Page 57 of Straight Shooter

Rhett stiffened. There was no telling what lengths Beanie had gone to in order to conceal his identity. With a senator as his employer, it would be far too easy for him to get a fake passport.

“Let’s keep this simple. I’ll give you the envelope and you give Peyton back in return.”

Silence ticked on.

And then, “It’d be a hell of a lot more fun torturing it out of your bitch.”

Beanie’s words punched through Rhett’s chest, and he dropped to his knees. The pavement slammed into his kneecaps. No. Beanie had tried to rape her once, and if he succeeded this time, Rhett would never forgive himself.

He had to find her.

Desperation sucked the air from him. He’d failed her. Peyton needed him and he’d fucking dropped the ball. He’d left her side in an attempt to protect her and hadn’t been alert enough to sense Beanie’s approach at the marina. Finally, he’d found someone he cared about more than his career. And now, because she’d fallen smack-dab into the middle of his investigation, she’d be tortured and murdered. His sinuses tingled with unshed tears. Begging would only egg Beanie on.

There had to be a way . . .

“Since I’m a nice guy, I’ll let you say goodbye to her.”

He heard a scuffle and a small yelp. His breath expelled from his throat.

“Say hello to your boyfriend.”

“Rhett! You’re alive!” Peyton’s sob screeched in his ears. From behind his solar plexus, relief spread like a cosmic explosion.

“Are you okay, baby? Did they hurt you?”

“No.” Her voice trembled, and he smashed his knuckles into the driveway knowing it was a bald-faced lie. She’d likely already endured pain and torment from Beanie, yet she was concerned only about him.

“You need to think, honey,” he whispered hoarsely. “Give me some kind of clue about where I can find you.” This couldn’t be the last time he heard her intoxicating voice. Couldn’t be his last chance to express the emotions that had taken hold of him since the moment he laid eyes on her.

“Time’s up!”

“Wait,” she hissed. “If something happens to me, Rhett, please tell my sister Erica that I’ll always remember our days at the beach⁠—”

Beanie’s snort sounded in his ear. “You know what’s going to happen to you, baby.”

Beanie’s salacious promise drove Rhett to his feet. “Don’t fucking touch her!”

“I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

The line went dead.

Chapter

Twenty-One

Beanie yanked the phone away from Peyton. “Too bad he’s not a smarter fed. Now, where were we?” He scooted a chair forward and sat. His knees touched hers. She shifted them but couldn’t move far enough. She crunched her teeth together. She couldn’t do anything stupid.

“You were about to let Max go so I’d tell you Jenny’s location.” The statement came out strong, unwavering, belying the piercing fingernails of dread in her soul.

Beanie leaned forward. The gash on his forehead creased, and blood rushed to the open surface. He swiped it away. “You admit you saw the address?”

She moved her tongue in an attempt to draw moisture to her mouth. “I saw it, yes. I remember the location but not the full address.”

His gaze moved over her face, as if weighing the truth in her words. He rubbed his thumb against the pads of his fingers. The faint brushing sound was the only noise in the room. Then he reached forward and dragged his fingertip over her exposed thigh. She jerked her knee away. Her skin crawled. His lips stretched over his teeth. Bringing his hand to her fingers, he stroked her knuckles.

“I’m not letting anyone go,” he said calmly. “Here are your choices: a quick, painless death, or one filled with torture and . . .” His eyes dropped to her breasts and then her lap, where they lingered. “Fun. For me, anyway.”

Hope fought with the desperation trying to bury her. Rhett was alive. If anyone could find her, it was him.