Page 65 of Shadowed Agenda
“To be expected.”
Pavlo should have put a tracker in her handbag, but her kidnappers had probably pitched her bag in a garbage can further along the sidewalk. Whoever was leading this operation wouldn’t have missed something so basic.
“Javier has located the sedan and is tracking it using the city’s traffic cams,” Drake said and turned at the same corner as the black sedan had when Pavlo was chasing it. “We haven’t heard from the local PD on the status of our team on-site at the cottage.”
Pavlo filled Drake in and relayed the directions Javier was texting him. It looked like they were leaving the city.
He grinned as a message popped up on his screen. It was from Vala. He laughed and read it aloud.
Hacked into the asshole’s GPS provider. Sending you a link. It will hook your rental’s GPS to the provider’s program. Delete the app after.
“She doesn’t hold back on what she thinks about people,” Drake said and grinned.
“We should be out of the worst of the traffic soon,” Pavlo grumbled. “We need to close the gap between us.”
“It looks like we’re headed to the highway. I’ll catch up to them. If the cops follow, we’ll have a backup. Breathe. Focus,” Drake instructed, feeling the tension Pavlo knew was dripping off him.
A few minutes later, Javier called. Pavlo put him on speakerphone.
“You’re not going to like what I found out.”
Chapter thirty-one
Regandidasshewas told. She had no choice. They’d taken Emmeline, and she would die trying to get her back.
She kept pace with the man as the people in front of them made enough room for them to pass. The crowd’s pace slowed, and the man’s pace quickened. They exited the mass of people. The wall of people behind them blocked Pavlo’s view. Spread across the sidewalk, they would be impossible to pass, effectively preventing Palvo from following.
“Turn right at the corner,” the guy said.
Regan obeyed and glanced at the man. He was tall, muscular, and wore the same red baseball cap as the guy who’d attacked her in the hotel stairwell. In his mid-thirties, he was older than the guy now locked in jail. His face was hard. A snake tattoo wound its way around his arm and onto the hand gripping her.
“So, where are you taking me, Snake?” It was as good a name as any to call him.
“Cell phone,” he growled as they approached a cardboard box pushed against the wall of a building, not answering her question.
She remembered Finlay’s comment that the Senator’s bodyguards wouldn’t consider her a threat. Regan hoped this guy felt the same way. She pulled her cell phone out of her handbag and handed it to the guy.
Snake grabbed it out of her hand and tossed it into the box. He looked over his shoulder and picked up their pace.
“Over there.” Snake pointed to a Harley parked at the side of the entrance to an underground parking lot at the end of the block. Another man stood beside the matching motorcycle parked next to it.
He sported a black bushy beard, a motorcycle vest, and the same tough appearance as his friend. These weren’t men you messed with.
Beard picked up the vest sitting on his bike seat and tossed it to Snake. He caught it in his free hand. The vest matched Beard’s, the same motorcycle patch emblazoned across the back. That meant one thing. Regan was in trouble.
“We’re going for a ride,” Snake said, walking to his bike.
“C…c… can’t,” Regan stuttered and shook her head. She tried to wrench free of his grip.
He let go of her, and she stumbled back and would have fallen if Beard hadn’t caught her. The man laughed and pressed her back against his body. Muscled arms wrapped around her, pinning her arms so she couldn’t fight him.
His breath stank as he bent his mouth to her ear. “Peanut, calm down. No one is going to help you. We’re in New York City.”
“Hasn’t anyone told you to brush your teeth first thing in the morning?” Regan stomped down on his foot.
He laughed, lifted her feet off the ground, and walked the four steps to Snake’s bike. Her running shoes had been no match for his leather boots. If she’d been wearing her Louboutin’s, he wouldn’t be laughing.
“I’m not going. Don’t put me on that motorcycle. I won’t do it.” Regan squirmed in his arms, desperate to get away.