Cruz didn’t want to hear another word from this asshole. He put his foot not so gently over the man’s mouth and broken nose. Latour gave out a pained, muffled shriek and his eyes rolled. “Not such a fucking macho man now, are you? Don’t like someone bigger, stronger, and smarter than you getting the upper hand? Too bad, shithead. You’re going to jail for a long, long time. Get up.” Cruz hauled Latour up by twisting his hand behind his back with slightly less force than necessary to break it, then held him tightly as he struggled and blubbered.
Mia, white-faced, hands shaking, reached across the rumpled bed, snatched up the phone, then punched out the three numbers with a hand that shook.
“Detective Hammell, please.” Her legs gave out and she dropped to her knees, elbows braced on the mattress as she waited.
Cruz wanted nothing more than to scoop her up into his arms and hold her. But he had a little lesson to teach Latour before the cops arrived.
“I’ll be right back. Stay put.” He heard her speaking to the detective as he frog-marched the struggling Latour down the hall, arm twisted high on his back.
• • •
Five minutes later, Cruz was back in the bedroom, Mia on his lap, his face buried in her hair. Her sob wrenching up through her chest tore at her throat.
“Hey. I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“I’m so f-fricking . . . furious!”
Well, that was better than scared or in pain. He’d considered knocking Latour unconscious, but then the bastard couldn’t feel any pain, so he’d opted for him to sit it out until the cops arrived. “He’ll be in custody soon where he can’t hurt anyone.”
“I’m f-furious at m-myself! I can’t believe I allowed that—that low-life piece of shit to terrorize me. I’m strong and smart and resourceful, damn it.”
Cruz gently brushed his hand over her hair. “Jesus, sweetheart, he was drunk, has fifty pounds on you, and was determined as hell. You did what you could to prevent him killing you. I’d say that was a win.”
“I know how to shoot. I should’ve shot the son of a bitch.”
Cruz didn’t point out that the gun’s lockbox was secured, the key in the bedside table.
“I hate that I froze instead of fighting back. Hate it. I took self-defense classes, for God’s sake. I know how to defend myself. To be honest, I shocked myself. I would’ve thought I could’ve handled that situation, if not with ease, then with smarts. I failed myself on all counts.”
“Different in a real-world situation when your adrenaline is pumping and your opponent has nothing to lose. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“Believe me,” she told him, voice grim, eyes flat, “my pity party is already over. I’ll never be caught like that ever again. Forget learning how to frigging pole dance. I’m going to master self-defense and kick the next attacker’s ass. Better yet, I’m going to learn how to become an expert marksman so I can shoot whoever is coming after me.”
“Excellent sentiment. But there won’t be a next time. I won’t leave you alone again when a crazed wife abuser’s on the loose.”
She frowned. “There are plenty of other threats out there, and you know it. Someone might still be trying to kill me for one, in case you’ve forgotten. You won’t always be with me, will you?”
Fortunately, it was a rhetorical question. She obviously knew the answer. “I won’t leave you until the matter’s resolved,” he told her, yet it was the hardest promise he’d ever made. He had to leave her, and he had to do it as soon as he knew she’d be safe. Urgent departure was required, because if he didn’t leave her soon, he’d never be able to. He enjoyed being with her too much. And that thought scared the crap out of him. One day she’d find out what he was. Then she’d hate him. Hate everything about him.
“Then for your sake I hope everything is resolved by Monday. I have to decide where to go from there.”
Cruz had a not-so-short list of priorities to focus on. All essential.
1. Keep Mia alive.
2. Find out who’d paid for the hit before they hired someone else to finish his job.
3. Deal with them.
4. Discover who else had been hired.
5. Stop them.
6. Save Daisy and Charlie.
7. Deal with Latour.
8. Don’t fall in love.
Detective Hammell and two other cops showed up twenty minutes later. “What happened to him?” he asked Cruz, who leaned against the counter, drinking a cup of tepid coffee.
He’d worked Latour over, so that, besides his bloody, swollen nose, he had lacerations and bruising on his arms. Sick of listening to the man whine and berate him, his wife, Mia, and the entire universe for how shitty his life was, Cruz had used duct tape to bind him to a bar stool, then slapped a piece over his mouth. Latour’s eyes were feral over the silvery tape.