Vincent: Her Warlock Protector Book 5 (9 page)

When Hugh did not move from behind his desk, Lionel snapped his fingers in Hugh's face then pointed to the door where Amanda lingered. In his haste to get out of the room, Hugh tripped over his office chair, catching himself as he made an awkward lurch for the door.
 

Amanda wandered down the hall to put distance between herself and Hugh's office as she heard Lionel roar, "
What?
"
 

"Do you want to see our basement yoga studio?” Hugh asked, his voice quavering. “It's about as far away from here as we can get." His dry hands washed one another.

"Sure,” Amanda said, tension coiling in her stomach the more anxious Hugh became.
 

He nearly propelled her down the hallway and began jabbering about the basement and the importance of storm shelters in Texas. Once they were out of earshot of the office, she interrupted him.

“Is he always like that?" she asked.

"No, sometimes he’s…” Hugh brightened up, “Here we are.”
 

Amanda walked into the yoga studio, unprepared for Hugh’s hands. They smashed into the center of her back, forcing her into the empty classroom. She stumbled, regaining her balance as the room’s solid oak door slammed shut. The hard thunk of the lock against the jam echoed around the cinderblock walls. Her eyes swept the room. There was a ground level row of foot high windows near the ceiling and a cafeteria table abandoned against the bare wall to her left.
 

At the sound of Lionel's furious bark, Amanda was actually happy to be locked in a room away from him. As angry as she was at Hugh, maybe he had done her a favor. She dug out her cell phone which flashed its low battery warning. No signal.

Hugh's incomprehensible murmur quickly rose in pitch as she listened, hand on her gun, ready for one or both of them should the door re-open.
 

“What job?” Lionel yelled, his voice shaking with rage. “Your job is to do as you're told. What you don't do is step in the middle of mine.”
 

Hugh’s muffled response was incomprehensible, but it drove Lionel into a fresh fury.
 

“Call the number. I want to hear this for myself.”

The sound of Lionel’s heels on the tile floor faded as the two men moved away from the room.
 

What had she been thinking? Her mind flashed on the first time she’d seen Lionel, the lunatic look to him that Aimee had blamed on PTSD.
 
Well, stress disorder or not, this had clearly been a mistake.

VINCENT STORMED PAST the ancient wood of the arched front door to the Chapel of St. Barbara the Divine. With his right hand under his jacket, wrapped tight around the grip of his gun, he stopped in his tracks. The Chapel was exactly what it looked like: an empty, ornately painted, single room building. A lone priest lingered at the altar.

“Can I help you?” Kindness radiated from the Priest’s happy smile as he shuffled toward Vincent. “Would you like one of our brochures?” The old man spotted the silver double pentagram of Vincent’s tie tack. “Don’t be concerned. Anyone with an interest in history is welcome here.” He stuffed a brochure into Vincent’s hands as he came to stand beside him, both of them facing the interior of the Chapel. “Now tell me, is being with the Magus Corps as interesting as it sounds?”

Vincent’s mouth hung open.
This is so the wrong place.
 

“I’m sorry, Father, but I was looking for someone else.”
 

“Well come in then, I have gotten to know a fair few people on this island over the last thirty years. Let’s see what I can do to help.” The old Priest shuffled back toward the front of the chapel. “Come along. You can pretend to look at our two hundred year old crucifix while we talk.”

Vincent needed to get to Choice B. He ran toward the door with a “Thank you” thrown over his shoulder.

AMANDA PULLED THE cafeteria table across the room until it was under the row of windows. Too high to simply open and step out, she slid the window open, wrapped her hands around the bottom of the window ledge, even as she heard the door to the room open.
 

HUGH WOULD NOT have been able to pick Vincent Harcourt out of a line-up, but he knew incandescent rage when he saw it striding across St. Walpurgis's parking lot toward the unlocked front door. He turned and ran down the hallway that led to the alley. But the heavy footfalls behind him let him know he wasn’t going to make it.

