Page 47 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

Fighting through the pain growing in intensity in my ribs, I let the thug who was responsible drag me down the hallway. He stinks of garlic, cigarettes, and stale sweat, but I hang on to him, slowing him down as much as possible so whoever is watching gets a better view.

When he shoves me away from him so violently that I smash into the wall, I bite my lip to keep from crying out. He opens a door and pushes me against another wall. My heart leaps in my chest as he starts patting my body down so roughly I know he’s doing it on purpose. When he reaches the parts that Mick avoided, I close my eyes and try not to let him see how much it’s hurting me when he squeezes and fondles areas he has no business touching.

I’m so mad, I speak without filtering myself.

“Are we finished?”

He raises his hand, and I wince, clenching all my muscles to prepare for the strike.

“Think I heard someone calling you, Hamza,”

a voice says.

I look past him, and as my eyes adjust, a woman comes into focus. Brooke. On a mattress in the corner of the room, with her hands bound together and her back pressed against the wall. Given the glazed look on her face, she’s just woken up. That explains the lack of movement.

Hamza sneers at her, but he leaves me be, closing the door and locking it behind him. The second he’s gone, I turn to face her, hoping there’s still enough light to activate the night vision so Mick and the others can also see.

“You know his name?”

I ask her.

She gives me a wry smile.

“I have a knack for getting information out of people.”

Her eyes pop wider as she looks me over.

“What are you doing here?”

I ease onto the mattress, groaning as I try to find a position that will allow Mick to see her clearly but not aggravate my burning ribs.

“Getting molested. I should have worn a burka,” I say.

“I think you mean a hijab.”

She pauses then says.

“So, you are a killer.”

I shake my head, unsure of what to say to her. If there is any chance that they’re listening to our conversation, I need to be very careful.

“I haven’t killed anyone. I’m just trying to stay alive right now. Same as you.”

She flicks her tongue over her split lip.

“Mick said he found you.”

“He lost me again. He’s back in Miami. He’s in trouble with the Coast Guard.”

Her head rests against the wall.

“I told him not to get permission first. He’s such an idiot sometimes.”

Despite the pain I’m in, I cover a smile and look down at my hands. Outside, the rain has grown heavier and is pelting against the window pane, making it even darker. I wish I could ask her about Mick, but the risk outweighs the reward. It seems like such a redundant question, but I know it’s what Mick would want to know if he were here.

“Are you injured?”

Brooke shakes her head and gestures to her swollen lip.

“Just this when I talked back. Something I’d advise against doing.”

I smile at her.

“What about food, water, bathroom breaks?”

She cocks her head, and her brow wrinkles slightly.

“They’re treating me fine. But I think that could change if I don’t quit praying so loudly.”

She’s been praying? Wow. Okay.

She’s remarkably together for someone who’s been kidnapped.

“Why aren’t you… you know, afraid?”

She laughs lightly.

“Who says I’m not?”

I raise a shoulder and wince as pain shudders through my midsection.

“Did they drug you?”

“Nope.”

The door opens before I get a chance to ask her anything else, and I shift my position so the camera picks everything up. The same man who let me in the house appears, and he doesn’t look happy.

“Where is the memory card you stole?” he says.

Cold dread leaks into my bones. The memory card was hidden. Locked up. No one knew where it was.

Did they?

I replay the moment I stashed it in the locker. Was someone watching? An attendant?

Was I followed?

I thought I was careful. I was careful.

But someone knew.

My skin prickles.

And if they found that… what else do they know?

“In a storage locker in Miami.”

He roars in anger and reaches for his gun.

I hold up my hand, stalling and hoping against hope Hightower is ready to move.

“But I sent all the information to the cloud in an encrypted file. Get me to a computer, and I can give it to you.”

His fist curls around the weapon, but he backs up and slams the door.

“What’s on the file?”

Brooke asks.

I peer at her. How can she be so calm.

“What’s it to you?”

She shuffles forward, an eager look on her face.

“Whatever it is, they want it badly enough to risk kidnapping me in broad daylight to get it.”

Does she really think I’m going to tell her everything that’s on it? For all I know, they may have told her they’ll let her go if she gets me to talk.

I shrug.

“I don’t know what’s on it,” I lie.

Her lips purse, and her eyes narrow. She’s not buying it.

“Is it to do with the Coast Guard?”

I pull a face at her. “No.”

“Thought you said you didn’t know what was on it?”

I smirk at her, and she returns it.

“If it’s not about the Coast Guard. Why target my brother?”

“I didn’t target anyone.”

But she’s not listening. She’s caught up in her thoughts, her finger tapping against her leg.

“And now you’re trapped the same way he was.”

I’m scared and in pain, and I wasn’t prepared for Mick’s sister to attack me when I’m trying my best to help.

“Yeah. What goes around comes around.”

Her expression shifts, and a little of the malice slips.

“If you’re here, it’s because God wants you here.”

My mouth twists to one side. Fabulous. Not only do I have to deal with an overly aggressive reception, I’m also being hit by this faith stuff from all sides.

“I’m here because I made a mistake. Pure and simple.”

Her eyes drift around the room before landing on me.

“You and me both. I should have started carrying the mace Mick asked me to.”

The idea of Mick trying to protect her makes my stomach hurt even more.

“It wouldn’t have helped. If anything, it would have made it worse.”

She glances at me then looks at the door.

“I should be in Arizona by now. My source is going to think I bailed.”

I cock my head in confusion.

“Your source?”

She releases a breath.

“I’ve got a whistleblower ready to talk.”

“Which industry?”

Her gaze lands on me, and her lips twitch.

“What’s on the memory card?”

I snort a laugh, and she smiles in response before picking at a hole in her jeans.

“We’re probably not going to make it out of here. Pretty sure they’re planning on blowing something up in Miami,” she says.

I shiver as dread makes cold spill through my body.

“So tell me then.”

She opens her mouth, pauses, then heaves a sigh.

“I can’t. I swore I wouldn’t tell a soul, and I’m not going to.”

“Even if you never get a chance to write the story?”

She sighs again.

“It’s not just about the story. It’s about doing the right thing. Maybe you should consider doing that sometime?”

There’s the tiniest pitch to her question that makes me hesitate.

“Like I said. I’m getting what I deserve.”

She doesn’t get a chance to reply. The door opens again, and the same thug who punched and kicked me fills the doorway.

“Move,” he barks.

To avoid any further manhandling, I haul myself up, trying not to aggravate my injuries any further than they are.

“They won’t give you mercy,”

Brooke whispers.

“but God will.”

Mercy. The word scrapes something raw inside me.

No one’s ever shown me mercy. Not the system. Not the people who should’ve protected me.

No one… except Mick.

I stagger out—only to be yanked sideways into a dim kitchen with peeling walls and shadows that press in close.

A slender, solitary figure, dressed in an elegant pantsuit with a hijab covering her hair, is seated at the table. Her face is hidden until she looks up from the laptop in front of her. Familiar cool green eyes meet mine.

I rear back, stunned, and try to turn but am blocked by the brute smirking at me. He grabs my shoulders, holding me in place.

She looks me over and then raises a sculptured eyebrow.

“Darling, what are you wearing?”

Mona says.