“What makes you so certain?”
“No one calls in a fake threat at two-thirty on a Friday. School’s just getting ready to let out for the weekend. Defeats the purpose.”
He gave a small grunt that told her he’d already figured that out for himself. “That’s what worries me. We have no clue what’s really behind anything these guys are doing.”
Chapter 17
MORGAN WHIRLED TO face the threat but then stopped. She knew the man—boy, really. Gibson Radcliffe. How the hell? She slid her hand toward her knife. Gibson aimed the gun at Micah, but his dead-eyed stare and goofy grin were solely for Morgan.
“Think I don’t know what you’re thinking, sis?” He arched an eyebrow in disapproval. “Hands on the dash.”
Micah tensed, preparing to make a move. Morgan shook her head no, keeping his gaze as she raised her hands and planted them on the dash. Resentment flashed through Micah’s eyes, but he nodded and followed her lead. Probably because he remembered how she’d saved them before when they first met and were in trouble. Mostly because he trusted her. Trusting. Micah’s weakness. She hoped this time it wouldn’t get him killed.
“What do you want?” Micah asked. His voice didn’t sound like him, carried a touch of the wolf.
Gibson’s smile grew wider and weirder if that was possible. “Car parked at the edge of the lot, windows all steamed—did I interrupt something?”
This usually would have been when Morgan slit someone’s throat, but that was off the table, not when she had to protect Micah. She wasn’t used to that, having someone to protect. Cramped her style. Except that Micah wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for her. That thought brought with it an uncertain and unfamiliar twinge of something deep in her gut…guilt? Was this what guilt felt like?
Her self-analysis was cut short when Gibson fished a loop of cable wire from his pocket and handed it to Micah. “Put this around your neck.”
Before Morgan could stop him, Micah obeyed. The wire was a quarter inch thick, run through a loop to create a noose. Gibson yanked the cable tight—it made a zipping noise as it hummed through the loop—and pulled Micah back into his seat until his body was arched up and he was struggling to loosen the cable, now a garrote, from around his throat.
“Stop,” Morgan ordered. “I know who you are, and I know what you want.” Gibson stared at her, yanking the cable tighter, Micah made a small strangling noise as his face turned red and he fought to breathe. “Let him go, and I’ll give you what you want.”
Gibson pursed his lips in exaggerated thought then released the garrote enough for Micah to breathe. “He’s handy to have around. I think I’ll keep him. Make sure you behave yourself. Does he have a name?”
Every fiber of Morgan’s being wanted to slice that twisted grin from Gibson’s face then carve out a new smile for him, one that wrapped all the way around his neck. But she restrained herself—if she couldn’t control herself, no way would she be able to control the situation. She pulled in a breath. “Micah. His name is Micah.”
“Micah.” Gibson ran his fingers through Micah’s hair and patted his head as if he were a dog. Despite the garrote, Micah tensed, his hands tightening into fists. Morgan risked Gibson’s wrath, lowering one of her hands over Micah’s, trying to reassure him.
“We’re going to have some fun today.” Gibson’s voice turned sing-song as if he’d been rehearsing for this moment all his life. Maybe he actually was one of Clint’s sons, because he sounded eerily like Clint right now.
“First, a pretty necklace for the lady.” He handed Morgan her own wire noose. “Go on, put it on.”
As he spoke, he wrenched Micah’s tighter. Morgan complied. Gibson took the long ends of the cables in one hand, like reins, effectively controlling them in tandem. But in doing so, he released Micah, so Morgan was happy with that small gain.
“Now some nice bracelets.” He rummaged in a small backpack and brought out a handful of zip ties. “Morgan, wrists together, behind you. Micah, will you do the honors?”
She leaned forward and held her wrists up. Micah slid the plastic fastener over them and pulled gently, taking his time, his fingers caressing hers as if trying to impart some secret message.
“Tighter,” Gibson ordered.
Micah inched the ties the slightest bit tighter. He couldn’t know it, but it would actually be easier for Morgan to break free of them if they had no slack. As it was, they were just tight enough to restrain her and not tight enough for her to easily escape. She’d need to find a way to reach one of her barrettes—their steel fasteners could be used as shims on handcuffs or zip ties. But she couldn’t act until she had a few minutes away from Gibson’s scrutiny.