It felt like a freight train had run into him. Something massive slammed into the middle of his back and his face hit the wall. His left wrist was pinned high on his back, threatening to dislocate his shoulder.

“They’re downstairs,” he whined, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. “Last door on the right.”
 

“If she’s not there…”
 

Vincent’s threat ended with a punch to the kidneys.
 

Hugh dropped like a stone to his knees on the cold tile floor. The pain darkened his field of vision, but he was dimly aware of the heavy footsteps taking the cement staircase to the basement.
 

Despite the pain, Hugh inched forward across the tiles on his hands and knees, past the staircase until he sat hunched at the alleyway door.
 

He had missed today’s report, derailed a Templar mission and had come to the attention of the Magus Corps. It didn’t matter who won the fight in the basement. Hugh was already dead.
 

He used the wide safety handle on the door to pull himself up, pushed open the door and stepped out into the quiet alley. The door alarm blared as he limped down the alley, each streetlight flickering on as he made his way home.

“NO!” AMANDA HEARD Lionel scream behind her.

The palms of her hands were scraped raw as he jerked her away from the metal window frame. With a grunt, she landed on her side on the cafeteria table. The gun in her bag smashed into her hip, her body damping the sound of the gun’s impact against the table top.
 

“You will stay here!" he screamed.

She rolled across the top of the table and aimed a vicious kick at Lionel’s stomach. But he only smiled as he grabbed her leg and pulled her thrashing body toward him. At the last second, she flipped onto her back and shot her left foot out, heel aimed for his nose.
 

He tried to jerk his head out of the path of her foot, but his refusal to let go of her right leg cost him. Her foot hammered into the underside of his jaw. Lionel’s head snapped back, and he let go of her leg.
 

Amanda slid off of the table and dashed for the open door. But Lionel was too quick. In a flash, he was on her, his arms tight around her waist, arms pinned to her sides. He yanked her off her feet. Beyond all fear, she screamed and pummeled his shins with her feet. But it was no use. He shook her like a rag doll and tightened his already vice-like grip. Only as her last scream ended did she realize she couldn’t breathe. Though blood pounded in her head, she could barely wheeze. There was no sensation in her hands, but her midriff was squeezed in agony.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Lionel seethed.

He jerked her hard, the pain too much, as her last wisp of breath was taken with an involuntary groan. Lionel whipped her around, pinning her to the table as she doubled over.

“Get off her!” Vincent bellowed, just before Lionel slammed into the back of her legs.

Without air, she couldn’t even cry out. But only one thought blazed through her mind.

Vincent!

In the next moment, the grip on her was gone. Though wild thrashing and crashing sounded behind her, Amanda couldn’t look. Instead, she convulsively sucked in air, trying to stem the tide of darkness washing over her vision. Still lying on the table, her lungs heaved to catch up. The harsh sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room. Loud grunts accompanied each one.

Vincent?

As her vision slowly cleared, Amanda managed to turn, though hampered by the bag still hanging from her arm.
 

Vincent had a barely conscious Lionel trapped in the corner. With his left hand he gripped Lionel’s throat. His right fist sank into Lionel’s stomach, once, twice, then three times. Lionel’s eyes were closed. Vincent gripped the man’s hair with both hands, and slammed his head against one wall with a sickening thud.

“Vincent,” Amanda managed to whisper.

As though she’d shouted, he whirled. The burning fury on his face vanished in an instant. Then he was with her, lifting her from the table, cradling her in his strong arms.

“
Amanda
,” he said lowly. He held her close against his chest as she wound her arms around his neck. “Are you all right?”

She nodded as she tucked her head underneath his chin. Heat radiated from him and seemed to pour into her. She closed her eyes, soaking it in, curling against him with as much of her body as she could.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said.

"IS SLEEPING WITH me part of the job?"

Though her voice was tentative, Vincent heard the raw undercurrent of emotion beneath it. He glared at the dim patch of black pavement illuminated by the Charger's headlights.
 

