Walter’s car was a red Corvette—surprise, surprise—and he half collapsed Beckett against the side of it so he could wrestle open the door. He looked from Beckett’s six-two frame to the cramped seat and cursed. “Should have rented a fucking van.”
Seven minutes of cursing, banging Beckett’s body parts against the door frame or dashboard, and more cursing, and Walter managed to get him inside. The calls to Beckett’s phone had stopped, thankfully, but he still was under the full effects of whatever Walter had given him.
The man in question slid behind the wheel and gunned the engine. “Taking too much fucking time. Someone might have seen.”
Even if he could have talked, Beckett wouldn’t have pointed out that no one who saw them was going to assume that he was being kidnapped. This place catered to the rich and, as such, they tended to look the other way whenever something sketchy was going on. Normally, that was an asset, but not when a literal kidnapping was going down.
This is a fucking shit show.
His head lolled as Walter took the turn out of the parking lot on two wheels. Beckett closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Quite a drive could mean anything from fifteen minutes to several hours. Focus on moving your body and hope this asshole keeps talking.
He concentrated all his will on his toes, hidden from view by his shoes. Move. Move, damn you!
Nothing.
Samara pointed at the red Corvette that had just veered into the road in front of them as they were slowing down to turn into the hotel parking lot. “Did you just see—”
“That’s Walter Trissel’s car.”
That wasn’t what she’d been asking. She’d caught the briefest glimpse of a man in the passenger seat, his body slumped against the window as if sleeping or drunk. He’d looked a whole hell of a lot like Beckett. “Follow him.”
Frank nodded but didn’t pick up speed. She saw why immediately. There wasn’t much traffic on the road, so if they followed too closely, he was bound to notice. She couldn’t imagine Walter Trissel expecting Frank Evans and her to show up, but she wasn’t willing to take any chances at this point. “Beckett didn’t look good. There’s no way he’d get into that car with Walter of his own free will.” If they had to drive somewhere, Beckett would be behind the wheel. Unless he couldn’t drive for some reason…
Kind of like how Nathaniel shouldn’t have been driving that night.
The thought took root, burrowing deeper and deeper with each mile they covered. Frank’s tension only grew, choking the air in his vehicle, but she forced herself to keep breathing as if her heart wasn’t in danger of beating out of her chest. She wanted to scream at him to go faster, to do something to force Walter to stop, to save Beckett.
But he kept a careful distance between them, following the Corvette south and then west along the edge of the Gulf. For a little bit, it seemed like he might drive back to Houston, but then he turned off the main road and into a group of trees.
Frank slowed and then slowed more. She thought he might turn into the same road, but he passed it and then pulled a U-turn about a mile later. He pulled out his phone and sent what looked like a flurry of texts.
“Why aren’t we chasing him down right now?” Her hands itched to throw open the door and start running. It was wrong to sit here and wait while Beckett was most certainly in danger.
“Because we want him to live.” Frank shoved his phone into his pocket. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re going to drive us over there and drop me off. Circle back around until I have Beckett, and then we’ll make our escape.”
She stared at him, waiting for the punch line—or at least something resembling an actual plan—but he gave her a flat look. Samara shook her head. “No way. I’m going down that road whether you give permission or not.” When Frank didn’t move, she glared. “You don’t know how far he drove down there. What if it’s half a mile and Beckett can’t walk for some reason? Having me circle all the way out here isn’t going to solve that problem. It’s only going to make things more complicated.”
“I promised him that I’d keep you safe.” Every word sounded like it was dragged from him against his will.
She shook her head slowly. “That promise doesn’t mean shit if something happens to him. I’m not a child, Frank. I’ll follow orders, but you need me there. Trying to keep me out of this is just stupid.”
For a second, it seemed like he might keep arguing, but he finally cursed softly. “You see it go sideways, you get the fuck out of there. You hear me?”
“I hear you.” No way was she leaving with both him and Beckett, but if she said as much, he might tie her up and lock her in the trunk until this was all over.
Lydia, what did you do?
She could barely fathom that Lydia had orchestrated Beckett being kidnapped, let alone that she’d had Walter Trissel do it. There was nothing out in this area but marshes, and she couldn’t think of anything good that would come from Walter parking in this nearly deserted area. He’s going to try to kill Beckett. She pressed her lips together, waiting for Frank to give her the go-ahead.
He didn’t make her wait long. “Let’s go. I have reinforcements coming, but they won’t be here in time to do anything but help with the cleanup.”
Not for the first time, Samara wondered what the hell it was that Frank did. As far as the public was concerned, he was a real estate mogul who owned more than his fair share
