“You son of a—”
He rounded the corner as one of the thugs, who probably heard the sound, ran right at him. Tristan knew what he looked like. He put in a lot of time at the gym, but he wasn’t exactly the bulkiest guy, and bulk seemed to be what Damask favored in his men. But Tristan was fast, and best yet, he was smart. So as the thug ran at him, he curled his hand into a fist and shot it into the other man’s throat in one devastating blow, using the man’s own momentum against him. As the thug fell to the ground, gasping for air, Tristan bent over him and plucked a phone from his pocket.
“Thanks, man.” He dialed 911. “Hello, police? I’m at the new construction on St. Pete Beach. The one by Blackthorne. And I just saw some guys pull a woman in against her will. Yeah, fifth floor, east wing. Thanks.” He hung up before they could ask any more questions and ducked into a room as more thugs ran by. They started to look around, either for him or for the woman if she had gotten away too. And then there it was. The sound of sirens in the background as they slowly approached.
Strange. That sound should have terrified him. He used to be on the opposite side of those sirens. He supposed in some ways he still was. But now they were coming here because he called them.
Tristan stayed in the shadows as the sirens got closer. He knew he should be getting the hell out of there, but he felt the strangest need to stay. Usually the lies rolled right off his tongue, but he kept thinking to when he’d told the poor girl that he’d be right back. He’d promised her everything would be okay, so he stood there in the shadows until he heard the telltale footsteps. It took longer than he expected. But he supposed that with a building this size, with who knew how many hostiles floating around, the police would want to wait until they had a suitable amount of backup.
His other thought was that if there were dirty cops on the payroll, it would be easier for them to instigate a cover-up if they waited long enough for Blackthorne to clean up. As soon as he saw the bouncing flashlights of the police, he made his swift exit. The construction site was big enough that it was too easy to slip out unnoticed. Once he was outside, he found a small gathering of bystanders and slipped in. He stood there for a while until he saw the squad of policeman bring Shae out. Immediately the paramedic met her and put a blanket over her shoulders. Tristan squinted to get a better view through the darkness. She was pretty. Pretty face to match a pretty voice. He’d barely been able to see her face in the darkness. The only view he’d gotten was one shapely, muscular leg.
He forced his gaze away from the girl and looked back to the building. There was no one being brought out in handcuffs. Considering how easy it was for him to get out, he understood that a lot of these guys would’ve given the police the slip, but the one he knocked out hadn’t been going anywhere soon. If the guy did manage to evade arrest, he had to have someone helping him. Probably someone on the police force.
Whatever was going on with Blackthorne, it was bigger than this girl, bigger than this police force. In other words, it was the perfect assignment for Hart Securities.
He was just about to take out his phone to give Hart the update when the girl turned around. Tristan knew logically that he was too far away and it was too dark for her to recognize him, but he swore she stared right into his eyes.
“Someone’s out there.” Shae scanned the crowd. From this distance, everything looked blurry, but she knew without a doubt that she was being watched.
The paramedic reached out and set a hand on her shoulder, which tore her attention away from the crowd of onlookers. “It’s okay. That feeling will stick around for a while, but I’m sure eventually it will pass,” said the man comfortingly.
However, Shae didn’t feel any comfort at the moment. She pulled herself away from his grip. The paramedic, a handsome young guy in his twenties, probably only meant to reassure her. But after what she’d been through, she didn’t want to be touched right now. She just wanted to go home. The home that caused all this mess in the first place. “I told you, I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital. I just want to give my statement and get out of here.”
The paramedic looked at her skeptically, but he didn’t argue. “I’m sure the detective in charge will be here soon.”
As if on cue, an older cop approached them. He wasn’t in uniform, but the badge clipped onto his belt and his holster were visible whenever he took a step forward and his jacket fell open. The winter breeze at St. Pete Beach wasn’t exactly cold, but it was chilly enough to require something. Which was why Shae pulled the blanket tighter around her as she prepared herself to give her statement.
She mentally went through the events of the evening, trying to get her story straight. She’d been finishing up a tough day’s work, getting the new floors in, when the brick had crashed through her window. There hadn’t been a note with it. That’s why she didn’t call the police. They would’ve never believed her when she said it was Blackthorne who was threatening her, but she’d had enough phone conversations and angry letters to know that they were escalating their demands for her to leave.
She’d angrily called the Blackthorne office, but the secretary had just given her the runaround. No, she wasn’t going to make a stupid appointment to tell them they couldn’t throw bricks through her window. All they would do was tell her again that she needed to sell the property or else. So Shae’s temper had gotten the better of her, and she’d angrily found herself driving south until she got to Blackthorne’s latest pet project—the new resort he was having built, so tall it was sure to be an eyesore on the coast. And right as she’d been about to lob that brick right through one of the windows, Damask’s men had grabbed her.
At first, she’d been terrified they were going to call the police. She didn’t have a police record and had no idea what would happen when a vandalism charge showed up. But then her fears escalated drastically when, instead of calling the police, they bound her hands and feet and threw her into a supply closet.
As the detective approached, she squared her shoulders and ran her fingers through her hair, only to be stopped abruptly by the tangles that had taken over after the whole ordeal. So she might have to give up looking nice, but she could still try to be charming. The detective nodded at the paramedic in a subtle dismissal. She nodded a thanks to the young man as he disappeared and then turned to fully face the detective. “Hi. I’m Shae Grant.” She held out her hand, which he looked down at but didn’t take. That wasn’t a good sign....