rear door through which he’d entered. “Let’s go.”
Foley pushed to his feet, the pain radiating through his muscles and settling deep into his bones.
Lennox nudged him in the side with the weapon. “Move,” he commanded.
Foley had taken two steps when a cell phone blasted a familiar tune. He glanced over his shoulder at the phone lying on the table next to the portable defibrillator. His phone. He’d been relieved of his weapon, his wallet and his phone hours ago.
“Check the screen,” Lennox directed.
Foley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Wouldn’t matter if it was his employer, the name and number would reveal nothing. A trace on the call would divulge the same.
“No name,” paddle punk reported as he scrutinized the screen. “Out of area call.”
A frown attempted to stretch across Foley’s brow but he schooled the expression. His employer’s number usually showed up as a local call. A different number every time.
“Accept the call,” Lennox instructed his torture technician, “and put it on speaker.” He glanced around the room. “Not a word from anyone.”
The creep holding Foley’s cell punched the necessary buttons.
Another waste of time. Foley’s employer wouldn’t leave a voice mail or speak into dead air. Maybe if Lennox wasted enough time, the feds would be waiting for him at whatever airfield where his Learjet waited on standby.
“Hello, Jonathan…”
Emotion exploded in Foley’s chest. Three years…three long years of sleepless nights and pent-up frustration leached into his blood. Haunting snippets of whispered words, the brushing of lips and the hot, smooth feel of bare skin against bare skin rushed into his brain.
It couldn’t be…
“I hope this is your voice mail…” A shaky release of breath sighed across the silence. “Call me, please.” She stumbled through a number. “I…I need your help. Please. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Silence reigned for three beats, then Lennox smiled. “Ah. Perhaps we’ve found the missing piece we need.” Certainty glinted in his eyes.
Foley’s mind churned with emotions. Why would she call him now?
Didn’t matter. He knew her inside and out.
Something was very wrong.
Lennox nudged Foley in the spleen with the weapon. “That sounded exactly like the sort of leverage I need to obtain the answer to my question.”
Ice formed in Foley’s gut. No way was he letting this ruthless monster learn her identity and use her.
“Bring me that cell phone,” Lennox ordered his underling. He reached out in anticipation of having it placed in his palm.
Foley whipped around and in one second had Lennox in a chokehold, the weapon he still gripped aimed at his proud brow. “Don’t ever let yourself be distracted when you’ve got a gun to a man’s back.”
Paddle punk’s cohort dared to reach for his weapon.
“Nobody moves,” Foley warned. He bored the barrel of the nine millimeter into Lennox’s temple.
Both men inched forward, testing the line Foley had drawn.
“Do as he says!” Lennox squeaked around the pressure on his throat.
Smart man. “You,” Foley said to the underling who’d followed Lennox into the warehouse, “call 911 and give our location. Then give me my cell.”
Weapons clattered to the floor as the two thugs who’d tortured Foley raised their hands in surrender. “You got what you want,” the one who’d brandished the paddles said. “You don’t need us.” The two started backing away, most likely toward an exit somewhere beyond the scope of the single bare bulb’s illumination.
“You’re right.” Foley studied the two men. “But you’re walking away from your best chance at cutting a deal,” he warned. “Your prints are all over the place.” He nodded to the tools of the torture trade. “Chances are the police will find you eventually.”
Paddle punk’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of deal?”
Now that was loyalty. “I’m sure the DA will be very interested in any details the two of you can give regarding his—” he tightened his hold on Lennox “—activities. Your cooperation could earn you a very sweet deal.”
Lennox attempted to blubber his own warning. Foley clamped his arm tighter around the bastard’s throat and shot a look at the man who’d trailed in here after him like a puppy. “Make the call,” Foley repeated.
While the assistant in the expensive suit entered the necessary digits, the two thugs dropped to their knees then went face down on the concrete floor.
“You might think you’ve won,” Lennox screeched, “but you and your employer will suffer the consequences.”
“Maybe.” Foley nodded to the guy who’d made the 911 call. “Bring my cell to me,” he ordered a second time, “then join your pals on the floor.”
The younger man glanced at the filthy floor then swallowed hard.
“Now,” Foley prompted.
The man inched close enough to give Foley the phone, then side-stepped in those same small increments back toward his partners in crime. It was almost worth the torture Foley had endured to watch that silk suit kiss the dirt and, during the short minutes before the cops arrived, to listen to Lennox’s offers of excessive amounts of cash for his freedom.
But Foley had one thing on his mind. Her. She’d called. Unbelievable. He hadn’t seen her, hadn’t heard her voice in three years.
I need your help.
Worry throbbed in his skull, flexed in his jaw.
She wouldn’t call him…unless it truly was a matter of life and death.
Fear trickled into his veins.
He had to get to her.
When the cops arrived, Foley gave one of the officers his business card and walked away. He ignored the warning that he wasn’t supposed to leave until the detective in charge of the case arrived.
There wasn’t a force on earth that could prevent him from going.
The cell in his pocket sang its annoying tune.
Foley withdrew it, checked the display in case it was her calling again.
It wasn’t. It was his employer.
Not at all surprised his employer already knew Lennox was down—he seemed hotwired into everywhere with everyone—Foley hit the answer button even as he quickened his pace. “Foley.”
“Outstanding
