Damn it. He hurried back into his room, still on his phone as he headed to his walk-in closet. The woman on the bed didn’t stir. If he couldn’t see the rise and fall of her chest he’d have thought she was dead. “And you haven’t been able to track her through credit cards?”

The man snorted. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I had. She’s not using anything. And she’s got backup of sorts. Not sure if it’s that Vadim guy but whoever was at that house has some sort of training.”

Neal knew his contact had never actually seen her at the house he’d gone to so it was possible she hadn’t been there, but he’d bet she had been. Otherwise why had that man pulled a gun on his contact? It could have been because he didn’t like people trespassing on his property. But from the account Neal had heard, his guy hadn’t done anything to warrant a gun being pulled on him. And Neal believed him. He’d always come through before.

“Come back to town. If she’s headed this way maybe you can cut her off before she makes it to the police station.” He grabbed what he thought of as his run-bag, which was loaded up with extra clothes, toiletries and a small stash of cash. Not a lot, but enough that he could get out of the city and stay unnoticed for a while. He’d need more to get out of the country though. He’d also need to buy a new ID, maybe a couple fake ones so he could lose anyone trying to track him and pick up all the cash he had stashed around the city. It wasn’t the police he was worried about as much as the Russians. A shiver snaked through him at the thought of what they’d do to him. Everyone knew the stories about how they tortured their victims, but Neal had actually seen someone brutalized once. It had been a warning of sorts by their enforcer. The scary fucker had wanted to make sure Neal knew what would happen to him if he crossed them.

“You still want her eliminated?”

He paused, thinking about his options. He needed her dead before she talked to the police. Although if they had evidence that he was lying then it wouldn’t matter if she was dead. Still, he couldn’t stand Taylor. She’d always looked at him as if she was better than him. She’d come from nothing, unlike him. And she thought she was better? “If possible, yes.”

“I’ll try to get her but if she’s coming in to the police station they might give her an escort. I’m not going down for you.”

Neal was well aware of that fact. His contact was only helping him for the money. “I’ll call you soon.” Hanging up, he pulled on a pair of slacks and a light-gray, wool pullover sweater. Getting out of his condo unseen wouldn’t be hard. He had good security but there were a couple exits he could use to get out without any guards seeing him on camera. Since he didn’t know when the police would be here, he wasn’t going to waste time waking up the woman in his bed.

If anything, maybe the cops would waste time questioning her—whatever her name was—which would give him a better lead time. Not that he was leaving the city. Not yet. He needed more information, needed to know exactly what the police had on him. If he didn’t have to flee, he didn’t want to. He liked his name and the life he’d created. Not to mention running from the Russians was stupid. But if the cops had proof that he’d killed Hugh and tried to kill Taylor then he was gone. He’d be looking over his shoulder the rest of his life, but fuck, he’d just have to do it because he wasn’t going in a cage.

Everything of importance he owned was in a storage locker, his safety deposit box, or on his boat. While he hated the thought of leaving his condo forever, there was nothing irreplaceable in it. Bag in hand, he grabbed his laptop and headed out. As he hurried to one of the stairwells, he pulled up his private bank account using his cell phone. When he couldn’t login, he frowned and called the bank. There seemed to be something wrong with his pin. A slither of anxiety worked its way through his system.

By the time he’d made a safe exit and left on foot, using the connection to a neighboring condo complex to locate his extra getaway car, he was beyond raging. With the exception of ten fucking dollars, all the money in his account was gone.

Transferred. To who the fuck knew where.

There was no way to stop it either. His heart beat out of control, the pulsing in his ears so loud he felt as if he was going to split apart at the seams. This couldn’t be happening.

Where had his money gone?

Taylor. That bitch must have taken it. Which meant he had no way to pay off the Russians.

She was too smart for her own good. Glancing around, he was thankful to see he was alone in the parking lot neighboring his condo. He wondered how long the cops would take to get there. Even with everything going on it made him laugh to think of how that woman in his bed would react to being woken up by cops. Too bad he wouldn’t get to see it.

Once he made it to the older model Prius he’d paid for in cash months ago, he started the engine. But he didn’t leave right away. The windows were tinted and he’d been sure to avoid all video surveillance when leaving out the side exit. He used his phone to check his work email, then half a dozen other work related accounts.

Locked out of all of them.

This was definitely Taylor’s doing. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel as wave after wave of uncontrollable anger raged through him. She was dead no matter what happened. If he had to strangle the life out of her himself, he’d do it with no problem. No one stole from him and got away with it.

* * *

“You okay?” Roman asked quietly from the seat next to Taylor. He slid the pad of paper where he’d just finished his statement about yesterday’s events onto Detective Hurley’s desk.

They were sitting in Hurley’s messy, small office. Unlike what she’d seen of police stations on television and from her experience as a teenager when her mom had taken her down to the police station to press charges against her stepfather, there were quiet offices on the second floor above the main first floor. Hurley had dropped them off here, given them paper to make their statement and said he’d be right back.

Taylor had already finished scribbling down what she knew about yesterday and refused to look at Roman, but nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.” She could feel him drilling holes in her with that intense gaze of his, but she didn’t care. She’d heard what he said about wanting to get rid of her. It hurt her more than she’d realized, especially after that kiss they’d shared.

Well screw him. She wanted to be gone too.

Wrapping her arms around her middle, she turned completely away from Roman, looking at a big bookshelf on one wall. Thick notebooks and what looked like procedural manuals were stacked on it. On the top shelf was a picture of Hurley wearing a football uniform and holding a helmet under his arm. “Did he play pro football or something?” It would certainly make sense considering how big he was.

“Nope,” Hurley said, stepping into the room and making her nearly jump. Carrying a manila folder and a cup of what she assumed was coffee, he nodded at both of them. “I played in college, but got injured. I was never going to go pro anyway.” She didn’t hear any wistfulness in his voice and he continued quickly, not giving her a chance to respond. “I’ve got good news, bad news, and just news.”

“Good news first,” Roman murmured, sitting up at full alert, his body coiled tight, like a predator.

She hated that she was remembering what he looked like without his shirt on and how she’d felt with his big body pressing her down against his bed… Wait, Hurley was saying something. She snapped her gaze to where he sat behind his desk, his expression grim.

“The good news is that the bullet tested positive for your blood type,” he said, looking at Taylor. “I guess Powers Group has that information on file?”