"No,” he said through clenched teeth. “What the hell were you thinking, going to Lionel?”

Once he’d got her to the car and confirmed that she was all right, his frustration at the way she kept her distance only mounted.

"I thought I was saving myself from
you
.”

The words stung, and he had to glance at her.

“Was I your first pleasurable business trip?" she asked, her eyes boring through him, demanding the truth.

“Look,” he said. “Sometimes–”

She pointedly looked away. “I see.”

“Amanda, it’s not the same,” he said, searching for the words. “You’re not the same.”

She laughed, a harsh and bitter sound.

"Me? I’m not even a witch. Well, not one who can do anything. But someone sitting at a computer at some undisclosed location read internet search history, and decided I was. Then they sent you, Vincent Harcourt, the Magus Corp’s own professional Lothario to tap the divorcee, wreck her life and then convince her the only way to fix it is to follow him off into the sunset. Only, there is no sunset. You’re already hitching a ride on the next broom."

"That's not fair."

"Don't even make it out of town with her? It would make more sense to put her on a plane while texting the next one. Less messy that way."

"
Jesus Christ
."
 

He slammed the gear shifter into park, the headlights glinting off Dalya's beady eyes.

Amanda was out of the car before he could get the ignition switched off. She spun around, right hand on the frame of the still open car door as she leaned in.
 

“Paulina told me why you're really here.”
 

The Charger rocked with the force of her slammed door. Vincent was out of his door in an instant, pounding up the stairs after her. He just got his foot in the door before it shut, forcing it open with a shove. She was already nearly at the bedroom.

"I told you I was here on a job. I never lied about that."

She spun around with her index finger jabbing at him as she stalked back toward him.
 

"You neglected to mention I was that job. Or that the job might entail killing me if I failed to cooperate with your master plan. Or for that matter, that your job entailed killing anyone, ever. All those little hints," her voice dropped in an unflattering parody, "'Don't worry, I'm not leaving without you.'" Her eyes filled with unshed tears. "I am such a fool." With that she turned and started to walk back to her bedroom, but stopped before she reached the room. "If you are going to kill me, then do it."

Vincent felt as though someone had struck him.

"I've never killed a Wiccan and didn't come to Galveston to start, regardless of who I found."

His quiet calm stopped Amanda. He saw her wavering. More than anything he wanted to reach out and hold her.

"How can I trust anything you say?" She turned around to face him.
 

"I'm still here,” he said, gazing levelly into her eyes. “I meant it when I said I was not leaving this island without you."

With a sigh she said, "As a confirmed Wiccan."

"As mine."

They stood there in the silence. Amanda wrapped her arms around herself.
 

"You can't lie to me anymore, Vincent. If we are going to be anything to each other, I need to be able to trust you."

He could no longer stop himself. Slowly he moved forward. Though he half expected Amanda to bolt, her glistening eyes watched him as she took in a shuddering breath. Gently, he brushed away the tears that had begun to fall down her cheeks.

"I will tell you everything in such nauseating detail you will beg for mercy."

She managed a weak smile.

Though Vincent wanted nothing more than to kiss those tears away, he knew they needed to leave.

“If there’s anything you want to take, now’s the time,” he said, letting her go.

She nodded, sniffed, and wiped her eyes. “Just a few things,” she said, heading to the bedroom. She grabbed a backpack and a handful of clothes out of the dresser in her closet.

"Are you immortal?" she asked, cramming the clothes into the pack.

"Yes."

"What would happen if I shot you?"

She shoved in a handful of underwear.

"It would put me in the hospital, just like anyone else."

"But you would live?"

"Yes."

She paused, considering for a moment and her gaze flicked to the front room.

“I have my Daddy’s gun,” she said quietly.

“What?” Vincent said, scowling.

Though she tried to shoulder the backpack, Vincent took it from her as she passed him.

“I had it for Lionel,” she said, as she picked up her purse.