Page 64 of Straight Shooter

Rhett’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. “You paid her for sex?”

He hung his head. “If he’d ratted me out, then I would have become a suspect in her murder. I didn’t have anything to do with it, I swear to god. We just fucked once in a while.”

Rhett heaved out a breath. Eric had been stupid to sleep with a prostitute while working for the bureau, stupider still to get involved with someone like Beanie. That was a road that would need further investigating, but for now, Eric wasn’t a threat. He jerked his head to the open front door.

“I didn’t even tell Beanie you were undercover. I swear, man, this just got out of control and I couldn’t reason with him.”

“What’d you do to Mandy?”

More regret creased Eric’s twisted face. “I hit her on the head. She’ll be okay.”

Rhett seethed. “If we can get you and her medical attention and you don’t harm anyone else, there’s still a way out for you. Understand?”

A tear crept out of Eric’s shriveled eyelid, and he nodded.

“Call for backup. And tell them you need two ambulances.”

Eric pulled out his phone but paused. “She’s downstairs, Rhett.”

Rhett jerked with surprise and tilted his head. “Who?”

“Peyton.”

The air rushed out of his lungs. “How do you know?”

“I just got off the phone with Len. Beanie’s with her. You’d better hurry.”

Chapter

Twenty-Three

Beanie motioned at Peyton’s clothes and continued undressing her with his gaze. Peyton closed her eyes against the assault of memories of that night on Moretti’s yacht: Beanie’s rough, unabashed hands, his hot breath on her ear, and his pants-covered cock pushing against her bare ass cheek.

Fresh tears of self-pity hit her eyelids, but she wouldn’t shed them. Sparks flared around her fingertips. The knife was close—two feet from her uninjured hand, on the table against the wall—positioned an equal distance between Beanie’s body and hers.

Her head pounded. Agony ripped apart her hand, and crippling fear rolled along her ligaments. He was stronger. He’d be faster. If he caught her, he’d do worse than cut her.

“I’m not waiting, princess.” His face turned hard. “Take off your clothes or I’ll rip them off.”

She sucked back a sob and lowered her injured hand to her side. Blood rushed into it, making it throb. She kept her focus on Beanie’s face and brought her good hand to the hem of her shirt. She had to distract him. Her movements would be slow and unsteady, worse so because she’d have to stab him with her left hand. She flexed the muscles in her palm as she worked her shirt up her stomach, practicing the mechanisms she’d need to attack. She’d have to move fast, hold the knife in her fist, and plunge downward.

Beanie settled deeper in the chair, leaned back, and rested his hands on his abdomen. His eyes became so dark they appeared almost black. They made her heart pound, and not in the way Rhett’s kind, loving eyes did. Rhett appreciated her body. Beanie wanted to possess her. To strip her of her power and dominate her.

She stopped at her bra. His gaze shot from her still hand to her face. She swung her hips from side to side and tucked her chin.

“Come on.” Irritation laced the command.

She lifted a shoulder. “I’ve never done this before. Can you close your eyes until my bra’s off?”

He started shaking his head but then stopped and said, “You’ve got five seconds.” He sealed his eyes shut.

She took a breath to steel herself. She had to do this. Kill or be killed. Her only options. And the former was preferable. Lunging to the side, she caught the knife’s handle in her left hand. The blade scraped across the table. Beanie’s eyes sprang open and his gaze locked on the knife. A millisecond passed.

Now!

She dove for his chest, throwing all her weight behind the plunge. His eyes widened and fear glimmered in their depths. A vein bulged in his forehead and he caught her wrist, stopping the knife an inch before it connected with his chest.

“You fucking cunt,” he spat. He wriggled beneath her, but she kept her grip on the weapon.