Page 56 of Straight Shooter

“Stop!” The raspy plea ripped from her diaphragm.

Beanie dropped Max’s hand.

“I got a baseball bat upstairs. Maybe start with Max’s jaw.” Len’s suggestion released a wave of nausea in the pit of her stomach. The tears that had stung her eyes before seeped out and rolled down her cheeks.

“Leave him alone. He doesn’t know anything.”

Beanie’s mouth lifted into a snarl. “That’s right. But you can save him. Tell me where the envelope is or give me the address—I know you looked at it. You’re too fucking nosey not to have.”

Salty, hot tears coated her lips. She sucked back a sob and shook her head. “I don’t have the envelope. I gave it to Rhett.”

Beanie’s eyes narrowed. “Bullshit. You were in Max’s apartment. You intended to deliver it to him.”

She straightened in her seat. “How do you know I was there?”

He waved away her question, but a vignette of awareness rippled through her brain.

“I paid Maxy-boy a visit to see if he had the envelope yet. I tried to get it from you first, but you ran at the hotel. Turns out that bitch Vicky was there, and she was a loose end we couldn’t afford to keep.”

Max wailed but grunted and stopped when Len kicked him in the knee. “Shut up.”

“So, you see,” Beanie continued, “all this could have been stopped if you’d just coughed up Jenny’s address like you were paid to do. Now you’re all going to end up dead.” He laughed. The sound was far too light for the moment.

“Jenny remembers you,” she blurted.

His eyes turned beady. “How do you know that?”

“Rhett told me. She keeps recalling images of someone else’s face and wants to rewrite her statement.” The partial lie rolled off her tongue.

“Fuck!” Beanie bellowed. The pale skin on his head turned beet red, and he swung at the air.

“So, you see,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “if you’re identified, you’ll be nailed for Vicky’s death, Max’s, and mine. You should turn yourself in.”

He rubbed his palm on the front of his jeans. Sweat dotted the skin next to his ears and his eyes darted around. “No. No, she doesn’t remember. She was too fucked up. She couldn’t identify me. It’ll never hold up in court.” He turned his attention to her. “There’s still time.” He closed the gap between them and caught her throat in his palm. She coughed and lengthened her midsection to open her airway. Pain scorched her lungs. The vessels in her eyes screamed.

“You’ve got ten seconds to give me her location, or I blow your brains out.”

Rhett stalked away from Moretti’s house. His gut twisted in one direction then the other. Calling Beanie could fuck things up even more. If the bastard knew he was alive, Beanie would hold Peyton to his advantage. Hell, if he really wanted to screw with Rhett’s head, he’d kill her right then and there. Over the years, Rhett’s MO had been silence and stealth. He’d never revealed his hand to his opponent, never overstepped the lines or the law.

All that was out the window.

Beanie would be pissed he’d survived. But he might be stupid enough to believe I’d make a deal with him. All he needed was to find out where he was. He scrolled through Moretti’s contacts and found Beanie’s name. His thumb shook as it tapped the screen.

Ring, ring, ring

Rhett gripped the phone until his fingertips ached. Jesus, if Beanie didn’t answer he’d go crazy.

“Hello?”

The ache in Rhett’s chest receded. “I believe I have something you want,” he said, skipping the pleasantries.

Silence ticked in his ear. The seconds stretched like minutes.

“Callahan.” Disappointment slithered over the asshole’s tone. Clearly he hadn’t expected him to survive. “I believe I have something you want.”

Rhett curled his hand into a fist at his side and turned toward the trees, away from where Mandy and Eric waited by the vehicle. Beanie wanted to bait him, and part of him, the emotionally attached guy and not the FBI agent, nearly succumbed. He summoned his strongest interrogator voice. “Where do we go from here, Beanie? If you harm a hair on Peyton’s head, you’ll go to jail for a long time.”

“That’s if you find me.”