His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(121)
Author: Shayla Black

“Some sort of electronic storage medium,” she murmured. “Viktor left me information. It’s got to be his research. He left me information that potentially has the power to change the world. Oh, God.”

“It’s a compact flash disk, kind of a precursor to an SD card. My mom had a camera that stored images on one of these.” Joaquin put an arm around her waist to steady her, and Bailey was grateful for his support.

They’d found what her sire had left her, what might secure her safety once and for all. Callie’s, too.

“I’ll take that,” called a voice behind them.

Bailey whirled around to find the man with the hoodie she’d seen at the hotel, pointing a gun directly at them.

Chapter Eighteen

JOAQUIN’S blood froze. Just beyond the man with the gun, he saw the red truck idling. Son of a bitch, he should have realized . . . He should have questioned its mysterious appearance more, scouted around. But he’d let his impatience to help Bailey get in the way of his natural caution. His failure might cost them their lives.

He tightened his grip on Bailey. “Don’t.”

“Stop trying to be a hero. Just give me the disk,” their assailant sneered.

So he could shoot and kill them the moment they complied? Joaquin knew he had to keep this guy talking.

“How did you find us?”

“I followed you from the Aslanov farm. I’d been monitoring the place, hoping you’d turn up. Good to know I was right.”

“You were driving the silver sedan at the hotel?” Bailey blurted.

“You’re not totally stupid for a ballerina.”

Joaquin didn’t bother asking why the goon hadn’t confronted them then. Of course this guy had waited, hoping Bailey would remember where Aslanov had hidden his research.

She frowned. “Then you traded it for the red truck at the fast-food joint not far from the lake—”

“Again, you figured me out. Congratulations,” he drawled. “I’m done talking. Now, dance the disk over to me, ballerina, or you both get it.”

“I’ll bring it to you,” Joaquin offered.

Annoyance flashed across his shadowed features. “This ain’t a negotiation. I don’t talk to federal agents, even former ones, so fuck off.”

This guy knew who he was, too? That set him back and made Joaquin reassess the enemy, who was clearly one step ahead. Their aggressor wasn’t big, maybe five-foot-eight, and a little on the scrawny side. The hoodie hid what appeared to be a young face. In a hand-to-hand fight, Joaquin knew he could take the guy, despite the tattoo running up the side of his neck that self-proclaimed him a badass.

Joaquin sized up his limited options. Play along? Jump the creep and hope he could get a good swipe in before a bullet landed between his eyes? Maybe he could draw his own gun and get in a lucky shot before he bit it. Would any of those options give Bailey enough time to run?

Probably not.

They were fucked.

He wished like hell he’d listened to Hunter and come with backup, but this woulda, coulda, shoulda was too late now. Still, he wasn’t going down without a fight.

Joaquin tried to ease the arm he’d slid around Bailey toward the small of his back to reach his gun.

“Stop there, asshole,” the man warned. “Hands up.”

Shit. Joaquin winced. Now what?

The criminal trained his gun on Bailey. “Do it! Or I waste her while you watch.”

No choice. Any chance he had of keeping Bailey alive, Joaquin would take. He raised his hands above his head.

“Take a step away from her.”

Fuck. Did this asshole mean to shoot him and leave Bailey at his dubious mercy? Again, Joaquin didn’t see a choice. He took one step to his left, away from her trembling body. He sent her a look that told her he’d do whatever possible to keep her alive. If they could just find a way to distract the guy for a few seconds . . .

“Good. I like cooperation,” the man in the gray hoodie snapped. “Keep it that way.”

Then, without warning, he pulled the trigger of his weapon, hitting Bailey in the neck.

Panic fired Joaquin’s blood as she staggered back. He watched her crumple to the ground and fell to his knees at her side. What had happened? She couldn’t be dead. His thoughts jumbled. His heart chugged.

Joaquin inspected Bailey. She wasn’t bleeding. Instead, a little dart protruded from her neck. He realized the gun hadn’t discharged with a loud bang but a quieter hiss.

Their attacker started laughing. “Psych! It’s a tranq gun, you moron. You couldn’t tell?”

The parking lot had been too shadowed for him to get a detailed look. Joaquin thanked goodness she wasn’t dead, but he was absolutely going to have to shoot this bastard to get her out of here in one piece. Luckily, he had no problem with that.