The man cocked his gun. "Answer me," came the menacing hiss.
"Yes!" Tristan squealed.
For a moment, time stood still. Tristan was convinced he was about to die. He screwed up his eyes, not wanting to see it coming, praying that at least Natalie was safe, that Cade and his friends would take care of her.
He held his breath, hoping he'd be dead before he even realized it was happening. He waited — one second, two, then three, expecting to hear a click or feel the weapon twitch when the man pulled the trigger, but instead, the press of the muzzle against his skin disappeared, followed by a snapping sound. Still too terrified to open his eyes, Tristan stood frozen.
Then the man barked, "You're coming with me," and grabbed his sleeve. Tristan's eyes flew open as his mind struggled to process the development, and he stumbled as the man dragged him toward his car, opened the back door, and then...
Nothing.
Tristan shook his head to jiggle the rest of the memories free but instantly regretted it when pain jabbed his temple. The man must have hit him, knocked him out with the gun, which tracked with the throbbing in his head. Based on his sluggish brain and nausea, he might also have a concussion.
As his mind started churning with some sense of clarity, he realized he didn't know if they'd actually gotten Natalie out. Fear and worry bloomed in his chest, but he tamped them down, refusing to believe Cade and his team had failed. She had to be safe; he had to believe that.
But now he was the one in trouble — kidnapped by the bad guys like some freaking movie — and no one would know how to find him.
This was really, really bad.
Desperate to do something to free himself, Tristan scanned the surroundings. He was facing one door of a closed two-car garage, while a sleek, black sedan sat in the other bay on his left. There were mostly empty shelves to his right and a tool bench behind him, but everything was too far out of reach to be of use.
Behind him, an angry voice interrupted his thoughts, snapping, "Get over here now."
Twisting toward the sound, Tristan saw an open door leading to the interior of the house but couldn't see who was speaking. As he squinted into the living area, footsteps approached, and the guy who found him at the house appeared through the doorway.
Carrying a gun.
Tristan hadn't gotten a good look in the darkness, but now the man's features came into focus: pear-shaped face, beady gray eyes, a wide nose, and sagging jowls. The buttons of his blue dress shirt strained to hold in his bulging belly, and his thinning hair barely covered his greasy scalp.
He didn't look scary, just some normal, middle-aged, out-of-shape guy. But even if he hadn't had the gun, even if Tristan hadn't been tied up, the predatory look in his eyes would have warned anyone to be on guard.
Gulping, Tristan braced himself for... something. Surely, the guy wouldn't kidnap him just to kill him immediately, right?
Eying the man warily, he tried to read his body language, tried to determine if he was about to die.
"Good,you're awake. I have some questions for you."
The words felt like a reprieve.
Pulling up a chair across from Tristan, the man leaned back casually as if they were sitting down to afternoon tea, but Tristan had a hard time prying his eyes from the firearm resting on the man's lap, remembering how he thought it would kill him before.
How it could still kill him.
"The Broker found you in his house the other night."
It was a statement, not a question, so Tristan didn't respond.
"And you killed him. Even though he had you at gunpoint and told me you were unarmed."
Tristan assumed this was the guy Wilson was talking to that night and filed the information away. He didn't answer, hoping it might be good for his captor to think he killed Wilson.
"And you also escaped from the motel. The way I figure, you're either very skilled, very lucky, or you have a guardian angel."
Tristan did have a guardian angel, but the man didn't seem to know for sure that someone had been with him both times, and he wasn't going to confirm that and put Cade in danger.
"Just lucky, I guess," Tristan said flippantly, hoping the guy wouldn't be all that eager to decide which situation applied.
"You have the Broker's laptop, I assume."
