Page 158 of Protecting Peyton

“I’m working on it.” Jordy did not sound happy. “The camera coverage is spotty in that part of town.”

“Plate?” Lucas prodded.

“Working on it.” Jordy knew the pressure was on. “Got the plate… Running it.”

Ahead, Lucas darted into the oncoming lane to pass a delivery truck. It would be an insane maneuver in anything with less power than the Cayenne.

“The plate doesn’t get us anywhere,” Jordy said. “It’s from a Suburban stolen in Pasadena.”

I came up behind the delivery truck, and after a few cars went by in the opposite direction, I got my opportunity to pass, as Lucas had. Mashing the pedal down, the turbos spun up, and the V-8 roared.

“Jesus,” O’Connor screamed. “Do you have a death wish?”

I swung the wheel and, with two seconds to spare, swerved back into the correct lane ahead of the truck. There was no substitute for raw power.

O’Connor spluttered. “I’m never driving with you again.”

“That would be fine by me.”

He’d let Peyton get kidnapped, and I hated him for that.

A minute later, we reached the Chinese restaurant she’d visited.

“We’re here,” Lucas told Jordy over comms. “Which way?”

“North on Broadmore,” the tech geek said. “Stop three blocks up and wait until I get more sightings.”

At the suggested spot, I pulled to the curb behind Lucas’s Cayenne.

It sucked having to wait, but we were totally dependent on Jordy tracing the route the BMW took.

O’Connor unbelted and hurried out his door.

Then… the detective puked on the grass.

Lightweight in addition to being incompetent. He deserves way worse than this for putting my woman in danger.

Peyton

I blinkedopen groggy eyes to find myself alone, tied to a chair in a dingy bedroom. Looking around, dread was a lead weight in my stomach. The comforter on the bed had a dozen dubious stains, and handcuffs hanging on the headrest. There was only one door, and no window—a dungeon.

Slowly, the memories flooded back in.

I would have been safe if the restaurant manager’s office hadn’t had a small window to the alley.

I’d run and been caught again by the monster and his ugly henchman.

Refusing to give him any more airtime, I shook my head to clear the ugly memories. All that mattered was what I did now.

My wrists screamed in protest when I pulled against the bindings holding them behind the chair. The good news was, the strain created the slightest bit of looseness in them. Grabbing the end of the rope with one hand, it felt like cotton, which gave me hope.

The doorknob rattled, and I slumped my head forward against my chest.

The door opened, letting in screams of what sounded like a circular saw cutting wood. “She’s still out.” It was Baldy’s voice.

“When do I get a turn with her?” More sickening than the implication was that it was a new voice. How many of them planned to assault me?

“Me too.”