me otherwise. So I might be willing to make a deal.”
Though the old man arched a brow, Kayla could see that Oliver’s words disturbed him. “Why make a deal when all I have to do is kill you?”
Oliver sighed. “Did you not hear me say that if I don’t check in, they’ll show up at your door? When the feds forced me into witness protection, I tried to slip away. A lot. They had me working at a fucking gas station halfway between two small towns way out in BFE. And every damn time I did get away, they managed to find me and forced me back in. I don’t know if they put a chip in my fucking head or what. But the feds always find me no matter how careful I am not to leave a trail. They just got tired of looking, so they finally agreed to place me in a larger city where I wouldn’t be bored off my ass all the time. It’s harder for them to protect me here, so they stuck me with Nick.”
The bruiser hauled off and hit him again. “I call bullshit.”
“Call bullshit all you want,” Oliver growled. “And while you’re at it, call the US Marshals Service, ask for Deputy Henderson, and mention the name Spencer Zaveri. If you don’t feel like looking the number up online, you’ll find it on my phone.”
The old man took a step toward him. “Who is Spencer Zaveri?”
“I am. Or I was, before they changed my name. Look it up, then come back and maybe we can strike a deal. You’re a billionaire. Being in the witness protection program hasn’t exactly left me with a big bank account. Offer me enough money and I’ll keep my mouth shut and walk away without a backward glance. Offer me more than enough and I’ll convince Kayla to do the same.”
The old man looked at Kayla. “And how do you plan to do that?”
Oliver shrugged. “Everyone has a price. Hers might be her dickhead ex-husband meeting with an accident and being permanently ejected from her life. Or maybe her daughter having a nice plump trust fund waiting for her when she turns twenty-five. I’ll figure it out, whatever it is, and you can help me make it happen. And who knows, if you offer her whatever you offer me, maybe she’ll satisfy your nutball curiosity and agree to donate more blood so you can turn it into whatever immortality serum you think you can create to cheat death.”
Silence descended, thick and tense.
“Time is ticking, gentlemen,” Oliver drawled. “If we don’t go home tonight, Nick is going to start looking for us.”
“That was the whole point of kidnapping you.”
Oliver sighed as if dealing with someone so dense exhausted him. “How many times do I have to tell you he’s an ordinary guy! He may look for us, but he won’t find us here! And you won’t lure him into a trap. He’ll just call in the feds when I don’t come home.”
“We’ll see.” Turning away, the old man hobbled toward the door with as much dignity as his frail form could muster.
The bruiser strode after him, followed by the other men.
The door closed behind them with a snick.
Kayla stared at Oliver.
One corner of his bloody lips turned up in a smile as he winked at her with the eye that wasn’t swollen. He glanced up at the high ceiling, then around the room. “You see any cameras? My vision’s a little blurry.”
She looked around. “No.”
“I figured there wouldn’t be. He wouldn’t want to risk having video confirmation of his crime.”
Kayla struggled against the zip ties that bound her wrists to the chair but could neither break them nor squeeze her hands free. Leaning forward, she eased her weight onto her feet and stood with the chair on her back. Though walking in such a hunched-over position was awkward, she managed to make her way over to Oliver. “Do you think they’re listening to us?”
“I doubt it. I don’t think he put a lot of thought into this operation.” Curiosity sparkled in his right eye as he watched her. His left was nearly swollen shut now.
She lowered her chair to the floor beside him. “Was all that bullshit?”
“The witness protection program thing?”
Nodding, she scooted her chair back and studied the ropes that bound him to the chair. There was no way she would be able to untie them one-handed even if she could reach the large knot. Nor did she have a hope in hell of unfastening the zip tie that bound his wrists.
“Yeah. I was just leaving a few breadcrumbs of my own, the kind that will raise red flags at the network if he investigates them. What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out how to untie you.”
“Damn. You kick ass, Kayla. Nick’s a lucky man. I love strong women.”
Strong? Kayla wasn’t strong. She was sweating. Her heart raced. And she felt shaky inside.
Oliver blew his breath out until his chest sank in, then wiggled and squirmed.
As Kayla watched in amazement, he maneuvered the rope around his chest up and over his shoulders, then ducked his head and freed himself.
He stood, his balance less than steady, arms still secured behind his back with a zip tie. He tried to sink to his knees but ended up falling with a pained grunt instead. “Damn it. I think that asshole broke a couple of my ribs.” A long groan spilled from his lips as he hunched over and forced his bound hands under his butt and down his legs until they were in front of him.
Impressive. Kayla didn’t think she could do that, and she exercised and stretched at least five days a week.
Once his hands were in front of him, he pushed himself to his feet again. Raising his hands to his teeth, he tugged on the long end of the zip tie.
“I’m pretty sure you aren’t going to be able to bite through that,” she murmured, scooting around until she faced him without the empty chair between them.
His poor battered face lit with a grin. “I’m not trying to.” Fisting his hands, he raised them over his head and brought them down in a flash as if he were trying to stab himself in the stomach.
The plastic tie broke.
Her eyes widened. “How’d you do that?”
“It’s not as hard as it looks.” Oliver placed his hands together, palm to palm, and formed fists. “This, however, might be more difficult. I’ve only ever done it with duct tape.” In the next instant, he squatted and drove his fists down between his ankles at the same time.
The zip tie held. And Oliver lost his balance. Bracing a hand on the floor, he grunted and gripped his ribs.
“Are you okay?” she asked hesitantly.
He nodded. “Just dizzy. I think I took one too many blows to the head.” Parking his butt on the floor, he began to untie the laces of one of his boots.