back. The vehicle bounced and slid sideways, and he was along for the ride. Tossed by the whim of fate.
He barely had time to register the warm liquid flooding his mouth as the car tilted, rolled. Once, twice. A third time, more glass shattering, metal screaming. His head struck something, but the pain didn’t register. Only his desperation to stay conscious, or he was a dead man. Because he had no doubt the driver of the sedan would come down here and pump a bullet in his brain.
The Porsche slid to a stop, resting on the roof. Bastian, heart racing, struggled to remove his seat belt. The bastard would be down here in moments to finish him. And where the hell was his gun? The latch gave and he scooted to an upright position, wincing at the bloom of pain in his ribs and head, searching for the weapon that was nowhere to be found. He had to get out of here or he was going to be slaughtered like a pig.
The front windshield had a bigger opening, so he crawled through on his stomach, ignoring the jagged teeth that tore at his nice shirt. Footsteps crunched through the foliage, easing down the incline toward the car, and he crawled faster. From his assailant’s hesitation, he wasn’t sure whether Bastian still posed a threat and was approaching with caution.
Free of the car, Bastian sat up and got his bearings. Not easy to do with his head swimming. The car had come to rest in the undergrowth in a wooded area, something he could use to his advantage. Position and the element of surprise were all he had. Hopefully, the bastard would believe he was still in the wreck long enough for Bastian to get the drop on him.
Quickly, careful not to make noise, he limped for a nearby copse of trees and ducked behind a large one. Sweat trickled down his face and he swayed on his feet, wondering when his backup would show. Now would be good.
The footsteps circled his car slowly. Taking a chance, Bastian peered around the tree trunk and saw a big man taking stock of the car. Dark hair, swarthy complexion. Smooth skin. Not Tio, then. Dietz’s right hand was an ugly, pockmarked son of a bitch. This guy appeared pretty average, except for his size. And the big-ass gun in his palm.
The man bent to peer in the driver’s window… and spied a torn, bloodied piece of Bastian’s shirt clinging to a shard of glass in the front windshield.
The assailant howled, releasing the weapon. Bastian wasted no time scooping it up, pushing the muzzle under the man’s chin.
“Game over,” he hissed. “Who do you work for?”
“Fuck you.” The shithead spat in his face.
“You wish.” He gave the guy a feral smile. “Dietz send you?”
“Who?” The man’s eyes cut away, mouth tightening.
“Lying asshole. We’ll see how you like being our guest indefinitely.”
A sneer marred his face. “I’ll make bail before the tow truck gets that piece of shit you were driving out of the ditch.”
Bastian laughed. “You think we’re cops? Boy, Dietz left out a few important details when he handed you this job — or you failed to ask the right questions. You’re not going to jail, moron. You just disappeared down a black hole, never to be seen or heard from again. Hope you watered your plants and fed the cat.”
“What’re you talking about?” Bastian yanked him to his feet, spun him, and pushed him face-first into the side of the car. “What the fuck? I have rights!”
“Do us both a favor and shut up unless you have something useful to say.”
The sound of a vehicle stopping on the road above, shouts, and many feet tramping down the incline in their direction was music to his ears. He didn’t relax until a hand clamped on his shoulder and a low voice growled in his ear.
“Got him, boss.”
Bastian moved back, limping, his body beginning to throb, his injuries making themselves known. The man who’d spoken, an agent named Lawrence, jerked the would-be assassin’s arms behind his back and cuffed him. As he led their prisoner away, another hand landed on his shoulder.
“Bastian? You okay? We heard a shot.”
He turned to see Blaze Kelly, a good friend, onetime lover, and a damned fine agent, frowning at him in concern. “Went wide. I’m fine. Think I’m gonna need a ride to the office, though,” he said, waving a hand at the totaled Porsche. His joke fell flat. Suddenly he didn’t feel so good.
Blaze steadied him. “Jesus, man, your head is bleeding. We’re taking you to McKay, getting you checked out.”
“I’m okay, really—”
“Let’s go. Just don’t vomit in the Hummer.”
He gave Blaze a lopsided smile. “No promises.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” The big agent wrinkled his nose as he helped Bastian up the culvert. “You smell like chocolate and coffee.”
“My caramel mocha, which perished in the wreck along with my breakfast.”
Food was the exact wrong thing to mention at that moment. His stomach heaved and he dropped to his hands and knees, retching.
“Well, shit,” Blaze sighed.
Indeed. This morning had started out in the crapper and had, unbelievably, gone straight to hell. Definitely room for improvement.
Then again, he was alive. Five points back in the plus column. He’d need all he could get before he brought down Dietz like the rabid dog he was.
Michael was balls-deep in Jeri when the phone rang. He groaned, not paying too much attention to the noise. Either Simon or Mrs. Beasley would pick up, and they knew better than to disturb him when he was entertaining guests.
He’d barely achieved release, emptying himself into her sweet pussy, when a firm knock sounded at the door. Restraining a growl of irritation, he eased out and patted her on the rear. “Go away,” he yelled toward the door.
“You have a call, sir,” Simon informed him in that steady tone.
“Take a message.”
“It’s of the utmost importance.”
“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Knowing Simon, the call
Scooting from the bed, he ignored his companions’ pouts and pulled on a pair of jeans he retrieved from the end. Stalking to the door, he opened it and slipped into the hallway, shutting it behind him. Simon stood with his hand covering the mouth of the phone, worry in his eyes. That alone chilled Michael’s soul.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Agent Kelly, sir. There’s been an incident.” He held out the phone. “Let me know if I can be of assistance.”
Michael took the phone and waited until the older man disappeared around the corner before speaking. “Blaze? What’s going on?”
“Michael, listen to me. First of all, Bastian is okay—”
“What happened?” he demanded. Christ, his best friend had been gone only an hour. What could have taken place since then?
“He was followed and the guy shot at him, ran him off the road. He rolled the Porsche, but listen—
